#darkbringer

[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

______________________________________________

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]

Drawing my acotar ocs ✨ I made more than i thought.

Autumn 🍁- Keres / Moros / Anwen / Vitus

Hewn city🌑 - Icelos / Arlon

[ladydeath-vanserra]

rhys- this is feyre, she is my whore

Keir- calls feyre a whore

rhys- breaks keirs arm and threatens his life

me- ??????

[shadowqueenjude]

Some stupid memes for @sjmvillainweek

Amarantha under the mountain be like-

The King of Hybern took his own sweet time😂

Beron Vanserra in ACOWAR:

Keir Darkbringer after performing Calanmai annually in Rhysand’s place:

[kataraavatara]

i still can’t believe the idea that the CoN as a front to “pROtEcT VELaRis” is an acceptable idea both in world and to the fandom at large. like. imagine you’re at the faerie equivalent of a UN meeting and you don’t trust one of the countries because they have a history of serious human rights violations. and the leaders of said country are like. “Yeah. We DO allow tons of human rights violations in our territory, but only in one area. we actually have a secret city where none of that happens, and the reason we encourage those human rights violations is so our evil reputation can PROTECT the good city” and your reaction is “oh word. You were actually the GOOD GUYS all along, sorry I wasn’t familiar with your game.” instead of like idk being horrified that some citizens are subjugated and treated as second class in order to benefit the others.

[woeddbeanna]

I've been running circles around the Hewn City drama for months now.

Most of all thoughts about the legion...

Like, they are prohibited underground and they are generally not as cool as Tolkien’s dwarves.

Like, there was an evil queen hanging out in their home.

Like, they are all generally considered the last bastards.

Like, they are controlled by the last bastard.

And instead of deciding anything, the brilliant Highlord and his people simply allow Keir to do whatever he wants, because he controls them. They are literally sold for services, and they die in war.

They are rightfully the elite, the fighting unit of the Court, and they are treated like dirt.

And then together with any glory? respect? receive a vile attitude and a ban on appearing in precious Velaris.

I'm going crazy around the Darkbringers.

[shadowqueenjude]

Ayo??? How did I not notice this? It must be that pit beneath the Court of Nightmares.

I genuinely feel so stupid for not picking up on this

Hosab + acowar minor spoilers

House of Sky and Breath, chap. 48, P. 700 (eb)

A Court of Wings and Ruin, Chap. 26, P. 272 (physical copy)

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Three

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through readers strange, prophetic dreams.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

I hold my hands up, as if in prayer, steam coils in feverish tendrils around the exposed curves and divots of my breasts and shoulders. The dark waters roil and spill over the lip of the turquoise pools as I surrender myself to their warmth.  From here, the world is obscured by the gossamer haze that glitters like spun spider-silk.  Like the veil between two worlds. An oppressive breeze cuts through the chamber like a shroud and the scent of wisteria and moonflowers smothers the putrid smell of the city in the wet heat of a summer storm. 

The cruel laughter of the other court ladies rings like a siren song in my ears. A symphony of high-arching sound that echoes off the moonstone pillars. I filter it out; focused instead on my own trembling hands, turning them to admire my fingers which are adorned in rings of amethyst and onyx, mined from the bowels of this wretched mountain that I call home. Then another's fingers interlock with my own, breaking my reverie.

Melinoe’s voice is lyrical and velvety as she wades through the waters before me. Steam rises in columns about her hips and waist, becoming entangled in the damp lengths of her silver hair. It curls over her sloped shoulders like a white raven’s plumage, casting her in a halo of opal light.

“Where were you last night?” 

Melinoe is one of the Lord Protector’s favorites. She is tall and graceful with beautiful smoke-kissed skin and glassy, onyx eyes that mark her as a daughter of this court. Melione was once the companion of Morrigan; The Lord Protector’s only daughter. Though she had been exiled from the Court long before I was born. She had been assigned to my household when I came of age. My eternal companion. 

Though we are bound by duty, there is still something of me that is kindred to her, a shared pain perhaps. She had grown up here, as I had, she too knew the anguish and oppression of this wretched mountain. The longing it can bring. It is why when I decline to answer her question she doesn’t feel the need to interrogate me further. 

“There are whispers amongst the Darkbringers.” Melinoe starts, a conspiratory gleam in her eyes as she looks around the room. The low cadence of her voice echoes dangerously off the mountain stone when she moves through the waters with a serpentine grace. She emerges from the bubbling pools like the image of some dark Goddess, born from the sea to lure men to their watery deaths. Her voice is laden with malice as she eyes the younger girls. How they hunger after every whispered word, circling her in merry rings like dancing water nymphs, or the coiling tendrils of some monstrous chimera.

“That the High Lord will return to court by the moon's turn.” The dancing tide turns volatile and the ladies eyes glint with something dark and predatory in the pallid light. 

Long ago, the first Princes of the Night Court had made their home here, in the cruel depths of the Mountain. The Moonstone Palace had been hewn from onyx stone of the mountain. Hence its name. The facade of the palace itself was adorned with great stalactites of opal that form a series of dark coronas that line its gothic archways, and its stained glass ceilings cast the palace in a wretched emerald light. When Rhysand had ascended the throne, after his father before him, he had abandoned his ancestral seat in the Palace in favor of his ‘Court of Dreams’. 

For millennia Velaris had been shrouded by ancient night magic; kept hidden from us here, under the mountain. Even as war ravaged these lands, and Amarantha made slaves of us all. A city shaded in veins of lavender, amethyst and violet, and saturated in perpetual starlight. 

The people of Hewn City had been afforded no such grace. Left to rot and ruin under the oppressive stone of the mountains. The forgotten vestiges of a dying regime; clinging to the archaic traditions of our forebears, coveting the dark whispers of power inherited from ancestors long dead.

Now, we cower in the cruel, emerald light of the Moonstone Palace, like shadows.

“The High Lord has no tenderness in his heart for us, why would he return if not for ill?” I ask, looking up at her through dark, curious eyes. 

“Because it pleases him to impose his wrath upon us,” Melinoe shrugs, running a fine-boned hand through the tresses of her hair, that refract like smoky quartz in the cold light. 

“And because it serves him to appease the Lord Protector.” Medea insists gently, leaning down to cradle my jaw in her slender hands. The mere mention of his name is enough to bring forth the ferrous taste of blood and hatred to my mouth, and yet, any ill I’d speak against him lives and dies upon the tip of my tongue. 

“Or to bring him to heel.” I interject, parroting the words I had heard from the Darkbringers in the Jade Pearl. 

After a few aching moments, Melinoe agrees as a smoke-skinned wraith drapes her body in a robe of fine, dark silk. The garment is held together by iridescent emerald ribbons that cinched around the curve of her waist, its lapels and cuffs are trimmed with black lace and the hems adorned in the black, floral embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors. A gift from her Lord husband, and my barbarous keeper. 

None of my own garments are nearly so beautiful. My dresses are the austere, high-necked gowns of a novitiate; dark swathes of fabric that cover me like a shroud and veils of silver and alabaster to conceal my face. 

“Perhaps the High Lord and his Illyrian dogs have already fucked their way through all of the dreamers in the so called ‘City of Starlight’ and hope to find some solace here, in the dark where they belong.” Venom laces her words, though her tone is pleasantly breathy and she smiles prettily when she speaks. 

Melinoe only ever speaks to me like this here, in the quiet of the bathing chambers, where the words we speak are our own. Her mother had told us once, a long time ago, that a woman’s first blood does not come from between her legs, but from biting her tongue. I hadn’t known what she meant then but I think I do now. The women of this infernal court are like well trained bitches; obedient, meek, and loyal. I was taught young not to bite the hand that fed me. Taught me how to beg prettily, how to crawl on my hands and knees and throw myself down upon a man’s mercy. 

And there is so little mercy in this world for women like us.

“He is afterall, his father’s son.” I hum lightly, musing on her words and I sink further into the misty wakefulness that usually speaks to a coming vision. 

A few beats of silence pass between us and then the bathhouse is a cacophony of liliting voices and girlish chatter as the other girls dress; whispering and dancing across the tiled floors of the bathhouse at the prospect of our High Lord’s return. 

“So…are you going to tell me where you were last night?” 

“I was here.” I say lowly, as I gesture to the bathing chambers. These apartments are one of the view places I am permitted to be without one of my sworn Darkbringers.

When I was a girl I wandered the Moonstone Palace at my pleasure; I knew every narrow corridor of these hallowed halls. The statue of Astarion that lay beneath the Palace itself, the desecrated temple at the foothills of the mountain, the botanical gardens which held blossoms of foxglove and dhalia’s, and arches of wild flowering jasmine and climbing ivy, the atrium with its stained glass ceilings, through which I observed thousands of constellations that painted the black tapestry of the sky like threads on a loom, and the High Lord’s personal libraries, its high paneled walls holding tomes and scrolls as ancient and arcane as the palace itself.

Over the years. Those freedoms had been stripped away from me for one infarction or another. 

“I came here - after Aelios left - you weren’t here.” Melinoe says dangerously, a thin brow arching towards me. My heart hammers traitorously against my chest. 

If Aelios had sent her it would be under the instruction of my guardian and the Lord Protector of the city. If Keir had the slightest idea of my transgression I would have been summoned by now.

“Did Aelios send you?” I ask tentatively. 

“No - when do I ever do as that barbarous fool asks?” Melinoe retorts, an air of offense on her beautiful face.

“I thought I heard you leave your apartments. I wanted to make sure you were well.” Melinoe approaches the lip of the tub and takes my hand in hers. She touches me gently then, her eyes full of care and affection. 

“The dreams have been getting worse, haven’t they?” She was right, though, that was not the reason I ventured out unseen last night. 

Melinoe runs a fine boned hand through my damp hair, and coos softly. 

“Please don’t tell Aelios.” I beg her, feeling guilt coil in my chest for the sympathy that lights her eyes. 

These visions that plague me are prophetic and dangerous, they speak of sacrifice and sacrilege, of war and ruin. I know that Keir covets the power I possess, I know what this foreknowledge could bring about, in the wrong hands. His hands are mottled with rage and cold with death. 

“I won’t,” Melinoe swears solemnly, “and where did these visions lead you this time?” 

I look up at her through dark, curious eyes from my place in the bubbling pools. Unsure if I should tell her. 

“Th-the lower city.” Melinoe’s eyes widen, sparkling like starlight in the blue light. 

“You mean…you went to the pleasure houses?” She asks aghast. She takes a deep breath and pushes away from me, pacing in circles on the tiled floor. 

“How?” 

“I-I borrowed some of Leda’s clothes - left through the servants quarters - no one saw me.” 

“How can you be so sure?” She asks her voice low. 

“If anyone recognised me I would have been dragged before the High Council and exiled before I even had the chance to tell you.” 

After a few aching moments of silence Melinoe softens, her head tipping towards me. 

“What was it like?” She begs for something tangible to cling to. Some small sliver of knowledge of what lies beyond these castle walls. So I tell her and the whole while she stares at me enraptured. 

I tell her of the whores, who swarm merchants like sirens, singing sweetly to them. I tell her of the sailors and the smell of the ale, the bawdy songs they sing and the vulgar words that color their language. I tell of of the games, coins minted with the faces of our High Lord glint in the light as it changes hands. 

“I-i can’t believe you went out there,” Melinoe sighs enthralled. “Did you see anyone from the Palace?”

“I saw a few of the Darkbringers - I didn’t speak to them though - and…” I hesitate, unsure if I should tell her about my encounter with the Shadowsinger. Who touched me with reverence, whose lips had claimed mine so devoutly. 

That night, I returned to the Moonstone Palace filled with such strange…longing. For what, I am not entirely certain but the Shadowsinger has opened something within me, some old wound, festing and aching for touch.

“And?” She asks. 

I want to tell her. I want to kneel at her altar and confess that his kiss tastes like cedar and night-blooming wisteria. That his eyes hold the darkness from which we were born, and to which we will one day return. The confession dies when she looks at me again. 

The vows I had taken were solemn ones. Last night, I had forsaken every one. If my keeper ever discovered my treason I’d be exiled as Morrigan had been. Disgraced and forced to debase myself amongst the High Lord’s court of whores and tyrants.

What’s more is that kiss, sacrilegious and sacred as it was, belonged to me. A secret contained between myself and the city.

“The soldiers were talking about the war.” I exhale slowly, swallowing the fallow lump in my throat. “An-and the High Lord’s return.” 

I cast my gaze out of the large, gothic archway that exposes the city in the wet heat of the storm. A dark mass of shadows bleeds across the vast black tapestry of the sky until the world is veiled in black. 

Was the Shadowsinger out there? 

Somewhere in the depths of this mountain with the same longing in his black heart?

Melinoe strides towards my discarded clothes, draped over the tiles as she coaxes me out of the baths. Her slender hands glide over the heavy swathes of fabric and she procures my veil from the pile. The elegant spider-silk is almost iridescent in the sapphire light of the Moonstone Palace. It is a cruel reminder of my place here. I feel its heaviness settle over me like a shroud.

Beneath my faded robes I observe the champagne silk of the slip I had worn last night. It was trimmed with lace and tailored to fit my body. It had been a Solstice gift. Imported from Velaris. I wonder if its usual scent of jasmine and bergamot had been tainted with something darker. 

Wisteria and frozen pine. 

“The City Watch said that there had been trouble on the borders,” Melinoe offers. She did this a lot; always hearing whispers of one thing or the other. “Apparently the Princes on the Continent are working with him.” 

“With who?” I ask, tucking back a loose curl.

“The Death Lord.”

“The Priestesses say that The Lord Protector is willing to join them…for a price.” Melinoe says grimly. 

“What could possibly be worth such a betrayal of our traditions?” My stomach turns, a warring and violent storm. Anxiety coils around my throat like the tendrils of some monstrous creature borne from the depths of the ocean. 

“That’s what it is to thrive in this world, sweet girl.” Her voice is softer now, a whisper of gentle night. 

“To make your black deals in the dark and decide what you will trade for power.”

I knew very little of power. 

But I know this: I had forsaken sacred vows at the mere suggestion of it. So what might desperate a desperate man desecrate to know the kiss of that dark, ancient power that bleeds from the infernal heart of this land. 

“I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.” Melinoe turns away from me.

“It- it’s just that with the High Lord’s return…” She stalks towards the open windows, taking in the view of the city from this height, “and your dreaming…does it not speak to something - a coming storm?” 

In truth it had never occurred to me that my foresight might serve as anything other than a shackle. That it might be a warning from out of time. Of things yet to come. 

“Come, sweet girl,” Melinoe coos kindly, turning from me, “it is not for the likes of us to worry about.”

“I will follow in a moment,” I acquiesce, reclining further into the water, running a cloth over the junction of my neck and collarbones and loosing a sigh as the steam envelops me once again, “I will take the waters a while longer.” 

She lingers for a moment more before taking her leave, the other court ladies following her in a daze as they trail out of the bath chamber; in a throng knotted curls and flashes of laughing violet eyes that glint in the seraphic light.

The vision comes with the quiet, fleeting images of the blue light of a bleeding star and a dark-winged angel.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” The voice of my handmaiden, Leda, cuts through the arid heat of the bathing chamber. The young wraith's fingertips dig into the tender flesh of my arms as she drags me upward and out of the scalding waters. Leda is a lithe creature, with yellow eyes and thin, arched brows that she furrows when she casts her amber gaze on me in the cruel light. Her features twist grimly at the alabaster film that shrouds my vision, a testament to the fleeting visions and prophetic dreaming that haunts me in my waking hours. 

“Another dream?” Her voice is accusatory and laced with concern. The wraith’s touch is careful and deliberate as she cradles my chin in her cupped palm. A reflexive hand tightens around her as she runs a hand through the loose tresses of my hair as my ragged breaths soften to a gentle exhale. 

“The worst of it has passed, I think.” I assure her, smiling lightly, though I am sure it does not reach my eyes. The wraith looks at me warily and there in the darks of her irises I find a small flicker of courage that coaxes sound from me again.

“I- I dreamt of a winged angel -- a blue star that bleeds over the mountain.” I say gravely, my voice wane and ghostly. My body feels like a conduit of someone else's pain. A vessel of nerve endings and synapses that sear white hot with the last tremors of the dark power that lives in me. 

“Dreams may yet be just that, sweet girl.” Leda embraces me thoughtfully, the crease in her brow deepens and the set of her jaw falls into something akin to sorrow. She wraps me carefully in a dark navy robe, the soft cotton against my skin working to untether me from the ether. 

“Now get dressed.” The wraith speaks gently into my unbound hair. Leda’s voice is stern but her face unserious, one brow arches high and her eyes glitter with devilment in the fireglow.

“The Lord Protector wishes to speak with you.” I falter then and Leda watches carefully as my fingers descend upon the discolored flowering bruises that mottle my skin.

TAGLIST: @bravo-delta-eccho@tiredsleepyhead@that-one-bibliophole@azzyslittleshadow@lalaluch @laramcflyyyy @teenagellamaangel

[thelov3lybookworm]

Am I Forgiven?

Summary: one chance is all he gets

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2650

Warnings: tinyy bit of angst, keir, rhysie poo being nosy. language ig? let me know if theres more i need to add here hehe 🫶🏻

A/n: based on this request by @nightless <3333 hope you like this pookie and please forgive me for taking over a year almost to post this 😭😭😭

(i feel like i kinda went off track but i tried to stick to the plot and my mind took the steering and was like. 'hmm this new route looks cool' im sorry lmaoo)

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Y/n felt her eyebrows rise, glancing at the back of Keir’s head. She had thought the high lord would try to sweeten his offer, maybe start slow. But he apparently was in a no bullshit mood, and Y/n was not complaining. The quicker the ordeal was over, the quicker she could go back to her back and forth with the General.

Y/n was only here to help protect Keir, maybe even intimidate the high lord, though she knew that would only really happen in Keir’s dreams. That meant Y/n didn’t need to pay attention to whatever big words the two males threw at each other, and so she let her eyes wander.

Morrigan, Keir’s daughter, definitely got her looks from her father, but no one would point that out loud, not wanting to get into anyone's bad graces.

The shadowsinger was one of the most beautiful people Y/n had seen. Pity that he was so cold and closed off from everyone.

If he had been even a little less cold, Y/n would have had him in her bed long ago.

It was a good thing she didn’t really like pretty males.

She liked her males built, rough, and roguish.

Which, fortunately for her, her mate was exactly that.

Unfortunately for her, he was the Lord of Bloodshed, the General of the night court’s armies.

Cassian.

The thought brought a sly smirk on her face as she met the hazel eyes of the illyrian, who already looked ready to pounce over the table to get to her.

Y/n turned her attention back to the high lord before he could see the same urges in her eyes. She had mostly tuned everyone out, so when she heard the words muttered by Rhysand, shock jolted her entire body.

"So your darkbringers will fight when need be, and in exchange, you get to visit velaris. We’re settled then."

Y/n glanced at Keir, wide eyed, who simply offered a nod to the high lord before stalking out. Y/n had no choice but to follow, but she did shoot a last look at Cassian, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

She knew how hard it must’ve been to receive such news, considering he called the place home and considering how much the elite members of the high lords inner circle hated hewn city and its people, Y/n would not blame him if he lost his mind in the cavernous meeting chamber.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Keir had led Y/n and Bastian to a smaller room, ordering the two to get the darkbringer army ready and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, to increase their training time and try and test every single one of the soldiers to make sure they were giving their best. And after half an hour of unceasing droning about the upcoming war, he told them to leave, mumbling something about freedom and velaris under his breath as the two generals escaped the empty yet full room, hurrying to get away before Keir decided he needed to ramble more.

The moment they were far enough away, Bastian let loose a breath, stepping off to the side and leaning against the wall. Y/n followed, standing toe to toe with him as she focused her eyes on the rock formations next to his head.

"How soon do you think the war will be upon us?"

Y/n took a deep breath, meeting the onyx eyes that always seemed to know her a little too well. "I don’t know. But it will be soon, I’m sure."

He was quiet for a moment. "When are you going to tell him, Y/n?"

Y/n turned away from him, letting her eyes survey the nearby brothels and shops, full of drinking and revelling patrons.

"Y/n?"

She sighed. "I don’t know, Bas. I feel like he knows already, but then he leaves every time. Every visit, I wonder if he will stop running in circles and finally talk to me about it, but then all he does is flirt all night and then vanish when I start to feel like we might be getting somewhere. I don’t know what to think anymore."

Bas hummed, rubbing his brow. "Maybe just talk to him? Tell him to get his shit together. After all, you do love ordering the soldiers around. Maybe he needs to get a taste of that to stop being a child."

Y/n rolled her eyes then, shaking her head. "Good night, Bas."

He laughed, then clasped her shoulder as she began walking away, halting her in her tracks. "Jokes aside, I mean it, Y/n. you should talk to him."

Y/n blinked at him, then nodded uncertainly. And with a last squeeze, Bas walked away, humming his favourite off key tune.

Maybe he was right. She needed to talk to Cassian.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Cassian’s pov.

Cassian was not someone who squirmed. Sure, when he liked someone and wanted to impress them, he’d be jumping off the walls. But he had never felt uncomfortable under his brother’s gazes, let alone Rhysand's gaze.

Azriel was supposed to be the intimidating one, the one who looked at people and saw right through them. But the way Rhysand stared at Cassian, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, Cassian wondered if he was trying to stare into Cassian’s soul.

Or maybe trying to get through his mental walls to find out the answer to the question he very clearly had.

When Cassian was tired of being stared at like a medicinal herb specimen while he scanned the crowd in Hewn City, he finally snapped. "What?"

"What’s the deal between you and the General of the Darkbringers?"

Instantly, Cassian felt his blood cooling.

"Is there supposed to be a deal?"

Rhysand scoffed. "Not really, but the way you two act around each other suggests otherwise."

Cassian narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed to a far corner in the throne room where a couple had started kissing. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The high lord snorted. "Yeah sure, I believe you."

Cassian remained quiet, and before long, Rhysand was opening his mouth again. As expected.

"You know, I was wondering if she has something going on with her right hand man. What was his name? Blaise? B-"

"Bastian." Cassian half snarled, his gaze swinging to the knowing eyes of his brother, and he realised that this was his plot all along. He’d been poking Cassian about mindless matters the whole evening, and to add to the annoyance of the general, Rhysand had hit where it hurt the most.

Cassian had seen the two, Y/n and Bastian, interact. And while they probably merely shared camaraderie, it irked Cassian to no end that another male got to talk to his mate so freely and get no repercussions for it, while Cassian had to skirt around everything he wanted to say to that magnificent female, having to settle to flirting when he wanted to tear open his chest and present her with the organ that kept him alive.

"So, I’ll ask again. What’s the deal between you two?"

Cassian released a frustrated sigh, then turned his gaze to the wide double doors, knowing his eyes showed his longing more than he wanted them to.

"She…"

But then she walked in, and his breath caught at the way her eyes instantly met his, as if she had come here solely for the purpose of finding him. And as he watched her stalk to him, her posture impeccable and confidence unwavering, not even sparing a glance to the people as they stepped out of her way the moment they spied her march up to the thrones the rulers occupied without care, he knew he was right.

She stopped only once her boots hit the first step leading up the dais where the high lord and lady sat, brows high. She bowed her head, eyes looking up at them.

"My lord, my lady. Would you mind if I steal away your general for a few moments?"

If possible, Rhysand’s brows rose even higher, glancing once at Cassian before shaking his head. "We wouldn’t mind at all."

Y/n shot Cassian a look, which promptly made him move to follow, but he also could not help but be worried.

She looks like she’s gonna cut off my balls.

The further away he moved from his brother and his high lady, the deeper in the crowd, it got harder to focus on worrying about his assets over the sound of the loud, seductive lilt of the orchestra that blared from the corner.

Once again, he felt Rhysand tap on his mental shields.

‘What?’

‘Is she your mate?’

Cassian stilled for a moment, then kept moving before he lost sight of Y/n’s back.

‘Yes.’

Rhys was silent for a moment, prompting Cassian to wonder whether he had left his mind when he spoke again.

‘Look, I will understand if you don’t want to accept the bond, but do not fuck this up. Reject her after the war is over. If she gets upset, everything will be ruined-’

‘Shut the fuck up. What makes you think I don’t want her?’

Another pause.

‘I thought if you hadn’t yet accepted the bond, you didn’t want to-’

Cassian shoved Rhysand out before he could rile him up even more, pulling his wings closer to himself as he finally escaped the throng of revellers and stepped out of the throne room.

He did not have it in himself to tell his brother that he was the reason Cassian had suppressed his urge to claim his mate right the moment the bond snapped.

He had been worried that Rhysand, despite how much he loved his family, was also the high lord, and he would do anything to keep the court safe, no matter how much he despised it. And if Y/n had accepted the bond already, there was a high chance Rhys would use her to win this war, as he already was planning to.

Cassian did not want to go against his brother, but neither did he want to let his mate be used.

Fingers snapped in Cassian’s face, making him jerk back, wide eyes scanning his surroundings, snagging on the jutting rock’s overhead, the cavernous ceiling, the scarce lighting, before finally focusing on the reason for his abrupt departure from the throne room.

She stared back at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you so distracted because you don’t want to talk to me?"

He blinked, swallowing.

How would he ever tell her that she was as far from the truth as she could get.

Instead, he offered her a smirk. "No sweetheart, I was wondering which wall I would like to take you against first."

Y/n was no shadowsinger, but she was a darkbringer. That brought along night powers, faint wisps of dark sky swirling around her wings frantically that were generally utilised for hiding better as she raised an eyebrow at him, and despite her calm exterior, Cassian knew she was getting agitated by his continuous refusal to acknowledge the mating bond.

He suspected that would no longer be the case very soon if the anger also glimmering in her eyes was any indication.

Also the tiny, foreign emotions taking root in his chest that came from the other side of the bond, because no matter how hard the two tried to block the pathway connecting their souls, it was as if the mother refused to let it be shut completely.

"Cassian, I am tired."

He swallowed again. "Well, that’s nice. Maybe I can give you a massage afterwards, oils and all. Maybe a bath together-"

"Do you feel it too?"

His mouth snapped shut, and he wondered if not speaking would help him at all.

And then he caught a whiff of his scent from her skin, and that set somethin feral that had till now been bound in his chest loose.

"Why the fuck do you smell like Bastian?" He spat out the name, as if even having to move his facial muscles to speak the offending male’s name disgusted him to the core.

Which it did.

Y/n blinked, her brows raising. "Are you serious right now? I just asked you a question and you respond like a typical animalistic illyrian." She shook his head, and the smile that lifted the edges of her lips sent cold fingers skittering down Cassian’s spine, knowing he had messed up. "But you did answer me, didn’t you? Even if indirectly. Pathetic."

Y/n turned away from him, her wings splaying out in a furious stretch before wrapping back tightly against her back.

"Wait, Y/n."

She paused, glancing back at him, incredulous tilt to her lips as she surveyed him. "I have been waiting for quite a long time now, Cassian."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he released a frustrated exhale. "I know that Y/n, but I was doing it to keep you safe."

She barked out a harsh laugh. "Keep me safe?"

He nodded. "I didn’t want you to get caught in between Keir and Rhysand. And you know you would have if they’d realised what we shared sooner."

She was no longer grinning at him, the mocking expression having long melted off of her beautiful features. "And you could not have handled it better?" She took a step towards him, and despite her menacing shadows swirling around her, Cassian relaxed, happy she would stay for a few precious moments longer, even if it was just to yell at him.

"Cassian, I know you can feel my emotions too. You know how badly I wanted to talk to you and figure this out. You really could not have come to me and told me that we’d have to keep the bond under wraps instead of flirting with me and then leaving me waiting for you?"

Cassian dipped his head, shame burning through him. He had nothing to say, knowing she was right and nothing he uttered could possibly justify his actions.

If he really wanted to keep her safe, he would have left her alone. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was his mate. And he would have damned himself and everyone around him if he had to ignore his mate.

"Y/n, I- I’m sorry. I know I have wronged you, making you feel like I do not care, but please, give me one chance?"

Cassian watched as her eyes softened the tiniest bit, her shoulders slumping.

"Just tell me why you kept me hanging."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I was scared Rhys would try to use you, and I did not want you to think that I only… accepted the bond to get closer to you."

She stared at him, then dipped her head. "I guess that makes sense."

He watched her, uncertain. "I… does it?"

She shook her head, a smile slipping onto her lips. "I am still mad at you, so don’t go getting too happy. I am not letting you off easy, but…"

"But?" He pressed.

"I guess it’s for the best that we don't do anything now because I need to focus on the darkbringers and make sure they are trained. I’m sure you also have duties, whatever it is you do."

Cassian blinked. He could not believe she was being so gracious. He had thought she would be angrier.

"So… does that mean there is a chance I will be forgiven?"

She snorted, turning away. "One chance, a lot of grovelling. And maybe I will consider it."

She walked away, hips swaying lightly, but then paused, head turning to look at him.

"For the record, I’m sure these walls would be pretty uncomfortable against my back."

And then she was gone.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

permanent taglist: @berryzxx @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

@illyriassweetheart

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whisper of the Forgotten | pt. 10

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 1,5k words | warnings: war | masterlist

“AZRIEL!” Your wail, the scream of pure pain and agony, tears through the few Illyrian warriors left on the battle ground, shaking the ground. You need to find him, but have no idea where he is. Dead bodies are scattered all over the ground, covered in blood and weapons, and dirt and fear kicks in that he is one of them. 

You haven’t felt like this in a long time, helpless and broken. Last time you had felt like that was when you had been locked into the Prison, many centuries ago. 

Your heart hammers against your ribcage when you spin around, trying to make out anything in the distance, but the dust in your eyes and fog hovering above the ground make it hard for you to see. 

Wails of pain coming from warriors who have been injured reverberate through you, making you shudder and you fold your arms around your body. 

The feeling within your soul, the tug, the bond that connects your souls, fades more and more with every ragged breath you take. The air burns down your throat, and tears start to fall from your eyes. 

Only an hour prior the battle had still been raging on, Illyrians and Darkbringers, joined by all the armies from the other courts, battling and fighting against the Death God and his supporters. It was blade against blade, steel against steel, wails and war cries sounded from every corner and then—

Then the land fell dark as an otherworldly being, a creature made of darkness and vengeance, one that you once used to call your friend, and hope to do so in the future again, landed upon the fighting warriors, upon those who supported and belonged to Koschei.

It was a nest of swirling black shadows, ruling over the land, wiping out every living being in its wake, sparing those on your side, until nothing but destruction and dust was left.

You and Nesta, your powers unified, were the ones who landed the death blow. 

Ataraxia tightly clasped in her hand, she lunged at Koschei first. You joined her on her quest, fuelling your energy, gathering all the power you had, and then, joined by the forces of the Wild Hunt, you came upon him, knives and magic working together as one — ending his life.

He had been weakened before, but had his people, his supporters, armies from the continent to protect him, shield him.

The battle had raged on for months, you had all been weakened, but you had known the day would come where you would face him. The battle would come and you would return from it victorious.

The land roared, cracked open, screamed when Ataraxia pierced through his chest, followed by the blow of your magic. You sent a gust of wind at him, at the ashes and dust, the only thing left of him, and allowed the wind to carry him away.

A mixture of tears, dirt and blood coated your face, your entire body, and when you turned back to face your family, you fell into their arms.

The Wild Hunt, brutal beasts and warriors, all came together to hug one another, screaming and weeping now that you were reunited and won the war.

But right now, you can’t waste any time, you need to find your mate. 

All these centuries, everything that has happened between you – you can’t lose him now. Not like this. Azriel doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to die out here. You need to find him and tend to him, heal his wounds. And–

“Y/N!” Cassian calls to you from a distance and you need a moment to figure where his voice is coming from. Eventually, your eyes land on the Illyrian male who looks battered and broken, his body coated in grime and blood. He is standing in front of a healer’s tent, but walks into your direction, limping. 

“Y/N!” he calls again. “It’s Azriel!” Cassian trembles as he braces his hands on his thighs, his eyes revealing everything you need to see. 

And the pain in his voice is everything you need to hear. 

Driven by fear and terror, you dash forward, into the general’s direction, past him and into the healer’s tent and fall to the ground, a sob bursting from you when you take in your mate and the–

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up with a loud scream parting your dry lips, and burning fiercely in your throat. Your eyes a damp with unshed tears and—

A strong arm curls tightly around you and you feel the soft press of lips against the side of your neck.

“Share your nightmare with me,” Azriel mumbles, his voice hoarse and low.

Your breathing is ragged but you relax immediately, pressing into his warm and solid body, finding solace in it. 

You close your eyes, hoping to ease the burning and for your heart to calm down. Your breaths start to calm as well, levelling, and you slide your hand into his scarred one.

“I dreamt of the war.”

Azriel’s body shudders in response to your answer, and his arm curls tighter around, his naked body flush against yours. 

“I dreamt of how I couldn’t find you, how I was looking for you, and how I was reunited with my family.”

“But you found me,” Azriel breathes, his voice full of emotion. 

You turn in his arms, slowly in order to not hurt him. The war hasn’t been over for too long, Azriel earned himself many deep gashes. The blades that caused him those had been drenched in faebane and the healing took much longer.

“I did,” you whisper and a tear rolls down your cheek.

“I can’t believe you could forgive me, Y/N.” Azriel‘s eyes are closed almost as if it pains him to look at you. “After I‘ve hurt you so much, after I betrayed you, after—”

Having wiggled one hand free, you place it atop his lips, stopping him. “Our souls belong to each other, they were for another and so are we — made for another. Two hearts that belong together shouldn’t be kept apart. It is true that you hurt me, but you apologised and you have shown me that you are a better male now.”

You push up on your elbow, allowing your naked limbs to tangle with his. 

You lean over him and brush your lips against his, at first sweet and delicate, then a little deeper. The kiss is bittersweet, full of tears, longing, love, pain, madness and desire.

“I love you, my mate.”

“I love you, my mate,” he says with a smile but claims your mouth in another kiss in the next moment. This one is deeper, hungrier, a dance of tongues and lips.

You are both breathless when you part, your hands resting atop his heaving chest, not all the wounds from the war now having healed yet, but bandages protecting them. 

“Shall we get up?” Azriel asks, his tone a little lighter, sparkles glittering in his hazel eyes. “We have a lot of rebuilding to do, don’t we?”

You have started to rebuild the Middle with help of the Wild Hunt, your mate and some of his family members. Both Rhysand and Feyre apologised and told you that they could, for the time being, not return to the middle — their experiences and what was done to them here has been too traumatising to be yet ready to return here.

You understood of course.

But the Valkyries join you a lot, helping you greatly.

“I think that rebuilding can wait a little longer, Azriel,” you hum and kiss his jaw. “There are other things I want to do now.”

“Other things?” Azriel drawls and pulls your leg over his waist. “What other things?”

You let your fingers dance up his chest, before curling them around his neck, bringing him in for another kiss. “Oh you know exactly what other things.” Your lips curl against his when you press against his front. 

And oh does he know! Making love to you for the rest of the morning, before you head outside and start to work on your house and the large garden beyond.

general tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @azrielsmate2 @callmeblaire @lilah-asteria @berryzxx

[extremely-judgemental]

Okay, Rhysand is not power hungry.

Then again, Amren, a feared ancient creature is his second-in-command. Morrigan, supposedly strong and powerful, is his third-in-command. Two most powerful Illyrians are his lackeys. He may very well have an army of Valkriyes on top of the Illyrians and Darkbringers soon. Let's ignore all this because it's just his government.

Night would possess the Book of Breathings if it wasn't lost, half of which technically still belongs to Summer. And the Cauldron itself is hidden away in a secret island run by Rhysand's friends whose location is known only to him(and Azriel..?) They have the Dread Trove hidden in their court and Helion is entrusted with that secret only because they needed his help. They have weapons made by Nesta in their possession. I haven't read HOFAS but my understanding is that even Nesta can't access them without Rhysand's permission..? Nesta is blessed by Mother even after she returned her powers to the Cauldron, and they found a way to keep her on a leash. Elain is a seer.

I don't know how else to say this but Rhysand is a hoarder of power.

[lainalit]

"We were born sick." You heard them say it

A acotar canon complied fanfic about a common hewn city family.

I posted a one shot that I originally did for my headcanon of a darkbringer going home to his family when he was being denied purchasing toys and sweats from velaris shopowners, just like Rhysand ordered them to do.

After that, the OC's that I created for it wouldn't leave my mind, so I plan to write one shots (probably non-linear) for them.

You find both first parts on ao3 and the second chapter under the cut their his daughter gets her treats.

The small faelights adorned the walls and tables, enveloping the Maher family's living room in a warm, dim glow. The rich aroma of butter and sugar wafted through the air, enhancing the cozy atmosphere.

Seated in a rocking chair by the hearth, Enid threaded a needle through the soft, dyed pink fabric of an almost-finished teddy bear for her daughter, her hands moving with quick steady precision. As she worked, she hummed a gentle tune from an old lullaby her mother used to sing to her—a lullaby she now sings to her daughter whenever nightmares stirred her little one from sleep.

Her husband, Cadell, and their daughter Trina were visiting Nain Ada—the female who took Cadell in after his mother passed away—allowing Enid to complete Trina's gift without needing to worry of looking after her and the fear of Trina discovering the presents too soon.

Just one of the many things Enid loves about her husband; he never takes her homemaking tasks for granted and devotes every moment of his day to their daughter after returning from his Darkbringer duties.

She sighed softly, redirecting her attention to the small pink teddy bear as she completed the final stitch on its back. She examined the meticulous work she had devoted nearly a week to while Trina was at school.

Sometimes, she could still hear her great-grandmother’s voice admonishing her that the stitching wasn’t perfect and that she would need to start all over again since only a flawless stitch could make a flawless wife. What nonsense.

She placed the teddy gently on the rocking chair and walked over to the kitchen island, where the rounded butterscotch candies cooled off.

Taking one, she blew on it and carefully bit off a small piece. As she savored the sweet flavor, she closed her eyes, recalling how her Cousin Kenna, from whom she had obtained the recipe, would make these treats for her birthday when she was young—one of the few cherished memories.

Enid carefully packed the butterscotch’s and the teddy into the bag that Cadell had brought back from his visit to Velaris, a bag that had returned empty after he was denied the very same things she had worked so hard to create now.

As she closed the bag, she struggled to quell her frustration over the situation and the injustice of it all.

She’s fed up with Keir and his elitist friends dictating what the impoverished Fae can and cannot do within the city walls. She seethes at the way the High Lord treats every citizen of her home like a criminal, all while his own hands remain far from innocent.

 But what infuriates her the most is Morrigan, whom the common folk of Hewn City derisively called the 'Red Traitor.' Enid resents how Morrigan abandoned the females, the younglings, and all the vulnerable souls once she secured her own freedom and dreams, never pausing to consider those still trapped within the dark mountain walls yearning for the same.

But she pushed those thoughts aside as she entered her daughter’s room and placed the bag of gifts on the bed. She chose to focus on her blessings rather than what she lacked.

________________

Enid stood in the warm glow of the kitchen, the faint scent of vanilla and butter still lingering in the air as she wiped the dark countertop clean.

The rhythmic sound of her cloth against the surface was soothing, a welcome reprieve in the otherwise peaceful afternoon. Just as she finished, she heard the unmistakable thud of heavy boots on their front door, stirring a flutter of excitement in her chest.

The door creaked open, and there was Cadell, his broad silhouette framed against the fading light, with Trina nestled in his arms, her small form draped against him like a sleeping flower sprite from one of her picture books.

“Wake up, princess! We are home,” Cadell announced with a playful lilt, gently jostling her.

 Trina stirred, a sleepy grumble escaping her lips as she buried her face deeper into her father’s neck, unwilling to wake fully just yet.

With quick strides, Enid closed the distance, her heart warm at the sight of her husband and daughter. Cadell leans down, his lips find his wife's forehead in the customary kiss he lovingly bestows upon her each time he comes home.

“Did you have a good time by Nain Ada?” Enid asked, her smile teasing as she tipped her head back to meet his gaze, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Cadell chuckled, his dark brown eyes shimmering with contentment.

"If by that you mean her feeding us until we’re ready to burst and her grumpy self finding fault with everything and everyone, then yes,“ he replied, a note of affection lacing his words as he adjusted his hold on their daughter.

Enid quirked a brow, a smile tugging at her lips. “And you, my sweetling?”

Her daughter, still half-asleep, merely nodded her head against her father's shoulder, an adorable little gesture that made Enid’s heart swell.

“Well, it seems like our princess wants to sleep instead of meeting Lucy’s new friend?” she said, glancing from her husband to her daughter.

Trina lifted her head slightly, her big hazelnut eyes blinking up at her mother with a hint of curiosity.

“New friend?” she murmured, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her words.

"Yes, they arrived just before you and went directly to your room," Enid replied, gently tucking a stray of Trina’s dark hair behind her ear, revealing her small features that already resemble her husband , though he would insist she looked much more like her.

With a sudden burst of energy, Trina wiggled in her father’s arms, determination flashing in her sleepy eyes.

“Daddy, let me down!” she demanded, her voice tinged with the audacity of a youngling sure of her own authority.

Cadell chuckled lightly, his deep laughter resonating in their living room.

“Okay, okay, but what do we say first?” he asked, lowering her slightly, giving her the room to wiggle free.

Trina beamed up at him before leaning in, planting a big, warm kiss on his cheek.

“Pretty please!” she chimed.

With a laugh, he set her down entirely, watching as she dashed off towards her room, her tiny feet pattering against the stone floor in a flurry of excitement.

Just as Enid was about to head towards Trina’s room, Cadell caught her wrist with a firm yet tender grasp, turning her gently but decisively to face him.

“Wha—” she began, before she could fully voice her question, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a long, passionate kiss that seemed to stop time itself.

When he finally pulled away, his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

“Did I tell you how incredible you are?” he breathed, his voice low and filled with admiration.

She took a moment to catch her breath, her heart racing from both the unexpected kiss and the weight of his words.

“No, that’s the first time you’ve ever told me that,” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes as she swatted his shoulder lightly.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her pointy ear as he whispered, “Well, if that’s the case, it seems I need to show my wife tonight just how incredible she is.”

A shiver of excitement and anticipation danced down her spine at his words, a heady mix of emotions blooming within her. But before she could form a reply, a sharp scream pierced the air from her daughter’s room, shattering the intimate moment.

In an instant, her husband’s demeanor shifted from tender to alert; he released her and sprinted the few meters to their daughter’s room, his concern palpable. She was right behind him, her heart still pounding—not just from the kiss, but from the sudden urgency that had replaced their tender exchange.

_______________

In Trina’s room, the atmosphere was electric with joy.

Enid stepped inside to find her daughter tightly clutching the pink teddy, bouncing up and down in sheer delight. The moment stirred something deep within her, an echo of uncontained happiness.

“By the Mother, don’t scare your old father like that, Trina!” Cadell exclaimed, his hand resting dramatically on his heart as if he were about to swoon.

Enid couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his remarks. Both in their seventies, they were seen as practically youthful by high fae standards, especially when compared to Ada, who was over seven hundred years old.

Trina stopped her bouncy dance and held the pink teddy high above her head.

 “I’m sorry, Daddy! But look at Lucy’s and Mr. Starfall’s new best friend!” She stretched her tiny arms up toward him, enthusiasm radiating from her face.

Cadell knelt down to her level, his gaze softening with love as he looked at the stuffed animal she clutched in her tiny hands.

"I see, princess. They look quite lovely," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Without warning, Trina launched herself into his arms, wrapping her limbs around him with all her might.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with pure, unfiltered joy.

Cadell chuckled, a deep, warm sound that filled the room, hugging her back with equal fervor before loosening his embrace just enough to look into her bright, eager eyes.

 "You’re welcome, sweetheart, but I didn’t do anything. It was all your mama’s work."

Enid, standing nearby, suppressed a smile, knowing full well that her husband had played his part as well. He had helped with the cutting and dyeing of the fabric, though she chose not to mention it now.

She’d will remind him later by mischievously depriving him of his favorite indulgence in bed, so that he wouldn’t always be so self-effacing.

Trina glanced over at her, breaking free from her father's embrace, and before she could topple into her mother’s legs, Enid bent down to catch her, pulling her into a long, heartfelt hug.

"Thank you, Mommy! I love you so much," Trina said with a soft voice, her small arms squeezing with all the strength she could muster.

"I love you too, my sweetling," Enid murmured, feeling the beginning of unshed tears prickling at her eyes.

As they slowly parted, Enid asked gently, "So, what’s the name of your new friend?"

Trina looked thoughtfully from her mother to her father, then down at the plushie in her hands.

"I think…I’ll name him Thessie." A big smile spread across her face.

"Why that, sweetheart?" Cadell asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Trina gazed down at Thessie, cradling it in her small hands.

“His pink reminds me of the pictures from the Dawn Court in my schoolbooks, and the High Lord is Thesan, so Thessie!”

There was a brief silence as they all absorbed the weight of her words. Each of them understood, in their own way, that they would likely never see the breathtaking views of the Dawn Court at sunset.

Breaking the silence, Enid chimed in with a soft, nurturing voice, "What a lovely name, sweetie. And since Lord Thesan wields healing powers, your Thessie will undoubtedly possess some of that magic as well."

Her daughter's warm eyes widened, a spark of wonder igniting within them. "Do you really think so?"

Enid smiled brightly as she answered, “Of course! Just like Mr. Starfall has star powers, or Lucy has fire powers.”

Trina hugged Thessie tightly and gave the bear a kiss on its head. With an ecstatic look, she made her way over to her dressing drawer, where Mr. Starfall and Lucy awaited the arrival of their new friend.

As the moment unfolded, Cadell grasped Enid’s hand, every bit of warmth radiating from his calloused grip. His gaze was drifting to his daughter's bed, where the candy bag poked out from beneath the larger bag.

“Princess, look what I’ve found!” he said, retrieving the sweets and waving them teasingly.

"Daddy, my caramel bonbons!" Trina squealed, darting across the small room in an eager attempt of trying to seize the candies out of her father’s hand.

"Wait a minute, the oldest gets to go first!" Cadell declared, holding the bag just out of reach, a playful glint in his eye.

"That's not true, Daddy! The youngest gets to go first!" Trina exclaimed, hopping up and down on her feet, eager to get her hands on the sweat treats.

With a mischievous smile, Cadell raised an eyebrow at her.

 "If that’s so, why doesn’t the youngest try to catch her old father?" And with that, he released his wife's hand and dashed out of the room, laughter bubbling from his lips.

"Daddy, you cheated!" Trina yelled, her laughter ringing out as she chased after him, her little legs moving as fast as they could.

Standing in the doorway, Enid listens to the joyful peals of laughter reverberating around their Alcove, wrapping every corner in a cocoon of blissful love. A peaceful smile graced her lips.

Despite not having the opulent wealth of gems and gold that Prythian aristocrats possess, she felt immeasurably wealthy in that moment, as she watched, her greatest treasure right in front of her, scuttling through their home in a whirlwind of laughter.

[elleybug]

Manifesting another CoN resident 🌑

Darkbringer Arlon

[rosanna-writer]

shaking, pacing (i just need you)

Summary: The one where Rhys gets sex-pollen'd and hulks out into his beast form. Word Count: ~2.5k Warnings: Dubious consent

@officialfeysandweek is the gift that keeps on giving <3

You can read the fic Here on AO3 or under the cut.

Halfway through Keir's latest report, talons scraped against Feyre's mind. She ignored them. It took all of her concentration to maintain a mask of bored indifference while still keeping a mental tally as her Steward listed out the expenses and costs of running the court. She needed to focus.

"With the cost of steel rising, the Darkbringer legions' annual budget—"

More scraping. Desperate this time, claws scrabbling for a chink somewhere, anywhere in the adamant shields protecting her mind.

Feyre opened the tiniest sliver in her mental walls possible, glancing down at her nails and picking at them to cover her distraction. Is everything alright, Rhys?

The moment his shields dropped, a wave of pure need slammed into her. Biting the inside of her lip before she made any embarrassing noises, Feyre crossed her legs, hating the feel of the cold stone against her bare thighs.

Trips to the Court of Nightmares had been so much more comfortable when she could spend the whole visit in Rhys's lap.

Just the mere thought of the first time they'd come here drew out a desperate moan from Rhys, the sound of it reverberating in her mind. Insatiable, even for him.

What the hell is going on?

I'm aching for you so badly.

Feyre slammed down her shields—her horny mate could wait. Especially when he knew perfectly well that she was holding court in the Hewn City.

"The price of steel has risen, but surely not by that much?" she said.

Keir's eyes widened, though Feyre couldn't say whether in panic or merely just surprise that she'd noticed. "Milady, demand increased during the war with Hybern," he said, as if she didn't already know that.

"And then dropped back down. Are the ministers working under you using outdated estimates to set the court budget?"

"If they are, I'll see to it that their incompetence is punished swiftly."

He hadn't actually answered her question. Feyre allowed herself a cold smile. "I'm more than happy to mete out any punishments myself."

Keir stammered something in response, but before Feyre could press him any further, those damned ebony talons found the crack she kept unsealed in case of emergencies. They nearly ripped their way into her mind.

This time, she let Rhysand feel the full force of her anger down the bond; if he needed release, he could take care of himself or wait an hour. She didn't need a distraction during her first solo visit to the Court of Nightmares.

Especially when the bloated budget estimates practically screamed that some bastard was embezzling from the court treasury.

Not now, Rhysand.

Please. It hurts…

He'd practically whimpered the words, and Feyre's blood ran cold. Rhys yielded to her in ways he wouldn't for anyone else in the world, but he didn't beg. Not unless something was wrong.

In her panic, she'd lost track of what Keir was saying. "Is that so?" she said, hoping he'd repeat himself enough for her to pick up the thread of conversation.

Rhys, what happened?

An image crossed the bond—Rhys's cock, painfully hard, and his fingers wrapped around the shaft. Despite the vice-like grip, he felt no relief at all as he stroked himself.

Feyre didn't see how that answered her question. And Keir was looking at her strangely. Cauldron boil and fry her.

She sat up a bit straighter, unwilling to look rattled. On another day, she would have merely apologized for rescheduling and said something vague about a urgent matter at home. But Feyre couldn't afford to appear weak. Not here in this den of vipers, where she'd once been introduced as a plaything.

There were far more eyes on her than just Keir's. Everyone in the Hewn City wanted to know if their young, newly-crowned High Lady could command a room without her mate or her Inner Circle nearby.

And, if she was honest, Feyre needed to prove it to herself, too.

A glass of wine sat next to her, and she swirled it lazily as she leaned back in the throne. "I'm not convinced by those justifications. If we're paying too much for swords, then plenty of other merchants will be eager to bleed us dry."

"Perhaps it hasn't been explained to you, milady, but if the updated budget isn't completed by—"

"Fire your clerks, complete a more thorough review, and get back to me."

Keir gaped at her like a fish, and Feyre hardly had time to enjoy it before Rhys was tugging urgently on the bond again. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wineglass.

Feyre, please. I need you.

She fought off a shudder as Rhys shared the image of his hand spreading a bead of wetness all the way down his length. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt sharp teeth biting down in frustration. The wine in her goblet began to bubble.

I'll be home soon, I promise.

Sheets tangling around tattooed knees, a sweat-slicked chest, the scent of arousal filling the air.

It feels like I'll explode if I don't bury myself inside you right this minute.

Feyre pushed a wave of soothing, star-flecked power down the bond towards him. It wasn't enough—not even close—but she couldn't storm off in a huff without creating more problems down the line.

She pretended to take a sip of wine, using magic to make a cheekful of liquid vanish instead of actually drinking any. With Rhys acting so strangely, she didn't want to run the risk of getting poisoned.

"High Lady, please reconsider. There's hardly enough time for another draft of the proposal before the deadline."

Feyre loosened her grip on her power, letting darkness fill the room. She'd barely skimmed the surface of the well she could draw from, but just that much was enough to send some of the courtiers falling to their knees.

A glimmer of wicked delight cut through the haze of lust on Rhys's end of the bond.

"You should be thanking me for the opportunity to do better," Feyre said. "I still have half a mind to flay the skin from your bones for presenting me with slapdash work."

Keir bowed his head. "A thousand pardons, milady."

Feyre stood, the heels of her shoes clicking as her feet hit the floor. By some miracle, a damp spot hadn't appeared where the panels of her dress hung around her legs. The scent of her arousal would drift out to the crowd if she stayed in the throne room much longer.

"You'd do well not to waste my time again. I'll be back when you've corrected your mistakes," she said, punctuating it with a thunderclap as she winnowed home.

She materialized directly in their bedroom in the river house. Rhys's scent and the sound of his ragged breathing filled the air, and a light sheen of sweat coated his naked body. He writhed on the bed, dark wings spread painfully wide across the duvet. One hand fisted around his cock.

Feyre's throat tightened—the sight of her mate's beautiful face twisted in pain called to mind the memory of poisoned arrows, a cave, a past brush with death. "I can call a healer, if you need," she breathed.

"I need you," he snarled. His voice had gone rough. Bestial.

As Feyre took a step towards Rhys, a tendril of inky night leaked from him, the flecks of starlight glittering as it snaked towards her. It wrapped around her wrist and yanked her roughly onto the bed. She cried out in surprise as the crown tumbled from her head and clattered to the floor.

Rhys moved with inhuman speed as he rolled her onto her back, pinning her down. Something scraped up her leg—gods, when had his fingers turned to talons?—and Feyre used a flicker of magic to make her clothes vanish before he ripped them.

His mother had made that gown. Rhys wasn't in his right mind.

Scales brushed the soft skin inside her thighs as he nudged her legs apart. Feyre let him. If she fought him in this state, they'd level half of Velaris.

She arched her back, tipping her head to the side to bare her neck. Yielding to him. "You have me," she said.

A forked tongue licked a stripe up the skin she'd just exposed. He'd once told her he could smell with his tongue as a beast—perhaps her scent soothed him.

"Rhysand," she said, reaching down the bond for him even as she spoke aloud. "You don't have to stop, but tell me what's going on. Please."

His cock slid along her clit, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure racing down her spine. Feyre gasped. Rhys growled.

He was aligning himself to thrust into her, she realized. There would be no stopping it. But at the very least, she could attempt to mitigate the damage, so she hooked a leg around his hip and winnowed them both straight to the bed in the cabin in Illyria.

Rhys didn't notice the change of scenery. He'd stopped bothering with shields—stopped bothering with thinking in words, even. Animalistic satisfaction at the feel of her wetness flooded his side of the bond.

The half-second was all she needed to summon a pillow under her hips, placing her at a better angle for taking the beast's cock. He'd gone slowly last time he'd fucked her like this, and even then, she'd had trouble walking the next day.

He wasn't going to be gentle today.

The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance, and at the first stretch, Feyre gave up reasoning with him. She pushed her way into Rhys's mind and rifled through it, looking for answers.

Flowers with ominous black petals. Elain's greenhouse. A sickly-sweet smell.

He slid into her, snapping his hips and breaking Feyre's concentration. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, for something—anything—to hold onto. Spines had erupted from his back, a line of them between his wings, and her fingers closed around one, gripping as if it were the last thing tethering her to the world.

The pace he set was nothing short of punishing, each thrust all the way to the hilt. Feyre burned all over, so full she thought he might rip her in two. She tried pressing her hips up to chase the feeling of pleasure, but he was moving too damn fast for her to keep up.

With a whimper, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. There was nothing to be done but spread her legs until her thighs ached and let her mate take what he needed from her.

Feyre let the feeling of utter fullness drift down the bond to him. It blended with the pure relief that shattered through him each time his cock sank into her. Mind-to-mind, the borders between them blurred—their thoughts, their power, their souls becoming one, mixing like paint.

Somehow, even with Rhys's cock driving mercilessly into her, Feyre decided she'd put that on a canvas.

Someone roared—Rhys perhaps, but Feyre's own throat went raw. She'd lost track of she ended and he began, and she clung to him tightly as they shattered together, all starlight then nothing but sweet darkness.

Feyre's breath was still coming in soft pants when she opened her eyes. She'd hoped that would be enough to bring Rhys back to himself, but the spines at the tip of his tail were already caressing their way up her leg.

The forked tongue licked her cheek. Softer, this time. Affectionate. It drew a surprised giggle out of her, and he purred in response.

She wasn't quite sure how long this lull would last, so Feyre wasted no time reaching into his mind again. Either too tired to talk or still unable to reinforce his shields, Rhys let her. She flipped through the memories as efficiently as she could to avoid violating is privacy any further. When she found the right one, Feyre stepped into it.

"Would you mind horribly if I took a few cuttings?" Rhys had been saying. "I'd like to gift a bouquet to Feyre when she returns from her first visit to the Court of Nightmares alone."

Elain smiled up at him from under a large, floppy sunhat. "You're welcome to anything if it's for Feyre. Just give the planters in the back of the greenhouse a wide berth. It's a new variety, and we're still looking into the effects of the pollen."

Rhys had licked his thumb and wiped a smudge of dirt off Elain's cheek as he thanked her. Elain had rolled her eyes and batted his hand away with some good-natured grumbling about never wanting a brother before turning back to the rosebush she'd been pruning.

The jet-black petals had caught Rhys's eye the second he'd stepped into the greenhouse. The perfect gift for a dark queen. And something smelled alluring, drawing him in.

He hadn't noticed the other set of bright red blooms on the shelf below until they'd already released spores into the air. And then, there was nothing to be done.

"You absolute idiot," Feyre said, pulling out of Rhys's mind. His snout nuzzled her cheek, breath warm against her skin, and Feyre flicked his nose, just as she would if he'd returned to his usual form. He purred again. "I cannot believe you—" she started to add, but another delicious stretch made her gasp.

He'd shifted his hips. Rhys's cock was still inside her, growing large again.

She'd save the lecture for after the second round, then. Or the third. If he wanted to go all night, Feyre certainly didn't mind. She reached a hand up, skimming the underside of his wing with her fingertips. His cock twitched against her walls, sending sparks dancing along her skin. Rhys's answering growl went straight to her core.

"Fuck your seed back into me," she whispered, pressing harder against the silky membrane of his wing as she caressed it again.

His growl became a roar. Feyre held on tight and opened her legs wider.

It was nearly morning by the time the last of the scales faded, the talons disappeared, and Rhys's pupils were no longer vertical slits. Too exhausted to bother fixing the mess of shredded bedding around them, Feyre and Rhys lay in the middle of it, curled around each other.

"I'm sorry for interrupting earlier," Rhys whispered. Feyre had buried her face in his shoulder, and he peppered kisses all over the parts of her cheek and nose he could reach. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"S'alright," she murmured, already drifting off. "You're not that scary."

"I am eternally grateful that you think so, my love."

Feyre hummed contentedly. She'd banded an arm across his broad chest, and she used it to pull him closer. For a moment, Rhys thought she'd finally fallen asleep; his eyes had also closed when she whispered, "Next time, I get to be the one who sniffs the pollen."

The Lord and Lady of Nightmares had never had sweeter dreams.

[shadowqueenjude]

Eris makes a deal with Keir

for @the-darkestminds

Eris interlaced his hands before him, smiling insouciantly at Keir Darkbringer. Despite technically being Rhysand’s subordinate, Keir had little to no fear of the man, and shockingly, Rhysand had let him stay in power for centuries despite being a despot. Having just learned of his position of power and the second game afoot with Rhysand and the Night Court, Eris set out to figure out why. It seemed that however much Rhysand and his dogs claimed to care for Mor, they hadn’t cared enough to warn her about their deal-making with Keir and himself.

Which left it to Eris to be the compassionate one. Shame; compassion was certainly not his strong suit. There were perhaps only two people in the world he had ever truly been kind to, and one would barely speak to him.

Eris shut out the pain at that thought, focusing instead on the man before him. “Hello, Keir.”

“What is this about,” Keir asked flatly, sitting down at the long table with Eris. They were on neutral ground in the Middle, just feet from the infamous mountain where Amarantha had ruled. Eris gestured towards it. “You know, that’s the place where much of Prythian was trapped and tormented by the dark queen for decades. Seems rather ordinary from here, doesn’t it?”

Keir’s lip twitched. “Quite. But I’m sure all the magic occurred underneath.”

Eris raised one leg onto the table, the picture of the arrogant prince. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Keir? In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Amarantha’s domain was modeled after your own.” Keir’s brown eyes turned dark with rage, and Eris noted his hands fisted against his thighs. “Not my domain,” he hissed. “It was Rhysand’s father who trapped us here. The High Lord is merely continuing the family tradition.”

Eris chuckled. “One would think after fifty years in that place Rhys would be more sympathetic to your plight.”

Keir looked mollified at that, straightening his baby crown over his blonde waves. “Instead he has only cracked down more on us since coming back.”

Eris clucked his tongue sympathetically. “Rhysand got special privileges,” Eris drawled, twisting a golden ring around his finger. “For being Amarantha’s whore, he didn’t suffer as we did. He didn’t need to worry about seeing his mother die right before his eyes, or being impersonated by those creepy Attor, or becoming the nightly entertainment, which typically involved lots of blood and torture. For giving her a little dick every now and then and killing some children, he got away scot-free.”

And Eris knew much of Prythian would never forgive him for it; especially not when Tamlin himself stood against Amarantha for as long as he did. When it was a mere human who freed them all. Eris did not forgive or trust Rhysand, but he supposed he was in no place to judge considering all he had done in his father’s name. He just wished Rhysand would stop acting like such a hero. It made him insufferable.

“Dirty, sniveling bastard,” Keir muttered under his breath.

“Anyhow, I understand your position where even Rhysand cannot. He wasn’t restrained to Under the Mountain like we were. He went there often, yes, but he was free to leave. But now then, Rhysand being a prick doesn’t make you any less of a jackass. Nailing and mailing your daughter to me, Keir? Could you be any more barbaric?” Eris spoke lazily, popping a cork of a champagne bottle as he finished, pouring it generously into a glass he conjured from midair. He then poured another glass to Keir and offered it to him. He didn’t take it.

“She was of no use to me here,” Keir answered coldly.

“No regret about torturing your daughter?” Eris crooned. “Were you hoping I’d accept her still out of pity, perhaps? Surely you knew there’s not a kind bone in my body.” That was true, but preventing Mor from crossing into Autumn territory was one of the greatest kindnesses he could’ve done. Being in Autumn Court territory would have bound her to him forever, and Eris knew she did not wish that at all. Better dead than suffer as his spouse.

“She deliberately disobeyed me and gave herself over to that savage,” Keir snarled, slamming his fists on the table. “This occurred long ago; what is the point of mentioning it now.”

Eris shrugged, tracing a finger across the rim of his glass, toying with Keir. “Well you see, it has always been a lifelong dream of Mor’s to free those girls from the Hewn City. Girls like her who have been trapped in cruel marriages to cruel men. And I can make it happen. I shall, if you wish to make a deal with me.”

“I tire of these games,” Keir snapped. “I already have a deal to be able to access Velaris. Why do I need you?”

Eris smirked. He had Keir right where he wanted him.

“Oh please, Keir, we all know you despise Night Court land, and I wholeheartedly agree,” he purred. “The atmosphere is terrible and the land is barren and who wants to live with all those Illyrian brutes anyway?”

Keir hesitated before he nodded. “True.”

“And as I’m sure you know, I am not merely the general of the Autumn Court armies. I am also lord of the Hestian plains, some of the finest land in Autumn.”

Keir raised an eyebrow, starting to put everything together.

“So, I’ll allow your people to begin to relocate there. But,” Eris raised a hand, interrupting Keir as he was about to speak, “only select citizens of my choice. This is my land, so I get to choose who lives on it. You will, of course, be provided with a fine estate of your own there, and plenty of comforts. Is that not a better deal than the closed city Velaris?”

Keir narrowed his eyes at Eris, considering his offer. “And if I reject your offer?”

Eris shrugged. “You won’t be rejecting it.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

Eris stood up, leaning across the table towards Keir. “There’s a reason you wanted your daughter to marry me so badly,” he murmured. “There’s a reason that after my rejection, you seek me out still. Unfortunately for you, I have discovered it. Why you desire me to be part of your family so.”

For the first time, Keir truly looked afraid. Eris relished that look. “And? What have you found out?” Eris was sure it was meant to sound like a demand, but Keir was far too breathless for his words to sound remotely commanding.

“There aren’t many who delve into the mystical arts,” Eris hummed, not letting his eyes leave Keir’s. “It took…more time than it ought owing to my father’s interference, but I discovered the one you went to before you were trapped under the mountain. And, well, with the right encouragement, the woman was perfectly happy to talk to me.” Eris didn’t elaborate on what he meant by “encouragement,” instead drinking in the scent of Keir’s growing anxiety.

“Your daughter will possess the power of Truth,

She shall attain great success with her strength and youth,

Her spouse shall come from Autumn or Night,

Listen carefully, oh Darkbringer, for she may be your plight,

You’ve been gifted the boon of invincibility,

But such a blessing must always be accompanied by an Achilles heel, silly,

Yours is her. Despair, for you cannot have her killed,

Your destiny by her shall be willed.

Should she marry Autumn’s heir, you shall attain untold amounts of power,

But should she marry an Illyrian, soon not even your servants shall cower,

For Autumn’s son shall be your sword,

But the Night’s son shall be your lord.”

Keir’s skin paled. Eris had recited his prophecy to completion. He knew his darkest secret. He had no cards left to play.

“I don’t think you want this information in the Inner Circle’s hands, do you?” Eris whispered.

Keir’s body swirled with darkness. “I could just kill you and be done with it,” he mused. Eris had to laugh. Powerful though Keir might be, he was no match for a High Lord’s heir, especially not Autumn’s.

Eris let his body encircle itself in flame. “I’d like to see you try. You do know what light and heat does to darkness and cold, don’t you, Keir?”

Keir stayed in a fighting stance for a moment longer before he relaxed. “Fine. I agree to your deal.”

“Swear to it,” Eris insisted. Keir looked murderous, but he grumbled, “I swear.”

Eris watched as black swirls creamed up the inside of Keir’s arm. A matching gold mark formed on Eris’s. He winked at Keir. “Good boy. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Then he winnowed out of the meeting spot before Keir could snarl insults at him.

[litnerdwrites]

The NC is literally a dystopian hellscape.

The Capital, or Velaris, is the safe zone from where they watch the suffering of others (the CON and Illyrians). They srpead propaganda to hide the hellscape that they've turned the NC into, painting themselves as paragons for good, and like siding with them is the best and only option. The IC themselves are a form of walking propaganda, calling themselves "The Court of Dreams" and gas slighting the citizens of Velaris and other courts into thinking that they're in the right and are just misunderstood good guys all along.

They use the CON and Illyria as forms of propaganda, showing it off to others, and painting a tail of them doing their best, but that these places are just too far gone or stubborn or whatever, to paint themselves as the ones struggling as they try to offer them help.

They use force as a way to control the populous, instead of starting with negotiations, or enforcing laws. Instead, they put down rebellions and slaughter their own people, while leaving the females to suffer, and orphans to starve.

They use force in the Hewn city too, though at the wrong times. He used force to control them when Kier called Feyre names, but not when they needed to get control of the Darkbringers? Once instance seems a lot more important than the others.

They control the spread of information, even from their own "family" when they feel like it, as seen in ACOSF. When information leaks from the NC, rhys (or another nc damati), wipes their memories of it. This is seen in ACOWAR after Eris and his brothers found out about Feyre's powers, while his brothers had their memories wiped, he uses it as leverage.

There's also the fact that most people consider Illyrians uncivilised brutes and the denizens of the CON to be unpleasant at best, monsters at worst. People from outside the NC or from velaris, don't really have any way of knowing if it's true first hand. They have the accounts of the IC, but that's it. They just take their word for it. It's not like Feyre or anyone ever see any of the CON outside of that court, that's basically an elaborate masquerade for the sake of survival.

They deny free thought, since we all saw what happened to Nesta the moment she dared to disobey, have individual autonomy, free thought, and healthy boundaries. She was pretty much tortured, and denied information regarding her own body. Even in the HL meeting, anybody with an opposing view, like Tamlin, was quickly shut up, dismissed and/or kicked out.

There's also the fact that it's unlikely anyone from Velaris has ever left it. It's hidden, cut off from the rest of the world, and it's not like we're told of any other safe places in the NC. It's either Velaris, this perfect city, the hellscape that is the CON (supposedly), or the frozen wastelands of Illyria. On top of that, if they stay, they remain the IC's priority, since he did only act to protect Velaris during Amerantha's reign, and not any other location. Has anyone ever left, without getting their memories wiped? Are their methods of transportation for people to leave Velaris, or come to it, if that's what they wish? Unlikely.

The IC don't let anyone see any good in any part of the NC, aside from Velaris. They convince their citizens that they are the only good thing in the NC, putting them on a pedestal above the rest of the territory. Velaris is protrayed as this Utopia, with the rest of the NC being portrayed as the kind of places they tell kids about to make them behave.