#everyone in prythian is horrible at politics

[possumsandprose]

A Court of Trials and Tragedies

Hello my loves! In honour of #feysandweek2023, I've created a multi-chapter Eros and Psyche AU for them. I'm not sure how often this will be updated as my work schedule is pretty crazy, but I'll do my best. The first few chapters will be shorter, but they will bulk up once the main plot starts rolling. Read the first chapter below, or here on A03. Always open to constructive criticism, and apologies if there's any mistakes as I'm my own beta reader.

Summary: Feyre Archeron, the princess of Prythian, has suddenly begun to be worshipped as a reincarnation of Amarantha, goddess of beauty and love. When Amarantha discovers this, she is furious, and sends her son Rhysand to prick her with a magical arrow to make her fall in love with a horrible beast. All goes according to plan, until...

Feyre Archeron stared out at the flat plains that stretched out beneath her castle. The grassy lands of Prythian were beautiful, and she was lucky enough to be the princess. She observed the party currently happening in the town square. There was dancing and music, food and fun, and everyone had come in celebration of her 18th birthday. Feyre knew she should be out there, dancing with some important noble. She had just come of age, and she knew her father would be soon seeking a suitable partner for her to strengthen their political alliances,

and yet here she was, hiding in a small tower, dreading when her mother would call her down and demand she present herself.

Feyre was dressed immaculately, with her hair pinned up into a bun, small stars adorning it. Her lips were painted a striking bright red colour, stained with some berry imported from a far-off land, and her eyes we line with kohl. She knew she looked like a vision, and that was why she was hiding. Her sisters were both truly stunning, and had already secured themselves rich, influential husbands. Soon it would be her turn. But Feyre knew she was more beautiful than her sisters, because since she had gone from a cute little girl to a stunning young woman, men had been throwing themselves at her, begging for her attention. Soon her sisters began to hate her, as they got less and less attention.

 It didn't matter to them that Feyre never wanted the advances of men, never wanted the wooers, constantly being in the spotlight. Suddenly she heard the sound she'd been dreading.

"Feyre! Where are you? It's almost time for you to come and present yourself to the town!"

Her mother's shrill voice cut through the air, and Feyre sighed. She knew this time would come eventually, but here she was all the same.

She stood, knowing making her mother wait for her would only lead to trouble, and looked in the mirror at her reflection. Her dress was a white gossamer piece covered in delicately sewn flowers, buckled with a gold belt, and clasps holding it to the purple shawl her father had given her this morning. She fingered the shawl, tracing its edge. Purple was so rare and expensive; she was still in awe she had received something so beautiful.

"Only the prettiest for the prettiest girl," he'd said with a smile as he presented to her.

 "Feyre! Don't make me come and get you."

 Once again, her mother called out for her, and she sighed, moving along down the corridor to where she knew her mother would be waiting to escort her out.

She approached the main gates of the castle, and there she was. Emeline Archeron, looking as beautiful and regal as she always did, her gossamer dress the same shade of periwinkle as the valerian Feyre had seen when she was visiting the temple. The temple. The temple brough back the memories she’d been fighting so hard to avoid.

She had gone to the temple of Amarantha, goddess of beauty and love, to leave an offering as was her custom. It was a lovely day, surprising considering December weather was usually horrid, but she had decided to make the most of it. Her servants had prepared all of the necessary things for sacrifices, and they were off. The trail to the temple was a representation of the goddess herself, people said, as the scenery was as lovely as she was. Flowers of every type grew in numberless bunches along it. Pale white narcissi spread their petals next to the dainty irises, whose amethyst hues stood out amongst the grass. In the lake, plump ducks swam through the water lilies that filled the air with their sweet scent. Sweeping trees that Feyre couldn’t identify waved their branches over the dirt road. The temple itself was a humble structure, made of stone, though still beautiful in its own regard. A row of columns held up a simple roof, ivy hugging tightly to each one. Grapes hung in small bunches from the vines, and Feyre knew all were invited to take some as a gift of the goddess’ bounty. Inside the temple, a large marble statue of Amarantha stood erect right at the back, with an altar directly in front. Torches burned all along the walls, and materials for burning sacrifices were laid in neat piles, ready for whoever came to make their offering. But something was off. Along with the thin layer of dust that coated every surface, there was no one there.

“Is anyone there?” Feyre called out, wondering if perhaps the priests had just slipped outside to pray, or perhaps were out of sight.

 However, no one came at the sound of her call. This was unheard of, as the temple always had at least a dozen priests and priestesses caring for it, and this level of disrepair should never have been allowed. Suddenly, a clicking noise sounded from the entrance she had just come from. Feyre turned, and an old man with a cane hobbled in.

“Chrysis! It’s so good to see you!” She rushed forward to hug the frail, bearded, limping figure that had just walked in.

Chrysis opened his arm and embraced her. He had known her since she was a baby, and she had grown up listening to his stories of gods and monsters, heroes and tyrants.

“Where is everyone? I thought the Festival of the Sun wasn’t until tomorrow,” she said in confusion, hoping her friend, the high priest of all the surrounding temples, could provide some answers.

Chrysis sighed. He looked greatly troubled, which was very strange. As long as Feyre had known him, he had always been calm and happy, but now he looked distressed.

“My princess…,” he began, which set Feyre on even higher alert than normal. He knew he never needed to call her that.

Words seemed to fail him, so he tried again.

“Lady Feyre, the priests and the people…have all gone to worship another.”

Feyre frowned. “But the priests are bound to this temple! They are free to go wherever they please when not working, and of course the people may go to all the temples, but why have they all abandoned this place?”

Chrysis clutched his stick tighter, his wrinkled hand turning white from how hard he held it.

“They do not believe they need to serve Amarantha anymore. You see, they believe she now walks the lands of Prythian in human form. The people and priests have gone to her residence to worship her instead.”

“But that’s apostasy! Amarantha will be furious. Who is this woman? She ought to deny all these claims and send everyone back to the temple,” Feyre responded angrily, trying to think through all the ladies it could have been. She certainly knew plenty of females who would love nothing more than to have people worshipping them as the reincarnation of the beauty goddess, and if Feyre had to bet, she’d place her money on Ianthe. That horrid priestess of Helion, with her fake blonde hair and her unnatural blue eyes, only played at modesty, while secretly revelling in the attention men paid her.

Feyre was snapped out of her thoughts when Chrysis looked her deep in the eyes and said, with a more solemn voice than she’d ever heard him use before,

“The woman, my lady, is you.”

--------------------------------------------------

Amarantha was fuming. She yanked her hand through her scarlet red hair as she stared down upon Prythian in an utter fury. She’d first begun to notice that her numbers of sacrifices were dwindling, so naturally she sent out an epidemic of what the mortals called “chicken pox”, which left many of the young women pock-marked and scarred. That got everyone back to worshipping her again, knowing that a curse against someone’s appearance would always be hers. Strangely, it started happening again shortly thereafter. And some of her priests had left the temple one day, never to return.

She wondered what could have happened, and decided to give one last reminder. She sent her servant out to wreak havoc amongst all the families of the earth. It was cruel, weaponizing the one she called her son against innocents, but Amarantha had never been known as a kind woman. Rhysand would be back any minute now, and shortly thereafter everyone would resume their sacrifices to her.

A smile played on her red lips. How foolish the humans were to forget her. Soon she would haunt their waking hours and their sleeping ones. However, in one small corner of her mind, a little voice nagged at her to figure out why her worship had ceased. Surely not everyone would have forgotten all at once, so why then?

Just as she was considering doing something she so rarely did-leave her pristine palace, dressing in human clothes, taking on the despicable human form, and walking amongst them to discover the source of the issue-, the smell of citrus and ocean waves reached her. Amarantha frowned. He was back on time, bow slung across his shoulders, black hair swept from the wind.

“Rhysand,” she said contemptuously. She had a feeling whatever news he was bringing would not be news she liked.

“What news do you bring of the human world? Have you done all that I asked?”

Rhysand bowed stiffly, his wings jostling behind him.

“I have done as you requested, and many have fallen victim to the blight. Many will not make the week,” he said, and though this information made Amarantha cackle in evil delight, Rhysand’s scowl seemed to grow by the second.

“However, the people still will not return to worshipping you. They have found another, a human they believe to be your incarnation. All their praise and adoration is for her now,” Rhysand said, and if Amarantha had been angry before, now she was livid.

“What human DARES to present herself as me?” she screeched loudly. Whoever this wretched girl was would soon find out just what it was to slight a goddess. Her wrath would be unquenchable, and the girl would never know a day of respite until her last feeble breath squeezed out from her pathetic lungs.

“It is the human princess, Feyre Archeron. She has tried to cease the people’s worship of her, but to no avail. Already a temple is being constructed in her honour, though she has attempted to stop them at every turn,” Rhysand said, but Amarantha had tune out everything but the girl’s name. Feyre. Archeron. The fact she was a princess made this all the more fun.

She began to consider what possibilities existed for her to destroy Feyre. All her usual methods of illness and torture seemed insufficient for this task. She then turned to Rhysand, her cold eyes surveying him. Yes. That would do.

“I see,” she responded coolly, even though her mind was racing, “well my dear, I have one more task for you.”

“And what might that be, my lady?” he said, and Amarantha did not miss the hint of bitterness in his tone. Clearly, he knew what she intended to ask him, and he didn’t like it. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t care.

“I want you to go to this human while she sleeps, and pierce her with one of your magical arrows. Make her fall in love with something so hideous, so vile, so repugnant, that not only will she be shamed by her whole family, but she will disgrace her whole kingdom. No one will ever be able to say her name without spitting it, when it is done. That is your task. Do not fail me,” she stated with authority, and she could see she had won. No matter whether Rhysand liked it or not.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he said, “So be it then, my lady. I will see to it that it is done.”

With that, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

A/N: Thank you for reading! The next chapter should be up before the end of the week. Let me know if you enjoyed!

Taglist: @officialfeysandweek2023

Comment if you'd like to be added!

[foxounderscorecube]

A Court of Thorns and Roses - Sarah J. Maas

4 ⭐

I enjoyed this a lot!! Way more than I thought I would!

I will admit, when it turned out that Tamlin was only in beast form to take Feyre to Prythian, and he could turn into some guy but with a silly mask, I was close to putting the book down. Turns out that bit of information is on the Goodreads blurb but I didn't see that and I was wholeheartedly devastated. It's a loose retelling of "Beauty and the Beast" and everyone knows that that story's for the monster appreciators out there. Not to mention, the whole "moral" is that you can't dismiss someone for being ugly. It is briefly mentioned that the mask stuck on his face is meant to make it harder to fall in love with him, but come on, bit of a stretch.

Anyway, I'm glad I didn't put the book down when it turned out he was only monstrous occasionally, because, to make up for it, Tamlin was a character I liked seeing come out of his shell. His romance with Feyre is really rather lovely, and his best friendship with Lucien is even lovelier. Those two will do anything for each other. Absolute friendship goals, honestly.

The use of faerie folklore in the worldbuilding is really interesting. The way that the Spring Court discuss the "blight" as a sort of loophole way of trying to convey to Feyre Amarantha's intent and power is a particularly subtle but effective method of showcasing the specificity of magic and the wriggle room that spells can have, which is a pretty important theme throughout. The rites, the types of faerie, the folklore within the humans in the story differing to how the faeries actually operate in this world, all contribute to making it feel a bit more like a real world.

Moral ambiguity is also a pretty important theme throughout, with Feyre struggling increasingly with the weight of her killing Andras and, even worse, the murders she commits as part of her trials toward the end. and Tamlin feeling the burden of his family's sins against humans. Rhysand is The morally ambiguous character of all time, though. To say I liked him would be a bit strong. He's horrid. But he's interesting, and I do appreciate that the author manages to make it clear that he is very beautiful and very sexy in appearance without it coming off like Feyre's thinking "oh, he's gross…. unless?", which is such a pet peeve of mine in young adult books like this. He has his own moral boundaries that kind of make sense in a twisted way, but he's still a cruel person who likes to play horrible political games, and he is so unapologetically. It's kind of nice to have a character like that when the other more notable characters, while having a bit of ambiguity to their motives, are mostly good or mostly bad.

The latter half of the book gets really intense really fast, while the first half moves more slowly. It goes from more romance-y stuff to a more action/fantasy kind of thing, but it isn't jarring. It was a bit unnerving reading Tamlin and Feyre successfully falling in love with lots of book left, but the trials of Amarantha are really great fun to read. So frustrating seeing Feyre struggle with that riddle, though. I'm awful at riddles and I guessed it really fast. I mean, I know you'd be second-guessing yourself like nothing else in her situation, but I wanted to yell at her! She wasn't even first-guessing!! Her realisation of the answer was nice timing, though, albeit a little cliche.

The end is nice, though. I will likely read the sequel, but that means more bad things might happen! I want them to live happily ever after, dammit!

[cinaja]

The road to peace

Summary: The meeting at the end of acowar, told from Jurian's perspective. (It`s like, 50% just the Fae getting roasted, really)

Note: I am extremely annoyed with how the humans are being treated in acotar in general and this is basically just me venting (with a bit band of exiles and some stuff with Jurian, Miryam and Drakon thrown in because I love all of them). I think Feyre and Rhys are... not handling the situation well, so this fic won't cast either of them in a favourable light. I am not tagging either of them and anyone who is really into them probably won`t like this.

Disclaimer: The exchange in the end is taken directly from acowar, chapter 80.

----

The meeting does not begin well. For some reason that goes right over Jurian`s head, the Night Court decides that they should hold the meeting in some destroyed manor over an hour away from the camp, yet they fail to take into account that not everyone can winnow. Meaning the humans have to walk. By the time they finally reach the manor, they are already late and Jurian had to talk Grayson out of turning around five times already.

“I put you on opposite ends of the room”, Feyre Archeron tells them.

She seems to consider it to be a favour, but it feels like an insult. Like they need to be separated from the other participants. Something tells Jurian that it`s not for their comfort, but because Feyre doesn`t want them close to her family and friends.

Jurian doesn`t bother with a reply. Neither does Grayson. They just exchange a quick glance and stride into the meeting room, heads held high. Jurian does not look at anyone in particular as he walks through the room and takes his seat. Only then does he allow himself to look around the room.

The room is crammed with people, but somehow, his eyes still go straight to her.

Miryam isn`t looking at him. Both her and Drakon appear deep in conversation with one of the High Lords – Tarquin. She looks so much like in his memories. Only her clothes are different. During the War, she always made sure to be dressed as elegantly as the Fae royals, even when she despised the dresses and jewellery – like she wanted to proof to them that she might be but a child by their standards, but she could still play their games. Now, she wears a simple tunic that makes her look like she either came straight from her camp without having time to change, or like she purposefully dressed to keep attention away from herself. If it`s the latter, it fails miserably.

Tarquin says something and Miryam smiles in return, tugging a strand of hair behind her ears. Her smile is still the same. It´s like a punch to the stomach.

Jurian doesn`t know how to feel, what to think. Just looking at her is enough to make the memories rise. Miryam smiling at him from across the meeting room. Leaning against him as they sit by the fire with his soldiers. Frowning as they study a map. But then, there are the less pleasant memories. Her crying, and the sinking feeling that it`s because of him. Shaking her head and backing away. I think I should leave.

The worst part is, Jurian can`t place the memories. He isn`t even sure if they are all real. And the only person who could tell him the truth will probably never speak to him again.

“I don`t know what impression you`re going for”, someone says from next to him, “but if you keep staring at your ex like that, it`ll be firmly in the “creepy” territory.”

Jurian forces himself to look away from Miryam and turn around to Queen Vassa who sits down on the chair to his right.

“Your Majesty”, he says and inclines his head.

“General”, she replies.

Before Jurian can tell her that he doesn`t think he holds this title anymore, Feyre Archeron steps forward to welcome them. Then, she tells her story. She talks of years in poverty, of the trials under Amarantha and how she found love in Prythian. Jurian honestly wonders what part of the story is supposed to reassure the humans. The one where she got kidnapped, tortured and killed by Fae? Or maybe how her Fae lover locked her up and how she only managed to find acceptance as a Fae. And how is her relationship drama even relevant to this meeting? Well, maybe she just wants to humiliate her former lover, who is stone-faced by the wall. Jurian smirks at the male, who growls softly in return. Jurian can`t say he pities him. After all, he knew his father during the War and he`ll only believe that the son is better when he sees proof.

By the time Feyre finishes her story, Jurian is barely listening anymore. He immediately jerks to attention, though, when Miryam and Drakon step forward. It seems like they`ll be the next speakers. Jurian isn`t sure what he hopes for. He supposes if they do tell the story, he`ll be the next to be publicly humiliated. But no matter how unflattering the story might be, at least it would give him something to sort his memories by.

As they begin to speak, though, Jurian quickly realize that, unlike Feyre, they don`t tell the stories of their lives. They gloss over anything personal, mention what went down with Jurian only in passing and instead tell a story about the seemingly impossible work of uniting their people. They talk of unforgivable crimes, amends that were made and the long road towards peace. Neither of them so much as looks at Jurian as they speak.

He supposes he should have known. In Prythian, it might be considered normal to let the personal bleed into the political, but rules are far stricter on the Continent. Even if Miryam and Drakon chose to settle matters between them, they would never do it during an official meeting. Besides, Miryam was never overly fond of telling the world her story.

When they sit down and Helion takes their place, Jurian makes himself listen to what the High Lord says. He doesn`t want to be like poor Grayson, who keeps staring at Elain Archeron with longing and fury written equally on his face whenever he thinks no one will notice. No, thank you. He very much plans to get through this meeting with his dignity intact.

Helion and a few others talk of the War and the friendships they made, too. Jurian considers getting up as well, but decides against it. He is still trying to sort through his memories, muddled by five hundred years of torment, and he isn`t entirely sure he could give an accurate account of anything. Or if he could manage to get through telling his story without breaking down.

Soon, the first humans step forward and begin to talk of the crimes the Fae committed against them. Entire villages slaughtered. The Treaty violated again and again. (Jurian could have told them of worse things – and he knows those accounts would pale against anything Miryam might tell – but this meeting is supposed to lead to peace, so he remains silent.) But then, the Fae begin to counter the human tales with ones of their own, about humans who treated them with mistrust. And somehow, these pointy-eared bastards manage to make it sound like their grievances are equal.

After a while, Jurian has had enough.

“Right”, he says, just loudly enough that every Fae in the room hears him, “Because humans trying to defend themselves against Fae is just as bad as Fae slaughtering entire human villages for fun.” He snorts. “If you want to get this to work, maybe you should start treating our lives as equal to your own.”

The humans nod along. Most of the Fae shoot him disapproving glances.

“I`m not surprised that you would say that”, one of the Fae hisses, “We all know your stance on Fae. The matter with Clythia -“

Jurian flinches at the name. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard not to think of her.

“Jurian merely stated that human and Fae lives should be treated equally”, Miryam cuts in, “Surely you don`t mean to contradict that.”

The Fae opens his mouth, then seems to consider who, exactly, he is speaking to. He squirms in his seat and quickly averts his eyes. Jurian grins. He tries to catch Miryam`s eye, but she refuses to look at him.

“Perhaps”, Rhysand says smoothly, “we ought to return to the true purpose of this meeting. The Wall is gone and it is up to us to find a way to shape this world.”

Jurian rolls his eyes. He wonders how Fae considering human lives and grievances to be unimportant is not relevant to the future of their world.

The discussion begins raging in earnest. Grayson outright refuses to trust the Fae on their word alone – the Treaty, he says, has been violated far too often, even with the Wall in place. Queen Vassa nods and adds that she is not about to leave her people at the mercy of any Fae who decide to make a meal out of them. It is a perfectly valid concern, yet somehow, half of the Fae manage to take offence at it.

It doesn`t take long for the first person to suggest another Wall.

“Might be hard”, Helion drawls, “Without being sure how the first one was created.”

Jurian can`t help it, his gaze flickers to Miryam. For the first time since the meeting started, she, too, is looking at him. Jurian smiles slightly and dips his chin. She nods back, then returns her attention to the discussion.

Drakon begins to explain why another Wall won`t solve their problems, just delay them. Patiently, he describes how they can only achieve lasting peace by having humans and Fae develop a way to life together and that dividing them will only make hate fester and, ultimately, lead to another war. The only way to overcome prejudice, he says, is by having people interact and teaching them about the other side.

Not everyone agrees with him. A few High Lords argue that a Wall would be the better alternative. They talk of security for the humans, but all Jurian hears is that they don`t want to bother with working for peace.

He promised himself not to, but Jurian still finds his gaze drifting over to Miryam, Drakon and their people. Drakon is frowning slightly and keeps flaring his wings in annoyance. Next to him, General Sinna, the commander of his Seraphim legion, keeps whispering with a human man who as far as Jurian knows is their armada`s commander. They both look torn between annoyance and amusement. Miryam`s face doesn`t betray anything, but she keeps scanning the room.

“I think we can all agree”, Feyre Archeron finally says, “that both sides have made mistakes. But it is time for all of us to move past them.”

For a few heartbeats, silence reins. Jurian finds himself staring at her open-mouthed. He can`t believe what he`s hearing and is about to say as much when Miryam beats him to it.

“Both sides have what?”, she asks softly.

Even after five hundred years, Jurian recognizes the look she gives Feyre. There is no mistaking the way her eyes seem to glow. In spite of the serious situation, Jurian grins. He once fell in love with Miryam for her kindness – but damnit, things get entertaining when she stops playing nice.

Feyre seems to realize that something is not going the way she planned. “I was just saying that both sides are to blame. No one is really innocent in this.”

“Then would you kindly explain to me”, Miryam says, and now, there`s nothing remotely friendly about her tone, “how I or any of the other fifty thousand slaves in the Black Land were to blame for what happened to us. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of slaves in different territories, or the millions who came before us.” She sits up straighter in her seat. “Honestly, I`m curious. How did we deserve being beaten and tortured and killed? What was our crime? Beyond being born human, that is.”

Feyre suddenly finds her the sleeve of her dress in dire need of inspection. She begins fiddling around with it, looking increasingly uncomfortable. But of course, her mate jumps to her defence.

“You`re being unfair”, Rhys says.

Jurian nearly jumps from his seat, Drakon flares his wings so hard that he almost hits Tarquin in the face. It takes Jurian half a heartbeat to decide that Miryam won`t be happy at all if he punches that prick of a High Lord in the face. Across the room, Drakon seems to come to the same conclusion. He tugs his wings close to his body again and mutters an apology to Tarquin.

Rhys continues, “That`s not what Feyre meant and you know it.”

“Then perhaps she should choose her words more carefully”, Sinna hisses. She gives Rhys a look that usually sends her enemies on the battlefield running. Nephelle puts a hand on her arm.

Miryam looks around the room, nailing each person into place with her gaze. “I want peace, too”, she says, “I have only ever wanted peace. But just choosing to forget everything that happened is not the way to achieve that. The past still affects the present and pretending it doesn`t is stupidity. Especially for people who live as long as the Fae do.”

“Forgive me, Lady”, Kallias says. Jurian wonders if he`s purposefully using the wrong title, or if he genuinely does not know that it is common on the Continent for women to hold leading positions, and for married couples to rule together. Sometimes he forgets how annoying Prythian can be. “But did we not fight for your freedom in this very war?”

Jurian snorts softly. As if Hybern hadn`t invaded Prythian before it ever approached the human lands. They were fighting for themselves at least as much as for the humans.

“Yes, you did”, Miryam says, “And I know some of you fought in the War as well.” She pauses. “But tell me, High Lord, who do you think built the palaces you live in? That goes for all of you. Whose hands built your palaces and temples, whose blood paid for the gold in your troves?” She looks around the room. “Every single court in Prythian once owned slaves. Yet, no one ever so much as considered an official apology – not to mention paying reparations to the descendants of the people your ancestors exploited.” She shakes her head. “I`m not saying any of you are bad people. But if you truly believe that you deserve applause for not wanting to enslave us, then perhaps you should consider that you may be setting your bar a little low.”

“Thousands of years of history”, Thesan says says, “you cannot expect us to-“

“Who is talking about a thousand years?”, Grayson asks. Seems like he stopped staring at Elain Archeron long enough to focus on the conversation. “Ever since the Wall was built, Fae have been illegally crossing it and slaughtering humans. I`ve seen entire villages reduced to rubble. Yet not a single Fae lifted a finger to help us.”

“Nothing new, there”, Jurian supplies, “I have yet to see a Fae being punished for ending human lives. After the War, all these Loyalist commanders got away unscathed. Amarantha”, he nearly chokes on the name, “had every single one of her slaves killed, yet no one cared enough to see her punished.” He snorts. “Really shows how much you value our lives.”

At least the Fae now seem somewhat ashamed. Some of them are shifting around on their chairs, refusing to look at the humans. Feyre Archeron is still fiddling around with her dress. Unfortunately, she does not choose to remain silent.

“I, too, was once human”, she says, “I understand your struggles because they were mine as well. But hate and fear are not the way towards peace. We need to move past these things.”

Queen Vassa crosses her arms. “Didn`t you just tell us during your nice little story time that you started out hating Fae and only began to trust them after you saw proof they were better than you thought? And now you just expect us to do the same in one evening, without more than your word to go on?”

“That`s not what I`m saying at all”, Feyre snaps, “But humans, too, have their prejudices. As a human, I experienced first-hand the way the Fae treat us. But I have seen equal amounts of prejudice on the human side. I have seen the hate, the iron walls and ash arrows.”

Grayson lifts his chin and mutters something under his breath. His voice is too low for Jurian to make out words, but the tone makes it clear enough what he is saying. A reply is burning on Jurian`s tongue, but he swallows it. He knows how the Fae see him – his word would probably not help matters.

Again, it is Miryam who replies. “You`ll forgive me for saying this, High Lady”, she says, “but your experience with the Fae must have been pleasant indeed if you believe this to be a fitting comparison. You talk of prejudice. Well, I watched thousands of humans be slaughtered for no crime other than existing. I saw children get beaten to death just because they spilled a drop of water they were supposed to serve – and those were the lucky ones. When someone did something truly bad, you know, like stealing some rotten bread from the trash because none of us had eaten in five days, they drew out the punishment over hours. I…” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Drakon itches a bit closer, the movement barely noticeable. When Miryam continues, her voice is calmer. “I want peace as much as you do. Truly. I have spent most of my life working for it.” She turns back to Feyre. “But I won`t stand here and let you disregard thousands of years of human suffering.”

For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, Rhysand lets out a soft growl. His power rumbles through the air. “Don`t you ever”, he says with cold command in his voice, “speak to my mate like this again.”

Drakon arches an eyebrow at him. Sinna leans in to Nephelle to whisper something into her ear, making the smaller female laugh softly. Jurian just leans back in his seat. This is about to get entertaining. Maybe he should have brought snacks.

“I spoke politely and I will continue to do so”, Miryam says, completely unfazed, “Since I am not one of your subjects, though, I would appreciate you not giving me orders.”

Rhysand`s power flares so hard that a few of the humans flinch back and one of the windows begins to rattle. Jurian rolls his eyes. If that is the Prythian version of politics, he can only hope for their sakes that they don`t ever go to the Continent. He can`t think of a single Continental ruler who would tolerate that behaviour.

“Are you having trouble controlling your power?”, Miryam asks softly, “In that case, taking a deep breath usually helps.”

Rhysand opens his mouth and closes it again. A few of the Fae are now trying to hide their laughter. Jurian grins. He hasn`t had such fun in… well, in a while.

“No”, Rhys finally growls and reins his power back in.

Silence follows. A few of the Fae exchange uncomfortable looks.

Finally, Mor laughs, perhaps a bit too brightly, and winks at Miryam and Drakon. “Well, seeing how difficult this meeting is, I`m twice as impressed that you got things working on Cretea.”

Drakon grins back. “If that`s any consolation to you, it took us quite a while.”

“And I can assure you”, Sinna mutters, “that we did not run around blaming the humans for being scared or try to make ourselves into the victims.”

A few people laugh. Most don`t.

“Having our people learn to live together”, Drakon says, much more seriously this time, “is the only way towards lasting peace. But every one here should be aware that this takes work and that the work will be mainly for the Fae to be done.” He inclines his head towards the human side of the room. “Humans are afraid, some angry, and rightly so. But that is not the problem we are facing, it`s the consequence.” He turns to the Fae. “Because the problem is that many Fae consider humans beneath them and have committed unspeakable crimes against them without punishment. This is what needs to be addressed and it`s why it`s up to us Fae to prove that we, as a people, have changed. Not through words, but action.”

“We now fought two wars for the humans”, Rhys says, “I`d say that`s plenty of action.”

Jurian considers banging his head against the wall. “Yes”, he says slowly, “Because your… brethren first enslaved us and then went to war to do it again – if this skirmish can even be called that.”

“And if you`re looking for actions you can take”, Vassa says, “then how about you start by stopping your people from entering our territory and killing us. Might be a good first step, you know.”

“Another Wall”, Thesan says, “would solve this problem.”

Drakon puts his head in his hands. “No”, he says, voice muffled through his fingers, “it would not.”

Jurian grins. He still isn`t entirely sure how he feels about Drakon (after all, he spent the most part of the last five centuries hating the male`s guts and is only now beginning to remember that there might have been a time when they were friends), but on this, they are in agreement.

“And how can you be so sure of that”, Beron drawls, “Suddenly became a seer?”

“No, but through the magical power of having studied these things, I can predict what consequences certain actions will likely have on society. In this case, though, I wouldn`t even need to have studied it, because it`s literally what happened last time.” Then, almost like he can`t help it, he adds, “Which I tried to warn you about back then already. So we can either try to get it right this time, or we`ll all meet here again in a few years.”

This, Jurian supposes, is where the argument might have ended. Had they been in a reasonable company, they now might have begun discussing how to actually solve these problems. Unfortunately, most Fae are not overly reasonable. So instead, another argument breaks out.

By the time Feyre Archeron finally declares the meeting to be over, Jurian has rolled his eyes so often he fears he may have pulled a muscle. She thanks them for their time and everyone gets up.

“That was fun, wasn`t it?”, Vassa asks, grinning broadly.

“Absolutely”, Jurian mutters. He stands up on his toes.

“She left already”, Vassa says, “By the way, constantly staring at your married ex-lover is kind of weird.”

Jurian glares at her. “It´s not like that. I just want to talk to her.”

“Do it, then. What`s the worst that could happen?”, Vassa asks. She frowns, then laughs. “Well, she could try to kill you again, I suppose.”

“She didn`t want to kill me”, Jurian mutters.

Vassa laughs and says, “Well, then you guys have a really strange way to discuss your break-up.”

Jurian feels his face beginning to burn. “It wasn`t about our relationship at all”, he says with all the dignity he can muster. Unless his old friends really changed in the past centuries, they would not react like this to a personal problem. But with him putting their people into danger… “It was about me sending Hybern after them.”

When he made the split-second decision to name revenge against Miryam and Drakon as his price to Hybern, he hadn`t considered what that might mean for them. The people who might have died if Hybern had managed to track them down and sent an army after them. Not to mention what might have happened if Miryam had been dead, as he first believed, and Hybern would have brought her back.

No, Jurian does not blame her and Drakon for being angry at all. And he still hasn`t figured out a way how to explain. He isn`t even sure he can put into words how he`s feeling about… well, everything.

“Well”, Vassa mutters, “I guess they can count themselves lucky. At least they didn`t get turned into birds.” Her tone is light, but there`s a bitterness underneath.

Jurian winces. “I never apologized”, he says, “for the role I played in that. They didn`t tell me what they had planned – I would have tried to stop them otherwise.”

Vassa waves him off. “You just did what you had to. I don`t blame you.” She winks. “I mean, I don`t think you are the traitorous piece of shit I first considered you to be.”

In spite of himself, Jurian laughs. “Well, thank you for the flattering compliment.”

“You`re welcome.” Vassa grins, then sobers up. “But there was something I wanted you to talk about. My general did not survive this battle. I have to find a suitable replacement before I have to… leave again.”

Jurian blinks. “And you`re asking me?”

It seems ridiculous. Why would anyone want him around, much less in a position of power? He isn`t even sure if he`s in any state to lead again.

“Who`d be better suited than the most legendary General in human history?”

“Oh, I…” Jurian hesitates. “Thank you.”

Vassa smiles again, but he doesn`t look happy at all. “You`ll look after my people, won`t you? When I`m gone.” She stares down at her fingers like she expects them to turn into claws again any moment.

“Is there no way to break your curse?”, Jurian asks.

She shrugs. “I had hoped Feyre Archeron might be able to help. That was before I found out that she got her title as Cursebreaker by solving a riddle, though.”

“I could ask Helion to look into it”, Jurian says, “He has over eight hundred years of experience. We knew each other during the War and as far as I know, he doesn`t hate my guts, so I might be able to get him to help you.”

“That would be great”, Vassa says.

“And you might want to talk to Miryam.”

“Why? Want me to put in a good word for me?”

Jurian groans. “First of all, don`t you dare. And no - she`s good with spells and doesn`t know the word impossible.”

“I might as well give it a try”, Vassa says. She sounds like she`s trying hard to not get her hopes up. “It`s not like I have many other options.”

Before Jurian gets the chance to reply, Lucien Vanserra appears next to them.

“Quite the meeting, wasn`t it?”, he says and nudges Vassa in the side. “I have to say, watching our dear Lord and Lady Night get their asses handed to them was quite enjoyable.”

Jurian nods his agreement. Looking around the room, he finds that they are now almost alone in the destroyed manor. Most of the others have left already.

“Do any of you know where Grayson and the others vanished to?”, he asks.

“Left already”, Lucien says.

“Oh, charming”, Jurian mutters. It seems like Grayson was so desperate to get away from Elain Archeron that he`d forgotten that they had arrived together. “I should probably go after them.”

He waves goodbye to Vassa and Lucien and makes for the door. However, he finds Feyre Archeron standing in the doorway, looking out into the dark. He is about to push past her when she says, “Where do you go now?”

Jurian pauses besides her and stares into the darkness, trying to make out Grayson and his men.

“Queen Vassa offered me a position in her court”, he says, not really willing to discuss this with Feyre.

“Are you going to accept?”

Jurian shrugs. He doesn`t know where else he would go – it`s not like he has any place he belongs anymore. And the offer was certainly an honour. But still-

“What sort of court can a cursed queen have?”, he asks, “She`s bound to that death-lord – she has to go back to his lake on the continent at some point.” And he knows what that would mean, what she`d expect. He just isn`t sure if he can lead the humans again after everything that happened. It should be someone else – Vassa herself, preferably. “Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.”

“Too bad indeed”, Feyre mutters.

Jurian grunts in amusement.

“Do you think we stand a chance?”, Feyre asks, motioning in the dark to something Jurian`s human eyes can`t make out. “Of peace between all of us?”

Not with attitudes like the one you displayed at that meeting, Jurian thinks. But she looks so hopeful, so young, that he doesn`t say it. Besides, does he truly think that they don`t stand a chance?

He thinks back to the meeting. The humans who came in spite of the history and held their own against the Fae. Miryam, Drakon and their people who already achieved what they are now trying to do five hundred years ago. And if he`s being honest, there were several Fae who were willing to try, too. They might have argued, but at least they took the first step towards peace.

“Yes”, he answers softly, “I think we do.”

After all that suffering, they would certainly deserve it.

----

Another note: What I've written is canon compliant, but I've added certain things. Some of the implications I make about characters fit with the story I'm writing about the War (although everyone gets along significantly better back then, and Rhys is not that much of an ass yet)

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas @sunsummoner

[houseofhurricane]

If you’ve been following me for any length of time, I think my stance on Rhys post-ACOSF, specifically regarding how he treats Feyre and her pregnancy, is pretty established. But I want to take the time to unpack why it bothers me so much, and what SJM could have done to make this plotline work for me.

One of the main things about this plotline that doesn’t work for me is that Feyre is almost completely erased from it. When the dangerous pregnancy is first introduced (331), the only reaction to Rhys deciding not to tell Feyre about the full extent of it is Cassian’s stomach twisting. The conversation soon gets moved to the political implications of Feyre’s pregnancy. There’s no conversation about how horrible this is for Feyre, or the devastating impact this news might have on her, or whether she would prefer to know what she’s facing so she could make decisions about her own body or even help everyone find potential solutions. Instead, Cassian and Azriel are focused on what the situation means for Rhys’ emotional state and the Night Court in general. Of course, all of this is happening without her in the room.

To his credit, Cassian does tell Nesta about the situation right away, and, par for the course in this book, she’s the only person who, in my opinion, shows a reasonable reaction on page:

“Is Feyre distraught?” “She doesn’t know the full scope of it. But all of us who have grown up here know what it means for a High Fae female to bear a baby with wings.” Nesta willed herself to settle the fear leaching through her. “And Rhys needed to fight out his fear.” “Yes. Along with his guilt and pain.” “Perhaps another court has a healer who knows more than Madja. Maybe one with a winged people. The Dawn Court has the Peregryns -- Drakon’s people are Seraphim. Miryam doesn’t have wings and yet she’s given birth to Drakon’s children.” (336)

Even though Nesta and Feyre have a rocky relationship at this point, Nesta immediately asks about Feyre’s feelings, calls out Rhys, and then gets focused on solutions. But again, we get more confirmation that literally everyone in Prythian (or at least the Night Court) knows the implications of Feyre’s pregnancy. Except for Feyre herself.

We get Rhys’ motives on this whole situation after it’s revealed that the quest for more information on a safe delivery has gone badly:

Azriel asked, “And Feyre still doesn’t know?” “No. She knows the labor will be difficult, but I haven’t told her yet that it might very well claim her life.” Rhys spoke into their minds, as if he couldn’t say it aloud, I haven’t told her that the nightmares that now send me lurching from sleep aren’t ones of the past, but of the future. Cassian squeezed Rhys’ shoulder. “Why won’t you tell her?” Rhys’ throat worked. “Because I can’t bring myself to give her that fear. To take away one bit of the joy in her eyes every time she puts a hand on her belly.” His voice shook. “It is fucking eating me alive, this terror. I keep myself busy, but... there is no one to bargain with for her life, no amount of wealth to buy it, nothing that I can do to save her.” (446-447)

Rhys gets this impassioned speech about his feelings -- which, to be clear, does not excuse his withholding the information from Feyre, let alone conspiring with her friends and family and medical professional to keep that knowledge from her -- but what do we get from Feyre, when she finally knows? This is what she tells Cassian, after she’s had time to process:

Cassian shook his head, though Feyre couldn’t see it. I’m sorry you had to learn of it. I’m not. I’m furious with all of you. I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I’m furious. Well, we’re furious with Nesta. She had the courage to tell me the truth. She told you the truth to hurt you. Perhaps. But she was the only one who said anything. (488)

So we find out that Feyre is furious, and we learn a few lines later that Rhys has apologized (though not for what, exactly, and to whom), and we see later in the scene that Feyre is ready to fight for her life and her baby’s. But we never see it. We actually never see her speak any of these words aloud, to Cassian or to Nesta or to Rhys. All of her admissions are mind-to-mind. On the page, at least, SJM literally takes away Feyre’s voice. Contrast that to the multiple scenes that Rhys gets to talk about his emotions, to explain what he’s thinking and what he’s doing, to find solace from his friends. And yet none of this is happening to Rhys’ body. It’s happening to Feyre.

Imagine if, at minimum, Rhys had had just that brief mind-to-mind confession, and it had been Feyre with all the speeches. Talking about how it felt to have died once to save Prythian, to fight so hard against Hybern, and then to find that, at the beginning of her happily-ever-after, she finds herself facing death. To feel that her body has betrayed her. And of course, how it felt to find that Rhys, her mate, had kept all of this knowledge from her. The betrayal and the hurt and the rage. Isn’t that so much more interesting than Rhys’ feelings? Why don’t we get to see it?

And listen, I know ACOSF is Nesta and Cassian’s book, and it would mess with the dual perspective structure, but imagine if we had gotten a scene, or a whole subplot, of Feyre just raging at Rhys for this horrible decision and its impact on her. If it wouldn’t have worked in the book itself, imagine if we’d gotten a novella (or an extended bonus scene!) of the harm it caused to their relationship and the work he did to heal it.

If it’s not going to happen in canon (and at this point, I don’t think it is), I legitimately want to write that fanfic, and I think it’s telling that whenever I mention it to anybody, no matter what their feelings are on Rhys, that’s the fanfic they wanted to read. Because I think we want to see Feyre and Rhys battle it out, deal with a terrible situation, and come out stronger. Because happily ever after doesn’t mean everyone involved is perfect all the time, but being in a great long-term relationship means working through heartbreak and difficult seasons and yes, even terrible decisions. And because, leaving aside what the readers want and going back to the story and the characters themselves, leaving out this moment of reckoning glosses over the harm that Rhys caused, and all but writes Feyre out of her own story.

To be clear, I actually don’t mind if Rhys does horrible things. He was introduced to us as a morally gray character and I think that’s part of what makes him interesting. But we never see Rhys held to account for his actions. Instead, the text treats him more like a romantic hero, focusing on his feelings and his motives, and the way they impact him.

Part of writing a successful morally gray character is holding them to account, and part of writing strong women is showing their full emotional arcs. In the pregnancy plotline in ACOSF, SJM fails to do both. She makes Rhys a bigger villain than I think she ever intended. She makes Feyre regress from the powerful, capable High Lady who used her magic and her voice to great effect. And she makes it really difficult to believe in Feysand, the central couple of her series, without a lot of justification and mental gymnastics.

Finally, it’s impossible to talk about the pregnancy plotline in ACOSF without acknowledging that this is essentially an abortion plot done badly. I’m a woman living in the United States, and so a man taking away a woman’s bodily autonomy and power to choose during her pregnancy is tough to look past, especially at the current moment, and particularly when it’s glossed over by the book. While Feyre likely would not have wanted to end her pregnancy based on what we see on the page, her choices are taken from her by the people who should care from her most. This aspect of the plotline badly needed to be dealt with head-on, and I think it’s going to age poorly in the years to come. 

[sweetbitterimpossiblecreature]

A Brief And Concise Summary Of Is Wrong With The ACOTAR Series

I think we can agree that a lot of ACOTAR is pretty iffy. Consider this a very brief refresher.

What's Wrong With Feyre/Rhysand (juxtaposed against Feyre/Tamlin)

Rhysand drugs and sexually assaults her in Book 1

This is "for her own good". Because he "has no choice". Despite the fact that, from what we know of the plot, Amarantha thinks that Clare Beddor was the one Rhysand was diddling, and is only interested in Feyre because Rhysand, "her" man male, has taken an interest in her.

If we extrapolate from this we can figure that Rhysand is the one directly putting her into danger.

Now, let's be clear: drugging someone is bad. Sexually assaulting someone is bad. One could argue there were extenuating circumstances. But if, in such a situation, what your mind goes to is "I know, I should assault this person... for their safety" I have questions about your moral qualities. There were a million things he could have done. He could have done whatever he did to Clare - that is, remove her ability to feel any pain - easily. He could have helped her escape. Under The Mountain, he - while still there unwillingly - has a lot of power, as Amarantha's side piece. Maybe this would have resulted in him being punished- however, he is hundreds of years old and a badass motherfucker, and she is a nineteen year old human girl.

Now, onto Tamlin. Obviously not a lot of people really ship F/T anymore after ACOMAF, because compared to F/R, it's boring. I read another person's post about it, which was very enlightening: they said that Feyre's personality is essentially a mirror. When she is with Rhysand, she's snarky and malicious- because she is "bouncing off" his energy. When she's with Mor she's super feminist and "in awe of her strength". On the other hand, Tamlin is kind of an empty character. He's a pretty boy with anger issues, which should be more interesting than it is. SJM manages to make him bland. Because Feyre has nothing to bounce off of, (a lot of this is from the person's post), she and Tamlin together is mainly just him introducing her to his world.

What Tamlin Does: prevents a skinny twenty year old from going on dangerous missions with him and combat-trained soldiers, accidentally blows up a room with her in it, and, at the end, prevents her from leaving the house.

This is not a Tamlin apologist post. Obviously it was really fucking gross of him to do that, and their relationship was toxic. However, a lot of his abuse stems from their inability to communicate, as well as own negligence. He does not knowingly and purposefully sexually assault her or rape her mind. And tbh, leaving a girl without combat training at home while he goes on missions with a bunch of muscled sentries is... kind of reasonable?

Again: not a Tamlin apologist post. It was abuse. However, if Rhysand is "allowed" to sexually assault, mind-rape, and drug Feyre "for her own safety", why is Tamlin demonized for preventing her from leaving his mansion "for her own safety"?

Another pertinent point: Rhys is never punished for sexually assaulting her. It is brushed off as part of his "mask" or that his hand was forced. Jesus Christ my dudes, his hand was not forced under her skirt. If he has to maintain his gross rapist abuser tyrant oppressor mask... why? Who did that benefit beside him? None of his actions remotely helped Prythian. They were done solely for his buddies - five people safe in a rich hidden city - and no one else, which is explicitly stated.

Finally, the power dynamic is fucked up. Feyre is less than twenty five years old. Rhysand is 500. There is a tendency in fantasy romance to romanticize a centuries year old man with a young girl, because the man does not show symptoms of age, and so it is easily ignorable. However, can we just briefly acknowledge how fucked up it is? Rhys is over five times older than Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Jeffrey Epstein, and other known predators/abusers. She is twenty. That is really fucking gross. She is in a vulnerable position and he takes rampant advantage of that.

If he had wrinkles, liver problems, and erectile dysfunction, more people would acknowledge it.

Let's be clear: I'm not saying writing a book with an uneven power dynamic is automatically bad. For example, in The Locked Tomb series, which is in my opinion THE BEST FANTASY SERIES THAT HAS GRACED THIS EARTH (lol i'm starting fires), one main character Harrowhark Nonagesimus is in a position of power over Gideon Nav, the other main character. However, this is not glossed over or romanticized. Gideon resents Harrow for this- there is a relationship of mutual antagonism, fraught with unwilling familiarity and intimacy from growing up together. They are roughly the same age. While there is a certain power dynamic (in that world, there is a dynamic of necromancer and cavalier, i.e. sorcerer and sword) the "empowered" character (Harrow) emphatically respects her and does not abuse this power, although both would of course deny this, and she does make a show of threatening and being aloof. In short, while Gideon obeys her, Gideon also has power over Harrow, and the idea of what is essentially slavery is not romanticized.

Feyre Doesn't Face Any Consequences For Her Own Actions

Let me present a radical notion: a guy preventing you from leaving his house does not justify completely fucking ruining his country and harming the people inside it.

In other words: Tamlin does not deserve what she did to him.

I know that sounds iffy. We're conditioned to think that if someone is an abuser, then they are the scum of the earth, they deserve to die, torturing/murdering/doing anything to them is completely A-OK. However, here's another radical notion: someone harming you does not justify you doing worse.

Obviously, the effects of psychological abuse can cause you to hurt other people (see: Nesta), but Feyre deliberately and maliciously (oh, God, that insufferable POV of her in Spring Court; she reads like a cartoonish Disney villain) dismantles his country. She uses sexual manipulation (Lucien), torture (causing the sentry to be whipped), and mind-rape (who didn't she do this to? lol).

A summary of the entire first half of ACOWAR: "It smelled like roses. I hated roses. For this capital offense against my olfactory system, Tamlin and the entire Spring Court deserved to burn in hell. I knew exactly what I was doing. I smiled at him sweetly: no longer a doe, but a wolf. He didn't see my fangs.............." *aesthetic noises*

Man. I'm starting to think SJM had a horrible experience at a Bath & Body Works and took it out on the rest of us. Don't do it, Sarah!! I know Pink Chiffon and Triple Berry Martini are way too strong, but don't take it out on an innocent population!!

She steals from Summer Court (there are, yk, other solutions to theft. Like maybe asking politely) and ruins Spring Court. Her boyfriend - yeesh sorry, MATE - does nothing while a dozen Winter Court children are murdered.

Now: moral ambiguity is not automatically bad. Again using The Locked Tomb as an example, in the second book (spoiler alert), Harrowhark has a sort of moral ambiguity. She was raised from the beginning to worship the King Undying as God, and so she obeys him without question. Because of this, she commits a lot of crimes in His name: she "flips" - i.e. kills - the life force of planets, and she plots murder (albeit the murder of someone who tried to kill her first). There is no attempt to justify this. There is also no attempt to paint her as a virtuous and yet also badass Madonna figure. She is desperate, plagued with the "wreck of herself", and the book clearly displays her moral pitfalls. While her POV is of course colored by her mindset, it also is limited by her lack of information, and we as readers can acknowledge that.

BACK TO ACOTAR: Feyre is seen by everyone as gorgeous, formidable, and essentially perfect. Rhys sees her as flawless, "made for him", wonderful, beautiful, blah blah blah. (THEY ARE SO BAD FOR EACH OTHER; THEY EXCUSE AND GLORIFY EACH OTHER'S CRIMES, IT'S SO BAD, GUYYYS). Tamlin is insanely batshit in love with her, or whatever. To the Night Court she's the High Lady. In this way she personifies the Mary Sue character. (Excerpt from the TV Tropes page on Mary Sues: "She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye color, and has a similarly cool and exotic name. She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing. She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story. The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues, and are quick to adopt her as one of their True Companions, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting; if any character doesn't love her, that character gets an extremely unsympathetic portrayal." Sound familiar?)

There is the Ourobous scene. And yet, paradoxically, while presented as an acknowledgment of her flaws, it is in fact a rejection of them. She sees her own brutality... and instead of recognizing that she has these deep, deep moral flaws and realizing that she needs to grow and be better, she in fact "accepts" them.

Guys: Self love means: "I'm important to me, so I'm going to get a massage today after work", or "heck, why not splurge on some expensive lotion, you only live once" or "you know what? I had a tough day today. I'm going to get that strawberry cupcake". SELF LOVE DOES NOT MEAN "oh, I accept all the war crimes I have done, I love myself". LOVING YOURSELF DOES NOT MEAN ABSOLVING YOURSELF OF ALL WRONGDOING.

It's this refusal to acknowledge wrongdoing that is so grating about ACOTAR. It's so goddamn one-sided. And you can tell that after Book 1, SJM decided to completely change the trajectory simply because of how jarring Book 2 reads compared to the first one.

Also: Feyre is a very, very young girl (compared to the other ruling fey) who did not know how to read for the majority of her life. She has no experience whatsoever in politics. Her being High Lady is not a win for feminism.

Rhysand: He Sucks

First, he is 500 years old. He should be written as such, not as some 20 year old virile frat boy feminist. Fantasy is all the more compelling for its elements of realism, which is a concept that SJM does not appear to grasp.

Second of all, his morals are absurd. He is written as the Second Coming of Christ, as someone who can do no wrong, ever, and his flaws only serve to make Feyre love him more. Anything shitty he does is written as part of his "mask" and she can See Beneath It and knows that it "hurts" him to maintain this "mask".

Fellas, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAINTAIN THIS MASK???? There is no reason for it. If A) he does not give a shit about Court of Nightmares (we'll get back to that), only about Velaris, and B) Velaris is hidden/protected from the world, what is he pretending for?

It would not hurt him politically to be seen as someone who cares about his country.

"Pretending" to be "Amarantha's whore" does not in any way shape or form benefit the macro-world that is Prythian. In Amarantha's name, he commits atrocities. He commits war crimes; he systemically oppresses entire societies. It doesn't even really benefit Velaris, because Velaris is already hidden.

Let me put this in a real-world perspective. This would be like if Donald Trump was suddenly like: "I know I was a shitty president but IT WAS ALL PART OF MY MASK, WHICH WAS TO PROTECT THIS MICROCOSM OF PRIVILEGED PEOPLE THAT I CARE ABOUT". Like: okay? Sorry, or whatever, but I don't actually give a shit. What about the parents of the children who died? What about Clare Beddor? What about the people who were held in slavery, murdered, tortured?

Rhysand: omg it sucks that my cousin Mor was oppressed by this toxic misogynistic culture from the Court of Nightmares.

Also Rhysand: lol whatever, who gives a shit about Court of Nightmares. They all suck. They meanie. Lol what did you say? That there might be other girls just like Mor who are oppressed by this system? Lol whatever. I can't do anything, I gotta maintain my Mask. I gotta sit on this throne and show the entire Court that not respecting women is completely okay.

In summary: by parading Feyre around as his "whore" (!!) he demonstrates by example that it is completely okay for the Court of Nightmares to abuse their women.

A good ruler cares about all his people. Rhysand cares about a tiny tiny fraction of his people: those who were fortunate enough to be born into Velaris.

God, I'm exhausted. Onto Nesta:

The only character who successfully breaks the Mary Sue effect Feyre exerts on her people is Nesta. Her POV for the first half is a joy to read.

Obviously it sucks that Nesta was a huge bitch to Feyre for the beginning of her childhood. However, it was wrong for Rhysand to threaten her- he is a man male with a huge insane amount of power, and it is not okay for him to threaten to bring the brunt of it down on a young girl because she was a bitch to his girlfriend.

I've seen a lot of discourse on the morality of F/R sending her out of Velaris. Here is my two cents:

It was okay for them to cut her off of their money. If they don't want to enable her self-harm, that is their choice. Again, it's their money, even if it wasn't fairly earned (Rhysand born into an enormous fortune).

It was not okay for them to banish her from Velaris with the implication that she was an embarrassment. Let me explain.

If Rhysand and Feyre are talking to her as sister/brother-in-law, then that is that. They have the complete right to express disapproval and try to help. However, they should not be using their royal privilege against her.

If they are talking to her as ruler to subject, then they have the power to banish her from the city. However, a ruler would not give a shit about a random subject getting drunk and having sex. So, they should not be talking her about her problems as a ruler to subject.

I've heard it compared to her being sent to rehab. However, rehab is a system designed to help people with certain problems. It has specialized medical centers and involves therapy. Nesta gets her life threatened multiple times. It is not rehab.

In summary: why did SJM inflict this upon us. Throne of Glass was actually good! GAHHH! After the first few books she completely whipped around and introduced the idea of males and mates and fey and that C is actually A and the quality took a huge nosedive. Sigh.

Final horrible but unmistakable truth: The entire ACOTAR series reads like a bad A/B/O fic. I hate to say it but it's true. We're lucky there were no heat cycles. OH WAIT

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART VII - I’m not going to lie, this chapter and the next one are probably a little more on the boring side. It’s just sort of Eris spending some time with Lucien. Shit’s gonna hit the fan soon, but Eris is just going to spend some time at the beach, for no reason really. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!!!

no im SO excited for eris and lucien brotherly boring. BEACH EP BEACH EP BEACH EP BEACH EP

Prince of Ashes. Part VII.

masterlist.

“Give me your shirt.” 

“I don’t obey the orders of anyone below my station,” Eris tilted his head back, his fingers digging into the sand of the beach. He was leaning on his forearms, his eyes shut, the afternoon sun warming his face. Eris liked making snobbish remarks like that around his friends just as much as they liked reminding him that his status as heir amounted to absolutely nothing in their presence.

Micah repeated himself, “Give me your shirt.” 

With an exaggerated sigh, Eris undid the laces of his thin, light brown shirt, throwing it at his friend. “Shit, Micah, you should have asked sooner.” Micah’s nose and cheeks were a frightening red colour, the gold of his tattoos bright against the burned skin of his neck, all because he was too proud to admit that he burned when he stayed out in the sun for too long.

“I hate you all,” Micah declared, lifting Eris’s shirt and putting it over his head like a cloak, shielding himself from the rays of the sun. 

Eris knew Lagos was pouting, mocking, “Poor little Micah, can’t stay out in the sun.” 

“Poor little Micah is going to throw sand at you,” Micah muttered.

Widge smiled, lifting the brim of the sun hat he’d borrowed from his mother. While he looked ridiculous, Widge didn't seem to care. “Not all of us have exceptional magical abilities,” he huffed a laugh as Enya jumped up, licking at his face. Eris swore that hound loved Widge more than him. Lagos was sprawled on his back, pants thrown off to the side, using his own shirt as a pillow as he laid by Eris in his undershorts. He was faintly glowing.

Eris kept expecting Lucien to do the same thing, eyes following Lucien as he played near the water’s edge. Lucien hadn’t shown signs of any other Day Court magic since Lady Morai had suppressed it, but Eris still found himself worrying over it. Rufus was also by the water’s edge, boots off, pants rolled up, and shirt left unbuttoned as he watched over Lucien. Every so often, he would kick water at their youngest brother, laughing every time Lucien told him to stop.

“Your brother is perhaps an even greater menace than you were upon your arrival at my camp,” Micah declared. He awkwardly moved towards Eris, dragging his ass along the sand while still trying to keep the shirt over his head.

“He belongs in a circus,” Lagos added. 

“I like having him there,” Widge managed to get out as Enya continued to lick his cheeks.

“He’s doing alright?” Their father had recently sent Rufus to one of Autumn’s largest war camps. It was located in the South, near the Spring Court border; Eris had been sent there at two decades old with nothing but a sword, brown leathers, and a title he was pretty sure he’d never be able to live up to. Eris was proud to admit that over two centuries later, he could claim being a half-decent commander of his father’s armies - not fantastic at combat, but damn-good at military strategy.

Eris had heard that Rufus, despite his more care-free attitude, was doing quite well, but it was always Eris’s first instinct to assume that Rufus was going to get himself killed or cause some sort of international catastrophe. Especially with political tensions in Prythian so high lately, Eris found that he’d become quite the mother hen, constantly asking his friends how Rufus was holding up. “He’s absolutely mad,” Micah laughed, “I could throttle him sometimes.”

“Cauldron, does he write his reports backwards?” Eris smiled just thinking about it, “Rufus used to do shit like that to his tutors, you can read them in front of a mirror.” 

“He walks around the camp with a near-empty cognac bottle filled with apple juice, and makes bets on whether or not he can hit moving targets with his bow and arrows,” Lagos said. “He won 50 gold marks from me before I found out what he’d been doing.” 

“Serves you right,” Eris grinned.

“He also tells us the most interesting things,” Micah hummed. He nudged at Eris with his knee. “Things that you neglect to mention.” 

Lagos didn't sound too amused as he said, “Told us he was afraid for your life.”

Eris knew exactly what Rufus had told them. “If this is about Lizaveta—” 

“Of course it’s about Lady Lizaveta,” Lagos leaned up on an elbow. “Your choice in lovers is abysmal, truly.” 

“Don’t offend me,” Micah mumbled.

Lagos ignored him, “It’s like you dive headfirst into relationships that are bound to get you killed.” Eris sneered, mostly because Lagos was right. If his father ever learned of the countless male lovers Eris had been with over the centuries, Eris was almost certain that Beron would kill him. Or if he found out about the lesser faeries, or the females of common birth. Eris had been very good at ignoring his father’s rants about degeneracy when he’d been much younger.

But Lizaveta was a full-blooded noble, and Eris didn’t really see the problem. “How might this relationship kill me?” 

“You’re sneaking around with a female who’s rumoured to have killed her own husband in his sleep less than a decade ago. Does that seem like a good idea?” 

“I’m sure he deserved it,” Widge muttered absently, “Lots of lords in Autumn deserve it.” Everyone turned to face him, but he was looking off into the distance, no longer paying any attention to them.

Micah placed a gentle hand on Eris’s knee, “We’re just messing with you.” Eris knew they meant well, but his friends had a horrible habit of sticking their noses into Eris’s business, all hidden behind the guise that they “cared for his well-being,” as they so often reminded him. 

“Just make sure you’re not her next victim,” Lagos added, “And do try and keep your father from finding out.”

Eris scowled, “Your faith in me is astounding.” He’d had centuries worth of practice in keeping his lovers a secret from the rest of his family and ensuring that rumours didn’t make their way to the always-listening ears of Autumn Court aristocrats. It was exhausting. He looked away from his friends to make sure Lucien and Rufus hadn’t drowned while he’d been distracted.

Lucien seemed to have convinced Rufus to play some sort of aggressive game with him, spinning Lucien around in his arms before throwing him deeper into the ocean. Lucien landed in the water with a big splash, Rufus roaring with laughter. Eris would have scolded them both had Lucien not jumped up from the water with a huge grin on his face, looking very foolish as he struggled to run at Rufus.

“Just be careful, we quite enjoy your company.” Micah squeezed his knee once before moving his hand, his fingers now dragging through the sand. 

Eris finally looked away from his brothers after deciding that they would be fine, turning to face Micah again. “Let’s talk about what happened in Spring.” 

“Yes, let’s talk about how we’re on the verge of another war, Eris would rather talk about our impending doom than his lover.” Eris glared at Lagos.

Micah scoffed, “There’s not going to be a fucking war, both of them are too young - untried. They aren’t going to do something so stupid.” 

Eris considered this. Rhysand and Tamlin had just become new High Lords, perhaps they would start a war just to prove that they could. “If somebody killed my mother, I might start a war.” 

“You might start a war just for fun.” Eris kicked sand at Lagos, a crooked smile on his face that was becoming more and more rare. Eris knew Lagos simply meant well.

Lagos returned the smile, dimples showing. Lagos was perhaps the only one of his friends that constantly bothered Eris for being a cruel prince of the Autumn Court.  

“Cauldron, you wouldn’t do that either,” Micah seemed so sure. Eris sometimes wished he had that amount of confidence in his ability to make good choices. 

Widge furrowed his brows, looking up from what he was in the process of writing in messy, scrawled script in the sand. “Wait, what happened in Spring?”

Somebody would explain it to him later, Eris thought. “I wonder if Rhysand will be a better High Lord than his father.” It was no secret that the Hewn City was more horrible than any part of Beron’s territory. Eris had despised the place since the first moment he’d stepped foot in it. He’d take his own two-faced city of Calchas over that wretched city any day. 

“Probably not,” Micah adjusted the shirt over his head, “But at least he’s better looking.”

Eris would have to agree. With the dark hair and those star-lit, violet eyes, Rhysand was one of the better looking faeries Eris had ever seen. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, “I like his general better.” 

Micah grinned, “What about the shadowsinger?” Eris grinned back, “Fancy the shadowsinger, do you?” 

“Who doesn’t?” 

“Those people are from the Night Court.” Widge looked confused, much like he usually did. 

“Very observant,” Lagos muttered.

“We’re talking about Tamlin and Rhysand,” Eris explained. “The new High Lords.” 

“Heard about that,” Widge said with a nod. “Sounds like a mess.” With a shake of his head, almost like he was clearing his thoughts, Widge went back to whatever he was writing in the sand without so much as a second glance in their direction. Eris shifted slightly so that he could more clearly see what Widge was doing. He’d drawn three interconnected circles in the sand, numbers and formulas surrounding them.

Eris had always enjoyed watching Widge work, liked trying to figure out what he was doing, and he wasn’t paying attention to anything as he tried to understand where Widge was going with this. Definitely not smart on his part, he hadn’t been expecting so much water to crash onto his head, leaving him completely soaked. Widge yelped as some of the water fell on him as well. 

“What the fuck,” Eris growled.

“My circles,” Widge whined, the water having ruined whatever he was writing. Eris hoped he remembered what it was, it had seemed interesting. He heard everyone’s laugh. From the deep rumble of Micah, to the obnoxious cackle of Lagos, to the loud howl of Rufus. It should have come as no shock that Rufus would try and pull a prank on Eris, no doubt with Lucien’s help. He was rather disappointed in himself for not keeping an eye on the two biggest troublemakers in all of Prythian.

Eris looked up at Rufus with a glare, he could see the steam in the air around him as he used some of his magic to dry off. “Honestly, Rufus,” Eris sneered, teeth bared. 

“My mistake, didn’t see you sitting there.” He’d filled his fucking boot with water and thrown it at him. 

Eris ran a hand through his still damp hair, “You’ve disappointed me.” Rufus just smiled, tugging once on Lucien’s braid.

“Lucien told me to do it,” Rufus was very good at playing the part of innocent victim. His auburn brows were raised, his russett eyes wide. “No I didn’t,” Lucien instantly stopped cackling, defending his honour. “Eris, he’s the disappointment, I’d never.” 

“Little assholes,” Eris mumbled, shoving Lucien playfully. Lucien laughed again, dropping into the sand right beside him. Rufus sat by Lagos, winking at Eris before he sprawled on his back, Enya trotting over to lie down by his head.

Eris was glad for moments like this - when his father wasn’t in Autumn and he had the time to spend with the people he cared about. He knew it was a weakness, the fact that he cared about them, but he'd missed them all. Rufus was stuck at the war camp with his friends, Lucien was stuck in the Forest House, and Eris was stuck in his territory far away from them both.

Eris had been staying away from Lucien anyway, visiting less and less. It’d been months since he’d last seen the little runt, but Eris knew it was for the best. 

“This was really nice, Eris,” Lucien said with a small smile, his face turned towards the sun. He looked happy. 

Eris nodded once, closing his eyes and turning his own face towards the sun, “I thought it was really nice, too.”

Perhaps it was very foolish of Eris to be spending his valuable time frolicking on beaches, but all he wanted to do right now was pretend everything would be alright. Pushing all his worries aside, the sound of waves crashing along the shore, his toes curling into the white sand of the beach, Eris could almost forget he was the heir of the Autumn Court.

[thebellekeys]

Incoherent thoughts about A Court of Silver Flames (2021) by SJM

Do not expect this to be a critical, unbiased review at all. Eet just ease what eet ease. Spoilers ahead laddies. 

*unwanted preface* 

Okay, so like, you know those things that are neither objectively perfect nor unproblematic yet you love them and are attached to them anyway? Yeah, this is me with SJM’s writing. See, I been with Sarah and Throne of Glass since March of 2015 and with ACOTAR since the summer of 2015 when I was 13 and honestly, ACOTAR in particular occupied a decent portion of my formative teen years. Eventually, when I was about 16 I sort of ended up getting distracted from YA books and went into my thot and kpop era. A main reason for this is that I found ACOFAS particularly disenchanting. This ain’t about that book (sigh) but let’s just say as much as I was still attached to and in love with the ACOTAR world, I was still able to get very annoyed by the decreased quality of the writing and also the evident projecting Sarah was doing onto Feyre with regards to her own life and experiences (ahem). No, the lack of developed POC in the book had nothing to do with it ironically. 

So basically, since the spring of 2018 I haven’t read any SJM yet I never fell out of love with the books either. I’ve sworn off TOG after whatever the hell EOS was, but ACOTAR was always more special and close to my heart by tenfold, honestly. See, the best day of my 2016 was the day I found out ACOTAR was getting the extra 3 novels and 2 novellas. ACOFAS was a dumpster fire but I was actually surprised to really, really enjoy A Court of Silver Flames while it obviously has a couple (multiple) sus facets to it. The susness aside, I thoroughly felt at home reading Nesta’s book despite how irrational that might sound. No, I’m not here to say the book was objectively good but I’m here to say I still enjoyed it despite my love-hate relationship with SJM and her writing. :( :( :( 

That being said imma still roast tf out of a couple aspects of it. :)

*the susness*

Aight wbk that SJM like, projects a lot onto feyrhys right. I’m not even gonna deny it. Like as horrible as it sounds, when feyrhys were, like, struggling as a couple and shit in ACOMAF, that’s when I loved them the most but then the shitstorm that was ACOWAR hit and they couldn’t go without boning every two seconds or calling each other mates and shit and basically every character in the book started kissing their asses (except Nesta) to the point where they were infallibly good and powerful and everyone’s heads were lodged up their asses... I got PISSED OFF then, right.

Now, in ACOSF (is that correct?), they were side characters and, gratefully, that romance between them was toned down. But here are some things concerning feyrhys and the Court of Dreams that irked tf out of me, and the implications that they had for Nesta (who is perhaps one of the baddest bitches ever) had me feeling homicidal towards the IC:

Every single time Nesta said shit about Rhys and then Cassian got mad I wanted to SCREAM like yooo let her roast tf out of him like yeah I get Rhys lowkey did a lot for her both directly and indirectly but cmoooooon not everyone needs to be riding his dick like the man HATED Nesta from the get-go. I loved the idea that someone in the book lowkey abhors Rhys just for the TEA it gave me. Like yeah, okay Cassian, I get that he’s your bro but he can SUCK NESTA’S DICK also like my girl is a DEATH GOD.

Here me out: the Inner Circle completely dehumanized Nesta, they completely disregarded her personal autonomy and caged her in which is ironically the very behavior that was villainized when Tamlin did it to Feyre. First of all they restricted her movement, they made decisions FOR her, they withheld from her knowledge about her own powers, they decided what’s best for her and acted like she was a rabid dog the entire time. Only Cassian and Azriel seem more blameless in this regard, but the level of scorn and abohorence and moralizing Feyre, Elain, Rhys, Amren and Mor did towards Nes made my blood boil. At the end of the day, the Inner Circle did the VERY THING they hated being done to Feyre. Whatever happened to the freedom they professed? The autonomy they decided all members of their court deserved? That was all bullshit, or was this switch-up SJM’s way of creating justifiable conflict between Nesta and the Inner Circle... either way, there was no closure about this and the way they dictated Nesta’s behavior whilst completely mistreating her imo.

More on Nesta’s treatment - okay listen the way the narrative had every character acting like Nesta was fricking scum and for WHAT??? Okay, she didn’t hunt when Feyre and they were poor, she was bitchy, she hates the Fae... okay, why is Nesta still being punished for her mistakes like this by the Court? Does their forgiveness only apply to those in their clique? They’re acting like her drinking and sleeping around and her general bitchy behavior is sooooo toxic when they ALL coped with their respective trauma in questionable ways in their centuries of living. And the narrative never condemned them for this behavior either... like cmon they had an “intervention” about Nesta like if she needed to reach a certain moral standing to be lovable or something. Seems to me that only Cassian was willing to love her, bruises and all... “There’s nothing broken to be fixed. You are helping yourself. Healing the parts of you that hurt too much - and perhaps hurt others too”. But as beautiful as that it, it seems the IC see Nesta’s healing as her “redemption arc” when I never saw her as a villain or monster to begin with. They acted like she had to become deserving of their acceptance. Bullshit.

No cus more on this... Cassian is the only person who defended Nesta, the only person that wanted to help her heal and grow when everyone else wanted to fix her. He was the only person who was kind to her from the original trilogy (i.e. not counting Emerie and Gwyn). He stood up for her and I’ll gush about them in the next section, but the dynamic between Nesta and the IC was the least enjoyable aspect of the book for me. It was clear SJM wanted to spur Nesta towards the path to healing yet only figured out how to do so whilst only keeping feyrhys as the nucleus of this arc, and so she had them force Nesta into her “special journey” (because she loves them so much, cus they’re sooooo perfect right *rolls eye*), yet, the narrative didn’t quite condemn them for their toxicity towards Nesta at ALL, even towards the end. The good thing is that Nesta did not become an ass-kisser throughout the story and laud them for “helping her” every waking second. Only Cassian didn’t shun her for her inner negativity but embraced her. And Az was pretty cool too, can’t hate him.

Ahem, the ending: okay, I’m not even capping, but I hated that Nesta lost her power for feyrhys. I get that she genuinely did it out of love and shit and I’m not even gonna lie, the thought of feyrhys dying had me on the verge of tears cus as much as I hate them, I also love those bitches. Yet, the culmination of Nesta’s power was, what?, to save feyrhys. This way, the narrative put Feyre at the center of Nesta’s narrative towards the end. And Nesta lost that Death God power that she basically EARNED in that Cauldron. This is the biggest flaw of the story. She fought against her own power to give it up... for Feyre. Like??? What??? Why was that baby arc even necessary????? Why was Nesta giving up her power necessary to fulfil her healing arc which was the POINT of the book??? Like what?????? It left a sour taste in my mouth. No- an abhorrent acidic bitter taste in my mouth. 

Elain. I CANNOT STAND THIS GIRL. She completely abandoned Nesta and for WHAT??? For Feyre??? This only served to reiterate from the narrative’s POV that Nesta was scum and again, idk WHY. And also, why tf does this girl mistreat Lucien like this??? LUCIEN AKA MY FAVORITE CHARACTER???

I just don’t get how the narrative reiterated that Tamlin is the worst of the worst when you got Rhys hiding shit from Feyre, hiding knowledge of Nesta’s power from Nesta, all of that. Like, was the entire point of ACOMAF not for Feyre to embrace her power and become her best self? Rhys never for one second tolerated withholding Feyre’s power from her. So why tf does this apply to Nesta? Cus she’s unhealthy? Okay... so what??? Why villainize her like this and imply she’s undeserving of her power and a waste of life??? I’M LAUGHING SO HARD RN LIKE WHERE DID THIS EVEN COME FROM??? What did my girl do that was sooooo bad that yall needed to treat her like this. Tell me why feyre and amren and varian and rhys all acted like Tamlin in this book. Cardi voice WHAT WAS THE REASON. I AM SO MAD ABOUT THIS CUS THEY ACTED LIKE THE FRICKING MORALISING SYCHOPHANTS THEY CLAIM TO HATE.

Like bitch??? They’re like those youth pastors that reiterate how broken and messed up people with mental illness are? Acted like Nesta screwing guys was the worst thing ever when they should have embraced her? Like I get she would push them away but really??? “Waste of life”??? 

So we gon gloss over how Amren was insisting Nesta shut up about the baby business to Feyre (aka hiding shit from her)? How she was implying that Rhys should conquer all of Prythian? Hear me out, even as someone from a Caribbean country that was colonized by the whites, it actually doesn’t bother me when the theme of conquest comes up, like, this is a fantasy novel and colonization does not exist within the same context for me. That being said, like, it felt as if the narrative telling me lil Rhysie is just sooooo perfect that he needs to be High King. Like, I respect the fact that Rhys has no wish to do so. Homeboy never seemed to care for conquest beyond ensuring his Court’s prowess and safety so WHAT WAS THE REASON AMREN??? Like? What kinda crack was Amren on this entire book???

The worldbuilding... listen, the politics and history felt all over the place, felt incoherent and flat honestly. Didn’t bother me as much as it did in ACOWAR but it was just *meh*, not good. Not horrible, but not great. I preferred the world when it was directly the result of Beauty and the Beat and East of the Sun, West of the Moon.

The Fae have lost their *magic*: no cus what I loved about the first book was that the Fae were one with the Courts and felt very fleshed out in terms of their powers and shit, but now only Eric and Lucien and Tamlin and sometimes Rhys have that same magic for me. Like... the sensuality of the Fae in terms of their actual Celtic roots, that which felt whimsical and immersive in the first book, feels lost to me. I can’t explain it but I feel less nuance and orthodoxy in their portrayal. However, I DID love this one line featuring none other than the loml : “Amid the pink and white blossoms, the cold-faced Autumn Court heir looked truly faerie - as if he’d stepped out of the tree, and his one and only master was the earth itself”. LIKE I SALIVATED THAT IS MY MAN.

*good stuffs*

Okay let’s talk about the smut like I didn’t like the word choice as usual like quit with the euphemisms and say cock and goooooo. That being said like, okay, I like how she set up the physical dynamic between Nesta and Cassian cus the sex wasn’t some big romantic climactic build-up like how it was in acomaf like they were being NASTY from the get-go and I respect that drip. Like she did not cap on how porny the smut was and thank God it wasn’t some cliche romantic honeymoon type shit, like it was almost on the ao3 level of smutty goodness. All it was was missing was coarse language and hard kinks but in general, I liked the Nessian smut in this book more than the feyrhys smut in particularly ACOWAR and ACOFAS, like Nessian just do not cap.

Listen... you see that whole part when Nesta was like imagining how awesome it would be to dance Lucifer’s Bachata with Az and Cassian? Yeah, my girl just let her thoughts run wild. Like Nesta makes Feyre look naïve. Like you know how Tumblr porn in 2016 used to be with the aesthetic type shit? That’s Feyre, but Nesta is like on Pornhub level and it’s so fitting I was YELLIN lowkey. I feel like less importance was placed on how meaningful the sex and shit should be in the book and I respect that.

YOU SEE WHEN NESTA TOLD FEYRE ABOUT THE BABY!!! I WAS CHEERING HER ON. No cause they were being so nasty to Nesta especially Amren and then Feyre entered with all of her moralising shit like honey you KNOW damn well what you’re doing to Nesta is what you hate being done to you. Like damn right tell her, cus I could not STAND the double standard.

The whole training the women thing was a nice touch. It was kinda corny but also sweet. That being said, I laughed so hard when I realized how this entire book was Nesta’s quarter-life hippie rebirth where she learns to meditate and work out and read romance books and face her inner demons like this is some real New York college shit. All that was missing was a Starbucks.

Cassian. Man I love this man so much. No like he displayed peak dilf behavior. I think his attractiveness isn’t based on his bravery or his hotness but his humility man. Like he’s not a thot, he’s respectful, yet tough, yet contemplative. He’s contented with his life station yet wants to always be a better person yet is such a strong rock who really loves Nesta not despite her flaws but because they are part of her. I love the way he stood up to Rhys a lot, he didn’t shame her when she was awful to him, and he is protective (annoyingly so sometimes) but he really wanted her to empower herself. Their relationship isn’t perfect (I’m not in the mood to dissect the problematic aspects rn) but they were so sweet together and I didn’t expect to like them as much as I did back when they were lowkey a thing in ACOMAF.

The mates thing didn’t bother me cus I saw this shit coming since 2016. Yes, it’s cliche and annoying but the mates status also, like, has no meaning to me so it is what it is. Didn’t think they NEEDED to be mates but I was happy that them being mates wasn’t the core of the novel and it was secondary to Nesta’s individual healing journey.

Prepare for me to get sappy but another reason why I loved this novel was because it was a story of healing. :( :( :( The road to healing and growth in the emotional sense is always beautiful to me despite how flawed it often is when SJM writes it. I just felt really immersed in the emotional woes and eventual growth of Nesta despite my issues with the book and this is perhaps one of the main reasons that I found it beautiful, because healing as a theme is always beautiful and raw.

More of Nessian but like their relationship feels so real and raw too. No, cus like, it wasn’t tinged in as much fictitious idealism as feyrhys’ relationship was. They weren’t all stupidly in love and seeing each other in the universe and shit, like they just made each other happy and weren’t portrayed as the perfect soulmates who were each other’s yin and yang and whatever thank the LORD. Them having each other’s back was enough and ughhhh Cassian was just so sweet and such a good trainer and so aloof yet passionate like I been waiting to see more of him since ACOMAF so yayyy.

Okay... that scene where Rhys kneels to Nesta and she embraces him. yes. YES YES YES YES YES that shit was the shit that made my year like I want this man to be in her debt for the end of time like this hoe saved yall like big strong high lord better bow to the “witch” like I could hear angelic choirs at that scene like Rhys doesn’t just yield to people so easily so like, it was just kinda epic okay. Little bitchass Rhys with his perfect little river house and emo boi clothes stfu hoe.

No cus I love how Nesta told Cassian she didn’t wanna hear about Feyre’s special journey or Rhys’s special journey or Mor’s like I got fed up of people acting like they epitomized “good” and the “good path” to self-discovery when they can choke on a baguette as far as I am concerned.

*shit no one except me probs cares about*

Eris. So here is the thing. Since 2015 in ACOTAR when Eris was Under the Mountain being all red-headed and cunning and sexy and evil I have been obsessed with him... well, the idea of him I had in my head and how delectably abhorrent he seems (I like villains and side-characters okay). Maybe it was just his name (Eris is a hot name shut up) or the idea of a rich, cunning fox-faced prince in the same universe appealed to me. Either way, I actually never expected by favorite cameo-character to become... important. I’ll die on the hill of loving him. Here is the thing... I don’t want him to be good, in the same way I did not want Rhys to be a good guy in ACOTAR either. I don’t need him to be a secret angel, I don’t need him to be sweet and good like Rhys always was apparently. Honestly, I want him corrupt but likeable and pertinent to the story. That being said, I really want him as the main character for one of the upcoming novels sooo bad like please PLEASE let me see the autumn court and it’s two-facedness please like if not Eris then Lucien as the main character please.

Lucien... aka my fave character since the first book man. Mannn, SJM does homeboy so dirty like I have always loved Russian fables and hence, I am so ready for Lucien x Vassa x Jurian in the Vasilisa retelling with the firebird trope and Koshei. NO CUS in 2018 I was finna write a 100k word fic about this but then I forgot about it no cap, I still have the story plan in my Onenote actually but let us not reminisce. See, my ao3-loving ass wants an angsty poly relationship and also a hot Koshei I have been waiting YEARS for this you hoes, ever since Elain got the premonition of Vassa as a firebird in ACOWAR like God please please please give it to me and make it feyrhys-less as well yasss.

I lowkey wanna suspect Eris is gay and Mor, also gay, knows and that’s why she lowkey kinda tolerates him now. Yet, I cannot be sure and yeah I just wanna say that I kinda want that arc lmfaooo (my ao3-self is showing shut up).

No cus I was TEASED by only seeing a glimpse of Vassa and Jurian but THEY SHALL HAVE THEIR TIME I KNOW IT.

Tamlin living as a beast is so interesting to me. He’s a side-character now but ughhhh he was so mystical and interesting as our good ole Beauty and the Beast beastie like it’s sooooo mysterious and alluring how he’s becoming his own villainous legend like I still care about Tamlin’s blond ass self despite everything. 

Give us the snowball fight scene you coward.

I just gotta say Nessian could outsmut Feyrhys any day and that makes me proud.

FRICKING AZRIEL like first of all Mor doesn’t NEED to come out until she’s ready but she gotta let the man down nicely some other way so he can move on. I do not like Elain. Never did. I still do not. I do not, frankly, want a whole novel where she and Azriel fall in love and she rejects Lucien like... okay, I DO want her to reject Lucien so he can be with Vassa at the very least but also I am not interested in Elain’s POV rn. BUT I WANT AZ’S POV AND LIKE WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO I WANT MY EMO BOI TO BE HAPPY. This is so frustrating cus Az is a walking DILF right and so, what am I supposed to do now.

I kinda miss the Spring Court just a little. It’s pretty shut up. It got that Zuhair Murad fashion too. 

Umm like, what the hell is up with that business with Helion being Lucien’s dad? We need more on this which is why I want a Lucien POV book goddammit.

Yoooooooo yall remember that bitch from ACOWAR who hybern was finna kill and she had a name and everything and then there was some foreshadowing and shit? What’s up with her? Like I can’t even remember her name lowkey but yeah what’s up with that. Was it something like Briar or Briannon or somthing???

Is Mor getting a book? Like deadass I need the Lucien and Vassa book, I need the Eris book, I need the Mor book and I need the Azriel book. Damn. Been waiting 6 years for some of this shit.

Okay that is all for now. Yes, this book has problematic elements at every level but I still loved it yet also hated some things about it. I won’t read House of Blood and Earth nor will I finish the TOG series but I guess I’ll stick with this series which remains near and dear to my soul despite what people gotta say about it. It made me happy and that’s what matters. Nesta is a huge ass inspiration to me as a character and I still wanna see her make the Inner Circle’s life a living hell uwu. I admittedly got HELLA emotional reading this story because it’s nonetheless super meaningful to me even at age 19 and it’s really powerful for me as a comfort book, and I look forward (a little) to what this woman put out next... sort of.

Signing off! Don’t @ me (okay you CAN @ me but idc).

[cloudywriter]

i never got to say i love you - 1

~~~

A/N: heyy, so i wrote this like a month ago when i was super into reading some modern university au acotar fanfiction & then i even planned out a whole storyline but then i just kinda sat on it. but i like it so i decided i would just put it out there, i can continue it if people actually like it too.

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre walked along the sidewalk leading to one of the dorm buildings of her new school, Velaris University. 

Although she was focused on lugging her single suitcase behind her as one of the wheels was broken, she couldn’t help but admire the tall impressive structures that surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of the Sidra river to her right while observing the courtyard adjoining multiple dorm buildings to her left. The courtyard was large and pristine, made of stone, with an abstract silver metal statue which stood erect in the middle loosely resembling an infinity sign. The housing units were situated around it in a semicircle.

A path winded down from the courtyard and back towards the main section of campus, organized there were the various department buildings, the cafeteria, admissions, and so on. Feyre was making her way up said path after she retrieved her student key card from the main office. 

She had just transferred from Courts Community College after she finally saved up enough money to afford tuition to VU. 

In her senior year of high school, Feyre visited the small city in which Velaris was located, Prythian, with her school on a field trip. It was on that small excursion she fell in love with the Prythian and the university it had to offer. In particular, Feyre loved the huge art district that occupied nearly a quarter of the city. 

Her family looked down upon her choice of major, art, they told her time and time again that it was impractical and her success rate in the field was microscopic. However, their comments didn’t deter her, she couldn’t imagine studying business or stem as her father suggested, it simply wasn’t for her. She wanted her life’s work to be doing what she loved even if it came with the risk of struggling financially down the road. 

Feyre finally reached the tall double glass doors of the middle building. She grabbed her ID from her jacket pocket and held it up to the scanner. The device beeps three times loudly, flashing a dot of red light. Feyre tries again with the same result. She sighs, did she get a faulty card?

“Turn it around,” a feminine voice suggests from behind her.

Feyre whipped around. There stood a young woman, likely Feyre’s same age. She was breathtakingly pretty with long, bright blonde hair that stopped below her chest and eyes that were a shade darker than honey. She was fairly tall as was Feyre and her demeanor demanded respect. She seemed sure of herself and her looks and capitalized on them. 

“The black bar on the back is only good for your dorm room door, to get in the main entrance you have to scan the front of your ID. I know, it’s weird, took me five minutes to figure it out yesterday,” the woman explained. 

Feyre gave an appreciative smile and nodded, turning her attention back to the scanner which now responded to her with a flash of green. 

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed as she opened the door and held it for the student behind her. The girl strolled through and smiled at her. “It’s no problem.” 

Feyre directed her attention to the slip of paper in her hand, failing to remember where it said her room was. Room 223, Level 3. A blonde head peered over her shoulder. 

“Room 223? You’re right next door to me!” 

Feyre offered her a smile. “Does that mean you’ll show me the way?”

The blonde looked delighted and casually looped her arm through Feyre’s as if they’d been friends for years and led her towards the elevator. This slightly alarmed Feyre, she had never had very many friends let alone pretty girl friends, usually, they weren’t all too kind to Feyre. Despite the fact that her sisters, Nesta and Elain, were rather popular. Nesta easily took on the role of the pretty mean girl, though she wasn’t outwardly mean often. She just radiated the energy and didn’t bother with most people. 

Elain, however, was friends with everybody and was sweet to all who crossed paths with her. She had almost everyone in the school wrapped around her finger, though she had no idea; from the boys who tripped over each other to open the door for her and the girls that scrambled to sit near her at lunch. 

Feyre did have one redeeming quality in high school, well, redeeming person. Her high school sweetheart was Tamlin Spring, the football team’s star quarterback. He was one of the boys in the school that the girls drooled over constantly, but somehow it was Feyre who caught his eye and it was Feyre he asked to accompany him to homecoming. You’d think this high up connection would earn her some credit but no, the girls still teased her, convincing her it had all been a dare. 

Feyre remembers, in a fit of rage and embarrassment, she stomped over to Tamlin’s locker after the last bell and confronted him. It was there he promised her that it was no prank, it was there he first kissed her. Feyre felt like they had clicked until her mother suddenly passed away from an undiagnosed illness, the death leaving an ugly, deep scar carved into Feyre’s and her family’s lives. Feyre’s life took a turn for the worse and with it so did the relationship she shared with Tamlin. 

The gentle ding of an elevator door alerted Feyre before she found herself spiraling too deep into her thoughts. 

Her leader didn’t seem to notice her brooding state as she took Feyre out and to the right, down a decently sized hall. The floor was mostly white tile with dark blue, almost purple tiles making a design down the middle; the walls were painted a light gray and littered with numerous posters. Feyre didn’t have time to read what all the papers said before the woman stopped outside a wooden door, a plate engraved with the numbers 223 to its left. 

“This is your room. I’m just next door in 225.” 

Feyre nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The girl smiled at her and then her face lit up in realization. 

“Oh, my gods! I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Feyre let loose a small smile. “I’m Feyre,” she said at last.

To her surprise, the mysterious girl pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m Morrigan, but I really just go by Mor.” Mor then pulled back, still holding Feyre at arm’s length. 

“My roommate is named Vivane by the way. We dyed her hair silver in the bathrooms last night, you can’t miss her. She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend though, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to come find me!” Mor offered politely. 

“Thank you.” Feyre breathed out a little sigh of relief having found my dorm without too much trouble.

A girl down the hall called Mor’s name, she muttered a quick see you later and disappeared into the herd of students and luggage. 

Luckily, Feyre managed to open the door without issue and hauled her suitcase inside. She felt a little silly walking here with such a small amount of stuff, most students had a cart full of their belongings. 

Feyre observed the room, the same white tiled floor and light gray walls as the corridor she just exited. It wasn’t ridiculously small, but it would still be a bit of a squeeze. Nothing Feyre wasn’t used to, having shared a room with her two older sisters growing up. A few boxes and bags were already scattered about on the right side of the room. It was clear her roommate had been here and left. She dropped her black, sticker ridden suitcase on the empty bed, plopping down next to it. 

Both sides of the room were identical, two tall beds held up by drawers pressed against opposing walls, two nightstands, two narrow desks situated at the ends of each bed, and one decently sized wardrobe, all made of the same light creamy wood tone. Rather flimsy-looking violet plastic chairs were also tucked into the desks. 

Feyre began to unpack her clothes into the drawers holding up her bed in an attempt to distract her growing anxiety. She pulled out her bag of art supplies and dropped it on her desk. The bag held a paint set that was on its last leg, paint brushes that were horribly frayed at the ends, both drawing and colored pencils, sad leftover eraser nubs, and her worn leather bound sketchbook. 

The door to her room opened up with a click revealing who could only be her roommate standing on the threshold.

She was on the short side and was relatively curvy. Her skin was a tanned brown and she had dark brunette curly hair that was tied up in a loose bun. They both stood observing each other for a second.

“I see you took advantage of the half-off sale at the uni shop too.” She spoke with a smile, gesturing to the identical, oversized VU sweatshirts they were both wearing over black leggings. 

Feyre returned her smile and nodded. “I’m Feyre.”

I held out my hand which she took instantly with a squeeze, “Alis.”

Feyre felt a sense of relief in Alis’s presence. She had a gentle, calming, almost motherly aura about her. Alis invited Feyre to join her for an early dinner to get to know each other.

The girls entered into a huge room adorned with the same marble looking tiles and gray paint mixed with pillars of dark brick filling the walls where windows were absent. Two of the walls were almost completely glass letting a vast amount of natural light fill the space. Above them, three huge circular lights hung from the high ceiling. Wooden tables of various sizes and the same shade of violet accent color plastic chairs neatly filled the room. Stretching along two of the walls were a number of booths to grab food. 

Feyre and Alis settled on grabbing salads from one called Sabrina’s Kitchen and snatched a table for two near one of the walls of windows. They talked about the usual, their family, where they were from, what they were studying, etc.

Feyre learned that Alis was from the town adjacent to Feyre’s own, Springlee. She used to live there with her sister, her husband, and their two boys. She only left to pursue a degree in education but missed them terribly.

Feyre gave Alis a quick rundown of her own home life, leaving out many details that came with her dysfunctional family and explained she’d transferred after two years at Courts Community, working on an art degree. Alis loved the idea of having an artist as her roommate and insisted Feyre paint pictures to decorate their dorm. 

They’d long since finished their salads but continued chatting as the cafeteria began to fill up nearer to dinner time. 

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look now but the hottest group of guys just strolled in,” Alis gasped. 

Feyre giggled a little and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t the type of girl to fawn after hot guys anymore with her track record. She did not trust a pretty face. Alis’s eyes were transfixed behind Feyre. 

“Would you like me to grab you a napkin to clean up your drool?” Feyre poked at Alis. 

Alis playfully swatted her hand away. “Just look at them!”

Feyre huffed and turned around in her seat; she didn’t even need to ask for clarification from Alis it was clear who she was referring too. In one of the lines stood a group of three guys, she could hear them laughing and talking from her seat.

She could only see two of their faces, but that was all she needed. They all had similar shades of black or very dark brown hair and tanned complexions, not to mention how fit they all were. One’s hair was shoulder length and half was pulled back in a bun, the other two had shorter hair cut in rather nondescript styles. Though, the quietest one who had his arms crossed over his chest and only said a few words or offered a small smile every now and then had some curl in locks. The last one had his back turned to Feyre but if his backside and friends were any indication she could only assume he was equally as beautiful. 

Noticing Feyre’s prolonged glance, Alis spoke up, “who needs a napkin now?”

Feyre snapped back around and giggled. “Shut up!”

The sheer number of students piling into the room had it near overflowing as Alis and Feyre tore their eyes from the boys and walked back to their dorm. 

They sat on their beds and talked for a while more, mostly making up ridiculous ways to find out who those boys were and how to get their attention. Feyre doodled in her sketchbook while Alis suggested they break into admissions in an attempt to get some information on them, that plan quickly fell apart as she realized they’d need to know more than their faces. 

Eventually, both girls turn in for the night. 

~~~

enjoy, let me know if you want more or not!

[clumsybookworm18]

Night Triumphant and the Stars Eternal | pt. 1

Read on ao3

Summary: As a High Lord’s daughter, Sam was always expected to have an arranged marriage. All her life she's been a dreamer locked in a golden cage, the important choices of her life snatched from her. Everything changes when the High Lord of the Night Court makes her an offer she can’t refuse.

AKA the self indulgent ACOTAR AU nobody asked for.

A/N: I'm a bit stuck on my ghost story atm and this little plot bunny has been bouncing in my head for a while so I couldn't resist writing it. So this is what happened when I decided to mix the UD kids with SJMass awesome universe! Honestly, I just wanted to see Sam as a fae princess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If you haven't read the books it's fine, basically Prythian is a Fae Continent divided by 7 Courts: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Dawn, Day and Night. Each court is ruled by a High Lord.

This is an utter nightmare.

The princess of the Dawn Court’s cheeks twitched from the carefully placed smile she’d been holding all night. It had only been a few hours since this thing started but it felt like an eternity of standing and mingling. Beside her, her cousin Mike was talking to one of the attendants, killer smile on his face and a goblet of wine in hand, undoubtedly halfway drunk. Meanwhile, Sam had already drained hers, looking to alleviate the dullness of the party- calm the anxious feeling of what this night meant for her future. 

Mother above, she had met so many males tonight. High Lords, kings and princes from all over Prythian’s courts came bearing gifts and wealth. Sam couldn’t take it anymore. The way they were looking at her. Talking about her. She might as well have been a jewel inside a display glass, to be ogled and auctioned off. 

Well, that’s what her father is doing anyways. Selling her off like a broodmare. All for some stupid negotiations for his court.

A male with eager eyes and a conceited smile approached them, and asked her to dance. She was about to decline when Mike passed her hand over, distracted with the pretty female in front of him, no doubt his appointed conquest for the night. So much for helping her out tonight. 

Sam’s smile faltered as she was guided to the ballroom floor. As expected, her presence on the dance floor served to attract only more suitors, which was the exact thing she had been trying to avoid. She mentally cursed Mike as she was whisked away to another male’s arms. Then another, and another, until she finally had had enough and deliberately misstepped, causing her current partner to step on her toes. Politely dismissing his horrified apologies, Sam excused herself from the dance floor, pretending to limp a little as she walked away.

When she was sure no one was watching her, Sam managed to slip off from the ballroom unnoticed, willing herself not to break into a sprint. 

Arranged marriage.

She was still reeling from it all. The party, the introductions- it was all just a formality. Sam was sure the High Lord of the Dawn Court had already chosen the male she was to marry. Without even consulting it with her of course. She didn’t get a say in anything, not free to make her own choices. People always telling her what to do, where to go, how to dress. The most important decisions of her life were already decided for her.  It came with her position. She was just a princess. Something to be seen, not heard. 

Sam picked up her pace, the billowing skirt of her rose gold gown flowing behind her. Her footsteps echoed through the sunstone hallway as her feet guided her. She didn’t think about where she was going, allowing her instincts take over, steering her as if they were following a thread, a tug. Before she knew it, she was stepping into the upper east garden.

It was her favorite place in the palace. With a beautiful view that swept over the city down below to the beautiful countryside and luscious green forests surrounding it, giving her a taste of what went beyond the palace borders that she was rarely allowed to leave. The terrace was so high that sometimes she felt that if she stuck her hand out she could touch the enormous clouds that drifted in the sky.  It was the only place open enough to give her a sense of freedom. No walls, no windows, no doors- just herself and nature.

Sam sat by the fountain in the center of the garden, letting out a sigh as she dipped a hand into the sparkling water. She knew this day would come. An arranged marriage was an unavoidable fate for a princess. 

Her mother, coming from a similar position herself, had been preparing her for this since she was a child. Even though her parents were mates, they were still strangers when they wed. One day, while her father visited the Day Court, he saw her mother and the mating bond snapped into place. Her father had only taken one look at her, and instantly knew what she was. He’d asked the High Lord of Day for his daughter’s hand, and took her back to the Dawn Court and made her his bride. 

Honestly, Sam didn’t understand how her parent's souls were bound, they were so… different. How the Cauldron blessed the union between her cold, cunning father and her kind mother often made her wonder what it had in store for her.

“Who knows,” her mother had teased earlier while they stood in her dressing room. “Maybe you’ll be as lucky as me and meet your mate tonight.” Sam had scoffed. 

As if a mating bond would solve anything.

The princess looked up to the bright stars dotting the night sky. She has dreams. She wants to travel, explore, live. She wished to meet new people, make friends, fall in love, marry on her own terms. 

She didn’t want to be bound by duty. Didn’t want to marry some stranger and just be a trophy wife whose only purpose was to look pretty and punch out heirs. Pursing her lips, Sam slapped her hand into the fountain, sending splashes of water flying off. 

“Ridiculous,” she muttered. “All of it.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” said a deep voice behind her.

She stood abruptly, eyes widening at the sight before her.

Hugged by the shadows stood a male figure, casually leaning against one of the pillars. His dark hair gleamed under the moonlight, bringing out his golden skin and grey eyes. She had never met him before- had only caught a few brief glimpses of him when he had previously visited her court. But she knew exactly who he was. 

Joshua Washington. High Lord of the Night Court. Ruler of the Court of Nightmares.

He crept closer, stepping into the soft glow of the terrace lights, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement as he regarded her. She didn’t miss the tendrils of darkness rippling from him, enveloping him. It was as if he was molded by the night itself. Death incarnate. 

She’d heard so many things about his court. About his powers. About him. Whispers and tales of the horrible things they did to others. How he could get into peoples heads, invade their thoughts and shatter their minds without even lifting a finger. 

Sam didn’t move from where she stood as he approached her, didn’t want to give him the idea that he intimidated her. She met his gaze as he came to stand in front of her, hands sliding into the pockets of his black tunic, the night seeming to press closer around him. She waited for the fear to hit her, for her instincts to yell at her to run. But she didn’t feel any of that. 

“What’s the princess doing away from her party?” he purred, his velvety voice sending shivers down her body.

“Am I not allowed to have a moment to breathe?” she retorted, sounding slightly brittle. Her parents already controlled everything she did, she didn’t need a stranger doing the same. Not even if he was a High Lord.

He merely lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug- a beautiful, easy gesture. He didn’t step back.

Sam tried not to let it bother her. “Are you enjoying the party, my lord?” 

“Not as much as everyone else I’m sure.” he said, laughing under his breath. “This type of events aren’t something I usually indulge in.”

“Why are you here, then?” she blurted out. Her mother would scold her if she knew how informal her daughter was being, specially with a High Lord of all people. 

The Lord of Night didn’t seem to mind. Instead he smirked, his eyes traveling across her face and body, not unlike a predator sizing up his prey. “I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he said stepping closer, the thread of gold embroidered in the edges of his tunic glittering in a way that made her think of twinkling stars. He gave no warning as he lifted his hand, gently taking her chin in it. “I see the rumors weren’t exaggerating. You’re exquisite.” 

The princess’s face yielded nothing but knew the flush that crept to her cheeks betrayed her. She moved her face away and retreated a step, bothered by the gesture- the intimacy of it. At the way it stirred up something inside her, awoke her. His touch calling out a primal side of her she didn’t even know that was there to begin with. 

A beautiful smile curved his lips and- Cauldron boil her, she had never seen anyone so handsome. Never had so many warning bells going off in her head because of it. 

She pushed the thought away, reminding herself who and what stood in front of her and straightened her back. Her mouth curved into a bitter smile. “A real prize too, you know, being the daughter of a High Lord. A fine bride for any lord to marry.” 

He gave her a sly smile in return. “That’s not what I meant."

“Then why did you follow me out here?” A wild guess, but Sam was fairly certain that nobody had been in the terrace the moment she stepped foot in it.

“So many questions for a princess,” he teased, not denying her statement. Sam frowned but kept staring at him, waiting for his answer. Joshua smirked, his eyes gleaming in a manner that suggested she wasn’t going to like his answer. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

She couldn’t help the bitterness that coiled in her stomach. Of course. For what other purpose would he be here? He hadn’t given her any indication to think he was different from every other male that had come to this wretched ball. They were all just the same, self absorbed, pompous tools-

“Spare me the accusatory glare, I am not here for your father’s pissing contest,” he drawled, adjusting the cuffs of his black tunic. Then laughed under his breath. “As much as he’d appreciate that I’m sure.”

The princess crossed her arms over the bodice of her gown, growing tired of his games. “Then why come at all?”

“I’m here to offer you a deal.” 

“You want to bargain?” 

He slid his hands into his pockets and started circling her. The tendrils of smoky night that rippled from him following in his wake. “I can get you out of here. Help you escape an arranged marriage we both know you don’t want.” 

Wariness instantly flooded through her. She may not get out much but she wasn’t a fool to think these types of offers didn’t come with a price. Growing around the ruthless faeries that lived in her court had taught her that much. “And what would your help cost me?”

He stopped his circling, those lethal eyes pinning her where she stood. “Your freedom in exchange for you. I want you to come live with me at the Night Court.”

Sam’s blood chilled, her thoughts racing to all the terrible things she’d heard about that place. The atrocities she’d read about it in history books. 

He wanted to take her to the Night Court. To his Court of Nightmares. A place full of depravity and torture and death. 

“Why?” she asked, trying to keep her tone cool and collected. A futile effort, as she knew he could hear the wild pounding of her heart. “What could you possibly want from me?” 

Joshua clicked his tongue. “If I told you those things, there’d be no fun in it, now would it?” he crooned, mischief twinkling in his grey eyes. 

Sam wasn’t sure she wanted to know what constituted as fun for him. 

“You would risk going to war with my father?” As far as she knew, the Dawn Court had always been on neutral terms with the Night Court. Their alliance may not be as strong as it was with their neighbors of the Day Court but seeing as it was one the Solar Courts, it was friendly enough. Any bargain she made with him would ensure that neutrality to be lost. 

His face was a mask of boredom as he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Leave the Lord of Dawn to me,” he said in a nonchalant manner that didn’t answered any of her questions nor calm her nerves. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re being such a worrywart. He clearly doesn’t care enough about you if he selling you off like a broodmare.” 

Sam stiffened- the bluntness of his words might as well have been a slap in the face. It was one thing if she acknowledged it herself but hearing it from someone else… Even if it was true, it still stung. 

She gave him a hard look. “No.”

“No?” he echoed, the air around him darkening. “Really?”

The princess only lifted her chin, her stubborn nature not allowing her to break his stare. 

“You would refuse my offer- probably your only shot at freedom, and for what? To stay here? Because you don’t want to live at the nefarious Night Court?” A cold smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Samantha, but after tonight you’re still going to be sent off to another court. So the way I see it you have two options.” He raised a dark brow, staring hard at her. “The first and the smartest would be to accept my offer. The second would be for you to refuse and keep living bound to the choices of others.” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “It’s your choice.”

She bit her lip. He was right, her options were limited. Still, that didn’t take out the possibility that he could be trying to trick her, make her fall into a trap. She wouldn’t deny his offer sounded reasonable… tempting even. But he hadn’t given any motives for her to trust him. Not yet. “Why are you helping me?”

Joshua shrugged, his mouth curving into a wicked grin. “Who says I’m not helping myself?”

Sam studied his profile. Her gaze traveling to his straight nose, his scheming smile, the sharp angles of his jaw. Trying to understand what game he was playing. Decipher what lurked beneath that mischievous gaze.

He stalked closer, his face close enough now for her to notice the flecks of green in his eyes. She took a sharp breath as he brushed a blonde curl that had freed itself from her coiffed hair- at the feel of his fingers trailing down her cheek, her neck. A whisper of claws caressing her throat. She should probably comment on the boldness of his touch, for laying his hands on a princess like this but words failed her. 

The High Lord stared at her for a moment, his face unreadable, before yielding a step. “I leave first thing tomorrow morning,” he said as his golden skin started to turn into living shadow. “You have until then to make your decision.”

And then he vanished.

 ***

The rest of the party went by in a flash. The ballroom a blur full of waltzing aristocrats, of wine and toasts made in her honor. Sam mingled, trying to blend in just so she could ignore the grey eyes that she knew were watching her every movement, burning through her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid the swaggering bachelors from approaching her, saccharine smiles on their faces as they invited her over to the dance floor. But she managed to ward off some of them by keeping a dull, flat expression on her face.

Joshua, however, didn’t approach her once. 

Right before midnight, her father had announced that she was to marry the High Lord of the Spring Court. Sam felt her breath get knocked out of her as the world slipped from under her feet. Her stomach tightening into painful knots at the crowd’s clapping. 

No, no, no-

There were so many eyes, too many eyes watching as her father grabbed her hand, coaxing her towards her newly appointed fiancé. He handed her over like she the prize was, as if he was giving a toy to an excited child. Sam arranged her face into a mask of cold but inwardly she felt a wave of hot fury settle over her at her father's disregard, as if he didn’t just crushed her dreams. 

Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. 

The Lord of the Spring offered her his arm, his lips tightening when she retreated a step. The crowd murmured. 

If she turned away now they’d start talking. 

Sam willed herself to extend her arm, and he linked their elbows as he turned them to the guests, her bland expression contrasting with the eagerness in his face. It took everything in her power to not rip her arm from him and run away. 

This was to be her life. Trapped in a marriage she never wanted. Shackled to a male she did not love, that wasn’t even her mate. Forever.

 Tears brimmed in her eyes as reality shattered through her. Her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, her inner hysteria intensifying at the feeling of being cornered by the myriad of eyes pressing on her. The crowd’s faces blurred as more tears welled. She was going to fall apart right then and there. In front of everyone.

Don’t let them see you cry.

Sam blinked. Through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard his voice that made her stop short. The words echoed in her mind. 

Concentrate on your breathing. Stay focused.

She took in a deep breathe through her nose, and slowly exhaled. In, out, in, out-

Good girl, Joshua said in her head. Now look forward. Keep your chin high. No tears. Wait until you're back in your room. 

She slowly relaxed as she listened to him, the sound of his voice grounding her, his words holding her together as the High Lord of the Spring Court- her fiancé-  escorted her around the room.  

The bride of spring surveyed the crowd, searching for a pair of lethal eyes hidden in shadows. Eyes she had felt upon her all night. She found Joshua watching her, standing in the back of the room with his hands into his pockets. His face was a cool mask of indifference, night still rippling off him. 

Sam pulled her eyes away and didn’t look at him for the rest of the night.

 ***

After the ball, while she sat in front of her vanity, Sam watched Ashley pull off the pins that held her hair in the elegant twist that had been styled in. Their eyes met through the mirror, and Sam gave her handmaiden and closest friend a watery smile. 

Ashley frowned. “I know you’re upset. You don’t have to hide it, not around me.” 

“I’m fine.” she said. 

Her friend plucked one last pin, letting the blonde tresses fall down her back.  Ashley rubbed her shoulders in a comforting way and lowered her face, pressing it to the side of Sam’s head- the red of her hair striking against the princess’s fair one. “No, you’re not.”

Sam bit her lip. “There has to be something I can do.”

“A handsome High Lord wants to marry you,” Ashley crooned. “Oh the horror.”

“It’s not just that I don’t want to marry. It’s that I hate being forced into this.” Sam stood and walked over to the window. It was still dark out, the stars sparkling. A pair of mischievous grey eyes flashed through her mind. She sighed and looked away. “My parents just handed me over to a stranger like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.” 

Ashley’s eyes softened. “Your parents just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Only half of that was true. 

“And I want more out of life than to be just a High Lord’s wife.”

“You could do a lot worse than the High Lord of the Spring Court. Mother above, have you seen those luscious golden curls of his,” Ashley said, awe in her eyes. “He looks like a cherub.”

Sam snorted but didn’t say anything else, deciding to let the subject drop. Ashley’s intentions were good but she didn’t understand. She turned to the window again, her thoughts drifting to another certain High Lord. 

As if she could sense her distress, Ashley said, “I’ll go draw a bath.” 

“You know me too well.” she said, giving her handmaiden a small smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

Later, while she sat in the bath, Sam couldn’t help but think about her strange encounter with Joshua. Couldn’t stop thinking about his offer.

He was right. He was right and she hated it. Whether she wants it or not, she was still leaving tomorrow, let it be with him or her newly appointed fiancé. She had to choose. Had to decide between Night or Spring. Both so different, yet each the root of her distress. 

It’s your choice, Joshua had told her earlier.

Isn’t that what she wanted? For her to have the freedom to choose? To decide over her future? Sure, she may not like the idea of living at the Night Court but at least it would be her choice. 

Sam stayed on the tub long enough that the bath had gone cold. She knew what she had to do.

 ***

Dawn was upon the horizon, the sky turning into a canvas of spilled oranges, pinks and purples. The golden rays of the sun slowly peeked out from behind the mountains, driving away the shadows covering the lands of her court. Sam took in a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the fresh morning air. 

A wave of nostalgia spread through her. She wasn’t even gone and she was already missing this place. She remembered when Mike, Ashley and her used to sneak out as younglings and watch the sunrise, when their childish ignorance was bigger than obligations, ranks and mindless court games. 

A pang went through her heart at the thought of her friends. She was leaving them without saying goodbye, without giving them an explanation. She could imagine the hurt in their eyes when they realized what she’d done. It was for the best if they didn’t know. 

From what Mike had told her, his relationship with the High Lord wasn’t exactly friendly. Sam knew Mike cared about her, that he was a good friend but he would’ve tried to make her to stay, wouldn’t understand why she needed to leave. Ash, on the other hand… her dear friend would have supported her decision, even if she didn’t completely  understand Sam’s choice. Which is why she couldn’t tell her. If her parents caught even a whiff that Ashley knew what their daughter was planning on doing… Sam shuddered.

Leaving without saying anything was the best. 

By the time anyone in the palace noticed her absence, she would be far, far away from here. Her parents would be scandalized but she didn’t care. No one was going to be her master.

The High Lord was already waiting for her. He was leaning against the railing, his back to her as he watched the rising sun. Tendrils of darkness leaking from him like ink in water.

“Are you sure?” he asked, turning to her. The gold thread of his black tunic shining under faint rays of the sun.

Sam simply nodded. 

His face turned deadly serious, the intensity of his eyes making her want to look away, but she held his stare. “If you come with me, there’s no going back. You can’t speak to anyone who doesn’t belong to my court about what you see. Not to your family, not to your friends. Because if you do the consequences will be grave. If you come, you’ll have to lie about it forever. If you ever decide to return here, you cannot tell a soul about what you see, who you meet, what you will witness. So if you’d rather not live with that, then stay here and live out the life your parents have chosen for you.” 

Sam pondered his words. To stay here, stay locked up in her golden cage… she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t endure to live shackled to a life she didn’t want- to see her soul turn into a hollow shell of sorrow and remorse. “Take me with you,” she breathed. “I won’t tell anyone about what I see. I swear.” 

Joshua studied her for a moment longer before extending his arm towards her. With a wicked grin, he said, “Then it’s a bargain.”

The princess stepped forward, hesitantly placing her hand in his. She gasped the sudden tingling sensation that hit her. Swirls of blank ink appeared on her forearm and hand, filling her skin with intricate patterns of whirls and stars. Letting go of his hand, she inspected her arm, turning it over. Staring back at her was a large slitted eye tattooed right in the center of her palm and she could've sworn it blinked back at her.

“As you might already know, it’s a custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh,” he said as she rubbed her arm.

Right. She’d forgotten about that.

Darkness cleaved the space in front of them, it’s black winds roaring. The Lord of Night let out a chuckle as Sam clung to him, the wind tearing at her, the shadows caressing her, trying to pull her in. He slipped a hand around her waist, pressing her to him. She felt his warm breath as the deep voice whispered in her ear, “Hold on.” 

The princess of the Dawn Court didn’t look back as the High Lord guided her into the shadows, darkness swallowing them whole.

[radientwings]

A Chosen Path (Elriel Fluff)

Inspired by a prompt from the lovely @rosehallshadowsinger, who wanted to see elriel as mates. Post-ACOFAS AU with a healthy coating of fluff.

It wasn’t heard of. It wasn’t. No one male or female should have two bonds attached to two other souls. But it was as the Cauldron willed it. Or so Azriel thought. Because when Elain was Made, Lucien wasn’t the only one to feel the sudden call of mate, mate, mate.

It was a painful thing, to have that sudden snap in his soul as it was attached to another, a string, a path between them as strong and undeniable as fate. But Azriel couldn’t even act on it, didn’t have the time, before he heard Lucien Vanserra – a male Azriel cared little for – whisper the very thing that was singing in Azriel’s blood. 

“You’re my mate.”

And just like that, it was over. Everything came crashing down in him, all the hopes, the possibilities. Azriel had never thought that he’d craved something as archaic as a mating bond until the moment it was ripped away from him. It left him bereft, empty. Here he was, his soul singing for its twin, its mate, only to find the other end of the bond already reaching to a different male altogether.

(Azriel hadn’t even considered that his mate might choose him, not at that moment, with an ash bolt through his chest and the pain of loss setting fire in his heart. He’d never believed himself worthy of such a pure, wondrous thing. Perhaps that’s why he’d followed after Mor for so long and with such devotion; how, after all, could you attain the unattainable?)

He managed to tamp down every latent instinct in him that roared at him to tear Lucien’s damned head off, managed to block off every facet of his fledgling bond and focus only on the more serious matter at hand; staying alive. It was humiliating, that he could do nothing but suffer in silence as his friends, his family, fought against the onslaught that was the King of Hybern and his Cauldron-damned allies. But there was that bolt – that blasted bolt – lodged in his chest, and there was poison ready to surge through his blood and end him.

Useless, his mind whispered. Utterly useless. What was the point of all his power, of his shadows, if he could do nothing with it when it was most needed? What was the point of it all? (What was the point of it, if he hadn’t even been able to save his mate from a fate she was likely terrified of? Sweet, human Elain, who had never wanted this life, but still treated him – the most terrifying of his kind – with nothing but kindness and respect. It was more than even his own people had ever afforded him.)

Only after it all, after their miraculous escape thanks to their very clever, very reckless High Lady (and Mother above, Azriel would never forgive himself for letting her take the fall for them), did Azriel let himself examine this new bond in his soul. It was not yet made fully, but also not broken. No, it was lying in wait, dormant until two souls were brought together or torn apart forever.

But Azriel knew, he knew, that this bond would never truly be his, that it would never sing between his and Elain’s minds. Why should she choose him when she had another male already vying for her hand? A male who, by all accounts, seemed more suited to her.

And besides, as the weeks and months passed, he saw just how damaged Elain had become in her new body, how she shied away from all contact with her supposed mate. No, Azriel wouldn’t add to her burden. He couldn’t. 

He had no expectations of her, would never force her into anything she didn’t want. Like his High Lord, he was no traditionalist, who treated the females of their kind like mere commodities, bartered and bought and owned. (He knew that his own mother, a servant too beautiful for her own good, had suffered immensely by the hands of such males. He would never do the same. Never.)

So he kept it a secret. From everyone. He used all the power in him to shut off his bond, though it was agony. Thankfully, lying was as easy as breathing in Azriel’s world – his greatest achievement and greatest flaw. It’s what made him Prythian’s greatest spy… but also left him alone, even among friends. There were very few beings that knew anything about who Azriel was, about his past. Fewer still, who knew any sort of details.

But even with it being a secret, Azriel couldn’t stay away, often drifting into Elain’s orbit. Would it be so bad if they became friends? Wouldn’t that ease his pain?

At least, that’s what Azriel told himself every time he went to see her. Besides, it seemed Elain could use all the friendship she was offered. 

Elain. By the Cauldron, Elain. His thoughts were so constantly filled with her these days, even with thousands of things he had to do, even with a war looming. But he couldn’t stop himself. She was a rare kindness in their world, unfettered even by the traumas she’d been through. Yes, the others seemed to think she was broken by it all. But Azriel… Azriel saw her for what she was.

A seer, learning to use her gifts. A fae, unused to power and immortality and animal instinct. A female, who loved the simplicity and satisfaction of gardening and other household tasks, but who yearned for the complexity of love and family.

A human woman, stuck in a body she did not want and mourning for the life she’d lost.

So Azriel could give her patience and silent companionship. Could give her friendship and understanding. He even found peace in it, sitting by her side in her garden. Enjoyed speaking softly with her when she felt like it, even if it was about the flowers she was planning on adding to her garden, the new recipes she was learning with Nuala and Cerridwen. Especially then. After all, Azriel rarely heard of anything other than bloodshed and death and betrayal. Elain and her flowers were a comfort. A wonderful comfort.

And, Mother above, she was just so beautiful. Everything about her. She practically shone with it. Azriel ached at seeing it. He was used to the dark, had lived his first years in it, so how could he ever think he deserved this? How could he dare consider tainting her by forcing a bond with a monster on her?

He couldn’t. He couldn't. 

It was around this time that he realized the feelings in him were love. A love vastly different from the one he’d harbored for Mor for so long. Real love. He was in love with Elain. Cauldron damn him.

(He knew what a bad idea it was. Knew how horribly this could end and yet still his heart betrayed him.)

Even still, Azriel said nothing, didn’t even dare hint at his true feelings. No, Azriel waited and waited and waited for the day Elain would finally accept Lucien.

Part of him, the worst part of him, couldn’t help but be glad that she seemed to shun Lucien in the months after the war. It gave him longer to enjoy this tentative friendship between them without worry. He was sure that the moment their bond was secure, Azriel would no longer have a place here.

It was only after the Solstice that Azriel started to hope. He was a fool, really, to think that a bottle of tonic was some sort of sign. But no one could claim that the heart was logical.

When winter was finally letting up for the year and he and Elain began to enjoy the sunshine together again, she told him something that changed his entire worldview.

“I’ve told Lucien I wouldn’t be accepting the bond,” Elain said, voice soft and sweet, as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink, covered in dirt from the garden. Azriel dreamt of that voice, of those hands. It was one of the few good things his dreams brought him, the image of this lovely female.

He felt himself still where he stood beside her, washing his own hands; Elain had roped him into helping her with a single pleading look and shy smile. (If only his enemies could see him now, utterly in the thrall of this female with azaleas woven in her hair and stars in her eyes.)

“Well, it’s only understandable that you should want more time to adjust,” Azriel hedged, voice equally soft. He resumed washing his hands, carefully, carefully. He couldn’t let himself hope.

Elain reached over then, put her unblemished hand over his scarred one, stilling him. She tangled their wet fingers together, as if needing the strength. “No, I told him that I would never accept it. It didn’t seen right, to let him hope like that. Not when I already knew my decision.”

Azriel swallowed harshly, forced himself to look up and meet her eyes, found her already staring at back him nervously. “Then I feel I should congratulate you, it’s no easy feat to make a decision like that. Did he take it well?”

“As well as he was able. Although I don’t think he’ll make his way here again for a long time,” she admitted, playing idly with his fingers, still slightly soapy. She reached over to grab a hand towel, drying his hands with all gentleness, tracing his scars.

Azriel’s ancient heart thumped wildly in his chest, but he tried not to look too much into her actions. She’d started doing that lately, taking his hands in hers tentatively whenever a vision suddenly hit her or she craved closeness with another living being. Sometimes she leaned the slightest bit into his side, as much as propriety allowed her. Azriel was downright charmed by it, this need of hers to hold onto her human politeness even when sliding closer to him.

“That’s not your fault, Elain,” Azriel said now, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “You owed him nothing and yet you still took your time to consider it, consider him. All you can do now is let him have his distance.”

She nodded, before cocking her head slightly, giving him a considering look. For a second Azriel thought maybe a vision was coming on but then her gaze turned nervous again rather than distant.

“There’s another reason I told him now, something I realized.” 

“Oh?”

She hesitated, still staring up at him, brown eyes filled with trepidation. A part of Azriel knew that if she didn’t say whatever was bothering her now, it wouldn’t ever come out. So he gave her an encouraging smile.

“What did you realize?” he asked, voice a mere whisper. He knew how to cajole people into telling him whatever he wanted to hear, but he didn’t resort to that now, with her. He just waited. Patient. Almost light-headed with it.

And then, so suddenly Azriel barely realized it happened, Elain rose to her tiptoes and placed the quickest of pecks to his lips. 

Azriel stood, stunned, as Elain pulled away, her cheeks bright pink. She looked at him for a long time, looked at his stone-still expression, before her own face shuttered, whatever hope that was there fading. It was only when she started to pull away from him completely that Azriel snapped out of his frozen state. He grabbed her wrist, gentle despite its strength, and pulled her back into his chest, crushing his lips to hers. 

Elain made a brief noise of surprise, before she melted into him, her fingers tangling in the fine material of jacket. Azriel cupped the side of her lovely face, encouraged her closer as their lips moved against each other’s. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady.

Mother, to have this. Azriel couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe this was another dream. Well, if that was the case, Azriel didn’t want to wake, like he had the hundreds of times before that he’d dreamt this very thing.

But this wasn’t his wistful unconscious showing him what he most desired. This was real and that made it all the more beautiful. Perfect in its imperfections, because their teeth clacked together at first, making them both laugh, until Azriel corrected the angle with sure experience and oh, that was it. The kiss was relatively chaste, as kisses went, but it set his entire body on fire in a way he’d never felt before.

(So this is what it could be like to be with someone you love, he thought.) 

After an eternity that was far too short, Azriel pulled his lips away from Elain, only to rest his forehead against hers. Her eyes were shining as they looked up at him, her cheeks a charming pink. He gave into the temptation that had been with him for so long and traced the line of cheekbone. She leaned into it, pressing a quick kiss to his wrist. His heart beat all the faster for it.

“So what was it you realized?” Azriel asked again, teasing.

Elain laughed, shaking her head at him fondly. She reached up to trace his strong jaw. “I realized that I didn’t need a mating bond with Lucien,” she told him, steadfast. “I already have you.”

In any other circumstance, those words would have made him the happiest male alive, but as it was, they stopped him short – they felt like ice-water down his spine. Because she spoke of the mating bond. And she… she didn’t know everything. Didn’t know that there was another bond in play here.

How could her decision ever be true if she didn’t know all the details? Maybe it was this bond between them that pulled her to him unconsciously, and not her true feelings.

(Cauldron, he did it again. Let his heart run away from him.)

So he extricated himself from her… because he had to. He couldn’t allow this to continue under false pretenses.

“Azriel?” Elain asked worriedly, reaching for him.

He let her grab his hand, focusing on the sight of their linked hands. (He was sure he wouldn’t be seeing this again anytime soon.) “I… I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you Elain.” 

She made a concerned noise. “How do you mean?”

Mother above, this was hard. “You’ve made your decision without all of the information. I’m sorry about that,” Azriel managed to say, forcing the words out of his tight throat. He laughed bitterly. “I suppose it’s in my nature to lie and deceive. I am the Court’s spymaster.”

Elain took his other hand in hers, giving both a gentle squeeze. “Azriel, it’s all right. I know.”

It was rare that anyone took Azriel by surprise. But here he was, well and truly surprised. “You– You do?” 

“Yes. You might be the spymaster, but I’m a seer. It took me a while, but I found the other bond in me, the potential for it, months ago,” she paused, eyes distant as she smiled softly. “There was a vision, just a small one. It was of the two of us, but the bond was there and it sang.” She met his eyes then, and he could see the truth in them, the undeniable truth.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel found himself saying, even knowing the hypocrisy of it.

But Elain just looked at him knowingly. “For the same reason you didn’t. I was… I was scared. I didn’t know what it all meant. And I kept thinking that I’d wake up one day and this, all of this, this new life of mine, was just a dream.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t. I know that now. And I wouldn’t change it, not anymore,” she said, smiling up at him. And, stars, if that wasn’t something – to see her, smiling, as she spoke of her new immortal life. Perhaps her mourning period was finally over. Azriel couldn’t be happier for her; he knew all too well what it was like to hate the very body you lived in.

“Why… why me?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Elain took his face in her hands, her eyes alight with fierce protection. “Why not you? You expected nothing of me, Azriel. You pushed nothing. You were my friend when I most needed one. You never ridiculed me for my simplicity,” he made a noise at that – because she might like the simple things, but she was never herself simple, and Azriel hated that people thought so little of her because she was different from most of her kind – but she shushed gently him with a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Please, let me finish,” she said, smiling fondly. “You’re also unfailingly kind, yet you don’t seem to realize it. You’re beautiful, Azriel. So beautiful. In and out.” That smile again, this time wider. “How could I not be in love with you?”

“Elain.”

Her fingers were soft against his cheeks. “The Cauldron gave me two possibilities, two fates. I choose this one, with you… That is, if you’ll have me.”

Azriel’s heart beat faster than it ever had in battle. He could hardly believe his luck that Elain – wonderful, irresistible Elain Archeron – was giving him this, was baring her soul to him. His entire body ached with love for her, full to the brim and ready to burst.

Please, let this be real.

He pressed their foreheads together again. “Of course, I will. Of course. There’s nothing I want more.” He turned to kiss her temples, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth, everywhere he could reach. Elain melted against him once more, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

“Do you know,” Azriel began, smiling so hard it hurt, “I think I was lost before you came along. I suppose there’s just something about you, Elain Archeron, that makes me want to be worthy. I would have you for all of eternity.”

He finally leaned down to kiss her berry-red lips again, and this time not so chastely, their tongues chasing each other. When they separated, breathless, he ducked his head into the crook of her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

“Mate,” he whispered. Mate, mate, my mate. My Elain.

Elain froze under his hands for the briefest of moments, before she let out a long gasp. She gripped him by the roots of his hair, pulling his head up so she could search for his eyes, almost anxious.

“My mate,” she returned. “My mate. Can we–?”

Azriel knew immediately what she spoke of, that bond that still wasn’t complete. “Yes,” he told her, kissing her once, twice. “Yes.”

He stilled them then, keeping Elain locked in his embrace, faces so close their breath mingled. And he closed his eyes and let go of his iron grip on the string, the path that connected them. Let it roar to life.

And then finally, finally, it snapped in place. Their elusive bond. And by the Mother and the Cauldron and every other holy thing, it was beautiful. Indescribable, this unbreakable link between them. Azriel felt Elain all around, felt her soul, full of brightness even with its dark patches. His own rose to meet it, followed the path to her until every bit of them was intertwined.

Azriel had never felt anything like it, would never feel anything like it, as he dove deeper and deeper until he didn’t know where he ended and she began.

He felt Elain’s happiness as if it was his own, understood her hopes and dreams and fears. Even felt her love for him, and, Cauldron, if that wasn’t enough to nearly knock him of his worldly feet.

Elain’s laughter was like bells, her joy like the sun.

Oh, Azriel, her voice – the voice he’d dreamt of a hundred times – floated to him.

Elain, his mind whispered back, sweet, lovely Elain.

They floated there for a while, in this beautiful space they now shared, full of light and dark, and happiness and sadness, all mingled together. It was strength, this bond, their strength. It was them.

And then Azriel whispered three words to her – words he hadn’t yet told her, despite all that had happened to them in this moment. This moment, that should have been an ordinary one, just another morning spent cleaning up in the kitchen, but had turned out extraordinary.

I love you, he said, letting the words and the truth of them ring out between them.

I know, she replied, and I love you.

And their bond sang. 

As it would for the rest of their eternity.

Tagging @julesherondalex, @xxliekebearxx and @xpotatojesusx

Feel free to message me if you want to be added to my elriel fic (or acotar fic in general) tag list! Also would love to hear some elriel, feysand or maybe nessian prompts if you have them! Until next time ;)

[the-vorgothian-writer]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓐 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 | 𝓐 𝓡𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓮𝔀

<Caution - this review contains spoilers>

Firstly, to everyone who suggested I read this series, thank you.

I was sceptical about it at first since I'm not really one to really like fae-stories. Up until I finished this series, my idea of fae was basically Tinkerbell and similar things. This, of course made me think that ACOTAR wasn't a series I would enjoy.

I was wrong.

The world is so vibrant and beautifully described, with believable characters I feel I can talk to if they were real. The plot (especially ACOMAF and ACOWAR) had me left in awe, the twists were mind-blowing, and I really didn't see them coming.

For ACOTAR - I started it thinking in the later chapters it was a Beauty and The Beast retelling, with Tamlin's beast form and so on. But the last 3rd of the book had me so hooked and invested I couldn't put it down. I finished around 2 am on a Saturday night and immediately started ACOMAF afterwards. I loved the way Tamlin and Lucien was written, Feyre started out to me as a usual-female lead, but then grew into an unstoppable force that brought hope back to Prythian. When reading the rest of the series, you can see how many of the events of ACOTAR was a catalyst for Feyre to discover her true self, and even set into her role as High Lady.

ACOMAF was amazing. The shift that happened from backing Tamlin and loving him to seeing the truth behind him and seeing the truth behind Rhysand. Sarah J Maas captured the true meaning of "rose coloured glasses" where Tamlin, in book one, was the beautiful caring man and turned into a horrible, possessive beast once everything was over. I know a few relationships that were like that, and that added to the personal realism I felt. Chapters 55 and 54 were beautifully written, I don't often cry but Rhysand baring it all to her, really touched some nerve. The found family theme came through strong here. The ending of the book, of course had me cussing at Tamlin for a good hour.

ACOWAR was unlike the first two books. We learned more about Prythians politics and got to see more of the other courts and their High Lords. I loved the political aspect, it for me added a sense of reality to the story, where war isn't simply about fighting and armies, but also about building alliances with unlikely friends. Elain's pain and sorrow were so beautifully written, I truly felt sorry for her. Then with chapter 76 and 77... The most heart-breaking thing I've ever read. Tamlin did redeem himself a little in the novel, however he still gave off "I'll get her back" vibes - which we know won't happen. I loved the battle strategies and the vivid descriptions of the battle scenes; however, they were nothing as vivid as for example in Game OF Thrones, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless.

I didn't really enjoy ACOFAS - it felt like a filler. I finished it in a day, and I felt like it didn't add much to the story. There were some interesting parts, and fun bits but overall, I thought it could've been absorbed into ACOSF, with ACOSF being split at part 2.

ACOSF, I enjoyed reading from Nesta and Cassian's point of view. Cassian's role within the Night Court is explored more as well as his relationship with Rhys. Nesta and Cassian’s relationship is also a rough one at first, but when they finally give into their feelings, it was beautiful. Her character development was also done well, I went from hating her to understanding and eventually liking her. Elain also growing into her own role and finding her own bold nature was refreshing. However, in this book, I didn't really like the "spice" - I don't read books for the spice of it - but the last few spicey scenes had me feeling quite queasy. To each their own, but definitely not for me. I also felt, at the end of the book with Cassian being forced to do the old crone's bidding, that there should've been more internal conflict, I would've liked to see more from his perspective.

All and all Sarah J Maas solidifies her stance as Queen of Fantasy amongst the others, she's completely in control of her narrative and knows where she wants her characters to go.

ACOTAR - 4 stars

ACOMAF - 5 stars

ACOWAR - 5 stars

ACOFAS - 3 stars

ACOSF - 4 stars

[moiraineswife]

Elucien Post ACOWAR Headcanons

I need something to restore my faith in humanity and this is it. 

-Lucien coming to Velaris with them, as Elain had requested. They stay in the House of Wind together and often find it to themselves because they both still feel a little bit out of place in this new world they’ve both been thrown into. Everyone else in the circle has a fixed position, a set purpose, a job that they need to do now that the war is over. Elain and Lucien, though, don’t quite fit, so they find ways to fit with each other instead. 

-Lucien talks to Elain when she confesses she isn’t quite sure where she fits anywhere in Prythian and he tells her he feels the same. He tells her about his family in the Autumn Court, about how he fled his childhood home after the death of Jesminda and ended up in Spring, how he never truly fit there either. How, after all those centuries, he’s ended up here instead and has had to start all over again. Elain smiles a little and murmurs that she supposes they can help each other start over. 

-Lucien talks to Elain about Jesminda, because if anyone can understand what she’s going through with Greysen, he can. Both turning points in their lives involved them losing the person they were engaged to/intended to spend the rest of their lives with. Both involved them losing absolutely everything, their homes, their futures, their loves, their lives. Both of them were traumatised by this, Lucien from watching her die, Elain from dying herself and returning as fae. Lucien assures her, quietly, that he managed to crawl out of that darkness, that he wants to love again, that he will love again...That she can do that too. 

-Lucien understanding why Elain can’t take off the iron ring that Greysen gave her, even after everything that they went through, even after how he hurt her. Lucien not pressuring her to take it off, as all the others do, because it’s holding her in the past and stopping her moving on because he understands. The comfort in the familiar, the comfort in something from the past that anchors her to home. He tells her about his bedroom in the Spring Court, how he had it decorated with Autumn colours because for all the bad that happened there, it was still his home. And sometimes he needed that thing to hold on to. Lucien telling him how it took him centuries to stop wearing the ring he had given Jesminda around his neck to keep her close. Lucien telling her that when she’s ready, he’ll help her take it off and carry the weight of it between them. 

-Lucien actually telling Elain what’s going on politically, what happened in the war, the events that led up to it. He tells her about Amarantha and his eye, the curse that was put upon them all. He tells her about Andras and how and why her sister killed him and changed everything. He tells her about Feyre being in the Spring Court, tells her about her relationship with Tamlin, what happened Under the Mountain, what happened afterwards. They both find something in this, Elain, who is literally shielded from important meetings, understands what’s happening around her, has someone trust her and not underestimate her because she’s quiet, because she suffered, as they know all too well what that feels like, to be shut out and kept in the dark that way. Lucien finds someone who will actually listen to him, to his story, someone who will give it the weight that it deserves, who will understand that he too has suffered, that he too is important. He doesn’t have his opinions dismissed with Elain, he doesn’t tentatively have to request that she hear them, he tells her what he needs to say and she listens to what she needs to hear, and they find a gentle equilibrium in the quiet that follows. 

-Lucien helping Elain to heal after everything she’s been through. Lucien being soft and gentle and more than happy to let her sit in silence for as long as she wants/needs to. Lucien talking to her for hours on end, telling her stories of his childhood, of the Spring Court, of anything he can think of just to see her smile or hear her laugh. She learns that she can still laugh after all that she’s endured and Lucien...Lucien remembers that there was light for him, even in the darkest places. They draw that light out of each other. 

-Lucien understanding Elain’s trauma, telling her she was not weak for how she reacted after everything was taken from her. He tells her how he suffered after Jesminda’s death. He tells her about the Summer Court faerie who was brought to Spring with shredded wings. He tells her how it brought back memories and that still, after all this time, it affected him so badly he’d been unable to stay. He tells her that her panic attacks are natural, not something to be ashamed of, she went through a horrible ordeal, it’s understandable that she wouldn’t be completely fine afterwards. Elain squeezes his hand and tells him that perhaps he should tell himself that too.  

-Elain understanding Lucien’s behaviour in the Spring Court, why he didn’t do even more to help Feyre, as everyone seems to accuse him of. Elain understanding because she too, sat back and watched her sister struggle when she should have helped, when she should have done more. Elain understanding that sometimes all you can do is survive yourself. Elain not blaming Lucien for what happened in Spring, simply understanding, as no-one else has. 

-Elain bringing Lucien out into her garden because, as it happens, someone who spent most of his life in Spring, knows all about the different plants that she’s trying to grow here in Prythian. He realises most of them are from the human realm because she isn’t sure how to grow other things. He makes contact with a friend in the Spring Court and has them send buckets of seeds to her. He explains them all to her, how to grow them, and spends an afternoon being teased by Elain about getting dirt all over his pretty courtier’s hands. Lucien shoves his pretty courtier’s hands up to his elbows in the dirt to prove a point and Elain laughs and laughs and laughs when he pulls them out again and spatters her pretty little nose with mud. 

-Elain understanding Lucien’s quiet strength and endurance and slowly teaching him to be proud of it. She knows what it is like to fight each day for just a little bit of light to keep growing towards, even when the world has never been so dark. Lucien and Elain understanding what people so often dismiss about them - that they are gentle souls in a cruel world that has tried its utmost, through death and grief and poverty and abuse, to make them hard and cold. The strength that it takes to resist that. The strength that is so often overlooked by others. The strength that they see in each other because their hearts are alike in this way, and so many others. 

-Lucien overhearing Feyre and Nesta talking about how Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to see the fields of flowers that grow over there. Lucien taking her aside one day and telling her everything that he can remember of his trip there. Not the firebird and the curse and the preparations for war. The little things, the things that he found beauty in, the quiet, unassuming things that caught his eye and captured his heart. He tells her all about them because he knows that she will find joy in them too. 

-Lucien, who, after all his years as an emissary, knows someone in almost every court, arranging for he and Elain to visit the ones that she wants to see. As it happens, Elain wants to see all of them. He smiles, tells her how he spent his time as a youth, hopping from court to court against his father’s wishes, befriending the people there, learning all the secret, beautiful spots that they tend to keep hidden from outsiders. Elain travelling and seeing the world and letting it fill her with hope once more. Lucien finding hope himself, in the bright gleam of her eyes. 

-Elain seeing Lucien’s scars and not flinching from any of them. Not the one on his face, or the metal eye that replaced the one he lost. Not the ones on his back from the whipping he endured from Amarantha. Not the countless others he’s amassed over the years through death and war and suffering. Not the ones on his soul, that bear witness to the deepest wounds in him. She touches them softly, in a way he hasn’t truly been touched in centuries. She reminds him what gentleness is. She reminds him that these marks are proof that he survived. She reminds him that it’s over now, that he’s done with getting scars, that it’s time to heal from them at last. 

-Lucien helping Elain deal with the nightmares and the flashbacks and the blank, horrifyingly empty periods where she fears she may never feel anything real again. Lucien holding her hand through them, holding her, comforting her. Lucien tentatively suggesting that they use the bond to help her, give her something to hold onto. Elain agrees and the two cautiously begin to explore their connection, how it can anchor them to one another, how it can help, how it can guide lost souls back to one another. 

-Lucien admitting that the bond is new and weird to him, too. They spend an afternoon out in Elain’s garden, gently tugging on it between them, starting to understand how it works and what it does. ‘A bridge between souls’ indeed. Elain thanks him for trying to use it to help her after everything happened, when Madja instructed him to. 

-Elain thanking him for being patient, all those weeks when it was silent and empty - and she was too. Lucien tells her quietly he knew it wasn’t empty, that was just what she was feeling at the time...He understands that too, understands that it was far worse for her than it was for him. Elain looking into his eye and knowing that he understands that part of her, that silence, that emptiness, that hopelessness where once there was so much joy and thrill for life. Elain looks at him and knows that it’s possible to survive it. Because he did. Elain finding hope in Lucien. 

-Lucien making it clear that he does not, and never did, think that she belongs to him because she is his mate. He explains his confession in Hybern, how rare mating bonds are, the shock that flooded him when he found out, the words that simply blurted out of him, even if he could have reacted a little better, given the circumstances, he apologises if he alarmed her. 

-(Feyre snorts with laughter when she overhears this and pats Lucien on the shoulder, telling him that the first time Rhys felt the bond snap into place between them he jumped so hard he nearly fell off a balcony, winnowed into nothingness leaving her standing there utterly baffled, flew back home, collapsed onto the House of Wind, and blurted out the words ‘she’s my mate’ to the cousin he hadn’t seen for fifty years who probably wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. On the whole, she thinks Lucien dealt with the situation rather well.) 

-Lucien finally getting that quiet leisure time he’d been craving and using it to read. Elain sits with him, sometimes she simply sews and they sit in peaceful silence together. Sometimes she reads as well. Sometimes she curls up under a blanket and has Lucien read to her until she falls asleep. She says, vaguely, that there’s something soothing about his voice, it makes her feel safe. Lucien tells her (in a ridiculous, overly formal and sincere courtier’s tone) that he would read until his throat was raw if she asked him to. Elain giggles. Lucien feels his heart swell in response to the sound. 

-The two of them keep getting invited to all these fancy functions between the High Lords and the human representatives and Elain has taken to attending them with him as he can tell her who everyone is, how the various social circles work, where the networks and alliances lie. Elain takes to this world like a duck to water and assures Lucien she had plenty of practice and being nice and making small talk in the human world, she’s got this under control. And so she does. She’s as natural as he is and it’s not long before Lucien is insisting to Rhys that Elain go with him on any diplomatic missions, or that they just let her loose in a room full of their enemies for half an hour. She’ll have them eating out of her hand in half that time. Rhys taking Lucien’s suggestions on board and the two of them finding a greater purpose in the Night Court. 

-Elain revealing herself to have a witty, fiery side to her too (’I hope they all burn in hell’ / ‘Don’t you touch my sister’ Ahem) which shocks the heck out of Lucien to his sheer and utter delight. Elain wandering around these parties, and, after making small talk with these puffed up, stuffy courtiers for an hour she finds the need to vent to someone about their flaws and failings. Which she does to Lucien in an undertone while he laughs into his wine so hard he cries. Lucien embellishes the things she’s already noticed with various stories and titbits of information he’s heard himself and the two of them are both grinning like idiots by the end of the night and neither of them can look that one courtier from the Dawn Court in the eye. 

-Lucien and Elain understanding one another and the things that they’ve both done and been through because they find that they mirror each other and that helps them to understand. 

-Lucien and Elain looking at each other and finding a similar hope in their mate’s that they can survive darkness and still hope and dream and love and live through it all because they both possess that same quiet strength. 

-Lucien and Elain not underestimating or dismissing each other the way almost everyone else does. 

-Lucien and Elain helping one another to heal from the scars that they both have and realising that they are what the other needs in order to help them do this. 

-Lucien and Elain finding joy and purpose and hope in one another and teaching each other how to live again. 

-Lucien and Elain not just being together because of a mating bond but because it makes sense; because they are what the other needs - gentleness and comfort, and light to guide them out of the darkness they’ve both been trapped in too long. 

-Lucien and Elain slowly falling in love, gently, quietly, with that same unassuming strength that’s drawn them through life together. 

-Lucien and Elain finding a kindred spirit who has been through hell and back and still come out gentle and soft when it would have been so easy to be cruel and harsh.  

-Lucien and Elain giving their relationship time to grow, time to learn about each other, time to get to know each other, time to be with each other now there isn’t a war going on that pulls them away. 

-Lucien and Elain choosing one another in spite of their mating bond, as Feyre and Rhys chose each other in spite of theirs. Finally realising what it means to be someone’s first choice and never settling for anything less again. 

-Lucien and Elain finally getting what they deserve in life. Each other. 

-Lucien and Elain. Lucien and Elain. Lucien and Elain.  That is all. 

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART III - Ruchi can I just say that your comments give me life. We get to see a little bit of Helion here because I couldn’t just not have him make an appearance. Thanks to everyone who’s reading :)

tysm this fic gives me life and AYYYYY HELION

Prince of Ashes. Part III.

masterlist.

Eris was tired, and irritated, and annoyed. He had no patience for the aristocrats in the ballroom of the Dawn Court. Most everyone bothered him and he was growing more and more frustrated that his father had thought it was a good idea to bring Lucien, still a toddler, to a political event. There was only one faerie in the Dawn Court that he could even stand, and she wasn’t even at this cauldron-forsaken gathering.

Lucien wriggled in his arms, and Eris tried to rub soothing circles on the cranky toddler’s back. Lucien just rubbed his face on the expensive fabric of Eris’s dark red tunic, sniffling. Lucien’s small, chubby fingers tightened their hold on Eris’s sleeve, “I want home,” he mumbled. Eris moved further away from the ball room, the sound of his brown, knee-length boots hitting the marble floors echoing in the hallway.

“Me too, fox,” he grumbled. Eris didn’t know when the nickname had stuck, but Lucien seemed to like it. Eris decided he would just wander the halls of the palace until Lucien fell asleep. He silently cursed his father for thinking that bringing Lucien would benefit them in any way. Eris had been left with tutors and nannies and servants to look after him at Lucien’s age, and he figured that perhaps Beron simply wanted to keep Eris busy while he tried to arrange another marriage for him.

Rufus had grown tired of trying to entertain Lucien, and had handed him off to Priam, who silently handed him to Maddox, who simply scowled and handed him off to Owain, who didn’t have a clue what to do with a child as little as Lucien and knew better than to give him to Cato. While Eris had been glad for the opportunity to stop talking with the eldest son of the High Lord of Spring, who was dreadfully boring, Lucien had been in a terrible mood.

Eris could have laughed at the panicked expression on Owain’s face, his short red hair a mess as it usually was and his brown eyes wide with fear as he had placed Lucien in Eris’s outstretched arms. A warrior in every sense of the word, Owain was huge and hulking and had never lost a fight, but the fear in his eyes as he awkwardly held onto a crying Lucien was amusing. Eris turned another corner, slamming right into a faerie.

Just his luck that Lucien was finally quiet that he’d run into someone. At Lucien’s little whine, Eris growled, “Watch it.” He looked down at Lucien who’d begun crying again in earnest. 

“Apologies, Eris.” 

Eris looked away from the still-crying Lucien and met the amber eyes of Helion Spell-Cleaver. Helion was wearing one of his bolts of fabric, this one a dark blue with gold detailing along the edges. Helion smiled at Eris, his handsome face seemed to glow with an other-worldly light.

“Didn’t know we were on such familiar terms,” Eris said with a scowl. He’d obviously met Helion before, but the heir of Day seemed to want to avoid him at all costs. Not that Eris cared too much, he rather preferred that no one speak to him at court functions. Eris also thought he remembered being a youngling and having Helion wink at him as he hid behind his mother’s skirts, probably just a figment of his imagination but it was one of the better things he remembered from his childhood.

Eris tried hushing Lucien. If they had been at The Forest House, Eris would have simply made some foxes out of fire and had them run around Lucien to get him laughing again. “Cauldron boil me,” Eris breathed as Lucien began crying louder at Eris’s horrible attempts to get him to stop. 

“Try bouncing him,” Helion offered. Eris never really listened to anyone’s good advice. 

“Try leaving me alone,” Eris snapped, making to walk past Helion. 

“Works wonders.”

Eris sneered, “Did you read that in one of your library books?” 

Helion laughed, a reaction Eris hadn’t been expecting, “Yes.” It was a deep and rumbling laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners from joy. Eris didn’t know what he’d said that was so funny. 

Eris scowled again, feeling his ears heat as he awkwardly bounced Lucien. He felt like a fool, but he’d do just about anything to get Lucien to stop crying. 

Helion raised his dark brows when Lucien’s cries got louder.

Eris frowned, slowly bouncing Lucien as Helion watched. It didn’t seem to be working. “Come now, fox,” Eris started, his tone soft. Eris wasn’t very good at being comforting or affectionate and he didn’t want to start humming a lullaby. His mother was much better at singing children to sleep and Eris would rather drown than have to give a strange, out of tune, humming performance in front of Helion Spell-Cleaver.

“Please stop crying,” he murmured, kissing the crown of Lucien’s head, choosing to pretend Helion wasn’t even there. Eris thanked the Mother when Lucien shifted in his grip and pressed his face in the crook of Eris’s neck. With a small sniffle and a contented sounding little sigh, Lucien had stopped crying. 

“Handsome little thing,” Helion said, and when Eris looked at him, he was surprised to see the longing on his face — the pain.

Helion’s amber eyes were fixed on Lucien, and Eris felt that an emotion so raw wasn’t really meant for his eyes. 

“Takes after his brothers.” 

Both Helion and Eris jumped at the sound of Rufus’s voice. He’d somehow managed to sneak up right by Eris’s elbow without either of them having noticed. Maddox was at his side, looking for all the world as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

At least Rufus looked like he was enjoying himself, but as the sixth son it made sense that he wasn’t too troubled with appearances and expectations. Rufus dipped his chin at Helion and placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, “We were wondering where you’d gone off to.” He flashed Helion a courtier's grin, “Excuse us.” 

“Be well, Eris, Rufus, Maddox,” with a charming smile and one last look at Lucien, Helion turned on his heel and walked down the hall.

Eris turned to face his brothers, raising an auburn brow. Maddox was scowling, like he usually was, he ran a hand through his short hair, “You can’t just disappear, one of us is bound to follow you.” Eris made a vague gesture with his hand, the other still holding onto Lucien. He briefly wondered how Helion knew all of their names, sometimes courtiers from Autumn confused who the younger ones of Beron’s sons were.

“Why were you talking to the heir of Day?” Rufus questioned as they continued down the hall. His shoulder length hair had been brushed and pushed out of his handsome face, all the golden hoops on his ears catching on the light streaming in through the windows. He and Eris could have been identical were it not for the darker shade of Rufus’s eyes and the freckles that scattered his younger brother’s nose and cheeks.

Maddox wrinkled his nose, he looked more like their father, slender-faced and brown-eyed. “I wouldn't talk to him, he causes half the scandals in Prythian.” After a short pause, he added, “You know, I think I’d heard Lady Spring was having an affair with him.” 

“Good for her,” Eris hadn’t heard that one. 

“Rumours, I’m sure,” Rufus waved a hand dismissively, “They say the strangest things about Eris, too. Were you aware that you picked your teeth with the bones of your dead enemies, brother?”

Maddox smiled for a moment, “I’d heard a rumour about Eris having talons instead of fingers.” 

“Hells, the gossip amongst the High Fae keeps getting stranger,” Eris mumbled, one of his very normal hands raking through Lucien’s short red hair. He hoped no other rumours had made their way to the ears of Autumn Court officials. 

They’d reached the grand, gilded archway that led right back into the enormous ballroom. Rufus held out his arm in front of him with a flourish, “Heir goes first.”

Maddox rolled his eyes, walking past Eris, scowl firmly in place once more as he walked towards Owain. Eris walked into the large space next, eyes spotting his mother and father on the opposite end of the room. He nearly shuddered to think that he’d have to be the one talking politics with faeries he didn’t like when he became High Lord. He noticed that his mother didn’t look very happy, an ancient sadness in her eyes as she looked to the floor.

She looked up for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she averted her gaze from whatever she’d spotted. 

Eris just walked to one of the chairs along the walls of the ballroom, Lucien still comfortable in his arms. He briefly noticed Priam talking to the new High Lord of the Dawn Court, and turned to remark on the hand Thesan had placed on Priam’s shoulder to Rufus. Rufus hadn’t followed him and had probably gone off somewhere with a pretty female.

With a small sigh, he sat, content to just watch everyone as his brother slept in his arms. Eris bit the inside of his cheek, eyes squinted slightly as Priam leaned closer to Thesan. He wondered what they were saying, a rare smile on Priam’s face as the new High Lord spoke to him. Eris watched as Priam bowed just slightly at the waist, his face neutral once more. Thesan made his way to speak with the High Lord of the Night Court, Priam grabbing three drinks from a nearby table, downing the one.

Eris hoped he hadn’t been doing that all evening. When Priam locked eyes with Eris from the other side of the crowded room, Eris raised his brow in question. Priam turned a frightening shade of red, the flush creeping up his neck, on his cheeks, all the way up to the tips of his pointed ears. Eris wasn’t too surprised to see Priam walking towards him, remembering how Priam would sit next to him at court functions when he had been a youngling.

“Finally asleep?” Priam elegantly sat down in the chair beside Eris, handing him one of the drinks he had in his hand. Priam was usually very quiet, hardly ever talking to anyone but Maddox. 

Eris nodded in response, looking at Priam. His long hair was tied at the base of his neck, his handsome face expressionless as he looked at the faeries dancing around the room.

Priam’s russett eyes met Eris’s amber ones, “Not planning on having some of your own any time soon?” Eris felt like Priam was trying to hide something by asking all these questions, but he wasn’t too worried about it, and definitely not worried enough to ask him at a public gathering. 

Eris smiled at his brother, not like they were close, but at least him and Priam were never actively trying to kill each other, “Maybe in a thousand years.”

“Shame,” Priam said in that quiet, cold voice of his, “I think you wouldn't be half bad at raising decent children.” 

Eris furrowed his brows, raising his glass just slightly in Priam’s direction before he took a sip of the smooth, light pink drink. Eris couldn’t help looking at Lucien asleep in his arms, remembering the vow he’d sworn to protect him, and hoping that Priam was right.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall Part 4

For the entire series and the summary, click here

Summary: In reaction to the rising tensions on the Continent, the High Lord of the Night Court visits the Illyrian camp where his son has been training for the past decades. Meanwhile, Prince Drakon tries to deal with the fallout of his broken engagement.

Disclaimer: I don't own the acotar-series, obviously

----

It has been more than two decades since Rhys last saw his father. Then, he was a boy, terrified of being send off to the Illyrian Mountains. Now, Rhys is a grown male. Over the past years, he has changed so much, grown in more ways than one and found another family beyond the one he was born into. Still, standing in the snow of the Illyrian camp between Mor and his Mother, waiting for the father he barely remembers, Rhys feels like a child again. The High Lord arrives in a wave of darkness, his power a rumble in the air, and the entire camp drops to their knees. After several minutes of kneeling in the frozen mud, the High Lord allows them to rise. He embraces his mate and kisses Mor on the cheek. Then, he turns to Rhys. His fathers` eyes narrow as he takes in the Illyrian leathers, the weapons and the power that Rhys doesn't bother to entirely conceal. "Father", Rhys says, not bothering to sound pleasant. He still remembers the letters he sent years and years ago, begging his father to forbid Keir from selling his daughter to the Autumn Court like she was no more than a breeding mare. The letters that went unanswered. He hasn't forgotten what happened afterwards, either. His mother puts a hand on his arm in warning, then she nods towards Az and Cass, standing behind them, and says to her mate: "Those are my wards, Cassian and Azriel." "The bastards”, his father sneers. Rhys bristles, feeling the sudden need to defend his brothers. "Cassian is already the best warrior of the century", he says, "and Azriel is a shadowsinger." "Is that so?" His father's eyes narrow again as he truly looks at Az and Cass for the first time. Rhys gets the feeling that he might have made a horrible mistake. For the next hours, he has to follow his father around as he inspects the camp. By the time they finally retreat to their cabin, Rhys can't wait for the male to leave again. They all sit together at the table that seems much too small for the High Lord. Dinner is tense. Cassian and Azriel sit together, wings drawn in tight to their muscular bodies. Mor and Rhys' parents do most of the talking. Finally, the High Lord sets down his fork and says, "There will be war." Silence follows. "Tensions have been rising", the High Lord says, "for quite some time. Many on the Continent feel that the Black Land has been growing too powerful lately. Too unchecked. And Queen Ravenia murdering those Erithian royals certainly did not do anything to ease their worries." He laughs softly, like it is some kind of joke, then sobers. "If there is war on the Continent, Prythian will follow. And I expect the Night Court to be prepared." Rhys exchanges a look with Az. Not a word about the humans rising up in rebellion, but he isn`t surprised. To his father, they are nothing. All he cares about is power. "This war", his father adds, "may just be the most important event of the millennia. And I expect us to stand on the winning side."   ----   Sometimes, Prince Drakon of Erithia wonders how his life could go to hell so quickly. Actually, he wonders about that quite a lot. Less than a year ago, he had parents and two older sisters, one of whom would one day inherit his father's title. Less than a year ago, he had just finished his time in the army and his father had offered him a place in his council, where he would have been the youngest member in more than five centuries. Then, Ravenia happened. "You want some advice?", Sinna asks from where she lies sprawled on the couch, "Just give it up. If the country's best tutors haven't been able to teach you, you certainly won't learn it now." Drakon briefly consideres throwing his book ("Continental Politics for beginners") at her head. Sinna has always been frank to the point of rudeness and most days, he likes that about her. Today, not so much. It doesn't help that she is right. Drakon is hopeless at politics. Always was and likely always will be. He just can't get the millions of rules into his head (which is weird, because he has no problem at all memorising all the books he read on political systems, laws, societies and philosophy) And once the political meetings start, pleasant words hiding sharp insults, he is completely lost. "I have to learn that", he bites out. ("If I had learned it earlier, my family might still be alive", is what he doesn't say). Sinna still catches his meaning. "Your father was a grown male who should have known better than to sell you off to Ravenia - and I don't give a shit that you agreed, he should never have taken her offer." She glares at him. "The point I'm trying to make is that you aren't a politician and you will never be. The sooner you realise that, the better." Drakon glares right back. "What is it you're trying to say? That I'm useless as a Prince?" "I think that you will be a great Prince - as soon as you stop worrying about what you can't do and focus on the things you are good at." She gets up. "Now, I have a meeting with my girlfriend who, quite frankly, is much better company than you are, so I'm leaving." "Then I won't keep you", he says, "Give Nephelle my best." Sinna nods, then she adds: "There will be war, Prince. So as your General, I'm telling you: Get your shit together." With that, she turns around and stalks out of the room. Drakon sighs. By now, everyone on the Continent agrees that war is inevitable. (A part of him is glad that Ravenia might be punished, after all. A much bigger part is terrified of what war might do to his people). He puts the book back on the shelf and takes a file from his desk. He scans the reports in it, but they are full of nothing. His spies found no trace of the half Fae slave he helped escape (and who helped him in more ways than she will ever know). He likes to think that she is safe and happy in one of the human countries. That at least one thing he did that night didn't meet a horrible end. With another sigh, he puts down the report and writes a note giving his emissary full authorization to represent his country on the outside. Because Sinna is right - he is hopeless at foreign politics. But he knows everything about societies, political systems and laws.

---- Note: So, I hope you liked it that I added something on the other characters (and I know that they are different in acotar, but keep in mind that that is one war and 500 years later and they will all change a lot). The next part will be on Miryam and Jurian, who get called to a meeting of the human leaders to discuss the rebellion

That said, I would really love some feedback. Anyone? Please?

[cinaja]

Before the Wall - part 15

An acotar fanfic on the time of the War. For the summary and the entire story, click here

Disclaimer: The world and the characters belong to sarah j maas

TW: Suicide (not explicit)

----

There was no keeping what happened during the battle secret. Not when every healer saw Miryam run off and the Illyrians are, apparently, able to sense witches and have been close to revolt ever since they found out that one of the camp`s commanders is one.

Jurian feels horrible. He is well aware that this situation is almost entirely his fault. Miryam‘s most closely guarded secret is secret no longer. And she could have died. All because he pushed her.  (Although if he is entirely honest, a part of him is also glad that it went this way. At least Miryam stopped hiding from her own power and can perhaps begin to use it properly. He doesn`t dwell on these thoughts too long, though, because they always make him feel like a prick.)

It is a good thing that the post-battle clean-up keeps Jurian extremely busy. That way, at least, he has reason to stay away from Miryam without having to admit to himself that he is too ashamed to face her. Instead, he gets into a fight with three Illyrians for hissing insults at her and sentences ten of his own soldiers to guard duty when he overhears them wondering if they want a half-Fae witch in their midst.

But - and this is the true surprise - the people hissing insults are outnumbered by far by those who seem awed by the news. He overheard more than one of them whispering of a blessing, a gift from the gods. It`s better than the others, but still somehow unsettling. 

„Jurian.“

He turns around to face Tia, who is running towards him, waving a letter.

„This just arrived from the Alliance“, she says.

„For me?“

„And Miryam.“ Tia winks at him. “But I thought I‘d deliver it to you and have you tell her.“ Jurian takes a face at her. Tia grins. „What? I didn`t watch you dance around each other for months only for you to bolt because you messed up once.“

Jurian snatches the letter out of her hand. He inspects the sear, then rips it open and scans the content. He curses softly. Now he is really going to have to talk to Miryam. He doubts it will be a pleasant conversation, though.

„I have to go“, Jurian says.

„Have fun!“, Tia calls after him.

Jurian makes a rather rude gesture over his shoulder. Miryam, fortunately, seems to be in her tent, saving him from having to search the entire camp for her. He hesitates for a moment before entering. There are voices coming from the inside.

“-will cover that order”, Miryam is saying, “With the battle, no one will even question it.”

“So we`re out of trouble?”, Mor asks, sounding relieved.

“Which”, Mor`s cousin cuts in, “is sheer dumb luck, Mor.”

“Oh, shut up!”

Jurian has to admit, he`s curious. He`d love to remain standing before the entrance, but he has already crossed one line lately. Eavesdropping on a private conversation (especially with lots of Fae who are likely to catch him) doesn`t seem like the smartest move. Besides, he has news to deliver.

Everyone turns to Jurian as he enters. Mor and her cousin exchange a look.

“We were just leaving”, Mor says.

She takes her cousin by the arm and shoves him out of the tent. Miryam smiles wryly, Jurian shakes his head.

“Do they think”, he asks, “that we don`t notice what they are doing?”

“Oh, I´m sure they just don`t care.”

Jurian grins, but sobers quickly. “About the camp talk…”, he begins, but is unsure about how to continue.

Miryam`s face tightens. “Don`t worry about it”, she says, “I always knew it would happen. Honestly, I`m surprised they aren`t calling for my head.”

Jurian clenches and unclenches his fingers. He`s already trying to come up with a way to shut down the talk, no matter what Miryam says. He knows, though, that this will be damn near impossible once the news pass beyond their camp, which is bound to happen anytime now.

“You should be angry with me”, he says.

“Maybe. But I`m not.” Jurian is about to reply, but she shakes her head. “Can we just drop it? Please?”

Jurian sighs and holds up the letter. “They set the time for the meeting.”

He didn`t think that Miryam could grow any tenser, but she does. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?” Now, Miryam is staring at him with wide eyes, like she is searching for a hint of a lie. Unfortunately, Jurian is telling the truth.

“At least by then, news of your abilities likely won`t have broken yet.” It`s a piss-poor attempt at comforting her, but he really can`t think of anything else.

“She`ll be there”, Miryam says softly.

Carefully, Jurian reaches out for her hand. “You won`t be alone”, he says, “I`ll be with you and it will be fine.”

Miryam nods, but the look in her eyes tells her that she sees straight through his empty words. Because Jurian may be going with her to the meeting, but he is no politician. During the discussions, she will be on her own.

----

Drakon is not having a pleasant day. He thought it couldn`t get much worse after the nightmare of a meeting he had this morning with Sinna and the commander of the unit the Alliance sent to replace them. They are from Prythian, with membranous bat-like wings. So far, Drakon‘s experiences with their new allies have been... difficult. In their meeting, the Illyrian leader kept sneering at Drakon and calling him boy – which was still polite compared to how he treated Sinna. Unsurprisingly enough, the meeting ended with the Illyrian`s nose broken and Drakon having to keep Sinna from killing the male.

In the two hours since the meeting ended, he was already called in to break up three fights between his soldiers and the new ones. (Sinna seems more inclined to start fights than to stop them these days, so he is stuck playing peacemaker.)

This round through the camp seems to be going better than the last one, though. It looks like the soldiers learned to stay out of each other`s way at last. Besides, Drakon and his soldiers will be leaving tomorrow so the tentative peace won`t have to last long, anyways.

Drakon reaches the waste disposal area. It seems like the now soldiers are already digging new latrines. Drakon looks into the hole in construction and is surprised to find only one soldier working inside.

“Where are the others?”, he asks, “Surely you aren`t supposed to dig the latrine all on you own?”

The soldier puts down his shovel and gives Drakon a wild grin. “Oh, I`m more than enough for one such hole.”

He seems far more pleasant than the other Illyrians Drakon met so far. Younger, too, which is somewhat refreshing. (These days, Drakon is usually surrounded by people at least a hundred years his senior.)

“Want me to help you?”, Drakon offers, “Otherwise, you`ll be busy until past midnight.”

“You volunteer to spent your afternoon digging through hard dirt?” The Illyrian laughs. “Well, I can`t save you from yourself, then.”

Drakon takes that as a yes. He grabs a shovel that is lying next to the hole and jumps down. From there, he gets a better view of the male. There are seven red stones – syphons? – glinting on his armour. From what Drakon gathered, the amount of stones is usually related to a person`s rank.

„What did you do“, he asks, „to end up in this shithole?“

The male snorts at the pun. „Was born a bastard.“ He shrugs, grinning, „And mouthed off to Lord Devlon about getting his nose broken by a female.“

Drakon frowns. „If you knew half of the females I‘ve met, you wouldn‘t be surprised.“

The Illyrian laughs. „Oh, I know my fair share of scary females, too, so I wasn‘t surprised. But for Devlon, getting pummelled by a female is a new experience for him. Almost a pity you guys are leaving - maybe someone would be able to beat some sense into that thick head of his.“

„Well, as someone who has been stuck here for months, I`m looking forward to leaving.” Drakon thinks back to the look on Lord Devlon`s face after Sinna punched him and adds, “Although watching Sinna break that guy‘s nose might have been worth staying a while longer.“

“On first name basis with your general.“ The Illyrian whistles softly and throws a shovel of dirt out of the latrine. “You‘re highborn, aren‘t you?“

Drakon nods, unwilling to say any more on it. Maybe it‘s stupid, but it is freeing to be a normal person for once, instead of the Prince of Erithia. Like he isn‘t responsible for thousands of lives. The Illyrian seems to consider his answer for a moment, then nods.

„Where were you stationed before this?“, Drakon asks, happy to steer the conversation into a different direction.

„Further south.“ He wrinkles his nose. „Fighting these Black Land bastards. Fire magic really is no fun. You?“

„I‘ve been stuck here.“ Well, except for his brief visits to the other parts of the army and Erithia. „But we‘re leaving due north tomorrow. I can‘t say I‘m sorry to be leaving this place.“

The Illyrian laughs. „Oh, I can imagine. I‘ve been here for a day and already want to leave. It‘s-“ A bucket full of dirt hits him square in the face, cutting him off. Drakon spins around to the source of the attack.

„Hey, bastard!“, a voice shouts from above. Three Illyrians are standing at the edge of the latrine. „Enjoying eating dirt?“

Drakon frowns up at them. „Leave him be.“

„What is it to you?“, one of the Illyrians asks.

He kicks a bunch of dirt into the pit, but it bounces off harmlessly on the shield Drakon set up. For a second, he is sorely tempted to let the dirt they shovelled out of the pit in the last hours bury the soldiers under them. Unfortunately, getting into a fight with your allies is not a very prince-like thing to do. (Bad enough if Sinna does it.)

So instead, he does the mature thing and says, „I generally do not permit soldiers in my camp to provoke fights. So if you aren‘t here to help, I‘d suggest you leave.“

„Your camp?“, one of the soldiers snorts. “Sure. That`s why you`re digging around in the dirt.”

Drakon really doesn`t like most Illyrians, he decides. “Well, someone needs to dig the latrine, unless you`d prefer to take a shit in the middle of the camp”, he says, “And I`d not be a very good commander if I asked my soldiers to do something I`m not ready to do myself, would I?”

The soldiers exchange looks. Drakon is pretty sure that none of their leaders ever bothered with such undignified tasks. But they seem unwilling to risk a punishment, so they leave with barely any complaint.

Drakon turns back to his companion, who is watching him with raised eyebrows.

“You`re Prince Drakon of Erithia?”, he asks.

“Would you believe me if you said I`m not?”

The Illyrian laughs. “No.” He picks his shovel back up. “Well then, Your Highness. Better get back to work.”

----

Miryam barely recognizes herself in the mirror. If she thought she was dressed up for previous meetings, it is nothing compared to this. 

The dress was a gift by the Grand Duke of Sangravah. It is all flowing silk, midnight black yet shimmering in the light. Around the hems, there are silver embroideries. With it came a necklace of diamonds glowing like stars and a diadem.

It makes Miryam look less like a girl of nineteen and more like a grown female. More than that. It makes her look like she belongs with these royals. An impression that couldn`t be more wrong.

From where he is sitting on her desk, Kiel lets out a shriek and puffs up his feathers. Miryam turns around to the bird.

“You`re wondering what I`m doing, aren`t you?”, she whispers, “Well, I don`t know either.”

Before she can change her mind and bolt as her entire body is screaming at her to, she steps out of the tent and into the camp. A bunch of passing soldiers stop short to stare at her. Jurian stops speaking in what appeared to be the middle of a conversation with Tia. Miryam blushes.

A few soldiers begin whispering amongst each other. “Witch”, Miryam hears, and “Gods-blessed”. She doesn`t know which word she loathes more. Before this can go any further, she steps towards Jurian. She doesn`t miss Tia giving him a nudge and Jurian quickly snapping back to attention.

“Let`s go”, Miryam says quietly.

Mor is tasked with winnowing them to the meeting place, although she herself is not invited to participate. She holds out her hand to Miryam.

“You look stunning”, she says, “Go show those pricks their place.”

Miryam manages a shaky smile, then Mor winnows them away. When they reappear, Mor only gives her hand a quick squeeze before she vanishes again, leaving Miryam and Jurian on their own.

The meeting is held in the Continent‘s neutral meeting space - a palace that was built by some long-ago king in the middle of a huge lake. It has been long since abandoned and after the three bordering territories spent centuries fighting over the island, it has been declared neutral ground.

The guards waiting at the gate belong to every territory, but it has been chosen that Alliance members are searched by Loyalist guards and vice versa. Miryam hands her dagger to a guard and then tries to keep a neutral look on her face as the guard begins searching her, hands lingering a bit too long for comfort. Next to her, Jurian looks like he considers punching the guard searching him. (Miryam wonders if it was perhaps a mistake to bring him along.)

But then, they are through the control. A far more friendly-looking guard points them to a glittering crystal bowl standing just before the entrance. Miryam takes a knife lying next to is and presses it agains ther palm lightly. A drop of blood wells up and falls into the bowl.

„I swear that while I am on these grounds, to do no harm to anyone here, not by action or intention. I swear it on my life and on my blood.“

The blood in the bowl turns to blinding light. Rays of it shoot up into the air and merge with the wards that encircle the palace. They are more complicated than any Miryam has ever seen. Far too complicated for her to ever understand. But when Miryam steps forward, the wards move aside to allow her through. A step behind her, Jurian whistles softly as they step into the foyer.

„Well, this is certainly impressive“, he mutters, looking up at the high ceiling and the ornate admonishments. Miryam nods, although she can‘t say she is overly impressed. Unlike Jurian, she has seen her fair share of Fae architecture and while she can usually still appreciate its beauty, today, the thrill is lost on her.

She barely spares her surroundings more than a glance and instead focuses on the assembled Fae. Her eyes scan the room with practiced ease, but the Black Land‘s delegation is not there yet. (A brief reprieve, Miryam knows. Still, she can‘t help feeling relieved.) There are other familiar faces, though.

Miryam knows most leaders of the Continent‘s bogger territories at least by sight. She recognises the Xian empress, dark-haired and light-skinned. She is deep in conversation with the Raskan king. Further off, she spots the current leader of Montesere‘s High Council, who is glowering at Jurian.

He isn‘t the only royal to spot their arrival. Quite a few turn and stare, some snarling, others seeming more curious than angry. Miryam lifts her chin and loops her arm through Jurian‘s. At the end of the room, she spots some of the other Alliance delegates and makes to lead Jurian towards them.

But before they are even halfway across the room, two females step into their pass. Jurian stiffens immediately. It takes Miryam a few seconds longer than him to recognize them. It‘s the red hair that makes the memory stir at the end - something she remarked already during the battle  two days ago.

„Look at that“, one of the females drawls. She is the less beautiful one of the two, but somehow more terrifying. Not that it fazes Miryam much - even General Amarantha of Hybern could never even come close to Ravenia. „Two dirty little humans“, the General continues, „thinking they can hold up with their betters.“

Her mouth curles into a smile. Miryam‘s every instinct shouts at her to run at this smile. Or at the very least to lower her head, bow quickly. Make herself invisible. Instead, she squares her shoulder and smiles back.

„And here I was, thinking we were here because you had trouble holding up with us.“

Jurian rasps a laugh. „It certainly looked like it during our battle two days ago.“

Now, that is a blatant lie. They would have gotten their asses kicked if the Hybern soldiers hadn‘t run when that witch`s spell failed. The moment of surprise really did save them. Miryam doubts it will work a second time, though.

Still, the second female. -Clythia, Amarantha‘s younger sister, more beautiful but just as cruel - now watches Jurian with interest. There is an intensity in her gaze that makes Miryam bristle.

„So you are the General who pushed our armies back?“, she asks, „An impressive feat.“ Amarantha scoffs and Clythia pats her arm without tearing her gaze away from Jurian. „You must be a fine General.“

„Now, now. It‘s hardly skill “, Amarantha says, „unless you now count having a way to repel our spells as a feat of the commander.“

Miryam has to remind herself to keep breathing normally. She knows that her secret will be out within a few days, but for the span of this meeting, she`d prefer to keep it.

Clythia steps towards Jurian in a fluid motion. His hand darts for his belt, he, too, had to surrender his weapons. Clythia whispers something to him, to low for Miryam to hear. Then, she lets go and steps back. Amarantha is frowning, she grabs her sister by the arm and whispers furiously to her as she leads her away.

Miryam turns to Jurian. „What did she say to you?“

Jurian presses his lips together, his hands are clenching and unclenching. „That we‘d meet again. She said our lives are intertwined.“

Behind them, a laugh sounds and Helion steps up between them. „That‘s seers to you - always saying things to mess up your lives.“ He claps Jurian on the back. „Don‘t let it get to you.“ He grins at Miryam. „You look absolutely stunning.“

Miryam forces a smile, but still can‘t shake what Clythia told Jurian. She may not know much about seers, but even she knows that only a fool takes their words lightly. She wishes she could talk to Jurian in private, but then, the rest of their delegation is standing around them now and Miryam is busy greeting all of them, discussing strategies and playing confident leader. (What was she thinking, agreeing to lead this delegation?)

Finally, the clock chimes twelve and everyone files into a huge meeting room. Miryam, as leader of the Alliance delegation, takes the seat at the head of the table. The chair opposite her remains empty. Ravenia still isn‘t there. Miryam isn‘t surprised - she accompanied the female to enough meetings to know that she loves to flaunt her power by turning up late. By making everyone wait for her.

A few of the Loyalists look annoyed at having to wait, too, but when Miryam suggests to start the meeting early, none of them agree. They are all too scared of Ravenia to risk angering her by starting without her. So they sit in silence as the minutes tick by. Miryam feels her nerves beginning to fray. Next to her, Jurian is tapping his fingers on the table.

After half an hour, the door opens and Ravenia enters. The queen of the Black Land looks radiant, dressed in a white cloth so light she seems to glow, gold jewellery glinting in the light. Her gaze sweeps over the room with the disinterest of a female who knows that she is on top of the world and everyone is so far beneath her that she can barely see them. She is flanked by two advisors. And, behind her, three human slaves follow. Children, like all of her personal slaves. Miryam tenses. Next to her, Jurian hisses softly.

Ravenia takes her place and her eyes finally find Miryam. Her eyebrows lift ever so slightly, the only sign of her surprise.

„That belongs to me“, she says and jerks her chin towards Miryam.

Murmuring rises aroung the table. Miryam wants to reply something, but words escape her. All she sees is Ravenia at the other side of the table, her slaves standing behind her. She can‘t push the memories back. It`s like it is her standing next to Ravenia instead of these slaves. All that pain and fear and suffering. What was she thinking, coming here like she stood a chance against the female before her?

„She belongs to no one but herself“, Jurian says.

Miryam wants to shoot him a grateful look, but she can‘t tear her eyes away from Ravenia. She feels like if she does, she won‘t be able to hold it together anymore. She will just fall apart into a million broken pieces.

Ravenia smiles at her like she knows exactly what Miryam is going through. „That‘s not true, now, is it, Miryam? You may fool them all into thinking you their equal, but in the end, You‘ll always belong to me.“

Miryam just holds her stare. She prays that people will interpret it as defiance and not understand that she couldn’t speak if she wanted to.

The Xian empress saves her from thinking of something to say. „Could we get on with it, then?”, she asks, “No one cares about your runaway slaves and we are already late.“

There is an edge to her voice. The Loyalists may be allies, but that doesn‘t mean that they wouldn‘t throw each other to the wolves at a moment‘s notice if it benefited them. That‘s an advantage, but Miryam still can‘t find the words to take it.

The meeting is a nightmare. Miryam does her best to stir the conversation, but her words feel stiff and unwieldy. She is way out of her depth among these royals, all of whom don‘t seem inclined at all to go easy on her. On a good day, she might still have been able to stand her ground. But not today, not here. Because standing before these people, she isn‘t the emissary of the entire Alliance anymore - she‘s just a slave girl, alone in a room full of Fae.

The conversation spirals out of control far too quickly. Her allies have begun shooting Miryam questioning looks, but she can‘t do anything against it. They are losing, and losing badly. By now, some of the Alliance members look like they are inclined to agree with what the Loyalists are saying – promises of peace, of new trading deals and prosperity for all. If only the war ended. Utter rubbish, but some of the Fae seem to believe it.

„It isn‘t that we are fighting for slavery“, Ravenia says, „We are fighting for our freedom. Our freedom to choose how to run our countries. None of us wish to force you to start owning slaves, but we want to keep our property and our way of living.“

There are murmurs of agreement. To Miryam‘s horror, some come from Alliance members.

„What you call freedom“, she says, fighting to keep her voice even, „includes the enslavement of thousands of people. Your way of living destroys thousands of lives and what you call property are living, feeling beings.“

But it isn‘t enough. The words lack the punch they would need to draw the audience back on her side. Ravenia smiles and Miryam shrinks back in her seat. Jurian puts a hand on her arm and she only barely manages not to flinch.

That is when one of Ravenia‘s slaves moves. She lifts her head and takes a step forward.

„We are not property“, she says, staring at Ravenia, “You can beat us and chain us up and kill us, but you will never truly own us.”

Then, faster than any of them can react, she draws a knife from under her thin clothes. At first, Miryam thinks that she is going to attack Ravenia. But the girl just looks at Miryam. For a moment, their gazes lock. Then, she turns the knife towards her own chest and plunges it down.

„No!“

Miryam jumps to her feet, but the girl is already collapsing. Without thinking, Miryam rushes around the table and falls to her knees next to the girl. She knows that she is too late, but she still presses her hands on the bleeding wound on the girl‘s chest.

She is only a few years younger than Miryam, with the same curly dark hair and brown skin. Had things gone a bit differently, this could have been her.

„Please“, the girl whispers, her voice barely more than a breath. Miryam doesn`t know what she is begging for and the girl never gets a chance to say it. She doesn`t even get another word out before she dies.

Still, Miryam remains kneeling on the ground. There is blood on her hands, blood on her dress, but she can‘t tear her eyes away from the girl.  

„Could we get on with it, then?“, Ravenia asks.

Like there isn‘t a dead child lying on the floor. Like this girl‘s life was nothing. And suddenly, Miryam isn‘t scared anymore. She is angry.

„You will never win“, she whispers.

„What?“

„I said“, Miryam says and lifts her head, „you will never win.“

Slowly, she stands up and turns around to face Ravenia. For the first time, she meets the queen‘s gaze without fear.

„Because we will never stop. Even if you win this war, even if you kill us all, you won‘t win. Because you create your own downfall.“ Miryam pints a bloody hand towards the dead girl. „You take everything from people until they have nothing left to lose. And as long as there is a single slave left, there will never be peace.“

„You seem to think“, Ravenia says, „that we would hesitate to kill every human in our territories should it become necessary.“

„You can‘t.“ Miryam shakes her head. „Humans are the ones who build your palaces and houses. The ones who grow your food and serve it. For all your power, you are nothing without us. And in the end, that‘s what you will be in the end: Nothing.“

The entire room is silent now.

Miryam says, „You are all doomed. Every territory that owns slaves is walking towards its downfall. Maybe you will win this war, maybe you will survive. But you are still doomed. Even if it takes centuries, in the end, you will lose.“

She turns back to Ravenia and takes a step towards her until she is standing directly in front of her.

„But you“, she says, „you will not survive this war. They say you create your own doom and it will be my pleasure to be yours. I will destroy you. When this is all over, there will never be slaves again in the Black Land.“ She dares a glance towards her allies on the other side of the table before she turns back to Ravenia. „And if no one will stand with me, I will do it alone. If it is necessary, I will march into your capital on my own and personally free every single man, woman and child you deem property. I will tear down the palaces you paid for with my people‘s blood with my bare hands and when you stand in the ruins and your land is burning around you, you will remember this moment and the fact that you have no one but yourself to blame.“

For a moment, something like worry flickers in Ravenia‘s dark eyes. But then, she tips her head back and laughs. A few of her allies join in.

„I‘m a queen“, Ravenia says, „and you are nothing. Just a human worm. And you think you can destroy me?“ She laughs again. „Go ahead, then. I‘d like to see you try.“

Miryam stares her down. And for the first time, she releases the hold she has on her magic. She doesn‘t let it do anything, just flow through the air. A few people gasp, but Miryam sees nothing but Ravenia.

In a voice she barely recognizes, she says, „I‘d like to see you stop me.“

This time, no one laughs. They just stare. Miryam holds the queen‘s gaze a moment longer. Then, she turns away.

„Unless you free your slaves, there will never be peace“, she says, „As far as I‘m concerned, there is nothing else to say.“ Miryam pulls open the door. “This meeting is over.”

For a heartbeat, she thinks that the others won‘t follow. But then, Jurian rises. The rest of the Alliance members get to their feet as well. As one, they leave the meeting.

----

Tags: @sjm-things