#face: miryam

[surielstea]

Worried Mates

1k celebration request by @mira-says

Pairing: Poly!Bat Boys x Valkyrie!Reader

Summary: Reader gets badly injured and her three mates fuss over her.

Warnings: Light gore | canon-typical violence | injury | hurt/comfort | fluff | angst | happy ending

A.Note: This takes place during the war between humans and fae 500 years before the events of ACoTaR, Reader is a Valkyrie Commander.

2.1k words

"Gods—" I grunt, gripping my aching side. The war between mortals and fae was raging, and it seemed that it wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

When my half-sister, Miryam, had told me that she planned on fleeing with Prince Drakon once the war was over I thought she must've been insane. I only wanted joy for my sister of course, but it was foolish of her to think the two of them could have their happy ending after helping initiate this war.

But now, bleeding out and surrounded by enemies I was starting to understand the appeal of leaving everyone behind and escaping with my mates. I was at death's doorstep, too tired to even lift my sword, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of the males I loved most.

I watched all my companions die off, my friends, Valkyrie's far better than me dying before me. It wasn't right.

I was the commander of the Valkyrie units, and now they're gone. Commander of no one because I failed them all by leading them into a war I knew we couldn't win.

An armed fae charged towards me, his sword held high as he screamed like a madman.

I tightened my grip on my shield and used his momentum against him, his sword clanging hard to the Illyrian steel of my shield as I pushed it back into him. He tumbled to the ground under the weight of it and with the sharp point of my shield I thrusted it straight into his chest. He fell limp.

A battle cry sounded from behind me and I groaned, every inch of my body protesting any further movement. I unsheathed my heavy sword while turning around to face a hulking male, lifting it up in challenge.

He swings first, his scarlet-covered blade meeting mine. He was much stronger than me, bigger too but he was slow. He pushed hard and my aching arms strained under the pressure. I steadied my breathing and pushed his blade away from me. He came back swinging with twice the force, going right for my head. I bent back, my spine screaming at me as his blade swung just above my nose, the sharpness of it slicing into a rogue hair that had strayed from its braid.

With the remaining energy I honed, I thrust my sword into the male's chest. He yelped, his sword clattering to the ground, and with one last attempt to gut me, he swung to grab me with his free hand. I screamed as I felt a searing pain in my side. I looked down to find a large knife embedded into my torso. When I looked back to the male he twisted the knife and I felt as if my entire body was set aflame. I clenched my teeth together as I plunged my sword into his chest again, and when I pulled it out he was already in the dirt, receiving the same fate as his comrades.

My knees buckled as I looked at my side again, blood pooling at my feet as it ran down my leg.

I dug my sword in the ground, using it for support so I could at least stay standing. My entire left side felt paralyzed as I continued to lose that precious scarlet liquid.

I squeezed my eyes shut before forcing them open, my vision bleary as I grew increasingly dizzy.

In the distance, I saw another armed soldier charging at me. For a moment I debated letting him have my life, it was soon nearing a close anyway.

But I hadn’t trained for years to be cut down by a measly foot soldier, hadn’t clawed and scraped my way through ranks to die by a stranger's hand. I curse, deciding that I wouldn't go out in forfeit, I would die fighting or I would not die at all. With only my right arm I lifted my sword up toward the sky, ready to strike.

But just as he was about to reach me a gleam of red flashed and the soldier's head went flying in the opposite direction of his body. Directly in front of me stood a male, glowing in red, my vision began to darken at the corners but I could recognize those wings anywhere. "Oh thank the gods," I sighed in pure relief, falling to my knees as Cassian ran forward to catch me before my head could hit the hard ground. He spotted the gushing wound in my side immediately, then looked at my dilated pupils.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He rasped, his voice raw from shouting commands at soldiers over the fields. “Cass,” I hum his name, the familiarity of it bringing me a warm feeling. I was glad to see he was unharmed. “Lean on me,” He says while gently brushing my stubborn hairs away from my sweat, and most likely blood, lined forehead.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Was all I managed to hear from him before darkness consumed me and my vision blackened entirely.

When I cracked my eyes open I immediately winced at the harsh light of the room I was being kept in. The sound of frustrated voices registered first, then the smell of lavender, and the softness of the pillow behind my head, and then finally my vision came. I spotted Rhysand and Cassian first, quietly bickering over something I couldn’t find in myself to care for. They were both changed from their armor, cleansed from the blood and dirt of the war. Even though they both looked clean and seemed how they always did I could tell something was off. Their wings were terse and the bags beneath their eyes were prominent.

It took a lot to mar the beauty of a Fae male, especially the two of them, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen them more distressed.

They continued their hushed argument, oblivious to the fact that I had woken up so I cast my eyes elsewhere, toward the third male in the room who had his head tilted downward, his scarred hands in his lap. He stared at those scars, his shaky hands making it seem like he’d done something wretched, so horrid he somehow didn’t think it probable that it was done with his own hands.

My brows creased, all three of them were in sorrow, and whether it was because I was bedridden or it was simply the after-effects of the war I was unsure.

“Good morning,” Is all I can think to say. It was casual, a little hoarse, but simple.

The room fell silent and all three heads snapped towards me. Their lips all formed tight straight lines as they bored their eyes into me.

I couldn’t tell if it was shock or relief, perhaps both.

A large smile cracks across my lips. “Were you guys worried about me?” I suggest, raising my brows accusingly.

“Gods,” A large figure crashes into me and I groan. Cassian clings to me tightly, hugging me into his warm chest. “Of course, we were worried,” He whispers, as if afraid he’d break this moment by speaking any louder.

“You’re crushing her, Cass,” Rhys says from behind him and I chuckle, looking at the violet-eyed male and giving him a gentle smirk which he matched. I pulled away from Cassian’s embrace first and he reluctantly let go of me.

“I’m sorry love,” Azriel sighed, his hand coming to intertwine with my fingers. “Sorry for what Az?” My brows crease.

“My shadows should’ve been with you, I could’ve stopped that soldier from hurting you—” The Illyrian starts but Cassian cuts him off.

“No Az it’s my fault, I should have been there sooner. I should have taken that dagger not her—” He tried but this time it was Rhys to cut him off.

“Both of you stop being ridiculous, I was the one that allowed her to fight, it was my mistake from the beginning,” The High Lord asserts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My gods, do you three ever quit taking the blame for everything?” I looked pointedly at Rhys when I spoke. “I would’ve commanded the Valkyries to fight alongside you whether it was cleared or not,” I confess and Rhys subtly frowns at that, the unspoken question of me being the last Valkyrie was now answered with that expression. A wave of shame passed over me, but I pushed it aside for now, deciding to spend this moment with my three very paranoid, but very alive mates.

“I’m fine,” I give Azriel’s hand a squeeze.

“Madja said if the blade went even a fraction deeper it would’ve been fatal,” The blue siphoned male argued, and my brows bunch.

“But it didn’t,” I state.

“But it could have,” He snarled and I had never seen him so angry, so scared.

My eyes softened and I let a soft smile grace my features. “Az,” I whispered, attempting to bring him comfort to remind him I was alive and healthy.

Azriel was the first of the three that I bonded with, we’ve always had a different connection because of it. I’ll love all of them equally no matter what, but it left Azriel to be more protective of me than the other two.

He stands suddenly, our hands still tangled. “You nearly died, you nearly abandoned us for a place where we aren’t allowed to join you,” He snapped and my heart ached at the pained look on his face. I would’ve been furious too if it were him on the brink of death, I would’ve found a way to steal him back from death itself if that treacherous event were to come.

“Azriel,” Cassian snapped at the male but I held a hand up, waving him off.

I sat up, my side screamed at me in protest but I ignored it. I wore my softest white nightgown, only realizing it once I stood from the bed, slightly unsteady but upright nonetheless. I narrow my gaze at Azriel.

“I am here, I am alive,” I say. “A little scratched up but I don’t think Rhys will let me out in the field anytime soon,” I smile and Rhys shifts behind me.

“You heard that right,” The High Lord grumbled under his breath and I tossed him a glance over my shoulder.

I look back to Azriel, reaching for his other hand and holding them both. “See? I’m alright, I promise,” I look up at him lovingly and his shoulders dip in relief.

“Okay,” He nods, silently cursing himself for acting out so brashly. “You just, had me worried is all,” He excuses and I smile softly, letting go of one of his hands in favor of cupping his jaw.

“I know honey, I know,” I murmur before lifting up and placing a reassuring kiss on his lips, he returns it by bringing his free hand to my hip, pulling me closer.

“Is it just me or do you feel excluded too?” Cassian loudly whispered to Rhysand and I giggled against Azriel’s lips, pulling away and turning my head to cast a playful glare at the two piqued males, clearly attention-deprived.

“Then come over here already,” I give them an inviting smirk and they quickly scramble around the bed to reach me and it takes everything in me not to giggle at how desperate they were to be in my clutches yet again.

“One for you,” I placed my hand on Rhys’ jaw and gave him a soft peck, he barely had time to reciprocate it until I was rearing back. “And,” I grabbed Cass by his shirt. “One for you,” I gave him the same kiss.

“You taste like a coma,” The male murmured, smacking his lips and I rolled my eyes.

“You each got one, are you three satisfied now?” I arch a brow.

“Satisfied? Nowhere near it darling,” Rhys grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up and over his shoulder.

“Wait! I’m still not fully healed yet!” I yelped, banging my fists on his back playfully.

“We’ll be gentle,” Cassian reassured with a gleeful smile. I looked at Azriel but he only smirked.

“No promises,” He shrugged and I groaned, letting my body go limp as Rhys carried me towards the High Lord's chambers.

“If you guys open my stitches I’ll give all of you stitches,” I threatened but none of them seemed to care, and to be honest nothing sounded better than the idea of being cradled by three tan, very large, Illyrians after such a long war.

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[camillechan]

The light Emissary - Azriel x fem!reader (Prologue)

Hello guys! It's the first time I am sharing a fanfic I wrote on Tumblr, so please be patient with him. This is a new serie I try with Azriel x Y/N

Summary: Azriel found his mate, but she doesn't seem to know yet. She is part of the Day Court and their emissary. They often meet to give each others reports about their Courts to keep in track with their alliance. Usually, the meetings are brief, but this time, Y/N has a dangerous news to share.

Warnings: nothing much for this chapter, but eventual smut, combat. Rating: 18+

Next chapter ---------------------- Prologue

Since the end of the War, everything was calm at the Night Court. Azriel is waiting as the usual meeting spot, arms crossed over his chest. He is waiting for the Day Court Emissary, Y/N. They have been meeting for a while now to keep track of the alliance between their Courts. Their usual meeting spot is a beach, near the Day Court Palace. 

The place is a breathtaking expanse of shimmering golden sands, gently kissed by the warmth of the perpetual sun. The shoreline is lined with smooth, sunlit rocks that glow faintly under the bright daylight. The waves are crystalline, their turquoise hues reflecting the radiance of the sky above, creating a mesmerizing interplay of light and water. The air is imbued with the subtle fragrance of saltwater mixed with the sweet aroma of blooming tropical flowers.

In the distance, the Day Court palace stands as a majestic beacon, its golden spires and intricate carvings visible even from the beach. The structure appears almost as if it's part of the sunlit world itself, blending seamlessly with the glow of the day. Small streams and waterfalls trickle down from the palace's elevated terraces, flowing into the beachside lagoons.

The beach exudes a tranquil energy, with the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore creating a soothing harmony. It's a place of peace and light, a true reflection of the Day Court's radiant essence.

Since the first time he saw her, something snapped into place within his heart. A rush of emotions had flooded his senses—love, awe, and a terrifying depth of vulnerability. There was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that tethered him to her, making it impossible to look away or resist.

The bond felt like a warm, tingling sensation spreading across his chest, wrapping around his heart, and grounding deep within his soul. 

He clearly knew what all of this meant, but she didn’t hint that she was also aware. Whenever she was close, his restraint seemed to lower. Her scent, lemon and water hyacinth, are filling his senses. It’s hard to resist, but he knows best than to act on his pure instinct. Azriel releases a breath, will it be difficult this time again? While he moves up his gaze, Y/N winnows in front of him, a tight smile plastered on her face. Az brows furrow. Something is apparently wrong this time. His heartbeat quickens immediately. She moves towards him in a graceful walk, her long blond hair shimmering in the light. The sea breeze pushes her scent towards him. His scarred hands turn into fist by his side.

« Azriel. »

Y/N P.O.V

I look at him. He seems tense, probably sensing my mood. I have bad news to give him. I peer into his handsome face. His eyes darken as he looks intensely at me. He is clad in his dark armor. Azriel's armor is crafted from dark, polished metal, designed to be both lightweight and durable for swift aerial combat. It has an almost shadowy sheen, reflecting his affinity for stealth and his role as a spymaster. His seven siphons are on display. The blue of the jewels seems to glow faintly as his mood shifts.

“What is it? “

He asked with a deep voice. My heart skips a beat at his tone. I sigh and move a bit closer, so I don’t have to lower my voice too much.

“Bad news. Something happened to the Cauldron. It has been stolen from Drakon and Miryam. “

The second the words leave my mouth, his eyes widen, a flicker of alarm passing through them.

“Stolen? “

He repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. The shadows around him seem to darken.

“How is that possible? Their island has remained hidden for centuries. When did this happen? Do you have any leads on who might be responsible?”

His tone is urgent, but he keeps his volume low, aware of potential eavesdroppers. I nod pacing in front of him in a nervous gesture.

“That’s the problem. It was stolen without them even noticing. They knew it was stolen probably a day too late. At least, Miryam and Drakon spies were able to locate a camp of Hybern sympathizers. They destroyed it and searched it, but nothing. Our bestw guess is they probably want to use the Cauldron to bring back their dead King.”

I can see his jaw clenching, shadow writhing around his scarred hands. He moves a bit closer to me. A small shiver runs down my spine at the closeness and the dark vibes that radiate from him.

“Who else knows about this?”

I cross my arms and lower my voice once more.

“My high Lord and me, for now.”

He turns around, his wings rustling softly.

“We need to move fast. I have contacts who might be able to trace the Cauldron.”

He faces me again, his eyes softening a bit.

“You need to be careful if these sympathizers learn you’re onto them…”

His hand twitches, almost reaching for mine, before he seems to catch himself.

“I’ll inform Rhysand immediately. In the meantime, watch your back.”

He turns as if he is about to winnow away, but I grab his arm quickly. He turns around and his stare focuses on my touch on him. He slowly lifts his gaze to mine.

“Wait. I may have a lead on where to search again.”

I lower my hand, my cheeks getting flushed by his intense gaze on my face.

“I located a second camp, close to Under the Mountain. There are multiple soldiers, I would say around 20. I don’t think this is where they are keeping the Cauldron, but we may find interesting information there. I need your help to get there.”

His face dropped at the location, but he regained his composure.

“Fine. I can shroud us in the shadows, but you will need to always stick close to me, understand?”

I nod and smile faintly.

“When do we go?”

I ask seriously.

“Let’s prepare. Meet me at the border of the Night Court. And… be careful until then.”

I see something pass through his fierce gaze. He looks like he is restraining himself from telling me something. I move closer again, invading his personal space.

“Is there something you are not telling me? You seem tense.”

Azriel froze, shadow coiling tightly around him. His jaw clenched, eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and something else…

“Tense? I’m always tense, Y/N. It’s part of the job.”

He growls, voice low and dangerous, then backs away and turns. He looks over his shoulder, his wings moving close to his back.

“I’ll see you at nightfall. Don’t be late.”

Then he winnows away.

[acourtofthought]

Just in case people are confused why Eluciens don't feel Jurian is the reason Elucien shouldn't end up together and why we'd have no issues with her interacting with him -

Jurian looked right to Mor, whose mouth was a tight line. “You were my friend,” he said, voice straining. “We fought back-to-back during some battles. And yet you believed me at first sight—believed that I’d ever let them turn me.”

“And I was glad to do it,” Jurian snarled. “I was glad to do it, if it bought us an edge in that war. I didn’t care what it did to me, what it broke in me. If it meant we could be free. And I have had five hundred years to think about it. While being held prisoner by my enemy. Five hundred years, Mor.” The way he said her name, so familiar and knowing—

“You played the villain convincingly enough, Jurian,” Rhys purred. Jurian snapped his face toward Rhys. “You should have looked. I expected you to look into my mind, to see the truth. Why didn’t you?”

“You mean to imply,” Mor pushed, “that you’ve been working to help us during this?”. “Where better to plot your enemy’s demise, to learn their weaknesses, than at their side?”

I said to Jurian, “You don’t want to kill Miryam and Drakon.” There was stark honesty in Jurian’s eyes as he shook his head once. “No,” he said roughly. “I want to beg their forgiveness.”. I looked to Mor. But tears lined her eyes, and she blinked them furiously away.

Jurian was not my enemy. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Even as Rhys and I both looked. I didn’t linger for long. The pain and guilt and rage, what he had seen and endured … But Jurian spoke true. Laid himself bare to us.

Jurian leaned in as if he’d kiss me, and brought his mouth to my ear. “Were you smart enough to kill her before you took her skin?” My hands tightened on his jacket. “She got what she deserved.” I could feel Jurian’s smile against my ear. “She’s in his tent. Chained with steel and a little spell from his favorite book.” Shit. Shit. Perhaps I should have gotten Helion, who could break almost any— Jurian caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Come to my tent with me, Ianthe. Let me see what that pretty mouth can do.” (Jurian helping Feyre find Elain after she was taken by the Cauldron)

“Jurian …” Lucien blew out a breath, scanning the carved wood ceiling above. “Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true.” He ran a hand through his silken red hair. “He’s keeping everything running. I think he’d have been crowned king by now if it wasn’t for Vassa.”

“How’s the Spring Court?” Nesta asked. The fire crackled merrily to her right, and she let the sound ripple through and past her. Acknowledged the crack and what it did to her, and released it. Even as she concentrated on the male she’d addressed. Lucien’s jaw tightened. “How you’d expect.” Tension rippled through the room, confirmation that Tamlin had heard the news of Feyre’s pregnancy. From Lucien’s grim face, she knew he hadn’t reacted well. Nesta said, “And Jurian and Vassa?”

We've got canon confirmation that Jurian is actually a good guy, that he was willing to suffer so long as it saved the rest, that Rhys and Feyre looked into his mind to confirm this, that he's been a friend to Lucien, that he was Mor's friend.

So you'll understand why that all holds a bit more weight for us regarding Jurian’s true character over what anti's like to cling to, crass statements made while he was pretending to be the bad guy while Hybern and / or his lackeys were present.

Sarah has clearly moved the story forward showing Jurian in an extremely positive light. SHE is the one who wrote him making the joke (because it made more sense than Jurian telling Lucien Elain would be fine in the NC since they were his friends and he knew they'd keep her safe) then SHE is the one who revealed him as the good guy playing double agent. All we're doing is understanding what she wrote.

Elain would be lucky to have a war hero as her friend.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I have a request!

Can you write something where Cassian is tasked with “babysitting” Azriel’s very pregnant mate? Like she can’t be alone for medical reasons and Rhys really needs Azriel for something and Cass is the only one not busy? I just think it would be hilarious. 😂

Babysitting

Summary: Cassian's day doesn't go as planned.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: this was so funny my baby anon 😭💀i love it so much❣️

•○🌑○•

Rhys's pov.

"I can't leave her here alone Rhys! You know how moody and clingy she's become these past few weeks. She has also become extremely excited. She can't sit still for more than an hour or so. She can't stay alone." Azriel ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as his anxiety built. "Hell, can you believe I found her trying to climb into our closet because she wanted to clean it the other day?"

"I know brother, and I wouldn't have asked you to come unless it was absolutely necessary. Keir is once again planning something, you know it. Your presence is needed."

Azriel sighed heavily, settling into one of the chairs in his brother's office. "Tell me again why I'm needed?"

"I want you to snoop around hewn city while I distract the court."

Azriel cursed. "And no one can stay with her? Because she will not be going to hewn city, no matter what."

Rhys contemplated for some time. He wished he didn't have to do this. He didn't want his brother to worry too much about his mate. But this trip to the hewn city was also important.

Mor was visiting Miryam and Drakon. She was not in Velaris. She was out of the question for taking care of Y/n.

Feyre and Amren would be coming along to hewn city. They couldn't help either.

Nesta had training with the Valkyries.

Rhys sighed. Nuala and Cerridwen would be spying g along with Azriel. Elain was on her trip across Prythian.

Just when Rhys was about to give up, the door to his office burst open and in stumbled Cassian. He grinned when he found both his brothers staring at him as he tried to regain some semblance of balance.

Rhys glanced at Azriel, a smile crawling onto his face.

Azriel's brows furrowed, and then his eyes widened with understanding. "No. No. Absolutely not."

Rhys's grin turned feline. "Come on brother, there's no other option."

"What are we talking about?" Cassian questioned as he dropped into the chair next to Azriel, the chair wobbling for a moment.

"Nothing much brother. Just discussing the oncoming trip to hewn city."

"Oh?"

The next few moments went with Rhys explaining why they were going and who all were coming along.

Cassian heaved a relieved sigh when he realised that he was not accompanying them.

"Don't get too happy brother. Because you are free on that day, we were hoping you could stay with Y/n. Look after her.take care of her. She is nearing her delivery date and Az here is a little concerned."

"You want me to babysit her? That's alright! She is after all like my little sister. I can take care of her."

Azriel looked skeptical, but a little more persuasion was all that was needed for him to agree.

Now all they had to do was wait for the day.

•○🌑○•

Cassian's pov.

Y/n's lip quivered as she watched her mate get ready for his trip to hewn city. Cassian felt bad as he watched her. He wished he could comfort her, but didn't know how.

Azriel stood from where he was tying his boots while sitting on the couch, giving Y/n a soft smile. He walked up to her, cupping her face in both hands. "I'll be back soon, hmm?"

Y/n nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Azriel pulled her in for a hug, rubbing her back. Azriel glanced at Cassian, who simply stood there awkwardly, trying not to intrude. He grinned before pulling away from Y/n.

After Azriel was gone, Y/n turned to Cassian. He smiled at her.

"What do you want to do today sister?"

"I was hoping you'd bake with me."

Cassian blinked at her. "What?"

"You always say you have good skills in the kitchen. Bake with me."

Cassian, dumbfounded, simply nodded. He followed her into the kitchen, staring as she pulled out whatever was needed. "I'm thinking we can make cookies. What do you say?"

"Alright."

Y/n was quiet for a moment, then she pulled out a small stool from nearby and began climbing onto it. A panic gripped Cassian as he jolted into action. "What are you doing?! Get down!"

Y/n glanced at Cassian, confused. "I need to get the flour. It's up there."

"I'll get it for you." He gently tugged her down, his heart beating in his throat. "Cauldron, you scared me."

He reached up for the container, but he didn't realise how light it would be. He pulled it out, thinking it would be heavy, but it was lighter than expected. The container jerked in his hands, and then the lid flipped open.

Before he knew what happened, Cassian was covered in flour. He turned to a laughing Y/n, clutching at her swollen stomach and leaning against the counter nearby.

A Shadow floated next to her head, and she grinned at it. That was what made Cassian suspicious.

"Why was the lid open? Was it even open?" He questioned, shaking his head to try and get rid of the flour.

Y/n grinned. "Come on Cass. Can a female not have some fun with her brother?" She again glanced at the shadow. Cassian sighed.

"Is there anything else needed?"

"Eggs."

"Where is it?"

She grinned, a twinkle in her eyes. "Above you."

Cassian was a second too late as he tried to step away. The egg cracked over his head, running down his face.

Cassian groaned. "Y/n. Please stop. This is not funny."

"It's funny to me." She laughed.

"Get out. I'll make the cookies. Go sit on the couch over there."

Y/n pouted, but at Cassian's glare, she sulked away.

Cassian sighed and set to cleaning.

•○🌑○•

When he walked out of the kitchen, he nearly dropped dead because of the fright he recieved.

There, near the fireplace, standing on a chair, was Y/n, dusting a shelf.

"Y/n. Can you please get down." He mumbled softly, trying not to scream in case he frightened her and she lost her balance.

She turned to him, a pleasant smile on her face. That smile faltered when she saw the expression on his face. "What is it?"

"Get down Y/n."

She grumbled but climbed down slowly.

"What is wrong with you?!" He burst out the moment she was on the ground.

Her lower lip wobbled, and Cassian immediately felt guilty. "What is wrong with you?"

Cassian dragged a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. You just scared me. You know it's not safe for you to be climbing on things around the house, right?"

"The chair isn't that high. And the house needs cleaning. Azzie hasn't been letting me do anything since I got pregnant. It's been irritating me."

Cassian pulled her in for a hug, cradling her head gently. "I know sister. But let's wait until after the babe's here to clean the house, yeah?"

She nodded, sniffing.

"I'm bored." She suddenly murmured, looking at him.

Cassian blinked. "Um... is there nothing you can do? We can play something. While sitting." He gave her a look, and she nodded innocently.

"We can play cards."

"Fine."

•○🌑○•

Cassian was on the verge of tears.

The two of them had played cards until the cookies were ready to eat, and after that Y/n had insisted he read to her. Apparently, Azriel always read to her when she was bored.

And Cassian, being the arrogant little prick he was, had wondered how hard it could be. Surely, a warrior who had conquered battlegrounds and men far stronger, one who was one of the best warrior prythian had seen in centuries, could read a book to his brothers wife?

Wrong. He could not read the book without wanting to crawl into a hole and never show his face again.

Y/n had insisted that he read the book she picked.

She sat munching and nibbling on the cookies he made as he struggled to get even one of the filthy words out of his mouth. Sure, he had done these things with Nesta, but reading of them in front of his someone... it felt like his soul was leaving his body.

All the while she remained oblivious to his plight.

Finally, when she took pity on him and told him to stop reading.

"I want to take a nap. Then we can cook dinner."

Cassian had never gotten rid of something in his hands faster.

She settled down on the couch, her head in his lap. He smiled softly when a sigh left her.

Then he asked her the question buzzing in his head. "Where did you get the book from?"

He phrased it casually, and thank the cauldron, she answered him without even a hint of suspicion.

"Oh, Nesta lent it to me."

Cassian's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "That's great."

Y/n hummed, already drifting off.

Cassian shook his head, smiling.

•○🌑○•

Azriel's pov.

He opened the door carefully, trying not to make any noise.

As he stepped in through the threshold, he found the home to be pitch black. His brows furrowed in confusion. Had Y/n not lit the faelights?

As he turned them on, his heart melted.

There on the couch, his brother and wife slept.

She was stretched out on the couch, her face relaxed. Her mouth was sightly parted.

Cassian was sprawled out on the armchair near the fireplace, his arms wrapped across his chest. His legs were stretched out, and he looked like he would slip off the couch any moment now.

Azriel slightly shook Cassian's shoulder, causing him to jerk awake.

He blearily blinked at Azriel, a crease between his brows. Then his eyes widened in relief, and he scrambled to stand.

"Thank the mother you are back." Cassian whispered, finally stable on his feet.

"Why?"

"Oh my. This female made me wonder if i needed more training. I'm so fucking tired." Cassian suddenly clutched at his back, groaning.

"What happened?" Azriel questioned, concerned.

"Don't ask, brother. Don't ask."

"Okay." Azriel made to turn away, and Cassian gaped ay him. With a small smile, Azriel turned back toward him.

"She took a nap in the afternoon. And then she was unstoppable. Creating trouble left and right. More so than Nyx."

Azriel chuckled. He glanced at his wife and mate. She looked so peaceful. Like she was the calmest person in prythian.

"I'll take my leave now." Cassian mumbled, stretching.

Azriel nodded. "I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it."

Cassian walked to Y/n, bending to press a kiss to her forehead before he left.

Azriel smiled. As much as Cassian complained, everyone knew he would do anything to make his family happy.

He was nice like that.

Y/n blinked her pretty eyes open, looking up at him through her lashes. "Hello Azzie."

"Hello my love. Let's get you to bed."

Y/n nodded, holding her arms out to him. "I think we should make a cake or something to thank Cassian for keeping me company today."

"That's a great idea." He spoke as he helped her stand.

"Tomorrow then?"

Azriel smiled at his mate. "Tomorrow."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

Azriel taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings

[starfall-spirit]

But For You, I Was Made

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist

Fic Summary: A curse. Divine punishment. Rhys didn’t know what it was that kept the cycle in motion. All he knew was that he was going to break if he had to hold his mate on her deathbed again.

OR;

The Feysand Reincarnation AU

AN: For @sajirah, one of the most wonderful human beings I know. I'm honored to have been trusted with your @acotargiftexchange gift and even more honored to call you a member of my Inner Circle. I hope this is everything you hoped for.

Also, a thousand kudos to my confidants and betas, @whatishowedyouinthedark and @jsmelodies, your words of encouragement have been pivotal for boosting my confidence in the angst department.

Chapter I CW: Smut, Praise Kink, Mild Torture, Temporary MCD, Mentioned/Implied Non-Con (NOT FEYSAND), General Angst

You won't see dark!rhys behavior until chapters 3 & 4.

Chapter Summary: Feyre and Rhys meet during the First War when the Seraphim fight beside the human army.

Chapter I: I Can't Keep Pretending

Rhysand

Rhys thought it was an exaggeration, the snap of the mating bond. It was an incessant itching under his skin, muscles winding tighter and tighter each time he saw a male approaching her.

The cruel little thing knew she was torturing him, too. He first saw her when she passed his chair in the camp infirmary. He'd been so shocked by her arrival that he'd nearly snapped at the healer when her needle pushed through to close the nasty gash across his forearm. 

The healer was a human, and clearly unimpressed with his irritation, often expressing opinions that could ultimately be boiled down to “fae males are fools, slaves to their instincts.” He both loathed and respected her for it.

“I saw to the girl earlier,” the healer finally told him. “Feyre Archeron. One of Drakon’s commanders. A free spirit if I’ve ever seen one. You’ll have your hands full.”

He smiled, flexing his arm as his magic aided the careful stitching. “Good. It would be boring otherwise. Thank you.”

Rhys made it across the camp with new determination, checking in with his own soldiers along the way. Unfortunately, he could only catch glimpses of the female who was apparently kept busy with her own assignments. 

While the human healer had been the one to give him Feyre’s name, it was Miryam who truly called him out. “You’ve been an irritable bastard today, Rhys. Some are even starting to say unstable,” she almost teased. “So, what’s the problem?”

He ground his teeth, unamused. “The problem, Miryam, is that your mate is keeping mine from me.”

She blinked at him for a moment, a smirk slowly blooming across her lips. “Oh, now this I’ve been waiting to see. Though I have to say, a war is hardly the ideal time to bond. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

He scowled. “Feyre Archeron. Can you spare her for a few moments or not?”

Her smile softened. “It’ll be a shame to lose her, if she lets you drag her back to the Night Court. I’ll make sure she finds your tent when I see her.”

“Thank you.”

~~~~~

Feyre

“So, you’ve landed yourself a prince.”

Feyre huffed, assessing her friend. “I hear he’s arrogant.”

Miryam laughed. “Oh, undoubtedly. I’ve yet to meet a young soldier or prince who wasn’t, though.”

Feyre hesitated. “You know him well?”

She shrugged. “Well enough. He’s always been someone Drakon trusted.” Crossing the room, she squeezed Feyre’s shoulders. “He’s a good male, Feyre. One of the best I know.” There was a long pause. “But it’s not his ego or character concerning you, is it?”

“I’ve trained with our legions for decades, Miryam. I know nothing of foreign customs. I’d be treading water, trying to navigate their politics.” 

“Would you, though?” Miryam was grinning the next time Feyre turned to face her. “The political scene is a battlefield of its own kind, Feyre. You have the wit for it, I’m sure. It’s that soft heart of yours that’s going to get you in trouble in the seat of Night.” Leaning her hip against the table, her friend raised a brow. “You know where his tent is?”

Ten minutes later she was standing outside of his tent, trying to work up the courage to announce herself. One of the canvas flaps flicked open before she could say a word and she assumed Rhysand was just as in tune to her scent and presence as she was to his.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

“Rhysand.” He waved a hand, inviting her into his space. It was modest, but inviting. Just large enough to lay down a large sleeping pallet and a few small tables and a pair of chairs. Enough floor space remained to tell her the tent could be used to hold necessary meetings. “Miryam said you wanted to see me.”

His hands froze over the twin goblets set out on the low table across from his pallet. “You had no desire to meet me.”

He wore his mask well enough, but it didn’t quite hide the shock of emotion rolling down the bond. Speaking only a few words, she had already hurt him.

Feyre crossed her arms, guilt’s nasty claws already sinking in. Still, she knew she couldn’t dodge the question. And she knew she couldn’t throw Drakon in the path of Rhys anger just because she wanted to avoid this discussion. 

“Is it not better to remain apart for now?” she ventured. “Neither of us will be at our best if a mating bond is manipulating our instincts. And even if that wasn’t a problem, who’s to say that one of us won’t be reassigned in the coming weeks or months.” She shook her head. “It’s better to suppress it for the time being. The war is too tumultuous and—”

“How long?” He stalked closer and she shifted back a step. “How long, Feyre, are we supposed to suppress the bond? How long should I try to pretend I don’t want to pummel the males I call brothers just for speaking to you as their comrade?”

He sighed, twisting a lock of hair that had slipped free of her braid. “I’m sorry. That was…” He let out a heavy breath. “You’re right. Now isn’t the time to formally accept a bond. A mating frenzy would be less than ideal. If there’s one thing I ask, it’s that you don’t push me away completely. Consider it all before—”

“I have no intention of rejecting the bond, Rhys.” She shifted awkwardly. “I just don’t have the slightest clue how to navigate this right now.”

Rhys gave a slow nod, withdrawing and running a hand through his hair. “It would be a big change. The life that’s been planned for me—for my spouse—I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But it is also difficult to escape.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to walk away from everything you know, Rhys.”

“Yet you think I’d ask it of you.”

She swallowed. “I’m a commander, Rhys. As many people look up to me, I am replaceable. The Heir to the Night Court is not.”

She could only imagine the target on his back if he tried to abdicate. It was common knowledge his magic already rivaled his father’s. The consequences of that—vendettas, ruthless and petty—would only grow. Escaping his fate as the heir was not an option. “But that isn’t a discussion for right now,” she finished, voice soft, just shy of trembling.

“No,” he murmured, stepping away. “It’s not.”

“If we—”

“Commander Archeron,” a gruff voice interjected from outside the tent. 

“I’ll take that as my cue.”

Rhys gave her a hesitant smile. Sad, almost, to leave this unresolved. “Until next time, darling.”

“Yes. Goodnight, Rhys.”

~~~~~

Rhys claimed he’d never been this irritable, but there was no way a bond left in limbo was causing such a shake-up. Still, Feyre humored him, spending what little time they had between camp movements and her assignments under Drakon’s command in his company, talking late into the night. Every moment they spent together Feyre felt herself lingering a moment longer, waiting, longing for… something.

What, she wasn’t sure. Her resolve about waiting to accept the bond was iron-clad, of course. There was no other choice when they were fighting in the heart of the war. When either of them could be reassigned—pushed to the front, into the thick of it—or pulled from the fight entirely.

It concerned her enough that she’d tried to slip out of the war tent ahead of him a quiet night weeks after their first meeting. Stood frozen when his hand closed ever so gently over her wrist. Trembled when his brows knit, his other hand settling at the small of her back without hesitation to guide her out of the path of other soldiers and into a pocket of shadow she didn’t think was entirely natural.

No one questioned the easy maneuvering. Even without a formal declaration it was no secret most of their mutual free time was spent in each other’s company, not to mention Rhys’ blatant possessive streak around other males. That bit was driving her insane. Feyre was just glad it only amused Drakon.

“Something’s wrong,” Rhys said, not bothering to beat around the bush. “What is it?”

“I just—” 

She let out a shuddering breath. In the pocket of shadow he’d bent to his will, only a sliver of moonlight managed to penetrate their cocoon, casting his face in a muted light that managed to enhance the sharp angles of his face and the rare shade of his eyes. She could hardly think with him looking at her with such concern. Could hardly breathe.

“I need…” He cocked his head, sliding his hands into his pockets as if he had sensed she needed a bit of space. “I never meant to get this close to you.” Rhys flinched. “Not while we’re caught in the middle of all of this. We don’t have enough control of things here to logically—”

“Tell me one thing that’s logical about this, Feyre. A mating bond is not something meant to be controlled or manipulated or suppressed. Not as long as we have, and certainly not as long as we may need to to meet all the terms you’ve set in place.

“I don’t want control or logic, Feyre.” He twisted the length of her braid around his fist, tipping her head back. By the time he winnowed them back to his tent her front was pressed flush to his, his other hand a firm presence at her back. “I just want you.” 

She swallowed, trying hard not to flick her eyes to the pile of bedding behind them. “We don’t know what’s coming, Rhys. Movement from Hybern—”

“We’re not discussing the war.”

“Rhys.” But his mouth was covering hers, the hand in her hair dropping to wrap around her throat before she could withdraw enough to scrape together an argument with some half-hearted foundation. A flex of his fingers, soft and brief, and she melted into him. He pulled back for a moment, nose brushing hers as he assessed her new acceptance. Gave her a triumphant smirk before claiming her mouth again.

The first kiss between them had been cautious. Just firm enough to silence her protests, soothe her worries, draw her into the catastrophic storm their heightened emotions could and would bring about, but careful all the same. 

The second was pure sin. A promise for how the night would end. Settle the countless bets that had been rolling through the human army the past several weeks. He had knocked her walls down so easily, they both knew she wanted this as much as he did. She had to give Rhys credit, he was a little too good at getting her out of her own head. 

It was only when her back hit the bedding behind her that she froze beneath him, unease creeping through the haze that had started to claim her conscious thoughts. Even bedding males of her own race, she’d never allowed someone to pin her wings before. But Rhys had distracted her so efficiently. “Easy,” he purred, already lifting his weight.

“I just haven’t—”

“I know. Illyrians are sensitive about it too. I wasn’t thinking.” She grimaced, shrugging out of her leathers once he’d opened the laces. “There are other positions,” Rhys continued. “Or if you’re still having doubts we can stop. I’ll walk you back,” he offered, even as the leathers fell away to expose her upper body.

“I…” She bit her lip, busying her shaking hands with the buckles and laces fitting his armor as well, exposing inked flesh she’d only caught glimpses of on the evenings she left something behind when returning to her own part of the camp. She’d heard of the Rite markings and knew what they meant, but she’d never laid with an Illyrian—had never seen them inked upon flesh. He stayed quiet, carefully reaching from under one wing, running a finger down each ridge of her spine, letting her trace his tattoos at her leisure—an easy excuse of absent wonder—as she gathered herself again. “I trust you.”

He trailed his nose along her jaw, easing her down more carefully this time before unlacing her boots and baring her lower half from there. She relaxed into the pallet beneath her, eyes half-lidded as Rhys pressed a tender kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Good girl. So sweet once you stop fighting yourself. ”

Oh.

She’d received marks of approval before. She hadn’t been thoughtlessly gifted her position of command or pushed through the ranks without feedback. But there was a clear difference between the gruff pride of a Captain and what Rhys was delivering now. 

Because her mate’s praise wasn’t objective in any fashion. A half-dozen words and he’d stripped her bare, a fist wrapping tight around the heart of her desire and forcing her to face what she’d buried in her pursuit of becoming the unshakable soldier. A violent shiver ran through her body and she arched against him. The only invitation she could manage at the moment.

He looked at her like she was a feast, finally deigning to dip his head to her breast, tugging her nipple with his teeth, content to watch her whimper and writhe beneath him. “Still so sure you want to push this down?” Rhys murmured, breath dancing across tender flesh. The tip of his finger grazed her knee before he nudged her legs apart, cool air teasing the slickness between them as much as his fingers did.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “Gonna stay this sweet for me?” he asked. “Tell me, Feyre, who else has seen you like this?” His thumb brushed her clit then and she let her head fall back, baring her throat once more. He hummed softly at her silence, leaning down to claim her mouth once again. For all the things she’d learned to predict, she didn’t see his next move coming. 

His thumb and forefinger fell to the bottom of her wing, locking down on the thick bone leading to where her wing met her skin. Her soft cry was muted by the kiss, lips parting in welcome. Yielding to her instincts as she was, her mental shields were already fractured—weak enough for her mate to sink those midnight talons ever so gently into her mind. “Who?” he crooned, a slow twist of his wrist coaxing another whine from her lips.

Feyre shook her head. She didn’t need to give a response with the grasp he had on her, but she found herself hurrying to answer. “No one. I don’t let them see. Can’t let them see.”

He eased out of her mind then and her next breath was a shallow, trembling thing. As intrusive as the act was, part of her had been almost comforted in feeling him there. It was steadying. An anchor to cling to whilst forced to endure his teasing, one hand mapping her right wing—feather, ligament, and bone—while the other pushed deep into her core. Buried to the second knuckle, he curled them sharply, leaving her legs shaking.

Her hands found the sleep mats beneath her, but the slick fabric did little to ground her against the mounting arousal. Leisurely, relentless. The quiet whispers of praise and encouragement only quickened the climb, every bit of it a far cry from the quick fumbling of the few partners she’d let herself use as a distraction in the past. She’d never considered a male could be so focused on taking her to the brink, forcing her to claim her own pleasure. 

It made her wonder if it was strictly to do with the bond or if he’d been equally attentive with other females. Something hot and sharp shot through her at the thought. Why should she envy them, though, when mated males were so unlikely to stray?

She let one hand fly up to his hair when that first release tore through her, tangling her fingers through the dark silk of it and tugging hard. He growled, nipping her lower lip in warning.

Feyre growled right back, barely collecting herself before making her next demand. “Get out of your pants. Now.”

He chuckled, a wide grin curving his lips. Moments later he was teasing her with the tip. “This what you want, darling? Want to be fucked nice and slow?” The sharp points of his teeth dragged down her neck. “Been fighting this for weeks. I should make you give me a few more before I come inside you. Make up for lost time.”

She whined, her strongest means of rushing him dying the moment he pinned her hands over her head, catching them easily in one of his. “Rhys, please.”

He clicked his tongue. “My mate, so pretty when she begs.” 

Finally, he pushed the rest of the way into her, the sudden fullness bordering on discomfort. He rolled his hips in soft strokes until she’d adjusted to the feeling of his length inside of her, nodding ever so slightly and reaching to grip his shoulders when he released her hands so he could brace himself over her and continue exploring her body.

 “Such a good little girl,” he murmured again. She clenched down at the soft roll of his words and his next thrust was a little sharper. For his teasing about getting a few more orgasms out of her, the tension locking his body told another story. “Fuck,” he hissed, pace quickening, his breathing heavy against her collar. 

Feyre whimpered under the brutal pressure of the next kiss, nails biting into his muscled shoulders. The gentlest brush of his finger at the base of her wing was the end for both of them. Clenching tight, she bit down on his lip, crying out with her next orgasm when he thrust deep, hitting her cervix. “Gods,” she choked.

Rhys groaned, feeling her spasm around him again. “That’s it. Just like that, darling.

“Tuck your wings,” he instructed when she regained some clarity. Face buried in his neck, she did as she was told, not moving an inch when he rolled them so she was draped over his chest. The worst of it was when he pulled out of her, this time leaving her to come to terms with the newfound emptiness. “Sweet thing.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, arms locking around her, presumably for the night.

Feyre hummed, raising her head in quiet request. That kiss was the catalyst, his claiming of her lips finally drawing their bond into a quiet, growing light. Building like the brightest star, the bond stretched taut between them, the almost violent snap a thing of endless resonance. 

“Rhys,” she whispered, voice shaking.

He ran a hand through her sweat-damp hair. “Hush, darling. We’ll face it in the morning.”

~~~~~

She wanted to claim it was the early light of dawn that woke her, but that would be a blatant lie when the reality was that her mate had chosen to start the morning with his head between her legs.

She couldn’t exactly complain when he clearly knew what he was doing.

“Oh, my—”

He huffed against her core when her hand gripped his hair just as firmly as the night before. “Good morning to you too, darling.” 

He said nothing more than that before returning to his task, each stroke of his tongue less precise than the one before it now that she was awake and writhing against the hands he kept locked over her thighs. She was a shaking mess, her very blood singing right beside the newborn bond when she shattered beneath him. “Fuck. Rhys.”

He chuckled, once again shifting to his back to let her up. He was already half-dressed for the day, only his upper body bare for her perusal. For the better, of course. Preparations needed to be made. The units stationed off the plains were becoming restless, feeling like sitting ducks after weeks of silence.

Something was brewing in the ranks they were set to fight. What, was the question.

She sighed. “Please tell me there was at least a sound-shield in place last night.”

Rhys laughed, eyes bright even as morning drowsiness lingered. “There are very few ways I can be considered a gentleman, Feyre, but they’re there.” He cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer even as she wrapped herself in a scratchy sheet nearby before they could start in on each other again. “I may not be the first male to have the pleasure of hearing the sounds you make when you come, Feyre darling, but I will be the last.”

He released her, smirking at her soft blush. Taking a breath, she withdrew, only allowing herself to reach out and frame his jaw with both hands, his morning stubble rough against her palms. “This doesn’t… Not everyone respects bonds and stations mates together, Rhys. Even if we aren’t in the full frenzy this is reckless.”

“I know, darling. We’ll figure this out. That I promise.”

~~~~~

Rhysand

A week later Rhys was standing before his father in full uniform. Presentation was the least of the High Lord’s concerns at the moment. “You’ve been off task, from what I hear. Distracted.”

“I’ve done perfectly well in my—”

“Do you think your men respect you for your crown, or your dedication to making your stance in this war known? For being their prince, or a brother in arms? Now a female is driving you away from your duty. Some power-hungry—”

“Commander Archeron isn’t a power-hungry anything. She has no greater focus as a leader in Drakon’s ranks than winning this war. We all know what their next means of elimination would involve.” He clenched his jaw, sick at the thought of Feyre being tortured or killed for her race. “She isn’t High Fae. Her life could become just as treacherous as a human’s if we lose this war.” As if allying with the humans wasn’t a death sentence in itself.

His father took a step closer and froze, nostrils flaring. If someone had reported Rhys’ distraction involving Feyre, he wasn’t sure how the mating bond, common knowledge now amongst the camp, hadn’t been mentioned as well. “What will they think of us?” his father mused, that frigid mask unyielding. “Two generations on the throne mated to lesser fae.”

Rhys would have lashed out for the comment if it wasn’t his mother they were discussing. His father was a monster in a thousand different ways, but he loved his mate, twisted as their union had become. Would he be that kind of male a few hundred years from now? A monster whose obsession broke his lover’s wild spirit? He swallowed. That wasn’t something he could afford to ponder now.

Something flicked across his father’s face. If Rhys didn’t know the male as well as he knew himself, he’d almost think it was guilt. “You’ll be leaving when camp breaks. Your next assignment,” his father finally announced, a slip of parchment appearing between two fingers. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He was still grinding his teeth when he stalked back to his tent, his orders long since misted in his frustration. What he found waiting for him only worsened his mood. 

His mate didn’t have much to move into his tent, but it was still jarring, not seeing a jacket tossed over the back of the wooden chair in the corner. To see one rucksack instead of two. Still holding the tent flap open, a fresh wind rustled a sheet of parchment left on his pillow he was quick to snatch up.

My legion’s being sent to a camp on Montesere’s eastern border. I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye, face to face. I’m sorry, Rhys.

Above all else I hope

He sighed, letting the paper flutter back to his pallet. “You hope what, Feyre?”

~~~~~

Feyre

Thriving, vibrant, steady. 

Endless miles between them and the bond was ever present, liquid starlight singing beneath her skin. It’s why she was so concerned when that singing went quiet. A seizing in her chest, then a void of shadow, the starlight dancing down it winking out in an instant, like water to a flame.

“Rhys,” she breathed. 

The human beside her looked up from his sheaf of papers, raising a brow. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I—”

But that would be a lie, and if the hesitant glint in her companion’s eyes was anything to go by, the inexplicable protectiveness rising in her was written all over her face. Her commander—a seasoned fae warrior—could read her better.

“You have your orders, Archeron. Directly from the High Lord of—”

“We’re not in Prythian, last I checked. Nor am I a citizen of the Night Court. I answer to Prince Drakon.” A male who was not present to take her side in this problem. “The only orders I’m required to follow from my station here are yours. So tell me, are you going to try to keep me from my mate?”

The human was gone within a matter of seconds. She had to look near feral at this point, her worry and fears growing like a wave rising to high tide. “Desertion does not come without consequences, Archeron.”

Feyre lied low for a time, keeping an ear to the ground. The High Lord of Night was a rather unpopular figure among the humans, even belonging to another territory entirely. The estrangement of his son was an even hotter topic. It didn’t take long for Feyre to have confirmation of what she’d long suspected. Been too much of a coward to stick around and ask for herself.  The High Lord had caught wind of her orders and sent Rhys in the opposite direction, right into the heart of the conflict. 

She left in the dead of night, a half-full rucksack and her twin blades her only company, the light of the full moon overhead a newfound comfort.

~~~~~

Rhysand

The pain wasn’t the worst part of it all. Yes, he’d certainly seen better days than these weeks he’d spent as a prisoner of war. But even after being strung up with his open wounds left to become infected in the filth of the woods, it was nothing compared to the guilt eating him alive every time one of his brothers died for the secrets he harbored.

Still, he could not break. He knew that, they knew that. Understood and respected him for it. That didn’t mean their screams wouldn’t haunt him for centuries to come. 

By the third week he had to wall off his heart. Could barely look them in the eyes when the Hybern grunts strung them up to cut open. The one consolation was that his original wish hadn’t been granted. That Cassian was thousands of miles away, a grunt in their own armies. That Azriel remained close to his father in service to the crown. And Feyre… He couldn’t feel the bond between them with the ash in his wings and the strange neutralizing shackles he wore, but he had to believe she too would survive her assignment in Montesere. That she hadn’t fallen into some trap with her battalion and ended up in a position to mirror his own.

That fragile hope was all that kept him going. What still let him spit in the face of his enemy as the next blow hit his fractured rib. He could endure it a while longer. Push down the pain to keep his chin up. They hadn’t found his weakness. Hadn’t realized his wings were the key to breaking him. So he stood his ground. Stood his ground and plotted their downfall.

On the eve of his retaliation, it all began to crash and burn.

They had found where to strike. Not his wings, but his heart. Standing before him, wings crushed painfully against the chest of the Captain in charge of his torture, was his mate. One look at her and that fragile hope was lost, ashes in the wind.

A feral snarl tore out of him, chains rattling as he rallied new strength, fighting like hell to free himself. All he could see was red, blinding rage taking hold of his senses. 

The Hybern soldier chuckled, eyes darting between the pair of them. “Well, well. I bet you thought yourself unbreakable, didn’t you? Tell me, Your Highness,” he mocked, “how will your little mate sing when I carve her up?” An ash dagger cut into the tender flesh of her throat until she let out a soft whimper, blood pooling against the flat of the blade. “Piece, by precious little piece.”

Feyre stiffened, even as he saw a flash of fear in her eyes before she lifted her chin. And after weeks of resistance, Rhys cracked. “Wait. Just… wait.”

“Don’t!” Feyre barked, jerking forward even as it deepened the fresh cut against her throat. 

Then there were two sharp snaps, her flinch of pain silent as her pinky and ring finger contorted, bent too far. “Eight more,” the captain taunted, hauling Feyre up against him when her knees buckled. “Perhaps I’ll save them for later.” Stroking the curve of one wing, he addressed his comrade. “I’ll be needing another set of chains.”

The second male smirked. “Of course, Captain.”

She fought like hell every second it took them to chain her and undiluted pride filled his chest, even now, in such a hopeless situation. Torture, he could handle. Had been trained against it since he was old enough to stand it. Watching his mate come to harm… no one had the means to prepare him for that.

Even with the bond silenced, every strike was a phantom pain inside him. Every snap of bone, every muscle severed, every scream that rang in his ears resonated in his soul. Never once had he imagined himself begging for mercy, but by nightfall his throat was raw with his pleas for her release. 

Trapped, helpless, unable to claim her mind and take her pain, what kind of mate was he to her? But for all his guilt, Feyre held strong. Urged him to hold his silence through all of the pain wrought between them.

So despite being forced to watch them carve her up, burn her flesh—ruin her body and wings bit by bit—that wasn’t what loosened his tongue in the end. What broke him was watching them touch her, by then too weak to stop it, the voice he could confess with lost.

~~~~~

His heart broke when he finally took her in, the dawn light his only aide. Broken at last, exhausted from the feeble fight she could manage under the weight of the Hybern soldier’s who’d taken to using her. “Don’t,” she’d choked in one of the rare moments they had the illusion of privacy. “They won’t stop, either way. Don’t give them what they want.”

They were alone once more, short a time as it would be. There was nothing he wanted more than to speak to her, to comfort her. But bound as they were, he could not take her in his arms. She needed rest, not his half-baked plots and empty promises. What a pathetic plot it seemed now, regardless. His strength was drained in every sense of the word. There would be no getting free to make some grand last stand against Amarantha. Not after this.

Perhaps he should have seen a mercy in Jurian’s arrival. Might have, had he the will to care. Might have, had Jurian actually pulled it off. If he’d repeated his victory against one sister when it came to the next. Might have, had his mate not be struck with a killing blow in the crossfire.

He’d roared then, raging in the way only a mated male could. At last tore his chains free of their anchors, only to be put down by a clever blow from behind and the fatigue earned from these past weeks, the adrenaline fading too rapidly.

The only mercy, it seemed, was the last glimpse of her he was blessed with. After days of agony, she finally seemed at peace.

~~~~~

Taglist: @whatishowedyouinthedark // @sajirah // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

[valkyrie138]

A Court of Ice and Shadow - Chapter 1

Pairing: Half-Seraphim/Half-High Fae OC x Azriel

Summary: After the war against Hybern, Astrid, a young half-seraphim half-high fae, is struggling with a growing power with little to no answers of how or why it's happening. After an incident at her home in Cretea, Miryam and Prince Drakon send her to train with Rhysand.

With the threat of Koschei looming, Azriel has been running himself to the ground, trying to find more information. The search has been a helpful distraction from a certain Archeron sister, but what will happen with the new guest in the house of wind that he seemingly can't stay away from?

Overview: This is an 18+ series, angst, canon-type violence, murder, torture, smut, fluff, etc.

Note: Please be kind. This is my first time writing in a really long time, but I'm always open to constructive criticism. Also, if anyone wants to be an editor, send me a message!

Word Count: 2.3k

Next

»»————-　✼　————-««

Astrid loved this view of Cretea. Lately, it had become her favorite place on the island. She’d often spend her nights atop the Brightwater Palace, the home of Prince Drakon and Lady Miryam. The palace sat atop the most prominent hill on the island, the stone pillars tall enough that they seemed to touch the stars. She loved this view and how she could observe her home below in almost its entirety. Astrid watched as a half-fae left a tavern with flushed cheeks, their human partner struggling to hold them up. The young seraphim wondered how the couple met. Was it stolen looks in a tavern, or did they find comfort in one another after the war? Astrid sighed as her eyes continued to scan the city below her. She missed the nights when she was red-cheeked and giggling with Lucy and Kendra while they stumbled home. But sitting up here and making up stories of those she observed seemed interesting enough. Her eyes drifted through the island streets to the glittering Erythrian sea surrounding them. A small smile crept onto her rosy lips. She really did love this view. The sound of a person landing was what tour her eyes away from it. 

“They really should put a plaque here.” 

“Whatever for, Kendra?” Astrid drawled, looking at her sister-in-arms. Kendra, with sharp green eyes and auburn hair, was the captain of the Seraphim aerial legion. 

“So they can cement this as your spot, obviously. Your ass has made an imprint in the stone. That, at least, deserves a plaque,” Kendra was also a smart ass.

“I’ll make sure to tell Drakon and Miryam that you think my ass deserves such an honor,” she quipped before turning her gaze back to the city. Kendra moved to sit beside her, her feet dangling over the edge. 

“I’m heading to the taverns tonight. Would you like to join me?”

There would be so many people, so many thoughts, so many memories, and so many emotions. Astrid's chest tightened at the thought. She sighed, “Not tonight.” She could feel Kendra’s disappointment wash over her. The captain stared at her for a while, her face contemplative. “Have you told Miryam and Drakon that you’re struggling? If anyone could help, it would be them.”

Astrid, hearing the question, sucked in a breath. There was no real point in trying to lie to Kendra. Astrid may have the daemati power, but Kendra always knew what she was thinking. A small part of Astrid wished she could go back in time and take back that drunk confession from a few moons ago. The moment she told Kendra that this new daemati ability controlled her more than she could control it, Astrid knew Kendra would be on top of her to fix it. 

“No,” Astrid confessed. “Miryam suspects something is going on, though. I’m staying at the palace tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll ask.”

Astrid’s eyes lingered on the Cretea for another moment; she loved this island. But her eyes drifted to the other side of the palace, which looked out across a dark sea. Her mind often wondered what was happening across those blue waves. She had only left Cretea once, and it was to fight in the war against Hybern. No one on the island knew what was happening in Pyrthian for the past 52 years. Astrid felt that growing pain in her chest again, the warm air suddenly feeling like a small fire in her throat. The war had a cost, and the carnage still plagued her nightmares. But she still wondered what was happening in those faraway courts.

“I wonder what she’s doing, too,” whispered Kendra. She meant Lucy, the missing piece of their trio. The pain in Astrid's chest deepened, her heart aching. Lucy had lost her wings during the battle. Astrid was there when it happened,  saw the Hybern soldier shoot her out of the sky, and heard Lucy’s screams as she fell. The memory played in her mind on a loop, and her guilt festered somewhere deep within her. After the battle, Lucy decided to stay in Prythian and start a new life. Neither Astrid nor Kendra had heard from her since. Remembering Kendra’s comment, Astrid only replied with a slight nod. 

“Maybe the High Lord will know,” Kendra added. 

“I do hear that he has eyes everywhere,” Astrid noted. The High Lord of the Night Court would be coming to the palace tomorrow for what she didn’t know. Kendra stood up slowly, wiping her pants lightly. 

“If you aren’t joining me at the taverns tonight, at least get some sleep. You look positively dead,” the captain quipped. 

“You really do know how to flatter me,” Astrid replied, a smirk spread across her face. 

Kendra flew off with a wave over her shoulder. She watched as her friend flew above the streets and disappeared from view. Astrid’s eyes swept across Cretea, the rolling seas, and then settled on the stars above her. On clear nights, she used to sit on the roof of her family's home with her father, counting the stars, finding constellations, and listening to her father tell the stories behind them. She wondered if he was up there, along with her mother and sisters, watching over her. She wondered if they were proud of the female she had become. She felt the fissure deepen in her chest, full of ice and unyielding. She sharply swallowed the feeling, pushing it down, down, down. She couldn’t afford that cracking, the breaking. With a sigh, Astrid reached her arms to the sky as she stretched her back, her white wings fluttering behind her with relief. The hours spent sitting on the stone edge of the palace did nothing for her sore back. Astrid took one last longing look at the sea and the stars as she stood before gazing at Cretea below and flying home. 

»»————-　✼　————-««

The nightmares had plagued Astrid again that night. She awoke struggling to breathe, and ice covered her room, the temperature far below normal. She almost flung herself off the balcony in her room while trying to gulp down fresh air. Her dreams were full of the deaths of her family, and of her fellow soldiers she lost in the war. Their cries still felt like they were still echoing in her ears. The young seraphim stood examining her reflection. Her moon-white hair was pulled back high on her head, with intricate braids starting at her temples. Her midnight-blue eyes were stark against her hair and milk-colored skin. Her eyes drifted to her leathers. She probably should have worn a dress for the meeting with the High Lord, but her nightmares had left her feeling uneasy, the grip on her power slippery. The supple grey leather provided her a comfort that no court dress would. A knock on her door made her tear her eyes from the mirror.

“Come in, Dalia,” she said, turning toward the door. Dalia was a half-fae, half-seraphim like herself, who was well over half a century old but would never confirm her age. She was also positively senile.

“Astrid, you couldn’t have deigned to wear a dress today!” The old female exclaimed as she set down a tray of pastries. Most would take Dalia’s tone toward Astrid as rude. But the seraphim knew how the old hag felt about her. Astrid loved her; she was like an overbearing grandmother, with her braided grey hair and small, frail body. 

“You know I just like being prepared for anything,” Astrid winked at her as she continued, “I’m guessing the bat is about to land on our shores.” 

Dalia rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly, “You should mind your tongue. He should be arriving soon, and I pray to the mother that you don’t converse this way with the High Lord.” 

 Astrid smiled at the old female, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, Dalia, I only reserve this way of conversation with you.” 

“You are going to send me to an early grave,” Dalia quipped as she sat before the fireplace.

“I keep you young, old hag.” Another knock sounded on her door. The smell of sea and hydrangea wafted in Astrid’s nose, “Come in, Miryam.” 

The dark-haired lady slipped through the door, her sage green eyes immediately falling on Astrid.

“I’ll have to tell Drakon he owes me thirty gold marks. I knew you would wear your leathers today.” She smirked as she crossed the room to sit across from Dalia, picking up a pastry as she sat. 

“I told her she should have worn a dress today,” replied the ancient female as she stood. “Now, I will see you later, and please remember to watch your tongue around the High Lord." With that, Dalia slipped from the room. Astrid could feel Miryam's emotions shift from ease to concern. With a small sigh, she sat beside the princess, her palms sweating. 

“I brought you something,” Miryam said as she pulled a rectangular jewelry box from behind her back. Astrid took it from her before resting it on her lap. The red velvet was smooth beneath her fingertips. Lifting the lid, a lump formed in her throat. In the box was a silver warrior’s diadem; it had carvings of feathers and wings sprouted near where it would meet her ears and a large sapphire shaped like a teardrop in the middle. The lump seemed to grow in her throat, an ache beginning to form in her chest, her eyes burning. 

“This was my mother's,” Astrid croaked. 

“It was always going to go to one of you,” Miryam paused while Astrid tried to shove this feeling of despair down till she couldn’t feel anymore. This diadem was going to go to one of her sisters, not her, if they hadn’t been murdered. If she hadn’t- “your mother would want you to have it.” Miryam finished as she delicately picked up the finery and placed it on Astrid’s head. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror; the circlet was the most ornate thing she had ever worn. 

“You look so much like her,” Miryam smiled at her. “She and your father would be proud to see that on you.” She supposed they would. The circlet had been her mother's, but instead of a stone of sapphire, her mother's was emerald green. Her mother was a high fae from the Winter Court before the war, where she met her father. After coming to Cretea, her mother was Miryam's hand, which meant she was officially part of the royal court. Her parents would be proud if they were still alive. The burning in her chest only seemed to grow at the idea. She shouldn’t be the one wearing it; her parents should still be here, and her sisters should be too, and it was her fault they weren’t. Her skin began to tingle, her throat dry and hot. Astrid quickly took the circlet off her head, its weight feeling too much. 

“Astrid?” She looked at the princess. Miryam’s eyes were wide, and her feeling of worry was closing in on her. “We might not be blood, but you are part of this family. Whatever is going on in that mind of yours…let me help.” Her voice was soft and empathetic as if she were speaking to a skittish deer.

Astrid gulped. The knot in her throat slid down to her stomach, heavily nestling itself there. “I’ve been…struggling.” She couldn’t meet Miryam's eyes as she said it, the dread of admitting she didn’t have a handle on her power. She didn’t know how the princess would even be able to help, but she continued, “I can handle getting into other's minds and shutting them out, most of the time, but” she paused, trying to find the words, “I can feel everyone's emotions all the time, I can’t escape them. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shut them out. It’s honestly…suffocating. And it sometimes just becomes too much to control at once.” 

Miryam didn’t say anything at first, just grabbing the circlet from Astrid's hands and placing it back on her head. Light green eyes stared at her as a wave of reassurance and determination washed over her. 

“The High Lord, Rhysand, you know he is a close friend. One of the few who knew this island existed before Hybern. He’s a very powerful daemati, and so is his mate. If you're comfortable, we can ask him for some assistance during dinner.” 

Astrid sucked in a deep breath. It would be embarrassing to admit to a High Lord that she couldn’t master this dumb power, and not many were privy to the knowledge of Astrid’s powers. It was unusual for fae to gain new powers as they aged. The seraphim was young in fae terms, only seventy-six, but her power was growing and expanding to levels even the oldest fae on Cretea weren’t familiar with. She had spent hours in Cretea’s library with their oldest scholars, trying to find answers. Still, because her people found refuge here, their libraries were considerably less dense than those in Prythian. Since the war, her daemati abilities have grown to feel others' emotions. And after the war, none of the feelings were good. These past months, she had found herself drowning in it, the sorrows of those around her suffocating her. After a while, she stayed in her townhouse, never leaving unless going to the palace. She knew she couldn’t live like this forever; Astrid only nodded in response before she felt a slight panic snake around her chest, a foreign feeling, not her own or Miryam’s. 

           “I believe the High Lord is here,” Astrid replied, knowing the time for this conversation was over. Miryam only gave her a soft smile of reassurance before taking hold of her hand. Together, they walked down Brightwater Palace halls, the seafoam-marbled floors and tall white pillars surrounding them. Standing at the home entrance was one of the most handsome man Astrid had ever seen. 

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 16: The Bracelets

Thanks again for keeping this story alive!!! Chapter 15 was posted a few moments ago, so make sure you read that first! Please leave comments on the story and art ❤️

26 Days until competition

“What do you mean you don't want to spend time with me?” Azriel questioned playfully. Socked feet propped up on the coffee table, Azriel stretched his body as he held his phone, content to watch Elain who had been frantically running around her kitchen for thirty minutes. 

On the other end of the video call, Elain snickered as she put the finishing touches on the cooled down cake. It was a simple red velvet cake covered in thick cream cheese frosting. 

“That is not what I said at all,” She chuckled, smoothing out the icing with a butter knife. “Nesta is having a girls’ night. I figured it would be good if I went for a little while.”

Azriel's heart squeezed in his chest. The meeting with Miryam and Drakon had been one of his best ideas. It’d only been a few days since then, but there was no trace of the doubts that had previously plagued her brain. She’d needed a reminder of what skating was all about. A reminder that she was strong and capable, and could give herself permission to be entertained. To open her heart and let love, any kind of love, burrow its way in. 

They’d spent a good two and a half hours at the Snowspell rink, jumping between showing the married couple their ice dance routine, and carefully learning intricate lifts only allowed in the pairs skating program. Miryam talked Elain’s ear off, sharing early stories of her and Drakon’s relationship while Drakon relentlessly teased Azriel any chance he got about the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. After they’d left the rink, Elain’s joy could be felt across Prythian. Azriel had dreamed of Elain’s lips on his cheek that same night. 

“I didn't realize you were so hellbent on seeing me anyway,” Elain taunted, licking the frosting from the knife when she’d finished. There was something so erotic about this sweet, soft woman licking what could double as a deadly weapon. 

“Spending time with you is the best part of my week,” Azriel answered truthfully, adjusting so that one arm was underneath his head. “There's nothing better.” 

“Not even hockey?” She asked quietly, doe eyes wide in surprise as she gingerly sprinkled pink hearts onto the cake. He’d gotten lost in those eyes on more than one occasion. He’d also caught those pretty brown eyes looking at him in a way she never had before. Almost as if he’d finally become something more to her than just a skating partner. More than just a friend. His cheeks warmed at the possibility. 

Azriel spoke softly, “No, not even that.” And it wasn’t a lie. Everything else dulled in comparison to spending whatever little time he could with her. 

“And what will you do while I am occupied tonight?” Either a genuine question, or a way to squash the palpable tension that could be felt even across a video call.

“Maybe I'll throw my own guys’ night,” He suggested, though a night alone was tempting. 

“Whatever you do, do not corrupt my nephew,” She said, pointing the knife at the camera. 

“I wouldn’t dream of stealing Cassian’s job.” A moment passed before he said more solemnly, “Promise me you’ll call if you need me for anything.” 

Elain’s face flushed. She wondered if her cheeks would always heat or her heart would always glow when he showed just how much he cared about her. “I promise.” 

Elain stood outside Nesta's door with the cake cradled between her hands. Her cheeks were tinted pink from the wind, matching the sprinkles on the sweet treat. Laughter erupted from behind the door, and Elain decided she couldn’t flee now even if she wanted to. A very tipsy Nesta had spotted her through the window and ran to fling open the door, enveloping Elain in a warm embrace. With a laugh, Elain gently scolded her older sister for almost crushing the cake. 

The inside of Nesta’s home smelled like cinnamon, embers from the fireplace, and three different types of alcohol. On the couch, Feyre lounged with a glass of red wine as dark as the accent pillows. Two girls sat on the floor, a brunette and a redhead, with a giant unopened box between them. 

“Am I late?” Elain asked sheepishly, nodding her hellos. She turned to Nesta. “You said to come over at eight. How are you already tipsy?” 

“No comment,” Nesta slurred, patting Elain’s cheeks. She must have had a few drinks before anyone arrived. “And you’re right on time. Elain, meet Emerie and Gwyn. Emerie teaches mixed martial arts here in the Night Region, and Gwyn owns a vocal studio in Summer.” 

All three girls flashed bright grins between each other. Elain placed the cake down on the kitchen table and said softly, “I baked a cake. I hope everyone likes red velvet.” 

Everyone did, in fact, enjoy red velvet cake. The treat was gone within the hour, along with most of Feyre’s delicately crafted charcuterie board. Gwyn’s exotic fruit tray had also been a hit, and the drinks were flowing and constantly being refilled. Bottles of wine, liquor, and even sparkling ciders were quickly becoming empty. 

Elain, to her sisters’ shock, had indulged in perhaps one too many drinks as well. She’d burst open from her shell, nodding along to Gwyn’s stories and laughing loudly at Emerie’s drunk antics. Feyre’s eyes glittered as she and Elain drunkenly swayed to music, and Nesta’s cackle could be heard all the way in Day region at Elain’s attempts at filthy jokes. 

“What’s in the box?” Elain motioned toward Gwyn, who eagerly unsnapped the locks and turned it around for everyone to get a better look. Elain’s hazy eyes took a moment to focus. 

“One of my vocal kiddos brought me this bracelet kit for Solstice last year,” She beamed, fiddling with the bracelet strings before passing them around. “I haven’t found time to make any yet, so I figured tonight would be perfect. Silly, harmless fun. There’s enough for me to make bracelets for all my students and for you all too, if you’d like.” 

Elain accepted her string, rubbing it between her fingers. In all her twenty six years, she’d never experienced something as simple as making a beaded bracelet with friends. Lighthearted, easy fun had never been a choice. 

And now it was.

So she grabbed another string, scooped a pile of beads and charms from the box, and permitted herself to create a memory that in years time, she’d hold dear to her heart. 

The last bottle of wine had just been cracked open as the doorbell shrieked. Emerie, closest to the door, opened it and blinked. 

“We heard there was a party.” 

Elain watched Nesta’s head whip toward the front door, mouth falling open as Cassian stomped into the house, followed closely by Rhys and…

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, not as quiet as she thought. His gaze found hers immediately, shooting a wink in her direction. 

She didn’t know where to look first. 

The short sleeve black shirt that seemed to suffocate his arms.

The gray sweatpants that hung loosely off his hips. 

The backward black cap. 

The molten hazel eyes. 

The smirk that always sent her heart into overdrive. 

She didn’t know where to look first, so she just…looked. 

And if he gave her shit about it, or tried to joke about her ogling him, she’d blame it on the three and a half glasses of wine she’d consumed. 

Elain stood, blocking out Rhys and Feyre’s conversation about Nyx’s bedtime routine with their sitter named Madja, and completely ignoring Cassian’s lame attempts at flirting with Nesta (who only seemed to be enjoying said attempts due to the large amount of vodka in her system). 

She walked right over to Azriel, whose grin was blinding. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What have you been up to, beautiful? You look like you’ve been having a good time.” 

Elain offered a lazy smile of her own, extending her hand and wiggling her fingers as the other was clenched behind her back. “Follow me.” She led him to the back porch, sticking out her tongue at Cassian’s wolf whistle (which earned him a smack on the chest from Nesta), before shutting the door for privacy. 

“I got you something,” Elain said, shaking her head at the mistake. Giggles erupted from her throat. “Well, technically, I made you something.” In a movement so swift she almost lost her balance, she presented her clenched fist toward him, revealing a pair of bracelets. She looked up at him, eyes wide. “I know you have my necklace, but now we have matching good luck charms, too.” 

Azriel blinked. 

Elain bit her lip, stained cherry red from the wine. “Is it stupid? We don’t have to wear them. They’re probably not good anyway since I’m a bit tipsy and couldn’t really see the colors of the beads but–.”

“Put it on me.” 

The rambling paused. “What?” 

He presented his wrist, saying thickly, “Put it on me.” 

A relieved breath escaped her lips as she secured the pink bracelet around his wrist. It took her five tries to finally knot the string, playfully pouting when Azriel teased her about watching her alcohol intake. The middle beads made up her name, and the blue bracelet she had him tie around her own wrist featured his name, too. A claiming of the sort. 

“Miryam told me that she and Drakon used to wear a matching set of rings on the day of their competition to bring them luck,” Elain hiccupped, covering her mouth when another set of drunken giggles left her mouth. Azriel leaned against the back of a chair on the porch, arms crossed and eyes mesmerized by the current state of his partner. “Cresseida and Varian have matching warm-up jackets, and I know Kallias and Viviane have each other’s initials tattooed on the inside of their wrists. They kiss the tattoos before they skate. I wanted us to have something, too. Even if it’s just a silly beaded bracelet made after one too many glasses of merlot.” 

Elain felt herself being pulled into Azriel’s chest. She sank into him, nuzzling her face into the fabric of his shirt. He held her to him, fingers running through her honey-gold strands. 

“I hope you know I’m never taking this off,” Azriel said, lips brushing against her hair. She smelled faintly of jasmine, honey, and the wine she’d consumed. Familiar and intoxicating. 

Elain, arms still wrapped tightly around Azriel’s torso, tilted her head back to say, “That’s the point.” 

They were content to embrace each other in the dark of the night. At least, Azriel truly was. But it was Elain who pulled away first, just enough so there was a sliver of space between their bodies. Azriel folded his arms over his chest, face easy as he watched Elain look him over unabashedly. 

“Checking me out?” He teased, lips quirking. 

He expected her to flush like she always did. And of course she did. But the rose color that blossomed high on her cheeks was accompanied by a sultry voice. “And if I am?” 

She stepped forward again, and Azriel audibly swallowed as her fingernail traced the dark ink along his bicep. Her movements were slow, exploratory, and hell he could do nothing but stand there and let her touch him. 

Her fingers grazed the tattoos on his neck next. Azriel bit his lip to stifle a groan before murmuring, “Then that makes two of us.” 

Indeed, because he was growing less subtle whenever his eyes lingered on her body over the last few days. The urge to touch her, taste her, had been far more consuming now than in the beginning of their partnership. 

But he wouldn’t touch her, nor would he taste her. 

Not yet. 

Not in this state. 

“Az?” She whispered into the night, index finger tracing the sharpness of his jaw, the outline of his lips. His pants visibly tightened, and he prayed to whatever entity existed that she didn’t look down, lest she be uncomfortable. 

“Mm?” 

“What’s it like?” She asked softly, thumbing the plushness of his bottom lip. Her eyes focused on his mouth, savoring the warmth of his breath, before saying, “To be kissed?” 

Every piece of Azriel froze. 

His thoughts and his bones and his blood and his breathing and his heart. Time was suspended as he let the question sink in.

“I’ve never been kissed before,” Elain went on, eyes a shade of deep brown. Azriel couldn’t, wouldn’t, tear his own gaze away from her. Not while she was looking at him as if she might ravish him wholly. “And I’ve never kissed anyone myself but I…” She swallowed then, the only outward show of nerves. “I think I’d like to kiss you one day.” 

Azriel’s heart leaped. He didn’t care that her words were a bit slurred and thick from the wine. Didn’t care that she was revealing a piece of herself while she wasn’t sober. Despite the alcohol in her veins, he knew her words were truthful. “I think I’d like to kiss you, too.” 

One moment, Elain’s eyes were roving over his face, his body, and her hands were tracing and gently gripping any sliver of exposed skin. The next second, her lips quivered and eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “But I can’t.” 

Azriel’s face fell, and he gripped her wrist in his hand, their bracelets glinting in the moonlight as he cradled her hand against his cheek. “Why not?” He asked in a broken rasp. 

Elain pulled away, although every instinct in her body told her not to. He looked visibly in pain, as if her words had sliced through his chest. “There’s too many reasons why we can’t do this. As much as I want to, we just…can’t.” 

He would get no more information out of her, he knew. So he accepted her answer with a curt nod of his head and released her wrist. He already missed the feeling of her skin. 

“I have a pretty good idea what some of those reasons are,” Azriel said. “But let me just say one thing.” And because he was a greedy bastard, he stepped forward and placed either of his hands on the sides of her neck, thumbs stroking her skin. Beneath her neck, he could feel the rapid thrum of her pulse. “If any of your reservations are because of…me…I need you to know I would never force you, never pressure you, to do anything. If anything ever happens between us, it will be on your terms, when you are ready.” 

Elain’s eyes flashed, Azriel’s face the depiction of wary. Full of conviction, she said, “None of those reasons are because of you, Azriel. Please never think that. I trust you with my body as much as I trust you with my life.” 

Azriel groaned, forehead bumping against hers. “Fuck, Elain. Tell me you understand I’d take care of you. Tell me you know that.” 

She nodded sheepishly. 

“No,” Instinctually, he gripped her chin between his fingers, never hard enough to cause pain. Only to keep her there with him just a bit longer. “Tell me.” 

She stood straighter, chest brushing against his own. Elain gauged the raw emotion in his eyes and said, “I know you would take care of me. In every way possible if I allowed you to.”

Azriel dipped his chin once, kissing her nose before breathing, “Good.” And because his mouth was just a hair's breadth away from her lips, and because the temptation to claim her was so strong, he pulled away and offered, “How about I take you home, yeah? You look like you’re going to pass out any minute.” 

Elain chuckled after stifling a well timed yawn. In her tipsy haze, she whispered, “Only if you promise to carry me to my bed if I fall asleep in the car.” 

And yes, Elain had fallen asleep within minutes of strapping her seatbelt. It took Azriel a moment to fish out her apartment key from her purse, but once he found it, he carefully maneuvered Elain out of his car, cradling her to his chest as he expertly unlocked the door. 

Even without the promise, he still would have carried her to bed anyway. The thought of changing her into something more comfortable infiltrated his mind, but he decided against it. He wasn't sure how she would feel in the morning if she knew he had seen her, if only for a brief moment, in a vulnerable state. 

So he laid her on the bed, peeling off her shoes before securing her under the puffy, white comforter blanket. After some rummaging in her bathroom cabinets, he found a pack of makeup remover wipes, and gingerly scrubbed her face. Even with all of the jostling, she remained fast asleep and as peaceful as a dove. 

Azriel knew he should’ve left right then, but he perched himself on the side of her bed and gently stroked her now makeup free cheek. He knew what this feeling meant inside his chest. The feeling he wanted to let erupt, but one he had to keep contained until she felt the same way. 

“You have my heart, Elain Archeron,” He whispered into the silent night, kissing her cheek before he stood from the bed. “I hope one day you let me into yours.” 

ARTWORK FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[velarisbeautyqueen]

A COURT OF SHADOWS AND DAYLIGHT Chapter One

Masterlist

warnings: swearing!

the room was tense, as if any movement too sudden would set everybody off. they had come to a cross roads in their fight against hybern. they needed allies, desperately. they decided to send a letter to each other high lord and their court, offering a peaceful talk on how they can work together to solve this issue. awaiting the responses on said letters has left every on edge.

how many allies did they have among the courts? day seemed like a safe bet, helion and rhys were familiar and friendly. though, it would prove a harder fight to win courts like autumn or summer to their side. a few months ago, summer would have been an easy ally, but after the whole blood rubies fiasco, rhys could only hope tarquin was sensible enough to look past their prior….. indiscretions.

“we barely stand a chance of surviving hybern’s armies on our own. If armies from vallahan, montesere, and rask joined them…” cassian sighed and drew a line across his tanned throat.

“are those three territories…. powerful?” feyre winced after the words had slipped from her mouth. it seemed a foolish question.

“yes,” azriel responded with no judgement in his hazel eyes. “vallahan has the numbers, montesere has the money, and rask… it is large enough to have both.”

“so we have no potential allies amongst the other overseas territories?”

rhys sighed heavily, leaning back in his armchair and pulled at a stray string on his cuff, “not one’s that would sail here to help.”

feyre’s stomach turned, “what of miryam and drakon? you fought for miryam and drakon centuries ago… perhaps it’s time to call in that debt.”

but rhys just shook his head, “we tried. azriel went to cretea.”

“it was abandoned, in ruin.” azriel added, shadows stirring behind him as they always did. “with no trace of what happened or where they went.”

“you think that hybern-”

“there was no sign of hybern, or of any harm,” mor cut in, her face taut.

“then you think they heard of hybern and ran?” feyre asked.

“the miryam and drakon i knew wouldn’t have run- not from this,” rhys responded.

the atmosphere of the room was suffocating. they were doomed. the army of hybern was a force rhysand had a feeling he nor anybody else in the room could even contemplate.

“there’s really nobody else?” feyre’s voice trembled slightly- betraying her dismay.

rhysand looked down at his hands for a moment, at a loss for what to do next.

“you know you can always call upon me, my sweet”

the words sent a shiver up his spine. his eyes darted to feyre, almost questioning if she had heard anything. her face showed no reaction, only contemplation at the challenge of gathering allies. a memory. that’s what the voice inside of his head had been. one he had not thought about in well over one hundred years.

“eowyn ” the high lord choked out. “we can call upon eowyn, and she will come.”

it was silent for a moment, but only a moment,

“i'm sorry, what the fuck is an eowyn?” cassian asked, eyebrows arching, “and how is it going to help us with hybern?”

"yeah rhys! i've never once heard you mention anybody or anything by the name of eowyn" mor chirped in from the right side of the room, wine glass in hand. azriel's eyes which usually lingered on the blonde, were downturned toward the ground.

eowyn…

the room was silent for another several beats, before rhysand jumped to his feet from his chair, pushing the still spinning seat away from his body. before he even knew were he was going, his feet carried him up, up, up the stairs into his office. he was frantic.

"rhys!" feyre called after her mate, her feet carrying her to follow after her mate.

throwing open the heavy oak door, not even cringing with it ricocheted off the wall behind it as he normally would, rhys pushed his way into the room. his eyes bounced around the room, alit with something almost fiery, trying desperately to remember where the last place he had seen that damned locket was. a vicious curse fell from his lips as he threw himself to his knees in front of his desk, his hands delving into the depths the drawers, he began rummaging through. pushing past the files of taxes, geneology, and other nonsense he could not be bothered with at the moment, he huffed in frustration.

several pairs of footsteps had come rushing up the stairs behind him but rhys did not slow his exploration for his audience. he needed to find that fucking locket. a snarl fell from his lips, quickly contorting his body to the other side, before promptly ripping into that drawer as well.

“where the fuck is it?!” he hissed, “don’t play these fucking games with me eowyn,”

"what the fuck is going on...?" cassian mummered to his fellow audiance, all gathered away from their manic high lord.

amren only smirked from where she had perched herself on the arm of a loveseat, "it seems our high lord has been hiding a few more secrets from us than we had anticipated." she did not look angry or upset, no... there was a hint of mischif gleaming in her ancient eyes. mor was frowning, as was feyre. what was rhys not telling them? how long had he been sitting on this secret 'eowyn.'

abandoning the search of the desk, rhys stood and almost threw himself towards the bookcase lining the back wall.

“maybe, if you tell us what you’re looking for…” feyre spoke up, glancing away from rhys for a moment to look for support among her family.

"it has to be around here somewhere..."rhys mumbled to himself, ignoring any help in searching for the missing item.

the high lady’s eyebrows pinched together, confusion flushing her features. why was he ignoring them all? even the spymaster azriel couldn't recall a time rhys had made mention of an 'eowyn.'

“ah-ha!!” rhys’ triumphant cry echoed through the room. held firmly in his grasp was a necklace. feyre and the others could only look on in confusion.

“and what is that going to do to help us-“ cassian was cut off by a harsh snarl falling from the lips of his high lord. the high lord cradled the delicate chain in his hands, fingers gently reaching out to stroke the runes engraved in the metal charm. 'Ueipie trtefraret yawi nlaki'

“wyn… i need you,” rhys’ voice sounded defeated, exhausted and feyre’s soul ached for the weight upon her mates shoulders. “i need you to come here and save my ass,” he mummered into close enough to the locket that his lips brushed the cold metal. “please, wyn. you know i wouldn’t ask if i wasn’t desperate,”

feyre couldn’t only watch as rhys hesitated for a moment, before tightening his hands on the locket before slipping it into his chest pocket. the confusion must have been written plain across her face, because when he turned to her- rhys only sighed.

“i first met eowyn when i was around sixteen,” he started. a deep sigh left his lungs as he looked around the state of his office. files and nick-nacks were not everywhere, clear evidence of his frantic search for the communication device. “my father and hers had been... friends a long time ago, im not too sure how they originally came into contact with each other, but they formed a bond, a connection..”

“her family came to visit us, here in velaris,” it was most unusual. most formal guests were greeted and stayed within the hewn city. “she was here for maybe… a month,”

“where were we?!” cassian butted in, demanding to know why he had no knowledge of the woman.

“at windhaven, remember when i came back home with my mother for the month of june that one year, you and az were alone in the cabin… if i recall you had tanwyn over quite a lot.”

cassian only nodded for rhys to continue on with his story.

"we... she and i grew close, and when her and her family left at the end of the month, we stayed in contact. i didn't see her again, until the first war with hybern. her father's armies came in defence of our side, my father was the one who called upon him. she came with him and..." rhys hesitated before going on, his eyes landing on feyre. his sweet, kind, caring mate. the second half of his soul.

"and we fell in love," a small smile graced his lips, recalling a time long, long ago. "we fell in love and i-i asked her to marry me. i thought it would be a smart political move, to bind our two people together. and she, i think she wanted to say yes, but..." he trailed off.

silence. a deadly silence filled the room. feyre's heart sputtered in her heart. her mate, had been so in love with this woman, he had proposed marriage to her? and he had never even spoken of her...?

rhys didn't speak again for a moment, throwing himself into his desk chair, with a deep sigh. "eowyn is elvish. princess of the elvish people, ruler of the oak ridge empire," he explained. elves? feyre's head spun, hand gripping onto mor's for moral support. "the elves take the mating bond seriously, more seriously than us. they will hardly ever marry if not to their mate, they wait hundreds of years, and do as they please in that time... i thought she loved me too, and i think she did in a way, but..."

"when the war ended, and her father and their men made to head back to Vynkar, their capital city, she decided she was going with them. but she told me that if i ever needed her, if i ever was in need of her help, all i had to to was speak into this necklace.. i was just- so full of rage at her after she left, i thought she took my heart with her.''

feyre could only gape at her mate. her hands hung limply by her sides. she was not angry, not truly beyond the possessive nature that threatened to claw this woman, eowyn's eyes out. rhys was much, much older than her, of course he had his share of romantic interests before her, but to imagine a world she found rhysand, and he was taken by another... her stomach clenched.

"i thought that until i met you, feyre darling. you are my whole heart, but now we need to call eowyn and beg for her aid. we will not stand a chance against hybern without her and her armies,"

feyre drew in a long, deep breath before nodding her head. she was the high lady, and she was stronger than letting an old flame upset her. "you're right, we will need her. if she commands the armies you're implying... she will be our greatest asset."

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺⌝❜❛⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

this is my first acotar fanfiction ever! comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Baby Sister

A/N: Happy @nestaarcheronweek everyone! I'm super excited for all the content I have to share and all the content I'm sure others will be posting this week! We're starting off with a doozy for Day One: Sister. One of my biggest gripes with SJM has always been the fact it's very obvious she doesn't have sisters. I recognize I may be biased by my own relationship with my sister, but something always felt like it was falling a bit flat at times throughout the series for me personally. So, I thought I'd do a bit of a rewrite of the scene where Nesta tells Feyre about the pregnancy. Most of the dialogue at the beginning is pulled directly from ACOSF. Also, I recognize this may not be everyone's cup of tea, so if it's not for you, simply don't read it. I won't be offended. But for those who do, I hope you enjoy :)

Read on AO3

“The problem is the birth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Illyrian females have a pelvis shaped specifically for children with wings to pass through. High Fae females do not. And when a child has wings, they can get stuck during labor.” Cassian’s face goes pale beneath the bruises. “Most females die, the babes with them. There’s no way for magic to help, short of fracturing a female’s pelvis to widen it for birthing. Which might kill the babe anyway.”

“Feyre is going to die?” Nesta’s words are a whisper. For a heartbeat every bit of spite, of anger, of bitterness fades away, pure, clear panic replacing it.

“A few do survive.” Cassian makes to rub his face, then stops before he can press the bruises. “But the labor is so brutal that many of them either come close to death or are so altered by it that they can’t have another child.”

“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 frowns at that. She thinks back to the last time she saw Feyre, the way she had been practically glowing, blue eyes alight with happiness and motherly joy. The way her hand had rested gently on her swelling stomach, thumb rubbing soothing circles for the babe growing inside. The babe that may be Feyre’s death, and her sister doesn’t even know. Blissful, blind ignorance.

“All of you that grew up here?” Nesta asks, turning Cassian’s words over in her mind again. “So the whole Court is aware of what this means?”

Cassian shifts slightly in his seat, tilting his head and peering across the table at Nesta. “If there is a way to save Feyre from a death sentence, Rhys will find it. He’s heading to Drakon and Miryam’s island tomorrow. And Mor is making discreet inquiries at the Fae courts on the continent. Even the priestesses are searching the archives and records. We’ll figure it out.”

“But Feyre will not know?”

“Does your sister not deserve a happy pregnancy with no worries?”

Anger flares through Nesta’s veins like a wildfire, simmering beneath her skin until her grip on the handle of her teacup tightens to near white-knuckled. Until her chest and lungs feel tight with the smoke of those flames. How dare he. How dare he turn this around on her. How dare he make her sound like the wretch, sound as though she’s the one who does not care for Feyre’s wellbeing, by questioning this.

How dare they all.

A Court of Dreamers, they call themselves, priding themselves on creating a place where females always have a choice as they tell her, and yet, they do not even inform their High Lady of the dire consequences that may be waiting for her in the shadows. They allow her to paint a mural on the walls of the nursery, allow her to speak excitedly of a future that she might not even have. It’s not right, none of this is right, and it has Nesta’s stomach roiling, the eggs she had been nibbling on for breakfast suddenly sour and heavy.

She thinks back to the first time she held Feyre, back to that time when their father had placed the tiny, wriggling babe carefully into Nesta’s arms. Feyre’s face had been all scrunched up, but then her eyes had opened, wide and blue and a near identical shade to Nesta’s own. She had blinked up at Nesta, staring up at her with those pinked cheeks and nose. For a moment, Nesta hadn’t known what to do, holding something so small, so precious, but then warmth and awe had flooded her chest until her heart felt full, felt on the brink of bursting.

She had understood then, holding her baby sister.

And though they had both grown claws as they got older, though they had certainly used those claws to tear the other down through the years, Feyre was still that baby sister in her arms that she’d sworn to love and protect. She’s still that baby sister in Nesta’s arms even today. That sister who vanished into the woods to do what needed to be done for the family. That sister that Nesta tried to tear through the Wall to get back.

And she’ll keep trying to tear through that Wall for Feyre, no matter what shape it takes. She will not let her baby sister die, and she certainly won’t let her die unknowingly, this Court and all of Prythian be damned.

Nesta sets down her teacup, determination settling like steel through her bones. The clatter is loud enough to break the silence that had settled in the dining room that Cassian jumps slightly at the sound. He looks up at her, and whatever he sees on her expression has his eyes widening, panic beginning to creep into the maze of golds and greens. He swallows hard and sets down his fork slowly, as if he expects the movement to spook her.

“I’m calling in our bargain,” Nesta declares, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Nesta—”

“No,” Nesta snaps, cutting him off, her tone cool and leaving no room for an argument. “I’ve decided my favor. You are going to fly me down to where Feyre is, and you are not allowed to speak until my sister knows the truth of her pregnancy.”

“Nes…” Cassian chokes out, but it seems the magic has already taken hold, preventing any other words from falling past his lips.

Cassian’s back bows over the table, a pained hiss bleeding through his clenched teeth. Nesta’s own back tingles and burns, her tattoo searing away at the bargain finally being completed. She stands up from her chair, straightening out the skirts of her dress with cool poise before making her way out of the dining room and toward the large doors that lead out to the balcony, shoulders back and head held high. She can hear Cassian’s slow, heavy footfalls behind her, the Illyrian clearly trying desperately to fight against the magic still.

The chilly, morning breeze skitters across Nesta’s skin as she steps onto the balcony, the pale blue hue of the sky above a contrast of the conversation to come. Nesta turns around to face Cassian expectantly. His jaw is clenched, lips pressed firmly together, and though he cannot say anything, the anger burning in his hazel eyes says enough. Nesta steps gingerly closer to him, allowing Cassian to scoop her up into his arms. His wings flare wide over his shoulders, and then they’re taking off into the air.

Nesta is surprised that they land in the grass around the back of Feyre’s home, but then she notices the doors opened wide, an easel placed just inside and hiding the face of the painter behind it. At the sound of their landing, Feyre’s head peeks out from behind her canvas, her eyebrows dipping down low in confusion as she watches Cassian set Nesta down on her feet.

“Nesta? Cassian?” Feyre asks, setting down the brush in her hand. “What are you two doing here?”

“I need to speak with you,” Nesta explains, striding forward across the lawn.

“Alright…” Feyre agrees, confusion still coloring her tone, as she stands up. “Let’s go inside then. I’ll make us some tea and we can talk.”

Nesta curls her fingers around Feyre’s wrist, halting her movements. “Right now.”

Feyre turns back around, her mouth pinching in a frown, but she clasps both of Nesta’s hands in her own. “Okay. What is it?”

Nesta swallows hard, suddenly at a loss for words, not knowing where to begin. “Perhaps we should sit down first after all.”

“You’re beginning to worry me. Is everything alright?”

Despite her words, Feyre turns again and leads them into the sitting room nearby. She and Nesta settle on one the loveseats, Cassian looming in the doorway. Feyre eyes him with clear concern and worry, the anger still clear on his expression despite his stony silence. Nesta gives her sister’s hands a squeeze, drawing her attention back to her.

“Feyre, you are my sister. My baby sister, and I—”

Nesta pauses, desperately clawing to find the right words to say, but what are the right words? Are there ever any right words to tell your sister of the cruel fate she’s been dealt, that may be poised to strike down her joy and her future in one fatal swing? She tries to pull from the demure politeness their mother had drilled into Nesta as a child, but there is no way to change this ugly truth with pretty words. There is no softening of this crushing blow. Nesta will be responsible for the lightness on Feyre’s face fading, but she knows it is the right thing to do. Knows that she cannot sit idly by while her sister is kept in the dark. Knows that if there is one thing Feyre cares most about, it’s no secrets.

“Your babe has wings,” Nesta finally breathes, her voice shaky.

Feyre’s worry and confusion melts away, giving way for a wide smile, her hand settling on her stomach as she peers down at it. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? He’ll know his Illyrian heritage.”

“It will kill you.”

Feyre’s smile falls away then, and she blinks a few times before finding her voice again. “What?”

“You’re not Illyrian, so when the time comes, the wings will get stuck, and you will die.”

“How do you know that?” Feyre whispers, blinking against the water beginning to line her eyes.

“Cassian told me this morning at breakfast, and I came here immediately after,” Nesta explains, giving her sisters a hand a squeeze in what she hopes is reassurance. “It seems your whole Court knows the implications, that your mate has instructed them not to inform you, but I do not care what he thinks or says because you are my sister, and you deserve to know.”

Feyre continues to blink a few times, clearly trying to process Nesta’s words, trying to process this new information, the weight of them. Her brows furrow deeper, lip finding home between her teeth as she worries it. Slowly, her gaze raises again, but not to Nesta. Instead, she looks toward the door to where Cassian still stands.

“Cassian…?” Feyre begins tentatively.

Cassian lets out a quiet gasping breath, almost doubling over as magic courses through him. Not allowed to speak until Feyre knows the truth of her pregnancy, those were the terms of the favor. He’s quick to still turn a glare in Nesta’s direction, jaw still clenched, disapproval at this entire turn events clear across his expression, but when he finally turns his attention to the High Lady, his face softens.

“Feyre…” Cassian starts to plead, unable to fully meet her eyes, the guilt creeping into his face, in the way that he grimaces at his failed words.

“So it’s true then,” Feyre laughs humorlessly, shaking her head. “And none of you thought to tell me?”

“We will figure this out,” Nesta jumps in to reassure Feyre, pulling her sister’s attention back to her. “I will scour the whole library myself if I have to, will scry for whatever might be able to help. I will not let you die.”

Feyre opens her mouth to say something more, but before she can, the whole house seems to rumble. Nesta’s free hand grasps desperately at the arm of the loveseat, trying to steady herself against the shake, feeling it rattle and scrape all the way down to her bones. The temperature in the room seems to drop, shadows and darkness creeping from beneath the floor and clawing from the corners.

Nesta snaps her head toward Cassian, an alarmed question already poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, but Cassian’s expression has glazed over, his eyes out of focus and far away. He inhales sharply, seemingly returning to himself and the present. His eyes find Nesta’s in an instant, the hazel of them swimming with… fear.

“Nesta, we need to go,” Cassian tells her, holding his hand out expectantly.

Nesta scoffs, shifting closer to Feyre and keeping a tight hold of her sister’s hand. “Absolutely not. I am not leaving Feyre alone.”

“Nesta, please,” Cassian pleads, his voice desperate and pained. It’s the tone that finally gives Nesta pause, that finally has her taking in the way Cassian’s chest has started to heave, the way his outstretched hand seems to shake slightly.

“He’s right. You need to go,” Feyre adds quietly, Nesta turning back toward her sister in surprise. “I’ll be alright.”

It’s the small smile of reassurance, of confidence, that Feyre offers that finally breaks Nesta’s remaining resolve. With a soft sigh, she finally stands up. She moves to walk to Cassian and the door, but before she can take a step, Feyre tugs on her arm and pulls her into a hug. The gesture takes Nesta by surprise. They’ve never been the overly affectionate sort. But slowly, Nesta’s arms come up as well, wrapping around her baby sister. Just like that very first day.

“Thank you,” Feyre breathes into her hair, giving a final squeeze before stepping back.

With a nod, Nesta settles her hand in Cassian’s, allowing him to tug her out of the room, but she stops in the hall, turning one last time toward her sister. “Give him hell, Fey.”

Feyre lets out a quiet laugh, the sound wet but genuine. “I plan to, don’t worry.”

Cassian all but drags Nesta out of the house, barely even waiting for the front door to close behind them before he’s scooping Nesta up into his arms and taking for the skies. Nesta clutches at his neck in surprise at the speed, but if Cassian notices her reaction, he doesn’t seem to care. His arms still seem to tremble where they grasp at her, his wings working overtime as he takes them away from Velaris as fast as he can.

Nesta is sure that she hasn’t heard the last of what happened today. She’s sure that there will still be consequences for revealing the truth to Feyre. From Cassian. From Rhysand. From the whole rest of the Court. But despite it all, Nesta finds she doesn’t particularly care. If given the choice, she knows that she would do it all over again a hundred times if she had to, without looking back, and without a single regret.

She would do anything for her baby sister.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance for @praetorqueenreyna

Chapter 3 of (who knows at this point)

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Tamlin and Lucien have latkes and begin to reconnect

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

The snow was falling more thickly now, and Tamlin was beginning to regret his decision to let Jurian take the SUV. Lucien said he didn’t mind walking, though, so Tamlin turned up his collar and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, silently cursing his boss all the while.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he had hissed the moment they were alone at the table. Vassa had just excused herself to go the ladies’ room, and Lucien was still on the phone somewhere behind the bar, though he could be back at any minute. “We’re supposed to be undercover, remember?”

Jurian’s dopey, lovesick smile hardened into his usual scowl. “I’m off-duty.”

“Oh, that makes it okay, then,” Tamlin said sarcastically, then lowered his voice when he noticed other people looking. “What happens when you wake up tomorrow and realize you’ve taken your work home with you?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s not?”

“No, because tomorrow is Sunday,” he said, then winked.

If Jurian was expecting him to crack a smile, he was sorely mistaken. When Tamlin continued to glare, Jurian’s roguish demeanor crumbled into that of a desperate man.

“Come on, kid, let me have this,” he begged. “No offense, but pretty boy is really not my type.”

Tamlin’s face grew hot.

“I haven’t scored with a woman in years. Ever since Miryam left, I…” Jurian sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “If you tell me to back off, I will,” he mumbled. “I was just trying to be friendly like you said, and it got outta hand. I’m sorry.”

Tamlin sighed, too. He didn’t want to ruin anyone’s night, and, besides, Jurian wasn’t doing anything illegal, even if it was distasteful. “Just… be careful with her,” he cautioned quietly. “I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Kid, when you get to be my age, you want someone to hurt you once in a while,” Jurian said. When Tamlin looked at him askance, Jurian chuckled and spread his hands wide. “Just take my word for it.” He let out a deep, surprisingly wistful sigh, then rested his head on his hand. “How did a pretty little thing like her get tangled up in Koschei’s web?”

Tamlin shifted in his chair and glanced around. When it appeared they hadn’t been overheard, he leaned in and asked in a low voice, “Do you think she’s in trouble?”

“Let’s just say I don’t think Koschei wants to offer her a modeling contract from those headshots he asked for.”

Tamlin guiltily rubbed the back of his neck and winced. “What are we going to do?”

“‘We’? I don’t know about you, but I’m off the clock. I’m taking the lady to dinner. Maybe dancing. After that, who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

Tamlin looked at him askance. “Are we still talking about the case?”

Jurian smirked. “I don’t know. Are we?”

Tamlin let out a noise of disgust, then straightened in his chair. “Wait a second. Did you say dancing?” When Jurian nodded, he asked. “What about Swan Lake? This is Vassa’s Christmas gift from Lucien, remember?”

Jurian grimaced. “Yeah… I don’t think we’re invited, kid.”

Tamlin blinked. “But… But Lucien said—”

“‘Put it on my tab’,” Jurian quoted dryly, spreading his hands. “Put it on Daddy’s tab. Daddy ‘Robber Baron’ Vanserra himself. I’ve been around the block a time or two, and something tells me that your little friend is not the apple of his eye.”

Tamlin already knew that from being Lucien’s roommate for the better part of two years, but hearing Jurian say it made him strangely nervous. “So?”

“So, if Little Boy Lu comes back and he doesn’t make up some kind of excuse about dinner-theater tonight, I’ll sleep on the couch for a week.”

Those were some terribly high stakes, because it was a terribly uncomfortable couch. But before Tamlin could agree, Lucien reappeared with a can of ginger ale, looking pensive.

“Hey… Everything okay?”

Lucien nudged Tamlin’s arm, startling him from his reverie.

“You okay?” Lucien repeated. “You look a little… distant.”

Just then, the crosswalk light changed from red to green, and Tamlin released a tight sigh that clouded the air in front of his face. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“Yeah? What about?”

As they began crossing the city street with a crowd of holiday shoppers and theater-goers, Tamlin considered his words carefully. “If we cut across the park, we can save some time. Annie’s Diner is still a couple blocks away, so…”

Lucien shrugged. “I don’t mind the extra time,” he said. “It gives us a chance to talk, anyway.”

Tamlin breathed a quivering sigh. That’s what he was afraid of.

“You cold?”

“Nah.” He sniffed, then tried to joke, “I just forgot my long red underwear at home, so…”

Lucien chuckled, and slid his white woolen scarf free from his neck. “Here.”

Tamlin’s face flushed and he faltered at the end of the crosswalk, earning him an annoyed ‘Hey, watch it,’ from the pedestrians behind him. “I was just kidding,” he tried to insist when they were safely on the sidewalk.

Lucien shrugged and held the scarf out to him, undeterred. “I wasn’t.”

When Tamlin still hesitated, Lucien took both ends and flung the loop around Tamlin’s neck.

It was as if, for one brief moment, time slowed down… just a little bit. Just like in the movies, he could hear his mother say with a wistful sigh. Warmth settled around his shoulders, and his head was filled with the dizzying scent of expensive cologne as Lucien brought both ends of the scarf together in an elegant, expert knot.

“There you go,” Lucien said, patting Tamlin’s chest. “It’s not long underwear, but it’s better than nothing.”

Tamlin let out a sudden breath and touched the knot at his neck. The scarf was still so warm, and it smelled like… like him. “Thanks, man,” he said quietly.

Lucien smiled and slapped his shoulder. “No problem.” He gestured to the corner block and said, “Which way do we go?”

Tamlin blinked and tried to get his bearings. “Um, this—no, this way.”

The warmth the scarf brought made it easier for Tamlin to appreciate his surroundings. Christmas lights glimmered from storefronts, lampposts, and the decorative shade trees planted along the sidewalk. Everything had a soft, orange glow to it, even the snow. The farther away they walked from the hub of the theater district, the less crowded the streets became. Cars drove more slowly, and couples paused in front of cheery Christmas displays. No one seemed to be in a hurry. It was nice.

“So,” Lucien began conversationally, “got any fun plans this season?”

“Not really.” Tamlin shrugged. “It’s just me and Jurian. We might catch a game on TV or something, but… it’s not really my thing. What about you?”

“Well, let’s see,” Lucien mused. “The company Christmas party is coming up, A. K. A. the family reunion from hell.” Lucien smirked, and Tamlin chuckled. “You want to come along?”

“To hell? I’ll pass.”

Lucien breathed a laugh, then rubbed at his nose and sniffed. “You know, um, a few friends are talking about getting together for New Year’s, if that’s more your thing.”

Tamlin’s smile faded. “I don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t know anyone, so…”

“You’d know me. And Vassa.”

“Yeah, well, after Christmas, Vassa might not like me very much.”

“Why not?”

Tamlin blanched. He couldn’t tell him about Koschei’s contract, so instead he quickly fibbed, “You know, because of Jurian.”

Lucien considered this with a thoughtful frown, then looked away. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmured, then shrugged. “Well, like I said, we haven’t made any definite plans yet, so…”

Tamlin was surprised at his own disappointment, but he conceded a shrug. “Yeah… okay.”

“Okay,” Lucien echoed, then nudged him and said, “Hey. I’m sorry Swan Lake didn’t work out. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“You don’t have to,” Tamlin said quickly. “I’m just sorry you didn’t get to see it with Vassa like you planned.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before, you know?” Lucien shrugged dismissively. “Besides, I’m sure she’ll have a much better time with Jurian tonight than she ever would with me.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Tamlin said quietly. When Lucien gave him a surprised look, Tamlin blushed and hastily explained, “I mean if you knew Jurian the way I do, you’d understand.”

Lucien grimaced. “What is the deal with you and him, anyway?”

“Deal?”

“Yeah. I mean, is he your boss, or your buddy, or…”

“Roommate.”

“Yeah, or roommate, or… Wait.” Lucien stopped him. “You guys live together?”

Tamlin shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

“So, isn’t it kind of weird to be living with your boss?”

“You work for your dad. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is I don’t live with my dad,” Lucien said, resuming his pace. “I’ve got my own place, and my own space.”

Tamlin fell into step beside him and said, “Believe me, if I could afford my own place, I’d move out in a heartbeat.”

“So, ask for a raise.”

Tamlin scoffed. “Easy for you to say.”

“I’m serious. How much is Jurian paying you?”

Tamlin winced. There was no easy, or legal, way to answer that.

When he remained silent, Lucien made a face and groaned. “I’m sorry, Tam. You don’t have to answer that. I’m just…” He sighed and threw up his hands in a resigned shrug. “I’m not trying to interrogate you. I’m just trying to figure this out.”

“What’s there to figure out?” Tamlin said, more sharply than he intended. “Jurian offered me a job, and I took it.”

“You were the first chair violinist in the entire Middengard University Orchestra, and now you’re sitting in some passenger seat to help your boss avoid toll fees.”

Tamlin’s face grew hot with shame as he looked away. “Things change.”

The snow stopped crunching beside him, and Tamlin turned to see Lucien staring at him. “‘Things change’?” he echoed incredulously, then spread his hands wide. “Like what?”

Tamlin swallowed hard. “I can’t tell you.”

Lucien dropped his hands and stepped closer. “Why not?” he asked more gently.

Tamlin’s eyes stung, and his hands curled into fists in his pockets in an effort to keep those unwelcome tears at bay. “Because then… you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“What? Tam…”

Lucien was close enough now that the clouds of their breath mingled, but he didn’t try to squeeze his shoulder or slap his back or even hug him… Tamlin wasn’t sure he’d let him if he tried. He wasn’t sure what he wanted at all, and Lucien seemed to sense this.

“I know we haven’t seen in each other in seven years, but… when we met, it felt like I’d known you forever,” Lucien said with a sad, wistful smile. “We could tell each other anything. Like the time my brothers nearly blinded me when we were playing Pirates,” he said, touching the small scar above his left eye with a wry smile. “Or how they told me I was adopted and made me cry when I was six.”

Tamlin breathed a sad chuckle, and it eased the tightness in his lungs, just a little.

Lucien’s smile faded. “Or, like the time when you… you cried at your mom’s funeral, and what—what your dad did to you afterwards.”

Tamlin sniffed and swiped away a sudden, stray tear. Stop it. Real men don’t cry. Unless you’re a pussy. And you’re not a pussy, are you? Tamlin’s cheek stung. Huh? Are you? Answer me when I’m talking to you, goddammit.

“Tam…” Lucien’s mahogany brown eyes were filled with concern. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Tamlin shook his head and sniffed again. “Yeah, no. It’s fine. I’m okay.”

Lucien slowly shook his head. “That’s not what I asked.”

Tamlin shrugged dismissively. “Well, what do you want me to say?”

Lucien’s lips grew pinched, and he sighed as he turned away and ran a hand over the melting snowflakes in his hair. Tamlin wished he could tell him the truth, but he just… couldn’t. After a long, painful moment, Lucien turned back and asked, “Where is this restaurant, anyway?”

Finally. An easy question. Tamlin sighed as he looked around, then pointed. “There. At the end of the block.” They didn’t speak again until they were inside.

An aluminum bell jingled above the door as Tamlin and Lucien stepped out of the cold and into the blissful warmth of Annie’s Downtown Diner. Although the air smelled like cooking grease, and the checkered tile floors had definitely seen better days, there was an easy, relaxed atmosphere that saw its patrons lingering over mugs of coffee and hot apple pie. Hanging lamps lit each cozy red booth in warm, golden light, and imitation evergreen wreaths hung in the windows. Somewhere along the back wall, the radio was playing ‘White Christmas’.

As Tamlin looked around for an empty booth, a deep, familiar voice called out from the kitchen, “Yo, Tammy!”

Tamlin smiled and took his hand out of his pocket to wave at the cook. “’Sup, Annie!”

Lucien’s eyes grew wide as he glanced between Tamlin and the burly cook grinning behind the counter. “That’s Annie?” he mouthed.

Tamlin couldn’t help but smile at Lucien’s confusion. “It’s short for Andras,” he explained quietly.

“He’s not short at all,” Lucien muttered.

Tamlin continued to smile and stepped closer to the counter. “How’s it goin’, man?”

The cook shrugged as he wiped his broad hands on a dish towel, making the wolf tattoo on his left bicep ripple. “Eh, I can’t complain. Say, where’s the J-man?”

“He’s got other plans tonight.”

“Ooh, hot date, huh?”

Tamlin let out a weak chuckle and avoided looking at Lucien. “Something like that.”

The cook grinned. “Nice.”

Tamlin could feel Lucien’s frown, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“Much obliged,” the cook said, straightening up to slap the used dish towel over his shoulder. “So, you want the usual tonight?”

Tamlin nodded and held up two fingers. “Make it a double.”

“Two apple parfaits, comin’ right up!” Annie—Andras—called out, then disappeared into the kitchen.

As Tamlin led the way to an empty corner booth, Lucien followed behind and remarked, “I thought we were having latkes.”

“We are,” Tamlin said, then slid into his seat. When Lucien was settled opposite him, he continued, “The way Annie makes them is by layering potato latkes on the bottom, then sour cream, then fresh applesauce on top. And, if he has it in stock, a sprig of mint. He calls them apple parfaits. They’re really good.”

“Huh,” Lucien said thoughtfully, removing his gloves. “So… Annie is another friend of yours?”

“More like an acquaintance,” Tamlin said, unknotting the scarf to set it aside. “But yeah, sure. I guess.”

“Hmm,” was all Lucien said before the waitress appeared to bring them two glasses of ice water.

“Coffee tonight, boys?” Alis asked, pulling out a pad of paper from her apron pocket.

“No. None for me, thank you,” Lucien said quietly.

“I’m good, thanks,” Tamlin said.

“I know you are,” Alis said kindly. “Can I get you something, anyway?” When he smiled and declined the proper way, she acquiesced and said, “All right, then. Just be sure to tell your boss not to work you so hard. We missed you two at Thanksgiving, and here it is almost Christmas.��

Tamlin nodded and agreed. “I’ll tell him.”

She smiled, then clicked her pen closed. “Good. Now, you boys just give me a holler if you need anything. Anything at all, all right?”

“All right. Thanks, Alis.”

She nodded, smiling fondly, then strolled along to check on her next customer.

When Tamlin looked back, Lucien was staring at him. Hard. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lucien muttered, looking away.

“You sure about that? It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Still looking away, Lucien shrugged. “Like I said, it’s nothing.” His jaw was set, and his expression pinched. “Tammy.”

Tamlin closed his eyes and sighed. “Look,” he said patiently, folding his arms on the table. “Andras’s grandmother was the original Annie, and he took over the place when she retired. The name stuck. He calls everyone he likes some kind of nickname. If you started coming in here regularly, he’d probably call you Lucy. It’s just what he does, okay?”

Lucien’s stiff posture relaxed just a bit as he scratched at the tiny scar above his left eyebrow. “Yeah, okay.”

“Friends?”

Lucien looked at him then, and for one terrifying moment Tamlin thought he might decline. But then Lucien took a deep breath and stuck his hand out across the table. “Friends.”

Tamlin smiled and gratefully took it. Lucien had inherited his mother’s hands, which were long and slender. They were the sort of hands you would find in an orchestra playing the flute or fingering a harp, not wasted in the legal department of some faceless corporation. Not like Tamlin’s hands, which had once made grown men cry with his violin playing, but now made unhappy spouses rage when the adulterous photos he took came to light. Lucien’s fingers gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, and Tamlin was sorry to let go.

“Two apple parfaits.” Alis appeared to set their loaded plates in front of them. “Extra crispy, with extra applesauce, just the way you like it,” she told Tamlin with a smile. “Anything else I can get you boys?”

When he thanked her and assured her that they were fine, she left him and Lucien alone to enjoy their dinner.

Lucien bent over his plate and wafted the fragrant steam toward his nose. “It smells kind of like… hash browns, but different,” he observed cautiously.

“They’re better.” Tamlin smiled and picked up his fork. “You should try it with an egg sometime, but your first time has to be pure latke.”

“Are you suggesting there will be a next time?”

Tamlin paused cutting up his latke. “Yeah… Why? You don’t think you’ll like it?”

“It’s not that. I meant…” Lucien shook his head and picked up his cutlery. “I guess I’ll just have to try it first and see.”

Tamlin watched as he slowly lifted that first hesitant forkful, then took that first delicate bite. As he slowly chewed, his brown eyes closed in reverence, then he let out a low moan.

“Oh my god.”

Tamlin grinned. “I told you.”

“Oh… my god.”

Tamlin chuckled and dug into his own dinner. “You can thank me later.”

“Mm-hnn,” was Lucien’s only reply, because he had already taken another bite.

When their ravenous pace had slowed and the latkes were nearly gone, Lucien mentioned that he would have to drag Eris there to eat sometime. His oldest brother hardly ever took time away from the office, but these latkes might just be the thing to lure him out. After that, their conversation turned to the rest of the Vanserra clan, especially Mrs. Vanserra and how she was doing lately. Tamlin had only met her a couple of times, but he remembered her with great fondness. And not just because he missed his own mother so much, especially at Christmas.

“She used to ask about you, you know.”

Tamlin frowned as he sucked the last of the sour cream off the tines of his fork. “What do you mean?”

“My mom,” Lucien said. “She used to ask about you, and wondered how you were doing after you… you know… left.”

“After I was asked to leave, you mean.”

Lucien straightened up in his seat, then gripped the edge of the table as he leaned forward. “You mean you were—” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “—you were expelled?”

Tamlin’s face flushed as he realized what he’d just revealed. “I was asked to leave,” he repeated stubbornly. “It was that or be expelled. I chose to leave.”

Lucien sat back in his seat, stunned. “Why, though? You had everything going for you. You were first chair in orchestra, you were acing your classes, you had a sweet girlfriend… I thought you had it made.”

Tamlin’s shoulders slumped. “So did I,” he murmured.

Lucien continued, “After I came back from Scythia, it was like you disappeared… It was like you… you died.”

Tamlin bowed his head to rub the back of his neck, which had grown hot. He didn’t want to admit how many times he wished he had. “I couldn’t stay,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to watch the rest of my life burn to the ground, so I just… left.”

“Without telling me.”

Tamlin sighed and slumped back against the booth. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you reach out and tell me what was going on?” Lucien chided. “I would have come back if I had known you were in trouble.”

“No,” Tamlin said firmly. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Why not? Don’t you know how much I care about you?”

Tamlin’s heart nearly stopped as he stared. Lucien’s expression was so ardent and sincere that he could scarcely breathe. “I…” He faltered and dropped his gaze. “I thought about it,” he admitted softly. “But you’d been looking forward to that trip for months, and I… I thought I could handle it.”

“Handle what?”

When Tamlin didn’t answer, Lucien leaned forward and folded his arms on the table.

“Tam,” he said gently, trying to catch his eye, “did you get kicked out for cheating?”

“What? No!”

“Then what? Was it drugs?”

Tamlin glared at him. “Seriously?”

Lucien gave him an innocent shrug. “You can tell me, or I can keep guessing. Believe me, I heard plenty of theories.”

Tamlin’s heart sunk like a stone. “You did?”

“Yeah. You weren’t exactly invisible, you know. But nobody seemed to know the whole story. The people who seemed to know something thought that it had to do with you having some kind of nervous breakdown. There were rumors about you being on drugs or cheating or both, but I didn’t think you were capable of either. I just thought that maybe you needed a break, and you would come back, except… you never did. And that was it. I never heard from you again. Until today.”

Tamlin’s face fell. “Until today,” he echoed softly.

Lucien leaned in, trying to catch Tamlin’s eye. “Can you tell me what really happened?” he asked gently.

Before Tamlin could answer, Alis came back to check on them.

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

Tamlin managed a polite smile and shook his head. “You want anything?” he asked Lucien.

“No, I’m fine,” he insisted, then told the waitress, “This was great.”

She beamed, especially when Tamlin told her the same. When she offered to send some pie home with them, he declined, but with the promise that they would definitely be back for a double order. “Take care of yourselves out there, and come back and see us again real soon,” she said kindly when she dropped off the check.

Lucien reached for it, but Tamlin beat him to it. “Are you sure?” he asked as Tamlin pulled out his wallet. “I didn’t ask you out so you could pay for dinner.”

Tamlin’s face grew warm as he counted out the correct number of bills plus a tip. “It’s fine. You paid for drinks, so… now we’re even.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucien remarked, sliding out of the booth. “I think my drink cost the same as both of our dinners. It’s hardly fair.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tamlin insisted, tucking the bills under his plate before he stood. “I’m not so down on my luck that I can’t afford to take an old friend out to dinner once in a while.”

Lucien smiled at him as he stood, a warm, genuine smile. “Thanks for treating me,” he said, touching Tamlin’s arm. “This really was great.”

Maybe it was the cologne, or maybe he was actually allergic to wool, but as Tamlin knotted the scarf around his neck, his breath caught, just a little. “You’re welcome.”

The slow, sad refrain to a ‘Blue Christmas’ followed them as they stepped out the door and into the frosty evening. It had stopped snowing, but Tamlin still gripped Lucien’s scarf at his neck and fought back a shiver. Feelings he had long since buried were pushing their way through the frosty topsoil of his heart and reaching for the sun… But it was December, and December was not kind to roses.

As much as it terrified him, he didn’t want the night to be over. The thought of walking back to Jurian’s cold, dark apartment alone was bad enough, but the thought of inviting Lucien along was even worse.

Lucien made him feel like himself again. More than that, he made him feel like he was twenty-one again, when they were each looking at careers in music and journalism. They were going to travel the world together. Tamlin would play, and Lucien would write about it… Now Lucien was some lawyer working for his father’s company and Tamlin was some homeless has-been. How had it all gone so wrong?

“Okay,” Lucien said, clapping his gloved hands and rubbing them briskly together. “What do you want to do now?”

“I’m… really not sure,” Tamlin said, quivering. He didn’t have enough money to suggest anything as lavish as the theater, and anything that he could afford wasn’t up to Lucien’s standards. “We could take a walk around the park, but it’s getting late, so… If you just want to call it a night…”

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

Tamlin looked at him in surprise. “What? Really?”

“Sure,” Lucien said kindly. “We never did finish our conversation. I’ve got some photos of us from our college days that I found earlier today. I can make us some coffee, then we can talk.” He must have noticed Tamlin’s reluctance, for he continued, “Vassa is staying at a hotel, so we don’t have to worry about being overheard or anything. You can stay as long as you want, and you can say as much or as little as you want. Then, whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you home.”

Tamlin didn’t want to think about the going home part, but everything else sounded… nice. Really nice. “Yeah. Okay.”

Lucien looked surprised, but pleased. “Okay,” he said, grinning. “Great. Yeah, I’ll call us a cab.”

There were several reasons why Jurian hated cab rides, and deliberately taking the longer, more expensive route was at the top of the list. Even though Tamlin’s—and Lucien’s—wallets were significantly lighter by the time the cabbie dropped them off, Tamlin couldn’t say that he minded all that much. The route had included several detours past some beautifully decorated neighborhoods, something Tamlin didn’t get to appreciate very often, especially with the way Jurian drove. And then there was the apartment itself.

Actually, calling it an apartment would be like calling a throne a chair. Jurian’s place was an apartment. Lucien’s place was a luxury penthouse in the sky.

Everything was decorated in rich chocolate tones and warm, earthy fabrics. Heavy bookcases lined one wall, filled with gorgeously bound hardcovers, and two plush chairs rested in front of an unlit brick fireplace. With the flip of a switch, Lucien got the fire going, and Tamlin sighed in wonder. It was the perfect place to settle in with a good book and a mug of coffee on a cold winter’s night… Not that he ever dreamed of partaking in such luxuries.

“Make yourself at home,” Lucien said, shrugging off his navy coat. “Sorry for the mess. The cleaners haven’t been in yet.”

Tamlin gawked as he slowly peeled off his jacket and looked around the spotless interior. If Lucien thought this was a mess, he would never be invited inside Jurian’s place. Ever.

“Have a seat,” Lucien coaxed, taking Tamlin’s humble, hunter green jacket from him.

“Well, I—okay.”

However, it wasn’t until Lucien returned with a handful of old candid photos that Tamlin could be persuaded to join him on a plump, brown and gold-striped loveseat.

“Do you want anything?” Lucien asked, gesturing to the vast, open kitchen.

“Hmm? No, that’s okay,” Tamlin said distractedly. He’d already been taken back in time by the first photo he picked up. He forgot all about shutter speeds and aperture and focal length to chuckle at the two gawky teenagers making faces at the camera. “Is that us?”

Lucien chuckled as well and leaned in. “Yeah. I think that was at the end of the first semester. Look.” He picked up another photo. “This was the first day I met you.”

Tamlin scarcely recognized the surly eighteen-year-old, with his short blond buzzcut and reserved, tight-lipped smile that said: Sure, I guess you can take my picture, you weirdo. The next photo, one that Tamlin had taken, was of a shaggy-haired Lucien pretending to be blinded by the camera flash.

Tamlin chuckled at the memory. “For a newbie, I didn’t do half-bad,” he remarked, “but for a second there, I thought I really did blind you.” He laughed and shook his head. “You were such an ass.”

Lucien grinned. “Hey, someone had to break the ice.”

The next photo was of Tamlin from a year later, and he looked much more relaxed, despite his distracted frown. He had been practicing his scales when Lucien snapped the candid photo. His hands and his face looked youthfully soft and slender while he practiced his beloved violin, and his hair, while still somewhat short, had begun to curl around his ears and forehead. It wouldn’t be long before he started tying it back… It was strange, though. He couldn’t remember the last time he had bothered tying it back.

He didn’t have time to brood, though, because the next picture was of Lucien with the widest, cheekiest grin, pretending to play his violin like a ukulele. And, naturally, the next one was of him lying ‘dead’ on the floor, pretending that Tamlin had stabbed him through the heart with his bow for playing his violin like a ukulele.

Tamlin flipped to the next photo and shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe you kept all these.”

Lucien nudged him. “You were my best friend. Of course I kept them.”

Tamlin swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, then set aside the photo of him and Lucien standing outside the music hall in matching suits without saying a word. The next photograph, though, made him tilt his head with a bemused smile. “Wait a second… Is that my plant?”

Lucien leaned in. “Oh, yeah! Before you brought it back to life. Wow. I can’t believe we smoked that thing.”

Tamlin shook his head and grinned and turned to the next photo, then he let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Oh my god… Look. The High Lords.”

Lucien laughed with him as they looked at the six stoned teenagers sprawled out across their hazy dorm room, surrounded by empty bags of munchies and god knew what else. Tamlin turned the photo over to see once-familiar scrawls written on the back. “Tam, Lucien, Tarquin, Kal, Thesan, Rhys…” he read softly, then his smile faded.

His heart began to ache as he caught sight of the next photo waiting for him in the pile. A pretty girl with freckles and sandy brown hair was kissing his cheek as he smiled in surprise into the camera. They were standing in front of the duck pond at the university. It had been their first real date.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he turned it over and read her handwriting: Tam and me feeding the ducks. We miss you, Lu! Hope you’re having fun in Sythia. Love forever, Feyre

Tamlin’s hands began to shake as he lowered the photos to his lap.

“Hey,” Lucien said, gently touching his shoulder. “You okay?”

Tamlin sniffed and shook his head. “You know, I—” He cleared his throat. “I think I’d like that coffee now.”

“Okay, Tam,” Lucien said with a soft, understanding smile. “I’ll be right back. Take it easy.”

When he was gone, Tamlin dropped the photos onto the coffee table and buried his face in his hands. Lucien cared enough about him to keep silly mementos of their time together. He deserved to know the truth, no matter how awful. He just hoped Lucien meant it when he said he would hear him out.

“Tam?”

He looked up to see Lucien watching him from the kitchen entryway, pensively standing with his hands in his pockets. Tamlin was not the only one who had changed since their college days. His friend’s hair was no longer shaggy and carefree, but was a smooth, sleek auburn resting around his shoulders. Instead of a button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed up and whatever pants happened to be clean that day, he wore a white turtleneck and dark slacks. Meanwhile, Tamlin made do with whatever decent clothes he could find secondhand. It was a far cry from the dark, tailored suits he used to wear when playing for packed concert halls.

“Do you still like your coffee black, with cream, no sugar?” Lucien asked gently. There were only so many times he could ask if Tamlin was okay when the answer was clearly No.

“Yeah,” Tamlin said quietly, then sighed and slowly rubbed his palms together. “Hey, Lu?”

“Yeah?” Lucien turned back and looked at him expectantly.

Tamlin swallowed hard. “Did… Did you ever make the Dean’s List?” he began hesitantly.

Lucien frowned in thought, then slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I was failing math there for a while. I remember that I almost didn’t get my grades up in time to go to Scythia. Why?”

“Well… I did.”

When Tamlin didn’t continue, Lucien took seemed to sense that there was more to the story, and took a step closer. “So… you made the Dean’s List? That’s good, right?”

“No.” Tamlin let out a resigned sigh and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “No, it really wasn’t.”

“What?” Lucien edged closer. “Why not?”

“Because… because that was how I met… her.”

“Who?”

Tamlin closed his eyes against the tears pricking his eyes and whispered, “Amarantha.”

[divinemare]

✧*̥₊˚‧☆ﾐ 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖙𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘!¡ •ଓ.°

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ azrielxfem!oc

part nine

𓆝 𓆜 ––––———–––––———–┊⁀➷

More pirates she had imagined joined them after her speech. She would forever be infinitely grateful with her people, whoever said pirates didn’t had a code or loyalty, had been wrong. You don’t hit a pirate, because they will bounce off the depths of the oceans and hit you back. And Hybern was just about to learn that.

Just as she had told him, Kallistrade meet the Prince of Merchants and his ships in their way to Prythian. She was…impressed, she had to admit to herself. Especially when, after winnowing to the main ship —the Nesta, she noticed with a smile, looking back at the Elain, and the Feyre that trailed behind it—, she saw the presence of a female that had become a whisper of a living myth; queen Vassa accompanied the human man, alongside a red head High Fae male she recognize for the similarities he shared with his family.

Lucien Vanserra.

What a truly mysterious and strange combination of people.

“Captan Devilsbane, your fleet looks as mighty as the legends sing them to be,” the male bowed slightly his head.

There was something about him that didn’t suit entirely right with the picture she had in her memories about the Vanserra family, maybe it had been too long since she’d seen them, or maybe…maybe Lucien was…somewhat different, but Kallistrade couldn’t exactly place how.

“Hybern has a debt to pay, and we’re ready to not let them forget.”

“So, the rumors are true, you became quite the terrifying pirate,” she heard a voice behind her.

A voice she hadn’t heard in so, so long that for a moment she had forgotten who it belonged to. But just as she turned around, not even 500 years could erase Drakon and Miryam’s faces. Especially the female’s, who had held her tightly while she screamed and cried and grieved when Kallistrade had found out of her brother’s death.

A light in her chest she had almost forgotten it existen lighten up. That side of her she had felt come back to life when she first saw Azriel slipped for a split second in her face.

“You motherfuckers,” she laughed, delighted, a happiness she had missed in her chest beaming as she approached the couple and hugged them both tightly.

“Careful, you don’t look too terrifying now,” Drakon laughed, but Kallistrade only pushed him away playfully.

Definitely, going back to Prythian, going back to Velaris and back to her old family, had revived something dead inside of her, she now felt it within her with the joy of that new re encounter.

“Shut up, or I’ll throw you off the plank and into the sea,” he laughed again, his brown eyes squinting.

“Now that’s more like it.”

She hugged only Miryam this time, flipping off Drakon. The last time Kallistrade had been in those arms, her world was falling apart in front of her and her heart was being shredded to pieces. Now, five centuries later, everything couldn’t be any more different.

“You look so…” When they parted, and the half-breed female took complete look of her, she sighed. “So different,” she said it with a certain pride that made Kallistrade’s heart warm.

“Different good? Or different bad?” She raised a wicked eyebrow, and gave Miryam a lopsided grin.

“Good, very good,” the sweet female voice brought back memories, both good and bad, that this time, Kallistrade did not shot down in the back of her head.

She was done with that, with the whole shoving-down-things. Her past was past and her present was present, no need to be bitter with any of them, not when she was given a second opportunity to have the best of both.

“I don’t know, those red blood lips look like you sucked someone’s blood dry, which I’m not entirely sure you didn’t do,” Drakon said, twisting his head to one side with an apprehensive look, but at Kallistrade’s light punch, he laughed.

“Are all those yours?” Miryam asked, looking back at the exactly 13 ships filled with men.

“That they are,” she gave them a wolfish grin, and Drakon nodded, impressed.

“I don’t know wether to be impressed or scared, they look positively cruel and wicked.”

“Well thank you! I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Miryam smiled widely and lovingly, having been there and seen Kallistrade, 500 years ago, in such a horrible, heartbroken state, she was infinitely proud of the female she now encountered; brave, wicked, full of new life.

“Will you care to join us for strategy?” Miryam asked, and Kallistrade smiled with a nod.

“Let’s see how rusted you are after so many centuries off in that little hidden island of yours, little bird,” the pirate said directly to Drakon, and the male followed her with challenging eyes, Miryam behind them, shaking her head with a joyful smile.

One would think that they weren’t just about to enter war, by the smiles plastered on their faces. But for Kallistrade, smiling was easier than allowing her treacherous brain and heart to think about Azriel, to think about her family, and if they might be dead when she arrived, that she might not make it in time. She couldn’t allow herself to think that, because now, she had to be the Pirate, the Captain Devilsbane, and lead a fleet of pirates into a Mother damned, bloody war.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

They were losing, Hybern was crashing into them with no mercy, no matter how strong their forces were, no matter how strong their men were, Hybern’s seemed to be stronger.

A miracle…they needed a miracle…

And a miracle had just arrived.

Drakon’s Seraphim legion, alongside Miryam’s and Vaasa’s people and…and her father, had arrived. But it had been the dark, big ships that had stolen their attention after her father’s, the dark ships that seemed to absorbe life itself and take power from it. The ships that contained so many sailors of every species Feyre could imagine that they looked like a combination of death in all possible colors.

They couldn’t be mistaken, by anyone who dared to look at them. They were fatal, they were wicked, they were twisted in a way that inspired admiration and dread and exhilaration all at once. Those ships were unique, dreaded in every corner of the Continent, in every corner of the world, so many songs had been made of them, those were ships that had inspired fear and respect everywhere they went. Those were…

Pirate ships. More than a dozen pirate ships. Their skull flags waved with the heavy wind. They were so big, dark, imposing, with sculptures carved at their noses that pointed fingers, wings, horns and even fangs at the ships from Hybern.

At the very front, leading the other ships, was the most terrifying, imposing one, the sea itself seemed to open a path for it, seemed to hit its waves in its favor.

Feyre knew that ship, she had had the same reaction she was having now the first time she saw it. The Bright Nightmare stole her breath. She swallowed hard, and prayed the Mother to never face the terrors that ship had surely produced to so many others.

Then, as if the rush of her heart and the tears that streamed down her face weren’t already enough, a low, yet powerful and dark female voice began to sing. Everyone who had enhanced Fae ears could hear it, and she instantly felt Rhys shiver at the recognition of whatever song started playing. Like a death sentence, a death promise, a chant so old that few knew it, but a chant so dreaded that everyone who did, shivered at its machiavelli sound.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

The words started slipping out of her mouth like an old prayer. The battle ahead of her had stoped partially, many praying eyes now looking their way, the ships already in bay had stoped their shooting, hers and those accompanying, had stolen their attention away.

“The King and his men stole the queen from her bed”

Kallistrade sang low, but was sure that every Fae around her could hear her, the men from her ships waited eagerly as well. The sound of cracking wood accompanied her every word, giving a more sinister touch to the song that had been sang for centuries amongst pirates before battle.

“And bound her in her bones”

Every word, every note, felt tingling in her mouth. The feeling spread out to her entire body, pounding strongly and eagerly in her heart.

“The seas be ours and by the powers”

Her hands began to tingle with the anticipation, she could already feel the blood in them, taste it in her mouth, even. She took a hand towards her belt, towards her sword, just as the last words spilled from her tongue in a death-coated note.

“Where we will, we’ll roam”

Kallistrade took out Seesnyer, and pointed its sharp tip towards Hybern’s ships.

Then a wicked symphony erupted, every pirate around her, from every ship surrounding her, from the smallest to the biggest, Fae and Human, Captains and commanders and first mates and all crew members alike sang together their ancient battle song.

“Yo, ho, haul together

Hoist the colors high”

Canons began to be pointed, swords and weapons to be drawn, their symphony accompanying that of the death promising words being sang by so many they became a loud, terrifying sound.

“Heave-ho, thieves and beggars”

They heard orders being shout out at the other end, enemy ships frantically trying to shift their weaponry towards them.

“Never shall we die”

Then real hell broke loose, and Kallistrade let herself be carried by it.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

She had come, she had really come. Azriel stared at the sea in front with his heart leaping out of his chest. The exhaustion that had consumed his body seconds ago could not compare with the rush of exhilaration when he heard the infamous pirate song.

He couldn’t fly, he couldn’t go up into the sky to see in a better view, but he knew it was her voice the one who started the song, he knew it her ship leading the armada of pirates, he knew it was her, that it was Kallistrade who had come to their aid.

Azriel had avoided thinking of her in those days they had been apart, he had avoided her name, the picture of her face in his head, the thought of her never coming back, and the thought of her coming back as well. It all had been useless, tho, he hadn’t been able to do any of those things. He hadn’t been able to avoid his stupid heart beaming with hope every time he went to sleep, and every time he woke up, waiting to see her sail back to him.

And there she was, just as he had thought that today was his final battle, his final breath of air, his final day on this earth with only her filling his thoughts, when the song he had heard of, the song every sailor dreaded ever hearing, began to sound.

It was wicked, it was dark, it was a lot of things, evil and twisted, but beaming like a light of hope for those in desperate need of it. For him, especially, not because he felt his body protesting with each thrust of his sword, his wings snarling with pain and his energy giving in the exhaustion, but because once he heard her, once the ships were visible enough for him to see the female standing atop the biggest of them all, her twisted, wicked sword pointed at Hybern’s armada, he felt a rush of energy, the necessary to fight off the enemies that continued to approach him in hopes of finally killing him, instead killing them all.

Kallistrade had come, she had truly come back, and as his body regained energy, taking it from a source he couldn’t yet place, a knowing voice in his head told him in whispers what his heart had been too stubborn to listen and accept.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

From the moment the first canon shot, up until now, Kallistrade hadn’t stop slicing through enemies and wrecking ships.

First, she had fought alongside Zena in the nearest ship they had winnowed to, slashing through soldiers while giving time to Rafe and Tiam, a member of her Dark Dream crew, to blow up the damned thing.

Then she had winnowed to the next ship, and the next, and the next, either from the enemie’s side or her own to aid whoever needed it. Pirates were being absolutely ruthless, leaving no time for pleadings of mercy, she herself was giving no time as she cut sailor to sailor, the cold dread of their faces at the realization of who had come to aid Prythian, of the Bright Nightmares firing canon after canon with deadly precision, and who was its Captain, being the last thing she saw of them before killing then off.

Kallistrade didn’t bother entertaining with soldiers, she let Seesnyer and Dark Wilder cut through them like paper without great effort. She was waiting for the big fish to come out and play. Waiting for the face of the male that had tormented her nightmares for 500 years. Then she’ll start having fun.

She danced through each fight, her movements soft as silk but brutal as both weapons in her hands, the power they gave her made the effort of her muscles that ached feel like an inconvenience, not an impediment.

She heard screams at the other side, ships, part of her armada, where sinking in flames as their sailors jumped into the ocean in an attempt to avoid death. She cursed, locating the Hybern ship that had gone out of formation to fire brutal shots at her ranks. Winnowing too much could waste her energy more than needed, so she put her fingers in her lips and whistled a simple tune, then dropped the body that had been impaled with Seesnyer, and, nobody left in the ship to fight off, she momentarily put her sword and dagger back in her belt to take impulse, then go running to the edge of the ship and jumped into the air.

Gravity tucked at her for a couple of seconds, until strong hands grasped her arms and hurled her up and up and up. When she tilted her head, Kaena winked at her Captain, her great Illyrian wings carrying them towards the ship that was making theirs sink.

Once they arrived, Kaena dropped her in the main deck carefully, Kallistrade fell on her feet with a powerful thud, and Kaena used her sword to destroy the masts.

They both fought side by side, until only few remained, and those who did, jumped into the ocean with hopes of surviving the merciless females.

Kallistrade took an axe from one of the fallen soldiers, then turn the rudder as hard as she could, and stuck it with the axe. The ship quickly began to turn sideways, and just as Kaena hurled her up into the air, it hit the side of another burning ship and sank into the ocean.

They returned to one of their ships, the one that was being worst attacked to help.

“Captain!” She heard a scream just as she cut with deadly precision the neck of a Hybern sailor in his knees.

Kallistrade turned to look at Maddox, who had just winnowed in, and was extremely glad to see that, up until now, he was still alive.

“Is there any problem?” Apart from the obvious, raging war behind them.

“You might wanna…” Maddox didn’t finish his sentence, only turned to look at the battlefield in land.

Kallistrade’s heart gave a full turn. She had been fighting off the feeling of uncertainty in her stomach since the moment she arrived, focusing on destroying as much enemies as she could, and not in the fact that she was losing her mind at not knowing where Rhys and Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Nesta, Amren, Elain…where Azriel was. Instead turning that rage, turning that preoccupation, in power capable of destroying ships.

She approached the front of the ship with her heart in her mouth, and, having cleared the ship of enemies, allowed herself a moment to scan the battlefield.

The first thing her eyes immediately found, as if it was a reflex to find him in a crowd, as if it was an instinct, was Azriel.

Being outnumbered, by five, his siphons almost drained, his wings tucked in…why were they tucked in? Why wasn’t he flying, why did she felt her hands shaking, as if his were shaking too?

“I can-”

Before Maddox could finish his offer of winnowing her so she didn’t waste any power, she disappeared with a jaw clenched, and Seesnyer burning in her tighten hand.

“Mother have mercy on them,” Maddox laughed, knowing very well that Kallistrade; wouldn’t.

She landed at the back of one of the five males, the one that was about to plunge his sword into Azriel’s stomach while the Shadowsinger fought two other off, and cut his head off with a clean swing of Seesnyer.

The five males around stoped to turn and look at her; the four of Hybern furrowing their brows with a superiority that suggested they not only didn’t know who she was, but that they were stupid enough to think she would be an easy prey. Azriel, instead, his eyes flashed with a sea of emotions that Kallistrade had no time to point them all, but he let out a ragged breath, and blinked three times, as if testing out the vision in front of him, as if confirming she was, in fact, real.

She was. Very fucking real, and those bastards were just about to be proven that.

She gave them a cruel, evil smile that could make a grown male shit his pants, and not a second later she started cutting into them as if they were nothing.

Azriel was paralyzed by the sight of her for a moment, just a tiny moment, until he saw a male approaching her other side, too close, too ready for the kill, and with gritted teeth, lunched into him like a shadow of death.

They fought them all off, and in seconds, their mocking, confident smiles had turned into pain grimaces that would be forever carved in their dying faces.

“You came,” Azriel breathed, once they gave each other a moment to breath and look into their eyes.

“I promised you I would.”

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 50

Chapter title: Always Changing, Always Flowing

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

Surprise!!! All my love and gratitutde to @noirshadow for being my beta and staying so patient and supportive <33 Thank you for all of your help!

Read on AO3 ⟡ A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist

Her sisters did not come up.

Feyre stared at the flat surface of that black, inky water, willing their heads to surface. Searching for even a bubble to rise over the too still waterline, if only to let her know that they were still under there. That the Cauldron hadn’t swallowed them whole and left nothing to mourn.

She surged towards the Cauldron, prepared to wade through the liquid herself if it meant finding her sisters. But a strong hand caught Feyre around the wrist and tugged, reversing her momentum with little effort. Feyre stumbled into a warm, broad chest, and her knees finally collapsed, buckling beneath the weight of everything she had carried. Everything she had worked so hard to avoid, crumbling to pieces before her eyes.

Rhysand held her close, half-carrying Feyre as she sobbed into his chest.

“What’s going to happen to them?” His cold, hard question was directed towards Jurian.

“I don’t know,” the human general answered, sounding shell-shocked himself. “I don’t…”

“Get away from her,” Mor hissed. Feyre raised her head from Rhysand’s chest to see that Jurian had stepped towards Miryam, dark eyes fixed on the blood that still trickled from her nose. Alive, at least for now.

Rage twisted his otherwise handsome face. “Are you planning to leave her on the floor, then?”

“If you let us go, we can take her to a healer,” Mor said, sword raised as she stood protectively between Miryam and Jurian.

“He’s already worked his spell,” Jurian spat. “You can’t leave this castle unless the King wills it.”

Azriel crouched into a fighting stance, prepared to slaughter the human—ally or not—if he made so much as a move against Mor.

“And even if I could let you leave,” Jurian went on, that rage turning sharper. He tipped his chin towards the Cauldron, where Nesta and Elain had been under far longer than any human could hold their breath. “Would you choose to leave them behind?”

Those footsteps were louder, now, nearly to the chamber. Jurian bared his teeth. “Think quickly, Morrigan. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Feyre darling.” Rhys tucked his lips against her temple in a gesture that mimicked soothing, so that no one would notice as he whispered, “The second your sisters come out of the Cauldron, you’re going to cleave the wards, and we’re going to winnow everyone out. Just like you told me you did last time. Okay?”

If they came out of the Cauldron, she wanted to say. But she didn’t let herself give merit to that voice.

They had to come out. They had to.

So instead she nodded, stifling another sob against her mate’s chest, pulling strength from him as she began to thrash against the ancient chains that coiled around her magic.

“The tides have certainly changed for you, Rhysand,” Jurian called. “A mated male. Last I saw you, Amar—”

“Finish that sentence, and you’ll lose your tongue,” Azriel warned, voice whetted with quiet, lethal rage.

Jurian gave a hollow laugh. “Just as perky as I remember, Azriel.”

Heavy, strolling steps echoed down the chamber. Feyre didn’t dare turn her face towards the entrance, already knowing who those steps belonged to from the way Rhysand tensed. The cruel, hateful face of the King of Hybern was one already etched into her nightmares.

“Treating our guests well, Jurian?” The King asked in place of announcing his arrival. “And—oh? What’s this?”

The stone beneath them began to tremble. Rhys tugged Feyre closer, prepared to use his own physical body as a shield to protect her. That thought made her push harder against the spell that bound their magic, desperately clawing her way towards its source.

Then—it was as though the entire room erupted.

If not for Rhys holding her steady, Feyre would have stumbled from the burst of wind that fled the chamber, the accompanying boom so deafening that she could not discern when it had faded. Was it still reverberating off the walls, or was that just the trembling of her bones? Was it still echoing off the stone, or was that ringing a silent song only for her ears?

Numbly, she whipped her head to see that the Cauldron had been tipped over by some invisible force. Water came pouring out in a cascade, spilling over the chamber floor. Black, smoke-coated water.

Elain and Nesta, as though they’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. They were soaking wet, what little of their skin revealed by the Illyrian leathers they bore had turned a deathly pale color. But Elain sucked in a breath, and Nesta began coughing up air and water as she pushed onto her elbows. Alive, alive, alive—and… as they raised their faces, the faelight caught on their soft glowing skin and their delicately pointed ears. Fae.

“Incredible,” the King of Hybern murmured.

Knowing they were alive—that was all Feyre needed for her power to finally explode. She pushed past those hands that were clamped down on her power, unleashing it into the room in a flash of pure white light, all that could escape with the damper from the King’s spell.

It burst into the chamber, sending the King and Jurian hissing as they shielded their faces away. And Rhysand was instantly moving, darting towards her sisters as Feyre reached deep within Day’s light until she found that purifying, clear power. She used that light to wipe through every physical trapping, let it show her the snarls of spells and glamorous, guiding her through the King’s spell as she burned brighter, looking, looking—

And there, buried deep inside the bone-walls of the castle, were the tightly woven wards. Feyre sent that blinding light flaring once more, blinding the room as she severed the wards at their ancient arteries.

She shouted, and as the light died she could see Rhysand and her sisters had disappeared. The King began snapping orders, and Feyre could feel his magic already scrambling to reseal the wards. There was a blur of movement in the corner of her eye, and Feyre turned to see Azriel moving protectively in front of Mor as she gathered Miryam into her arms. With a flick of his wrist, a knife sliced through the air, headed straight towards the King as Mor and Miryam vanished into smoke. Feyre willed the world to fold around herself, trusting Azriel to use his momentary distraction to do the same.

Those hazel eyes found hers. Go, they screamed, his lips curled back into a snarl. Feyre knew he wouldn’t leave until she was safe. On the vow that he had made to Rhysand this morning, but also on the vow that he had made to Feyre on the night she had been sworn in as High Lady. I will serve and protect.

Shadows closed around her, and just as the world had nearly slipped away entirely, Jurian fired an ashbolt straight through Azriel’s chest.

-

Wind and shadow carried Feyre only as far as her magic could withstand. She estimated she must have covered half the distance between Hybern and Velaris before she stumbled out of the sky somewhere in the middle of the Western sea. Too drained to summon anything that could slow her descent, she hurdled through the air and crashed into the dark, awaiting ocean.

Deep, deep below the surface, the world was quieter. She could still hear the ringing in her ears, but it was subdued beneath layers of ocean water and the rush of air bubbles surfacing around her. Feyre drifted, unconvinced she would even have the strength to kick herself up let alone swim to land. This was how it would end, she thought miserably. Not by Hybern, not by War, or Fate, or Time. But by slowly sinking into the quiet abyss that grew deeper and darker beneath her.

Feyre, Rhys called desperately through the bond. Feyre, where are you? Did you make it out?

Those mental talons brushed against her mental walls, begging to be let in. As she continued to sink down, she felt Rhysand tug at the bond, gently at first and then with increasing vigor. Feyre, he whispered, yanking so hard that more air bubbles fled her lips. Feyre, please.

She opened her eyes and angled her head up towards that dying, ever distant light. It was like being back Under the Mountain, she thought distantly. Feeling that tug toward the light, knowing if she let herself drift towards that darkness there would be peace at last.

But not for Rhysand. Not for her mate, who would have lost Feyre and Azriel in the same failed mission. Not for her sisters, who would have traded their humanity in vain. Not for Azriel, who sacrificed himself so she could escape.

Sometimes it’s just about having resilience after you’ve been beaten down.

For them, Feyre willed her feet to kick. Again and again, even as her lungs blistered with need, even as her vision went spotty and every motion in her body became agonizing, Feyre kept clawing towards that light.

Just as she was about to break the surface, something heavy slammed into her. Whatever precious air she was conserving punched out of her lungs, replaced instead with a flood of seawater that had her choking. The last thing she registered was a hand wrapping around her shoulders before everything went dark.

-

She awoke to a burning heat on her face. Feyre blinked against the too-bright light, raising a stiff arm over her face in an attempt to spare herself from its intensity. She was laying on top of sun-bathed wooden boards, below a cloudless blue sky. She was on a ship—if the sound of the crashing ocean waves and cawing seabirds were anything to go by.

Slowly, Feyre sat up, wincing against her throbbing headache and aching bones to search her surroundings, looking for Rhys. Had he found her? Taken her aboard a ship and…

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” chirped a lovely, lilted voice. A female walked across the deck, holding a canteen that Feyre prayed was full of water. Her throat felt like she had swallowed sandpaper.

But more importantly—Rhys. Feyre couldn’t feel their bond. And if he was on board, he would have been here. Especially after the way he had been reaching for her, begging for her.

“Rhysand,” Feyre rasped, feeling nothing as she reached inside for that familiar golden thread that interwove their souls. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” the faerie said sympathetically.

And it wasn’t just the bond that refused to answer. The well of power, once as deep and vast as the ocean they rocked over, was gone. Sealed behind a pane of glass she couldn’t break, no matter how she banged against its surface. “My magic—Why can’t I feel my magic?”

“We had our healer look at you, but we were limited in supplies. She said the biggest thing you needed was rest, and faebane is an effective sedative in a pinch—we’d just stolen a cache off one of Hybern’s ships.”

All Feyre could think of was Rhysand, feeling their bond go mute and fearing the worst.

“How long have I been asleep?” she rasped.

“Over an entire day,” the female answered. She plopped onto the deck beside Feyre and handed her the canteen. Feyre began drinking greedily as the female continued, “We’re almost to the harbor now. Normally we don’t patrol that far North, but the Captain said he had a ‘feeling’. Then low and behold, as close to Hybern as the High Lord would sanction, we saw Feyre Cursebreaker fall out of the sky.”

With the canteen emptied, Feyre screwed the cap on and handed it back to the female. “Which High Lord?”

“Tarquin,” she answered proudly, and Feyre was instantly flooded with relief. “We’ll be returning to the War Camp on the border of Winter and Summer.”

The one that Cassian was likely stationed at. Did he know what had happened, or would she be the one to deliver the news? Feyre turned, prepared to ask if it was the very same War Camp Cassian was leading, but she looked at the female and, for the first time, properly registered her face.

Warm bronze eyes were staring at her, crinkled with a happiness that made Feyre feel as though she were choking on seawater once more. Her gold-brown hair was braided back off her round face—A face that had once been pale and sallow. Feyre remembered staring into those warm eyes as the light drained from them. And now that faerie was sitting next to her beneath a warm, sun-lit sky, head tipped with gratitude as though Feyre hadn’t once driven a blade through her heart.

“Were you the one that jumped into the water?” Feyre whispered.

The female shrugged. “You fell in pretty deep. We were all trying to find where you had landed. I just happened to be the first one to see you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Oriana,” she said pleasantly.

Feyre swallowed. “Thank you, Oriana.”

Oriana’s eyes turned solemn. “No, Cursebreaker. The debt was mine to pay. In your third task—“

“Don’t.” The word was little more than a garbled syllable in the back of her throat. Feyre tore her eyes away from Oriana’s face, blinking at the crashing waves over the starboard in an attempt to banish her lingering ghost. “I wasn’t motivated by debt, or incurring favor.” Nor goodness, she wanted to add. Instead, she whispered as a confession to the sea, “Who’s to say in different circumstances, I would have chosen the same path?”

“Circumstances inform all our choices,” Oriana said, following Feyre’s gaze toward the open sea—where it stretched for miles and miles in every direction. “The winds and currents of the water are always changing, and the quickest route to shore today may not be the same tomorrow.” Her brown eyes were so wide, the entire horizon reflected in their light. “All we can do is brave the tides as they come, and act accordingly.”

It sounded so similar to the lesson Azriel had been trying to impart. Azriel, who had taken a bolt to his chest… who might still be in that castle in Hybern. Who might be dead.

Feyre’s eyes began to sting, but she told herself it was only the seawater.

“What matters to me, Cursebreaker, is what you chose on this path. Whatever your motivations, because of you I was able to return home to my mate.”

“Your… mate?”

Oriana’s lower lip trembled, but she kept her chin tilted towards the sea. “The grief you spared her… for that alone, I will always feel indebted to you.”

The boat rocked over a wave, jostling Feyre as the nose tipped up then back down, cutting through every opponent that challenged the ship. But even once the deck had righted, Feyre still felt off balance.

In another life, Oriana’s mate had felt that same soul-ripping grief that haunted the High Lord and Lady of the Night. And in this life, in this time… Oriana’s mate had never touched that pain at all.

“Are you… crying, my Lady?”

Feyre quickly wiped at the rogue tears that had escaped. “I’m just relieved that I was able to make a positive difference.”

“More than you could understand, Lady.” Oriana reached for her hand, and Feyre might have been startled at the sudden forwardness if not for the conviction on the female’s face. “Look around the crew. You have not been fae for long, so it may not be obvious to you, but there are sailors from nearly every court stationed on this ship. Prythian hasn’t been united like this in… perhaps since its inception.”

“Prythian would have banded together regardless—”

“Not without its savior,” Oriana interrupted fiercely. “Spring and Night in alliance? Any faerie would be laughed out of the room for suggesting it was possible.”

Oriana stood up, stretching her arms above her head as though this were all casual conversation to her. “I suppose I can understand why the leaders, with their eyes turned towards the carnage, might miss what’s been happening. But I’ve been in the taverns, drinking with the soldiers of every court in the alliance. And hope is so thick in the air you can taste it. Maybe have a drink while you’re in the harbor, see if you can feel it too.”

-

The crew let Feyre be for the short remainder of the journey. Oriana had vanished in the commotion of the ship preparing for land. Feyre felt the strangest mixture of relief and despair tangle in her chest as she watched the Summer Court climb in the horizon. It meant that soon, she would be able to reunite with her mate and assure him that she was safe. Alive. But if Azriel hadn’t made it out… she would have to look Rhys and Cassian in the eyes to tell them that she had left their brother behind.

That thought made it difficult to bask in the glory of the approaching inlet. Feyre had never seen an ocean so bright—under the glistening sun, it was almost turquoise, and so clear she could see through to the sand deep below. The bay was flush with ships, each bearing a proud sail of the six courts in the alliance. Gathered together, in one place. Oriana had told Feyre that more soldiers arrived each day, and by the sheer quantity of battleships, Feyre could believe it.

Tall buildings rose over the docks as the boat came closer. Unlike Adriata, which was marked by Tarquin’s large palace, homes and businesses laid central to the harbor, so colorful in variety it was as though a coral reef had come to life above the water. A small, dormant part of Feyre itched to paint it. She pushed that instinct down, knowing she was not here to sightsee, or drink with soldiers at the tavern. She needed to find Cassian, and get back to the Night Court. Find out how her sisters were coping with the change, and create a plan to get Azriel back.

More than anything, she needed to figure out how to get Azriel back.

That singular purpose propelled her off the ship when it docked. Filing onto land with the rest of the crew, she let the flow of the crowd carry her to the edge of the harbor. A pair of sailors was carrying a large crate between them, headed towards the outskirts of the docks. Feyre started to follow, before a hand found her arm.

“Are you looking for the Illyrians?” It was Oriana, pulling her in the opposite direction of the traffic. “They’re camped away from the city center. The General moved them after a small skirmish.” At Feyre’s expression, she laughed. “Nothing he couldn’t handle. He keeps his troops in line, your General.”

Feyre expected nothing less of Cassian. Pride flickered in her chest, a small candle against the icy dread that gripped her. She followed Oriana up the hills above the city, where a cluster of tents nestled in a small, grassy vale overlooking the harbor. On top of a hill, she could recognize Lord Devlon leading a group of soldiers through a late afternoon training session. Light caught the tips of their talons, gleaming against the sweat coating their faces—and in many cases, their naked chests. It was a sight she may have appreciated on any other occasion, but now Feyre was solemnly scanning through the faces of each of the soldiers, searching for her friend among them.

They continued to the tent that laid in the center of the camp, larger than the others. Feyre was grateful to have Oriana at her side, if only because the female was willing to brush aside the tent flaps with none of her reservations. Gravity felt heavier once they’d stepped inside, met with the makeshift war table fashioned from supply crates in the center of the room. A map laid across it with pieces strategically placed over the uneven surface, and several dark heads of hair whipped up from the map as they entered.

Her eyes immediately went to the male in the center, commanding an easy authority. When he straightened, the other soldiers did too. Despite how they may have loathed his leadership, it was clear they submitted to Cassian’s superior rank—his right by the sweat and blood he’d paid. When he bowed to Feyre, the others did too.

“High Lady,” Cassian greeted, with so much warmth and excitement in his voice that Feyre’s heart shriveled. He didn’t know. Casian flicked his eyes up, a slow smile blooming on his lips. Until he properly glimpsed her expression. He froze, then barked, “Out.”

The Illyrians disappeared with no further prompting. Even Oriana, with a small smile, squeezed Feyre’s hand and wished her farewell.

Cassian waited until the flaps of the tent fluttered shut. He took a breath, the rigidity flowing out of him on the exhale, until he was looking at her with a face full of concern. “Something went wrong on your mission in Hybern,” he said.

Not a question.

Cassian leaned back against the makeshift table, grip so tight the wood threatened to splinter beneath the force of his siphoned hands. “Did Rhys and Azriel…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Feyre couldn’t find it in herself to answer.

“Rhys made it out,” she said, so weak a condolence that it was barely a whisper. “So did Mor. And Nesta.”

Cassian wiped a hand across his jaw. “Nesta was there?”

Feyre winced, then nodded. “She and Mor hatched some plan together. Nesta’s fae now.”

He slumped back against the crates, pushing his hands up, across his face, to shield whatever his expression gave away. It was not the celebration she had wanted for him, or for Nesta. Not when the cost of her becoming fae was…

Cassian was shaking his head. “Just say it, Feyre.”

It was her responsibility. As High Lady. As the one Azriel had risked his life to protect.

“Azriel didn’t make it.” The words were bitter. More than any metal or blood or powdered faebane. Some foreign toxin her tongue rejected. “We were the last to winnow out. The last thing I saw…” she swallowed, forcing strength into her voice. “The last thing I saw was Jurian firing an ashbolt into his chest.”

The silence that answered her was excruciating. Cassian’s face remained buried between his hands, the air between them stagnant for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.

At last, Cassian raised his head, schooling his features until he was the commanding General she had seen when she first walked into the tent. There was not an ounce of pain in his expression—unless she looked too closely at his eyes.

“Where’s Rhysand?”

“I don’t know. The Night Court, I’m assuming.” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself. “My magic was drained, I ended up falling into the Western sea and getting fished out of the waters by a passing ship. They took me here.”

“Shit, Feyre.” Cassian glanced towards the map, studying the open waters between Hybern and the Night Court. “He’s probably losing his mind.”

She flinched, imagining her mate scouring the oceans. Would he do something rash, if he thought the King of Hybern had both his mate and his brother? A warm hand found her shoulder, drawing Feyre’s attention from the details on the map that had suddenly become so very interesting.

“You got out,” Cassian said. His fingers tightened, and then he pulled her against his chest, banding his large arms around her shoulders in a hug that expelled the air from her lungs. “That’s what matters, Feyre. To me, to Az, to Rhys. You're our High Lady. We swore to protect, and we live and die by that oath.”

“We’re going to get him back,” Feyre swore. She grit her teeth to contain the sob building in her throat. This was not the time for wallowing in her sorrow. She was the High Lady of the Night Court. It was time to regroup. To retaliate. To get back in the ring after being beaten down. She bared her teeth, hugging Cassian back fiercely as she repeated, “We’re going to get him back.”

[tired-tales]

Miryam kept her spear pointed at the fallen angel. She knew it wouldn't keep her at bay for long. Alexandriel's grey, shabby wings were splattered with blood, much of it Miryam's. Too much of it. With only the sheer cliff behind her, and the angel in front of her, there was little doubt how this would end. The only thing she could do was talk and pray. She hoped it would buy the children enough time to escape. The angel, golden eyes shocking against skin like midnight, just stared at her as she spoke, and the serenity nearly drove her to madness.

"You're a monster. You know that, don't you?"

She merely inclined her head.

"How can you be so calm? What, this is just one more town's children to add to your pyre? Are you so inured to your own evil that you won't even shed a tear?"

"Would that help?"

Miryam startled, not expecting a response.

"What?"

"Would that help? Would shedding a tear reduce the monstrosity of killing innocent children? Will the parents, if they live, be even slightly comforted by the knowledge that it was shed? Would it make you feel better, if I wail and rend my garments and cover them in ash?" She paused, then somehow focused more intently on Miryam, the golden sclera and dark pupils becoming discomforting from even a dozen feet away. "Would it?"

Surprised by the genuine emotion in the question, she paused, and the creature continued before she could speak.

"I did not think so. However much I may regret what I have done, grieving will not change it. I will not dishonor the dead with my tears."

"I...you...you can't say you regret it! You're still doing it! Right now! You are literally about to kill me so you can hunt down more children."

"I can and I do. If I had known then what I know now, I would not have begun this quest. If I could undo it, I would." The solemnity of Alexandriel's words almost disguised their utter absurdity. Almost.

"THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING IT?!" Half rage and half desperation, she lunged forward, trying to skewer one of the angel's wings. If she could just slow her down-

The angel batted the spear tip aside with one gauntleted hand. The other, moving with blinding speed, hooked up and around. Pulling against the haft in the opposite direction, the spear splintered, leaving Miryam with only a staff. She quickly shifted her stance, but the angel didn't pursue. Miryam hated the look of pity in her eyes when she spoke, more even than the certain knowledge she would soon die.

"How could I not?" the monster said simply.

Miryam was confused for a moment, nearly forgetting what she'd shouted before striking, and then her confusion only grew. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, because Alexandriel continued,

"All the evils I have committed, every child whose soul burned on that pyre. How could I let them go to waste? I said I would not dishonor the dead with my tears, and I meant it. You asked why I do not cry for your children? Because if I started now, when would I stop? How much worse would I be, if I threw away their sacrifices to ease my guilt? No. I will finish this, and if I cannot say their deaths were not wasteful, I can at least ensure they will not be wasted."

Miryam's head nearly spun with the force of her fury, again overwhelming her grief and terror.

"Sacri-no I cant ev- GAHHH!" she screamed at the sky. The angel had begun to close the distance slowly, gauntlets ready to block any attacks from the impromptu staff, but she paused almost politely to let Miryam yell. When she turned back to face the angel, she felt empty, only the growing dread of knowing exactly what form her death would take. She opened her mouth to argue, to demand by what right the angel called murder a sacrifice by her victims. What came out was,

"That's stupid."

The angel actually paused for a moment, her mouth opening slightly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Never, she thought, but she said, "that's not how any of that works! You cannot change the past. You said it yourself! Grieving won't bring them back, but neither will succeeding in your quest! They'll be just as dead. Their parents will not be any less devastated. Your success will not vindicate you. The only just path is to stop now, and never use their murders as your justification again."

The angel froze as if slapped, and Miryam felt a brief glimmer of hope.

"You are right of course, and I twice the fool for it."

She almost started to lower her staff when the monster's eyes found hers again.

"I cannot change the past. But I can change the future. You are right, success will not change what I did to them. No more than failure would."

With a sudden, feral lunge, the monster batted aside the staff and shoved Miryam, the hand gripping her leathers the only thing keeping her from falling over the edge.

"But that blade cuts both ways. Stopping now will not bring them back. Will undo nothing." The monster's teeth were gritted, tension in every line of her body. The dark voids she had in place of irises and pupils pulled at Miryam's mind, and she noted with a strange detachment that she could make out constellations in the inky black.

"I did not lie. If I could undo my mistakes, if I could tell myself the cost would be too high before I ever began, I would. I would die for it, if I could." The tension left her jaw, her eyes almost soft.

"But I cannot. Compared to what has been paid, how little is left? If I cannot use their deaths as justification to continue, neither can I use them as excuse to stop. I will kill your children, and then four thousand more. I will burn their souls on the pyre and renew the seal, and I will consider the price of a mere 4,000 innocent children well worth a Myriad of peace."

Miryam desperately grabbed for cloth as the monster released her grip. But of course the monster's clothes weren't really there to grab. As she felt the mist-like robe slip between her fingers, she heard her speak.

"There is no justice to be found in this world, not for the likes of me. It will be a relief, I think, to follow them to my eternal rest. Perhaps the year in Gehinnom will be as well."

Alexandriel watched as the woman fell, watched as her body destroyed itself on the rocks. Her eyes stung, but she ignored them, gray wings unfurling. She yet had work to do.

[feyresdaughter]

A Court of Wings and Ruin, Chapter 79:

I'm just dumping all the Feysand and Miryam stuff and then comment okay it's a lot

Miryam’s smiling face was more human than High Fae. But Miryam, I remembered as she and Drakon rose to their feet to greet me, was only half Fae. She bore the delicately pointed ears, but … there was something still human about her. In that broad smile that lit up her brown eyes. I instantly liked her. “High Lady,” Miryam said,

I took her hands , surprised to find them dry and warm. She squeezed my fingers tightly while I managed to say, “I’ve heard so much about you—thank you for coming.”

I cast a look at where Rhys still remained sprawled on the cushions, watching us with raised brows. “For someone who was just dead,” I said tightly, “you seem remarkably relaxed.” Rhys smirked . “I’m glad you’re bouncing back to your usual spirits, Feyre darling.”

Drakon snorted, and took my hands, squeezing them as tightly as his mate had. “What he doesn’t want to tell you, my lady, is that he’s so damn old he can’t stand up right now.” I whirled to Rhys. “Are you—” - “Fine, fine,” Rhys said, waving a hand, even as he groaned a bit. “Though perhaps now you see why I didn’t bother visiting these two for so long. They’re terribly cruel to me.” Miryam laughed, plopping down on the cushions again . “Your mate was in the middle of telling us your story, as it seems you’ve already heard ours.”

I had, but even as Prince Drakon gracefully returned to his seat and I slid into the chair beside his, just watching the two of them … I wanted to know the entire thing. One day— not tomorrow or the day after, but … one day, I wanted to hear their tale in full. But for now

Miryam asked carefully, “Are you—friends with Jurian?” - “No,” I said. “I mean— I don’t think so. But … every word he said was true. And he did help me. A great deal.”

Rhys asked, “I thought I saw Nephelle during the battle— any chance I’ll get to say hello, or is she too important now to bother with me?” Laughter— beautiful laughter—danced in his eyes. I straightened, smiling. “She’s here?” Drakon lifted a dark brow. “You know Nephelle?” - “Know of her,” I said, and glanced toward the tent flaps as if she’d come striding right in. “I— it’s a long story.”

I said, “Is your island still secret?” Miryam and Drakon exchanged a guilty look. “We do apologize for that,” Miryam offered. “It seems that the glamour worked too well, if it kept well-meaning messengers away.” She shook her head, those beautiful curls moving with her. “We would have come sooner—we left the moment we realized what trouble you all were in.” - “No,” I said, shaking my own head, scrambling for the words. “No— I don’t blame you. Mother above, we owe you …” I blew out a breath. “We are in your debt.” Drakon and Miryam objected to that, but I went on, “What I mean is … If there was an object of terrible power that now needed to be hidden … Would Cretea remain a good place to conceal it?” Again that look between them, a look between mates. “Yes,” Drakon said. Miryam breathed, “You mean the Cauldron.” Drakon and Miryam considered , some unspoken conversation passing between them, perhaps down their own mating bond. “When we leave ,” Drakon said at last, “one of our ships might find itself a little heavier in the water.” I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Kicking us out already?” Drakon said with a half smile. “A few days,” Miryam cut in wryly. “As soon as the injured are ready.” - “Good,” I said. They all looked to me. I swallowed. “I mean … Not that I’m glad for you to go …” The amusement in Miryam’s eyes spread , twinkling . I smiled myself . “I want you here. Because I’d like to call a meeting.” A day later … I didn’t know how it’d come together so quickly. I’d merely explained what I wanted, what we needed to do, and … Rhys and Drakon made it happen.

First of all, I want more of them. I already love their dynamic and Feyre fits right in. She likes Miryam instantly and Miryam obviously likes her, and Drakon too. If that wouldn't be the case Rhys would have cut in the conversation. Second, Rhys just told Miryam about Feyres Story and you can obviously make out from the text that they have respect for each other and I LOVE THAT! They are both so interested in learning each other's stories. Third, FEYRE FANGIRLING BECAUSE NEPHELLE IS THERE!!!! Fourth, Miryam calling Feyre High Lady and Drakon calling Feyre my lady is adorable. Fifth, Rhys and Drakon organizing the meeting instantly, love it. Sixth, I also love how quickly they accepted to hide the Cauldron. Seventh, their friendship give the purest vibes fr. They feel like the couples that go on double dates and drink tea on a porch and gossip about their neighbors.

I’d slept through the night, deep and undisturbed, Rhys in bed beside me. I hadn’t let go of him until dawn had leaked into our tent.

The High Lords arrived first. Starting with Beron. Beron, who did not so much as glance at his son-who-was-not-his-son. Lucien, standing on my other side, didn’t acknowledge Beron’s existence, either. Or Eris’s, as he strode a step behind his father.

PLEASE I love Feyres thoughts when Lucien and Beron or Helion are in the room 😭

I started at the slight, dark-haired female who entered on Miryam’s right, her wings much smaller than the other Seraphim. I glanced to where Azriel stood on Rhys’s other side, bandaged all over and wings in splints after he’d worked them too hard yesterday. The shadowsinger nodded in confirmation. Nephelle. I smiled at the legendary warrior-scribe when she noticed my stare as she passed by. She grinned right back at me.

AZRIEL NODDING IN CONFIRMATION AND FEYRE FANGIRLING ABOUT NEPHELLE IS THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD

Graysen looked inclined to turn around, the fresh cut down his cheek crinkling as he scowled, but Jurian nudged him in. A black eye bloomed on the left side of Jurian’s face. I wondered if Miryam or Drakon had given it to him. My money was on the former.

Hehehe, Feyre believes in Miryam so I do too

A half smile. “Partly. Lucien suggested you had gifts. And other High Lords do as well.” Like his father— his true one. Helion.

Again, Feyre 😭 giiiirl I love you

Nesta said, “Do you think it will work— this meeting?” With so many Fae ears in the room beyond, I didn’t dare give any answer but the truth. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.” I offered my hand to my sister. “I want you here for this. With me.” Nesta considered that outstretched hand. For a moment, I thought she’d walk away. But she slid her hand into mine, and together we walked into that room crammed with humans and Fae.

Feyre taking Nestas hand is adorable af Idc

My voice was clear and unwavering. “My name is Feyre Archeron. I was once human— and now I am Fae . I call both worlds my home. And I would like to discuss renegotiating the Treaty.”

YES BABES

[colorlesschristmastree]

i need sjm to give me spin off books about miryam and drakon i know that feyre and rhysand are the blueprint but from the little tidbits we got in the books i know miryam and drakon invented love

Gosh you're so right.. I was thinking about this but the war from 500 years ago has enough material to be it's own series. Like with the way that war occurred it could have been it's own fantasy series, with Hybern and the Queen of the black lands being the final bosses, fighting for their lives for freedom and victory.

And then if you think of all these past events as it's own series with its own main characters and ending, the war in acowar is such a slap in the face to those people. They fought, had their own romances and stories and happy ending, only for that ending to ultimately be finite.

Makes me think about the end of acowar and what could happen to Feysand in 500 more years.

[starfall-spirit]

Star-kissed Night Beneath My Wings

@polyacotarweek Day 5: Favorite Tropes~Duty & Desire, Mutual Pining across the centuries

Polyship: Feyre/Rhysand/Cassian/Azriel

Read on Ao3

AN: This AU was Inspired by @disturbingly-silent's Seraphim!Feyre HC. Thanks for letting me run away with this, lovely!

This fic is going to set up the general AU and then I'll be returning with a few more chapters that dive into what happened in the first war and how the poly dynamic worked for Feyre and the bat boys.

Summary: People say the worst part of war was the bloodshed. The friends you'd fight beside and lose along the way. Maybe her mates were still alive and breathing, but Feyre had lost them all the same. She knew she'd made an unforgivable choice. Five centuries later, she still wasn't quite prepared to face the music.

OR; Seraphim!Feyre x Bat Boys

Rhysand told himself nothing about the visit to Cretea would distract him from his end goal. No matter what was said or who he saw when he landed on that island would keep him from securing the Seraphim legions in the war against Hybern. Yet he still found himself accepting the bottle of whiskey Cassian passed him the moment he entered the House of Wind. Still found himself slumping in his low-backed chair between his two brooding brothers and drinking straight from the bottle.

Amren grimaced, but said nothing about the pity party the three of them were hosting. His cousin, however, was too much of a busybody to let it slide. “You can’t be certain you’ll see her tomorrow. Or in the battles ahead of us. Who knows where Drakon will order whatever battalion she ends up lumped into.”

“Lumped into?” Cassian scoffed. “Drakon won’t be lumping her into anything, Mor. You saw her out there. Barely more than a child, then. With five centuries under her belt…”

Feyre Archeron was remarkable in every sense of the word. He couldn’t forget her skill set in combat any more than he could forget the feeling of her body pressed against his in those few precious nights they shared. Her soft hair tangled around his fingers, the sweet sounds she made, caught between him and his brothers. The glaze in her eyes when they’d map every inch of her wings before letting her return the favor. It was the worst sort of torture, those memories. And beside them, that yawning pit in his chest. Because his mate—their mate, however the fuck it was made possible—had walked away.

And they’d let her. They’d stood there in silence, lingered just long enough for Rhys to cloak the island himself. And then they’d winnowed home as if their little bubble of happiness in a world gone to hell hadn’t just shattered.

Now, he supposed, they’d see where that landed them.

~~~~~

“Rhysand?” Feyre sputtered. “As in, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.”

Miryam dismissed her alarm as if it was nothing more than an insect. “You say that like you didn’t call him a friend those years ago. Whatever rumors may claim, we know the truth.”

“That isn’t—” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Miryam clearly marked the defensive motion, but said nothing. “I’m not making assumptions or villainizing anyone. I’m just wondering why they’re visiting after centuries of silence.”

“Feyre, we all knew Hybern wouldn’t stay down forever. The king has had time to lick his wounds and build a grudge.”

She frowned. “You think Night is here for war aid?”

“Among other things.” She stilled at that voice, smooth as silk and sharp as the legendary blade he kept. Azriel. And on either side of him were the other two males she’d abandoned. “Hello, Feyre. Long time.”

“Yeah.” Guilt was already sinking its nasty claws into her, more invasive than any daemati mind games. “It has been.” 

She made herself look at each one of them in turn. Azriel, who like always, kept his face neutral, emotions shut down. If he had any feelings about seeing her here, she couldn’t read it on his face. Cassian had a mask of his own, one that made him seem like an open book to most. But he had become Rhys’ commander for a reason, just as she had become Drakon’s. It was a glint in his eyes and a waver in that charmer’s smile that said the wound she left hadn’t healed entirely. How could it, without a formal rejection? She was even more of a bitch than she felt like that day.

As for Rhys, the look on his eyes made her wonder how much stock could be put in the rumors she’d heard about the Lord of Nightmares. There was nothing of the young prince she’d tangled with in the soft moments between the chaos of battle. Here they were, caught up in another war, another moment of calm. So much was left unspoken, yet nothing went unheard. What cold first words did he intend to deliver?

“A commander. Just as we expected.” She blinked, waiting for something to follow that would cut her to the quick. “You were the best among your peers, after all.”

“Thank you.”

A loud clap broke the tension building. “Hello, old friends,” Drakon exclaimed, gliding up from behind her and greeting the trio warmly. “Let’s all find a seat, shall we? Get down to business. Rhys, where’s your delightful cousin?”

“Home, keeping things moving with the other High Lords. We intend to host a meeting, and gather reinforcements. Secure the other six courts’ armies before our continent is cleaved. Hybern has the Cauldron and is using the weak points in the wall to begin his invasion. Even with their numbers behind us, if we can gain the loyalty of solar and seasonal…”

“You’ll always have my people willing to fly beside yours, Rhys. Just tell us where we’re needed.”

The High Lord nodded. “Thank you, Drakon.”

“Of course. Feyre of course knows how best our current military can be of service.” 

Her chest tightened. She knew exactly where this was going. “I’m glad to be of help, however I can.”

Cassian chuckled. She wondered if her friends could hear the hollowness in it as clearly as she could. Their eyes locked again, warrior to warrior, soul to soul. This was not going to be an easy road to travel. "Of course, pressing as all of this is, we shouldn't waste the opportunity to simply catch up," the general said. Not to mention it's been ages since I've had the pleasure of sparring with a seraphim." Sparring. So that's how he was going to play this. "Care to be my first challenger, Feyre?"

Drakon huffed. "Stop flirting with my commander, Cassian."

Another soft laugh, but he complied all the same. Still, simple as the words were, they'd done their job in summoning the past. Feyre only hoped she wouldn't caught in a mess by the time this was all through; that she'd survive whatever storm her mates would bring upon them all.

~~~~~

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