#court of nightmares acotar

[moodymelanist]

Where The Light Won’t Find You Chapter Eight

hello my fellow mommy Nesta simps. hope you enjoy this one cause we’re finally getting some action, and in more ways than one 😏

Read on AO3 here!

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Cassian 

As Cassian followed Nesta through the cavernous halls of the Hewn City, a large part of him was still dumbfounded that any of this was happening. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought she would tell him that he belonged to her, let alone that he would enjoy hearing the words so much. 

Seeing her turn his siphon black had been shocking, to say the least, but he had a feeling her magic would never intentionally hurt him. Still, it had been bizarre to see the stone turn so dark, and he’d have to see if he could still channel his magic through it after she’d altered it so thoroughly. 

“Are you hungry?” Nesta asked, turning over her shoulder to look at him. She looked absolutely stunning in the low light, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how much healthier she looked. 

“Yes,” Cassian admitted once he realized he’d been silent a beat too long. The events of the past hour had left him more shaken than he’d anticipated, and he wanted something in his stomach before he went to bed. 

“Good. Let’s go upstairs,” she told him. They turned a corner into the room he was used to arriving in when he’d winnowed in with Rhys previously. “Give me your hand?”

He didn’t hesitate before offering it to her. Her fingers were cool against his, and he barely had a moment to appreciate the sensation before they were winnowing away. When he opened his eyes again, he immediately recognized the moonstone palace before him, but let her lead the way to the smaller dining room on the second level.  

Dinner was already steaming on the table before them, and Cassian made sure to wait until Nesta started eating before he tucked into his own meal. They hardly spoke to one another, but the silence thankfully didn’t feel tense or awkward. They just… existed in the same space, and for once, Cassian allowed himself to bask in Nesta’s presence without needling her. 

She looked even more stunning surrounded by the finery of the moonstone palace, and he finally had the chance to look his fill without any interruptions. She’d always been beautiful, but seeing how much stronger she looked now made it obvious how badly she’d been struggling in Velaris. It had hardly been a month since she’d left, but already he noticed how much better she filled out the dark gowns she favored so much. Her skin looked rosy instead of sallow, and even her hair seemed shinier in its usual braided coronet. 

“Had enough?” Nesta eventually asked. 

Cassian knew she wasn’t asking about the food. “For now.” 

“Mhmm.” She motioned for someone to start clearing their plates before abruptly pushing back her chair. “Come with me.”

He didn’t hesitate before following her to the winding staircase that would take them to the residential wing. He knew the palace well enough, what with all the time Rhys had spent here over the centuries, but who knew what Nesta would allow him to do inside it. Everything was up to her now, and Cassian knew he would do well to remember that. 

“You can sleep wherever you like,” she told them once they reached the first floor of the residential wing. “Elain and Lucien picked their own chambers. I trust you can do the same.”

“Where are you sleeping?” he blurted out, immediately regretting it from the blank stare she leveled at him. “Sorry. I was just… curious.”

“My chambers are the room at the top of the stairs,” she answered after a few moments. “The room with the domed ceiling? At the top of the western spire?”

Cassian wasn’t particularly surprised she’d chosen a room so far away from Rhys’ corner of the palace. It wasn’t anywhere near the room he usually stayed in when he’d stayed here in the past, but they’d stayed here so rarely that he wasn’t particularly attached to his usual chambers. “Is it alright if I pick something on the floor below you?”

“I won’t stop you,” Nesta replied with a half-shrug. 

“Thank you,” he answered gratefully. Back at the House, he didn’t think she’d ever been given a choice about who would know more about her just by virtue of where they laid their heads at night, and even if it was a small decision, he still wanted to give her the option. “Can I walk you to your room?”

He didn’t think he was imagining the tiny smile playing at her lips, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. She’d given him so much more in this one day than he’d ever dreamed of, and he would be grateful for whatever scraps she decided to toss his way. “If you like.”

“I would,” he told her before he could stop himself. This time, he didn’t have to question whether he’d imagined her reaction; she rolled her eyes dramatically and he didn’t bother to hide his smile. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I know,” she said simply. “I appreciate that.”

They walked mostly in silence up the next few flights of stairs, Cassian more than content with guarding her back even if he didn’t expect any danger to come flying out at them. He let his mind wander as they kept moving, wondering whether his disappearance had been noticed yet or if his family had assumed otherwise. 

Would Rhys and Feyre be trying to reach his mind, or would they think the worst when they couldn’t access his thoughts like they’d always been able to? Cassian knew how much it bothered Rhys in particular that Nesta’s mind was suddenly off-limits to him, and he idly wondered if Rhys would be as pissed about that sudden shift in Cassian’s mind as he’d been about Nesta’s. Even Cassian couldn’t quite explain why Rhys and Feyre couldn’t read Nesta’s thoughts anymore, but he’d never been a strong student in magical theory. Maybe all those spirits were doing more than watching over her physically.

Cassian brushed aside his musings once he realized they’d reached the doors to Nesta’s chambers. The arched doors were painted a pretty, shimmering silver that reminded him of the gray dresses she favored in Velaris, but whatever was behind them remained a secret to him for now.  

“Good night, Cassian,” Nesta told him. With a wave of her hand, a few ghostly armed guards appeared at the outer door of her chambers, and Cassian thought he recognized one of them from the throne room. It was hard to tell because his form was so transparent, but he would’ve bet money that the male was smirking at Cassian. 

“Good night, Your Grace,” Cassian replied, ignoring the ghost who was probably making fun of him in favor of looking back over at Nesta. He bowed his head at her before turning around and beginning his walk downstairs, already planning on how best to move his meager belongings to his new room. He hasn’t been in the moonstone palace in decades, not since before Amarantha, so he didn’t think it would take long. 

He didn’t come across anyone but the occasional servant as he made a few trips between his old and new chambers, and he sighed once he closed the door behind him for the last time. His new chambers weren’t directly below Nesta’s — he didn’t want her to think he was trying to invade her privacy — but rather one floor down and across the hall. He’d mostly chosen it for his proximity to her, but he thoroughly enjoyed the sunken pool in his bathroom that was large enough for him to spread out without scraping his feet against the tiled walls. 

“Home sweet home,” he muttered as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked the same as always, but he took a few steps closer to investigate the new color of his chest siphon. The shiny surface stood out against the flat texture of his leathers, and it was almost jarring to see the dark stone in the center instead of the bright red he was used to. His other siphons remained their usual ruby, and he wondered whether Nesta would do something to change them too, or if she were content with only one of his siphons being black.

Cassian took a deep breath before pulling at his own magic, not sure whether the changed siphon would be able to channel his killing power the way the others would. As he conjured up a simple shield, he was shocked at just how much magic surged to meet his call. He’d been alive for over five centuries, and he’d been honing his powers all that time. He hadn’t felt an uncontrollable rush like that since he was a youngling holding a siphon for the first time, and deep in his bones he knew whatever Nesta had done to his siphon was responsible. 

Even more surprising was the strange, dark tint to his magic. Illyrian siphons came in standard colors — red, blue, and green — and their magic expressed itself in whatever color matched their siphons. Whatever he conjured up was usually a bright red to match his siphons, but the color of his shield looked darker, like his new siphon had bled into the magic somehow. 

Not sure what any of it meant, Cassian dropped his shield and leaned closer to the mirror to investigate the way his chest siphon was glowing. Instead of the all-black color that he’d been expecting, his siphon was glowing a deep, dark red from within, only the outer edges of his siphon remaining purely black. It almost reminded him of some of the garnets he’d seen members of Thesan’s court wearing, though his siphon’s red glow was much darker than the gleaming pink jewels set into their finery.

He didn’t know what to make of it , so he just decided he needed to go to bed. He’d work it out in the light of day. 

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The next morning, Cassian freshened up and dressed before making his way downstairs. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone other than Nesta, so he startled slightly at the sight of Elain and Lucien enjoying their own meal at the table. 

Elain looked lovely as always in a light gray gown, but she didn’t look particularly surprised to see him. Lucien, on the other hand, snorted as he watched the array of emotions Cassian was experiencing play out on his face. 

“So,” Lucien said, a knowing look in his eye. “You came.”

“I came,” Cassian agreed. He took the seat next to Lucien rather than take his chances with Elain. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

“The only problem is how long it took you to come to your senses,” Elain replied with a roll of her eyes. “I mean, honestly. ”

“We can’t all see the future like you,” Cassian told her good-naturedly. Everyone knew how much Nesta loved Elain, and he needed to get back into her good graces if he ever had any hope of doing the same for Nesta. “I had to get here on my own terms.”

“Sorry for blasting you that one day,” Lucien offered up after a few moments. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Cassian shrugged. “You had to do what you had to do, and I respect that. But you’ll never get a chance like that again.”

“Oh, is that right?” Lucien asked, his russet eye lighting up with challenge. “I’m always ready to prove you wrong, Cassian.”

Any retort on Cassian’s tongue died at the sight of Nesta walking into the dining room, a flurry of activity following her. She looked unbelievably stunning in a dark blue gown , the silver accents pairing well with her shimmering, silver halo crown and matching earrings. Cassian was particularly a fan of the way the dress brought out her eyes, and of the way the fabric floating around her arms like a cape made her look even more regal. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Cassian replied. He had to fight not to jump to his feet and immediately begin offering help, knowing that she wouldn’t want that kind of production, especially not in front of the others. 

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” Nesta asked, turning toward Elain and Lucien. She didn’t take the chair at the head of the table, instead opting to sit next to her sister and directly across from Cassian.

“No, but I’m starving,” Elain replied. She made a happy little noise as the servants started bringing out food, immediately going for one of the freshly baked loaves of bread. “Mhmm. I love being royalty.”

Everyone contented themselves with eating quietly after that. Cassian filled up his plate with a variety of foods, pleased to see Nesta doing the same, and tried to hide how obviously he was watching her. He wasn’t the only one watching someone – Lucien was also tracking Elain’s movements, his eyes lingering on the way she was holding her fork in her hands. They shared a commiserating look before turning back to their own plates; Cassian supposed they both knew what it was like to want something so close yet so out of reach at the same time.

The moment Nesta was done with her food, a pretty, dark-skinned female came to whisper something in Nesta’s ear. “I see. Thank you, Eislyn.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Eislyn said. She curtsied before leaving for whatever duties she’d been taking care of before coming to deliver her message, her dark skirts swishing behind her as she walked.

Nesta stared at the three of them at the table before standing and looking at Cassian. “Come with me, Cassian.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, damn near tripping over himself to follow her. Elain didn’t bother to hide her snicker, but he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it. Everyone knew how badly he wanted Nesta, and he wasn’t going to be ashamed of showing proof of that. Wherever she led, he would follow.

“I have an… unexpected visitor,” Nesta said as they walked out of the dining room. “I don’t need you to participate in the conversation, but it would make me feel better if you were there.”

“Of course,” Cassian replied. He was thankful he’d decided to put on another one of his nicer leathers today, the feeling of his blade strapped to his back helping to make him feel better about whatever they were about to walk into. “Whatever you need, Your Grace.”

He didn’t startle as she grabbed his arm and winnowed them down into the Court of Nightmares, but he almost made a shocked sound as he appeared right next to one of the spirits she’d summoned. His entire left side went ice cold before he could make himself move out of the way in time, and he could feel the annoyance radiating off the ghostly male in waves.

“Calm yourself, Aeron,” Nesta said to the spirit. He instantly settled, but it didn’t make Cassian feel any less disturbed about what had just happened. “Sorry. I forget that they don’t feel the same for other people.”

“It’s alright,” Cassian replied. He wanted to know what they felt like to her, but she set off at such a quick pace that he didn’t think this was the time to have that conversation. “Who are we meeting?”

“You’ll see,” she told him cryptically.

Cassian resigned himself to be surprised, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to see Eris Vanserra waiting for them in one of the nicer studies. As loathe as Cassian was to admit it, Eris looked immaculately put-together as always, and it made him want to hit him just to mess up that perfectly put-together ensemble.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Eris drawled once he noticed them. 

In response, Cassian drew his blade and immediately pointed it at Eris. “Permission to strike, Nes— Your Grace?”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though he could tell by the slight curve of her lips she was more amused than annoyed with him. “No. And put that thing away before you take out someone’s eye with it.”

“Yes, Cassian,” Eris repeated, a mocking grin on his pale face. Cassian wanted to smack it off. “Put that thing away.”

“Address him properly or we can meet another day,” Nesta snapped before Cassian even got a chance to open his mouth. 

“Your wish is my command, Your Grace,” Eris practically purred. He turned to look at Cassian and inclined his head the barest amount, just enough that it wouldn’t raise Nesta’s hackles any further but not so much as to show he actually respected Cassian. “My sincerest apologies, my lord.”

“Whatever, Eris.” Cassian grit his teeth as he put his sword away, the blade finding its home in the sheath strapped to his back. “What is he doing here?”

“Lord Vanserra is an ally,” Nesta told him slowly. She narrowed her eyes in warning as she looked at both of them. “I don’t care if you don’t like each other, I don’t care whatever shared history you have, and I certainly don’t care about the pissing contest you’ve engaged in over the centuries. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison. 

“Wonderful.” Nesta showed off some of her magic and pulled out the chair at the head of the table for herself, motioning for both of them to sit down with her. Cassian was quick to claim the seat at her right, and ignored the snort Eris let out as he took the seat at her left. “Well?”

“I wanted to thank you for upholding your end of our agreement,” Eris answered smoothly. “I trust my brother is settling in well?”

“Yes,” Nesta responded. “He’s a pleasure to have at court, and he’s spending time with my sister. I haven’t told him about our agreement, but that will change soon.”

Eris nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“And what news do you have for me?” Nesta followed up. “Your letter sounded… urgent.”

A large part of Cassian hated the fact that Eris was writing Nesta letters, but he forced himself to stay quiet. He wouldn’t embarrass himself — or Nesta — like that, especially not so soon after she’d allowed him the chance to be at her side. 

“My father has been meeting with the human queens,” Eris told her. “The one who turned old after she went into the Cauldron — Briallyn, I think it was? She wants your head on a spike.”

Cassian tensed beside her, setting his jaw so fiercely it was a miracle he didn’t crack a tooth right there. Nesta shot him a quelling look before replying. “She wouldn’t be the first, and she certainly won’t be the last. Is Beron entertaining her?”

“I’m not sure he’s taking her very seriously, but the fact that he’s meeting with her at all is concerning,” Eris replied. “I can do my best to dissuade him, though. For a price.”

“Name it,” Nesta said with a shrug. Cassian couldn’t help but admire how easily she could play the game; he knew he’d be tripping over his words if he were in her shoes. He was no courtier, but he’d seen enough over the centuries to recognize one right in front of him.

“Your hand in marriage would suffice,” Eris told her cheekily. 

Nesta scoffed, utterly ignoring the way Cassian had gone rigid in his seat. So much for enjoying the back and forth, he thought bitterly. “I didn’t take you for a jester.”

“I’m not,” Eris replied with a salacious grin. He kept up the act for a few moments before leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “If you won’t have me as your consort, I suppose I have another offer in mind.”

“By all means,” Nesta responded, motioning for him to continue. Cassian did his best to hide his relief, but he knew Eris caught the expression from the way those amber eyes flicked toward him for a moment.

“I need you to provide safe haven for a member of my court,” Eris told her once he’d returned his attention back to her. “When my… plans come to fruition, I would feel a lot better knowing she was safe here.”

“I see.” Nesta leaned back in her chair to match Eris. “That can be arranged, especially if she can winnow right to the palace. It wouldn’t be a hardship to hide her presence there.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Eris quickly confirmed. “Thank you. Truly.”

The meeting didn’t take much longer to finish after that, and once Eris winnowed back to Autumn, Cassian could release the sigh he’d been holding in for the last quarter of an hour. 

“Surely it wasn’t that bad,” Nesta commented once they were alone.

“No,” Cassian admitted. “I just don’t like him much.”

“I know,” she replied. “But he’s one of the only allies I – we – have at the moment, so you’ll have to make your peace with it.”

“I will,” he promised. “At least, I’ll do my best.”

She just smiled one of those little smiles she liked so much, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the sight of it. “That’s the best I can ask for, I suppose.”

Nesta swept her way out of the room, and they fell into a comfortable silence as Cassian accompanied her to her next destination. The Hewn City was alive in a way he’d never seen it before, all sorts of fae bustling around the hollowed-out mountain, and he forced himself to keep his eyes on Nesta instead of swiveling around like an untrained youth.

“Does Lucien know?” Cassian asked after a few minutes.

“Not yet,” Nesta answered, a disappointed tilt to her mouth. “I’m weighing the best way to let him know.”

“I could do it,” he offered. He doubted she would actually take him up on his offer, but out of the two of them, he’d known the Vanserras for much longer. “If you wanted me to, of course.”

“That’s alright,” she told him. The disappointed tilt of her mouth had been replaced with a much more amused one. “Lucien understands the games we’ve had to play better than most.”

They went their separate ways after that, Nesta to a meeting with some of the scholars and Cassian back to the moonstone palace, but the next time he saw Lucien, the other male had a resigned air about him.

“She told you?” Cassian asked, sliding into one of the comfortable armchairs near Lucien. They were lounging in one of the sitting rooms, sunset painting the room orange and pink, and it made Lucien’s hair glow like fire against the light-colored fabric.

“What gave it away?” Lucien replied sarcastically. He sighed and sat up, adjusting his jacket to be more comfortable. “I understand why she did it, but… that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“That’s been the story of my life, lately,” Cassian responded. He’d never spent much time with Lucien alone before, but he supposed if they were to make up Nesta’s new inner circle he should start getting comfortable. “For what it’s worth, I think he does care about you. In his twisted way.”

Lucien heaved another sigh. “It’s not worth much, but it’s something. And I suppose we’re in the business of taking what we can get these days, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Cassian said quietly, thinking of Nesta’s tiny smiles and fleeting expressions. “I suppose we are.”

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Over the next fortnight, Cassian found himself settling into his new routine with remarkable ease. After those first few days of Nesta testing him, seeing how he felt about actually being here, it seemed she’d decided to allow him further into her own inner circle. He usually spent his days with the Darkbringers, learning their training regimens and giving his own feedback to the men, and though it made him almost miss Windhaven, it was nice to have a new challenge. Nesta was more than happy to leave him to his own devices on those days, and he even got a true smile when he told her his plans to train the females of the Hewn City in self-defense if they were open to the idea.

It was remarkable what a difference Nesta had made here after only a few weeks. He couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the Court would look like if Rhys had allowed them to make changes lightning-quick instead of forcing them all to wait. How much suffering could they have stopped if not for their High Lord? How different would things be for those cast aside in Illyria? Would their females finally be able to taste the skies as they deserved? Would their bastards finally be able to come in from the cold? 

Cassian shifted on his feet outside of Nesta’s bedroom in response to the turn his thoughts had taken, unable to settle into his focused state with his usual ease. He’d stood guard outside of important officials’ rooms countless times over, but for whatever reason, standing guard for Nesta made him antsy in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d long gotten used to the ghostly guards that kept watch beside him, so he knew it wasn’t that; even if he couldn’t communicate with the dead the same way Nesta could, her magic put him at ease in a way no one else’s ever could. 

He’d taken to standing guard over her chambers in the moonstone palace over the last few days, the ghostly guards allowing him to stand watch at the second set of doors directly outside of her bedroom rather than at the thick set of doors marking her wing of the palace. She hadn’t asked him to watch over her like this, but when he couldn’t sleep, it made him feel better to know he was at least being useful. Bargain aside, nothing brought him comfort like knowing she was safe under his watch. He knew she knew he was out there — they could feel each other through that connection they never talked about — but she hadn’t told him to stop, so here he was. 

They both knew she was more than capable of protecting herself these days, but that didn’t mean she should have to. Not while he was around, anyway.

“Cassian?” Nesta called, the sudden sound of his name sending a jolt of surprise through him. He reached for his Illyrian blade out of habit before he realized she didn’t sound scared. 

“Yes, Your Grace?” Cassian replied through the thick, gleaming door that separated them. He’d assumed she was going to bed from the sounds of her running a bath earlier, but maybe she needed him to do something before she went to sleep. 

“Could you help me with something?” she asked. 

If she needed him, he would be there without question. “Yes, my lady. I’m coming in now.”

Cassian turned the handle and froze at the sight before him, all the blood in his body suddenly rushing right to his cock. Nesta was propped up against her many pillows, her black robe open to reveal a mouthwatering amount of skin, with one hand idly circling a raised, pink nipple while the other dipped between her spread legs. His wings flared as the smell of her arousal slammed into him, but even if his nose hadn’t been working it was impossible to miss how utterly soaked she was. Every fiber of his being was demanding that he should be the one wringing pleasure out of her, but he wouldn’t fuck this up by giving into his instincts no matter how loudly they were screaming at him. 

“Close the door, Commander,” Nesta ordered, her lips tilted upwards in amusement. Cassian forced himself to turn away from her long enough to close the door behind him. “Good. Take a seat.”

He pulled over the nearest chair and moved it as close as he dared, grateful to take a seat before his legs threatened to give out from under him. He’d never wanted to touch her so badly in his entire life, but she was the one in charge here, so he’d do well to remember that before throwing himself at her. 

“You’ve always liked watching me, haven’t you?” she asked. When he continued to stare at her, utterly dumbfounded at the sight before him, she sighed and added, “Answer me, Cassian.”

“Yes,” he whispered, something hot twisting inside him at the admission. Some days, he’d barely managed to tear his gaze away from her. “You’ve always had my attention, Nesta. You know that.”

“I do.” Nesta’s smile turned sharp as she plunged one finger inside herself, then two. “Did you enjoy watching me all those nights in Velaris?”

“I…” Cassian trailed off, speech completely abandoning him at the sight of her fingers moving in and out. His cock was so hard in his pants that it physically ached, but he didn’t dare touch himself without her permission. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Nesta tsked her disapproval. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’m sorry.” He forced himself to string a coherent sentence together, hoping it would be enough to appease her. “I never watched you fuck any of those males.”

“Just listened, then?” she asked, her tone turning slightly mocking. His face burned at the way she was looking at him, like she knew just how many times he’d touched himself to the sounds of her moans at another male’s hands, but that somehow only added to how turned on he was. “I suppose this is an — mhmm, fuck — upgrade for you then, isn’t it?”

Cassian dug his hands into his thighs at the practically obscene sight before him, desperate to keep himself in check at the sounds of Nesta’s pleasure. She threw her head back, closing her eyes briefly as her lips parted on a moan, and rolled her nipple between her fingers while she thrusted her hips.

“Gods, look at you,” Nesta continued, a breathless little chuckle escaping her as she opened her eyes to focus on him. “You’d give anything to touch me right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything,” Cassian agreed without hesitation. He shifted in his seat in an attempt to make his cock settle more comfortably between his legs, but it was pointless. “Nesta, please. Please.”

“You beg so nicely,” she replied. She stopped fingering herself so she could spread her arousal around her clit, moaning as she pressed her fingers to the pink bundle of nerves. “Please what, Cassian?”

Cassian’s head swam at the sheer number of things he wanted to ask for. Please let me touch you. Please let me taste you. Please let me fuck you. “Can I please touch you?”

“Do you really think you’ve earned that?” she swiftly rebuked him with an unimpressed look. “Ask me for something reasonable, Cassian. I’m sure even you can manage that.”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he practically begged, too keyed up to want to guess wrong again. 

“There’s a good boy,” she said. He warmed at the praise, at the knowledge that he’d finally managed to do something right. “Take out your cock.”

Cassian had never moved faster in his life. He pulled down his pants and underwear, his cock bobbing in the air, and sighed in relief once he was finally free. “Thank you.”

“So well-mannered,” Nesta purred. Her gaze on him was hot, and he fought not to squirm under her inspection. “And such a handsome cock. Maybe one day I’ll let you use it, hmm?”

“Yes, please,” he groaned, nearly overwhelmed with all the things he wanted her to do to him. Would she grip him tightly, just on the edge of pain like he liked it, or would she tease him and keep her grip light and slow? Would she sink down on him and use him to wring out her own pleasure, or would she order him to take his time, to make sure they both enjoyed it?

Cassian didn’t know, but he wouldn’t let himself get lost in his fantasies when the real Nesta was right here in front of him. 

“Go on,” she told him. “Touch yourself.”

“Thank you,” he replied, groaning at the first pump of his hand. He was so turned on from watching her — and from the way that gray-blue gaze was now returning the favor — that it didn’t take long to spread evidence of his own arousal onto his cock. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” she responded, amused again. “You’re not allowed to come until after I do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he panted. He forced himself to slow down, hoping that she wouldn’t make him wait too long before allowing him to chase his own pleasure. 

Nesta thankfully didn’t waste any more time once she knew her command had been understood. If Cassian thought this was easily the sexiest thing he’d ever witnessed before, she seemed determined to turn this into a near-religious experience for him. He had to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from coming too quickly as he watched her tilt her head back, her eyes fluttering shut as she arched into her own hands with a loud moan. 

His entire world narrowed to the way she touched herself, committing every detail to memory in case he was ever fortunate enough to need it. As she chased her own pleasure, he couldn’t help but think that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, from the way she grabbed at her breast to the furious circles she rubbed into her clit. And that wasn’t even getting into the sounds — the breathy moans and the muttered curses all blended into a filthy symphony, one that he could only dream that he’d be allowed to witness again up close.

“Oh, fuck, ” Nesta moaned loudly, bucking desperately into her hands. Cassian had to dig the nails on his free hand into his thigh to distract himself from how badly he wanted to touch himself to this. “ Fuck, Cassian, I’m—”

Nesta damn near shrieked as she finally came, and Cassian nearly bit through his lip at the sight of it. She wrung every drop of pleasure out of her orgasm that she could, continuing to thrust up into her hand for a few moments until she finally relaxed back onto the bed with a happy sigh, chest heaving as she caught her breath. 

“Go on, then,” Nesta prompted once she’d finished riding out the aftershocks. “I want to watch.”

Cassian groaned as he moved his hand, finally giving in to the almost-painful arousal he’d somehow kept a lid on. He’d been on edge for so long that it barely took a minute for him to crest over it, the strength of his orgasm so powerful that he would’ve fallen over had he not already been sitting down. His head lolled back against the chair and he closed his eyes, continuing to pump his cock until he was completely drained. 

When he came back to his senses, she’d pulled her robe around her enough to cover most of her upper body, but the silk had been rucked up so high that she was still showing a not-insignificant amount of creamy thigh. 

He took a quick moment to pull his own clothes back on, head spinning at the enormity of what they’d just done. How the fuck was he supposed to act now that he know what was underneath all the tulle and silk and lace that she usually wore? How did she expect him to behave when he’d practically been converted to a new religion?

“Good night, Commander,” Nesta said sweetly, interrupting Cassian’s train of thought. She tilted her head toward the door in clear dismissal. “Be a good boy and close the door behind you.”

Cassian somehow managed to get to his feet, follow her command, and make it back to his own chambers down the hall in one piece. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had just happened, but as he took a short bath and dressed for bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about the shape of his name on Nesta’s lips. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

When Cassian woke up the next morning, he allowed himself a few moments to bask in what had happened last night. Never in his wildest fantasies had he thought Nesta would bare herself to him like that, let alone that he’d thought he would enjoy being ordered around so much. He’d given commands for so long that it was strange to be on the other side of it, but coming from her it felt… right.  

Eventually his stomach growled at him, so he forced himself to get out of bed and head toward the bath. No one had summoned him yet, so he took his time washing, enjoying the heat of the water on his skin. The room had long been charmed long ago to dry him off quickly, so he didn’t have to worry about drying the water off his wings like he might’ve elsewhere, and he found himself humming under his breath as he got dressed.

Unfortunately, Cassian’s good mood quickly evaporated once he came back into his bedroom and saw there was a letter waiting for him on one of the nightstands. He reached for it, hesitating only for a moment when he recognized the official Night Court seal holding the envelope closed.

Cassian, Rhys had written. 

I’ve been trying to reach your mind since you left — Feyre too, but to no avail. You’ve never been hard to reach like this, and it’s not like you to disappear without telling someone first. We’re your family, and vanishing without a trace isn’t what you do to your family. Mor has been beside herself with worry, and Feyre and I have hardly slept since you’ve been gone.

I’m sure you went to the Hewn City with only the best of intentions, but this silence from you is concerning at best. I can only pray to the Mother that you’re well, but there’s no telling what Nesta has done to you in these weeks we’ve been apart. Spiriting away the Lord Commander of Illyria is a high crime, and if she’s done anything further to you, she will answer for it.

I didn’t want it to come to this, but she’s left me no choice. I’ve turned a blind eye as long as I’ve been able, and if I don’t hear from you, I’ll be forced to take more extreme measures to ensure your safety. 

Rhys

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @houseofcalores | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

[kataraavatara]

dare I dip my toes into acotar fandom discourse….

[silverflameataraxia]

Feyre says that very few people like Nesta. Mor says that she's a wicked monster who would thrive in the CoN, and doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt. Cassian says that everyone hates her.

Meanwhile, Nesta is out here making friends like nobody's business: Gwyn, Emerie, the Valkyries, Clotho (really it feels like Nesta's befriended all the priestesses except Merrill), Bryce, Ember, Randall.

And then, of course, there's Eris, who wants to marry her after only three dances.

The IC are really the only ones who can't see how amazing Nesta is.

[sunnybyler]

i know the acosf court of nightmares scene has already been analyzed to death but something i don’t see mentioned quite enough is the fact that elain is mentioned to be wearing pearls in this scene — which lucien gifts her that same solstice. the very same scene where it goes in depth on how much black, the color of the night court, sucks the life out of her. its so clearly a subtle way to show how lucien sees her even when she’s drowning and hidden in the night court and i just love the symbolism of this scene so much <3

[elleybug]

Keres Vanserra (from here ) and her intended, A Darkbringer lord from the Court of Nightmare.

[i-only-see-daylight]

Feyre: What are you in the mood for? 

Rhysand: World domination. 

Feyre: That's a bit ambitious. 

Rhysand: You are my world. 

Feyre: Aww... 

[long pause]

Feyre: OH.

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 

 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

[grayoil]

Some sketches of a head canon I have about what they look like during the first Highburn war.

The High Lord and his new Shadowsinger

[witheverynesta]

Imagine you're in the CoN and your high lord & lady visit and you have to watch her sit on his lap as he fingers her while knowing you will forever be trapped under a dark mountain with no way to feel the sun on your face or grass under your foot or hear the birds chirping with the knowledge that your steward is an evil man and that your high lord's rich little circle has never made an effort to change things for the better or realize that there are other "dreamers" here and your only hope of any change is a woman whose personality is wearing red and who can't stop thinking about herself but she also absolutely hates your guts for no reason other than the fact that you were born in the Hewn City and who hasn't faced or gotten over her trauma in the 500+ miserable years of her existence.

[dippedinmelancholy]

the real question is why Rhysand and co makes the court of nightmares live under a mountain and expects them to be vaguely fucking normal. Would you be normal if you'd never seen the sun? a blooming flower? felt fresh air? Or would you be batshit insane and violent after seeing nothing but stone, stale air, and the same fucking people you've seen all your life??????? Idc if people hate me for it, I'm a CoN sympathizer. These people are fucking victims repeating the cycle trying to survive an entire world that hates them, a leader that will never stand for them or protect them. If Nesta had been sent there like Mor wanted her too, she only would have hated Rhysand more after seeing the abuse.

[ennawrite]

Rhysand with the citizens of Hewn City & the Illyrian camps

[moodymelanist]

Where The Light Won't Find You Chapter Six

Happy New Year, everyone! I'm super excited to be coming back to this story and I hope you are too. The feedback has been so wonderful so far, and that makes me even more inspired to write it. I have the next chapter mostly done, so hopefully that will be coming next week! Until then, please enjoy :-)

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Cassian

Cassian was rooted to the spot for a few long moments before he came back to his senses. Lucien was long gone, and his family would be demanding answers soon. He needed to come up with something plausible, because explaining he’d had a feeling wouldn’t be sufficient justification for letting Lucien escape. 

Just in case, he performed a quick search of Nesta’s old apartment. Other than whatever Lucien had done, the apartment seemed to be undisturbed, but it was just as decrepit as ever. Cassian didn’t think he’d ever understand how she’d ever been able to stomach living here — she deserved palaces and estates, not a place that only got hot water on a good day. 

Cassian took one last look around and sighed heavily before leaving. He slowly began making his way to the river house, having decided to walk instead of fly so he’d have more time to clear his head. Lucien’s words had struck him right to the core, and he couldn’t show up to face his family like that. 

The last thing he needed was Rhys to see right through him without listening to a single thought. 

Cassian just couldn’t get over how Lucien had known every button to press, every shoved-down feeling to drag back up to the surface kicking and screaming. Now that he was gone, Cassian would readily admit that Lucien had been right — Cassian truly didn’t know how he’d been able to stand it. He knew that his family was going to count this against Nesta, even though Lucien hadn’t even really confirmed if he’d taken Elain, let alone why. 

You’d really risk her life? he’d asked Cassian. You know what they’ll do to her.

The worst part was that Cassian knew exactly what they wanted to do. Mor had already been talking about acts of aggression and war, and that was before Cassian had let Lucien slip through his fingers. If Lucien’s allegiances had changed, it would only be a matter of time before Rhys decided to take matters into his own hands. Rhys had been the one to pressure Feyre into intervening with Nesta’s life in the first place, and he’d probably do the same when he decided enough was enough. 

Nesta was powerful, yes, but she’d barely trained her magic while she’d been in Velaris. How could she be a match for Rhys, who’d had centuries to hone his skills? Against someone like Azriel, who had mastered hiding in the shadows in wait? Hell, even Mor could strike Nesta down with a well-timed blow — could all the raw power in the world really keep Nesta alive if his family decided to strike?

At that gods-awful thought, Cassian had to stop and lean against the nearest building to force himself to breathe. His chest was so tight that it was a miracle he could get in any air at all, and his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely take in his surroundings. The idea of Nesta being struck down was so repulsive to him, so gut-wrenchingly wrong, that his body couldn’t physically handle it. How could he be expected to stand by and allow them to do that to her? Just thinking about all the awful things that could happen to her made him desperate to throw himself in front of her, to protect her with his own flesh and blood when nothing else could. 

Eventually, he managed to catch his breath and calm himself enough to start walking toward the river house again. If nothing else, he needed to be there as the voice of reason, to hopefully keep his family in check so he could keep Nesta as safe as he could. 

When Cassian arrived at the house, he realized he was the last person to come back. Everyone was already assembled in the study to wait for him, and he refused to falter under the weight of all those combined gazes. “Sorry for being late to the party.”

“I guess you saw Lucien,” Rhys said once he noticed the state of Cassian’s shirt. “What happened?”

“He got away,” Cassian answered, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lied to his family, especially over something this serious, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to justify why he’d let Lucien go. If he wanted to keep Nesta as safe as he could, this was the best course of action. “He blasted me and winnowed out before I could stop him.”

His brother’s violet eyes lingered on him for a moment before he nodded. “He’s not called the fox for nothing.”

“He had to have known we’d be looking for him,” Feyre said with a disappointed shake of her head. “Did he say anything to you before he attacked you?”

Cassian supposed he could mix in some truths to his answers. “He wouldn’t give me a straight answer about whether he’d taken Elain, but I didn’t notice her scent on him.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved,” Mor pointed out. “Where did you end up seeing him?”

“Outside Nesta’s old apartment building, actually,” he answered without looking at her. “I don’t know what he took, but he had something in his hands when I got there.”

“She could’ve sent him to retrieve something for her,” Azriel suggested quietly. “We just packed the obvious things when we moved her — clothes, shoes, books that she left out. She easily could’ve hidden something that we missed.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments before Feyre broke it. “So… what should we do now?”

“We don’t know what she’s planning,” Azriel answered, his voice still deathly soft. “It would be premature to move before we know what her end goal is.”

“She killed my father and slaughtered all his advisors,” Mor snapped. “She stole my birthright. What else do we need to wait for?”

“I’m sure Azriel is just as aware of that as the rest of us,”  Feyre intervened, pinning Mor with a warning look. “We just don’t want to be too hasty. Or make any unnecessary mistakes.”

“You’re right,” Mor replied. She made a show of calming down, pasting a sunny smile over her features in a poor attempt to hide the anger simmering underneath. “What do you have in mind, then?”

“I think we should try to reason with her before we jump to answering with aggression,” Feyre responded diplomatically. “I know she’s done some terrible things, and I know you want retribution. But I don’t want to jump to violence if we don’t have to.”

“And if she doesn’t give up this farce?” Mor pressed. “What then, Feyre? Maybe you’re fine with turning a blind eye, but I won’t stand—”

“Morrigan,” Rhys thundered, night-kissed power leaking from him as he rounded on his cousin. “That is enough. I won’t let you disrespect my mate in my presence. Do you understand me?”

Brown met violet in a tense staredown, and Cassian watched with bated breath for Mor to stand down. Like he knew she would, she blinked first and apologized for her behavior, and Feyre nodded tightly before accepting it. 

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before a strange expression flitted over Rhys, Feyre, Mor, and Amren’s faces. Azriel’s shadows darkened around him a split second later, and even Cassian’s siphons rumbled in response to whatever they were all reacting to. 

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked, frowning. He hadn’t felt something like that since Hybern attacked the city, and he prayed to Enalius that they weren’t about to be attacked again.

“Did we all just feel that?” Feyre asked. Her palms erupted into flame before she reeled her power back in, but she wasn’t the only one leaking magic. Mor’s form was shimmering gold, a stark contrast to Rhys’ glittering, dark magic, and even Amren’s eyes were glowing silver. 

“Yes,” Amren replied through gritted teeth. “Someone’s altered the wards.”

“What?” Mor asked, shocked. She summoned a gleaming, golden sword that reminded Cassian of the one she’d wielded in the Hewn City. “Can you sense which ones? Is Velaris in danger?”

Rhys took in a slow breath, his eyes going vacant as he searched for the answer with his magic. “No.”

“Velaris isn’t in danger, girl,” Amren added before Mor could get another word in. “Put that sword away. It’s the moonstone palace.”

Feyre spoke up next once she got her magic under control. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“Nesta’s finally claimed it for herself,” Azriel answered. His shadows were practically bouncing off each other, they were so agitated, but he merely waved a hand and they calmed themselves slightly. “She must have had someone re-key the wards around the palace — likely Lucien. He’s very proficient with them.”

Cassian nearly bit his tongue off trying to hold back surprised laughter. It was like Nesta had plucked the thought right out of his mind and made it happen. Part of him couldn’t help but be proud of her, even though he knew this would only continue to spell disaster.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Mor hissed under her breath. The sword she’d put away at Amren’s insistence thankfully didn’t make another appearance, but even Cassian could tell how badly she wanted to summon it again. “My birthright wasn’t enough for that greedy, conniving little bitch—”

Cassian moved without thought at that word, his wings flaring wide as he stalked toward Mor. Any amusement he’d felt at the situation had been rapidly replaced by anger burning so hot inside his veins it was a miracle his hands weren’t shaking. “Don’t you ever insult her like that again.”

“She doesn’t want you, Cassian,” Mor sneered, refusing to be cowed by the way he towered over her. “She’s not going to fuck you because you defended her nonexistent honor.”

“Take a walk,” Azriel interrupted before Cassian could get another word in, using his shadows to shove Cassian back a few steps. “Now, Cassian.”

“I’m not going anywhere until she apologizes,” Cassian snapped, his patience dangerously thin. His own magic shoved back at Azriel’s shadows, the darkness mixing with his red to produce a color that reminded him of dried blood. “This whole situation is her fucking fault and she knows it—”

“I never made her do any of this,” Mor snapped back. “I thought she’d come back a little humbled, not go on a fucking killing spree and usurp the throne!”

“You thought she needed to be humbled?” Cassian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d lost the ability to be surprised about Mor whenever Nesta was the topic of conversation, but she still managed to disappoint him all the same. “You honestly thought a twenty-five-year-old female needed to be humbled so badly that you’d willingly send her to the people who abused you? Are you hearing yourself?”

Mor shoved at him with her magic, but he refused to be moved by the golden blast. “She asked me to take her!” 

“And you shouldn’t have listened to her!” Cassian yelled. 

“And done what instead?” Mor sneered. “Gone to you? What part of she doesn’t want you is so hard to understand?”

“Hey!” Feyre roared, effectively ending the conversation. “That is enough. Both of you, get the fuck out. This meeting is adjourned until you both cool off.”

Mor’s eyes slid toward Rhys for confirmation, which only served to make the atmosphere in the room even tenser. 

“Your High Lady gave you an order,” Rhys answered the unasked question, sliding his hands into his pockets with forced nonchalance. “I suggest you both follow it before one of us makes you.”

Cassian didn’t need to be told twice. His blood was roaring so loudly in his ears that he knew it was for the best that he left, but it didn’t stop him from throwing one last glare in Mor’s direction before storming out of the study. 

He was so pissed he barely thought about where he was going, snapping his wings out again and again as he flew as hard and fast as he could. The early autumn air had some bite to it, especially this high up, and he felt every sharp wind like a slap to the face. Flying without conjuring a shield would leave his eyes watering and his body cold, but he didn’t trust himself to call his magic any closer to the surface. 

By the time he made it to the top of one of the mountains surrounding Velaris, he was still spitting mad and more than ready to take it out on something. The air was even colder this high up, but it barely even registered in the face of his rage. He landed hard against the solid earth, the impact jarring his knees, and he yanked his wings in close so they wouldn’t get snagged on any of the nearby trees. 

Cassian barely spared a thought to protect his hands, reaching into one of his pockets to grab his gloves and shoving them on before he hit the nearest tree. He knew it was stupid, that he should’ve gone down to the House and used all the training equipment designed for this very purpose, but he didn’t want to risk running into anyone if he didn’t have to. He knew it wouldn’t stop his family from finding him if they really wanted to, but it felt better to be physically isolated.

The shock of the hit against his hands felt good too, even with how painful it was. His gloves weren’t as thick as they should be for this kind of exercise, and he could already feel the pain from his knuckles as he hit the bark over and over again. With every smack of his hands against the unyielding trunk, he poured more and more of his anger into his hits, his hands protesting every time they connected. 

“Fuck,” Cassian snapped as he continued to pummel whatever was left of the tree in front of him. He knew the trees here had some kind of magic in their roots from how long he’d been coming up here, but for the first time in a long while he wished the enchantment would break just so he could snap something for real. What was wrong with him? Letting Lucien get away, lying to his family — he knew something was off, but he didn’t know how to explain it. 

He knew the answer even though he didn’t want to admit it. Nesta was what was wrong with him, and between Lucien’s words and Mor’s insults, he could hardly bear to think about what it meant that they could rile him up so quickly at the mere mention of her name. 

He didn’t want to think about it, so he just kept hitting. 

Eventually, he stopped punching and just stood there breathing heavily. It had started raining, and he realized he was soaked and shivering from the chill of the unexpected storm. The next sense to come back was the pain in his hands; once he’d stopped punching, it was easy to notice how the dull pain had turned into sharp throbbing. 

Cassian cursed at the sight of his knuckles once he pulled the gloves off, bloody and bruised in a way they hadn’t been in months. Even the sudden rain wouldn’t be enough to wash away all the blood, and he might have to go see Madja if he’d fucked up his hands as badly as he suspected. 

What was it about Nesta that made him want to be so violent? He would tear the world apart for her, let everything burn just to bring her warmth, even when he knew she wouldn’t even look his way. He would lie for her, steal for her, demand retribution for her — even kill for her if she asked him to. Even if she didn’t ask him to. He didn’t want to know what he would do the next time someone insulted her in his presence, family ties or not. It was pure instinct to defend her in a way he’d only felt for her and only her. 

Cassian’s entire body yearned to be by Nesta’s side in a way he’d never felt before. She’d always been close at hand, even when she wanted nothing to do with him, and he’d never had to wonder about her immediate safety the way he did now. Even when she’d been chasing her pleasure in the seediest parts of Velaris, they both knew he’d never been far away if she’d ever truly needed him. 

But now… now, things were so different. If his family decided to strike and Cassian wasn’t there to protect her, he’d never be able to forgive himself. He’d already failed her so many times — too many times — but he couldn’t stand for this. Wouldn’t stand for this, not when her life could truly be in danger. 

“Are you done sulking in the rain like a youngling?” Azriel suddenly asked from behind him. 

Cassian whirled to see his brother standing before him, his siphons creating a blue shield to protect him from the worst of the rain. Once he realized Cassian was drenched in rain himself, Azriel let the magic go and let himself get just as soaked, but he didn’t seem nearly as bothered by it as Cassian did. “Well?”

“I’m not sulking,” Cassian responded, breathing hard. Whatever he’d just done, it had been far too angry to be called that. “I was just blowing off some steam.”

“If you say so.” Azriel’s wings shifted, reflexively shaking off some of the water. “We need to talk about what happened earlier.”

“Do we?” Cassian replied flatly. “You were there. You saw what happened for yourself.”

“Just because I saw what happened doesn’t mean I know why,” Azriel responded coolly. 

Cassian laughed, the sound cold and ugly and without a shred of humor in it. “You know exactly why that happened, Az. Don’t be an idiot.”

Everyone knew, but they’d been dancing around it for weeks. Months and years, really, but none of that mattered when the female in question didn’t seem to notice. 

“I’m not trying to be an idiot,” Azriel told him. “You’ve got that taken care of.”

“I’m not trying to—” Cassian began, but Azriel was faster. 

“You’ve always been a shitty liar, Cassian,” Azriel said, shaking his head. “You’re lucky today went how it did.”

“I’m lucky?” Cassian exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Azriel snapped, his cool exterior giving way to the icy rage that glittered underneath. “Lucien slipping away without much of a fight? You’re lucky Mor made you lose your temper when she did. It was only a matter of time until Feyre or Rhys started asking questions.”

“Who said anything about Lucien getting away without a fight?”

“There isn’t a single defensive wound on you. You don’t need to be a spymaster to come to the likely conclusion.”

“And what conclusion would that be?”

“That whatever he said made you think twice about hurting him, and you decided to let him go instead of doing what you were told.”

Cassian turned away, a muscle in his jaw working as Azriel hit his mark without much effort. “I was never going to hurt him. I just wanted him to tell the truth.”

“If he’d really taken Elain, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to show his face in Velaris without proof of an accepted mating bond,” Azriel replied, a tinge of annoyance coloring his words. “Lucien hasn’t stayed alive this long to start making foolish mistakes now. Someone else is pulling those strings.”

“So you let us run around on a pointless mission because…?” Cassian trailed off. 

Azriel remained silent for a few moments before speaking again, his shadows growing agitated around his hands. “Because I don’t think what they’re doing is right.”

“What do you mean?” Cassian asked. His brother could’ve been referring to a lot of things, but something like hope sparked in Cassian’s chest anyway. 

“It was a mistake to lock Nesta away in the first place,” Azriel eventually answered. “And to punish her for making changes in the Court of Nightmares when no one else bothered to seems… cruel.”

“You don’t think she usurped the throne?” Cassian questioned curiously. He knew how strongly Azriel felt for Mor; he wondered if that held any sway over his brother’s opinions. “That she stole Mor’s birthright?”

“Can she truly call it a birthright when she’s been content with the way things were all these years?” Azriel quietly pushed back. “When we’ve all — Mor and Rhys included — turned a blind eye to the suffering there?”

“Have you spoken to her?” Cassian asked suddenly. He’d had no idea Azriel felt this way and couldn’t help but think about the possible reasons why. “To Nesta?”

Azriel snorted. “Relax, Cassian. I haven’t spoken to her since she was here in Velaris.”

“Oh.” Cassian couldn’t hide the disappointment. He hasn’t spoken to Nesta since he’d seen her that day covered in blood and wearing a crown of bones, and he suddenly ached at the separation. Even if it was only to hurl a well-placed insult his way, he’d grown used to speaking to her every day. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Do you really think speaking to her would make a difference?” Azriel asked after a moment. He took a few steps closer to Cassian and resummoned his blue shield to protect them from the rain once he noticed Cassian shoving his hair out of his face. “Do you think she would even listen to anything you have to say?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian admitted. He knew there was a very real chance Nesta could make good on her threats, but a large part of him hoped he’d have a chance to make things right. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest without at least offering himself up. “But I have to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself if she got hurt and I did nothing. Or worse, if I helped.”

“If you go down there, you won’t be coming back the same way you left,” Azriel replied. “You might not even come back at all. Do you really want to risk that?”

Cassian set his jaw. “Yes. She’s worth it.” 

“I know,” Azriel told him simply. “But I at least had to try and convince you otherwise first.”

“What?” Cassian replied, caught off-guard. “You’re not…?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Azriel cut him off with a look. “You’re my brother. If this is something you have to do, I certainly won’t stand in your way.”

“And if Rhys asks?” Cassian dared to question. He didn’t want to force Azriel into an impossible position, but Nesta’s safety was more important than that. 

“I’ll deal with it,” Azriel answered with a shrug. “He needs me too much to do much, anyway.”

It was true. Shadowsingers were rare in Prythian, and having one in your court was far too valuable to throw away over a potential disagreement. Still, it was no small thing for Azriel to just brush aside, and Cassian hoped Azriel knew just how grateful he was.

“Thank you,” Cassian said emphatically. 

Azriel nodded. “I know you’d do it for me.”

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Azriel made Cassian promise to at least sleep on his decision before they did anything serious about it, and so Cassian found himself flying back to the House of Wind to try and get some rest. He doubted he would get much sleep, but at minimum, he needed to do something so his hands healed right.

Instead of calling for Madja, Cassian decided to go about things the old-fashioned way. He hissed as he ran his hands under some cool water, doing his best to pick any errant pieces of bark out from between his bruised and bloody knuckles, and eventually was able to apply a salve before wrapping them gently. With any luck, the damage would be healed enough tomorrow that he wouldn’t have to walk into Nesta’s court with any visible bandages.

As he wrapped his hands, his mind traveled back to that day on the battlefield where Nesta had been the only one to notice he was injured. Gods, he’d been stupid then. How could he have turned away from her, especially after noticing the hurt look on her face? He’d give anything to go back to that moment and keep holding her hand.

There was nothing to be done about it now, though. He could only keep moving forward and keep praying that she could find it within herself to forgive him rather than put his head on a spike.

The next morning, Cassian found Azriel waiting for him at the dining table. A second, steaming plate of eggs and sausages was waiting across the table, and Cassian dutifully took his seat across from his brother.

“Well?” Azriel said after a few moments.

“I’m still going,” Cassian answered quickly. “It’s… hard being away from her.”

“I’ll take you tonight,” Azriel told him. He fixed Cassian with a flat, serious look before adding, “Assuming you actually manage to keep your head, you’ll owe me a favor.”

“Whatever you need,” Cassian agreed quickly. Owing someone a favor could be dangerous in their line of work, but he trusted Azriel with his life. He wouldn’t lord it over Cassian the way other fae might. “Thank you.”

“Remember your gratitude when I ask you for it,” Azriel replied. His tone didn’t invite a reply. 

Cassian nodded and tucked into his food, though he was suddenly so nervous that he could barely hold down the food. He would be seeing Nesta tonight, and it was all he could do to stay focused on the tasks before him. He wondered how she’d changed the Hewn City, but more importantly, he wanted to know how she’d changed herself. 

The day passed in a blur. Cassian did his best to behave normally as he put the males through their paces in Windhaven, but even Devlon was eyeing him strangely once training was over. Cassian didn’t let himself dwell on it; they could speculate all they liked about what was going on with him. Enalius knew they talked about him enough behind closed doors.

By the time Cassian touched back down in Velaris, he was almost too wired to think straight. Azriel hadn’t specified what time they would be meeting, but Cassian figured it wouldn’t be so late in the evening that they risked Nesta having retired for the evening. To keep himself busy, he paced around his bedroom for several minutes, agonizing over whether to pack anything, whether to bring Nesta anything, but ultimately decided he would come as himself.

He forced himself to take a bath, doing his best to scrub away the day’s grime. Thankfully, his hands had healed enough that he could remove the bandages, and although he knew Nesta would undoubtedly notice the injuries, he hoped his presence would be enough of a distraction that she wouldn’t call him out on it right away.

Once he was satisfied with his cleanliness, Cassian hauled himself out of the bath and dried off. He didn’t want to make Nesta doubt he respected her – especially not in her capacity as a ruler – so he reached for the nicest pair of leathers that he had with him. He didn’t have his ceremonial leathers with him, so these would have to do.

Eventually, Azriel came to find him. He didn’t say anything about the way Cassian was furiously polishing his siphons, but his pointed look was a comment in and of itself. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Cassian answered. He stood and took one last look around the room before following Azriel out to the balcony, 

They flew to the top of the same mountain they’d talked on last night, the sky thankfully much clearer now. It was the perfect evening, with the full moon shining down from above them and the stars glittering against the dark night sky.

“I’ll winnow you as close as I can,” Azriel told him once they’d both landed. “I like my head attached to my body, so I won’t risk winnowing you inside.”

“That’s fine,” Cassian replied. “You’re saving me a lot of time as it is.”

Azriel nodded before offering Cassian one of his scarred hands. Cassian took it without hesitation, and the two of them faded into the night. Cassian much preferred his brother’s way of travel to winnowing, the shadows warm and familiar against his face, and before long the darkness disappeared in favor of the familiar gray mountains surrounding the Court of Nightmares. True to his word, Azriel had taken them as close as he could to the entrance without arousing suspicion, and Cassian looked around for a few moments before realizing they were on a plateau overlooking the entrance at the bottom of the mountain.

“Best I could do,” Azriel said with a wry smile. 

“Better than me, that’s for sure,” Cassian responded with a wry smile of his own. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” Azriel answered. He extended his forearm toward Cassian and Cassian immediately reached out to grip it, both of them squeezing tightly for a few moments before letting go. “Good luck, Cass. Don’t get yourself killed.” 

“I won’t,” Cassian promised. 

Azriel studied him quietly for a few moments before he was apparently satisfied. With a final, tense nod, he disappeared with his shadows, leaving Cassian standing alone outside the entrance to the Hewn City. He spread his wings and launched himself into the air, easily maneuvering himself down toward the mountain’s entrance, and landed on soft feet after a short flight.

Cassian swallowed hard as he eventually made his way inside the mountain, immediately wary when the wards let him in without issue. They felt stronger since the last time he’d been here — probably Lucien’s doing — but they were certainly more than enough to keep him out if Nesta wanted. 

The optimistic side of him was hoping it was because she wanted to see him. The other, more logical side was screaming that this could be a trap, that she could be luring him inside just to kill him as soon as he got close. 

There was only one way to find out. 

As Cassian walked through the cavernous halls of the Hewn City, he was shocked to see so many fae wandering about. Normally when he paid visits down here, everyone was already gathered in the throne room, but instead, he got a glimpse of what life looked like under Nesta’s rule. The servants he passed didn’t seem terrified to make eye contact, and he even passed a bright corridor where some youths were roughhousing playfully. He of course attracted his fair share of stares as he wandered, but no one paid him any mind beyond a few moments of initial interest. 

Not until he stumbled across one of the guards that Nesta hadn’t killed in her hostile takeover, at least. “You there! Halt!”

“Yes?” Cassian asked, pausing mid-stride. He’d be more than able to overpower the young male, but he didn’t want to make Nesta hate him any more than she possibly did. 

“Her Grace wishes to see you, my lord,” came the swift reply. “Come with me.”

Cassian didn’t bother questioning how he’d been found out so quickly. He just nodded and let the guard lead the way, their footsteps echoing off the smooth stone surrounding them. 

They eventually reached the large stone doors Cassian knew led to the throne room. The male leading him exchanged a few quick words with the few guards standing at attention, and suddenly the massive doors were groaning open to reveal the throne room. 

“The Lord Commander of Illyria,” someone announced as he walked in. The room was mostly empty, with only a few servants and guards milling around, but it didn’t make the walk to the throne feel any shorter.

Cassian’s heart was pounding so loud in his chest that he didn’t bristle at the title, far too concerned with Nesta’s reaction at seeing him again. His eyes took in all the changes she’d made to the room — most noticeably replacing Rhysand’s throne with one of her own carved with emerald-eyed snakes — before settling on Nesta herself sitting on her throne. 

Cassian couldn’t breathe as he looked at her. She was so beautiful that it was difficult to stare at her for too long, like she was his own personal sun and he was blessed to orbit around her. She’d traded the crown of bones for one of glittering black spikes adorned with emeralds, nestled safely within her braided coronet. The crown perfectly matched the bodice of her dress, and she looked so stunning and powerful at the same time that Cassian had to force himself to stay focused on the task at hand. 

“Cassian,” Nesta eventually said, tilting her head as she continued to study him. She’d put on some more weight since the last time he’d seen her, and even when she was staring at him like that, he couldn’t help but be thankful that she’d regained some of the color back in her cheeks. “Tell me. Have you come to bend the knee? Or did you want to die by my hand?”

Read Chapter Seven here!

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @houseofcalores | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack

[kataraavatara]

i know they have a whole “mor was the only good person to exist in the CoN ever” thing going on but what a fucked up and dehumanizing way to think about your own people. “tainting the city with their presence” Jesus Christ. “These people” you’ve met one of them.

[serpentandlily]

Scared to Be Happier - Azriel x Reader

Scared to be Happier - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel finds his mate in the Court of Nightmares and she is whisked away to Velaris to be saved. But when someone spends so long being beaten down and angry, sometimes broken is all they'll ever be.

Warnings: Angst, Smut (minors dni), Drug and Alcohol Usage

a/n: Heavily inspired by the song Happier by Yungblud/Oli Sykes. This one is for all my girlies who self-sabotage and break things because that is all they've ever known, who are scared to be happy because of the fear of the fall when it all gets taken away.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A pounding on your door pulled you from your thoughts. You let out a sigh as your apartment came back into focus, mirthroot smoke swirling in the air along with the stench of whiskey. You stood from the couch, stretching out your limbs before moving to the door.

You had to kick a few empty wine bottles out of your path, the evidence of last night’s adventures. 

When you pulled open the door, you weren’t surprised to see the shadowsinger standing there. His handsome face was unreadable, his eyes checking over you from head to toe. You smiled, lazily, his face shifting in and out of focus. 

“Azriel,” you greeted. His eyes narrowed on your face. 

You knew what you must look like to him. Kohl smeared under your eyes, hair in disarray, standing there in only your underwear and a large shirt whose owner you were unsure of. 

You stepped back, letting him walk inside and shut the door behind him. 

“You’re high again.”

His voice was deep, husky, as he peered around the mess in your apartment. You shrugged, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. It was the truth. You spent most of your days in a haze. One you sought after through the use of drugs and alcohol. Mirthroot helped numb your mind. The alcohol helped numb your feelings.

“Don’t act like you care,” you said, flatly. “Not now.” 

Azriel let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face you. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that.”

“The truth?”

He stalked towards you, until he was so close you had to tilt your head up to stare at him. His hand raised, his knuckles brushing against your rosy cheeks. “It’s not the truth. And you know it.” 

Your own hand climbed up his chest until it rested right over his heart, the heart that beat in rhythm with yours. 

“I know what you’re here for,” you purred, ignoring his remark. 

This was the game. Azriel would come here, pretend to care, if only long enough for the two of you to fall into bed together. Then you’d wake up and he’d be gone. And you wouldn’t see him again until he felt guilty enough to check-in on you again. After all, he was the reason you were here. 

Azriel rested his forehead against yours, his hand cupping your check. 

“I can’t stay away from you,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re not sorry,” you whispered, staring into his hypnotizing hazel eyes. “You enjoy this. You enjoy being around someone as miserable as you. I know you, Azriel. Better than that family of yours does.” 

“You know nothing,” he growled.

But then he surged forward and crashed his lips against yours. Like he always did when the conversation turned more personal. But you met him halfway, also not wanting to talk anymore. Not when the mirthroot kept your head so light. Not when it felt so good to have Azriel’s lips against yours. 

He groaned, pushing you further against the counter, his hips digging into yours. His hand snaked into your hair, pulling your head back so he could deepen the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You needed this as much as he did.

The bond in your chest sang at his touch. Your body already reacting to him. 

He lifted you onto the counter, parting your thighs with his leg so he could stand between them. His hard cock pressed against your barely covered center, causing both of you to moan. He trailed kisses down your jaw, to your throat, tracing his canines over the fragile skin. 

Azriel wasted no time, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor, revealing your bare breasts to him. He groaned at the sight, running his hands down your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he growled, before pushing you to lean back so he could trace kisses down your chest, taking one of your peaked nipples into his mouth. You groaned, twisting your hand in his dark hair. 

His hand slid up your thigh until his fingers hooked around the seam of your underwear and swiftly pulled it off of you, leaving you entirely naked in front of him. He moaned, dropping to his knees, staring at your glistening core. 

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he growled before leaning forward and taking a single lick up the center of your folds. Your head fell back against the cabinets at the sensation. 

“Please,” you begged. 

That was all he needed to hear, diving his tongue into you. You writhed on the counter as he flicked his tongue against your clit, his finger circling around your entrance. Your hips bucked as you moaned, needing more. 

Azriel knew your body, knew how to force you close to the edge so quickly with just his tongue. He knew the right time to finally push a finger inside of you, thrusting it in and out before adding a second one. You mewled, your first orgasm coming quickly. 

Azriel cursed as he felt you fall over the edge, as you pulsed around his fingers. He stood, still pushing his fingers in and out of you as his other hand worked to untie his leathers. You helped him, pushing his shirt off and he yanked his pants down. 

You stroked his dick up and down, licking your lips.

Azriel ripped your hand away with a growl. “I need to be in you. Now.” 

Before you could blink, he thrusted his cock into you, hard and fast. You both groaned as he seated himself inside of you, wrapping his large arms around your waist and pulling you tight against his bare chest. You were both panting, the bond that had still not been accepted glowed at your contact. 

Azriel gave you a few seconds to adjust before pulling all the way out and thrusting back into you just as hard. He growled, his head falling into the crevice of your neck as he set a punishing pace. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he hit that sweet spot inside of you over and over again, cursing. 

He pulled away, still thrusting in and out of you, to grab your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, his pace becoming faster, harder. “Your body was made for me. For me only.”

You fluttered around him in response to his possessive words. Words you knew meant nothing once this was all over. You groaned his name, relishing in the pain and pleasure of his hard thrusts. 

“Say it,” he growled, his grip on your chin tightening. “Say your mine.” 

“Gods, Azriel,” you moaned. “I’m yours.”

“Again,” he grunted, his thrusts not letting up. 

“Yours,” you cried out. “I’m yours.” 

His pupils were dilated, turning his hazel eyes black as he fucked you with a frenzy only a mate could. His free hand dipped between your legs, rubbing your clit. You cried out, feeling your second orgasm of the night building. 

“That’s it,” Azriel grunted. “You take me so well, pretty girl. So fucking good. Mine. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed. The mirthroot made your head spin, the feeling of Azriel fucking you almost too much. You cried out again as your orgasm suddenly crashed through you like a wave. 

Azriel cursed, fucking you through your orgasm, until he couldn’t hold his rhythm anymore. His thrusts became sloppy, erratic, as he chased after his own high. You reached a hand out, stroking down the soft membrane of his beautiful wing, pushing him over the edge. 

“Fuck,” he growled loudly, burying himself inside of you as he exploded.

You could feel his hot seed inside of you. He pulled out a bit and pushed back in, making sure none of it was wasted. Your body was limp as he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you, holding you tight against his chest.

He carried you into your bedroom, laying you down on the bed. Your head was spinning now. You blinked, feeling the bond in your chest tighten at the sight of him. 

“Don’t even think of falling asleep,” he commanded with a growl, climbing over you. He caged your head with his arms, his mouth attaching itself to your neck again, kissing and sucking. “I’m not done with you.” 

Hours later, you watched him disappear in a flurry of shadows, only staying long enough to help clean you up after he made a mess of your body. This was how it was. He would come here, take what he needed from you and disappear. It used to hurt you more, used to tear your heart apart. Now…now you were numb to it. 

You were numb to most things, angry at the rest. 

But mostly, you were scared. And you knew he was too. Scared to push this any farther. Scared to dive into a territory you weren’t sure you were ready for. You didn’t belong here. You never would. You might’ve been dragged out of the Court of Nightmares but you had never truly left. 

Because that place had turned you into little more than ash. It had taken everything you were and crushed it, crushed it so thoroughly that you would never be able to glue back the pieces. And the High Lord and his dogs had been naive in thinking that they had rescued you, saved you.

They had not saved you.

They had not saved you because there was nothing left of you to be saved.  

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

One Year Ago

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The corset you were wearing under your dress was constricting, your lungs begging for a chance to breathe. The dress that was over it was hardly much better. But the High Lord and Lady were making an appearance today and so your father had the handmaidens get you ready, making you look proper enough to be in the Throne Room alongside him.

There was a part of you that liked when the High Lord and Lady came, only because you were allowed out of your chambers for once. The chambers your father basically had you shackled in. You were his youngest daughter, finally the age to be married off, and he was worried you’d go and pull a Morrigan if you were given even a sliver of freedom.

The other part of you hated the High Lord and Lady. Hated seeing their smug faces, their pretentious attitudes. Even her stupid stuck-up sisters and the two Illyrians walked around looking down their noses at everyone who lived in Hewn City. As if you were all bottom of the barrel, the fifth under their shoes. 

But your only crime in life was being born in this awful mountain. 

That was enough for them, it seemed. They had no interest in helping any of the fae stuck down here that wanted out, that weren’t the awful people you were thought to be. It didn’t matter to them. 

All that mattered was their perfect little city away from all the rats below. And you hated them for it. Hated all of them. 

In fact, hate was all you had ever known. Bruise after bruise. Strike after strike. Torn out and stomped on after cleaning your own blood from the floor when your father was done doling out his punishments for whatever he decided you’d done wrong that day, time and time again.

There was a time you prayed to the stars for help. 

But that time was over. 

“Rise,” the High Lord ordered after making all of you stay on your knees for what felt like eternity.

You were quick to stand, brushing your dress down as you did. Your father was hovering right next to you, as if he were ready to snatch you away the second he deemed it fit. 

Your eyes trailed over your two rulers before briefly passing over the Morrigan, Lady Death and The General, finally landing on the Shadowsinger.

He was stoic, hauntingly beautiful. But you already knew that. He was the one all the Ladies liked to pant over while their husbands were out of earshot. 

As if he could feel your stare, his gaze shot to you and you went back to staring at the floor. Your father grabbed you by the upper arm, leading you towards the front of the room where the other Lords were gathering. 

You spared a glance at the shadowsinger again, noticing he had moved now to the High Lord’s side and appeared to be whispering something in his ear. 

You went back to acting like a pretty little doll perched next to your father. After all, beauty was the only currency females had in Hewn City. That was all your mother had taught you before she died. 

Keep yourself pretty and then maybe you’d be rewarded with a husband who liked keeping you that way and would not leave bruises on your body. 

Your beauty never saved you from your father’s hand though. 

“Lord Thanatos,” the High Lord called out, causing the band to pause their playing and the others to go quiet. Your stomach twisted at the sound of your father’s name. “Please approach the Throne with your daughter.”

Your brows pinched in confusion as your father yanked you forward. It wasn’t the first time Rhysand had asked to speak to your father but why had he requested you to approach as well? 

“My Lord,” your father said with a bow of his head. “Lady.”

He shot you a glare when you stood next to him frozen. You snapped out of your trance and gave a curtsy, keeping your eyes on the ground like an obedient and submissive female should. 

“What is your name, little bird?”

“Her name is—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the High Lord snapped. “I was talking to your daughter.”

Your eyes flickered up, widening as the High Lord’s piercing violet ones landed on you. “M-my name is y/n, my Lord.”

You swallowed as he looked between you and your father. What could he possibly want with you? 

“Okay, y/n. Tell me, do you enjoy living here?”

You glanced at your father to see his eyes narrowed at you. You nodded in answer, holding your hands behind your back to hide your shaking. 

“My Lord, what is the meaning of this—”

“It is impolite to interrupt a conversation,” the High Lady sneered, holding a hand up in your father’s direction. 

A muscle in his jaw clenched but he stayed quiet. 

“And do you possess any power?”

You glanced at your father again, not sure how to answer. He had wanted to keep you a secret from the High Lord, worried he’d take you away once he found out what you could do, how you could benefit him. Instead, Keir and your father wanted to use you to secure a strong alliance with another court. 

“A mere fraction,” your father cut in. “The girl can’t even winnow.”

You bit your lip, looking back at the floor. Your cheeks turned red at your father’s lie.

“Interrupt me one more time, Lord Thanatos, and I’ll have you escorted to a prison cell,” the High Lord growled before looking back at you. “What power do you possess, y/n? Don’t bother lying to me, little bird. I will know.”

You looked at your father again, his lips were pressed in a thin line, displeased. You looked back into the intimidating gaze of the High Lord. 

“I possess the Clear Touch, my Lord,” you answered.

The power that ran in your family line. The ability to touch a person and see their memories if you were able to get past their mental barrier. The High Lord grinned. 

“Good, you will pack your things and return with us to Velaris,” the High Lord declared. “I have use of you.”

Your jaw nearly dropped open and you turned to look at your father. His face was bright red with anger. 

“What?!” He spat out. “You cannot just kidnap her. She is under my rule until marriage. And she already has a number of suitors, some of whom are supposed to arrive this weekend for negotiations. You can’t take her.”

Your jaw did drop open this time. You had no idea about any suitors. You quickly fixed your face back into an unreadable one when the High Lord’s gaze stayed on you. 

“As far as I know, your daughter is of age now. Which means she can make her own choice,” the High Lord purred. “Which will it be y/n? Come work for me or stay here to be sold off by your father?”

The arrogance in his voice irked you. It’s like he was assuming no one would ever turn down the chance to work with him, to go to Velaris. As if he were offering you a reward. But you hated him as much as you hated your father. And you hated this court equally. 

Marriage to a foreign male might be your only chance to escape from here.

You could feel your father’s heavy gaze on the side of your face. “I would like to stay with my father, my Lord.”

Shock flashed through the High Lord’s eyes for a second and your father grinned. 

“Well, she’s made her choice, High Lord,” your father gloated. He wrapped his hand around your arm, right over the bruise hiding under your sleeve. You flinched slightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse—”

Suddenly, your father was yanked from you—the shadowsinger now between you and him.

“Get your fucking hands off my mate,” the shadowsinger growled lowly, his face dark and devastatingly lethal. 

Mate.

Mate.

That word clanged through you like metal against steel. The shadowsinger was staring down at your father, not even looking in your direction. Not even as a sea of gasps rang out in the crowd. 

Mate.

He had just claimed you in front of the entirety of Hewn City. There would be no marriage now. No escaping this court. You knew what it meant to be someone’s mate as a female. He now had rights to you. You were his. 

The blood left your face, your jaw clenching in dread.

Mate.

That one word had been enough. Enough for the High Lord to have you escorted to your home, made to pack up all your things to join them on their journey back to Velaris. You did so without a single word. What could you do? Even your own father wouldn’t look at you anymore. Not with the shadowsinger breathing down his neck. 

And when Azriel saw the chains in your room, the ones your father locked you up with at night to make sure you could never leave, he had grabbed hold of your father and disappeared in a flurry of shadows. 

Your heart was pounding as you chucked your clothes into a trunk. Once you were all packed, two females appeared out of nowhere. The shadow wraiths. They took hold of your trunk and disappeared. Your father’s handmaidens led you out to the sitting area where you waited for your mate to come retrieve you as if you were little more than some item he had purchased. 

Azriel returned, his knuckles bloody and bruised. You weren’t naive. You knew it was your father’s blood on his hands. You should’ve felt satisfied at seeing it, but you weren’t. This wasn’t a victory for you. You were merely just a trade between the two males. From your father’s ownership to your mate’s. 

“Come on,” Azriel said, reaching out his hand to you. “Let’s go.” 

You said nothing, taking his hand as you were meant to. Shadows engulfed the two of you until you were being pulled out of the darkness and into a new place. You quickly dropped Azriel’s hand, looking around. It was a bedroom, simple but still opulent. You glanced out the window to see you were high in the sky, overlooking a city.    

“We’re at the House of Wind.” Azriel’s voice came from behind you. You whirled around to stare at him. “This is where you’ll be staying for now.” 

He took a step towards you and you couldn’t fight the urge to take a step back to maintain the distance between you. He held up his hands. “I’m not…I’m not going to do anything to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t know much about the shadowsinger, only how he tortured people for information and came from Illyria. You glanced at his wings.

You did know about that. How brutal Illyrian males were supposed to be. How they clipped their females and used them as nothing more than breeding stock. 

“You’re Illyrian,” you finally said. 

He nodded. “Yes.” 

“I know how Illyrians treat their females.”

A brief flash of anger sparked behind his hazel eyes and you berated yourself in your head. Fuck. You were already forgetting all the things your mother had taught you. Things every female in Hewn City were taught from birth. Never anger a male, keep your opinions to yourself, always say yes when they demand something of you. 

“I am nothing like them,” Azriel ground out between his teeth, his fist clenched. 

You swallowed, taking another step back. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, already bracing yourself to be hit.

But Azriel didn’t advance forward to your surprise. 

“I will leave you alone now. Dinner will be served at six if you wish to join.”

And then he was gone, melting back into his shadows.

You let out the breath you were holding, looking around the room once more. Your new cage. Slightly better than your last one, but a cage nonetheless. You sighed and began to unpack your things. Might as well accept your fate. You were the shadowsinger’s mate. There was no escaping this now. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You showed up at dinner, scared to anger Azriel even more than you had already. But Azriel had paid you little attention since you had been out here with all of them. Instead, he sat at the opposite side of the table, next to one of the High Lady’s sisters. They seemed to be engaging in pleasant enough conversation by the looks of it. 

Good. You were happy his attention was elsewhere. Though your chest ached as you watched him exchange soft smiles with the other female, completely different than how he had been with you. 

It’s just the bond, you reminded yourself. The bond you hadn’t even felt snap for you. 

“So, y/n, how old are you exactly?” 

“Eighteen,” you answered the Morrigan, who sat across from you. 

At this, Azriel’s head whipped towards you, his brows pinched. Even the female next to him looked at you, her brown eyes filled with some indiscernible emotion. 

As soon as they were all in Velaris, it was like a completely different group of people. The menacing stares, the cold voices, the disdain. All of it was gone and replaced with something warmer. Though they still watched you with suspicious eyes. 

It only annoyed you further. Hewn City was something they could wipe from their hands and escape from, with no regard for those stuck there. 

“Hey, Feyre, you’re not the baby anymore!” The General laughed. 

“You must be relieved to finally be away from that place,” Feyre chirped.

Your grip on your fork tightened. If they all recognized how horrible that place was, then why did they insist on doing nothing to fix it? You weren’t the only one who suffered there. 

You heard your mother’s voice in your head now, Always be agreeable. Say what they want you to. Don’t put up a fight or they’ll only hit you harder. Be gracious. Look happy. 

You glanced at Azriel to see he was still watching you.

“Yes,” you agreed, like you were supposed to. 

Yes. It was the only word you had said since being here at this table. It left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

After dinner was over, they had Azriel escort you back to your room. You followed behind him, staring at his large beautiful wings. You supposed things could be worse. You could be mated to some ugly, rotten looking male. At least your new prisoner guard was handsome. 

You stepped inside of your room, expecting Azriel to follow. Is this when he’d force you to have sex with him? You mentally went through all the steps your mother had told you about sex. About how much it would hurt, how it was just something you would need to suffer through in order to keep a male happy. 

To your surprise, Azriel did not enter the room. But he didn’t leave either, lingering in the doorframe. 

“You know, you don’t have to keep saying yes to everything,” he said. “You’re not in Hewn City anymore. You’re allowed to say no. Allowed to voice your own opinions.”

“Okay,” you replied, stoically. Was this some sort of test?

He let out a sigh. “You don’t want to be here, do you?” 

You only blinked in response. He ran a hand through his hair, his beautiful face unreadable. “I’m sorry for claiming you in front of the court like that. But it was the only way your father would let us take you out of there. You don’t have to be scared anymore. No one here is going to hurt you.” 

“I didn’t want to leave,” you said back. “I told the High Lord I wished to stay with my father.”

Azriel seemed confused by your remark. “Your father isn’t here, y/n. You don’t have to continue to lie. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I am not lying,” you replied. 

“You…you wish to stay in Hewn City? You wish to stay with your father?” 

You shook your head. Because no, that wasn’t what you wanted. But you knew you didn’t want this either. You didn’t want to be in the Night Court at all. You wanted to be whisked away somewhere else. No one cared for you here. That wasn’t how the Night Court worked. 

“So you did want to come here?”

“No,” you whispered. “I do not wish to be here either.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw clenched. “So what do you want?”

Your brows pinched together. “I-I don’t know.”

You’d never been allowed to want for anything. You had no clue what was even out in the world beyond this court. You’d lived in Hewn City all your life. Had never been educated on much of anything. Not beyond typical things the females were allowed to learn. 

Azriel’s fists tightened and then he disappeared. 

You didn’t see him again until two days later. He showed up knocking on your door, telling you to pack your things. You did as he said without argument. Perhaps he was finally taking you home now to do whatever it is mates did with each other. 

But to your surprise, Azriel brought you to an apartment that was nearly empty besides the necessities. He placed your trunk in the bedroom before turning to look at you, his face blank. 

“You will live here now. I will not bother you, nor will anyone else from the court. If you wish to speak to any of us, you can reach out whenever,” he said, his voice ice cold. “I set up an account under your name that you can use to buy whatever you need.”

He was just…dumping you here? 

“I’m meant to live here?” You questioned. “Alone?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” The disdain in his voice had you folding into yourself. “So yes. You will live here. Since I’m the reason you’re in this situation, I will cover the cost.”

All of the gentleness and patience he had shown that other female was gone, nowhere to be found. 

“Okay,” you said, flatly. 

He peered at you once more, searching. You kept your face neutral, not wanting to show the fear you now felt. Alone in a city. You didn’t know a single person who lived here. What would you do? What could you do?

“You know where to find me if you wish,” Azriel said and then disappeared into his shadows, leaving you standing alone in an empty apartment. 

You spent the next month in a haze. Only leaving the apartment for food. Otherwise you just sat and watched people from your window. 

Sometimes you’d see Azriel walking through the streets with the High Lady’s sister, exchanging soft glances, laughing, brushing up against each other. 

You seethed at the sight. He had claimed you, dragged you to this city away from everything and everyone you’d ever known, and dumped you here alone just to parade around with another female.

Why had he taken you if he didn’t want you? 

Why had he said anything? 

It wasn’t like you could return to Hewn City. Your father would have trouble finding you suitors now that everyone knew you were the shadowsinger’s mate. Without having a use for you, you were sure your father would only treat you worse. 

You were truly alone. You’d always been, of course. But though you held no love for your father, at least he had you taken care of. 

Now you were on your own. 

Abandoned by your own mate. 

Maybe you should feel relieved that he didn’t want you. Seemed more invested in the High Lady’s sister. But it didn’t feel good either way. 

Were you not good enough for him? Were you not worth the effort of courting? You’d always known your life would never be filled with soft, sweet romance. Not if you were meant to be sold off. 

But to find out you had a mate, a mate clearly capable of being gentle and kind with females…just not you. 

You were Court of Nightmare scum. A female meant to be used and broken and ruined at the hands of males. Not good enough for the High Lord’s brother apparently. Not good enough for sweet smiles or flowers.

Just something to claim and discard. 

Something inside of you broke.

All the emotions you had been holding in were suddenly flooding out. So you finally let yourself cry. 

And cry.

And cry.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Months went by. You were sure how many. 

You had been stumbling around late one night, trying to learn the city streets when some male had approached you. He was charming, handsome. Said he could tell you were lost and asked if you’d like him to show you around.

You said yes. After all, your own mate hardly cared about you. He never sought you out after dumping you in the apartment. Never checked in on how you were adjusting…if you even were.

You weren’t. 

You hated this city and all it represented. Hated all the fae here who had never had to suffer at the hands of their own ruler. 

The male had done more than show you around. He introduced you to a whole other world, one that was hidden in the underbelly of this city. Something that felt a little more like the home you knew. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Present Day

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You were woken up by the sheets being yanked off your body. You sat up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. You groaned, lifting a hand to your pounding head. Your vision finally came into focus, narrowing in on a seething Azriel standing at the foot of your bed. 

Gasps came from around you and it took you a second to realize you were not only naked, but in the middle of several other naked bodies—two females and one male. You quickly pulled the sheets back over yourself. 

“Get out,” Azriel growled at them. “Now.” 

No one moved, too startled. 

“Now!” Azriel roared. “Before I rip out your throats!” 

That had all of them moving. But you stayed frozen on the bed, staring at Azriel. Silence rang in your apartment until they were all gone, leaving the two of you alone. Azriel tossed you a robe and you quickly shrugged it on, standing up from the bed. 

“I thought this would be over by now, y/n,” Azriel snarled, moving out of your bedroom back to the living area. He grabbed the kitchen trash can and started stalking through your apartment. It took you a second to realize what he was doing before you cried out, rushing to stop him. 

“What are you doing?!”

“This is done, y/n,” Azriel snapped, brushing you off him. “I’m done giving you access to my accounts if all you’re going to do is buy drugs and get fucked up every day.” 

He grabbed a bag of mirthroot and tossed it into the trash can. You shouted at him to stop, trying to rip the trash out of his hands. 

Didn’t he understand?!

You needed that. You needed the drugs, needed the alcohol. You needed it to shut your mind off, to keep the empty and depressing thoughts away. You would die without them.

“Azriel, stop!”

“No,” he snarled back at you. “This has to stop, y/n.”

“Why are you so concerned about this now?” you shouted, tossing your hands in the air. “You’ve never cared before. Why now?” 

You stalked after him, trying to grab the trash from his hands but he easily pushed you away. You felt desperate tears line your eyes. 

“I’ve always cared!” Azriel yelled. “I have always cared about you, y/n. But I thought you would phase out of this. I thought you just needed to explore your new freedom and get it out of your system. But you haven’t stopped and you’re out of control!” 

You fisted the back of his shirt, forcing him to stop. “You have never cared for me! Just fucking leave, Azriel. This is my life. I will live it how I want to.”

“Not while I’m the one funding it!”

He glared down at you and you crossed your arms over your chest. “Then don’t! I don’t need your money. I don’t need you. I can find someone else. I can go somewhere else.” 

“Really? You’d just fuck off with some other male?!” Azriel shouted. “After everything I’ve done for you?!”

You scoffed. “What the fuck have you ever done for me, Azriel?! You dragged me from my home, forced me here, and then treated me like I was nothing to you!”

“I was giving you the space you wanted!”

“No, you were busy fucking the High Lady’s sister,” you snapped. “Why don’t you go back to her if this is too much for you? I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t want this!” 

“Keep Elain out of this! She’s done nothing to you,” Azriel growled, making you see red. “Elain is my friend. She sure as hell cares about me more than you do.” 

“You know what? Fuck you, Azriel,” you said, pushing him away from you. “Fuck you. Fuck your High Lord and Lady. Fuck her stupid sisters. Fuck your whole stupid family! You’re right! You’ve all done nothing! Nothing! Just let us all suffer in that city while you all got to be happy here!” 

“And what are you doing to help anyone, y/n? What are you doing besides getting drunk and high every single night?” Azriel tossed the trash at your feet, as if to prove his point. “All you’ve done is become a burden!” 

Your breath caught in your throat and you took a step away from him. A burden? You were a burden to him? He was the one who took you! The one who brought you here!

“Then get out,” you whispered. “Get out and leave and never fucking come back.” 

Azriel let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

You glared up at him. “No, Azriel, I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck you want from me! You come here, fuck me and leave! How am I supposed to know what you mean?!”

“You think any of this is easy for me? You think I was overjoyed to find out my mate had been suffering in Hewn City the whole time I was living here? Do you know how much I prayed to the Mother for a mate? How much I wanted this? And now I have it. Now I have you and fuck, I don’t know what to do! I don’t know how to help you!” 

“Well, you might as well give up now! I don’t want your help, Azriel. I can’t be helped! I’m not broken!”

“Then explain all of this!” Azriel shouted, gesturing at the mess in your apartment. The empty bottles, the drugs on the table. “I gave you a year, y/n. I gave you a year to adjust, to build a life here in Velaris for yourself!”

“Have you considered that I don’t want to?! I don’t belong here, Azriel. I don’t belong in this city, in this place!”

If I could tell you how I feel, I know that you’re still hurting too. No, I’m not broken. I’m just scared to belong here, scared to be happier. 

You wiped at the tears pouring down your face now. Your head was still pounding, your throat hoarse from the screaming. It was too much. It was all too much. 

“You know what I think? I think you’re scared,” Azriel snarled. “I think you’re scared to give all of this up. I think you’re scared to get better. I think you’re scared to let yourself be happy for once!” 

“You’re one to talk,” you snapped back. “You’re just as scared as I am, Azriel, you just hide it better. But I’m your mate and I know how you feel. I can see it.” 

“And what do you think I see when I look at you?” His voice was ice cold. “I see someone broken. I see someone so broken they don’t even know how to be happy. You never have, have you?” 

“Have you?” you shot back at him. “Have you ever felt happy, Azriel? Of course I’m not happy! Why the fuck would I be happy here?” 

The apartment fell silent as you both glared at each other, so many emotions swirling in your eyes. You hated him, hated what he had done to you, hated that you needed him, hated that you felt like you would die without him. And you knew he felt that way too, could see the anguish on his face. 

Azriel whispered your name so quietly, you would’ve thought you imagined it if you hadn’t seen his lips move. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his wings drooping to the floor. Your eyes widened as he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face against your stomach. You felt his tears wet your silk robe. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know how to do this. You think I don’t care about you, but you are all I care about. This whole world could burn to the ground and it’d still be you I looked for in the ash.” 

“I am already nothing but ash,” you whispered. “I might not have your scars, Azriel, but I have been burned too. Everything has been taken from me. Everything. Of course I’m scared to love you. Of course I’m scared to be happy. I can give you nothing because so little of me exists now.” 

“That’s not true,” he muttered against your stomach. “That’s not true at all, y/n. I don’t need anything from you. I just need you to let me help you. Please. Let me help you put yourself back together. Let me help you take away the pain. Let me give you a better life. Give me that chance. That's all I ask for.” 

“I can’t.” Your voice cracked as he gripped you harder. “You’re right. I am scared. I’m a coward. I can’t…I-I can’t let myself be happy. I can’t let myself feel anything. It hurts too much.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Azriel whispered. “So let me help you. Let me in. Let me make you feel something. I can feel your anger, I can feel your rage inside. Take it out on me if you have to. But stop shutting me out. I’m sorry for how things started. I didn’t know what to do. I was overwhelmed, scared, hurt. But please give me the chance to make it up to you. Please, baby, let me help you. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself.” 

You fell to your knees in front of him, mirroring his position. His hazel eyes bore into yours, every single emotion he felt poured down the bond between the two of you. For once you let yourself show him how you felt. You undid the binds on your heart, cracked the barrier you had put up between the two of you. You let it all loose. Everything. Every single emotion you felt.

Azriel cradled your face in his hands. Kohl had made black trails down your face with your tears, your robe had slipped off one shoulder, your hair had half fallen out of your braid, but you had never looked more beautiful to him than in this moment. Because he was finally seeing you. The person you hid behind the drugs and alcohol. The person you hid between the sheets. 

You were scarred, hurt, and broken. You had a darkness swelling in you that matched his own. You were the first sight of blood emerging from a wound, the torn pages of a book, the flame of an almost melted candle, the fog obscuring the woods. You were made of everything he was. You were his equal, his love, his mate. 

You were scared and he was too. But as he pressed his lips against yours desperately, you saw a world where that fear might not exist. A world where you were happy and loved and whole again. You weren’t there now. You wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

But perhaps in the end, that’s where you’d find yourself.  

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[lainalit]

A Father's Promise

I made a post yesterday about a Darkbringer being denied to purchase sweets and toys in Velaris for his daughter. I couldn't let the Idea go so I wrote a little scene where the father comes home to his family with empty hands.

Disclaimer: English is not my native language so I apologise for any errors upfront

Edit: Story is now available on ao3 and any future chapters will be on there

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The thick air of the Hewn City clung to Cadell as he walked slowly through its shadowed streets, the jagged stone walls pressing in on him from all sides. The flickering faelights cast their cold, eerie glow, as the weight of the day bore down on his shoulders.

In his hand, he clutched the empty bag that should have been filled with caramel bonbons and the pink teddy bear he had promised his daughter. But it was empty—just like his heart feels now.

He had traveled to Velaris, the secret city, which not long ago only a few in the night court knew about. The city itself radiating with vivid colors, creating a striking contrast to the darkness and gloom of his home city.

Keir’s agreement with the High Lord, in which nobles and Darkbringers where allowed into the blessed city, had granted him this rare opportunity to leave the oppressive confines of this mountain, and he had hoped to bring back something special for his daughter Trina—a taste of freedom, sweetness, and warmth that felt increasingly elusive with each day they spent beneath this mountain.

As he approached the small alcove he called home, which is tucked away in a quieter, less-trodden part of the city, he hesitated.

The familiar scent of his wife’s cooking filled the air, usually a comforting reminder of home, but today it felt almost stifling. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The modest space was dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights. Enid was at the hearth, stirring a pot of stew over a small, magical flame. Her chestnut hair was tied with the silver hairpin he gifted her on their wedding day, which reflects the warm light, a stark contrast to the cold, hard stone around her.

Trina, his six-year-old, was playing nearby, her black hair that she inherited from him in pigtails as her small hands carefully arranged her few toys: a second-hand doll named Lucy with one eye missing, a stack of building blocks, and Mr. Starfall, a star-shaped plushie made from the scraps of their blue-white dotted tablecloth and named after her favorite day of the year.

“Daddy!” Trina’s voice broke through his thoughts, her eyes lighting up as she ran to him. Nearly knocking him over before he could kneel and pull her into a tight embrace.

She looked up at him with excitement, her face bright with anticipation. “Did you get the bonbons and the new friend for Lucy and Mr. Starfall?”

Cadell’s heart clenched at her words. He had promised her those things—something special and new just for her, not borrowed or second-hand. But now he had nothing.

He felt the weight of the day pressing down on him, every step back from the shops and the words spoken to him replaying in his mind as he answered his daughter, “I… I’m sorry, princess. I couldn’t get them today.”

Trina’s face fell, her lower lip trembling slightly as she looked at his hands, where he clutched the empty bag. Her voice was small, laced with confusion and hurt.

“But…you promised.”

Enid, who had been watching the exchange, set down the spoon she was using and walked over, her brow furrowed with concern.

She knew her husband well enough to see the strain in his posture, the way his shoulders sagged under a weight that he couldn’t shake. “Trina,” she called gently, her voice calm but firm, “why don’t you go pack your schoolbag for tomorrow in your room? Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Trina hesitated, her gaze flicking between her parents. She sensed that something was wrong, though she didn’t understand what. With a reluctant nod, she turned and walked towards one of the small adjoining chambers, casting one last look over her shoulder before disappearing into the other room.

As soon as Trina was out of sight, Enid turned to her husband, her concern deepening. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm. “Cadell, what happened?”

Cadell let out a heavy sigh, standing up and running a hand through his hair, the tension in his body palpable. He felt the sting of humiliation and anger, emotions that he rarely allowed himself to dwell on but that now threatened to consume him.

“I went to five different shops, Enid. five. The first four wouldn’t even look at me. I waited and tried to get their attention, but they just ignored me like I wasn’t even there. And the last one…” He clenched his fists, his voice trembling with frustration and hurt.

“The last one, the owner saw me, made eye contact, looked at me as I was dirt under his shoe, and they…they said they don’t sell to fae of ‘our kind’.”

Enid’s heart ached at his words. She had always known their status as residents of the Hewn City made life difficult, but hearing the hurt in his voice brought the harsh reality into sharp focus. She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Honey, I’m so sorry…”

He shook his head, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I just wanted to bring her something nice, something that would make her smile. But they wouldn’t even give me the chance. I hate that I failed her…again. Because of who I am.”

Enid tightened her hold on him, her eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and anger. She knew all too well the cruelty of this city they call home, and it pained her to see him suffer because of it.

She had chosen Cadell precisely because he was different, because he was kind in a place where kindness was rare. And because he was not like the others—not like the male she had once been betrothed to.

Enid’s betrothal had been a match for power and influence, a union that should have secured her and her family a life of privilege in the Hewn City.

But her betrothed, a lord of considerable rank, was notorious for his torture methods, especially towards females. The stories of his cruelty had reached her ears long before their engagement was made public, the whispers of the unheard brutality had chilled her to the bone even in a place like this where the darkness inside these mountain walls was never-ending.

But then she had met Cadell, at the time a quiet novice Darkbringer with a gentle heart who conceals it behind a facade of seriousness in front of the other males.

But in the privacy within their walls, he treats her, and later, when Trina came along only with tender hands, something she had never known was possible.

She had fallen in love with him, drawn to the very qualities that lay beneath his made-up appearance. And with that realization, she could not bear the thought of marrying her betrothed; she had made a desperate decision.

She had convinced Cadell to take her virtue, knowing full well what it would mean. It was the only way to escape the fate that awaited her otherwise—a marriage to a monster who would have destroyed her.

Cadell, too, had his own scars, though his were not just emotional. He had fought in the war with Hybern, called to battle alongside the rest of the Night Court’s forces.

He had seen the horrors of war, felt the bite of steel and the crush of magic against his body. His broadsword that he wielded had saved him more than once, but it had not protected him from the memories—the screams of dying comrades, the blood-soaked fields, the weight of loss that clung to him like a second skin.

He had returned to the Hewn City a changed man, quieter, more reserved. The war had left him with a deep sense of weariness, a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of rest could erase.

And though he rarely spoke of it, Enid knew that the memories of the battlefield still haunted him with the way he rises at night to visit Trina’s room, watching over his daughter like a fallen angel poised to confront death itself if it dares to breathe in her direction.

“Honey,” Enid whispered, her voice fierce with emotion, “you are worth so much more than they will ever understand. You are a good father, a good male. We’ll explain it to Trina, in a way she can understand."

she looked at him with a small smile when she spoke, "And tomorrow… tomorrow, we’ll find another way. I’ll ask Nemain to see if she still has the soft fabric, so I can sew the teddy myself and try of dyeing it pink. For the caramel bonbons, my cousin has a butterscotch candy recipe that I can use. I simply shaped the candy into rounds instead of rectangles, so Trina wouldn’t notice the differencee."

Cadell smiled back a little while he nodded slowly, her words seeping into the cracks that the day had left in his resolve.

He pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded in the quiet darkness of their home.

“Thank you, my love. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Enid held him close, her head resting against his chest. For a moment, they simply stood there, drawing comfort from each other’s presence.

She knew the weight he carried, the burdens of being a lowborn Darkbringer in a world that valued power above all else. And she knew the guilt he felt, knowing that she had chosen him over the luxurious life she could have had.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes filled with the same fierce love that had driven her to choose him all those years ago.

“We’re in this together, Cadell,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

They stood in silence, holding each other closely, before parting ways as Enid headed to their daughter’s room to announce that dinner was ready, while Cadell looked to the small family portrait that stands on their living room drawer.

The Hewn City might be cold and unforgiving, but within the walls of their home, they had each other—and that was enough to keep the darkness at bay, if only for a little while longer.

[elleybug]

Icelos - Beast of Hewn city