#fem tamlin

[fourteentrout]

@lucychanart inspired me to finish and post my fem tam sketches. Still figuring out her vibe but if there’s one thing for sure it’s that she’s got tits for days.

Do you see the vision

[bindinglove]

no thoughts just tamlin in an outfit inspired by the folklore dress.

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our Girl – Part 4

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut [18+, minors DNI]

You stared at the gold invitation, cursive writing announcing Cresseida to be wed in a months time. And there was your name printed, Y/N and partners. You had scoffed when you first saw it – maybe in another life.

You were chewing your lip, lost in thought on whether to attend or not. You knew at the least, Rhys and Feyre would attend the wedding – that meant seeing them. And word would surely spread of your work at Spring Court once you got to chatting to other guests – that would reveal your location. 

“Whats bothering you, young spark?” Finbark asked from the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables as a pot of stew boiled behind him. He looked up briefly, spotting the invitation in your hand. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not attending?” 

“I don't want to risk what I have here.”

“Y/N, everything you’ve worked for is already yours. Your home here, your work, even your privacy, no one can take that away from you now, not even a High Lord or Lady.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s just… I've so enjoyed my little bubble away from everything that happened. Seeing them… they made me feel so small Fin, so helpless. I don't know if I can stand going through that again.”

“So much has happened since then. Look at all you’ve done, all you’ve accomplished. Thousands of fae, gods, even the entire damn court is mending thanks to you. You were never small, and you have proven that to yourself over and over again.”

A wobbly smile jerked at your lips, tears pricking in your eyes. He wiped his hands, leaving the vegetables to come cup your face, brushing away your tears.

“You cannot lock yourself in Spring Court forever, sweetheart. Don't punish yourself for their mistakes, expand your horizons, celebrate with friends that are equally yours as they are theirs. And celebrate yourself, you deserve that even more.”

You reached for your uncle’s rippled hand, holding it tight. “Thank you, Finbark. You mean the world to me.”

“And you me, young spark.” 

So it was decided. You would attend the wedding, without any partners.

————

“Where are we going?” you called from Podie, Tamlin a few paces ahead on his own horse. He was leading you through a trail you weren't familiar with.

“For the umpteenth time Y/N, it’s a surprise.” He called back without turning his head. 

You let out an audible sigh, to which Tamlin chuckled. You did your best not to admire his ass as he straddled a horse – it helped neither of you how handsome Tamlin looked in his riding clothes. You pressed your heels to Podie, coming to trot beside him.

“You should know I hate surprises,” you sang.

“Even the good kind? What a shame,” Tamlin responded, clearly not letting up on where he was taking you. You poked your tongue out, earning another chuckle.

It had been several months since your first dinner with Tamlin, and you had fallen into a comfortable pattern with the High Lord. You enjoyed a regular drink or meal together when your work crossed paths, and he had even consulted you on advice for his court, which flattered you. His company was a consistent pleasure, and you treasured the friendship you had formed – the Gods knew you needed it.

You managed to bite your tongue for another twenty minutes, and just as you were about to pester him again, Tamlin spoke. “It’s just up this trail.”

Pulling the reins of his horse, Tamlin led you down a steep path, hidden much by overhanging trees and bushes, only to reveal a clearing.

No, not a clearing – a field, blossoming with rows of carefully planted pink flowers. And as you got closer, the size of the field was revealed, bordered by a low wooden fence. It was… a farm?

You drew in an audible breath as the scent of the flowers hit you. You widened your eyes at Tamlin, who was grinning at your shock. You dismounted Podie quickly, rushing to brace the fence as you took in the site with awe. 

“Wild Gernaium?” you choked, your eyes still wide. 

“The healing flower,” Tamlin nodded. “It took a while to learn how to farm them, months in fact, but Spring has Prythians best botanists.”

“And here I thought they could only grow in the wild,” you shook your head with disbelief. “Tamlin, these are so rare, how on earth you were able to farm this many?”

“Spring Court is a land that gives back, the soil here is rich of nutrients and the weather forgiving. It is of course only something we were able to do, thanks to your mission work to help recover the land. This is your accomplishment as much as it is theirs.”

Tears pricked in your eyes then. The amount of fae that could be helped with this crop – it was an overwhelming thought. 

“And they are for you, of course.”

You gaped at the High Lord, who laughed again. 

“For me?”

“Of course, for your work. Whatever you need – farmers to pick the flowers, a factory full of workers to grind and bottle the pigment – say the word and it’s yours.”

“Tamlin, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Please, don’t. It’s not a thanks I deserve, I’m just… trying to look out for my people. Just as you do.”

“Well… you’ve done a Gods damned good job,” you said with raised brows, blowing out a loose breath at the extend of the farm. 

Tamlin threw his head back and laughed, and you grinned at his happiness. You reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Nice work, High Lord.”

Tamlin squeezed your hand back. “It wouldn't be without you.”

He pulled on your hand then, leading you through the flowers as you admired the plants up close. He explained that a factory could be built at the farms edge, attached with a pressing mill and grinders. Your heart fluttered with excitement, your work could extend past manual labour, you could now offer medicine and healing. There was a force brewing inside you, something unstoppable and good, something that lay dormant for centuries, finally unleashed and free.

You still held Tamlin’s hand as he lead you through the field, making your way to a lush hill that overlooked the farm. You sat together, Tamlin listening contently as you excitedly spoke through your ideas on how to harvest the medicine, noting that your small growing team of mission workers could also help to distribute throughout the court.

“How many aid workers have you recruited now?” Tamlin asked. 

“Seven, and we’re currently inducting Nyvya in the east. She’s a trained healer, so will be delighted to hear of the Gernaium.”

“That’s wonderful,” he smiled. 

“It is,” you said warmly, and it occurred to you that you owed Tamlin a truth. An idea you were planning to run by him at a much later time. But with the offer of the Gernaium, the access to this kind of healing, that changed things. “It is,” you repeated almost flatly, chewing at your lip as your eyes fell distant, dancing with thought.

Tamlin caught the movement, and he frowned slightly as he shifted from his lounging position. “What is it?”

Your heart rose in anticipation – you felt sheepish. So you stared at him, deciding on whether it was in fact the right time.

“You can say it – whatever it is,” he said gently, taking your hand. Your silence lead him to start guessing. “Are you leaving Spring?”

“No, no I–”

“Because you are free to come and go as you please. I know my past behaviour speaks for itself, but I would hate to think that you feel trapped or–”

You grabbed his shoulders then, squeezing the muscle underneath. “Tamlin, gods I know that.”

The action seemed to stun him, and his lips pressed into a thin line. You felt a slight twang of guilt for drawing out such a distinct shame in him. 

You took a deep breath, pulling your hands to your lap. “With the mission work expanding, along with my team, we have been able to help fae at the borders, some from Summer, even a few from Autumn.”

Tamlin nodded assuringly, a sign for you to continue. He didn't startle over the technicality of Spring members helping foreign fae – that was a good sign. 

“And it felt good to help them Tam, they were isolated, and just as vulnerable as some of those in Spring.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

You had to take a deep breath, and your eyes found the horizon beyond the rolling hills around you. 

“You know,” you spoke softly. “My ambitions to help and protect others, it has always existed beyond court borders.”

You could see Tamlin shift, before giving a slow nod. 

“After talking with my team, we believe our mission work could gain traction in other courts, should they be willing. We could share knowledge, resources too if it was agreed, and provide aid across Prythian without being conformed to borders.”

You forced your eyes to Tamlin then, grimacing at what you might find written on his face. But it was just as neutral, his eyes soft, his jaw chiselled and handsome and – damn him.

“This is not the way I wanted to propose this to you Tamlin, please know. Especially after your generosity with the Gernaium, I understand completely if you have grown them purely to aid your own subjects. But that doesn't stop the need for mission work across Prythian. I plan to gain the support from as many High Lords and Ladies as possible, and I would be honoured if that started with you.”

Tamlin eyed you with those sharp green eyes, the kind of look that made you shift under the weight of it. And after an insufferable silence, he spoke. 

“You are incredible.”

You blinked in shock, Tamlin’s lips pulling at your reaction. 

“Truly,” he smiled, grabbing your hand to kiss it. “I have never met anyone who was to see a need as great as this, and think to grow it beyond borders. Magic anchors a High Lord or Lady to their Court, it makes us territorial and protective, violent even. But you, this,” he said waving his hand to you, before sighing, contemplating how to say what he felt in words. “You are what this world needs.”

Your eyes welled before two fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “Tamlin,” you chocked, unable to think of anything else to say.

He shifted closer, brushing the tears away with his thumb as he cupped your face. “You have my support Y/N. Thank you for teaching me to be better.”

Emotion surged through you, as if flushing you from years of doubt and hate, replaced now with inspiration, kindness and good, honest love. And then your lips were on his. 

Taken aback, Tamlin caught himself on one strong arm as you held his face and kissed him. You pulled away, worried to have overstepped your boundaries. But then a strong hand laced around your waist, his other propping himself up as he leaned in, closing his mouth over yours, a sharp breath drawn as his nose brushed against your. Friendship, understanding, a blossoming love – how quickly Tamlin had welcomed you to a world capable of healing, of growth. 

Every fibre in your limbs begged to be closer to him, to bask in the vulnerability he had shown you, and you him. In only half a year, you had grown together, healed together, and learned to love one another. You did, you loved him, for whatever he was to you – a dear friend, a High Lord, it didn't matter. It was equal, and genuine, and you craved it in every way. 

Fuelled in by dizzy passion, you quickly straddled his lap, pulling at his broad shoulders to bring him further into you, letting him encompass your senses. 

Tamlin’s own hands slid across your back, moving up to your neck, gripping at the roots of your hair, the other grasped at the flesh where your thighs met your hips. 

He seemed to realise where this was heading, pulling away with a sharp breath through his nose. “Y/N–”

You shook your head, dismissing him immediately with another kiss, your tongue begging for entrance to his mouth. “Tamlin.” His name was a plea.

“Are you cer–?”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his question, peppering kissed in between words. “I’ve–never–been–more–certain.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and goosebumps pricked at your skin as you felt it vibrate through to you. Your excitement peaked, it had been so long since you had shared yourself with another, and your core fluttered with anticipation as every fragment of you seemed to chant yes, yes, yes. 

Which is exactly what you moaned as Tamlin entered you, your skirts pulled high, his riding pants pulled low. You placed a flat palm on his chest, your eyes clenched shut as you stretched around his girth, your walls already throbbing as you slowly slid down. Tamlin let out a stifled growl, one laced with satisfaction and a lot of restraint. 

Strong arms hugged you then, and you began to writhe together, moving gently and sensually as you ground against each other. Chasing release was far beyond you, there was so much pleasure to be had in sharing your bodies, relishing in the trust you both had found in one another.

Tamlin did his best to keep a leash if his instincts, his beast form begging to be released and he grunted and growled when you moved your hips in a certain way, nipping at your neck and ear as claws now ran down your back. You ran your fingers through his hair, using it to guide his face to yours as you kissed him and fucked him how you pleased. His own hands moved to grip at your ass to do the same. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, his deep voice breaking, strained with pleasure. 

“Tamlin, gods, you feel–”

“So. Good,” he gritted, finishing your sentence. You leaned back, head thrown back as your hands found balance on his thighs as you rode him in the warm spring air. 

Pleasure found both of you again and again in that afternoon. You climaxed on his lap, and not twenty minutes later he was pushing into you again, your bare thighs spread on the lush green grass as he moved above you. You clung together, a writhing, sweaty mix of passion and pleasure until the sun began to set over the rolling hills. 

Tamlin reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours as you ate the last of the berries he had packed. He kissed your forehead before turning you to rest against his chest, not wanting you to miss the view. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured into your hair. 

Stroking his arms that were tightly wrapped at your waist, you swallowed, debating on what to say. But no, Tamlin deserved the truth, you must always choose truth. You sighed , saddened by what was churning through your head after such incredible sex.

“I’m thinking we need to discuss what this afternoon means.” 

You loved him, you did, but Tamlin was bound to his court, and your life called beyond it. It wouldn't work, no matter how much you cared for each other.

Tamlin knew this too. “What if,” he spoke softly, brushing your hair away from your neck so he could place a gentle kiss on it. “What if we enjoy this moment for what it is, just for today.”

You smiled, kissing his hands. “Tomorrow then.”

“Plenty of problems await,” he joked, and you laughed before settling further into him. You smiled cockily as you felt him harden against you. Tomorrow indeed.

————

One month later

Peering from the carriage window, your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the clap of horses hooves as guests arrived at the summer estate, music floating gently from within.

Dawned in all colours, you watched guests gasp in awe at the beauty of the building. This was one of many of Tarquin’s estates - one you had never visited. It was an open, grecian style home, golden columns holding the impressive entrance carved with shimmering vines. Fae flocked in groups, sparkling wine already in their hands as they made their way to the gardens, no doubt where the service was being held. 

“Are you alright?” Tamlin asked, the velvet of his deep green suit brushing against your bare arm. 

“Uneasy to say the least,” you said thickly, your tongue stiff with nerves. “And you?”

Tamlin looked beyond the window, eyeing each of the guests. “One step at a time,” was his response as he squeezed your knee. 

————

The curtesy wine offered to you at the entrance was gone within the first few moments of arriving. You wouldn't make a fool of yourself here, but a little wine to take the edge off couldn't hurt. 

Tarquin stood proudly, wearing a fine turquoise suit detailed with gold thread, shaking hands as he welcomed guests. 

“Y/N,” he beamed, taking your hands and kissing each of your cheeks. “I’m honoured you came.”

“The pleasure is mine, Tarquin. Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense, both Creseida and I might have forced you here if you had not come willingly.”

You laughed freely. “How is she?”

“A wreck of nerves,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sure she looks beautiful,” you laughed lightly back. 

“She does, just as you do,” he winked, raising your hands he still held to take in your dress. A silken, soft blue dress fell of your body, its back open as material gathered just before your rear. The dressmaker had done an incredible job, fitting style and colour alike. You had politely declined her suggestions of a sage green, a Spring Court signature. It was kind, but you were courtless for over a year now, and proud of it. Instead, you had asked for sky blue – as no one ruled the skies. 

Blushing, you let out another soft laugh. “You are too kind, High Lord.”

Tarquins eyes flashed behind you, catching Tamlin as he spoke with some familiars a few paces away. “Have you…?” he questioned, trailing off.

You smiled knowingly. “I’ve come alone. Tamlin and I shared a carriage, journeying from the same court. You remember of my work there?”

“Remember? Sweetheart, there is talk of your mission throughout my court. There are guests here who are very keen to meet you. And we will need to formally discuss your work, and give a proper thanks to the aid you have provided at the border.”

You were smiling wide now, shaking your head with gratitude. “I would like that too, but perhaps not here.”

Tarquin grinned. “No, perhaps not. Welcome, sweet Y/N, please enjoy the festivities, and accomodation.”

You smiled politely as Tamlin approached, exchanging a firm handshake before raising his brows at you. “Shall we head in?”

Nodding tightly, you let Tamlin guide you with a hand at the small of your back. At the very least, the warmth of his skin against yours was a small comfort. 

The estate was even more impressive the further you ventured, white marble and golden staircases twisting this way and that, leading to corridors of rooms, each door carved to perfection. These were the guest accomodations, and included your own for the evening. 

But the jewel of the home was its view, where a perfectly groomed garden now catered to almost a thousand fae, overlooking the crystal blue Adriatic, the waves beneath crashing the cliff quieted by the string quartet. It was an overwhelming beautiful home, and you were glad to be lost in a sea of guests. 

 A golden arch was set at the end of a the aisle, a High Priestess exchanging words with a groom you did not recognise. But you smiled – you were happy for Creseida. 

“An impressive turnout,” Tamlin muttered, sipping his wine as his green eyes turned sharp, scanning the crowd. You ignored the glances being cast your way, whether it was from your attendance with Tamlin, or Tamlin’s presence alone, you didn't care. What did these fools know of either of your stories to judge.

And you tried not to look, to not let your heart beat fast as you scoured for a rare set of wings amongst the finery of the wedding, telling yourself you wouldn’t turn your heel and run at the site of any siphons or shadows or night. But you were thankful to not find any. 

That was, until you felt them. Muscles jerking, goosebumps pricked your skin as your power began to tingle sharply, spreading across your body like a rash. Shit – you hadn't anticipated to lose your lid in such a way, your power had been so forgiving this past year. 

A small gap parted in the crowd of guests at the stairs of the estate, and the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were revealed. Arms loop, night curling around them in the fashion that impressed and threatened all at once. Rhysand shook hands with a nearby male, Feyre kissing the cheeks of a curtsying female. 

It shocked you, how quickly your spy instincts found you. As if in one of your many life-threatening missions, your senses narrowed, the noise in your brain focusing to immediate details – taking in only what you needed to survive, just as Azriel and Cassian had trained you. Your vision barrelled to the couple who still greeted others some distance away. Scanning behind them, you anticipated the remainder of your old family, and of course, your exes. 

Yet no one followed. Not even Mor. It seemed the High Lord and Lady had attended alone. It was strange – had things turned bad at the Court, that even the Morrigan had forgone a wedding?

Rhysand wore a handsome smile as he guided Feyre down the stairs to the garden, guests parting even further, bowing as they strode through. They were getting closer, and you ignored the clench of your heart as their scent filled your nose, before mixing with others. It was the smell of home.

No. it wasn't home. Not anymore, and not for a good while now. You hated that instinct, to curl into it, to let it welcome you, claiming you still. 

You glanced behind, conscious that they would find you standing with Tamlin. But he was no where to be seen, and you thanked him silently for the courtesy of having stepped away.

Rhysand and Feyre glided closer and closer, exchanging nods and accepting bows. And then they halted, violet eyes scanning before locking to yours, grey eyes shortly followed. And Rhys’s smile, the one that he used in the face of the public, it softened, his eyebrows twitching upwards almost unnoticeably. 

Feyre’s hand gripping at his arm tighter, and you could hear her heart fasten from where you stood. You almost resented how in-tune you were to them, these micro-behaviours. 

Glancing between them both, you followed the order of those next to you, lowering yourself to a polite curtsy. 

They couldn't reach you, not without drawing attention, not without the watchful eyes of hundreds of guests. So with a nod from Rhys, and a soft smile from Feyre, they continued on, finding their seats in the queues. 

————

Cresseida was the most beautiful bride you had ever seen. Golden vines were cuffed along her arms, as a silk gown as white as her hair trailed behind her as she walked the aisle, Tarquin proudly at her side. 

You smiled through your tears as she was married. You were happy for her– you were happy –you were… An unmarketable emotion filled you as you couldn’t help the run of tears that continued to pour, even after the ceremony ended. 

————

“And is it true that you were able to help the children at the border?” questioned one of Tarquin’s emissaries as she leaned in, raising her voice over the music. 

The party was in full swing, food had been served and hundreds of fae drank and danced, celebrating Creseida’s courtship, each of them eager to get even a glimpse at the bride and groom. 

“Yes, we were lucky to have an experienced healer join the mission, and she was already aiding some of the fae in Spring.”

The female smiled, and squeezed your arm. “On behalf of my court, we are grateful.”

“Not at all,” you smiled back. “Your authorities were notified, and from what I heard your own healers were already on their way. We were simply closer to that area, and had supplies to spare.”

It had been hours, and your company was still in high demand as endless Summer Court members were eager to meet you. Tarquin, it seemed, had been spreading you just as much praise as Tamlin. You had danced with many, exchanging jokes and stories, enjoying the festivities with some familiar faces and many new ones. 

It was a struggle to keep your eyes from averting, your instinct to find Rhys and Feyre in the crowd was loud and stubborn. Old habits, you supposed. 

Tamlin approached you then, having made himself scarce from your company for most of the evening, something you both had agreed to do. But you were comforted by his presence as he easily slid into the conversation, slipping a glass of fae wine into your hand without even asking. You smiled, giving his shoulder a thankful squeeze. 

There was an itchy, uneasy feeling that tugged at you, and you knew you were under watchful eyes. You found them, surrounded by their own acquaintances, and while Rhys masked his curiosity perfectly, Feyre’s stare bored into you from across the dance floor. 

Taking a large sip of wine, you let it warm you as you squared your shoulders. You would not cower, you would not shy away. And now was a better time than any.

So you strode directly to them, Feyre’s stare softening as Rhys pardoned himself from his conversation. Then, they were walking towards you to. 

You stopped a few paces shy from each other. Staring. It was…. awkward. 

But then Rhysand smiled. Warm and genuine and familiar. You hoped he didn't hear your silent curse to him. 

“You look well,” he said. 

You nodded, acknowledging the half-compliment, sensing their relief. No, you weren't that broken withered girl you were when you left. 

“How is Nyx?” The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them. You would have been more annoyed at yourself, but your care for that child was pure, and you knew they would never withhold him as currency. 

“He’s well, growing every day,” Feyre replied. “And walking all on his own.”

Your smile, be it small, was sincere. 

“He still… asks about you,” she added. 

Pain sliced through your heart then, and you weren't quick enough to hide it in your face. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice strained. Gods, that didn't take long.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly, hands reaching out before she quickly drew them back in. “I didn't mean–“ she cut herself short, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

You cast your eyes to the side, blinking away the sting of tears. “It’s alright.”

Rhysand watched you intently. “Perhaps we can all use some fresh air? I spotted a terrace, free from other guests.”

The choice was yours, you knew that. You had things you wanted to say, and you were sure they did to. You nodded, following their lead as you quickly cast a look backwards, Tamlin offering you a tight nod as you left the room.

————

“So, mission work in Spring?” Rhys asked, wine swirling in his hand as he leaned casually against a column, warm summer breeze surrounding the three of you as the party continued faintly below. 

You nodded, your arms crossed at your chest. 

“It’s very impressive,” Feyre added from where she sat, offering a genuine smile. 

You didn't respond, unsure of how much detail to reveal. Rhysand caught on, sighing slightly. 

“We didn't bring you here to interrogate you for detail, It’s only that your work and whereabouts is quickly becoming widespread knowledge. We thought it was best to acknowledge that we know it too.”

“And what of Cassian and Azriel?”

“We have held true to our bargain on that.” You believed him. 

There was an award silence, unasked questions looming. 

“Are you safe there?” Feyre asked quietly.

“Very much so.”

“And Tamlin is–”

“A friend,” you said quickly. 

“– respectful to you, was what I was going to ask,” Feyre said with a knowing look.

You sighed then, running a hand through your hair. “I didn't do it to hurt you,” you said, with a straight face. You owed her no allegiance, but, you were done hurting others, and her concern did no one any good. 

“I know,” Feyre acknowledged, with the grace of a High Lady, of someone who knew that the past was the past. She shook her head then, before adding. “We worry for you, that is all.”

“He’s changed.” You were shocked at how quickly those words left your mouth. 

It was Rhys who threw you a condescending look. You hated how small it made you feel. 

“Look, I appreciate your warning, but Tamlin has shown strides of growth, he has acknowledged his mistakes and is working endlessly to undo them. When was the last time you looked within yourselves?”

Rhys flashed his eyes at you with warning, bringing an arm to comfort his wife. “Careful,” he said plainly, but a flash of darkness passed through those violet eyes. 

Damn him. And damn Feyre too. “You didn’t so much as try to stop them,” you breathed, your eyes welling with tears as you focused on her. Gods damn it – you thought you were past this, past them. But it was as if a year away meant nothing, you were just as hurt as that night you left the Night Court. Feyre watched with a pain expression as your lip wobbled. “And you didn't so much as try to apologise,” you whispered, your voice moments away from breaking. 

Feyre’s eyes now glistened with the same tears. “You shut us out,” she countered, and you could see how much your own choices had wounded her.

“What choice did I have?” you asked, brushing away a stray tear. “You think I want to be this way? You think I wanted to cast myself out? You broke my trust and lied to me, alienating me from this family. And I was supposed to come to you for an apology?”

Feyre gulped guiltily, looking at the floor. Rhys watched you intensely, a concerned frown on his face. 

“You’re right,” Feyre said quietly, grey eyes now finding yours. “But you must know Y/N, I am sorry. I’ve been sorry since the day it happened. I thought it wise for Azriel and Cassian to want to protect you, but I realised very quickly how it was that kind of thinking that trapped me within warded walls,  and that had me fleeing my home all those years ago.”

You nodded, casting your eyes upwards to not let the tears stain your face yet again. “We can't keep doing this.”

“What’s that?” Rhys asked gently. 

“This,” you gulped, waving your hands between you. “These sorry confessions and apologies, it hurts us all.”

“Alright,” Rhys said neutrally. “But you acknowledge our apology?’

“Yes.”

“Do you forgive us?”

Your lips pressed tight as you grimaced. 

“That would be a no,” Rhys said sadly, his smile broken. Feyre couldn't force one if she wanted to. 

“I want us to move forward,” you offered instead. “There is no use in resentment. It may be that we’ll continue to cross paths, and it is important to me that you know I will not respond illy.”

“Of course,” Feyre nodded, smiling. 

A sharp pain throbbed at your temples then, the kind that came about when you had to keep your emotions and powers under tight strain. It was instinct to rub at your temples. 

“Can I heal that for you?” Rhys was now standing in front of you, his smile remained but his eyes – heavy, saddened. 

You blinked up at him before flicking your eyes to Feyre who waited eagerly for you to respond. Was this a test? Could it be, after all that had happened, you could consider them just…friends? You searched within yourself for the right answer, but nothing came about. It was just too soon. 

But there was no harm in letting Rhys work some of his magic. “Alright,” you replied, and you heard Feyre loose a breath. 

Rhysand’s hands cupped the side of your face, his fingers pressing to your temples as the familiar feeling of him slipping into your mind sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in you, something impossible to kill that was comforted by his touch. He was, after all, your High Lord of decades. He had been your home, your family, and maybe there was some part of that would always remain. It upset you how much you had to resist the urge to wrap your arms around his waist, to pull Feyre in too, to sob of how much you missed home, your family, how much you ached while you were apart. 

It was over as quickly as it began, Rhys slipping from your mind, leaving no trace of a headache behind. You hadn't clocked that you had closed your eyes, your lip quivering as your cheeks were now wet with tears. Rhys kept his hands on your face, brushing them away. 

“Y/N–,” he said softly, his face pained. You knew what he would say – come home, even if you hate us, come home. But you wouldn't give him a chance. 

“T-thank you,” you stammered, pulling away from Rhysand’s hold and fleeing the terrace, leaving the two to their shock. 

————

You were brushing away hot, fast tears as you fled the wedding, racing towards your guest room. 

Gods, what was wrong with you today? You hated feeling like this – an unstable, blubbering mess. Nothing had changed in a year, not really. You were still the same, broken and alone. It hurt just as much to see your family now. 

To hell with this wedding. You craved a sleep tonic and to be rid of this night. That was when Tamlin fell into side-step with you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked simply, muttering the words to avoid drawing attention as you passed through the crowd. 

“No,” you managed to say, and you could have kissed him for playing into the nonchalance. He seemed to respect privacy, even when there was little to be found. 

“I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

“No, Tam, I’m fine, you should–”

“Nonsense,” he replied, and you knew you wouldn't shake him. So you walked to your room,  sniffing through your tears as you tried to calm the current brewing at your fingertips, Tamlin by your side.

You reached your quarters, a private corner in a long corridor or rooms. The door was carved in  unique artwork, familiar somehow, as if beckoning you to enter from within. 

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” he said with an unconvinced look. 

“I will be, Tam, thank you.” 

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, before turning the handle to the door. 

And made it two paces in, before shadows filled your vision. 

————

You swore as strong hands held your shoulders, blue siphons a blur as shadows cast around you. You fought on instinct, but it was impossible to shake Azriel’s grip. 

“What in Mothers name–?!” you cursed again. 

“You’re safe,” Azriel spoke with relief. Despite yourself, your skin ignited at the husk of his voice.

“Get your damn hands off me,” you gritted, taking in the room as the smog of shadows finally cleared. 

Cassian was between you and the door, where Tamlin still stood, completely stunned. The General’s hands quickly curled into fists.

No one moved, each of you just as shocked to see the other. They had come for you, yes, but you were certain Tamlin was an unpleasant surprise. 

“Fuck,” you ground out, almost rolling your eyes as you knew the strife that now awaited your friend. 

Azriel moved you behind him, as if you needed to be shielded, protected. “What are you doing here, traitor?”

“Let her go at once,” Tamlin growled, stepping into the room. 

You stepped out from behind Azriel, your mind reeling at the sight of the two Illyrians in you room. You hated them, but something in you churned - a yearning. It was easy to stamp down as a rage took over. 

“What are you doing here?” you countered.

Azriel gave you a piercing look, running his eyes down your body. There was love in that look, but a sternness too. 

“Answer me,” you ground out. 

Cassian was still facing Tamlin, his siphons so bright they radiated heat. “Did you hurt her?” he growled at Tamlin, a shaking rage consuming him. 

“You hunted me? Like a mare?” your voice was ice cold, colder than any of these males could ever hope to perfect. Your trust, betrayed, again. 

That voice snared their attention. Cassian casting a look back at you, desperate, like he wanted to give you all of his time, to never stop drinking in the sight of you. 

You prowled closer, fingers twitching as your power grew so strong zapping could be heard. “Rhys’s promise to me, the bargain. You broke it,” you spat.

“Y/N.” Cassian said your name, begging you. His pain cut through to you, your power dampening as a sick, sick part of you folded at his plea. Go to him, that part of you begged. 

The room was filled with a sharp coldness and breeze as Rhys and Feyre winnowed into your quarters, Feyre’s face one of shock, Rhys’s one of fury. 

“What in Gods name are you doing here?” he growled at his brothers. 

“You left us no choice,” Azriel seethed back at Rhys, his wing stopping you as you silently moved to join Tamlin. 

You glared at him. “Try that again,” you growled. 

Azriel’s eyes were dark, predatory, but his brows pulled with a softness only reserved for you. “I do not trust him.”

“And I do not trust you,” you spat back. 

“The promise,” Rhys growled, glaring between his brothers. 

“Y/N, we had no idea they had come,” Feyre spoke with a desperation that you had to believe her. 

“Leave. Now.” Rhys ordered, but the males ignored him, his power underwhelming in another court. 

Cassian’s brow pulled, his face truly broken as he spoke to you. “You left us. And joined him?”

You snapped at the accusation. “I joined no one, because I belong to no one. I pursued a life beyond you, and I am a free female. Free to roam wherever I please, and fuck whoever I want.”

You words landed their mark, because both Azriel and Cassian recoiled.

And then Cassian’s face turned grave, as he slowly faced Tamlin again. “You-you touched her?”

You cursed yourself for the pointed insult – you should have known it would put Tamlin in the firing line. To his defense, Tamlin held a high chin. 

“She is a free female. Nor you or I can rob her of that.”

Azriel snarled, and Cassian was on Tamlin in an instant. 

“Stop that! Get off him! You will not hurt him!” you cried, broken at the thought of Tamlin being hurt because of you. 

But before you could throw yourself at Cassian, night magic filled the space, pulling the males apart, commanding the room to its master. And you were surprised to see Feyre walking towards them, her palms outstretched, night pouring from her as her eyes now glowed with silver. 

“Sensless violence ends now, I don’t care about the circumstance.” 

What did she mean by that?

“Leave,” Cassian snarled at Tamlin, but Tamlin held his ground. 

“He is welcomed to stay so long as Y/N sees fit,” Feyre spoke coldly, forcing Cassian’s eyes back to her. Now that, was a High Lady. “I can not believe you two–“

“You weren't invited?” you interjected, untrusting of your exes as you scowled between them. 

Rhys shook his head from across the room. “We went as far to hide the papers.”

You gulped as you stared up at Azriel. “Pray tell, how you found me, then?”

Azriel wore no remorse as he said “Amren – she possessed an invite and–”

Exasperated sounds from each of you filled the room. Amren, of course. She was the only one to know to play games above Rhys and Feyre’s head, and cunning enough to pull it off. 

“And what is your plan, then?” you added coldly. “Drag me back to the Night Court, kicking and screaming?”

“No, of course not,” Cassian responded softly, stepping towards you, stopping as you retreated back. “We had to know that you were safe.”

You stared at him, the sorrow in his voice, the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged. He was broken. 

“You were not well when you left, Y/N. It’s been killing us not knowing how you are faring now,” Azriel added, his eyes soft, looking just as worn as his brother. You knew he sang silently to his shadows as they coiled in on themself, they would be begging to reach you. 

“Please, don't be angry,” Cassian begged, his eyes welling. “We’ll go, we’ll go now, it’s just–”

“We love you. We- we need you,” Azriel interjected, his own brow clenched with pain. 

Each of their words were a dagger to your heart, piercing it’s way through the walls you had built. 

“Stop that,” you whispered, your hand pressing against your chest to ease the pain. Were these your feelings, or theirs?

“It’s true,” Cassian continued. “You’re our girl. We'll do better, Y/N, we promise. Please.”

It was painful to hear, and you faltered slightly as your body jerked in pain. Something was breaking within you, crumpling around something else, something buried deep. 

“Please Y/N, come home.”

Your knees gave out as you let out an anguished cry, your heart tearing and swelling to the point where you thought you just might die. 

“Y/N!” Tamlin called in panic, but Azriel and Cassian were already at your sides, holding you, asking where it hurt. 

Palms braced on the floor, you tried to breath through laboured breaths as you finally felt what was concealed for so long. It was unmistakable, a tether of sun-lit rope, tying you to the males at either side of you. You felt it all – their fear, the instincts to take you far from this place, their overwhelming, unconditional love. 

And you hated it. 

“No,” you gasped, your hand finding your heart as you tried to calm its pounding.

Azriel glanced at Cassian, who gave a single nod in confirmation. Feyre gasped from where she stood. 

“What is it?” Tamlin panicked. “What’s going on?”

“No!” you repeated, standing quickly and backing away from the two males. It couldn't be – you were free, you had left…

They watched you with saddened eyes at the horror that beheld you. 

“The Mother is cruel,” Rhys tutted, lowering his head in sympathy.

“What in the gods-forsaken realms is going on?” Tamlin yelled.

“No, no, no, no! Please, no!” You clutched at the roots of your hair, your mind reeling as you begged to no one. You were bound to them, whether you liked it or not. An enslavement of kinds.

“It snapped,” Feyre answered to Tamlin without ever turning his way.

It was too much to bare – their instincts, your newly ignited ones, their love, your hate. Your brain scrambled for sense, fighting itself over and over as you shook at your knees. 

A final ‘no’ pushed past your lips before your body gave out, the world tipping and your vision darkening as strong hands caught you. 

You succumbed to the gods damned mating bond. 

-------

Part 5>>>

AN: Helllllllllo my lovelies! I am so so bloody excited to share this part with you! It was a rollercoaster to write, hope you held on tight for this angst-train! Always, always, ALWAYS want to hear your thoughts and feelings on where this story is heading, so please drop a comment anytime. And thank you endlessly for your support with this fic - it means the world. MWA!!

[yaralulu]

fem!tamlin bc my brain has done this thing where i can’t stop thinking about her.

[starryevermore]

i will go to lunar valleys in my mind ✧ tamlin & azriel

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: tamlin x archeron!fem!reader; azriel x archeron!sister

summary: to azriel, you are the most brilliant star shining in the night sky. 

word count: 7,954

warnings?: angst with a happy ending, pining, not proofread

PART ONE

Azriel stared at the cream invitation. It had landed in front of him just moments earlier, but he had already read it a few dozen times. The words were seared into his mind. You are cordially invited to the mating ceremony of High Lord Tamlin and High Lady Y/N. High Lady. You were Spring’s High Lady. There was no way, he knew, that you could, would, ever return to Velaris when you had a court to run. He had been invited to your coronation, too, months ago. But in the year since you left for Spring, he never visited. Despite Feyre and Rhys’s insistence that you missed him, and Lucien’s chastising him for never going, and even Elain’s quiet disapproval, he knew better than to make the journey. He meant what he said to Rhys all that time ago. 

If he went to Spring, he would bring you straight back home. 

Because he had built you a home. Azriel knew how you never felt truly at home in any of Rhys’s homes—not the Town House, not the House of Wind, and not the River House. The House of Wind was the most comfortable to you, because it offered the most solitary, but it was not your home. One night, you had told him of your dream home. A quaint cottage in the woods, close enough to the city to go when you pleased but far enough to still be calm. A nice personal library, a cozy kitchen. A big fireplace that you could curl up with a nice book. Azriel committed those details to memory and spent many months making your dream home come a reality. He intended for it to be a mating gift, for when the bond finally snapped for you. 

It only collected dust.

He sat there now, at the dining table he had spent weeks picking out. His shadows flitted about, hissing at him to go to Spring. To get you before you were tied to Tamlin forever. Azriel would not. He couldn’t force you to sacrifice your happiness for his sake. You had to be happy. That was why you never returned to Velaris. You were happy in perfect Spring with your perfect mate. To bring you back here would only taint you.

“You are not going,” Rhysand said. Azriel didn’t look up from the invitation to know his High Lord had winnowed into the room. Rhys had found out about the house a few weeks after you left, concerned when Azriel hadn’t reported for any missions. 

“I haven’t gone there in a year. Why would I go now?”

“I thought the same when I was going to let Feyre live her life with Tamlin. And then she called down the bond, and I was whisking her away without any thought of the consequences.” Rhysand leaned over the table, pushing down on the invitation so that Azriel would look up at him. “She is happy with him. She looks alive when she is with him.”

“And she looked dead with me?”

It was a cheap shot, and Azriel knew it. But he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he wasn’t right for you. That the Mother had made a mistake. There were so many poorly-matched mates, and he was certain this was the case when the bond snapped for him. If you were content with Tamlin, then that meant you didn’t feel the same hole in your soul that Azriel did. 

His High Lord let out a sigh. “You know that’s not what I mean, brother. You remember how she looked when we forced them apart. She is finally happy again, and I won’t let anyone jeopardize it. Feyre won’t allow it.”

Azriel shoved Rhysand’s hand off the invitation. He stared at the date. It was six months away. A long time to be sending announcements for a mating ceremony, but it was surely to be a huge event for the High Lord and Lady of Spring. He imagined it would be the biggest event of the year. His teeth ground together. That should be you and him.

He dropped the invitation and rose from his seat. Shadows swirled around him as he stalked out of the house. Ignoring Rhysand’s calls behind him, Azriel took off into the air. He couldn’t stand this anymore.

“They didn’t come,” you whispered, head leaning against Tamlin’s chest. His arms wound around you. You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. Your face crumpled. Letting out a shuddering breath, you said, “I shouldn’t be surprised. They haven’t come here in months, but I thought…I thought they would come.”

A finger tilted your chin up so you would look up at your mate. Tamlin’s eyes were soft. “If they’re the ones who decide to burn bridges, it is not your fault.”

“I know, but…” You sighed. You looked out the large window overlooking the gardens. Despite the blanket of night covering the grounds, you could see the beautiful, blossoming rose bush Tamlin had planted earlier that month. A tradition, he’d said. “I hoped something would have changed.”

Tamlin leaned his cheek on the top of your head. His steady breathing was the only thing keeping your from sinking to the floor. “I know it hurts, but it’s their loss. You are an amazing female, my love. I could never understand why they’d want to throw that all away, but that is their mistake to make.”

You wiggled out of his arms and stepped closer to the window. Your hand pressed against the cold glass. “I don’t understand what changed. I thought things were going well. Feyre stopped glaring at you to your face—”

“What?”

“—she still glared behind your back, but it was an improvement. Rhysand didn’t make comments wishing for your death. Even Nesta held her tongue. The only one who never came around was Azriel, which hurts because I thought him my friend. But for them to all decide I’m not worth the trouble anymore? It feels like they carved out my heart and stomped on it.”

Tamlin was silent for a long moment. You could feel his eyes looking you over, searching for any sign that you were about to waste away like Feyre had. Down the bond, you feel his love and comfort. But…there was something else there. Pain, anguish. Were you hurting Tamlin somehow? Were you making him doubt your love for him by talking about this? You looked over your shoulder at him. 

“There is still cake from the celebration. I’ll go get a couple slices from the kitchen, and some wine. Does that sound alright?”

You nodded. Tamlin smiled and left the room. You looked back out the window. Part of you was tempted to push the window open, scale down the wall, and run through the gardens until the pain of the loss of your family was only a dull ache. The other part of you just wanted to be held by your mate.

You loved Tamlin. You really, truly did. But, in recent months, you felt like there was something missing. When the high of getting to know him, accepting the bond, and becoming High Lady of Spring finally died down, you were left with a hole in your chest. Small, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking, but enough to make you question everything. 

Had you been wrong to come here? 

Something tugged in your chest. Ordinarily, you would have thought it would be Tamlin. He always was so quick to send you comfort through the bond, but this felt different. Colder, but a comforting sort of cold. The kind of cold of a fan being waved on you during a sweltering summer day. The cold of a drink after hours of laborous work. The cold of a shadow slithering around your hand, pulling you out of harm’s way. The cold of Azriel’s hands on your burning face as you sobbed at being forcibly separated from your mate.

It tugged harder. It felt closer to snapping. But to what? You had a mate. You had Tamlin. What other sort of snapping could there be? 

Your hands tugged at your hair.  You had been so sure months ago. Why were you spiraling now? What had changed? It was more than your family, your sisters, not showing up to your mating ceremony. No, this was something deeper. Something that you had been ignoring for too long. Something that was starting to boil over. Tears began to streak down your face. A scream of frustration fell out as your hand smacked against the pane. 

The temperature in the room dropped. 

“Are you hurt?”

Everything went still. Slowly, you peeled yourself off the window. No. He couldn’t be here. Not after all this time. He hadn’t deigned to see you in over a year. You had sent invitations and letters, and they had all gone unanswered. Even when you told Feyre to pass him along the message that you missed him, you never got a response. Yes, you had left without a goodbye. But did that mean you deserved to be ignored? 

Perhaps he truly only saw you as the latest object of his affections. Perhaps you never were anything close to a friend of his. 

A hand stroked your hair. You sucked in a breath. “I swear, if he’s hurt you, I will snuff out this Cauldron-forsaken court’s light before he can even blink.”

You scoffed. Slowly you turned, your eyes narrowing at him. “That’s rich. If you care so much about my well-being, where were you the last year? Did Feyre send you here to tell me that she’s throwing in the towel? That she’s decided I’m not worth the effort? That she’s forbidden everyone else from coming to Spring, too?”

Azriel blinked. “What?”

“I mean, it was rich for her to not come today. It would make sense for Rhysand not to come if she didn’t. But for everyone else to not make an appearance? Even Lucien wasn’t here, and he’s Tamlin’s best friend! No one has been here in months! I can only assume the High Lady ordered gave orders to stay away.” You shook your head. “You must only be here to finally clue me in, so I’ll stop littering their desks with silly little invitations.”

He took a step closer to you. You wished you had the space to back away. Shadows wrapped around your ankles. He reached out to hold your face, but you jerked away. It was impossible to miss the hurt in his hazel eyes. And—why did your chest ache? “I’m afraid I’m the reason no one made an appearance.”

Pain struck through you. Azriel? Did he truly think so little of you because you chose your mate? You once overheard a fight he had with Rhysand—heard him say that it was only fair that he had a sister. With Feyre, Nesta, and Elain all happily taken, that had left you. Did he convince them all to hate you because you chose Tamlin over him? 

You pushed him away. “How dare you,” you hissed. 

“It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s much worse. You couldn’t have Mor, but that was fine because at least it was because she prefers females. You couldn’t have Elain. That was fine, because there was another Archeron sister waiting in the wings, praying to be picked. But then you couldn’t have me, and you had to poison everyone against me.” You gave him your harshest glare. “Why couldn’t you have pined after someone else? I hear Gwyn is single. Why didn’t you go after her? Why did you have to stoop so fucking low?”

“I didn’t!” he shouted. His voice echoed off the walls. You were sure Tamlin could hear him, but you didn’t care. Not when it felt like your chest was caving in. 

“I thought you were my friend, Azriel. I may not have always treated you the best, and I apologize for that. But I know when I’m only being picked because I’m the last option available. I deserve better than that, and you know it. Of everyone, you should know that. What did I do to deserve such cruelty?”

“Nothing!” He ran his fingers through his hair. His shadows swirled around in a flurry. Was he about to set them out to attack you? Get rid of you as a final fuck you? “They weren’t here because I am going crazy without you!”

“Excuse me?!”

“You’re my fucking mate, Y/N!”

Any words you were ready to spit out dried out in your mouth. What? That couldn’t be possible. You had a mate already. You had Tamlin. And yet…There was still that tugging in your chest. Familiar, but not. 

“I have known since Nyx’s birth. I wanted to wait until it snapped for you, but it didn’t. It snapped for fucking Tamlin. As cruel as it is, I was grateful that Feyre and Rhys took you from him. At least it gave me a chance to make you see me. But then I came back from that mission and you were gone.” Azriel took a tentative step towards you again. You made no effort, this time, to push him away. “It fucking killed me to know you were gone. No one saw me for a month afterwards. I started to come around, eventually, but it was never the same without you there. I didn’t come here, to Spring, because if I did, I would have stolen you away again, because I cannot live without you. Then, six months ago, I received the invitation to your mating ceremony, and I lost it. Disappeared. Everyone has been on the hunt for me, to make sure I didn’t cause a war between our courts.”

You stared at him, unblinking. The ache in your chest only grew stronger. Could he be right? Could he truly be your mate? But what would that make Tamlin? Was it possible to be mistaken over who your mate was? Was it possible to have two mates? You wanted to cry—for you, and for Azriel. 

“I apologize for what my actions have done.”

“Why are you here now?” you asked. He said nothing, so you continued, “You stayed away this long. Why are you here now?”

Azriel let out a breath. “I had to see if you were happy. I…I imagine the mating ceremony has already been consummated, which would complicate things, but…If there was any chance, any at all, that I could be your knight in shining armor, I had to take it. If you were, I would leave you be. Let you live out your life as Spring’s High Lady and never again interfere. So, I have to ask, are you happy?”

That tug in your chest finally snapped. All at once, everything Azriel felt came crashing through. The full extent of his pain, the anguish raging through his body. The glimmer of hope as he stared down at you, waiting for your answer. Your hand reached out without you thinking, touching his chest. You could almost see the golden thread binding you to him. 

“Yes,” you said.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, the gleam of his siphon bouncing off at you. “But?”

“I feel a hole in my soul.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah?”

“One, that I’m beginning to realize, is shaped like an Illyrian.”

The smile grew. He reached out, cupping your face in his large hands. Azriel’s thumbs swiped over your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Leaning against his palm, a smile began to cross your face. Azriel leaned in, nose brushing against yours, until his lips connected with yours. 

A gasp escaped you at the contact. It was…electric. Unlike anything you experienced with Tamlin, save for the intensity of it all. If Tamlin was the innocent joy, Azriel was the passionate fervor. You had experienced the frenzy with Tamlin, but you were sure it would pale in comparison to Azriel. You could feel the full weight of his emotions through the bond—the lust, the adoration, the desire for more. 

A chord struck in you. If you could feel all of this with Azriel, then Tamlin could—

Tamlin’s snarl ripped through the room. 

He fought to keep a lid on his barely-constrained anger. Whenever Tamlin felt such explosive anger, he had a tendency to hurt those he cared about. You deserved better than that. And, even if your relationship with Feyre had become strained, he was sure she would make good on her threat anyways. But, Mother, how else was he supposed to react when that Cauldron damned Shadowsinger was kissing his mate?

Tamlin had suspected for a long time that Azriel harbored feelings for you. When you came to the ball, Azriel clung to you like a leech. Always hovering, always watching you. And when Azriel would leave you, those damned shadows of his would always linger. Even when Tamlin finally got a moment alone with you, the Shadowsinger burst in the room as if thought Tamlin was about to hurt you—pulled you out of his arms, tried to keep you from him. He knew there was a reason Azriel hadn’t visited once—hadn’t even sent word to you—in the last year. He just never thought the Illyrian would have the audacity to whisk you away hours after your mating ceremony. 

It must be a Night Court tradition. 

You pushed Azriel away—too gentle for Tamlin’s liking—and stepped toward him. Your eyes were wide, apologetic. You reached out for him, urged him to wrap his arms around you. He did, but not once did he look away from Azriel. He didn’t trust that the Illyrian brute wouldn’t stab him in the back at the first opportunity. Especially not with Truth-Teller strapped to his waist. 

“I can explain, Tam,” you said, cheek pressed against his chest.

Tamlin smoothed a hand over your hair. He tugged on the bond, let you know that he was not upset with you. He could never be upset with you. “You are not to blame, my love.”

“Of course I am. I wanted Az to kiss me.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest before he could stop it. Okay, perhaps he could be upset with you a little. Though, he supposed he couldn’t fault you entirely for harboring feelings for the Shadowsinger. You had told Tamlin once that, although you were suspicious about Azriel’s motivations at times, he had been something of a friend. The only one, save for your sisters, that you could call a friend. When you’re that lonely, it’s easy to fall for the one person who’s kind to you. But that didn’t mean Tamlin had to like it. 

“He’s my mate, too, Tam.”

He pulled away. He searched your eyes for anything sign of deceit, for any sign of manipulation. Tamlin found none. He looked back at Azriel, who still stood far away, watching you carefully. It looked like he was ready to yank you away from Tamlin at the first sign of distress. Night Court folk always held grudges. 

This was…unexpected. If Tamlin didn’t trust you, he might have thought you were trying to deceive him. Triads had existed a long time ago, when Prythian was in its infancy. There was a time where there were more males than females. People believed that the Mother would allow the female multiple mates in an effort to stop the fighting over the few, precious females that existed. Of course, all of this was speculative—a work of fiction. No one had seen a triad in millennia. No one was sure they’d ever existed at all. 

Yet, when Tamlin pressed his nose to your hair, he didn’t just smell your scent mixed with his. There was something different, less familiar. It was faint. Barely noticeable unless he searched for it. A mating bond, in its infancy. As he turned his gaze to Azriel, he knew who it belonged to. 

“What do you want?” Tamlin near-growled at Azriel, still cradling you against his chest. 

“For her to be happy,” Azriel said. “I was going to let her go, never reveal the bond. I was going to let her live a life with you, but I had to make sure she was happy before I gave her up forever.”

Tamlin wanted to say that you were happy. That you had all you needed here. And, yes, you were happy. You loved the Spring Court. If Tamlin thought you beautiful at the ball, it paled in comparison to the way you seemed to come alive in Spring. But he couldn’t deny that, in recent months, as the Inner Circle stopped coming, as it became clear that Azriel would never visit, that something inside of you was dying.

And he had heard the tail end of your conversation with Azriel before he kissed you. You wanted Azriel as a mate. Tamlin knew better than to deny you of that. He never again wanted to see you as lifeless as you had been when he brought you home from the Night Court. 

“She’s High Lady,” he said, “she cannot be whisked away from here.”

“I understand,” Azriel said. “Perhaps, though, she could spend a few months with me, in the Night Court? Most of her year will be spent here, ruling by your side. I only ask for some time.”

You turned your head to look at Azriel. Your brows pinched together. “You would do that?”

“I would rather only have a part of you than none at all.”

Tamlin looked down at you. He hated the idea of you being taken away to the Night Court. It reminded him too much of how Rhysand had grabbed you and winnowed you away—of how Night’s High Lord had done the same to Feyre years prior. The nasty, jealous part of him roared at the thought of you going. But when he looked at your hope-filled eyes, he knew he wouldn’t deny you. 

To Azriel, he said, “Give us the month to get our affairs in order.”

Azriel nodded. It was done. 

“Be careful with her,” Tamlin hissed.

Azriel rolled his eyes as he picked you up. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other hooked under your legs. Your arms looped around his neck. Though winnowing you would be easier, quicker, Azriel dreamed of flying you to the home he built for you. 

“She is not a doll so easily broken.”

You scratched at the back of his neck. Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. Though you intended the action to be a means of chastising him, he only thought about how nice it would feel to have those pretty polished nails of yours rake down his back. “Play nice. Both of you,” you said. 

Tamlin stepped over to you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “If you change your mind,” he said, “let me know. I’ll bring you home.”

Azriel stepped away before you could kiss Tamlin on the mouth. It was petty of him, to be sure. But he didn’t like the implication that you would not feel at home with him. What did Tamlin know? He wasn’t there for you when you came out of the Cauldron. When you were only a shell, sat at a piano all hours of the day, the melody of your pain echoing through Velaris. Tamlin was not there to hold you as you cried, begging for the pain to end. Tamlin never begged Rhysand to go into your mind, to give you pleasant dreams, so that even if you only experienced peace in your sleep, at least you got to feel it. 

Tamlin might have taken you from the Night Court. He may have made you his High Lady. And he may love you, but he didn’t know you hurt like Azriel did. He did not make the same promise Azriel did to never let you be hurt again. He did not know that, as Azriel was returning from that mission, he was planning to ask if you wished for him to take you to Spring. He was going to give you the choice that he and the rest of the Inner Circle so terribly deprived you of. Azriel had only been angry when you were gone because he never got to tell you goodbye, never got the chance to see you one last time before sending you off for your fairytale ending. But then, after the Inner Circle’s first visit, Feyre told him you looked like an entirely different person. 

Tamlin might love you, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his happiness to let you be with another male. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Azriel asked you.

The week before, Tamlin had sent your clothes, some books, and sheet music ahead. Azriel took special care to set up your room. It was the master bedroom, of course. Azriel relegated himself to a smaller guest room. Even if you were going with him to see if you truly wanted the bond with him, he was not going to force you to share a room with him. 

“I’m sure,” you said. You turned to Tamlin and nodded your head at him, urging him closer. Reluctantly, Azriel did not step away this time. He could deny Tamlin all he wanted, but he wouldn’t do that to you. The High Lord leaned down and kissed you softly. “I’m write you, Tam.”

Tamlin smiled. “I eagerly await your letters.”

After bidding him another farewell kiss, you let Azriel take to the skies. Although Azriel was not fond of his Illyrian heritage—the culture and its males, save for his brothers, disgusted him—he would never tire of flying. He didn’t think it could ever get any better, but that was before he had you in arms, clinging tightly to him while he flew over all of Prythian. 

A laugh, a beautifully loud laugh, escaped you as he pushed himself faster and faster. He shot you a wicked grin and a wink before shooting straight up, turning over backwards, before righting himself on course again. The laugh turned to a scream. Your nails dug into the back of his neck. 

“What?” he teased. “Don’t like going upside down?”

“You’re rotten,” you said, but you smiled up at him anyways. He liked your smile. You smiled with your whole face. Pretty dimples, crinkled corners of your eyes. Even your eyes themselves seemed to twinkle. 

“Yeah? I think you’ll find I’m the rottenest of the bunch.”

“Not so rotten if you’re my mate, though.”

Azriel prayed you couldn’t see how red his face was turning. If you did, you didn’t say anything. Only further settled in his arms, watching the clouds as you passed them by. 

Though Azriel preferred flying fast, loved the thrill of it all, he found himself wishing he had savored this moment a little longer as he landed outside of the home he built for you. He sat you gently on the ground, a hand on the small of your back as you steadied yourself. 

“I thought we would go to the River House or the House of Wind,” you said. 

He couldn’t tell if you were disappointed or not. You only stared up at the cobblestoned cottage, the wisteria growing along the walls. You eyed the window boxes filled with your favorite flowers. Azriel opened his mouth, ready to offer to take you elsewhere, when you turned your gaze to him. 

“What is this place? How have I never known about it?”

��It was supposed to be a mating gift,” Azriel said. He couldn’t look at you, afraid for how you might react, so he stared up at the cottage. “You told me, once, about your dream home. I can only hope that this compares.”

“When did you build it?”

“I started it the day after I found out we were mates,” Azriel said. And because he knew you were going to ask when that was, he continued, “The day Nyx was born—when you were crying because you were so scared about losing half your family and I just held you. That’s when I knew.”

You said nothing for a long moment. Azriel swallowed a lump in his throat, praying to the Mother he hadn’t scared you away. That you wouldn’t ask to be taken back to Spring, this entire thing be damned. You didn’t do that, though. 

No, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth instead. “Thank you, Az.”

Shadows flitted around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients you wanted and bringing them to you. Azriel often chided you for turning his shadows, the very things he used to spy and torture and kill, into little pets, but he loved it all the same. There was something he liked about you exposing the darkest parts of him to the light. Besides, it was his fault for leaving the shadows behind with you while he went to the market. 

You placed the tray in the oven, giggling as the shadows pulled you away to shut the door on their own, another group of shadows fiddling with the knobs so that it was at the right temperature. As the brownies baked, you took to cleaning up the mess you made. Humming a tune, you began to collect the dishes, swaying your hips as you took them over to the sink.

In the month since you had returned to the Night Court, you quite enjoyed spending time with Azriel. His plan to sleep in the guest room did not last long, for you found yourself so enamored with him that you practically dragged him into your bed. That was the first time his shadows allied themselves with you. A part of you, now, dreaded the idea of having to leave him behind when you returned to Spring. Tamlin and Azriel did not get on well, but you were certain they could at least learn to tolerate each other if they spent time with each other. 

You dried off your hands, gazing out the window over the sink. Somewhere beyond there were the rest of your family. Though Azriel had reacquainted himself with the Inner Circle, apologized for causing as much trouble as he had, he had not revealed that you were in the Night Court. He glamoured his scent so that they could not pick up on how your own scent mixed in. You wondered how Tamlin might have responded to their inquiries to visit you in Spring, but Azriel didn’t say much besides Feyre worried she had offended you. 

Good, you mused. She should be worried. She had made you grieve your relationship with her. She made you sick as you contemplated where you went wrong. She made you feel like you lost your entire family by choosing your mate. If she sat in worry, she deserved it. 

A shadow tugged on your wrist, alerting you to the fact that the brownies were finished. The shadows didn’t allow you to take the tray out yourself, but did let you begin to cut them and place one on a plate for Azriel. You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. 

Tomorrow, you were to return to Spring. But tonight, you would accept the bond with Azriel. 

You hadn’t said a word to the shadows about your plan, yet they buzzed around the cottage as they readied for the romantic evening to come. Petals littering the floor, candles lit up around the room, a romantic song playing over the symphonium. You almost thought the shadows wished to seduce your mate more than you did. 

One tugged on your wrist as the door opened. You did hold back your smile this time as Azriel walked into kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter. 

“Welcome home,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

Azriel smiled against your lips. “What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?” He pulled away for a moment, sniffing at the air. “Have you been baking?”

“Brownies,” you confirmed. You twisted out of the arms and took the plate that the shadows hovered over to you. “For you.”

He stared down at the plate, then looked up at you. “I couldn’t—” he said. 

You picked up the brownie and brought it up to his lips. “I insist. I have been blessed by the Mother with two wonderful mates, and I intend to have you both fully.”

Thunder rumbled in the sky as Azriel sank his teeth into the treat, never taking his eyes off of you. You swiped your thumb at the corner of his mouth, collecting the crumbs, and licked them off. A growl ripped through his chest as Azriel tugged you against him. 

“I suppose that’s why the cottage looks like something straight of Nesta’s romance novels?”

“You can thank your shadows for that. They did that all on their own.”

“You truly have reduced them to busybodies like all the rest,” he said, though his voice didn’t hold an ounce of malice. Azriel kissed you softly. “I suppose I should thank them, though, because I fully intend to ravish you tonight.”

“Oh, I hope that’s a promise you intend to keep.”

Thunder rumbled again. The scene outside turned darker as storm clouds began to roll in. You were prepared to ignore it all when a flash of lightning made you jump out of your skin. The front door slammed open, the wood hitting the wall so hard you were almost certain it splintered. Azriel’s hold on you tightened. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight. You peered over to the foyer, blood running cold as you took in the appearance of Night’s High Lord, your sister just a half step behind him. 

“I didn’t think you were so foolish to steal away Spring’s High Lady, brother,” Rhysand said. 

“I was not stolen,” you snapped. “I came here willingly. Tamlin knows exactly where I am, and that I shall be returning to Spring by morning.”

Your sister said your name softly, stepping around her mate and toward you. “You’re already leaving?” she asked. 

“I have been here a month. That is plenty long to be away from Spring and my other mate.”

Feyre’s eyes flicked to Azriel, then to the tray of brownies abandoned on the counter. “You know.”

“No thanks to you,” you said. “How long were you going to let me cry over Azriel not coming to visit before you told me it wasn’t because he hated me?”

“You know I couldn’t tell you. I hated learning about my own mating bond from the Suriel. I didn’t—I couldn’t let you live through that same pain.”

“No, you just let me think my only friend hated me. You let me think you all hated me, because you were too busy trying to find him before my mating ceremony to respond to any of my letters.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at you. “We couldn’t have told you anything. We hardly understand how a triad works. How could we have explained it to you without sounding like we descended into lunacy?”

“You could have said anything!” you protested. “Feyre, you could have told me anything short of the truth. There was a threat to the Night Court, or perhaps that there were some diplomacy issues you needed to tend to. But, no, you rather that I cried to Tamlin every night, prayed that you would send some sort of sign that our relationship was not beyond repair.”

Feyre took a step toward you. Rhysand reached for her wrist, to stop her from nearing you, but she shook him off. “And I will regret that for the rest of my days. You know I have never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you have. You are my sister, Feyre, but you treated me like I was no one to you. Tell me, were my letters to all the others ignored under your orders, too?”

Her glance away from you told you everything you needed to know.

“I spent my mating ceremony, what should have been the happiest day of my life, grieving the loss of my family. I will never get that day back again.” You grabbed for Azriel’s hand, lacing your fingers through his, squeezing tight. “Don’t expect an invitation to the next.”

Feyre’s eyes snapped to yours. Silver lined them. “Please—”

“I would like to return to Spring, now, please,” you said to Azriel. “It seems I have outgrown Night.”

Without a word, Azriel winnowed you away. 

Tamlin stared at your back as you slept. You had been quiet ever since you returned from the Night Court. Tamlin understood—Azriel had explained how Feyre and Rhysand came to the cottage as you were accepting the mating bond with Azriel. He recalled the fury in your eyes as you stated that Azriel would remain in the Spring Court until the frenzy subsided. He didn’t see you much over the following weeks, so he couldn’t speak much to your state then. But when Azriel, rather regretfully, announced he would be returning to Night to deal with the fallout, you began to withdraw. Tamlin was left with the aftermath. And like Feyre before you, he wasn’t quite sure how to make things better. 

Unlike Feyre, he was going to do whatever he could to help you. He would not let you waste away, fade away into nothing. 

Tamlin kissed your bare shoulder then slipped out of the bed. If you noticed, you did not move. He continued on to his study, ignoring the curious looks of the servants still lingering in the halls, and settled at his desk. He procured a sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write. 

Azriel, he began, I apologize for my abruptness, but I must ask that you return to Spring expeditiously. While I understand that the Night Court is your home, Y/N has not been faring well without both of her mates. You do not need to forsake your home, but any time that you could spend here would be appreciated. Yours truly, Tamlin. 

He sent the letter off. Tamlin remained at his desk, waiting for a reply. But one did not have to wait for long as shadows began to soon flood the room. In the past, the sight of the shadows would have made Tamlin’s skin crawl. It was no secret the depths the Spymaster would go to, to extract information from his targets, and those very shadows were just another in his arsenal. But their arrival was signal enough that Azriel had arrived, and that was enough for the weight on Tamlin’s shoulders to lift ever so slightly. 

“Where is she?”

Tamlin rose to his feet. “Sleeping. She doesn’t know I asked for you to come.”

Azriel nodded. A few of the shadows abandoned the study in search of you. The shadows, generally, still disturbed Tamlin. In the month you and Tamlin got your affairs in order, those damned little things scarcely left your side. He was certain they even hissed at him for daring to be near you. Slowly, though, they began to grow on him as they came to the collective understanding that both parties were looking out for your best interests. 

“How have things fared in the Night Court?” Tamlin asked. 

“Feyre is distraught,” Azriel said. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, as if trying to stop them from rolling right out of his head. “Rhys has been insisting I bring Y/N back so they can talk things through. He does not take kindly to my own insistence that, if Feyre wished for things to get better, she should be the one to make the first move.”

Tamlin snorted. “And here I thought you were just a loyal dog.”

Azriel flashed a smirk. “Oh, I am. Just not to him.”

Good, Tamlin thought. If there was anyone who deserved his loyalty, it would be you. Kind, sweet you. Tamlin once thought your family was loyal—they certainly seemed to think they were looking out for your best interests when they took you from the Spring Court. And they had been so diligent about visiting you before. Every month at the start of the month, he would receive a letter asking permission to visit. The Inner Circle always arrived before he could accept. That was, until the invitation to the mating ceremony was sent out. Despite both you and Tamlin sending inquiries and invitations, not a single one ever responded. When they failed to show up at the mating ceremony, Tamlin decided then that he would never forgive them. 

“How long do you intend to stay?” Tamlin said. Azriel brought nothing with him, save for the clothes on his back and the weapons strapped to his waist. 

“As long as you’ll allow it. I tendered my resignation this morning,” Azriel said. “I’ll begin the search for a home here in the morning.”

“Don’t bother,” Tamlin said. Azriel looked stricken. His brows pinched together, mouth settling into a frown. Realizing his error, Tamlin corrected, “You can have a home here if you like. Your own room, or you can share ours. We might have to get a bigger bed, given your wingspan, but it would be no trouble.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “You would do that?”

“You are her mate as much as I am. You may be willing to settle for only a piece of her life, but I would be remiss if I stopped you from having all of her.” Tamlin waved his hand, urging Azriel to follow him. “I have some more comfortable clothes you can change into. We should both rest.”

“Tamlin—” Azriel said. Tamlin paused. “Thank you.”

“There is nothing to thank me for. Will you need to return to the Night Court for your things, or will you be purchasing replacements?”

As they walked down the hall, the servants even more confused than before, Azriel said, “My shadows will retrieve the necessities. There won’t be much. I intend to have a fresh start here.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing Spring is all about rebirth then.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Tamlin watched as Azriel smiled when they reached the bedroom. He slipped inside, so silent that Tamlin could’ve been convinced that he was alone if he didn’t see the Shadowsinger with his own two eyes. Tamlin lingered in the doorframe as Azriel approached your side of the bed and knelt down. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmured a quiet I love you. 

Your eyes fluttered open. You blinked slowly as you took in Azriel’s appearance. “You’re supposed to be in Night,” you whispered. 

“I believe I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

You turned your head slightly, brows pinching together when you didn’t see Tamlin laying beside you. “Does Tam know?”

“Who do you think invited me?”

A sleepy smile twitched on your lips. “When do you leave again?”

“Whenever you decide to push me away.” Azriel kissed you. “And not a second sooner.”

Feyre stared at the cream invitation. It had landed on Rhysand’s desk just moments earlier, but she had already read it a dozen times. The words were seared into her mind. You are cordially invited to the mating ceremony of High Lady Y/N and Azriel. But the part she found herself reading over and over again, trying to make sure it wasn’t a figment of her imagination were— P.S. I would greatly appreciate your attendance. You are my sister, and I miss you being a part of my life.

If she went to Spring, she would have her sister again she so terribly pushed away. 

Because she had missed you. It had broken her heart to know you had come to Night to be with Azriel yet never came to see them. She couldn’t blame you, of course. You had been right. Feyre should have said something to you. It wasn’t fair for her to keep you completely in the dark. She hated when others had done it to her in the past. Why did she ever think she could do the same to you? Yet, even in the months afterward, she wasn’t sure what to say to you. 

She still didn’t. 

Feyre sat in the River House, at Rhysand’s desk, glancing between the invitation and the RSVP she was going to send in response. Rhysand stood behind her. When the invitation arrived, he said that the decision was fully hers. That he would support whatever choice to make. To stay in Night and continue to allow the relationship to strain, or to go and begin the mending process. But was there anything left to mend? You were happy in Spring with both of your mates. To go there now would be to ruin the life you’ve built for yourself. 

“Do you want to go?” Rhys asked after several moments of Feyre holding the pen in an ironclad grip.

“I haven’t seen her in months. I haven’t been to Spring in over a year. I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“Because you miss her, and she misses you. Don’t torture yourself with thoughts of maybes and what ifs. You know Y/N wouldn’t have sent the invitation if she didn’t want you there,” Rhysand said. He pointed to the postscript, tapping his finger on it. “It’s a peace offering.”

“I hurt her.”

For as long as Feyre could remember, she had been trying to protect her family. For a long time, it was all she knew. Things changed, of course, when she came to Prythian and her sisters all became High Fae. But the base desire, to ensure their safety and security, still resided deep inside her. It was why she had been so scared when you said Tamlin was your mate. It was why she panicked when Rhysand said Azriel had disappeared after being invited to your mating ceremony with Tamlin. Yet, in both instances, she had been the one to cause your pain. What if that was all she could do now? Maybe she was better off, maybe you were better off, if she stayed away.

Rhys let out a sigh. “You did, but she’s giving you a chance. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?”

“It is.”

“Then, I think you already know the answer.”

Feyre pressed the pen to the paper. She slowly wrote her response, worried that if she moved too fast, she would write the wrong thing. But, Cauldron, it didn’t feel write to just write a letter to you. If you were truly inviting her back into your life, if you truly were trying to mend the relationship, you deserved more. 

She dropped the pen and rose from her seat. Rhysand followed her and she stalked out of the office. Ignoring her mate’s questions behind her, she went to the living room where the rest of the Inner Circle waited for Feyre and Rhys. Everyone stared at her when she arrived. She couldn’t take this uncertainty anymore. 

“Well?” Nesta asked, breaking the silence. “Are we breaking this ridiculous stalemate together, or will I be going to Spring alone?”

“Together,” Feyre said. “We’ll go together, now. I’m sure they won’t mind a surprise visit.”

Nesta flashed a rare smile. “Good, because Elain and I would have dragged you there kicking and screaming.”

[taymartiart]

Day 6 of @tamlinweek

Dreams

🌶️🌶️ Sapphic Tamsand Wet Dream Ahead 🌶️🌶️

Uncensored version available on my patreon ✨

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Memories | Lucien Vanserra

Summary: The memories were painful, but now they were all he had left, and it was tearing him apart.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Angst, slight suggestive theme, just general sadness guys — I'm sorry. Next Luci piece will be happy, I promise

Lucien inhaled and a scent he knew all too well invaded his senses — vanilla and spice. He remembered a time where things had been much simpler.

A week of secret glances and stolen kisses in the shadows had led to this. Her hushed laughter as Lucien hovered above her in her bed, planting kisses all over her face. His lips touched every inch of the face of the woman he loved, with a gentle warmth only she could pull from within.

With every soft touch, he admired how she looked bathed in the moonlight that spilled through the cottage window, with her legs wrapped around him.

“Luci.” She breathed his name, staring up at him with those wide eyes he fell in love with. He would never get used to the gentleness that filled them, the adoration at which she stared at him with. 

Every breath he took, her familiar scent consumed him — heart and mind. 

His lips claimed hers — soft and warm, spilling all of his feelings for her into the one notion, a silent declaration of love. And she returned it, one hand cupping his cheek while the other tangled itself in his long fire-red hair. 

Lucien's hands wandered, like every other hormonal teenage male's hands did. . . It wasn't rushed, however, nor inexperienced — it was gentle, calculating, as if mapping out every dip and curve that would keep him sated until he could sneak in through her bedroom window the next time. 

Oh, to be fifteen and in love. 

The sound of her parents walking up the stone path caused both to freeze, sharing a wide eyed look before Lucien pulled away, scrambling off of her bed as their voices drew closer. 

She watched in mild amusement and slight horror as he located his pants halfway across her bedroom along with the thin, white cotton of her underwear that had been hastily shed within minutes of him entering through the window. 

The garment was hastily tossed over to her and she stood from the bed, putting them back on while he made quick work of lacing his pants up and slipping his boots back on. 

He then got to the window before pausing, turning to look at her. Low on time, he sauntered over, bending to her level to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I love you.” Lucien murmured, gently stroking the smooth skin of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

She leaned into his touch. “And I love you.” She whispered in return.

He reluctantly pulled away, the voices of her parents drawing closer, nearly to the front door of the cottage — merely a room away. 

And no sooner than his boots landed in the soft, damp earth just outside her window, the front door opened and her father's booming voice could be heard, uncaring of the late hour. 

She barely had enough time to close the window and slip beneath the covers before there were two sharp knocks on her door and it opened, yet she pretended she'd been asleep for a while and he had woken her up. 

Lucien couldn't help but grin at how she always managed to fool her parents on nights he came over. It was thrilling — being in love and sneaking around. 

He shook his head slightly, the scent no longer there. It was never there. It was his imagination. A figment of the past, toying with his heartstrings the same way a cat played with a ball of yarn. 

Tamlin spared him a glance behind the golden mask embedded with emeralds, cut elegantly to look like leaves. 

Lucien's hands clenched into fists and he took a deep breath, fighting the emotions that clawed at his throat. How a simple smell — or even the imagination of a smell — could bring back memories long repressed for his own sake. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

It had been thirteen years. Thirteen years since he lost the one he truly loved. All because she — you — had been selfless, courageous, brave, and completely and utterly stupid.

“I have to go.” She whispered, standing there in her fighting leathers — the harvest gold emblem of the Autumn Court connecting the fur pelts to the armor that replaced the fine dresses he'd grown accustomed to in the more recent years. 

The emblem that controlled her life. A simple maple leaf with an embossed ‘A’ on a rounded badge. She carried it like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. 

Her hands, clad in leather fingerless gloves, traced from the expanse of his sharp jawline to the fire-red hair she loved so much. She stared at him with such love in her eyes, a twinge of sorrow in the depths of her irises. Committing him to memory. That's what she was doing.

“They shouldn't be allowed to call for you. . . You left. . . You came with me.” He murmured, his remaining russet eye showing his true emotions. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay there, safe with him. Happy. Loved. 

Lucien wanted to remove that sorrow from her gaze. He wanted to see that light he knew was within. The light he knew burned for him, and only him.

“I know. . . But I didn't renounce my position, like you did. I should've, but I never thought they'd need me again.” 

His eyes traced her features and drifted to the swords crossed at her back. He knew there were daggers strapped to her body — ones he could see and ones couldn't, but knew they were there, because he knew her. 

“If something, anything, goes wrong, you get yourself out of there, do you understand me?” His voice was pleading. 

She nodded in an instant, throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “When I come home, I'll renounce my position in the force and they'll never bother us again.” She muttered softly, pulling back to look at him. 

Him. Her Lucien. Her love. 

He couldn't help himself, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, the soft and warm flesh consuming him as she reciprocated without hesitation. 

“I love you.” She whispered once they pulled away. 

“I love you too. . . Come home to me.” 

She could only smile softly and step out of his embrace entirely, the soft chime of the clock welcoming the new hour alerting her to the fact that she had to go. It was time.

“Close your eyes.” She hummed, mentally preparing herself for what she had to do. 

Lucien listened after a moment, his eyes closing. She observed him for a good moment. And when he opened his eyes, she was gone.

He grew angry with himself once again. He should've begged you to stay. Tied you down so you couldn't have left that day, regardless of whether or not it made you hate him. 

He could live with you being mad at him. Cursing his name, throwing paint brushes and slippers at him because he stopped you from defending your village, your family, the only home you knew before you moved into his heart. 

He could've lived with that.

But leaving, dying in such a tragic way for a court that didn't even remember your name. A court that didn't offer the funeral you deserved. . . Just another name, another prayer, another blessing for your soul to rest peacefully in the great beyond. 

He couldn't live with that. It was a struggle every single day, but he continued on because you would've wanted him to. Every time he was about to slip into a rut of not eating and avoiding his work, he could practically hear your soft, melodic voice in the back of his head, telling him that you were okay. That he could have his moments, but that you didn't want him to cause himself more pain — more anguish. 

Some days were better, some days were worse. The good days were becoming more frequent, but the bad days hit him hard. 

They brought memories. Memories he couldn't shake away. He both loved them and hated them. 

They were memories, yes, but you should've been there beside him, making more. It shouldn't have been a constant loop of the good and bad, with a wild imagination of what could've been if the world and fates hadn't been cruel. 

He missed you, and the memories only made it worse.

He couldn't love you for centuries and then just stop one day, not when everything reminded him of you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your scent. The way your face would scrunch up when you were concentrating hard on something. . . Not when he was haunted by the ghost of you. 

[surielstea]

What if

During a night on Calanmai: Tamlin got a female pregnant without knowing it? Tamlins daughter then grows up only to find herself falling for the Heir to the Night court, Nyx.

Tamlin’s daughter!Reader x Nyx (secret/forbidden romance | fluff | angst)

I’ve been thinking about a Tamlin’s daughter x Nyx for so long! I’ve already written a few excerpts for a oneshot and I’m obsessed but I don’t know if you guys would be interested?? Let me know in the comments if you are and I’ll publish it! 💙💙

[hani-yo]

I just think fem!Tamlin is neat...

[achaotichuman]

Beauty In The Neon Lights

I was scrolling Pinterest and found a lesbian couple that looked like fem!Tamcien. So I wrote a snippet of them! Blame @sonics-atelier for encouraging me

In the light of deep midnight and party lights, she was beautiful. Lipstick smeared across her face, the outline of lips in different shades painted down her neck and falling underneath the curve of her dresses neckline. The deep v that dipped low between her breasts, the shimmering green material reflected in the purple, blue and yellow lights spinning around her. 

Blonde hairs struck to her face, sweat dripped from her temple. Sparkling eyeshadow smudged underneath her eyes as her wine stained lips parted as she laughed. 

The long slit of her own dress fluttered as her feet seemed to move on their own. Crossing the crowded dance floor, magnetically drawn to the blonde beauty who caught her eye.

A red strand of hair fell from her loose braid, crossing her eyes as she pushed another drunken girl gently from her path. 

The beauty stood out amongst the crowd of people pressing in together, writhing and moving the beat of the music pounding in the thick, smokey air. 

Finally Lucien crossed the dance floor, the black fabric of her dress sticking from sweat to her thighs. Gloved fingers reached out and brushed the shoulder of the beauty, who spun around, Lord save her. 

Green eyes flashed in the neon lights, blonde curls bouncing around her sharp face. 

Lucien got a full look of the dress she wore. Sleeveless, pushing up her full chest, and pinching at her waist. Muscled arms flexed as she swayed to the heartbeat of the party. 

“Hey there.” She said, eyes dragging up and down the form of the woman that had interupped her night with a hungry gaze that made Lucien weak in the knees. Her legs nearly giving out on her high stilletoes. 

“Hey,” She managed to say back. 

The night went on, a spectacul of flashing, smoke and drinks. Lucien forgot here and there, leaving only traces of long, slender fingers trailing over her dress and pulling her in every direction. A cold, tiled wall behind her and a soft mouth on her neck. 

The headache woke her up, dragging her up from the dark slumber she had succombed too. Lucien didnt recognise the silky sheets her long legs were tangled in. Nor did she know the large bed that she laid in. 

All she knew was she was quite cold, which might have something to do with her lack of any clothing. 

“Shit.” Hissing the word as she sat up, Lucien grabbed at the green sheets, pulling them over her exposed breats. And covering as much of her naked skin as she could. 

Groaning she reached to her head, red curls in a tangled mess, falling into her eyes. 

“You’re awake.” A delicious voice spoke from somewhere. Nothing made any sense in her newly awoken, hazy mind, but Lucien turned her eyes to where she thought the voice came from. 

There was a doorway. A large one two holding double doors at least. It was open, giving her the view of a large, luxiourous apartment. 

But it was who standed there that caught more of her attention. 

The beauty, a voice in her head shouted.

Heat rose high in her face, balling her fists into the sheets, her stupid, stupid eyes, wandered. 

The beauty wore only a short green robe. Loosely tied around her waist. Long blonde curls spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Hitting the back of her knees. Those sharp green eyes reminded Lucien of a cat as they slowly flicked over her naked form. Prowling forward, she stepped closer. Lucien swallowed hard, it was difficult to explain, but this glorious woman felt more like a predator than a human being. 

The level of power she commanded in this space snatched the air from her lungs. It was odd how she walked so slowly and calmly whilst commanding all attention on her.

“Good morning, dear.” She smiled gently, a slight bit of relief flooded Lucien, she wasn’t unwelcome, which was a good thing, since she had no desire to scramble for her clothes, call a taxi and go home to a furious Vassa who would no doubt chastise her for staying the night at a stranger’s. 

“Good morning.” Lucien said politely, watching as the beauty sat on the edge of the bed, tilting her head slightly. 

“Lucien, right?” She asked, pale face void of any true emotion, though there was no coldness in her warm voice. 

“I-” Did she tell her that last night? “Yes.”

“Thought so,” The beauty smiled. 

Well that was odd.

“You thought so?” Lucien repeated, almost dumbfounded. A ray of harsh sunlight hit her in the eye from the large floor to ceiling window across the bedroom, she quickly blocked it with her hand over her eyes. 

“Our mothers know each other,” The beauty replied, a slight tilt to her mouth, “Our families are getting together later.”

What? The headache pounded again, all words sounding scrambled. 

Then Lucien narrowed her eyes, then her face went white. 

“Tamlin.” 

Tamlin smiled, the rosy pink of her lips only enhanced by the early morning light dawning in, casting her in a soft glow that made her appear radiant. 

Shit. 

Lucien was totally fucked. 

“The one and only, dear.” She answered.

“I…”

Shit

“I am so sorry,” Lucien said quickly, scrambling to get out of bed, “I”m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I never would have… I shouldnt have- I’m sorry-”

Her legs tangled in her haste and she fell off the bed with a short scream. 

“Oh god.” Tamlin rushed up from the bed and ran over to Lucien, taking her bare arms in her calloused hands. Hands rough from years of music lessons. 

Musci lessons, because Tamlin was the daughter of Dahlia Fairburn, the famous pianist. Who married one of the highest ranking men in their country. 

Heir of the Spring’s estate and fortune. Choosen for her immense intelligence and skills. 

Lucien was completely and totally fucked. 

How did she not even realise?

“Forgive me, Miss.” Lucien said quickly, “I didn’t realise it was-”

“Dear, do not be sorry.” Tamlin said kindly. Her voice a soothing balm to Lucien’s pounding heart.

“I should have realised,” Lucien still tried to ammend, “I was drunk, I was-”

“We were both drunk, dear.” Tamlin said, casting her eyes down, something ignited in them, the golden flakes seeming to burn like fire embers. Lucien shivered. Memories flashed through her mind, like a flashback she suddenly remembered parts of the early morning hours ago. Filled with the most deplorable of noises and the sight of legs splayed open for her mouth. 

Reddness rose in her face once more and she quickly stepped back from Tamlin. 

“Allow me to grab you something comfortable.” Tamlin said, turning around and walking towards a door. It opened to one of the largest wardrobes Lucien had ever seen. Tamlin absentmindedly took hold of a robe of dark red silk, tossing it carelessly to Lucien, who caught and quickly slipped into it. Typing the knot tightly. 

Tamlin then headed for the wide open doors of her bedroom, stepping over the threshold before casting a look at Lucien, one eyebrow raised and Lucien scrambled to follow her. 

Tamlin took her to a large granite table, gesturing lazily to a seat, which Lucien quickly took, fiddling with fingers anxiously, staring at the soft fabric of the borrowed robe. 

“Here, darl,” Tamlin placed something before her. Lucien looked to see a plate of steaming scrambled eggs on buttered toast before her. Her mouth dropped open. 

“Miss, please this is-”

“Eat,” Tamlin ordered, Lucien shut her mouth, quickly taking up the fork and knife presented to her. 

Tamlin took a seat beside her, her own plate filled, discreetly glancing at her guest as she dug into her own breakfast. 

“You know,” Tamlin said, her smooth voice breaking the silence, “I was quite surprised to wake up this morning to the famed Lucien Vanserra laying beside me.”

“I-”

“No more apologies.” Tamlin told her. A quirk of her plush lips, “I was pleasantly surprised.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Lucien blinked. Lord damn her, her tongue felt like heavy metal, langauge no longer coming easily to her. 

She looked curiously at Lucien, observing her every inch. 

Then she smiled, “You can stay with me until we go, the lunch is only in two hours anyway. I’ll get my driver to take us.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.” Lucien didn’t know how else to respond, it sounded logical. Though she might die before they left if the shoulder of Tamlin’s robe slipped down any further. Exposing more luxiourous skin. 

Tamlin looked her up and down once more like she knew what Lucien was thinking. 

[utterlyotterlyx]

Writing Prompts

My first prompt list is here ✨

Please drop me a message with the prompt and which character you’d like to see:

Azriel

Eris

Cassian

Rhys

Lucien

Helion

Ruhn

Hunt

Or any others - happy to give it a go 🤍

1. Is that blood?

Don’t worry, it’s not mine.

That’s supposed to reassure me?!

2. Is now a bad time to tell you that I’m claustrophobic?

3. God, here - just hold my hand.

4. What if you-

If you’re really about to suggest that I sit on your lap, I will kill you.

5. I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.

6. Is it okay if I give up?

7. Gimme a sec, I’m not drunk enough to listen to this yet.

8. We have a problem.

9. Why are you staring at me like that?

10. How the fuck did you survive that?!

11. I’m not angry, I’m mildly upset.

12. I must be in heaven.

13. I don’t like saying ‘I told you so’ but-

The hell you don’t, it’s your favourite phrase.

14. I don’t want to hurt you.

15. I never stood a chance, did I?

16. How did you do that?

Maybe if you did a little less talking and a little more watching, you’d figure it out.

17. I’m surrounded by idiots.

But at least we’re hot.

18. I’ve been breaking my back to kiss you.

I’m not that fucking short.

19. Don’t you see that I’m trying?

20. If even half of that blood is yours you need to sit down right now.

21. Stay.

22. My mind is a dark place. You don’t want to be there.

23. It’s three in the morning.

24. Most people find me intimidating, you know.

25. Don’t leave me here alone.

[midnightmasterpiece]

once my anti depressants kick in (could be like a month) (and hopefully this prescription works for me) my sapphic elucien f1 au is soooo gonna get written

I have so many ideas and there’s so much content leading up to this weekends grand prix in miami that I have so many ideas

[huntquinlan]

another indication this fandom is predominantly straight white women with little fandom experience is the absolute absence of trans character headcanons and lgbtq headcanons more extensive than “bisexual!!!”

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our Girl – Part 9

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader

Summary: You awaken after being rescued by Azriel and Cassian.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Sliiiiight smut suggestions. Funeral/character death

AN: A few time jumps in this second last part to the series folks, hold on tight!

<<< Part 8

You heard sharp breaths leave their noses as you addressed them, each of them turning rigid. 

My mates. They had waited years for those words to fall from your lips so freely. 

Cassian groaned as he lifted himself on strong fists, Azriel already shuffling as they flanked you on either side, wings crammed into your bed, careful not to crush you. 

You offered one arm to each of them, your palms pressed into their too-big hands. Azriel blinked away the tears that stung at his eyes, raising your grazed knuckles and kissing at the sores and scars - a jarring reminder of what you had awoken from. 

Cassian was not one to miss out, and he slipped a muscled arm behind your neck, grasping at Azriel’s shoulder as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You shuddered a breath, your insides warmed by the affection infiltrating the bond, relishing that feeling of home, of belonging. 

“You are both well? Healed?” you rhasped, your voice barely there. Azriel frowned, immediately reaching for a glass of water and bringing it to your lips. 

“Yes, sweets, we’re alright,” Cassian used a knuckle to brush away the stray drop of water that rolled down your chin. “How is your pain?”

You meant to answer, but Azriel replaced the glass of water with something cold and metallic. Flicking your eyes from the thermometer now pressed against your tongue, it was instinct to scowl up at the Shadowsinger. 

“Really?” you muttered through a full mouth. 

Hazel eyes narrowed slightly as he carefully traced that thin red line. “You’re fighting an infection, love.”

A gentle pull on your chin forced your focus back to Cassian, his eyes warmed with humour at the exchange between his mates. You supposed it was nice, to slip into a reaction so natural, something that had been amiss for years. 

“Your pain?” he pressed.

You shrugged as Azriel gently pulled the thermometer away, shaking it once, twice. Fatigue was heavy on your bones, and your head was throbbing, likely from that infection they mentioned. But the wound at your heart was a dull ache, and you had healed well all things considered. Pealing back the covers, you lifted your nightgown, eying the scar that now ran beside your left breast. 

You were there in an instant, the clang of that awful sword and Beron’s roar in your ears, impending death looming as you remembered the pure dread that consumed you for days. 

You stiffened, eyes turning distant as your mouth quivered with an instant need to cry out. 

Azriel thumbed your lip, cooing softly. “It’s alright my love, you are safe now. You’re ok.”

You drew a long, shaking breath. There would be along road ahead to recover as Beron’s prisoner, that much was clear. 

“Where is he?” you asked with a small voice. 

“Imprisoned, just as you asked.” Cassian's reply was soft as he gently played with a lock of your limp hair.

“And Lucien is…?”

Your mates met each other’s eyes, before your hands were back in theirs, held tightly. 

“I’m sorry my love,” Azriel whispered. Leaning closer, he nudged the bridge of his nose to your crown, pressing closer with comfort.

You swallowed, nodding as tears rolled down your cheeks. That poor male – loyal and kind and better than most. Your heart ached for Feyre and Tamlin. 

“The others?”

“Everyone is safe and well. Beron’s army yielded when he was dragged from the dungeon, and the Illyrians have returned to the camps. Eris is in the process of assuming his role as High Lord – Beron was forced to abdicate by his own council.”

“Tamlin stayed to help mend the damage from the battle. He’s had help from a group of aides and healers,” Cassian added with a smile. 

The smile you forced was barely there, only the corners of your lips turning as your eyes still hung heavy. Your friends, the volunteers - of course they had come. And Tamlin, fighting alongside Illyrians? It was an overwhelming thought. 

There was so much to do, so much to say. But fatigue weighed heavy on your mind and body alike, even your power was impossible to drag up from within. Grieving, celebrating, helping those to heal – it would all have to wait. 

And then there were your mates – confessions and pleas of honesty begging to be unravelled in a mess of emotions you did not yet understand.

Without notice, tears began spilling from your cheeks, rolling down your chin in a the trail down to your chest. 

“You found me,” you whispered hoarsely.

Azriel was wiping at your chin, and Cassian’s lips were at your crown as he replied. “And you fought for us.”

“I was so scared,” you whispered again, your voice wobbling with a half-sob. 

“So were we,” Azriel added softly. 

You blinked between them, a wrangled laugh escaping. It was exhausting, the instant switch between fear, then relief, then grief, then relief again. 

“I think I’m going mad,” you admitted, wiping at your face while you relished in the safety of having your mates by your side. 

“That’s understandable, love,” Azriel smiled softly, eyeing you closely, reading each micro expression with understanding. 

“Besides,” Cassian smirked. “You already were half-mad.”

Another laugh huffed through your chest, heavy and thick with illness. Cassian was grinning, before pecking at your knuckles with affection. The soft thud of Azriel’s heart fastened, and you could sense his joy through the bond as he watched you two. 

Lashes fluttered as sleep tugged at you, but you were reluctant to give in. Time was sacred, you knew that now. 

Azriel’s eyes caught Cassian’s with a quick nod, and it was the later who stood to fetch a vial, the popping of a cork pricking your ears.

Azriel forced your chin to him. “Something Madja has prepared to help with the fever.” There was that sternness in his eyes, a familiar one that he used when anticipating stubbornness. Given you record in refusing medicine, you couldn't blame him. But you wouldn't fight them today – you couldn't if you wanted to. 

The medicine was bitter, but you drank it willingly as Cassian tipped the glass at your lips with gentle hand at the back of your head, Azriel’s watchful eyes tracking each swallow and ensuring the bottle was emptied. 

You rolled your eyes at his keen eye, before settling back into your pillows. 

“I saw that.”

Eyes falling closed thanks to the quick working effects of the medicine, you couldn’t hide your smirk was you wordlessly muttered ‘overbearing mother hens’ through the bond. You knew it worked from Cassian’s snort from the other side of the room, and Azriel’s glow of pride at your use of the bond, despite the message cast through it.

Callused fingers stroked your hair before your pillows were being moved from under you. You blinked up at Cassian as he towered over, helping you recline further. “Go to sleep sweetheart, we’ll be hear when you wake up.” 

It was lulling to hear, and you let your eyes close again, grateful for the comfort of the bed and grateful for your mates – that each of you had made it out alive. 

As sleep almost pulled you under, your eyes fluttered open, and you sat up with rational quickness. “Where even are we?”

Your mates chuckled, Azriel pressed you back into the bed as he shook his head. “Still in Autumn love, but you’re safe.”

“That much I know” you muttered drowsily, sarcasm lacing through as you danced with sleep. 

“Do you just?”

You yawned, your words slow as you sighed. “I know I’m safe with you.”

You were already asleep before the wave of adoration careening through the bond could reach you. 

————

Eris’s voice cut through the oak door, greeting you into the room. 

Auburn locks shined in the fire-lit room as Eris stood on a low stool, facing an ornate mirror as tailors worked at his suit. It was a fine thing – orange and yellows embroidered with tasteful gold leafs. One tailor worked on his sleeve, while the other was busy bent at the cuff of his pants. 

“You’ll have to excuse me, Y/N. Just some finishing touches before tomorrow’s coronation. Perhaps we might be excused?” 

The tailors stepped away then, taking their supplies with them as they bowed to their future High Lord. 

Eris stepped down, stopping a few steps shy from you, fiery eyes casting you up and down. 

Originally, that kind of look would have beckoned your own power together within, threatening to zap with petty distaste. But without Beron, Eris was revealed as his true self. Cunning, sure, but also generous, caring, and much smarter than he had ever let on. 

“You look well,” he offered. 

“Because I’m not cloaked like a pumpkin,” you nodded to his flashy suite. 

Eris feigned offence with a hand to his chest. “You don't like my coronation suit?”

You snorted, and Eris grinned back. You were toying with each other as you always had, but now without the need for blood. 

“It’s lovely, actually. It screams of wealth, but has tasteful detail. Whoever designed it must know you well.”

“If I didn't know any better Y/N, I’d take that as a compliment.”

You pulled your lips in a sideways smile, eyebrows raised. “You did save my life.”

Eris stoped, his smile fading as his eyes blinked down just once. “I also might have damned you.”

You shook your head. “That wasn't your fault.”

A beat of silence.

“Y/N, I’m sorry my fath–"

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Eris, don’t. That is not for you to apologise for.”

Eris’s lips pulled into a thin line, guilt and grief weighing heavy on the male, the bags under his eyes yet deeper than you had ever seen. 

Composing himself, he nodded to a settee facing the the sprawling autumn forest, magnificent reds, yellows and greens muted by night. 

You moved to join him, eyes dancing at the tree tops. “Tomorrow will be…” you started. 

“A big day,” he finished, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

Eris wasn’t wrong. Here at the castle would be Lucien’s memorial, followed by Eris’s coronation. And on the other side of the court, Beron’s execution - all carefully arranged on the same day. It was a distraction of Beron’s dark reign, an insult to all that he had tried to conquer, and a honour to Lucien to celebrate life and moving forward. Beron would die alone, and Lucien’s legacy would be celebrated amongst many.

“Will Serafina be there?” 

He nodded, rubbing his hands together with tension. “Yes, she couldn't stand the thought of being there when my father…” 

Eris trailed off, but you nodded anyway. “I wish I could say the same for Helion. He’s overseeing the…event.” My father’s execution - he couldn't bring himself to say.

You bit your lip, nodded slowly. Azriel and Cassian had asked which events you wished to attend, perhaps all three, or none at all. You felt a strong need to be at the memorial and coronation, but had little interest in seeing Beron die, no matter what he had done to harm you an your mates. The males had agreed to accompany you, but you felt the urge they resisted to witness Beron’s death. It seemed Helion had felt the same, especially with his involvement in seeing securing Beron’s fate. You couldn't blame him, for all the years he had held his mate enslaved to his schemes.

“Helion will miss your ceremony, then?”

Eris lifted tired eyes to you. “I don't think he’ll ever forgive me for the life my mother was forced to live.”

“You were born into this, Eris, your own life was on the line. You were his child.”

“I’ve been fully grown for centuries now, Y/N. If I had been braver, my mother wouldn’t have had to suffer for the centuries she did. And Lucien…,” Eris choked at the name of his brother, shoulders stiffening before jerking with sobs. 

You watched with sorrow, moving gently to place a hand at his back, warmth spreading immediately at your palm. 

“They despise me, all of them. Helion, Feyre, Tamlin, Rhys, perhaps even my own mother. They see me for the coward I am.”

You cleared your throat, choosing your words carefully. “The beginning of your reign as High Lord will be an trialling time for you, I won’t deny that. But there were so many who could have stopped Beron, and so many that that didn’t. It wasn't your burden to bear alone.” 

Eris blinked, a shaken breath escaping him as he gained some control. “I suppose I will always be the High Lord that was too late.”

You swallowed, nodding. “Perhaps. But you will also be the High Lord who makes sure to leave a better legacy, to never leave things too late again.”

Eris ran curious brown eyes down your frame – so unfamiliar with the comfort you had just provided. 

“Azriel and Cassian are couldren-blessed to have someone like you.” 

You stiffened then. “I don't suppose they have me, Eris.”

Eris blinked, before his faced dropped. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I did not mean to offend.”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “It’s ok, Eris. You are learning.” 

He ran bony fingers through his cropped auburn locks. “I only meant to convey that I admire you.”

You shrugged. “I am quite incredible.”

Eris’s laugh was raspy with relief. There was a quiet moment between you, the only sound the crackle of the fireplace. 

“Will you be there, tomorrow?” Eris did nothing to hide the hope in his eyes. 

You placed a gentle hand over his. “I’ll be one of many. Rhys and Feyre will be there too.”

“They’re coming?”

“I’m not sure people hold as much resentment to you as you do yourself, Eris. I think most just want to look forward, to a better world.”

Eris swallowed then, curbing the lump in his throat that threatened again. “Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate your kindness.”

You rose then, smoothing your skirts. “All the best for tomorrow, Eris. At the very least, you’ll look dashing.”

Eris found his old self then, extending his arms to admire the suite once more. “That I will,” he grinned, before reaching for your hand, and placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

“Should you feel the need to reject two Illyrians for one handsome High Lord,” he joked with a flash of teeth. 

You snatched your hand back, eyes rolling with a smirk. “Don’t ever let Azriel or Cassian hear you joke like that,” you threw over your shoulder, sealing Eris’s chuckle and closing the door behind you.

————

Lucien’s memorial was devastatingly beautiful. 

Without a body, there was no coffin, cremation or grave. Instead, a bronzed statue was erected in the gardens of the Autumn castle, and rows of fae from all courts gathered to watch it be raised. 

It was Eris who spoke from the podium, Serafina’s weeps heard by all as she clung to Hellion who kept a strong arm around his mate. 

“I want to thank you all for coming here today to honour the life of my youngest bother, Lucien. He was taken from us in a selfish and cowardly act by my father, used as a sacrifice to hone evil. A crime that contradicts my brother’s very essence, for with every fibre of his being, Lucien was good.” 

“Lucien was kinder than most, a generous, forgiving male who uplifted others and sought good for the world. I regret to have dismissed him for so long, and that I may never tell him just how much I admired his courage. As High Lord of this court, I will ensure that his legacy continues, that he lives forever in bronze in these gardens, but also as a celebrated hero and vital part of the Autumn dynasty.”

“To properly commemorate his life, I invite someone who was a truer brother to Lucien, more than I ever was.” 

Eris stepped from the podium, placing a sure hand on Tamlin’s shoulder before moving to the queues. 

You could see the tremor in your friends hands as he placed his papers down, fingers gripping to the podium to steady himself. Pressing your lips tightly, you knew the wave of emotion Tamlin would need to push through to address all of these people, and tribute Lucien in honour. Your heart ached for him further.

Feyre’s sniffing pricked your ears from beside you where Rhys held her, and as you dabbed a few of your own stray tears, a wave of reassurance was sent from your mates who sat a few rows back, catching the movement. 

“Lucien was more than an honourable male.” Tamlin began, his voice strong, commanding of the crowd. “He understood what it was to be truly loyal, to see the good amongst the bad, to make others feel at home when he didn't have one of his own.” 

“He taught me compassion, sensibility, gratitude and love. He was a better leader than I could ever hope to be, without even trying.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, and you felt an overwhelming amount of pride for Tamlin as he cast those sharp green eyes across the crowd. 

“He was a loving son and friend,” he said with a nod to Serafina. “And while he endured more hardship than any of us deserve, his wit and humour prevailed.”

A few chuckles from the crowd and murmurs of agreement. A tattooed hand found yours then, and Feyre squeezed you as you smiled at each other through tears. 

“Many might not know that Lucien used that wit to free us of Amarantha’s reign. It was his keen eye to observe those around him, that brilliant mind and sincere care for others that lead Feyre to my court, and to eventually break the curse. He helped us every step of the way, risking his life countless times under the mountain, because he understood what was at stake, and what was the greater good.”

Tamlin had paused, taking a shaky breath. “Lucien was the brother I never deserved, and I will never stop loving him.” 

Tear stained tracks shone on Tamlin’s cheeks.

“It is our duty to ensure he has not died in vain, to learn from his legacy of acceptance, patience and kindness. If each of us hone just a fraction of the honour that he spread so freely, Prythian will be stronger for it.” 

“And when your children ask to hear the heroic tales of friends and foes alike, tell them of Lucien – the male with no home, that lead with his heart instead.” 

When Tamlin returned to his seat as Serafina stood to reveal the statue beneath the cloth. Hundreds of fae cried and cheered, and you reached for Tamlin’s hand, holding him tightly with your head on his shoulder, grieving and celebrating with your truest friend. 

————

1 week later

“Where have you bought me, my love?”

Azriel emerged from the thick of the Autumn forest, dried leaves crunching beneath his boots. 

“A little clearing I discovered on a walk,” you smiled from where you waited patiently, hands behind your back. The picnic was set with bread, cheese and berries, and you offered a glass of wine to your mate as he approached. 

He took it with a raised brow, leaning down to kiss your cheek before taking a sip. 

“You are well?” he asked, noting the blush in your cheeks, sending relief through the bond that colour had at last returned to your face. 

“I am,” you smiled broadly.

Before you could ask how Azriel was, the beat of Cassian’s wings sounded, and leaves danced in a gust of wind as he landed on one strong knee. 

“Well isn't this romantic,” he grinned as he stood, stalking over to pick you up, twirling as he squeezed you tight.

While Cassian had business to attend to back in Illyria, both of the males had been keeping their distance while you rested at the Autumn castle. They checked in of course, and Azriel had winnowed back a few times to see you - but they were respectful of your space, waiting for your direction, feeling for your comfort levels along the way. 

Cassian approached Azriel then, a strong hand finding his chiselled jaw as he kissed his mate deeply. 

Immediately flustered, you busied yourself by pouring Cassian a glass of wine as overwhelming desire and longing for each other coursed through the bond after days spent apart. You forced your eyes elsewhere - you hadn't kissed either of them yet, certainly not like that. 

They moved to join you on the blanket you had set, Cassian taking his wine with a thank you and plopping a few berries in the each of your glasses. 

“I’ve missed you both,” you said with a shy smile. It was true, having them both here, it eased the strain of your heart that lingered at the distance. It also revealed desires you hadn't known were there. You wanted to bask in their presence, to hold them tight and never let them go. To tear your clothes of and press their naked skin to yours, feel the heat of them warm through you… Gods, this bond!

Azriel and Cassian shared a coy chuckle as they sensed your lust, and a scarred hand found your knee while Cassian lounged casually, wings sprawling. 

“We missed you too,” Azriel answered with a boyish smirk, before it turned sincere. “Thank you for bringing us together, my love.”

Cassian was already munching on the bread as he offered you a wedge of cheese, speaking with a full mouth. “What marks the occasion, princess?” 

You took the food, chewing thoughtfully before setting your glass down. Hazel eyes tracked your every move, Cassian’s on the clouds as casual hands were bought behind his head. 

“Well, I suppose I wanted to discuss us.”

You saw Cassian’s chest holt, before he sat up, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’m fully healed now, and I think it’s time I left Autumn.” 

Azriel was stiff. “Will you be coming back to Velaris?” he asked with forced softness. 

You swallowed once, twice. “No.”

Azriel took a deep breath before nodding slowly, Cassian’s smile fading into something sad, while affection still warmed those brown eyes. 

“We understand,” he offered, his large hand covering yours. 

“I suppose a better answer is, not yet,” you added, squeezing Cassian’s hand in yours. You felt their lick of excitement through the bond. 

“I love you both, I do. But I don't know where I want to live, where I want to call home. All I know is that I want to continue my mission, help provide aide for more courts. Beron’s death has created so many opportunities, the courts have never been so aligned. There is much work to do - and I will dedicate myself to it. This is my purpose.”

Azriel’s smile was genuine under the tears in his eyes. “I am so proud of you.”

You sent a wave of warmth down the bond. “Thank you, Az.”

Cassian was leaning on his knees now, facing the both of you. “Wherever you want to be, Y/N, we’ll be there too.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no, I won't ask you to leave Velaris, to give up your roles in the Night Court.”

Your mates exchanged a look.

“We would, you know.” Azriel husk was just more than a whisper.

“We’d follow you anywhere,” Cassian added. 

You smiled, your eyes cast down as you fiddled with your hands in your lap. With a quick breath, you placed a hand on each of their thighs. 

“I don't want that, and neither do you. Please hear me when I say I love you both, and I’m learning to forgive you for what happened with Alvar. But I’m not ready to be so…”

“Mated?”

You smiled turned broken. “Yes, mated.”

Azriel had picked up your hand, toying with it before moving scarred fingers to intertwine with yours. “Wherever you want to be,” he repeated Cassian’s words. “We support you.”

You blinked the tears that threatened then, forcing that pinnacle question past your lips. “Would you wait?” For me, for us - you didn't add.

“Of course,” Cassian said instantly, frowning with slight insult. 

“Without a second thought.” Azriel added, his lips now brushing your knuckles.

It was true, honest love that surged through the bond then, from all three sides. 

You huffed with relief. “Then I will return to my life in Spring Court.”

“Perhaps we could visit?” Cassian asked.

You didn't need to think on the offer. “I would love that,” you beamed. “And I will travel often enough with my work – and will visit you too.”

Azriel let out a small whine of relief, and Cassian grinned, moving to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest. 

“We love you Y/N,” he murmured into your ear, planting a kiss to your neck. “We will make this work.”

You reached towards the Shadowsinger, pulling him towards you, relishing in the comfort of their arms wrapped tight around you. You were safe, they were safe. You were happy, they were happy. 

For the first time in years, you felt true happiness in all avenues of life. 

Cassian and Azriel were kissing above your head, the sound of their kiss igniting something in your bounds as you were pressed between them. That primal urge to consummate your mating bond churned within you, and you were suddenly flushed with desire, aware of how your own pupils dilated. 

Raising to your knees, your hands found a place on both of their chests as they broke away, eyeing you. 

You leaned towards Cassian, eyes flicking down to his still-wet lips swollen from Azriel’s kiss. Ever so gently, you lay a peck to his mouth. 

Cassian whimpered as you pulled away, his eyes fluttering open and stalking you as you moved to Azriel and did the same. 

Wings twitched from behind the Shadowsingers head, and shadows instantly flooded around you.

Pulling away, you couldn't help the toying grin that pulled at your mouth. Azriel's chest heaved, and Cassian’s brows were pulled in desperation. 

“Please,” the later begged. “Do that again.”

Your heart lurched, your insides throbbing even more intensely than before. Gods, you wanted them. But you would have to be careful with how you would approach the bond while living on different sides of Prythian. 

“I’m conscious,” you breathed, taking a moment to regain composure. “I’m conscious not to enlighten the bond any further.”

Cassian growled, but Azriel threw him a quick glare. “You’re yet to seal the bond on your end.”

“I know,” you breathed, resisting every urge to ask your mates to eat the remaining berries from your bare hands and ride them into the sunset. “But I don't want to make things anymore difficult than they need to be. I have no interest in torturing you any further. Sex might complicate things, it can bind us further, making the distance that much harder to bare.”

Cassian groaned. “Please don't say harder.”

You and Azriel shared a chuckle as he strained in his pants. 

“It’s a kind thought, my love. And I think you’re right,” Azriel agreed with a stroke to your face, then a strong hand on Cassian’s shoulder that seemed to say compose yourself.

Cassian cleared his throat, and through gritted teeth said “We can wait.”

A wicked smile reached your eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

Cassian all but tackled you, nipping at your ear with a playful growl. “Don’t tease.”

You laughed freely then, his breath tickling your ear.

Azriel was still stiff where he sat. 

“Az,” you asked. “Will you be alright?”

Hazel eyes flicked down you in a way that made you shudder. “I just have on request.”

You smiled. “Yes?”

“Kiss me again.”

You were smiling as you lurched forward, strong arms catching you as you pressed your lips on his. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon in that clearing with your mates, kissing them, holding them, discussing the logistics of the next steps of your mateship, and falling back in love with the two males that always had your heart.

————

3 years later

The three years since you had rekindled your relationship with Azriel and Cassian had been the happiest of your life. 

Your mates would visit often, sometimes together, sometimes alone. And when your work called you to the Night Court or close by, you visited them in Velaris, spending time with your old family too. You relationships were healing amongst the Inner Circle, and you were glad to feel at home again while still returning to your life in Spring Court. 

You had worked furiously hard to bring your aide work across Prythian. Beron’s death saw a shift in response to sharing resources, and your vision of aide without borders gained traction. With hundreds of healers and the likes now working for your charity - your mission was funded and supported by all seven courts. 

The little foxes, you now called yourselves, in honour of Lucien Vanserra and his legacy of honour. Each court had specially built ‘dens’, where fae in need could seek help, and where aide was dispatched to support across all courts. 

It was incredibly hard work that took the years you gave yourself, with many sleepless nights, and sometimes longer periods spent away from your mates. But it was successful, the cogs of your strategies came to life. 

You were overwhelmingly proud, and fulfilled for the first time in your life. Happiness was a plentiful beacon around you, and you felt yourself healing every day.

You spent spare time learning to harness your magic. Seeking experts across the continent, you learned to hone that powerful current, understanding your limits, your emotions, when to yield and when to take. You learnt new ways of using it, lighting fires or fuelling pressing mills, hunting large supplies of fish when food was in need. In those years, you had learned to help others in ways you never new possible. It was as if you were finally coming to life. 

Your heart was full – you had taken control of your life once more, working in boundaries that helped you thrive. And it was with that full, healthy heart that you forgave your mates, little by little, day by day. 

————

Mor let out a high-pitched squeel, shaking as she read the golden card in her hand, envelope floating to the floor as she bounced from foot to foot. 

“What is it?” Feyre asked from her desk, the High Lady buried in paper work.

“They’ve called it!”

“Called what?” Feyre asked with wide eyes, bewildered at Mor’s reaction. 

Snatching the card from the giddy blond’s hand, Feyre read the sparkling, cursive writing. Tears instantly brimmed at Feyre’s eyes as she met Mor’s lovesick smile.

Finbark Eversgreen requests the honour of your attendance to celebrate the marriage of Y/N, Cassian and Azriel.

Saturday, 2nd week of the third season.

The ceremony will be held at the Southern Spring Lake at dusk.

“Rhys! Come quick!”

————

AN: Ahhhh I hope you liked this lead up to the finale!! It was a pleasure to write the abundance of healing going around for all these characters!! The next part will focus on the wedding - but I'm always keen to hear what else you guys might want to see too. All in all, I'm actually excited to wrap up Our Girl tbh. It's sitting at 50,000 words so far and has been a really big piece for me! So thanks for joining me along the way. If you want to join the tag list for the finale, or any of my other stuff, drop and comments and let me know which one :) Much love!!! Nic

[sunbrightheart]

ok but if tamlin can shapeshift…..does that mean he can alter certain organs……?

[starryevermore]

i will go to secret gardens in my mind ✧ tamlin

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: tamlin x archeron!fem!reader

summary: you have always been a wallflower, but to tamlin, you are the finest rose in the garden. 

word count: 7,676

warnings?: angst with a happy ending, unrequited feelings, pining, multi pov, plot twist perchance??, not proofread 

PART TWO

The Spring Court had been rebuilt. What would have been a joyous occasion under any other circumstances, for perhaps any other court, left your family scowling as they looked over the invitation that landed on Rhysand’s desk this morning. An invitation to all courts—to come to Spring and celebrate the burgeoning court. No one, it seemed, wanted to go. It was understandable, of course. After everything that Spring’s High Lord, Tamlin, had put Feyre through—had put your entire family through—it almost felt like walking into a trap. But call you naïve, or perhaps a tad too optimistic for your own good, but you wanted to believe that Tamlin might have truly turned over a new leaf. Sometimes, it took someone losing everything to learn the value of all that they hold dear. No one wanted to go, it seemed, except for you.

Well, and Lucien, but he often fought in Tamlin’s corner. “Tamlin is a far cry from what you remember him as,” he said. “What he did to Feyre was horrible, but he’s trying to make amends. Isn’t the point of the Night Court to offer second chances?”

“We don’t owe that worm a second chance,” Nesta snarled, her eyes narrowing at Lucien. 

“It might be good for Feyre to close this chapter of her life,” Lucien continued. 

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Because you care so much about Feyre’s wellbeing. Remind me, what were you doing while she wasted away in that manor?”

“All I’m saying is, you should consider hearing him out. We all were troubled after Under the Mountain. His actions were, are, shameful, but that doesn’t mean he cannot regret what he did.”

You noticed the tension in Feyre’s shoulders and reached out, placing your hand on top of hers. “You don’t have to go. I just thought it might be fun. We haven’t just gone out in so long.”

Rhysand’s narrowed gaze turned on you. “Then we can go to Rita’s, or take a walk down the Sidra. Hell, I’m sure if we asked Tarquin, we could have a nice trip down to Summer if you’re wanting to go somewhere warm. We don’t have to go all the way to the damned Spring Court for fun.”

A sigh escaped your lips. You rose from your seat, turned to leave. “Forget I said anything.”

Feyre looked up at you. She said your name, standing to follow after you. “If you want to go—”

You waved her off. “It’s alright. I didn’t want to go that bad. I only thought it would be fun, but Rhys is right. We can do something else instead.”

She said your name again, but you ignored her. You understood why she of all people would be apprehensive of going to Spring. Trust and believe, you understood. Tamlin was hardly the most wonderful person in Prythian in your eyes. He let Feyre waste away, he sold you, Nesta, and Elain out to Hybern in a vain attempt to get Feyre back…At every turn, it seemed like he was dead set on humiliating her. But when it was all said and done, he still gave up a kernel of his power to bring back Rhysand. “Be happy, Feyre,” he’d said. It was nothing groundbreaking, it was not even close to an apology for all he’d done, but it seemed like a step in the right direction. 

As you retreated to your room, you didn’t have to look to know you were being followed. Ever since Elain had accepted the mating bond with Lucien, Azriel always trailed so close behind you, he was like a second shadow. When you reached your room, you left the door open, allowing him to slip inside. The door clicked shut behind him. 

You took a seat in the bay window, looking out over the city of Velaris. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

The cushion sank underneath Azriel’s weight. You moved over, avoiding your knees knocking into his. “I just want to know what’s going on in your mind.”

“Does it matter? Rhysand has made his decision clear.”

“Of course it matters. It matters to me.”

It should’ve tugged at your heartstrings to hear him say those words. But all you were reminded of was how Azriel pined after Elain for so long, and for Mor for centuries before that. You were all too aware that you were just the latest object of his affection. “I don’t know. I just…It feels like something is calling for me to go there. Something trying to tug me along until I finally cross over Spring’s border.”

When you spared Azriel a glance, you noted the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. “You should tell Rhys that. He might be more amenable.”

“Rhysand is hardly amenable to anything that isn’t already in his favor.” You shrugged. “It’s not as if I’m Elain, with some vision about why we need to go to Spring. I just…I don’t know. I have a feeling it’s somewhere I should be.”

Azriel looked you over. Perhaps he was trying to ascertain if you’ve lost your mind. And maybe you had. You could hardly explain the feeling, deep in your chest, that pulled you towards the Spring Court. The feeling only intensified when you learned of the invitation to come to Spring’s celebration. “I’ll talk to Rhys for you. He’s been wanting to forge alliances with the other courts. If he’s able to extend a hand to Spring, other courts might be willing to work with him.”

You shrugged again. “Do as you please.”

He reached for your hand. You allowed him to take it. At least you found a modicum of comfort in the gentle squeeze. Azriel’s mouth opened—to say what, you weren’t sure, for a knock sounded against your door. It opened shortly after, Feyre slipping inside. Her eyes fell to your joined hands. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. You pulled away. One of his shadows trailed after you.

“We’re going to Spring,” she said, smiling. But it didn’t reach her eyes. 

You stood up, crossing the room in a few strides, then took Feyre’s hands. “We don’t have to if it’ll cause you pain. I don’t mean to dredge up those terrible memories.”

“I am High Lady. I can set aside those feelings for one night, if it might end in an alliance that will benefit my people. Besides, Lucien might be right. It might do me some good to speak with Tamlin under better circumstances.”

“Are you sure?”

She offered you a smile. “I’m sure.” She squeezed your hands. “You haven’t asked for much since you’ve come here. The least I can do is give you this.”

You shook your head. “No, Feyre, you’ve already gave up so much for our family—”

“Hush. If I didn’t want to do it, you know I wouldn’t.”

“Fine. But the second you’re uncomfortable, we all leave, okay?”

Feyre nodded. “Okay.”

Rhysand was certainly giving you the cold shoulder since Feyre insisted that you all go to the Spring Court, but you could hardly find it in yourself to care. Not when you finally got to trade in the darkness of Night for the blossoming life of Spring. You couldn’t wait to finally leave Night’s borders. You couldn’t quite remember the last time you had the opportunity to leave, save for the war with Hybern. Other than that, though, you had bounced between Rhysand’s many homes, going to whichever place made you least likely to pick a fight with the High Lord. These days, that was primarily the House of Wind, since he had given it to Cassian and Nesta. That, of course, left you with even fewer chances to go out. If you didn’t have an Illyrian to fly you down, you would have to brave the 10,000 stairs. And you were no Valkyrie—you were sure you wouldn’t even make it down a few dozen before throwing in the towel. Of course, you were certain that Azriel would be more than pleased to be at your beck and call. 

After all, he sat on your bed now, watching as you rifled through your dresses, trying to pick something out to wear. 

“You look beautiful in anything,” he said. “Why are you putting so much effort into this?” A hidden question was on the tip of his tongue—Were you trying to impress someone? Perhaps him?

“My mother always said, when you go outside, you look your best because you never know what will happen.”

Azriel stood up, crossing over to your wardrobe. A scarred hand wrapped around yours, stopping you from flicking through the dresses. His voice was husky as he asked, “And what do you think will happen?” 

Your face grew warm. Even if you knew that he was only pursuing you because you were an Archeron, for a male to be so close to you…Well, it was easy to get you flustered. Stuck between Nesta’s vivaciousness and Elain’s sweetness, it was easy for you to fade into the background. When your family was better off, everyone flocked to Elain. After your family became rich again, Elain garnered so many men’s attention. Even Feyre, when your family was its lowest, found herself with someone, if just for the pursuit of pleasure. But you…You were a wallflower through and through. 

“Anything. Nothing,” you said. 

Your breath stilled as Azriel pulled a dress from your wardrobe. It was a beautiful blue tulle dress. Silver stars littered its entire body. There was a tasteful slit up one side. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, you knew there was a matching pair of long, sheer gloves. You had gotten it for Starfall, but found yourself tucking it away in favor of a simpler gown. It, however, wasn’t lost on you that its color complemented Azriel’s cobalt siphons well. 

“You should wear this,” he said. “In case something does happen.”

You found yourself nodding. 

A soft smile crossed his face. It took everything in you to not look away, lest you give him the wrong idea. You may have been a wallflower, but you were not a demure female. “I’ll let you get ready then.”

You nodded again. 

Azriel placed the dress in your hands. You expected him to leave, but he lingered still. His hand grasped yours, pulling it up to meet his lips. He made eye contact with you the entire time, hazel eyes twinkling, before he pulled away. 

When he was finally gone, a sigh escaped your lips. A part of you, you recognized, should have been delighted at Azriel’s attention. He was an attractive male. He had so many qualities that you admired—protective, loyal, kind. But anytime you looked at him, you were reminded of his past history with females. How he pined after Mor for centuries. How he fixated on Elain. In both cases, each made it clear in their own ways that it would never go further. And here you were, certain that you were sending clear signals that you were uninterested, and yet…There he remained. Where was Rhysand, telling him to leave you be? Could you only be left alone if you had a mate?

Perhaps it would be easier, you mused as you changed into the dress, if this tug in your chest was for Azriel. That, by going to Spring, something would happen that would make the bond snap for him. At least if he was your mate, you could convince him to get a home of your own, far away from the busybodies occupying the Inner Circle. At least you would finally feel free enough to breathe on your own. 

You spared a glance in the mirror, satisfied with your hair and makeup, before leaving your room. It shouldn’t have surprised you to see Azriel waiting on the other side of the door, shadows swirling around him. His face brightened as he saw you. An arm was extended toward you. You took it. 

“Beautiful, just as I expected.” Azriel smiled at you. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

All eyes were on the Inner Circle as you entered the manor, but you were too busy looking at everything else. Spring was…Mother, it was more beautiful than anything you had ever seen before. Not even Elain’s gardens held a candle to the beauty housed here. It was difficult to imagine how a Court so ethereal could have been in ruins just months before. It was easier, though, to see how Feyre could fall in love with this land. 

It was even easier, you mused, to fall in love with Spring’s High Lord as he stepped into the Inner Circle’s path. It was the first time you really got a good look at him. When you were taken, you hadn’t dared look at your captors. And when you came out of the Cauldron, you cried so hard you couldn’t see. But the male before you now…Wow. 

“Welcome,” he said, extending a hand to Rhysand. As Rhysand shook it, he turned to Feyre. “Thank you all for coming. I cannot imagine it was an easy decision to make.”

Feyre tilted her head in your direction. “Thank Lucien and my sister. It was their convincing arguments that brought us here.”

Tamlin’s emerald eyes fell to you. Something in your chest tugged harder, but you couldn’t dwell on it as Azriel took a subtle step in front of you. A charming smile passed across the High Lord’s lips. “Well, thank you, too,” he said. “And if I may, I must offer the utmost apologies for everything that transpired the last time our paths crossed. There is no excuse for my actions.”

You tried not to flinch at the mention of the Cauldron. The memory of being submerged as a human, reemerging as a fae…How everything was so different, too intense. It was, perhaps, the darkest part of your life thus far. You prayed it was never so dark again. “It wasn’t all bad,” you found yourself saying. “At least now I can live a long life with my sisters.”

“That is a generous way to think about it,” Tamlin said. He took a step toward you, a hand outstretched. His eyes flicked to Azriel as a growl escaped the Spymaster. Still, he reached for your hand. When you slipped it into his, he lifted it toward his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Something, something akin to joy, swirled inside of you. A tendril of a shadow pulled your hand from Tamlin’s. “Would you be so kind as to share a dance with me?”

“I—” The Inner Circle tensed around you, though you caught Lucien rolling his eyes at their antics. A dance didn’t seem so horrible, but you hated the way Feyre looked so uncomfortable at the prospect. You wished you were a daemati and could see what she was thinking. “Perhaps later. I should like to spend some time mingling.”

Tamlin seemed disappointed, but he still smiled as he said, “Of course. Have fun.”

He nodded at Feyre and Rhysand before disappearing into the crowd. 

“It was like he disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Y/N,” Mor remarked, plucking a glass from a passing waiter’s tray. 

“Don’t,” Feyre warned. She looked at you, her eyes wide with worry. “Don’t fall for his charms. Dance with him if you so wish. But…I don’t know how much I believed him to have changed.” 

“I won’t. I haven’t forgotten what he’s done to you. It will take more than charming smiles and offers for dances to win me over,” you said, turning away from her. Your heart clenched at her distrust. Well, perhaps it wasn’t distrust. To be here, to be in Spring again, must have been extraordinarily difficult for her. But you were her sister. You knew her struggles, her pain, better than most. You weren’t going to throw all that away because Tamlin was kind to you. You weren’t that sort of female. 

A scarred hand caught your wrist before you could slip away into the crowd, perhaps find a nice corner to hide in and people watch. “Would you? Like to dance?” Azriel asked. 

“I see Kallias and Viviane. I would like to say hello.”

You could feel the Inner Circle’s eyes on you as you disappeared into the throng of fae. Though you were no daemati, you could practically hear their collective thoughts: You would be better off with Azriel. But what did they know about you?

Coming here was a mistake. You’d decided so hours ago as you could see various members of the Inner Circle keeping tabs on you from the corner of your eye. Despite hardly making a move from the corner you resided in, save for trips to the refreshment table or conversations with the few friends you had made from other courts, they still hovered. You wondered if it was under Rhysand’s orders, or perhaps Feyre’s. To make sure you didn’t slip away to dance with Tamlin, become the next pretty thing trapped in his gilded cage. 

You sucked your tongue against your teeth as you watched Azriel approach you from across the room, Nesta and Cassian slipping off onto the dance floor. The changing of the guards. Your eyes rolled. Of everyone, Azriel’s presence was the worst. While the others would linger, he would stay by your side, trying to coax conversations out of you or pull you over for a dance. It might have been sweet if you weren’t all too aware that it was a vain effort to keep you from Tamlin. And unlike the others, who would have been merely following orders from the High Lady and Lord, Azriel had his own ulterior motives. 

When you lost sight of Azriel, dancing couples blocking each other’s view of the other, you took the opportunity to slide out a nearby door and into the hall. They would be furious to learn you left—especially when it was because of you that they were even here. But you couldn’t handle the hovering any longer. 

The music from the ballroom soon faded into the background as you walked down the hall, searching for some sanctuary. There were groups of fae lingering around the hallway, but none paid you any mind. It was refreshing, if you were being honest. They had no idea who you were, who your sisters were, of what they had done to save Prythian (or doom this court). You smiled at one couple, wrapped up in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of all that happened around them. 

You spied an open door and slipped inside. It was far smaller than the ballroom, but still grand. Paintings hung along the walls—a few you recognized to be in Feyre’s style. The thing that caught your eye, though, was the handsome piano in the middle of the room. A smile tugged at your lips. It had been so long since you’d had a chance to play. During your family’s dark years, you of course didn’t have access to any instruments, much less one so expensive. When you arrived in Velaris, straight out of the Cauldron, you had clung to the instrument, letting all of your pain flow out of you until there was nothing left. These days, though, you had strayed away.

You took a seat at the bench and ran your fingers along the ivory keys. You tested a few notes to see if it was still in key, but you didn’t make it very far. 

“Do you play?”

Tamlin stood in the doorframe, watching you curiously. Panic settled in your chest. If the Inner Circle, if Feyre, found out that you were alone with Spring’s High Lord, you knew they would be less than pleased. But that tug in your chest—it pulled harder than it ever had before, and that brought you an odd sort of comfort. 

“Yes.”

“May I hear you play something?”

You eyed him, trying to ascertain if this was some trick. As much as you wanted to believe your family was being overdramatic, you did wonder if they knew something you didn’t. When you sensed no ill motives, you gave a nod. 

As you pressed down on the keys, it felt like everything melted away around you. There was no inter-court politics to be wary of. No Shadowsingers following close on your heels. No sisters whose heart would surely break if she knew you were letting him in. Just you and the music that flowed out. 

“That was beautiful,” he said as the final note rang through the room. He took a few steps closer to you. Tamlin extended a hand. “I wish, though, that I could still hear it while we danced. If you would like to, that is.”

You stared at his outstretched hand. 

“Just say the word if you don’t wish to. I know you didn’t dance out there, but I thought, perhaps, without all those eagle eyes watching you—”

You took his hand. “I’m not the best dancer.”

“That’s alright. Neither am I.”

Tamlin was a right liar, he was. As he spun you around the room, you clumsily just missing his feet, you knew he was a liar. But the awkward dance made you laugh, harder than you had in a long time. The tug in your chest pulled more than it ever had before. 

“If this is you at your worst, I would hate to see how skilled you would be after a few lessons,” you teased. 

“We could take lessons together,” Tamlin suggested. The thought made your smile grow, though you weren’t entirely sure why. “Maybe after tonight, your High Lord will let you visit more often.”

“Perhaps—” you began to say. 

“That will never happen.”

Shadows swirled around you, tugging you out of Tamlin’s arms. You gasped, a chill running down your spine. Large wings kept Tamlin out of your view. When you tried to look around Azriel, his hands came to rest on your hips, holding you in place. 

“Did he do something to you?” Azriel asked. 

“What? No!”

“You just disappeared. Everyone’s in a panic. Feyre looked ready to kill, Nesta ready to hide the body. We didn’t know what happened to you. We didn’t know if you were hurt or—” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at Tamlin. “—or worse.”

“I’m fine! I’m not some damsel in distress—”

“Of course not. But you have to understand—”

“No! You have to understand that you are not my knight in shining armor, Azriel! I am not so stupid to just waltz headfirst into danger. If I ever found myself in such a position, I would have screamed or called out for Rhysand and prayed he was listening. I do not need saving, especially not—” You caught Tamlin’s eye over Azriel’s shoulder. Something snapped into place, a golden thread tying you to him. “—especially not with my mate.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. Hurt, maybe? Or anger? “He can’t be—”

“He is. He is the reason I felt the calling to come to Spring, Az. He’s my mate, and you have to respect that.”

Behind you, you heard a flurry of footsteps as the room quickly filled. Your eyes squeezed shut. Fuck. Was it not enough to have to deal with Azriel? Did everyone else have to come, too? 

Feyre’s voice rang through the room. “Y/N, come here, please.”

“I should be allowed to make the choice to come, shouldn’t I? Isn’t that what the Night Court is all about?” You looked at her, a solitary tear dropping down your face. “What? Are choices not allowed when it goes against your wishes?”

“Please,” she repeated, her hand reaching out for you. 

Tamlin stepped around Azriel, stood by your side. “I would not hurt her, Feyre. I have given you every reason to distrust me, to hate me, but I wouldn’t do anything to her.”

Feyre closed the distance between the two of you, Rhysand hot on her heels. She snarled at Tamlin, “I have every reason to not believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“I understand—”

Her finger jabbed at his chest. “Don’t. Don’t you dare give me any honeyed words or false promises about how Y/N—my sister—being your mate changes things. A skunk still stinks even when it hasn’t sprayed.”

“Feyre, please, can’t we just talk this through—” you tried. This was going horribly wrong. You hadn’t imagined any of this would happen just by following the tugging in your chest. A mate, you might have suspected. But all of this—

Her head snapped toward you. Her eyes glazed over as Rhysand spoke into her mind. When they cleared, she spoke with the authority of a High Lady but with none of the love of a sister.“You said we could leave if I became uncomfortable. I would like to leave,” Feyre said. “Rhys, please, get her out of here.”

Rhysand’s hands were on you, winnowing you away, before you could even dare to make your protests. But you didn’t miss the pain in Tamlin’s beautiful emerald eyes. 

Feyre had made a terrible mistake. Since that horrible, awful ball, you were moved into the River House so she and Rhys could keep an eye on you. While you might not have been able to leave the House of Wind without an Illyrian to fly you down or otherwise brave the 10,000 steps, that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t try to go. At least here, they could make sure you remained in place. Anyone who wished to see you, save for Spring’s Cauldron damned High Lord, could. They just needed to make are that something horrible wouldn’t happen. 

But you hadn’t left your room in weeks. They would send food up to you, but would find only small bites taken out of it when they came for the next meal. You had said scarcely a single word. The only time you would move from your bed was to take a bath, where you would sit for hours still. Once, Feyre had gone to check on you, to make sure that you hadn’t hurt yourself, and found you staring at the bubbled water, unblinking. You hadn’t even realized she was there.

The only person you seemed to respond to was Azriel. He would go to your room, crawl in your bed, and play with your hair. Sometimes, Feyre would linger in the doorway, watching you and him. Azriel would talk to you, try and convince you to leave your room. You would only cry.

And now, Feyre paced the length of Rhys’s office, chewing on the corner of a fingernail. Rhys sat at his desk, his face leaned against his palm. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I don’t know how to make this better. She, she’s wasting away in there.”

Rhys let out a sigh. “There is an obvious solution to the problem, though not the preferred one.”

Feyre spun on her heel, narrowing her eyes at her mate. “You know perfectly well that I can’t just let her be with Tamlin. It would be safer sending her into a viper’s den.”

He rose and crossed the room, took her hands in his own. “You don’t mean that. You and Tamlin were not right for each other, especially after everything that happened Under the Mountain. You no longer wanted the same things as him. Was his actions wrongful? Of course. He could have tried to help you, but you also pushed him away. It was doomed from the start.”

“And I should let her go into a doomed relationship with him?” Feyre poked her finger at Rhys’s chest. “She is too good for that. She deserves a better mate.”

“I agree. But the Mother found reason to bind their souls together. You once thought I was something straight out of a nightmare, but look how far we’ve come.”

“I recall you hating Tamlin for everything he did to me.”

“And I do. I still do.” A sigh escaped Rhys’s lips. “But I also look at Y/N and remember having to leave you behind in Spring. I remember collapsing in Mor’s arms, begging for just a chance with you. I was a shell of myself then. I worry that if we keep them apart, we’ll lose her either way.”

Feyre turned away. She looked toward the door. For a flicker of a moment, she wished she could go back to that horrible cottage, when she was still a human. Even if survival was a struggle at best, she didn’t have to worry about your sweet soul being taken advantage of. 

“Send a letter to Tamlin,” she finally said. “Tell him he is welcome to come here. If Y/N so wishes to leave with him, she may. But make clear, if a single hair on her head is harmed, if we receive a single word that she is being treated as anything less than what she deserves, it will constitute an act of war.” 

Tamlin stared up at the River House. He had moved faster than he had ever moved before when the invitation to come to the Night Court was extended. So fast, he realized with a glance at his feet, he forgot to put on shoes before winnowing away. He hoped you wouldn’t mind. Ever since Rhysand had winnowed you out from under his nose, he had been a mess. If Tamlin thought losing Feyre was him at his lowest, it paled in comparison to losing you. Worse yet, he had the previous experience to know he couldn’t give into his desperate impulses and expect everything to go smoothly. No, he had to tread carefully. 

Still, he found himself sending you letters over the last few weeks. Tamlin never received a response, but he never expected one. He wasn’t sure how well you were being surveilled, if the Inner Circle were taking active steps to keep you from contacting him. But he hoped his words brought you some modicum of comfort. 

The door swung open before he had a chance to knock. Rhysand looked him over. “You didn’t have time to at least make yourself presentable?”

“I thought if I took too much time, the invitation would be rescinded.”

Rhysand’s brow raised. “I wasn’t aware you could have such intelligent thoughts. You know, since you had sided with Hybern so readily in the beginning.”

Tamlin bit back a snarl. It would not end well to pick a fight with Night’s High Lord. He knew good and well he was out-powered, and he was sure that Feyre’s threat should also extend to any threat her own mate faced. Instead, he said as diplomatically as he could manage, “It was a terrible mistake, but one I would make again if it would give me a chance to live a long life with my mate, should she so have me.”

Feyre appeared, pushing Rhysand out of the doorway. She, too, scrutinized his appearance, nose wrinkling at the sight of him, but at least had the courtesy to say nothing about it. “You came quickly.”

Somewhere in the distance, Tamlin could hear Cassian chortle and mutter something about “that’s what she said.” 

“I did not know how long this invitation of hospitality might remain open.” Tamlin searched Feyre’s eyes, searching for a sign of your wellbeing. “Is she alright?”

Tamlin watched as Feyre swallowed, her hands subtly shaking. She had always cared deeply about her sisters, perhaps you more than Nesta or Elain. Where Nesta could hold her own and Elain was sweet enough to charm any potential suitor, she worried that you were too quiet for your own good. Too willing to slip into the shadows and be forgotten. 

“She has hardly eaten since that night. We…We have fixed dinner. We thought she might be more amenable if you brought a plate to her room?”

“Of course, of course,” Tamlin said. Feyre moved out of the threshold, motioning for him to step inside. He did. “Has she…?”

“She hasn’t said a word. She just sits and stares. I thought females were able to suppress the bond. I don’t understand why she is so afflicted.”

Tamlin suppressed an eye roll. He had to play nice, at least until he could see you again. Until he could find out if you wished to be his mate. “You took her choice away, Feyre,” he bit out, weighing his words carefully. “Anyone would be heartbroken by such a betrayal. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Rhysand snarled, but Tamlin ignored him. He maintained eye contract with Feyre until she looked away, gesturing to the dining room. “Take a plate to her room. Just up the stairs, third door on the right.”

He gave a curt nod and did as directed. Every step weighed him down. Tamlin was grateful, at least, for the plate in his hand, to distract him from the sinking feeling in his chest. Neither you nor him had closed off the bond. Tamlin felt every bit of your anguish and he had done everything he could to send comfort down the bond. Every day, he prayed to the Mother that it helped you. Now, as he stood on the other side of your door, he wasn’t sure it did.

The door was ever so slightly ajar. Tamlin pushed it open. The sight nearly made him fall to his knees. You were laying in bed, back to him, staring out the large window overlooking the gardens. If it wasn’t for a subtle rise and fall of your chest, he might have thought you dead. Tamlin stepped inside, walking around your bed, until he faced you. He set the plate on your nightstand and knelt in front of you. 

“Have my dreams begun to torment me, too?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“No,” Tamlin whispered back. He reached out, cupping your face in his hand. His thumb run over the swell of your cheek. “I am here. I am real. Feyre allowed me to come.”

“I cannot even trust my subconscious now,” you said. You rolled over onto your back and stared up at the ceiling. Your comforter moved with you, revealing the papers you kept clutched against your chest. Your eyes fell shut. 

Tamlin sat on the edge of your bed. He reached over and brushed your hair from your face. “Open your eyes, please. I am here. Feyre had Rhysand send me a letter, inviting me here. I can show you if you like?”

An eye opened. “I doubt you could. Everyone knows that written word in dreams hardly makes sense.”

He pulled the letter tucked away in his pocket. Carefully unfolding it, he pressed it into your hands. Your other eye opened. Slowly, you sat up, dropping the other letters—his letters—from your grip. Your eyes scanned over the page, once, twice, three times. Slowly, you looked up, as if seeing him for the first time. 

“You’re here?”

“I am.”

“Feyre allowed it?”

“She did.”

Your hand moved to your mouth. You chewed on your thumbnail. “She would hate me if I left.”

“She would not. And, even if she did, that is her burden to bear. Feyre cannot keep you sheltered here anymore than I could her.” Tamlin grabbed the plate and held it out to you. “Could you eat first, before we talk about this? Please?”

You stared at the plate for a long, silent more. Tamlin nearly thought you hadn’t heard him. He was ready to ask again, the words on the tip of his tongue, when you looked up at him. “Could we go to the gardens to eat?” 

“Of course.” 

Tamlin extended a hand to you. You slipped yours into his grasp. Joy soured through him. He bit back his smile as he helped you to your feet. His hands were quick to move to your waist, steadying you as you swayed. How long had you been laying there, in that bed? Had you even left it? A part of him, a territorial part he worked hard to keep at bay, had half a mind to scold Feyre for waiting this long. He, of course, would be a hypocrite if he did. But you also deserved someone in your corner. 

Slowly, the two of you moved out of your room and down the stairs. At the creak in the wooden steps, all conversation in the dining room ceased. There was a scrape of a chair. Feyre appeared in the doorway as you reached the bottom step. You didn’t make eye contact with your sister as you turned for the exit. 

“Y/N wished to eat in the gardens,” Tamlin said and followed after you. He did not wait for Feyre’s response. 

You stared at Tamlin, chewing on the bread that Elain had made. He made no protest when you plopped yourself on the dirt path. He only sat across from you and watched as you slowly ate your food. It nearly made you sick, if you were honest. You hadn’t experienced this level of hunger since you were human. You remembered when Feyre would bring food home, how you would have to eat slowly so you wouldn’t vomit it all up. There was something about such extreme hunger that it almost felt like food couldn’t save you from the gnawing pain. 

“I still do not quite believe you’re really here,” you said. 

“I can promise you, I am.” Tamlin reached for your hand, and you allowed him to take it. His thumb stroked over your knuckles. “I have missed you. If I wasn’t concerned that an unprompted arrival would have waged a war no court could surely handle, I would have come sooner.”

“It was not right what they did…” You trailed off. 

Tamlin’s emerald green eyes twinkled with curiosity. “But?” he prompted. 

“I am not sure I can find it in my heart to leave them,” you said. His face dropped. His hand started to pull away, but you tightened your grip. “Feyre and Nesta are still here. While Feyre may have given the order to take me away, she is my sister. She sacrificed so much for our family. I feel like I would be throwing it all back in her face to go to Spring with you. At least when Elain left, she was going with Lucien to Day. People she could trust, you know. I worry that if I leave with you, she would never see me again.”

He straightened. “I would never keep you from your sister. Any of them. I have done little to prove such, but I have learned from my mistakes with Feyre. I have grown, am still growing, from them.”

“Not because of you,” you corrected. “You know how she feels about you. Even if I extend an invitation to her, she still may never come. And she may never extend one back. I could never forgive myself if I damaged our relationship so.”

Tamlin’s eyes searched yours. For what, you couldn’t be certain. 

“If she does so, she would be the one to damage the relationship. I have hurt her greatly, I understand. But, if she chooses to plant herself between you and I, that is her choice to make and her consequences to bear.” He reached over, cradling your face in his hand. “You are a grown female. If this is a mistake of its own, then it is your mistake to make. She cannot keep you here any better than I tried to keep her in Spring.”

You looked away. You pushed the plate away and began to rise. Tamlin followed after you. As you began to walk down the path, he trailed after you. He kept a distance between you, far enough that he wasn’t on your heels but close enough that he could be at your side in a few long strides. 

In your heart, you knew he was right. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal, no matter how hard you tried. After everything Feyre has done, after all she has suffered, staying with her was the least you could do. Yet, why would you sacrifice your happiness for hers when she was so quick to rip it from you without even listening to what you had to say? You could not yet forget  the cold look in her eyes as she ordered Rhysand to winnow you away. She was not your sister then. She was anything but. 

“Come to Spring,” Tamlin said from behind you. You paused in your step. You did not turn, but you listened. “It does not have to be permanent. Come to Spring, see if this is worth it. If you decide that it is not, then I will not stop you from returning here. I will respect whatever choice you make, but I would appreciate it if you could give us a fair shot. That is all I ask of you, I swear it.”

You turned. You looked past Tamlin at the River House. You were certain that Feyre and Rhysand were trying to listen in on the conversation. You were sure they were waiting for your answer. But, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care what they thought. After all, they hadn’t cared to ask if you even wanted Tamlin as a mate. 

“One chance,” you said. “One chance, and if I decide to that I would rather a relationship with Feyre, you must not follow.”

“I promise, whatever you decide in the end, I shall respect it.”

Feyre watched as you gripped Tamlin’s arm, an apologetic smile on your lips. She had a million things she wished to say to you—a hundred warnings, a few hundred thousand promises to have her door open to you if you ever want to come back, and an acceptance to the offer to visit Spring in a month’s time. Instead of saying any of those things, she mouthed a goodbye while Tamlin winnowed you away. 

Rhys’s hand fell to her shoulders, steadying her as she swayed on her feet. Somewhere in the distance, she could see Nesta and Cassian hovering. Elain and Lucien busied themselves with clearing the dishes. 

“She’ll be alright,” Rhys said. “He is not so stupid as to make the same mistakes again.”

Feyre hummed. “Is this where you say it's different with mates?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen too many awful mated couples to say that with any ounce of sincerity. But, I will say, he does seem different with her.”

“And if he isn’t,” Nesta said, stepping toward her, “he will pay tenfold for any pain he causes her.”

Feyre nearly laughed as she watched Cassian nod enthusiastically to Nesta’s threat as he bounced Nyx on his hip. She could only hope that you knew how protected you were—that you had the entirety of the Night Court to support you should trouble ever make its way to you. But any laughter she had, any words she wanted to say, died in her throat as shadows flooded the River House. 

Azriel. 

Shit. Rhys had sent him off on a mission a few days prior. Azriel had been reluctant to go—one of the few times she was certain that Azriel would fight her mate to the death on an issue. But it was Feyre’s promise to keep you safe in the River House that gave him leave to go. She had forgotten that when she had the letter sent to Tamlin, when she bid you goodbye. You were gone now and, worse, you hadn’t said goodbye to him. 

“Where. Is. She.”

Feyre turned, looking at Azriel’s towering form darkening the doorway. His wings were flared out behind him, beating furiously as his shadows continued to search the home for any sign of you.

“She has gone to Spring, with Tamlin.”

Azriel growled. His nostrils flared. The shadows began to swirl around Feyre. Rhys took a step in front of her, ready to block any attack sent her way. Would Azriel attack her? Why would he be so upset about not being able to say goodbye to you? She knew he pined after you, but she thought it was like Mor and Elain. Something one-sided. Had she missed something? 

“It was her choice, brother,” Rhys said. “We are welcome to visit her whenever we so please. If you would like, we can go now, just so you may have a chance to talk to her.”

“If I go to Spring, I’m bringing her straight here. This is where she belongs. Not with that swine of a High Lord.”

“She has every right to choose to be with her mate—”

“No!” Azriel snapped. “I am her mate!”

It felt like time froze. Everyone stared at the Shadowsinger. Even Elain and Lucien came out from the kitchen, concern about his antics. Feyre blinked. No, that couldn’t be. Tamlin was your mate. You had felt the bond with him, and he you. 

“Triads are a thing of legend,” Rhys said slowly. “They haven’t existed in millennia…Cauldron, no one has ever been sure they were ever truly real. You aren’t suggesting…”

“All I know is that the bond snapped when I found her crying after Nyx’s birth, so certain she’d lose her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew in one fell swoop that all three of you surviving overwhelmed her. It snapped as I held her, trying to reassure her that all was right. That no one would hurt her or her family.” Azriel took a step toward them, glowering. “You have sent my mate into a lion’s den. Lesser males have killed for lesser slights.”

“Azriel, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—” Feyre tried. 

But he was already gone—wings rustling against the wind as he flew away. To where, she couldn’t say for certain. 

PART TWO