#how is his head this far up rhysands ass like genuinely how

[yaralulu]

me when I’m delusional and out of touch.

“No other male would be a a fairer ruler” i can name like 7 other people.

“Prythian would be blessed to have such leaders” a guy who can barely run his court and his inexperienced 20 y/o gf leading a nation would obviously be such a blessing 🙏🙏.

[thehighladywrites]

ACOTAR MEN X READER, GETTING CAUGHT BY YOUR CHILD

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: you’re caught in by your kids, how do you guys handle the situation?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ warnings: nsfw, crack, fluff, kids feeling traumatized

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ amara’s note: thank you the req anon!!

Azriel

Your bent on all fours, gripping your sheets as Azriel slutted you out, hands on your waist as he thrusted in and out.

As much as you loved hanging around everyone, you were in some desperate need of him.

Azriel had been away on many affairs, often leaving you alone. And though you were surrounded by everyone, you still felt a crushing loneliness that only he could fill

When he finally came home after a two weeks long business trip, you stuck to him like glue. Seriously, whatever he was doing, you were doing too

Azriel saw it snd decided to treat you good after a long time alone

“Right there,” you breathlessly tell him, urging him to speed up just a bit, his throaty groans and moans making you crazy wet

“D’ya know how—how much i missed you and this pretty little pussy? Hm?” his charming, teasing voice made your walls tighten around him, your whines getting more messy as you got closer to cumming

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he praises with a smile, proud of your strength.

It’s really not easy keeping up with Azriel, esp not in bed

“I like makin’ you feel good,” you whimper out, short gasp falling from you at the end of the statement, finding the spot inside you that makes you go insane

“Yeah, what else d’you like?” he asks with a little smirk

You’re so far out of it, you barely notice the doorhandle being pulled.

You gasp when Azriel pulls out and with his cold shadows whisk you away to the cabin. You went from being fucked on all fours to standing up, so fast that your knees almost buckled had it not been for azriel holding you up

”Az, what—what is going on? is this some sort of punishment?” you whined, grinding your ass against him.

”Not a punishment, just saving us from the most awful moment in our lives,” he says lowly as his shadows report your twin boys looking for you.

It takes a minute for your brain to register where you actually are. Rhysand’s cabin.

You also realize your both completely naked

“Az, what are we doing here?” you furrow your brows in true confusion

“The boys were about to walk in, i had to move us.”

“So you moved us to rhys’s cabin in the illyrian mountains? a closet or another room wasn’t an option?” you remarked, genuinely curious.

“I obviously wanted to be on safe side,” he said as if you were the crazy one, not him for bringing you thousands of miles from home

Rhys

After a day of teasing him relentlessly he finally caught you alone, planning on having his version of fun with you

“You think you can play with me all day and i won’t play back?” he tilts his head a little at you, surprised you actually think he’s gonna let it slide

your teasing had ranged from projecting nasty flashbacks of him pounding you in his mind to fun little kisses to his neck while he was talking to someone

“Um, no. But i was just horny, you can’t punish me for that, right?” you say slowly backing away from him as you did ur best to save your ass

Rhysand would definitely not let you cum, he would drag it out for hours and you for sure would be left crying

He pulls you closer, guiding you to bend over his lap. “You need to learn patience, my dear. And I'll be the one to teach you.”

Approximately 20 minutes into him fingering you then pulling away just as you’re about to cum, a knock is heard.

Rhysand looks at the door and calmly uses magic to clean you both up, not a hint of your activities left

“Papa, can you come to my room, i had a nightmare,” your son cries, fat tears rolling down his cheek as he clutches his favorite teddy.

Your heart breaks for him as you watch Rhys pick him up, carefully rocking him in his arms.

“Of course, buddy. Let’s go to your room, I’m here to protect from everything.”

Just before he leaves with your son, Rhys snaps his fingers, removing your clothes and binding you to the bed.

“Don’t think you’re in the clear,” he chuckles into your mind.

Cassian

He had been crazy horny all day

Anything you did was just an insane turn on. Cassian justified his horny urges by saying it was your fault

But was it really normal to be turned on by you leaning over the sink to wash your face?

Cassian sure thought it was, anything you do is sexy in his head

Reading, sexy. Walking, sexy. Eating, sexy. Yelling at him, super fucking sexy

So he was on you, having fun makeout sessions in the most random places like rhysand’s wine cellar or Mor’s closet when you borrwed a dress

“Let me fuck,” he begs, arms wrapping around your waist

“Is that how you ask for me?”

“Please, let me have sex with you. I’m dying for it, i’m dying for you.” he says the last part with a smug smile, thinking he is rizzing you up like crazy

You still let him hit

So you crawl into his lap, his body leaning against the headboard as you settle in, his hands roaming your body

He rips your shirt clean off, leaving you in nothing as he starts playing with your tits

“Dad, i’m feeling sick. Do you think Madja is still—” your daughters voice makes cassian panic, resulting in him throwing you off his lap, scrambling to look normal

“Hey, babygirl. What’s up!!” he says, smiling up at her as he tries to ignore your glare.

“Ew, oh my gods. Please tell me you guys weren’t having sex, i think i might actually throw up.”

She looks at you but you just look away, keeping the blanket around you.

“Excu— sex??? wha—what are you talking about? Babe, please, are you hearing this nonsense?” he chuckles nervously as he points to your daughter with a scandalously shocked look, like he couldn’t believe her words

“Yeah, i’m going over to auntie Feyre’s. Bye,” your daughter leaves before you have the chance to say anything else

“I mean, sex is super overrated. I don’t partake in such activities, okay? I don’t even like sex, yuck!” he yells , hoping your daughter hears as she vanishes

You stand up from where he threw you, narrowing your eyes at him as you clear your throat

He looks back at you with wide eyes, holding his hands up in defense as he remembers what he has done

“Babe, thats was a lie. Sex is fucking amazing, especially with you. And i’m sorry for throwing you, i panicked.”

“Make it up to me and i might forgive you.”

Bro makes up for it good, like really REALLY good

Eris

Eris is just like Azriel, he will not let anyone catch you. He has sealed your bedroom over and over again with tricky, protective spells.

The only way in is by blood, only his and yours.

And sometimes when he’s balls deep into you, making the bed creak, he forgets the fact that your children are a mix of those two blood types

So when you start moaning and letting out noises of pleasure, it shocks your 6-year old daughter who thinks her dad is hurting her mom

“Please, make—make me cum again, please, Eris.”

Eris is so mean sometimes. He had edged you all day, only allowing you to come once.

”You think you deserve it?” he asks

You whine, ”Fuck, please— be nice to me— please, pleaseeee.”

“An impatient slut like yourself don’t deserve to cum. You knew this would happen and you gave me fucking attitude anyway,” he scoffed.

A loud cry and fading footsteps are heard as you both freeze

You get dressed instantly and run out, worried about why your daughter was awake and wailing.

“Hey baby what’s wrong?” Eris squats down next to her crying self before he recieves a punch to the gut.

“I heard what you said to mommy, you hurt her and i hate you!” she yelled as she sobbed in your arms

You both look at each other in embarrassment, obviously understanding what she was referring to

“Oh! Um, no daddy wasn’t hurting me or was being mean. It was a game, i promise. See? I’m fine, sweetheart.”

Eris felt nauseous. He didn’t want his daughter thinking he was hurting you, just like his father had hurt his mother.

“Kit, i could never hurt your mother. I love her more than anything. It was just a game and i promise, you’ll never hear it again.”

She nodded before kissing your cheek and then running into his arms, dead asleep in just a few seconds

You kissed Eris, reassuring him that he wasn’t being to rough or mean and that you actually liked it.

Still, he never degraded you again, despite your wishes.

Lucien

It is your 100th anniversary as mates

Of course there’s a massive celebration for you

Grand balls, beautiful gowns, exclusive parties for a week straight, expensive drinks, luxurious vibes

You had the time of your life with the love of your life (see what i did there)

Azriel and Feyre had been tasked with keeping your children safe

But they get distracted for one second, allowing your girl to slip away

You and Lucien are in the bathroom, making out with your hands down his pants

You were supposed to leave for a trip after, a vacation to celebrate your love for a century but you couldn’t wait

Since you two didn’t have to worry about your kids and keeping an eye on them, you had free reign to give him a handjob whilst he played with your nipples

“You just couldn’t wait, huh?” you said smugly, sliding your thumb over the slit of his cock, making him groan

“Like you can talk, you’re here with your tits out like some common whore,” he retaliated, tugging on your sensitive nipples, enjoying the way you melted

“Daddy what are you doing?”

Your heads snap to the door in horror when you hear your toddlers voice

Feyre runs in exhausted from chasing your daugher before her eyes widen in shock as she covers your girls eyes before dragging her out.

“I’m so sorry, she managed to run away!” she exclaimed as she hurried out, shutting the door thoroughly

You and Lucien look at each other, laughing before getting dressed again.

“Is this a sign to just wait for the trip?”

“Yeah, i believe it is.”

[the-lonelybarricade]

I totally stole this from one of those writing prompt blogs, but can you do Rhys and Feyre going to couples therapy together as a joke when they only just met?

Okay my love, I literally just finished writing this and haven't actually proofread it. It was meant to be silly and jokey but ended up being a bit more serious than I intended, but I'm a sucker for fake dating tropes so maybe I'll continue their story at some point. Anyway here's a modern Feyre and Rhys going to couples thereapy together (whilst not actually being a couple):

Feyre was absolutely determined to prove Nesta wrong. Usually her sister’s grating comments didn’t penetrate Feyre’s hardened demeanor at home, but something about their stint yesterday had thoroughly gotten under her skin. Nesta had a talent when it came to barbed words, so it was the casualness with which she’d said Feyre was boring and predictable that had kept the words ringing between Feyre’s ears. They lacked the usual bite and venom that was characteristic of Nesta, and somehow that made them impossibly worse.

Was Feyre a creature of habit? Sure. But she had always been content with her quiet, unassuming life. They’d grown up poor, with little luxury, and as a little girl Feyre had always believed all she’d need to be happy was paint supplies and enough time to get lost in a blank canvas. Feyre had that now, and she was happy. She spent almost every day in her studio, a paintbrush in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. And that was fine. She may not spend a lot of time with other people, but that was fine.

Routine is fine. Being focused on your career is fine. So why did the implication that her life is stagnant rile her up so much?

Feyre couldn’t articulate what, exactly, had bothered her so much, since she was perfectly happy with the current state of her life. Yet the next morning she’d woken up, vowing to take a day off and spend the whole day being entirely unpredictable.

She was going to pull a Jim Carrey in Yes Man. She was going to seize this damn day. And any voice in her mind that pleaded her to stick to her comfort zone was going to be diligently ignored.

When she set out to get her morning coffee, she ducked into the first cafe she came across without checking the reviews. And instead of ordering her usual chai latte, she asked the cashier to make her their favorite drink. She sat at a booth and sipped it experimentally. It was sweet and tasted of caramel; she decided she quite liked it. So far so good.

She sat wondering what brave venture she should do next, something that would be worthy of telling people about. Something so brash and crazy and unexpected Nesta would eat her stupid, truthful words.

“Mind if I take this seat?”

The voice was like smooth velvet. Feyre glanced up to meet a pair of eyes that were such a deep, peculiar shade of blue they almost looked violet. She was momentarily stunned speechless, which caused the impossibly handsome stranger to lift one of his perfectly groomed brows in question.

“Of course,” Feyre answered, her mouth feeling a bit dry. She quickly took a sip of her coffee to quell this strong reaction her body was having to this man.

She’d been expecting him to take the chair to sit elsewhere, but he slid into the chair at her table, directly across from her. Feyre spared a cursory glance around the cafe. Customers milled about, but there were plenty of empty seats strewn here and there. It was far from necessary to share a table with a stranger.

Her interest piqued, Feyre turned her attention back to this strange, alluring man.

“I’m Feyre,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt. But today was about branching out of her comfort zone. Making the first move with an attractive man certainly qualified.

“Rhysand,” he answered with a charming grin, extending his hand into the space between them. Feyre accepted it with a mirrored smile, for a moment marvelling at the way his hand completely enveloped hers.

Feyre cleared her throat. “So tell me, Rhysand, what brings you to this table in particular?”

The way he wrinkled his nose was unfairly endearing. “Call me Rhys,” he said. “I only really use Rhysand in a business setting. And I chose this table in particular, because I saw a beautiful woman sitting here and was feeling especially forward.”

Feyre laughed in surprise. “Forward, indeed. Well, Rhys, I have spectacular news for you.”

“And what’s that, Feyre darling?” the suggestive tone to his voice sent shivers down her spine and instantly those warning bells in her mind were blaring. This man was too handsome and he was a complete stranger.

“I’ve decided to do something completely stupid and spontaneous today, and you’re officially invited to join me.”

Rhysand grinned, his eyes flickering with mischief at her proposal. She supposed that should be concerning, too, but she felt her pulse quicken. “And what stupid, spontaenous thing will we be doing, darling?”

Feyre leaned back, trying to regain composure by taking a too casual sip of her coffee. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m open to ideas.”

Across the cafe, a man stood up so quickly his chair tipped over with a loud thunk. Rhys and Feyre both whirled their heads at the commotion.

“This is why we need to go to therapy together!” the woman across from him screeched. “You can’t control your stupid temper!”

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he growled. “I’m not going to sit there for an hour so you can manipulate some dumb bitch into agreeing with you!”

“It’s not about sides,” she groaned. “I want to work through this with you!”

Feyre felt a tug of sympathy at the desperation in the woman’s voice. She could feel her pain and frustration second-hand, having been in similar shoes herself.

“Fuck this,” the man grumbled, storming for the door.

The woman followed after him. “Our appointment is in 10 minutes! Please, let’s just try it.”

The door swung shut behind them. Feyre watched the couple continue their walking argument down the city pavement, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Feyre sighed. “Man, that poor woman. It sounded like she really wanted to work things out.”

“That guy sounded like an absolute ass, maybe it’s for the best,” Rhys said. Then, his eyes lit up and he turned to Feyre with a slow, conspiring grin. “It does give me an idea, though.”

“What’s that?” Feyre felt a bit intimidated by the roguish expression on his face, even if it did make her feel breathless.

“Well, I do happen to know there’s a psychiatrist's office right above this cafe. If I had to guess, that’s where our friends were going to have their first session. And from the looks of it,” he nodded towards the couple, who were now striding in opposite directions through the city, faces flushed with anger, “they won’t be attending.”

“And your point is…?”

“Let’s go in their stead. Make a game of it. First person to break character loses.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“Well, if I win, then I get to take you to dinner.”

Feyre considered for a moment. Dinner with a handsome man certainly didn’t sound like losing to her. “If I win, then I get to use you as a model.”

“You’re a photographer?” His brows rose in interest and Feyre summoned all her will power not to blush. Since when was she bashful about her career?

“Painter.”

Rhysand grinned. “If you win, you can use my body anyway you wish, Feyre darling. Nude would be best.”

And that was how Feyre had ended up in Dr. Suriel’s office, Rhys by her side on the sofa. It was perhaps the most adventurous thing she’d ever agreed to.

“So, Mr and Mrs Mandray. Apologies, I didn’t get your names on the forms.”

“I’m Feyre, this is my husband Rhys,” Feyre answered, thinking it lucky they didn’t have to guess at the mysterious couple’s forenames.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Feyre and Rhys. What brings you to my office today?”

Rhys immediately slipped into his role of the concerned husband. He placed his arm around Feyre’s shoulders and tugged her close. Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it, glancing at Feyre hesitantly.

“My wife and I have been getting into a lot of… disagreement lately,” Rhys answered carefully, and already Feyre thought this was going much better than it would have if the actual Mr Mandray had turned up.

“My husband,” Feyre said flatly, channeling her inner Nesta to put venom into the word. “Is insisting on painting our house purple.”

“I see,” Dr. Suriel says, assessing the displeasure on Feyre’s face. “And I’m assuming you want to paint the house a different color.”

Feyre pressed her lips into a thin line. “See, that’s just the problem,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s exactly the color I would want to paint our house.”

Dr. Suriel frowned. “So you do want the house to be painted purple, as does your husband. Am I understanding that correctly?”

“No,” Feyre sighed. “He wants to paint the house blue, but is insisting we paint it purple, because he knows it’s what I want. This bastard refuses to be anything but accommodating.”

“We’re going to try to refrain from name-calling in my office,” Dr Suriel said calmly. “So, Feyre, you are clearly unhappy that Rhys wants to paint the house purple. What color would you paint it?”

“Blue,” she answered. “I know it’s what he secretly wants to paint it.”

“She doesn’t see the hypocrisy in what she's saying!” Rhys complained. Then, he turned to Feyre, looking impossibly serious. “Darling, I know you want to paint the house purple, and I already told you I’m fine with it.”

Feyre groaned. “I don’t want to paint the house purple! I want to paint it blue.”

“You’re only saying that because you think I want to paint the house blue.”

“Do you?”

Rhys hesitated. “No.”

“Don’t lie in front of our therapist,” Feyre said with narrowed eyes. “We promised to tell the truth while we’re here.”

“Then you tell me the truth, Feyre. Do you genuinely want the house to be painted blue?”

Now it was Feyre’s turn to hesitate. She could see the corner of Rhysand’s mouth twitch as she did so. “No. I mean yes! I do!”

“It sounds like at the heart of this argument, you are both ultimately concerned in pleasing the other person, is that fair to say?”

Feyre and Rhys glanced at each other, then nodded in agreement.

“Do you think there’s a color you could both compromise on, so that you don’t feel as if your partner is the only one making a sacrifice in this decision?”

Feyre met Rhysand’s brilliant violet eyes. In truth, she’d blurted the color purple because she’d been thinking about the color of his eyes. She'd never seen eyes that color, and they were wonderfully vivid. Feyre was lost thinking of painting a world in a monocrhome of violet, like a city that lived within his gaze.

Feyre realized she’d been momentarily swept away, snapped out of it by the humor that washed behind those starry irises. She blinked back the haze and tried to think of an answer to the question.

“Mustard yellow?” she proposed.

Rhys pursed his lips in mock consideration. “Mustard yellow,” he agreed with an emphatic nod of approval.

Dr. Suriel blinked in surprise. “All right, well I’m pleased we could solve that issue. Is there anything else you’ve been arguing about?”

“Yeah, actually. My wife,” Rhys gave Feyre a pointed glance. Somehow, despite being strangers, hearing Rhys refer to her as his wife sent waves of pleasure jolting through her. She felt her stomach flip on itself. “Isn’t satisfied with our sex life.”

Feyre instantly flushed at such an accusation, however fabricated.

“Is this true, Feyre?” Dr. Suriel turned her eyes towards Feyre and she shifted uncomfortably at having to make up stories about her sex life with Rhys. Making Feyre imagine rolling in a bed with him was certainly his goal, and she’d lie to say it wasn’t affecting her. Rhysand looked absolutely delighted to have made her squirm. Fine. Two could play at his game.

“Y-yes, well,” Feyre stuttered, the burning in her cheeks condemning. “I keep telling Rhys that 16 orgasms in a session is excessive. He’s much too generous a lover and he never lets me give as good as I get.”

Feyre felt satisfied with the way Rhysand’s face went crimson.

Dr. Suriel’s brows rose. “This seems to be a common theme in your marriage. Rhysand, would you say that you’re often prioritising Feyre’s desires over your own?”

“I think Feyre sorely underestimates how much pleasure I take from satisfying her desires,” he answered, his eyes flicking to Feyre with enough of a sensual promise that her heartbeat turned staccato.

“Rhys, it sounds as though your generosity is part of the way you express your love, is that safe to say?” Rhys nodded. “And Feyre, it seems as if you have trouble accepting your husband's generosity, both in and outside the bedroom. Do you feel that’s a fair statement?”

“I-I suppose so.”

“Sometimes people have trouble accepting their loved one’s generosity when they feel like they aren’t giving something in exchange. It can be hard to accept that kind of love when we don’t feel like we deserve it. Do you feel like this could apply to your situation?”

Feyre blinked. This was meant to be a gag, something daring and experimental. She hadn’t expected to be psychoanalyzed by Dr. Suriel, or at least for her analysis to hit so close to home.

Rhysand shifted forward on the sofa. “Is this true, darling?” he asked, sounding concerned. He took Feyre’s hands in his own, brushing his thumb along her skin as he met her gaze. “I think you deserve the world.”

She would almost think he was being genuine if she hadn’t met him only an hour ago. Feyre marked the conviction on his face, those burning pools of earnesty in his eyes, and marveled at what an incredible actor he was.

Somehow she ended up blurting part of the truth. “My family life growing up was kind of tough and I’ve never really known what unconditional love was like. I think a part of me still believes it's something I have to earn.”

“That sounds like it must have been very hard, Feyre. But it sounds like Rhys loves you very much, and that this is an issue the two of you can overcome together. When you feel the instinct to reject his generosity, try to remember where that message is coming from. And Rhysand, try to keep in mind that this is something your wife is still working through, and be patient if she feels more comfortable giving you something in exchange. This is her way of expressing love, too. At the core of your issues is both of you thinking about the other person, try to remember this when a breakdown in communication occurs.”

Somehow they’d lost control of their therapy session and were receiving actual therapy, which wasn’t part of the plan at all. But somehow, despite not actually being married to Rhysand, what Dr. Suriel said was reassuring.

Feyre turned to Rhys and smiled. “I think I understand better, now. You’re free to give me as many orgasms as you want, honey.”

Rhys grinned fiendishly. “And I’ll let you reciprocate in whatever way you feel comfortable, darling.”

Dr. Suriel clasped her hands together in approval. “Excellent. I think so long as the two of you take measures to accurately communicate your needs, you’ll find these breakdowns will occur less frequently. And that’s it for our time today, but I am happy to have the two of you back any time.”

Feyre walked out of the session hand-in-hand with Rhys, feeling a bit dazed. It had certainly gotten more serious than she’d expected, but perhaps her judgement had been misplaced in thinking therapy could be anything other than serious, no matter how joking the complaints.

“Well, that was certainly stimulating,” Rhys quipped once they’d left the office.

“And it seems we’re at a draw, considering neither of us broke character.”

“You do play my wife convincingly well,” Rhys practically purred, “perhaps I’ll let you take up the real role, if you feel so inclined.”

Feyre laughed. “I’m expecting a few other offers to come through. Give me a few days to look over the applicants, then I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay, well how’s this. I’ll give you my number, you can wait until all those applicants come back to you, and once you’ve decided that I’m clearly the obvious choice, you can call me.”

Feyre smiled as she pulled out her phone and handed it to him to insert his number. “You do make a very convincing husband. Perhaps I can hire you for weddings and Thanksgiving dinners?”

“Real husband, fake husband, a partner to do spontaneous, outrageous things with. You call me, and I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Feyre.”

It was perhaps the strangest and most generous offer she’d ever been given. When they parted ways, Feyre thought that she’d certainly filled her quota for an interesting story to tell. And maybe, most likely, she’d be calling that number very soon.

[highfaelucien]

Heyy

90. Dance for Rhycien?

Please send me whump Prompts

(Heck yes, it's time for The Gay. Have some Under the Mountain Angst. Slight warning for mind control/influence (Rhys to Lucien) It's short-lived, demanded by Amarantha, and doesn't last long)

Old Time's Sake

"Ah, Lucien, nice of you to finally join us," Amarantha drawled from her place upon the carved throne, sitting above the writhing fae bodies, watching with that grim pleasure Rhys had come to loathe so intensely.

Turning, he spotted Lucien, long red hair gleaming in the dancing faelight, barely concealed loathing etched in every line of his angular face.

The exiled Autumn prince hadn't been seen for several days now. Not since the brutal whipping at Tamlin's hand that had left him unconscious and, if rumours were to be believed, near death.

From the look of spite in Lucien's remaining eye, it seemed he had spat in death's face for the simple pleasure of being able to glare at Amarantha once more.

"You're looking a little grim there, princeling," Amarantha crooned, "Why don't you join your little human friend? Dance with her."

She gestured towards Feyre, who had drunk the wine Rhys had provided her and accompanied him to the dance as he did each night. Her body moved with surprising grace, considering she was human.

A muscle feathered in Lucien's jaw as he watched Feyre. He turned that simmering hatred on Rhys instead, fire blazing in that russet eye. Rhys just smirked at him and winked. Lucien's hands balled themselves into fists at his sides.

It was clearly an effort for him to project even a facade of civility as he turned his gaze back to Amarantha and said, "I fear my skills are not equal to those already here. I wouldn't like to offend you with my display, lady."

Amarantha tapped one sharpened nail on the arm of her throne. Few caught the suppressed flinch in Lucien's body at the sight of it, but Rhys saw, and looked away, disgusted.

"You will offend me deeply if you refuse me again, Lucien," she said, voice soft and dangerous now.

"I'm sure we both know how much I'd hate to do that," Lucien growled, and Rhys found himself closing his eyes.

Lucien never had learned to keep his mouth shut. There seemed to be some self-destructive part of him that enjoyed snapping at those who could snap him in half with a wink.

Silence enveloped the hall for a few, pounding heartbeats. Then Amarantha turned her head sharply, all the false air of a pleasant queen amongst her court banished.

"Rhysand," she said, darkly, "Make him dance for me."

"It would of course be my pleasure," Rhys said smoothly, nudging Feyre to one side and rising from the plump cushions he'd been reclining on, keeping an eye on her as she reveled blindly.

Lucien turned to him, his jaw set, his eyes hard. There was no fear in those eyes. Many here underestimated Lucien, as he didn't possess the same power as his father or brothers. Rhys thought they were fools. It took an extraordinary level of strength and courage to face him that way. Not to mention his return here in the first place.

"Little Lucien," he clucked, aloud, shaking his head, "You know it's not polite to refuse a lady."

Inside his head, he murmured, I'm sorry.

Lucien's eyes flashed, almost giving him away with his moment of confusion. Then Rhys swept away his will, and forced him to perform for Amarantha. Just as he was forced to perform for her.

At once, Lucien's face contorted with pain. He shouldn't have come here tonight. Tamlin had no doubt ordered him, the cowardly bastard, unwilling to come himself to see Feyre. Lucien's magic had been suppressed, and he had been denied any kind of healer. His body had been forced to heal at the rate of a human.

It didn’t take long for the wounds to re-open, blood staining the handsome tunic Lucien wore.

Amarantha underestimated Lucien, too. Rhys could sense he would refuse to give out until this killed him, just to spite the bitch. But she wouldn’t know that. Once Lucien was breathing heavily, and finally cracked to let out a whimper of pain, Rhys enveloped his mind in darkness and allowed him to slump to the floor, unconscious.

“Pathetic,” Amarantha hissed, as Lucien’s brothers, clustered around her throne as usual, sniggered and jeered their approval.

She waved a dismissive hand at Rhys, “Get him out of my sight,” she commanded, already bored, turning away to watch Feyre with amusement.

“At once, lady,” Rhys said.

Snapping his fingers, he lifted Lucien’s limp form into the air then carried him down to the cells, where he would return Feyre to in a few hours.

Setting him down far more gently than he would have dared to under Amarantha’s watchful gaze, Rhys gazed down at the fae male he had almost let himself love, once upon a time.

His fingers traced the scar over his eye with sadness. Then gently unbuttoned the blood-stained, ruined tunic, and examined the mess of his back. Torn, raw flesh, weeping fresh blood once more after Amarantha’s forced dancing.

It would have been worse if you hadn’t put a stop to it when you did, he tried to tell himself. Anger flared as another thought crept into his mind, And it would have been a lot better if Tamlin hadn’t sent him to that fucking party.

The High Lord of Spring had to know how much Amarantha enjoyed using Lucien as her plaything. Torturing him was becoming something she enjoyed almost as much as she enjoyed torturing him.

Sighing, Rhys reached out a hand, magic flaring, but-

Slim, hot fingers wrapped around his wrist, surprising him, which was impressive in itself.

Lucien, remarkably, had fought his way back to consciousness.

Stupid, stubborn bastard, Rhys thought, with fondness.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lucien demanded, spitting blood from a bitten tongue out of his mouth at Rhys’s knees.

“That’s really no way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian, Lucien,” Rhys said, tutting, “I see you haven’t improved your manners since last we met.”

“I see you haven’t stopped being a prick, either,” Lucien shot back, weakly.

“I’m overwhelmed by your wit,” Rhys said sardonically.

“Fuck off and let me bleed, Rhys,” Lucien muttered thickly, body starting to tremble with the pain.

“Is that what Tamlin would do?” Rhys asked, unable to stop himself picking at that old wound between them.

A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw, but for once he restrained himself from answering. Perhaps Amarantha’s eye gouging had changed him, after all.

“No,” Rhys continued, folding his arms across his chest, “No, Tamlin doesn’t even know your bleeding out down here for his foolish command. Or, more appropriately, he doesn’t care.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Lucien snapped, some of that fire flaring in his remaining eye again.

Rhys still wasn’t used to the mechanical one. He’d spent a long time, previously, getting lost in that blazing gaze before. It wasn’t the same now.

Rhys tutted idly, rocking back on his heels, peering down at Lucien, “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty, you know.”

“And you do?” Lucien shot back, an awful disdain twisting his face.

Rhys’s jaw tightened, “I didn’t say that,” he said, smoothly.

Lucien laughed bitterly, even though it made him convulse with pain, “You meant it, though.”

He rolled onto his side, snarling with pain as he did, so that he could look Rhys full in the face as he spoke. Lucien had always been far too skilled at reading him, and he looked away, unable to bear that burning gaze.

“He didn’t deserve the sacrifice you made to stay with him,” Rhys breathed.

“Sacrifice?” Lucien repeated, “You mean you?” He laughed, the sound raw and humourless, echoing in the cavernous cell around them. It degenerated to coughing before long. “I owed him. I still do. He saved my life. He took me in after Jes. I pledged my fealty to him. You thought I’d turn away from that for your fucking dick?”

Rhys met his furious gaze once more as he said, softly, “I thought you might have turned away from it for the chance at happiness.” He rose to his feet, staring down at Lucien, something tightening within him, “But you could never let yourself have that, could you? It’s always been your most fatal flaw, Lucien. You don’t know how to let yourself be happy.”

“And you do?”he shot back.

“I could have learned,” Rhys said, very quietly, and he knew Lucien felt the sincerity in it, “For you.”

That actually shut Lucien up, for once. The only times he’d managed to achieve that before had been with decidedly more creative applications of his tongue.

“Don’t return to the party tonight,” he said, “I’ll be back here in a few hours with Feyre, and you can visit her yourself. Lie there and try not to drown in your own blood until then, won’t you?”

He turned, cloak covering Lucien in black for a moment, before pulling away, leaving him trembling on the cold stone floor.

Despite the anger that pulsed in his chest, he couldn’t leave him like that. He waved an idle finger, and Lucien’s wounds sealed themselves. Not fully. Not enough to leave Amarantha suspicious, but enough to ease his agony for now.

Lucien blinked and sat up as Rhys turned away again.

“What will she do to you if she learns of this?” he asked, very quietly.

Rhys forced himself to smile, “I doubt she’ll think of anything new. She’s not particularly creative, you know.”

“It’s still a risk,” Lucien said, gazing at him with suspicion, as if he expected some bargain, some demand for recompense.

Rhys shrugged in response, “Perhaps I think it’s worth it.”

“Why the fuck would you think that?” Lucien asked, sounding genuinely, heartbreakingly, bemused.

“Maybe I think you’re worth it,” Rhys said, more softly still.

Lucien eyed him for a long moment, pregnant with heavy silence, words they’d never spoken to one another echoing up through the lonely decades they’d spent apart.

“I’ll never understand you, Rhys,” he muttered finally, shaking his head.

“Isn’t that part of my enigmatic mystique and irresistible air?” he replied slyly.

Lucien smirked at that, “Enigmatic ego and insufferable ass, more like.”

“You found my ass quite sufferable, if memory serves,” Rhys smirked.

Lucien grinned. For a moment they weren’t trapped in this foul pit of a place. They were on the borders of Spring, Lucien’s mouth hot and insistent against his, fingers roaming beneath dark Illyrian leathers with surprising knowledge of buckle placement.

“Thank you,” Lucien said, a little too stiffly.

“I do believe that might have caused you more pain than the whipping,” Rhys quipped.

“It certainly is now, with you gloating in my face,” Lucien scowled in response.

“Take care, Little Lucien,” Rhys said, waving an idle hand back towards him as he moved to the door of the cell.

“And you, Rhys,” Lucien said, very quietly.

There was such emotion in that deep russet eye of his, that Rhys forced himself to winnow back to the party, before he did something incredibly stupid. Like kissing him.

***

Thanks for the prompt!! I hope you liked it!

[maastrash]

Are you taking prompts??? If you are then i have one for nessian--" Give me attention"😋

i am!! lmk if u guys prefer shorter drabbles that I can do quickly or longer fics that take more time. i also have another idea for this prompt so lmk if you wanna see it 🥰

Nesta was fuming.

Her once loving and attentive boyfriend was being a pain in the ass. Ever since Rhysand had gotten him into playing Call of Duty, he spent less and less time with her. At first Nesta couldnt deny that it was kind of nice to get some alone time. She read her books in peace and was even able to get some work done, but after a while it started to get old.

She missed Cassian trying to read the smutty book scenes over her shoulder or trying to distract her from work with teasing kisses. Now it just felt like she was competing for his attention with a video game.

Cassian had his headset on and was playing with Azriel and Rhysand. He hadn’t moved for the past 2 hours. Enough was enough.

Nesta slowly creeped from the bed and nuzzled her way into Cassian’s lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs draped around his waist.

He instantly returned the gesture, wrapping an arm around her but still held the controller in the other.

She rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to take his head set off.

Cassian chuckled, “Rhys, Az gotta go. Boyfriend duties call.”

She could hear them teasing him, but honestly she couldn’t care less.

She buried her face into Cassian’s neck, breathing in his scent. She never felt more safe than when she was wrapped in his arms.

“What’s wrong Nes?” he asked, worry coating his words.

“Give me attention.” She said the words softly against his ear. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Normally Cassian was the the clingy one in the relationship. Two years ago Nesta wouldn’t have been caught dead saying such words. It was amazing how far she’d come because of Cassian. He truly broke down her walls.

He laughed, gently pulling her tighter against him. “I always give you attention.”

“Not recently,” she sighed. “I miss you.” And she meant it. She missed her needy boyfriend who couldn’t go 5 minutes without seeing her.

He pulled back reading her eyes. It saddened him to see genuine hurt gracing her beautiful features. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I guess I did get carried away with the video games.”

Nesta gasped in surprise as Cassian suddenly stood up, still holding her. He set her down on the bed gently, quickly crawling on top of her and kissing her deeply. “You have my full attention,” he said against her lips before trailing feather light kisses along her neck. “Let me make it up to you,” he breathed.

And make it up to her, he did.

*tags below*

@illyriangarbage // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy // @girlnovels // @aelinninielelain // @julesherondalex // @rosehallshadowsinger // @ifangirlninja // @dreamerforever-5 // @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @rhysanoodle // @jemma-nessian-and-elriel // @books-and-words-addict  // @nightinshadow // @wolffrising // @the-regal-warrior // @dreamingofalba // @abillionlittlepieces // @alitzeldiaz // @kylizzles // @queenmaas // @illyrian-bookworm // @aspillofstars // @b00kworm // @tswaney17 // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn // @abraxos // @perseusannabeth // @acourtofmarauders // @sweetlyvillainous // @awesomelena555 // @notyournymphetish // @ladywitchling // @aesthetics-11 // @sjmships // @iammissstark // @illyrianwitchling13 // @moondancer-204 // @sjm-things // @foolsinlove // @sayosdreams // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour // @flourishandblottsx // @stardelia // @julemmaes // @thewayshedreamed // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @keshavomit // @superspiritfestival // @wannawriteyouabook

[thesurielships]

i want your number tattooed on my arm in ink, i swear

Summary: Rhys has a crush on the mystery girl from the library. He approaches her, and a very awkward conversation ensues. 

Word count: 1.4k

Masterlist

‘Mother’s tits, Rhys. When you said you wanted to hang out, I never thought you meant the library. Is it snowing?’ he asked as he cast a brief look towards the cloudless August sky. ‘Are pigs flying?’

‘Will you shut up? This is a library.’

‘I can see that,’ Cassian retorted. ‘What I can’t see is why we’re here.’

‘We’re here to study.’

‘Finals are two months away.’

‘Six weeks, actually,’ Azriel corrected. ‘And stop that, you’re going to fall and break your skull.’

Cassian leaned forward so that all four feet of his chair were on solid ground. Being Cassian, that motion resulted in a loud bang. People hissed collectively at him to shut up.

‘People are trying to study, Cass,’ Azriel chided, eyes glued on his laptop.

‘I’m sure you are. Rhys, on the other hand, is definitely not.’

Rhysand ripped his eyes away from the real reason he was in the library. ‘I am studying.’

Cassian rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please. I bet my wings you haven’t read a single word since we got here. Unless you meant you’re studying that girl’s body, in which case my wings are off the table.’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Oh for the love of - ’

‘Shhhhhh.’

‘I am sick of this,’ Cassian whisper-yelled, gently laying the hand he had been about to slam on the table. ‘Are you gonna keep staring at her like a lovesick teen or are you gonna do something about it?’

‘The only thing I am staring at is this paper.’

‘We didn’t follow that girl here for nothing. So tell you what. Let’s bet. You get her number, I pay for your entire Cauldron damned first date. She rejects your ass, I get your daemati card.’

Rhys bristled. ‘I am not giving you my daemati card.’

Cassian smirked. ‘Get her number, then.’

Rhys stood up. He glanced at her. Shit. She seemed so focused on her laptop.

He slowly made his way toward her table, summoning his nerve, and by any luck, his charm.

‘Hello.’

She looked up, a frown on her pretty face.

‘Is this seat taken?’

She shook her head.

‘Do you mind if I sit?’

She looked at all the empty tables around them, her eyes lingering on the table he had just left, where Cassian and Azriel were blatantly watching his pathetic approach.

‘Sure.’

He sat down, the scrape of his chair too loud in the silent library.

‘So…’

Her eyes were glued on the screen of her laptop.

‘You’re a student here?’ he finished lamely.

‘Yes.’

‘Freshman?’

‘Yes.’ This, she said with vigor, as she grabbed her mouse - she used a mouse with her laptop - and shook it furiously.

‘You look familiar. Where have I seen you before?’

‘I don’t know. The uni we both attend, maybe? Unless you don’t go here.’ Her tone was sharp, dismissive. Rhys felt a blush creep up his neck.

He cleared his throat. ‘Are you… studying?’

‘Depends on how you define studying.’

Rhys perked up at the opportunity. ‘How do you define it?’

‘As not going around to other people’s tables and engaging them in aimless conversations.’

‘Oh.’

Silence. Such an awkward silence. Rhys was itching in his seat. He had half a mind to abort the mission and go lick his wounds elsewhere. He would’ve done just that if not for the very loud snort that reverberated through the library.

‘Shhhhh.’

‘Sorry,’ Cassian whispered, not sounding sorry at all.

Rhys’s eyes flicked back to the mystery girl, who was once again shaking her mouse violently.

‘Is there something wrong with your mouse?’

‘Yes,’ she frowned. ‘It’s lagging. I want to get this character done by today, and it’s. freaking. lagging!’ she punctuated her last statement with slamming the mouse against the desk.

Rhys winced. ‘A character?’

‘Yes. I’m an art major. It’s for my comic class.’

‘Makes sense.’

At this, she finally met his gaze, her expression wary. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘You seem very artistic,’ he said, glancing meaningfully at the paintbrush tucked behind her ear.

‘Ah.’ Her eyes were back on the screen, but the faintest blush colored her cheeks.

‘Don’t worry, darling. It looks good on you.’

‘Thank you.’

Again, silence reigned, interrupted only by the frantic click of her mouse and the frustrated groan she let out every time it lagged.

‘Do you mind if I see?’ he asked, gesturing to her computer.

She showed him her character, and his breath caught in his throat. It was a warrior. Tall, strong, wearing pitch black armor. He had blue black hair, violet eyes, and an insufferable smirk on his face. Two massive, membranous wings loomed ominously behind his back.

It was him. A fantastical, Prythian-y version of him, maybe, but he could’ve sworn it was him. However, as he had no interest in making a fool of himself, he chose not to comment on it.

‘It’s amazing. You’re very talented.’

She smiled, her first genuine smile. It was beautiful. ‘Thank you.’

‘So, you play Prythian?’

‘Not really, but I do collect the cards. The details on them are amazing. Like, here,’ she quickly went through her bag and brought out a deck of cards. She showed him one with a blonde woman and a glass globe. ‘The Morrigan and her Veritas. I just love the Veritas. Do you see how the color subtly changes, and is opposite to the reflection of the light? And here.’

She chose another card, which happened to be Cassian’s favorite.

‘The Illyrian warriors and their legendary wings. Look at how they shimmer in the light, split by a map of veins of gold and red. Backlit, there is a certain ancient and ethereal quality to them. However, in other cards, like Death Incarnate for example, instead of majestically beautiful, they’re pictured as deadly. Pitch black and all encompassing, they do not let any light through. Instead, it is directed upwards, highlighting the wickedly sharp claws.’

She paused.

‘I’m rambling, aren’t I?’

Rhys struggled to hide his smile. ‘No. Go ahead. I have like a hundred cards and never bothered to pay attention.’

‘I have two hundred and three cards. Somehow, I can’t seem to find the daemati one.’

Rhys saw his chance and had every intention to take it.

‘Would you be - ’

‘Rhyyyyyys,’ Cassian’s obnoxiously loud whisper interrupted him. ‘Come here for a sec.’

Rhys rolled his eyes. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he nodded apologetically to Feyre.

She waved him away, eyes already back on her screen.

He was going to kill Cassian.

‘What?’ he ground out when he reached his brothers’ table, sprawling defeatedly in his seat.

‘Nesta just texted me u up? It’s 4 in the afternoon! What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Rhys pinched his nose. Cassian and Nesta’s on and off relationship had always gotten on his nerves, but now he wanted more than ever to smack them both on the head and lock them together somewhere - far away from him - to solve their issues.

‘How in the world - ’

‘Rhys?’ interrupted a purring, very feminine voice. He looked up to find the mystery girl’s stormy eyes on him. ‘Here is the card missing to your collection,’ she said as she lay her hand flat on his chest, then left with a wink.

His mouth dropped open, and remained so as he followed her swinging hips out of the library. He stared at the shelves she had disappeared behind for a long moment before Cassian’s muffled curse shook him out of his stupor.

‘Holy shit, man.’

Rhys looked down at the neatly folded piece of paper in his lap.

00XXXXX

Feyre

PS: Be careful who you stare at, darling. They might just be staring at you back. Also, that was not for my art class.

Tag list: okay so i got very mixed requests and it got confusing. I’m just gonna tag everyone and hope you like it. If you want to only be specifically tagged in one of my works, do say so.

@joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244 @quakeriders @standbislytherin @mariamuses @ignite14 @1800-fight-me @velarian-trash @rhysands-highlady @queenblueoffire @rowaelinforeverworld

[blurrypetals]

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas - blurrypetals review

originally posted feb. 22, 2021 - ★☆☆☆☆

This is not Sarah J. Maas's worst book, not by a long shot, but it is definitely her least fun, most unnecessary effort, and we're talking about an author who also wrote Tower of Dawn and A Court of Frost and Starlight. I have a terrible, sordid history with Maas. I started off as a fan of Throne of Glass who was then spurned for being a fan of the story and characters she started with and, ever since then, I have never been able to view her as anything more than an amateur stumbling her way through high fantasy concepts, leaving nothing but wreckage in her wake. I really hate what Throne of Glass became and consider it to be a pretty perfect What Not To Do guide as far as writing diverse yet consistent characters, writing a satisfying, sweeping narrative, and many, many other things. This series, however, seemed at first to be a strange outlier. The first three books might be overlong, trite, and have a lot of the same issues with diversity and tryhard feminism as Throne of Glass, but at the very least, they are fun. Despite all their flaws, and despite how much shit I enjoy talking about Sarah J. Maas, the first three books are an okay guilty pleasure. I think they are disgustingly overrated and too many copycats are trying to emulate it, but they're...fine. I think the novella is unnecessary and weird, but it's mostly just fanservice that seemed to wrap up Feyre and Rhysand's story, so even if I didn't like it, it at least was short and fluffy for the most part. I think there were a lot of critical mistakes made with this book, which is a shocker considering just how definitely totally competent our author is! But seriously, past the fact that this book exists at all, the biggest mistake Maas made was putting it in the third person. I think the biggest strength of the original three books was that we were in Feyre's head, experiencing things right alongside her. One nice trick of the first person perspective is that there's a sort of built-in empathy that's sort of difficult to fuck up and it really helped sell Feyre's journey. Here, we are not necessarily far from Nesta and Cassian's heads, so it genuinely confounds me that Maas decided to change that. Why not have an alternating first person POV between the two? I just don't understand. But let's get into the meat of things. What do I mean when I say this book feels unnecessary? Well, not only does it feel a bit like we're picking open a story that felt like it wrapped up pretty nicely, but everything new that does happen feels like a foregone conclusion. It was pretty readily clear from the middle of A Court of Wings and Ruin, perhaps earlier, that Nesta and Cassian are mates. I personally have never been a fan of the whole fated mates thing in this stuff, since it sucks out any semblance of romantic tension out of things, and while I never expect Maas to do the interesting or unexpected thing, it would have been nice to have maybe one couple get together who just got together despite not being mates. That said, it isn't as if the romance would have been made better by that. These two have a little bit of chemistry that isn't so bad, but it's overshadowed by their near constant and frustratingly repetitive fucking. It's actually insane how much unsexy sex is in this book. I mean, there's something to be said for Maas finally ditching the idea that she is at all trying to write for younger readers, but at what cost? Another plot point that carries a lot of the so-called tension in the novel is that of Feyre's pregnancy with her and Rhysand's son, the truly poorly named Nyx. Everyone is certain Feyre is going to die because the baby has wings and her vag is not prepared for it (I wish I was kidding) but this is another thing that feels like a foregone conclusion on arrival because A, we know Sarah J. Maas doesn't have the fucking guts to kill anyone off, let alone her precious Feyre and definitely not Rhys, who also dies if Feyre dies, and B, we already know that their son is going to be okay because of all the business with the Bone Carver. And, other than some business with a crown, a mask, and a harp, the rest of the plot centers around Nesta recovering from her PTSD. I'll begrudgingly admit, her PTSD is actually not poorly written. That said, it is very poorly handled. In the original trilogy, Rhys is upheld as this extremely kind and generous and wonderful dude who helps the broken, has trauma of his own to reckon with, and in this book, he is a fucking cunt. It is legitimately, truly shocking how disgusting and awful he is to Nesta. Yet again, we experience Sarah J. Maas's brand of so-called character development by way of performing a personality transplant that serves the half-assed plot rather than the established character. Now, where have I seen that before? Aelin? Tamlin? Chaol? Nah, can't be. Rhysand isn't the only one who treats Nesta terribly, though, it's the entire inner circle, even her fated mate, of course! The way they all treat this grieving, traumatized, abused woman is utterly sickening, and they all are treated as if they're in the right for it! It's absolutely nuts. Even though I've never cared for Nesta as a character, no one and I mean no one deserves to be treated the way Amren, Rhysand, Mor, and the rest all treat Nesta in this book. I've said this many times before, but I'll repeat what I said in my review for the last Sarah J. Maas book I read, Kingdom of Ash and it's this: Sometimes it is better to be spectacularly, hilariously awful than it is to be utterly boring and leave your reader feeling indifferent and, while this one did make me angry at points, I was mostly just bored and tired. Apathy is the worst feeling you can leave a reader with and this is not the first time Sarah J. Maas has done this to me. I know a lot of people think Sarah J. Maas hung the moon, but I am just so tired, I just do not get it. I once understood what made her books fun, but when she shits out trite excuses for romance and fantasy such as this, I can't understand why anyone could enjoy such a mediocre example of thinly veiled porn as this. Do us all a favor, Sarah, and do better. It's just sad at this point.

[missbrightsky]

I didn’t know where else to go

Fics Masterlist

Chapter 4: Feyre

Prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick

Only by chanting that word over and over again in my head did I manage to make it home to change and then to the precinct without grinding my teeth too hard. I was late to work, beat to hell, and oh, had just slept with the guy I was trying to arrest and am now secretly working with him. Lucien is going to have a fucking field day.

But he can’t know anything about the past 24 hours, I reminded myself, resolving to lie my ass off. My jaw instinctively tightened, pulling the sore muscles which caused me to wince and make it hurt even more. Stupid thugs.

I spared a minute back in Rhysand’s home to look over my injuries from the night before. Dark bruises covered most of my torso but no broken ribs, at least. My face was a mottled canvas of greens and blues and blacks with a laceration on my hairline. How the hell I had managed to have the best sex of my life while this injured… blame it on the alcohol. Along with all my other decisions, I guess. The hangover didn’t help my state either, but Rhys’s packed breakfast of bacon and toast soaked up some of the acid in my stomach.

Prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick prick

Finally, the precinct came into view. Simple black letters on white background indicated the entrance.

Velaris City Police Precinct No. 12

The towering brick building housed my coworkers and I, along with countless generations before us.

Let’s get this over with. I pushed in the glass doors, shooting a small wave to the front desk, hoping they were too busy to notice my bruised face.

The rickety ride up the elevator to the third floor was a comforting familiarity, the tang of sweat and metal stinging my nose. Too soon, the door opened to the bustling room, officer buzzing about on their daily grind. A flash of red caught the sunlight from the far end. Lucien was spinning around in his chair.

Someone is bored without me.

Pushing through the gate, I avoided casting my usual hellos in a vain attempt to slip by unnoticed. It almost worked until a booming voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Detective Archeron, why are you almost two hours late?”

Shit

I slowly turned towards the source, keeping my head low. “Sorry, Captain Cartana,” I said, “I had a rough night. I’ll stay late today to make up for it.” Please let me go, please let me go, please let me—

“What happened to you face?” the words were soft, compassionate, worried. Helion Cartana could be a harsh captain but he genuinely cared for the well-being of his staff.

I braved a look up into his face, gaging the emotions there. Frustration at my tardiness was fading into a quiet rage. Not at me, but for who presumably did this to me. His amber eyes turned molten, making my fingers itch to pick up a paintbrush and capture their unholy violence.

“Ah...,” my mind scrambling. Truth or lie, lie or truth. Both. “I was on my way home from grabbing a drink and three men got the jump on me. Bunch of jackasses who got off on beating someone up. Didn’t even make it worth my while by trying to steal my phone or wallet.” The shallow attempt at humor fell flat when it failed to dispel Helion’s rage.

Most of the floor had fallen silent at this point, monitoring the captain, ready to jump into action if he ordered it.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” his voice was still soft, his finger hovering near my shoulder.

I straightened my spine and met his eyes with quiet steel of my own. “No, it looks worse than it actually is,” only a tiny lie, I was stiffer than I wanted to admit.

“I want the report on my desk in an hour,” and that was it. He strode back to his office, barking orders to get back to work.

I didn’t meet any of the eyes that were still staring at me, I didn’t want to see the pity that might be there. I didn’t deserve it.

“I rescind my texts about the hot date,” Lucien appeared at my right, taking in my appearance. “Why didn’t you call me?”

I blew out a breath, “Because I’m a proud bitch and didn’t want to bother you. Like I said, it looks worse than it is,” I made the brush past him, but his hand lashed out and gripped my elbow. I winced at the force and then inwardly cursed at the show of pain.

“Liar,” he hissed, pissed that I would try to pull the wool over his eyes. He was always too good at telling when someone was lying. Great for being a detective but shit when you needed to hide things from your friend.

I shot a glare at him and he let my elbow go. I hadn’t fooled him, but we had other matters to attend to right now. His answering glare meant that I was going to get hell from him later.

I settled into my chair and started pulling up files. On top of the Veritas Crime Syndicate, I had my usual cases of homicide, burglaries, hit and runs, and other assorted goodies. I put the file on Veritas to the side, not even wanting to think about them at the moment, even with more information to chew on now.

Might as well fill out my attack report for the captain now. The basic form was an easy way to settle into the workday and allowed me to get my story straight before any more pressing questions came my way.

I went to a bar that was a few blocks from my house, got a drink, and when I exited, there were three men that I wasn’t able to make out that jumped me and beat me. The lie was believable enough because my apartment was in a seedier part of town, the best I could afford on a detective’s salary while also feeding my painting habit.

I could feel Lucien’s eyes burning a hole in my forehead, but I diligently ignored him, focusing on the screen in front of me.

When it was done and believably passable, I printed it off and knocked on Helion’s doorframe.

“Captain?”

He motioned for me to come in and place the paper on his desk. I remained standing, waiting for his dismissal.

He looked over the form, frowning at what was probably my lack of caution and inability to identify the men. Cases like these were becoming more common. Darkness made men bold, making it easy for them to cower behind its cover. Gang and criminal activity seemed to be on the rise, frustrating precincts all over the city and forcing the police to start pulling more overtime shifts to compensate.

Maybe this is because of Amarantha setting her eyes on my city. Icy rage began to sluice through my body at the thought. I would have to ask Rhys if her presence also encouraged more criminal activity.

The captain looked up, again taking in my injuries and how I held myself. One sleek eyebrow raised, starting to not believe my lie about not needing the hospital.

“And you’re sure you didn’t see their faces?” he asked.

“No, sir. It was too dark, and they were too quick. I…,” shit, might as well, “I may have had more than one drink, sir,” wincing at the words.

He only nodded, maybe a slight amount of judgment peeking through. “Very well, investigate as you see necessary.” He looked down at the reports on his desk, a clear dismissal.

Now to pass the next hurdle. Lucien will not be as easy to convince.

Once at my desk again, I started sifting through the new cases on my desk, sorting them by importance, and marking any that might be a lead into Veritas by pure habit. Lucien was doing the same at his desk across from me, making a point to ignore me.

“Sorry I couldn’t grab you a white mocha,” I tested out, looking for a way to break the tension. His amber eyes met mine. Cool anger regarded me for a moment, as if he was deciding to either let it go or press on.

I guess my bruised state gave him an inch of pity and a small smile slipped through his mask. “It’s tragic but I think I’ll live.” I returned his smile, glad that he wasn’t completely upset with my lie.

My phone buzzed, drawing my attention away from Lucien’s forgiveness.

Prick: Should I assume your bloody shirt is forfeit and throw it away or do you want it back?

My jaw tightened at the message that flashed on my screen, causing more pain to ripple through my face. I just wasn’t learning my lesson about that, was I?

Darling: What. The fuck.

Prick: Personally, I would like to keep it as a reminder of the time you showed up on my doorstep begging for my help.

Darling: First of all, I wasn’t begging. Second of all, how the fuck did your number end up in my phone.

Prick: I put it in when you were passed out on my couch. Thought it might be useful for instances like this.

Prick: I guess you’re right that you weren’t begging, that came later ;)

I am going to kill him the next time I see him, the thought burned through my mind. I schooled my features into forced neutrality. I was already up shit creek and didn’t need Lucien asking about who I was texting that was making me see red.

I decided to ignore his flirting, already resolved to never make that mistake again.

Darling: Burn it, I don’t need any reminders from last night.

A bit harsh but I needed to get it through his thick handsome skull that last night was never going to happen again.

Prick: I think I’ll keep it then, if you care so little for it.

Darling: Fine.

I thought that was the end of the conversation, about to toss my phone in my bag and try to salvage the rest of my workday. Another text came through just before I tucked it away.

Prick: The actual reason I’m texting is that I wanted to invite you to dinner. If you’re going to help me stop Amarantha, I need you to meet the rest of my family.

The message caused me to pause, a war igniting in my mind. He was right about me needing to meet the others, they could be useful assets. But I also didn’t want to have any contact that was more than necessary.

Prick: Feel free to say no, but I think you’ll hurt Mor’s feelings.

I typed out several messages, each longer than the last and filled with questions before settling for short and simple. The time for questions would be later.

Darling: When and where? Not public.

Prick: My place, tomorrow night, 7:30

Darling: I’ll be there.

And just because I couldn’t resist, damn him.

Darling: I’m not changing your name in my phone.

Prick: I wouldn’t have it any other way.

For a minute after that text, his bubbles popped up and down, like he was debating if he wanted to send a follow-up. I inwardly smirked at his indecision; it was nice to know that he wasn’t completely infallible.

Prick: Do you want to know what your name is in mine?

This was getting dangerously close to flirting territory, damn him twice.

Darling: Detective? Bitch? Feyre?

His response wasn’t immediate, and I had almost given up and gone back to work when it popped up.

Prick: Darling

I stifled a groan and finally tossed my phone away, done with hearing his midnight voice in my head. He can interpret my lack of response any way he wants to, I have actual work to do.

[wingsandfics]

Wings and Shadows || Azriel - one

Azriel never thought he'd have trouble finding his words, but when a knife flew inches past his head and implanted itself into the tree mere steps behind him, they failed him. He took in the attacker, a young female Illyrian with jet black hair that fell near her collarbone and eyes the darkest shade of Onyx he had yet to witness in his over 500 years of existence. Her face expressed such a cruel beauty that he couldn't tear his eyes off of her. She wasn't beautiful, not in the mundane way of it anyway. Her face was rough shaped and angular, eyes a little too big for her face and lips a sensual pout, her nose somewhat turned upwards, was slightly crooked to the side, from training he assumed, and her cheekbones were prominent yet elegant. The look on her face, however, was anything but. She looked at him with wicked delight, a predator's smirk spread on her slightly tanned face, showcasing her white teeth.

The man next to him froze. Devlon, usually ready to strike a male down with his words seemed at a loss too. Cassian was the first to speak, breaking the awkward silence. His brother's voice made him tear his eyes off of the girl. It sounded cool and calculated, but he knew better than to believe his act. He saw the look on his face when that knife flew past his head. He was in downright shock.

"I take that as a no." His grin was a weak attempt to deflate the conflict.

Devlon found the nerve to speak at last and pinned the girl down with a stare. She didn't seem impressed by him or his attempt at being in control of the situation.

"You are in no position here to say no, girl." He paused a second, probably bracing himself for her response but she just fell into a killing calm that sent chills down Azriel's spine. She looked like she could split them open with a slash of her knife. He didn't know if he found that comforting or not.

The fact that she looked so much like a warrior meant that the girls were finally training like they were supposed to and how Rhysand had ordered. Or at least she was, but the way she carried herself make him uneasy. Not sure what to expect.

"The General and the Shadowsinger will stay in your house, since it belonged to the High Lord long before it belonged to you. You will move your things to one of the tents and if I hear you complain or make a scene out of it you will not be allowed to train for the period of time these two here are to join us. Understood?" His tone was cold and had a somewhat lethal undertone. The fact that he acknowledged Cassian's and his positions was rare and Devlon probably did so with the intention of convincing the girl.

It didn't seem to work.

She stared him down, her gaze moving past Cassian and examining him too, then Devlon and turning back to him. Nothing short of ruthless could be seen on her face. Azriel's breath hitched.

"It is your fault that they are dead. Let me mourn them, live in the house that they used to once fill with their presence. That house and everything in it is all I have left of them. And it is your damn fault. Find them another house. There are plenty free, you just want to punish me for disobeying you, but look where following your stupid orders got me?" She pointed an accusatory finger at Devlon who seemed to stop breathing. He seemed surprised at her outburst but managed a forced laugh.

He hadn't known. When Devlon told them that their usual house was occupied and that it might be tricky to free it, he didn't let himself think as far as that. He heard about the rebel attack that killed a good number of Illyrians from Devlon's camp. That is why Rhys send them here, to oversee the training of both males and females and make sure such outbursts and loses don't happen again.

"That's more words that you deigned to speak to me in weeks. We're making progress, it seems." He mused his next words for a few moments and then added with more authority than before. "If you do not wish to move out, don't. But they will stay in that house regardless of you throwing knives at us all night." There was little room for argument in his tone and the girl seemed to understand that too because she just gave him a look that promised nothing but a painful death and took off without another word.

The sound of her wings followed him all the way inside the house where a slightly sweet smell struck him dead in his boots. There was food on the table already, some sort of soup and something that looked and smelled like steak and a cake with a piece missing. Everything else looked clean and neatly arranged. Cassian dropped in a chair at the table and already started eating when Azriel spoke, his voice a little rough from not using it for the majority of the day.

"Do you think she cooked all this?" He sent some of his shadows to look for anyone else in the house while he carefully sat himself at the table. When they returned, he started eating. One of them curled around his hand, up his arm and stopped when it reached his ear.

No one here, master.

It whispered and then went to join the others in the dark corners of the room and at his legs.

Cassian replied at last, after emptying his bowl of soup. "Probably. Don't think anyone else bothered to sneak in here and cook for us." He grinned, remembering probably all the other times he had to cook when they came up here. "She seems interesting." He mused. "At lest we know the girls are training..." he laughed. Azriel was about to reply when the door opened and closed shut hard enough for them to pick up who had entered. She probably wanted them to. Her steps were soft when she entered the room and discarded her weapons on a chair not bothering to acknowledge them. She was about to take off the knives she had across her chest, one missing from its slot, the one she threw at him earlier, when the door slung open again and an angry male voice echoed through the small house.

"You bit-" before the male had the chance to finish his sentence another knife flew through the air and found its mark near his ear, slightly cutting him. He stopped dead in his boots, his Illyrian leathers dirty with mud.

"Get out." Her tone was cold and lethal, a warning for the male to back off while he still could.

"If you think you throwing knives at me all day will stop me from kicking your ass for the stunt you pulled with me earlier... you're wrong."

Another knife flew and implanted itself in the wall behind the male, between his legs, low enough to miss him but still close enough to make the male stop talking and go deathly pale.

Azriel had to give credit to the girl, she knew how to throw her knives. And her calm was unrelenting, it unsettled him. The temperature in the room seemed to cool despite the burning fire that cracked in the corner.

"Your are disturbing my" she seemed to fight the next word out "guests." She finished glancing briefly at him and Cassian, then her attention focused again completely on the male. He seemed to acknowledge them then and turned even paler. He seemed to want to say something but she cut him off again. "Now, if you have a problem with me kicking yours ass in the ring you should stop throwing your bullshit at me. I suggest you go before my next knife finds its mark." She winked at him with a feral smile spread across her face, her features darkened a little, and her eyes seemed to gleam in the subtle light of the candles. Shivers ran down Azriel's spine at the sight of her. He could tell Cassian was equally impressed by the girl.

The male, to his credit, seemed to understand the message and took of quickly, with a look that promised death speed across his face. When he turned to Cassian, the exact same look was displayed on his face as well. Azriel and Cass grinned at each other before turning to face the girl.

"Rhys is going to be pissed when he finds those holes in the wall." Cassian mused with amusement playing in his eyes. He seemed to genuinely like the girl despite her previous outburst when her knife was aiming for Azriel's head.

"Yes, well, I'll patch it up if that will shut you up." She grinned at him and at last unstrapped her knives from her body and put them on the chair next to the other weapons. She made for the wall and took out the other two knives.

"Thank you for the food." Azriel said at last, trying to seem unfazed by the fact that she honestly seemed she couldn't care less that they were going to be sharing this house for the next few weeks. He decided he liked her for that. "It was really good. Who taught you how to cook?" He realized his mistake when the girl stopped in the middle of the room and gave him a killing look. All amusement from before gone.

"My mother." She replied in a cold tone and continued to make for the stairs. "The first room on the right in mine. You can take the others." She murmured and silently walked up the stairs.

"Good job, brother." Cassian patted him on the shoulder and made for the stairs as well, after putting his plate in the sink.

They wished each other good night and Azriel made it to his usual room, the second on the right, passing the first one with careful consideration, trying to pick up any movement but got nothing. When the door to his room closed shut and he dropped onto the bed he heard it then. The sobs.

She was crying. So soft that it was barely audible. But still, she was crying. That mask she so utterly unfazed displayed was so strong he found himself caught off guard when the sound of her uneven breathing reached him.

He didn't know why he felt the urge to send his shadows to comfort her.

[rhysand-vs-fenrys]

Nesta in ACOFAS: My Overall Opinion

Below the cut is my stance and interpretation of everything Nesta and surrounding Nesta in ACOFAS. I’ve been as exhaustive as possible in my answer because I’m only making this one post to go through it all.

It is broken up into 5 sections (with subcategories):

How the trauma built

How it manifests

Rhys & Feyre’s responses (with some overall references to the IC here)

Cassian’s role

Nesta overall

The TL;DR of what follows is that I support the direction SJM is taking these characters and it is completely logical as they have been presented to us.

How the Trauma Built

This is to the people saying Nesta was OOC because of her PTSD (though again, Maas is these character’s God and Creator, it’s impossible for her to write OOC).

Nesta was isolating herself quite a bit in the beginning of ACOWAR. She wanted nothing to do with anybody, and also isolated Elain with her. She had a sort of ally in that regard.

Over the course of ACOWAR, Nesta started reaching out more and engaging more with Prythian and the other members of the Inner Circle. She even came close to reconciling with Feyre (more on that with “Rhys and Feyre’s Responses”). 

For Nesta at that point, being alone to process her thoughts and then becoming more immersed in Velaris and Prythian was the right path. It helped her find the ground again after her trauma in the Cauldron, which is very much described in WAR as a violation with similar descriptors to being raped (feeling that their body did not belong to them anymore). 

And then Nesta killed Hybern.

She was built as being incredibly resistant to even the idea of war, and never wanted to fight (More on that later in “Cassian’s Role”). The IC were the fighters, she wanted to maintain the sort of innocence that came from not surrounding herself in blood.

Not only did Nesta kill Hybern, but she killed a dying man. Elain struck the fatal blow- the knife through his neck. He was done for. Because of what he’d done to their father and to Cassian, Nesta snapped and literally sawed off his head while he was still alive.

ACOFAS builds around Nesta’s thoughts of that moment, the last words Cassian thought he would ever say to her, and her own fears during that time. 

I think Nesta would have been alright if “just” the Cauldron happened (not that that was a weak blow). She was finding her way and her strength, she’d accepted that at her core nothing was different. She was still the same Nesta she’d always been- imperious and not someone to fight a war. 

But then she was the one who ended it, and that shattered her sense of self and with it any progress Nesta had made against the trauma of the Cauldron. After 1 traumatic event, it is hard enough to find your footing. After two, spaced far enough apart that some semblance of recovery had been made? Utterly devastating. 

How it Manifests

The Drinking

The IC has always processed things with the assistance of alcohol. Rhys’ answer to Feyre’s marriage to Tamlin was a plan to get blackout drunk. Cassian having a bad meeting with Nesta in MAF meant he went for the liquor when he came home. Feyre fighting with Nesta in WAR earned advice from Mor that it was fine to drink directly from the bottle.

Giving Nesta space to drink all she wanted might not have seemed entirely wrong (at least, at first). Fae healing probably means over-drinking isn’t as much of a threat to their health, and it took them a while to realize and accept that Nesta wasn’t just drinking off stress, she was well on her way to becoming an alcoholic.

I hesitated there to say that she is an alcoholic mainly because she wasn’t showing signs (in her PoVs) of an addiction mindset. She never seems to crave alcohol, and I think overall rather than an addiction it’s an expression of her trauma and attempt at self-medication of sorts (not to say it hasn’t morphed into full alcoholism). 

Again, that isn’t a denial that it’s alcoholism, just a hesitation in assigning the term in this circumstance without more data.

The Sex

If you haven’t read the ACOMAF excerpt “A Court of Wings and Embers” about Cassian and Nesta’s meeting, it revealed something about her back story that she (and Cassian) never mentioned in the core trilogy or FAS: When Nesta broke up with Thomas Mandry, he attacked her and nearly raped her. He got as far as tearing her dress before she managed to escape.

In “Wings and Embers”, Nesta is even sensitive to Cassian’s normal taunts and demeanor because of that experience, she has a bit of a flashback of sorts while they’re talking and he realizes what must have happened. Nesta refuses to give him the name of the man who tried to hurt her (because he promises very sincerely that he will kill him).

For Nesta to go from that to unchecked anonymous sex ties directly into her references in ACOFAS to feeling completely numb inside. I think in forcing herself to bed some random stranger- which “Wings and Embers” makes clear is unacceptable to her- she was trying to trigger some kind of shame or horror response in herself. 

She was trying to feel anything. Even if that feeling was fear.

The IC has always been sex-positive, and they didn’t have that critical piece of knowledge Cassian alone holds about Nesta’s past. So they had no hope of catching Nesta’s behavior early on as the cry for help it is.

In that vein, some people do use sex as a coping mechanism after stress or a traumatic experience (This one being killing Hybern). Nesta was lost and needed to figure out who she was after her self-image was shattered. The sex alone might not be the best way to handle it, but it didn’t raise flags for Feyre and the IC because they didn’t know the piece of Nesta’s story Cassian was pledged to secrecy over.

I did not see slut-shaming anywhere in ACOFAS. If anything, Feyre dwells on it because it’s the piece that really doesn’t fit for her. Nesta used Feyre’s sexual relationship with Isaac as fodder to make her miserable. Nesta is the one who slut-shames in TAR and even leans towards it in MAF when she’s snapping at Rhys (More on that in “Rhys and Feyre’s Responses” next).

Feyre isn’t sitting there going “Wow Nesta is a slut”, she’s trying to connect the dots, again while missing the piece of information that would reveal exactly how Nesta was using that sex in her PTSD. 

From an outside standpoint, Maas was using it to show another way PTSD manifests. Feyre and Aelin both manifest as being hollow inside and completely shutting down. Some people affected by PTSD don’t have that “quiet” route, and so Maas is opening up and exploring another form. 

The sexual aspect of Nesta’s PTSD is specifically to show that fundamental difference in how her trauma needs to be treated (more on that in “Nesta overall”).

Rhys and Feyre’s Responses

This section alone could be a novel, so I’m going to try and keep it fairly linear timeline-wise, but still separate Rhys and Feyre later on.

History

Think about how we’ve seen Nesta in ACOTAR and ACOMAF:

In ACOTAR, she’s a frigid, cruel bitch to her baby sister. She slut shames her, insults her, finds insults that literally make Feyre flinch and digs in harder, and does everything in her power to sabotage Feyre because Nesta is mad at their father. For years she makes Feyre’s life a living hell and even contributes to Feyre’s own psychological issues that Tamlin actually heals in TAR (props where props go).

Feyre has zero hope for life in the beginning of TAR, she even tells her father hope doesn’t exist because she genuinely believes that. It is tied almost exclusively to Nesta’s abuse or things that result from her abuse (if Nesta had helped Feyre instead, they might have been able to find a better footing in their poverty, or at least had a home Feyre didn’t dread returning to).

When she returns to the mortal lands, before venturing out to save Tamlin(’s ungrateful ass), Feyre finds a sort of peace with Nesta and starts to realize why Nesta was so horrible to her for so long. The key here is that there is no reconciliation, just a beginning step towards one.

In ACOMAF, Feyre returns from Prythian almost expecting that same quasi-peace she and Nesta found, only to find Nesta as viciously mean and cruel as she was in TAR (probably because of Cassian, but also her own prejudice against Fae and all that their presence might represent (war)). 

Again, a bit of understanding is reached by the end of the book-

then Nesta and Elain are thrown into the Cauldron.

And guess how Nesta treats Feyre in WAR when she returns? Like shit. Again.

Each time the slide back to cruelty makes sense- TAR --> MAF it is the introduction of the fae element and knowing Feyre’s involvement makes the war inevitably an Archeron problem. MAF --> WAR it is the incredibly traumatic event Nesta and Elain went through, Feyre not being there to help them on the other side, and Nesta feeling as if she and Elain were abandoned to the care of near strangers after such a horrifying event (that again is always described along the same vein psychologically as being raped).

Still, even though it makes sense where she is coming from, Nesta does always return to the evil bitch role and never apologizes to Feyre (though she does come close).

Rhysand

He’s first because he’s easy.

People are harping on Rhysand for how he treats Nesta in FAS but it’s totally in line with canon. Feyre snaps at him in WAR for little offhand comments he makes against Nesta. He’s never had a particularly warm image of her.

Rhys brings out receipts for Nesta’s treatment of Feyre pre-ACOTAR, specifically sending her out to hunt in the forest. Remember what happened to Rhys’ little sister when the older sibling didn’t protect them? And she was meeting him somewhere that should have been perfectly safe, she wasn’t entering a dangerous area armed.

On top of that, he’s seen Nesta slut-shame her sister, and even from a non-Feyre side of things, Nesta has a habit of landing hard blows on his entire IC. His best friends who have helped him through horrible trauma, and she attacks them and repeatedly belittles them. 

From his PoV, even if he wasn’t in love with Feyre, Nesta is just downright evil.

Feyre

Nesta is always going back-and-forth. Even Feyre cannot predict when Nesta will strike a blow (metaphorically) or when she’ll be somewhere in the vicinity of pleasant. She defends Nesta to Rhysand (in MAF, WAR, and FAS), but even so whenever Nesta opens her mouth to say something Feyre flinches or anticipates something horrible.

She doesn’t want Rhys to speak ill of her family because they are all she has left of her mortal life, and she had to literally risk her life to keep them fed for years. She couldn’t let grudges grow, because if she did she might just walk into the woods and leave them to starve. They are her family, and so she feels an obligation to protect both Nesta and Elain (more on Elain in a moment).

That doesn’t mean she isn’t affected by how she was treated, or that old wounds aren’t there. She just doesn’t want to get into it. It makes Feyre more dismissive of Nesta, but she is still trying. She’s just lost the strength to try as hard as she would for Mor or Cassian or even Elain- people who actually show her kindness and love.

Elain and the IC

Mor sees Nesta as a nasty thorn in Feyre’s side, but she knows what it is to deal with horrible family (to a much harsher degree). She supports Feyre and her stance, and that’s it. She tried making friends with Nesta and had her head bit off, so she’s not reaching out.

Amren and Azriel you all know.

Elain is where Nesta isolated herself wholly and completely.

In WAR, Nesta had Elain with her as they processed their trauma. Elain was worse off than she was, completely shut down, and so the isolation seemed like a good idea (you may remember in WAR it was not a good idea when it came to Elain, she needed to be around others regularly to open up).

After WAR though... Elain accepted Prythian. She doesn’t fully accept that things are over with Grayson, and doesn’t entirely acknowledge that she is fae, but she accepts Prythian and Velaris and Night. She accepts the world, even while ignoring her circumstance... and Nesta resents her for it.

Elain was always side-by-side with her, but as Elain settled and Nesta raged, she couldn’t count on her younger sister anymore to just be there and understand. Elain started having her own life and hobbies. She found a way to start processing her pain and deal with it. She wasn’t set back by the death of Hybern because Elain accepted that it had to happen and she was protecting her family and avenging their father. 

Elain is very much the one to let go of grudges, while Nesta holds them in a vice-grip. Nesta resented Elain’s peace, and so she distances herself from even Elain, while still leaving a door open for the sister she always favored (at least for a while in FAS Elain is the one who can get Nesta to do stuff).

Cassian’s Role

From the very beginning of WAR, Cassian has known Nesta isn’t like her sisters.

He wanted Nesta to train, he taunted her over it repeatedly, trying to goad her into it. Cassian’s approach to Nesta has always been the closest to how Nesta needed to be approached. He has a fundamental understanding of her and her personality.

Cassian was once someone without a place in the world, and so he carved it out himself. He wants that for Nesta, but he also knows she has to be the one to take it. He tries to help Nesta while giving her her space, and he also seems to accept that while Vealris treats Nesta as if she’s his (brought up by Nesta herself in FAS), she is still her own person and free to be with whoever she wishes or live as she chooses.

Cassian is trapped between wanting to help Nesta as much as she will allow, and minding that line so she knows he isn’t trying to force his presence or himself on her. He is dismissed and ignored by Illyrians as a bastard and is touchy about that, but he endures dismissal when it comes from Nesta so that she knows he is always there for her.

Still, as much as he clearly loves her and cares about her, he can only take so many hits at a time before old wounds become too raw. That is why he will push more forcefully, but in the end he always leaves it to Nesta to take the final step herself.

Cassian is watching her more closely than the others, and he knows that missing piece about her sexual history. He is trying to help her as much as he is capable, but he also knows she needs something different. She needs real help, and Cassian doesn’t have any right to be the one to drag her bodily off to get the treatment she needs. He also knows she wont open up to some doctor.

I’m not doing a lot on Cassian’s stance because that’s what the next novel is going to be. Cassian honestly sees the same pain on Nesta that he had, and he knows her personality very well. She needs the fight, and she needs to feel like she’s earned and carved her own spot in the world.

She needs training as an Illyrian, a position he has always held when it comes to Nesta.

Nesta Overall

Contrary to how some tumbrs have been spinning it, the IC and Feyre never outright abandoned Nesta.

Even Nesta acknowledges at one point that the IC tried giving her jobs or pulling her along in their group to get her to engage. They tried to help her through her PTSD the same way they did for Feyre, Rhys, Mor, even Elain (given a job early on of designing the Townhouse garden). Rhys has offered her duties or positions, Feyre’s tried to help find hobbies for her, and yet Nesta is resistant to all.

As I said before, Maas is showing another form of PTSD, one that requires a completely different path of treatment. The IC try to heal Nesta the way they healed others, but she was never going to be able to walk that same path, not after what happened with the King of Hybern at least (remember, Nesta accepted the role as Ambassador to the Human Lands in WAR as she recovered from what the Cauldron did to her, then wanted nothing to do with it in FAS).

The IC didn’t abandon her, they just couldn’t understand her, and Nesta cannot express herself to show them how best to help her. 

She’s always been barbed and defensive, and in this case when she needed people to gather around her all the more and see through it, they were pushed back because of her own past actions. The IC cannot help her, because she burned bridges with them time and again and they’re just done taking her punches.

Cassian sees what is happening, and he tries to reach for her- but Nesta doesn’t need him alone to make that leap. Even if she loves Cassian desperately and they are endgame mates (that’s not an ‘if’ that’s a fact), she needs to know the others care.

She needs to know that she is genuinely wanted, that her presence is appreciated and accepted with no other thought than “Nesta’s here, I’m so happy” (why Cassian reacted so strongly when Feyre made mention of the almost buyer’s bargain with Nesta coming to Solstice).

Feyre’s exhausted when it comes to her sister. Rhys and  most of the IC have no reason to reach out for her very much because of her own personality and how it hides deep rooted insecurities. Rhys in particular has dealt with horrible people his entire life and he’s not willing to keep them around that much, not if he believes there is nothing redeeming inside them. 

Nesta is screaming for help in her own way, but unfortunately it’s a case where no one else speaks the language, save Cassian. And knowing Cassian understands makes Nesta feel ashamed and weak, open and judged, so she uses every weapon at her disposal to push him back.

She needs both isolation and acceptance. Nesta cannot open up enough for that, and the rest of the IC doesn’t speak that language. They aren’t wilfully ignoring it, they honestly have no idea how to process it and are frustrated by that lack of understanding.

The minute she got up and went to the dying King of Hybern, this became completely inevitable. Nesta isn’t someone who can be strengthened and forged like Feyre or even Elain- surrounded by gentle love and kindness. She needed to be shattered and re-forged, and when she is she will be stronger, more confident, and happier for it.

The next book is going to be incredible.

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {7}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: And so it begins.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

The last thing Feyre wanted to do was sit through supper with her sisters, Elain’s future fiance, and the pain in the ass that was Lord Rhysand of Velaris. 

It was just past six-thirty and their guests were soon to arrive. Nesta had received return letters from both of the gentlemen as the afternoon went on, accepting her invitation. 

Suddenly, Feyre wished that her father hadn’t had to leave town. When he did, Nesta always assumed she was to replace the role of head of the family, because she was the eldest. 

Which was shit, because she was the only one among the three that was yet to have a suitor. There was a time when Feyre believed Tomas Mandray had taken an interest in Nesta. They all believed he would one day propose marriage...until he showed up with his betrothed to their last ball.

Perhaps that is why Nesta had arranged the supper, Feyre thought. To distract her from her own boring loneliness. 

With one last look in the mirror, Feyre jumped off her vanity stool and exited her bedroom. She wore a floor length, dusty blue evening gown and new, polished boots. Her hair was down in long curls, one side pinned back. She told Alis she would have no makeup, for she preferred her natural appearance. 

Besides, she surely wasn’t trying to impress anybody.

Especially not Rhysand, even if the memories of the night before had her heart lightning at the thought of him. 

“Well, don’t you look lovely.”

The moment Feyre shut her door behind her, she was joined by her sister, looking beautiful, but terrified.

Feyre instantly softened at the sight of Elain becoming uneasy. “What is it?”

“What?” Elain asked, caught off guard by the question. 

“You look as if you may faint,” Feyre began, cautiously. “Or vomit.”

Elain chuckled, hesitantly. “I’m quite alright. And you? Excited to see Lord Rhysand?”

“I’d much rather pluck my eyes out,” Feyre mumbled.

She looped her arm through her sister’s as they walked the halls, then down the main staircase, where Nesta was waiting at the bottom. 

Her navy blue gown hugged her hips tightly. Her hair was braided into a crown, and her hands were on her hips as she ordered the servants around. 

“Is this truly such a big occasion?” Feyre asked, brows raised. “Seems to me like you’re overdoing it a bit.”

Indeed, Nesta had gone a bit overboard. Flowers were everywhere, a string quartet was playing softly in the corner. Feyre couldn’t even imagine how the dining room looked. 

“Truly, Nesta,” Elain began, looking around, “it’s lovely, but is it necessary?”

Nesta turned to face her sisters. “Of course, it is. I am trying to find my sisters eligible suitors.”

Feyre groaned as Elain cleared her throat.

“Oh, stop looking so nervous,” Nesta said. “They’ll be here at any moment. Chins up, shoulders back.”

Feyre and Elain shared a look, and she instantly knew what her sister was thinking. Nesta was sounding just like their mother. 

“May as well do what we’re told or all hell will break loose,” Feyre muttered.

Still arm in arm, Feyre and Elain made their way into the grand entrance to await the fate of their evening. 

Feyre couldn’t help but notice the hesitant steps Elain was taking. It was almost as if Feyre was the one dragging her along.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Feyre whispered.

Elain nodded, quickly, but her hands were shaking as they took their place in front of Nesta’s carefully placed bouquets. 

~~~~~

Nesta hurried into the dining room to make sure the table was set like she had asked.

To her surprise, it was, down to the very last detail. The blush lace runner was placed over the ivory tablecloth, and the centerpiece of tulips and baby’s breath fit perfectly. Their finest china was placed about, their finest silverware laid beside it. Floral wine glasses were set by each place, shining brightly as if they were scrubbed more than once.

Nesta was satisfied. 

Sweeping through the threshold of the dining room was Cassian, although Nesta had to glance at him twice to realize it.

His typical stableboy wear was replaced with a fine, tailored suit and white gloves. His shoulder-length hair was brushed neatly and tied back at the nape of his neck.

The moment he saw Nesta, he froze. 

As did she.

“Stableboy,” she greeted him.

Cassian bowed his head. “Lady Nesta.”

“I didn’t realize you were still needed to fill Oliver’s position. Is he still unwell?”

They stood on opposite ends of the room, but Nesta felt as if she were standing much closer to him. Details of their night together at the tavern were still blurry, but as the days went by, the more she remembered.

“He’s feeling better, but still has a bit of a cough and such,” Cassian confirmed. “He should be back soon. Until then, here I am.”

“Are you filling both positions?” Nesta asked. “Edward went with my father, did he not?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, quietly. “He did. I tend to the stables, as I usually do, until they tell me that they need me in here. I am grateful to fill both positions.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, unsure if he was telling the truth or not. Yet, he seemed genuine. “Very well. Did they train you properly?”

Cassian blinked. “I...believe so?”

“Hmmm.” Nesta eyed him suspiciously. “Very well.” She looked behind him, through the doorway, and when she saw no one was coming, she asked, “Do you recall me wearing a silver bracelet the other night? When we...when I...was...out? If not, it’s quite alright. I just thought I had it on but it was gone when I awoke the next morning. My mother gifted it to me.”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Oh, I...I’m not sure, Lady Nesta. I was focused more on keeping you upright than your apparel.”

Nesta’s scowl deepened. “Very well. If you find it anywhere, please let me know.”

There was no use, though. Nesta knew she wasn’t the classiest of drunks. It had most likely fallen off at some point, between here and there. 

Cassian bowed his head once more before leaving the room. Nesta watched him leave, surprised at how well he looked when he wasn’t dressed in dirty trousers. 

She looked around to admire the work, once more, before returning to her sisters.

~~~~~

Elain felt uneasy. With every second that passed, her heart beat faster. 

With every second that passed, she longed to take Azriel’s hand and run into the woods, damning the consequences. 

But she knew that was nothing more than a dream.

Elain felt like an eternity had passed before the front doors opened and their footman had announced that Lord Rhysand had arrived. Letting out a breath, Elain felt a burden lifted off her as Lucien was not the first to arrive.

Lord Rhysand entered and politely greeted Nesta and Elain before pausing before Feyre and taking her hand, kissing the backside of her palm softly.

Feyre said nothing. She simply snatched her hand away and put it back at her side.

If Lord Rhysand was surprised by this, he surely didn’t show it. His smile widened as Feyre resisted, and he did not push himself any further. Instead, he began to look around the foyer, at the art and the flowers and the quartet in the corner.

Meanwhile, Feyre’s lips were tight in a straight line as she resisted the urge to follow Lord Rhysand with her curious gaze.

Elain knew she wanted to.

She could tell by her mannerisms. 

She could tell by the way her fingers were curled into fists at her aides, by the way her eyes darted across the room every other second. 

But Elain did not dwell much on Feyre, because as the clock continued ticking, her time ran out.

Lucien would be arriving soon.

“At least look as if you’re pleased,” Nesta mumbled.

Elain cleared her throat. She could do this. She could. 

Lucien was the perfect match. 

Azriel was nothing but….

No, Azriel was everything. He-

The thought was cut off short as the front doors opened and Lord Lucien stepped through. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyes bright - the complete opposite of Elain.

Nesta greeted him, then stepped aside, leave Elain in the spotlight.

“My Lord,” she said and curtsied.

“Lady Elain,” he smiled, bowing. “A pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“And you,” Elain agreed.

He was just as handsome as the last time she had seen him. His russet eyes were shining, his auburn hair tied back and neat. He wore a dark green waistcoat that suited him well.

“I am glad you were able to join us,” Elain said, hoping her voice was much more confident than she felt.

“As am I,” he smiled, then held out his hand.

Elain took it, graciously, although her fingers shook as Lucien pressed his mouth to the back of her palm, and Nesta announced, “Let us make way to the dining room.”

No one protested, although Feyre looked as if she wanted to, as Nesta led them from the foyer to the dining hall.

Although there were only five of them, the long table was set extravagantly. They each took their places, Nesta at the head, before the first course appeared.

Lucien helped Elain into her seat before sitting beside her, the pair sitting across from Lord Rhysand and Feyre - the latter looking as if she may set the whole manor on fire. 

~~~~~

Rhysand handled new places and situations quite well.

Thus far, he had gathered that Nesta thought far too highly of herself. She could not have been but a year or two older than the middle sister; yet, she acted as if she was the rich, snooty aunt that expected everyone to fall at her feet and kiss her ass. 

The middle sister - Elain - looked paler than Rhysand had seen her at the ball. She must have been unwell, Rhysand thought. Hopefully she was not vomit all over the grand place setting. 

Her betrothed - or, soon to be betrothed, rather - did not seem to notice. He simply kept smiling her way and gifting her compliments.

Rhysand swore the butler standing closest to the table holding the water and the wine kept looking at Lord Lucien with a murderous gleam in his hazel eyes. But, then again, he was known to imagine such things.

However, he surely was not imagining the scowl that had contorted Feyre’s own face. 

He had to admit. He rather liked the scowl. He knew that she wasn’t trying to be humorous, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the expression.

Even if he kept that laughter within the boundaries of his mind.

“You haven’t touched your soup,” Rhysand began, taking a bite of his own.

Feyre did not meet his gaze. “It’s hot.”

“Is not,” Rhysand murmured, before taking yet another bite.

“Truly, Feyre, do not be rude,” Nesta scorned, although she paid little attention to the bowl before her. “Lucien, how is your father?”

“He’s well.” Lucien smiled politely. 

“And your brothers? All married now, I presume.”

A strangled noise left Elain’s throat.

“Yes,” Lucien confirmed, smiling at the eldest Archeron sister. “All married.”

Nesta gave him a smile that confirmed what they were all thinking, although Rhysand had to admit that he didn’t care.

All he cared about was the woman beside him, looking at her soup as if it was her greatest enemy. 

“We know plenty about Lucien,” Elain began, clearing her throat, voice quiet. “He’s lived here always, and father is good friends with his.” Lucien smiled at that. “But, we do not know much about you, Lord Rhysand.”

Rhysand lifted a brow, spoon still in his hand. “Is that so? Okay. What do you wish to know?”

Elain hesitated. Apparently she hadn’t thought past her statement.

“What keeps you in town?” Nesta asked. “We are glad you are here, of course, but we all thought you had gone back to Velaris.”

Rhysand hesitated, although his sly smile gave nothing away. He could tell them the truth, of course, but that all seemed too private. He was surely into Feyre, obviously, but he did not trust Nesta whatsoever and Elain seemed concerned with her own internal matters. 

“Family matters,” he said, keeping it simple. “Nothing too serious.”

“Ready to go back to Velaris?” Nesta asked.

“Hopefully,” Feyre mumbled.

“I hear it’s lovely there,” Elain said, having yet to take a bite of her soup. “We’ve never been.”

“It is,” Rhysand confirmed. “Velaris has the most beautiful of nights. The starlight is unique, unlike anywhere else.”

Elain’s gentle smile somehow made him feel homesick as he talked about his beloved Velaris. 

“I hope to take Feyre there,” Rhysand began, “soon.”

“She would love that,” Nesta said, allowing the butler to remove her bowl and make way for the main course.

“She can speak for herself, thank you,” Feyre announced, for the first time in quite some time. “And no, she certainly would not love that.”

Rhysand chuckled as a broad-shouldered butler appeared beside him, hair tied back, and took his bowl.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” he said.

“No need,” Rhysand smiled. “If you need me to move, please say so.”

Before the butler could reply, Nesta rolled her eyes. “Please excuse our stableboy. He’s helping while our butler is sick.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s unwell,” Rhysand said, “but it’s nice to know you have such great help in the stables.”

Nesta looked annoyed at his comment, and the table fell into an uncomfortable silence. 

“Well,” Lucien said, from across the table, seemingly nervous. “I am excited for this meal. It smells delicious.” 

No one said a word for the remainder of the meal.

~~~~~

After supper, Elain gave Lucien a tour of the manor, both inside and out. As they walked around Elain’s garden, he found himself smiling.

Elain had been attempting to avoid eye contact at all times. During supper, Azriel had not even looked at her, not once. It was all she could think about.

“You have a lovely garden,” Lucien said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You’ve done this all on your own?”

“I have,” she said, gently. “It’s one of my greatest passions. I love watching beauty appear from nowhere.”

His smile widened. “That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said, fully aware that he had taken a step nearer to her.

“Lady Elain-”

“Please, you may call me Elain.”

Lucien nodded. “Then you may call me Lucien.”

Elain, despite her nerves and paranoia, smiled. “Very well.”

He cleared his throat, and for the first time in a long while, Elain met his eyes. “You know that our fathers intend us to be married.”

“Yes,” Elain breathed.

“I know we do not know each other all that well, but I know you are a beautiful, respectable woman,” Lucien began. Elain thought she may faint. “I would like to ask for your hand in marriage, Elain. We can start planning and be wed within the year. And, as that time approaches, I hope to spend each day getting to know you, and proving that I will do all I can to be the greatest husband.”

Elain felt her eyes well up with tears. The man in her mind, in her heart, and the man before her were not the same man. And she hated herself for it, because the man in front of her deserved to be married to someone who adored him in every way.

“You are a good man,” Elain said, words flooding out. “I am honored that you have asked.”

Lucien’s smile widened, reaching up to brush away a tear that fell. Then, his smile wavered. The touch of his skin against hers was warm. “I surely do hope these are tears of joy...Have I done something to offend you, La- sorry. Elain.”

Elain huffed a laugh at his hesitation with her title. No, the tears were not tears of joy, but it was not because of him. He was lovely. He was a Lord. He was who she had to marry, or her father would never forgive her, would never speak to her again. She would be disowned.

“Of course,” she said, voice so quiet it could barely be heard above the pounding of her heart. “It would be an honor to be your wife.”

~~~~~

Nesta had abandoned them moments before, leaving Feyre and Rhysand to a sitting room full of uncomfortable silence.

“Is this it?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre shot him a glare from where she sat across from him. “Pardon?”

“Typically there should be some grand romantic gesture to end an evening such as this,” Rhysand said. “This is just awkward.” 

“Then perhaps you should be going home,” Feyre suggested, rising to her feet. “Well, I should walk you out.”

Rhysand’s deep laugh followed her as she hurried out of the room. “Well, Feyre, darling, I had a lovely evening.” 

“That makes one of us,” Feyre said. 

They reached the front doors, then the front walk. 

“Allow me to tell Cassian to bring your carriage around,” Feyre said.

Rhysand laughed. “I am perfectly capable of going to the stables and fetching my own horse. No carriage.”

“You rode your horse to supper?” Feyre asked, stopping in her tracks. “In your fine clothes?”

Rhysand raised a brow, meeting her gaze. “Does that surprise you?” 

It did, but Feyre wasn’t sure why. “Well, then I’ll leave you be. Good night.”

She didn’t step away.

“Is that all?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

This time, she did turn to leave, but that familiar hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back to him. She fell close to his body, and did not dare to move.

“This is inappropriate,” Feyre whispered, although there was no hostility in it. “You are a Lord, and I am a Lady.” 

“Almost as inappropriate as being alone together at an inn?” Rhysand asked. For once, he wore no stupid grin. 

“Almost,” Feyre confirmed.

He was standing close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her forehead, could smell the oaky scent of his cologne. 

“I think I have proven that I have no ill intentions toward you,” he said, his hand brushing along her own. “Yet, all night, you seem to have wanted me gone. Do you truly hate me that much? I thought, perhaps, after the other night, I had grown on you.” 

His words were light, but his stare was intent. Dangerous. His stare made Feyre’s thoughts run wild with thoughts that a Lady should not think. 

“You are cocky and rude,” Feyre said, words shaking.

Rhysand bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Perhaps. But, so are you.”

Feyre thought that he may kiss her then, and she knew that she shouldn’t but she did, she wanted him so badly to close the distance between them and press his mouth against hers. 

But he didn’t.

He stepped away, and bowed, before meeting her gaze, once more. “Goodnight, Feyre. Until next time.”

Feyre turned to watch him as he strode past her, down the path toward the stables. She hated him for not looking back. 

~~~~~

Cassian mounted Marigold the moment Lord Rhysand walked into the stables.

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, but Rhysand just smiled. “No need to explain. I’m just here for my horse. Going out?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Just to the tavern, my Lord.”

Hoping that barmaid is there. He hadn’t realized Nesta’s bracelet had been a gift from her mother. It was all he had thought of the entire evening. 

Guilt. He was filled with guilt.

“Please, call me Rhysand,” he laughed, charmingly, taking his own mare out of her stall. “Mind if I join you?”

Cassian blinked. “You want to join me? At the tavern? You do realize I’m the help, right?”

Rhysand grinned as he pulled his horse into the open. “I do. I also realize I could go for a drink.”

He’s serious, Cassian realized, as Rhysand hopped onto his horse and looked over his shoulder at the stableboy.

“Coming, then?” Rhysand asked, digging his heels into his horse’s side.

“Apparently so,” Cassian muttered, still in disbelief as he followed the Lord of Velaris into the village.

~~~~~

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[illyrianbeauty]

A Not So Chance Encounter: Chapter 8

Rhys is persuaded to attend a fundraiser by his cousin Mor. He didn’t expect to meet the girl of his dreams.

Fic Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

Chapter 8: The Family Dinner

The rest of the week flew by rather uneventfully. Rhys was pretty sure that Cassian had spoken to both Amren and Az about Feyre, considering the looks he kept getting from the three of them. Nosey pricks! He, Az, Cass, and Amren were currently seated at a round table in a private little room of The Mountain, one of his favorite restaurants.  Their table was enclosed by three stone wall mosaics.  The entrance to their little alcove came equipped with an amethyst colored curtain that could be closed for more privacy.  Mor certainly never did anything half-assed, that’s for sure.  The space was undeniably beautiful.  He adjusted the lapels of his jacket again and checked his watch.  Where were they? Mor and Feyre had made plans to come together tonight and they should have been here by now.    

“Stop fidgeting. You look fine,” Az sneered.

“Oh, feeling a little nervous, are we?” Cass taunted, giving him a saccharine smile.

Leaning forward in his seat, Rhys placed his hands on the table and spat out vehemently, “Listen, you promised you would behave yourself this evening. If you can’t do that, then…” He paused to take a deep breath and to calm himself down, lest he say something he would end up regretting.  He continued, “Just be on your best behavior. Just for tonight. Please.”

Amren answered for the three of them by snickering, “Don’t worry Rhysand.  I’ll make sure the children behave themselves tonight.”  Cass and Az looked grossly offended but Rhys just chuckled at her words.  Before Cass could open up his mouth to say anything in retaliation, Mor flounced through the entrance and waltz over to the table.  She grabbed Rhys into a one armed hug, seeing that her other hand was holding tightly onto a brightly wrapped package.  When his cousin finally let him go, his eyes went straight to Feyre.   She was wearing a light blue dress that accentuated her body in all the right places.  Her hair was hanging down her back in wavy curls. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered, if that was possible.

She sauntered up to him and purred, “Happy birthday, Rhys.”  

“Glad you could make it, Feyre Darling.”  he purred right back.  Deciding it was worth the risk, he stood up and pulled her into a hug.  For just a moment, just one moment, he let himself enjoy the feeling of her being in his arms. He tried, he really did try, not to bury his face in her hair. Cauldron, she smelled divine.  He reluctantly let her go and stepped out of her tantalizing scent.  

“Here. This is for you.” she sputtered rather nervously as she handed him a large, flat, rectangular package.  

Rhys looked at her dumbfounded. “You got me a present? You didn’t have to.”  He ignored the pointed looks that his friends and cousin were giving each other, the assholes, and focused on Feyre.  To his delight, he noticed that her ears and cheeks were becoming a delicious shade of pink.  He smiled devilishly at her. She was adorable when she was nervous.

She crossed her arms and huffed, “It’s not too late for me to give the gift to Mor, you prick.”

His friends, the traitors that they were, began laughing.

“Oh, I like her,”  Amren declared enthusiastically.

Mor came and took Feyre by the arm, saying, “Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”  Mor pointed in Rhys’s direction and sniffed, “You know that prick.”  Mor then motioned to the only female sitting at the table. “That’s Amren.  She’s second in command at Velaris and oversees all of the contracts.”  Feyre’s eyebrows shot up at that.

Mor grinned fiendishly.  “But not to worry. She’ll be bumped down as soon as I graduate and take her place.”

Amren just rolled her eyes and snarked, “I’d like to see you try, girl.”

Mor continued with the introductions, “Next to Amern is Cassian.  He’s in charge of security.”

Feyre shook his hand and said cordially, “Pleased to meet you, Cassian.”

“Please, call me Cass.” He smiled broadly at her and to Rhys’s horror said, “We’re excited to finally meet you.  We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And what exactly has Mor told you about me?” Feyre asked with an amused expression.  She looked at Mor and raised a brow.   

“Well, actually…”

Before Cass could finish that damning sentence, Mor cut in, “Moving on.”  She ignored the questioning look Feyre was giving her as she pointed to Az, who was seated on Cass’s other side. “That’s Azriel. He, well, he does a lot of different things at Velaris actually.  He’s in charge of computers and technology.  He also is in charge of making sure that Rhys doesn’t kill Cassian.”

Unsurprisingly, Az did not offer his hand for Feyre to shake.  Rhys saw her glance at his hands, but if she noticed the scars she didn’t give any indication. Az smiled warmly and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre.” She gave him a warm smile in return.  Az had a way of putting people at ease.  It was one of his many, many talents.  

Rhys had taken the gift from Feyre and leaned it up against the wall.  He eyed it with interest.  Through the wrapping paper, he had felt a frame of some type.  Maybe she had gotten him a picture of some sort to hang up.  Hmmm…..  it could go up in his office.  He couldn’t wait to find out what it was.  He brought his attention back to the conversation as he returned to his seat next to Az.  This left two open seats that were next to each other at the table- the one to Amren’s right and the one to Rhys’s left.  By some miracle, Mor took the chair next to Amren which left the only open seat for Feyre right next to him.  His stomach fluttered a little at the thought of being so close to her all night long.

Cassian gave her a wicked smile and taunted, “Have a seat Feyre. We don’t bite. Much.”

Feyre quirked her eyebrow and sniffed, “Hmmm…. All talk and no action.  How very disappointing.”  Cass tipped his head back and roared in laughter.

So far, so good.  Everyone seemed to be getting along. That was a good sign.  A very good sign.    

As Feyre joined them at the table, the waitress came around with the menus and took their drink orders.  Champagne for everyone- Mor had insisted.  Rhys noticed Feyre squirming in her chair and peered at her through the corner of his eyes.  She was scanning the menu, looking extremely uncomfortable.  Oh crap.  She obviously wasn’t used to going to restaurants like this and was probably concerned about the price. That was a problem that could be fixed easily.  

He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Order whatever you want, Darling. I’m footing the bill for the evening.”

She gave him a reproachful look, “Isn’t it your birthday? Why are you the one paying?”

He smirked at her, “Because I can.”

She rolled her eyes and stated, “You are not paying for my dinner.”

“The waitress has already been told that I’m taking care of the bill.  It’s not going to do you any good to argue at this point, Feyre Darling,” he said rather merrily.  “And just in case you’re thinking of being difficult, they have my credit card on file.  I can tell the waitress to not even bring out a check. If I need to.” He gave her a pointed look.

“Prick.”  

“Seriously, though. Don’t worry about the bill. Just enjoy the evening.”

Feyre bit her bottom lip before reluctantly nodding her head. “Ok. Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal. Really.”  Rhys gave her a genuinely happy smile and offered her some truth, “I’m glad you came tonight.  So is Mor.  She’s been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while now.”       

She furrowed her brows and glanced around the table asking, “Family? I thought you said that Mor was your only family.”

Before Rhys could answer her question, the waitress returned with a tray barring glasses of champagne.  Once everyone had a glass, the she went around to take their food orders.  As per usual, Rhys was getting a steak. When Feyre’s turn came around, Rhys was expecting her to order a salad or some other inexpensive item.  What he hadn’t been expecting was for her to order the lobster, one of the most expensive dishes on the menu.  He looked at her with an incredulous expression.

“What?” she asked innocently.  “You said I could order whatever I wanted.” She gave him a devious grin as she took a sip from her champagne.  

“Right you are, Feyre Darling.”  Gods, he loved her wicked sense of humor.   

“So, back to my previous question. How are you all related?” Feyre asked.  Cassian, of course, saw this as an opportunity to butt into the conversation.

“Well, we’re not actually family by blood.  Except Rhys and Mor.  They really are cousins. The rest of us, aren’t actually related.  Az, Rhys, and I grew up together, though.  Rhys’s mom, Rhoswen, took me in when I was 7.  I had been living on the streets for a few months after my mom abandoned me.” Feyre gasped and covered her hand with her mouth, her face horror stricken.  Everyone else at the table already knew the story and were listening again with grim expressions on their faces. Cass continued, “She had become addicted to drugs and couldn’t take care of herself, let alone me.  Needless to say, the early days of my life were shit.  I woke up one day and she was just… gone.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  To anyone else, he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.  Only those at this table, who knew him best, could tell how much telling this story hurt him.  “I never knew who my father was.  Never met the man.  After my mom left, I was on my own for a bit.  Scraping by just to survive. Then Rhoswen found me and took me in.  Gave me a home, a family.” He cocked his head towards Azriel, adding, “Az was the next stray that she took in.”  

Rhys looked around the small group of people sitting at the table and thought, not for the first time, that he was really lucky to have each and every one of them in his life.     

Feyre’s eyes darted down to Az’s hands and back up to his face.  She seemed to realize that Az wasn’t comfortable talking about the burns and didn’t ask him to explain. Instead she asked tactfully, “How old were you when you went to stay with Rhys’s family?”

Rhys watched the expression on his brother’s face carefully as he said, “I was 8 when Rhoswen rescued me and brought me to live with the family.  Reiterating what Cass had said earlier, my homelife before that was complete shit.”

Noticing Az’s discomfort, Rhys jumped in, “We all couldn’t stand each other at first. We were constantly bickering and competing for my mother’s attention.”

“Rhys, you were such a dorky little shit,” Cass crowed. “Always reading your books and comics.”    

“Like you can talk.  You were the one with the Star Wars obsession,” Az snorted.  Talking about his past never got any easier for Az.  Though Rhys hoped that one day it might.  At least he looked a little less haunted now.

“Hey! Star Wars is still way cool!” Cass declared indignantly.

Rhys rolled his eyes at his brothers and continued with the story, “It took us a few years to start getting along and became friends.  We finally figured out that we do better together than separately.”

Cass clapped Az on the back and said, “Now these two pricks are more than friends to me. They’re brothers.”  

Az glared and Cassian’s offending arm and sighed, shaking his head slightly.

Rhys pointed to Mor, saying, “This one was always hanging around the house, too.  We couldn’t seem to get rid of her, no matter how hard we tried”

“Oh, please. Like you nerds would have had any fun without me around!” she retorted.     

“Yeah, because tea parties and ponies are sooo much fun,” Cass said sarcastically, resting his elbows on the table.  Mor sat up straighter and was preparing to lay in to Cass.

Feyre must have sensed that a war was brewing between the two because she looked at Amren and said, “Did you grow up with everyone as well?”

“No, girl. I didn’t grow up with these idiots.”  

Rhys felt himself bristle at Feyre being called a girl. He would have to have words with Amren later about that. If Amren noticed his ire, she paid him no mind and continued, “I meet Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand in college. After graduation, Rhys asked me to join Velaris. I agreed.”

Rhys couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. Short and to the point, but no less dramatic.

Enticing smells entered the room just before two gentlemen appeared with their food.  The conversation ceased for a short time as they all dug in and enjoyed their entrees.  

“How’s the lobster, Darling?”

“It’s wonderful.  Thank you again for paying. How’s your steak?”

Rhys waved his hand dismissively, “It’s no problem. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”  He got a devious look on his face. “The steak is delicious, by the way. Just like you in that dress. I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look this evening,” Rhys purred.  Just like he had anticipated, Feyre’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.  He could have sworn he heard Az fake coughing in order to conceal a laugh.  

She turned away from him muttering, “Shameless, flirting prick.”

Before he could continue the conversation, Az said, “So Feyre. Tell us a little about yourself. Mor mentioned the two of you met in an art class.”

Feyre smiled shyly before saying, “Yup. I’m an art major at the University. I’ll be graduating in May, thank the Cauldron.  I’m hoping to open my own gallery at some point in the future. I work part time at this fancy gallery downtown.  You know- trying to make connections and get my foot in the door.” She scoffed before continuing, “So far, it hasn’t worked too well though.”

Cass asked, “What do you do at the gallery? I’ll admit, I don’t know the first thing about them.”

For some reason, Feyre turned the deepest shade of red and stammered, “Umm… well, you know… paperwork and stuff.”

Cassian scented blood. “Oh come now, Feyre. You can tell us!” he cajoled.

Feyre looked utterly mortified as she mumbled, “I work as a security guard- making sure no one damages the art.”  

“I knew I liked you for a reason.  Do you know any self- defense? Did they give you any training?” Cass looked as though he had won the lottery.

Feyre glanced around the table and seemed surprised no one was mocking her. That was strange.  Rhys wondered why she seemed slightly ashamed of her job.  He was pretty sure he knew the reason why. Fucking Tamlin.  Rhys felt rage begin to consume him.  He would bet good money that he didn’t think the job was good enough for a girlfriend of his. Asshat.

Feyre looked back at Cass and said, “Well, I didn’t get much training.  We watched a video. That’s about all.”  Rhys felt himself calming down as he watched the interaction between his brother and Feyre.  

Cass grinned fiendishly at her and stated, “Well, you’re in luck. It just so happens that I’m the best in Prythian, not to mention the most handsome.” He gave her a cheeky wink, saying, “I’d be more than happy to teach you some stuff, if your interested.”

She gave him a look, considering, “I’ll think about it and let you know. I appreciate the offer, though.”   

Just when Rhys thought he couldn’t eat another bite, in walks the waitress with a gigantic chocolate cake.  Mor lead the others in a horrific rendition of Happy Birthday, which had them laughing so hard they were nearly in tears.

As they enjoyed the cake, Mor asked Feyre about her plans for the upcoming holiday.

Feyre rolled her eyes and grumbled, “I’m going to Nesta’s for dinner.  Elain is bringing her boyfriend Graysen, so it’ll be the four of us.  I think she wants to impress her boyfriend so she wants a big, traditional Thanksgiving.”

“Well, good luck. Hope you and Nesta don’t kill each other,” Mor joked.

Feyre huffed, “Honestly, I’m more concerned about Nesta killing Elain’s boyfriend.”  She shook her head.  

What intrigued Rhys, was the fact that Feyre hadn’t said anything about him joining her family for the holiday.  Knowing he may come to regret it, he asked, “So the boyfriend won’t be joining in on the family festivities? How unfortunate.”

Feyre loosed a long sigh and said bitterly, “No. He isn’t coming. He and Nesta don’t really get along. He’s going to spend the day at a friend’s house.” She shrugged as though trying to relieve the irritation she was feeling. Rhys had never met Feyre’s sisters.  She actually didn’t talk about them much. He knew there were some definite issues between Feyre and the eldest Archeron sister.  He had to admit though, his opinion of Nesta improved at hearing her dislike of Tamlin.

“What about you Mor? What are your plans?”    

“Well, the five of us: me, Rhys, Cass, Az, and Amren are going to Rhys’s place for dinner. Nothing too fancy. The usual.”

“Sounds fun. I’m kind of jealous, actually.”

Rhys interjected, “You know you can always join us if your family dinner is too stressful, Darling.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Rhysee Poo. But thanks for the offer,” Feyre simpered.

Mor pushed away her plate of half- eaten birthday cake and rubbed her stomach in slow circles. “Ugh, I’m so full.”

There were nods of agrement all around the table.  

Mor suddenly sat up straighter and practically sang, “Presents! Mine first!” She leaned across the table and handed Rhys the colorful package she had brought along.  She was bouncing in her seat, barely able to contain her excitement.  Her mood was contagious.  He tore at the wrapping of the package with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.  His eyes widened at the sight of the first edition, signed copy The Hobbit, of one of his all time favorite books.  Holy shit!

“Mor, this is amazing! Thank you!”  He couldn’t believe she had gotten him that thoughtful of a gift.  She knew him so well! He stood up and wrapped her in a big bearhug.  He smacked a kiss on her cheek and said, “Thank you. I love it!”

Mor simply gave him a haughty look and said, “I knew you would.  And I expect nothing less than an absolutely amazing gift for my birthday in return.”

He grinned at her. “Deal.”

“Ok. Enough of this sappy crap. Ours next,” Cassian said as he threw an envelope at Rhys, barely missing his head. “It’s from Az and I. Happy birthday, bastard.”

Gods, they better not have gotten him something embarrassing! Both Az and Cassian had matching grins on their faces and soon Rhys found himself grinning like an idiot too.  He opened up the envelope, pulled out the card, and began reading.  He laughed in delight with his two friends and declared, “Hell ya!  This is going to be awesome”

“Ummm…. Care to fill the rest of us in?” Mor hissed.

“They’re taking me fishing,” Rhys informed them.

“Fishing?” Mor inquired.

“Well, not just fishing.” Cass explained.  “We found this badass cabin in the mountains and rented it for the three of us.  We are going to spend a week in the spring time drinking, fishing, hiking, and more drinking.” He sat back in his chair looking pleased as punch.

Mor, Feyre, and Amren all exchanged bewildered expressions.  

“It must be a man thing,” Feyre pondered. The three men looked at eachother and began laughing.

Amren sniffed, “Ugh. Definitely a man thing. Thank the Cauldon you joined our group tonight, Feyre, or Mor and I would have been completely outnumbered.”  

Mor shook her head vehemently in agreement and muttered, “Boys.”

“Who else has a gift for me?” Rhys hollered.  

“I came tonight. You’re welcome,” Amren retorted, with a serpentine smile.

Everyone at the table, Rhys included, stared at her for a solid fifteen seconds before breaking out into a round of laughter.

“Well, I guess that just leaves my gift,” Feyre stammered nervously once everyone had calmed down.  

Not that Rhys had been able to forget about the large gift for a moment all night.  He was curious about what was making her so nervous. He carefully collected the gift from where it had been resting and brought it back to the table.  He, ever so carefully, tore open the wrapping paper.  He gazed in awe at what he held in his hands.  It was a beautiful painting of the night sky.  She had painted. For him.  He could clearly see her initials FA etched on the bottom right hand corner of the canvas.  He was completely and utterly floored.  She had told him how much she loved painting but rarely had the time to indulge in anything other than school assignments.  He tore his eyes away from the masterpiece and found Feyre nervously watching him.  She was wiggling side to side in her chair in anticipation.

“If you don’t like it, I can get you something else or paint something else….”

He gave her a smile that he hoped conveyed everything he was feeling, and croaked, “It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.”

She looked relieved and visibly relaxed.

“Happy birthday Rhys,” she said softly.  

“Let us see it, jackass,” Cassian drawled.  Rhys reluctantly passed his gift to Az so that the rest of his friends could see the painting.

He leaned over and whispered, “Thank you, Darling.” He brushed his lips against her cheek in the lightest of kisses.  Her skin felt devine!  He was just beginning to pull away when he heard her breath hitch.  His eyes shot up to meet hers. They were close enough that their breaths mingled together.  Rhys glanced down at her lips.  She was biting her lower lip again. Fuck, that was so damn sexy.  He tore his eyes away from her luscious lips and looked back at her eyes.  He couldn’t read the expression on her face.  Was it possible that she felt something for him?  She was almost close enough for him to kiss her lips. He only needed to lean forward an inch or two.

“Damn, Fey. This is amazing! I might have to get you to make me one too!” Mor shrieked.  

And just like that, the moment was gone.  Feyre jerked back in her chair and stammered, “Thanks, Mor.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair and tried to gain some semblance of his self-control back.  He glanced across the table at his friends admiring the painting and began formulating a plan in his head.  A plan that would include him seeing a lot more of Feyre.

[queen-archeron]

Wildest Dreams // Part 4

Summary: Nesta has finally gotten the chance to get away from her small hometown of Prythian, and move to the big city of New York. She knows it won’t be easy to adjust to this new, independent life of hers, especially with an overprotective boyfriend constantly stressing her out. Cassian has lived in the city for a little less than a year, along with the rest of his Inner Circle of friends, and life couldn’t be better. When Nesta moves into the apartment next door though, many things change.

Tags: @highladyfxyre @fiery-feyre @justasimplereader @my-life-is-a-drama-book @eternally-reading @rhysand-and-rowan @the-bookish-soul@emdig2001@reinakatarina @wolffrising @ifinallygavein @blxckbeak@watermelonwiggle17@live-the-fangirl-life @disneyaddict27@yourejustassaneasiam3 @rebelangel36@joepesci-isfine @photofeesh @little-eidolon @escapingtheconstrictingboxes@highladyoferilea @angelina-figjam@pattyb324-blog @gofoxyrself @empress-ofbloodshed

(If you’d like to be tagged send me an ask!!💘)

Note: I think this is my favorite part so far! :)) I hope you all enjoy it!!

Word Count: 2,731

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Nesta was furious.

If her new neighbor was a stalker, she was going to have some serious issues. Feyre looked between her and Cassian with a raised brow, and awkward silence filled the air around them.

“How do you two know each other?” Feyre asked, looking between Nesta and her annoying neighbor.

Cassian leaned back in his seat with a lazy smile on his face. “Nesta’s my new neighbor. She ran into me on the street the other-“

“You ran into me.” She snapped, and everyone looked at her. She only folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips, giving them a glare. She didn’t care what they thought of her, especially Cassian. She didn’t want him to think she would be the kind, happy neighbor he seemed to picture in his tiny mind.

“Why are you here?”

Cassian chuckled at her words and motioned to the man who currently had his arms wrapped around her little sister.

“Rhys has been my friend since childhood, and he wanted me to come along to meet Feyre.” Surprise lit in his eyes and he looked at Nesta, assessing her from head to toe. “Wait, are you…”

“Nesta is my oldest sister. I guess you guys don’t need introducing,” Feyre said with a light laugh as she sat down in the chair next to Rhys, resting her head against his shoulder. Nesta eyed the movement and held back her scowl.

“So, you’re Rhysand?” She asked, taking a seat across from Cassian, who tracked her every move.

“Indeed,” Rhys said, wrapping an arm around Feyre to hold her closer. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Nesta gave him a quick smile. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Cassian scoffed at her from his seat. “So when he introduces himself to you, you’re nice, but when I do you’re mean?”

Feyre looked away from them, and Nesta knew she was hiding her smile. No one ever talked back to Nesta. No one.

“Rhys didn’t bump into me on the street-“

“I didn’t bump into you! You bumped into me-“

They were interrupted by a loud cough coming from Rhysand. He looked awkwardly between the two. “So, clearly you guys are having a little rough patch in your friendship-“

“What friendship?” Nesta asked, genuinely curious about where Rhys got that crazy idea.

“Well, I figured since you guys are next door neighbors you’d be friends. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Nesta and Cassian glared at each other when they both spoke at the same time, and Feyre shook her head.

Thankfully, a waiter came to their table and helped them avoid any further questioning. They all ordered some drinks, and Cassian headed towards the bar when the waiter left, leaving Nesta alone with the two lovebirds.

“So…” She started, glancing between the two as they stared intensely into each others eyes. She felt like she was interrupting some kind of intimate moment, because the two were practically having eye sex.

“SO…”

Feyre snapped her attention back to Nesta and grinned. “How’s Thomas?”

Feyre knew talking about Thomas made Nesta uncomfortable, and she shoved down the smart ass reply she had come up with, instead forcing a smile to her lips.

“He’s great. As always.”

Feyre saw through the lie, of course, but Rhys rose a brow. “Who’s Thomas?”

“The guy Nesta refuses to-“

“He’s my boyfriend,” Nesta said quickly, cutting her sister off before she could start something. Feyre narrowed her eyes and Nesta snarled.

She knew what Feyre was trying to do. She’d been trying to break the two up for weeks now. Nesta didn’t let Feyre’s words get to her, even if sometimes they were true, but she knew her sister was trying to protect her. The only thing Feyre didn’t realize was that Nesta didn’t need protecting.

Rhys leaned back in his chair as the waiter arrived with their drinks, setting them in front of every person’s seat. Even though everyone else had ordered wine, or some kind of strong drink, Nesta ordered a Shirley Temple. On any other night she would have joined the others, but tonight she was too exhausted.

She was too worried. Now that Thomas was in the back of her mind, she was paranoid he would somehow show up in that bar and find her.

“I’m actually going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” Nesta said as she stood and smoothed down the front of her dress.

“We’ll be here,” Rhys announced, giving her a quick smile.

She made her way through the crowd of people and finally managed to find the bathroom. She walked inside and went directly to the mirror, checking her makeup and hair.

She took calming breaths and tried to get rid of all the panic that had suddenly built up inside her. Recently, she had been having panic attacks more frequently, and she knew it was a mixture of stress and exhaustion. She’d been sleeping in longer, which only made her feel lazier.

He isn’t here. He isn’t here.

She repeated it over and over until she could finally open her eyes and see clearly. She quickly washed her hands and headed back into the busy bar.

~

Cassian’s phone buzzed and he picked it up from where it lay on the bar counter.

I can’t make it tonight, sorry man.

Azriel’s text flashed across the screen and Cassian groaned. Now he had to be alone with two lovebirds and his grumpy next door neighbor. Azriel was supposed to keep him company all night.

He grabbed his glass of whiskey and started to head towards the table, trying not to get shoved by anyone on his way. Of course, he failed. Someone ran right into him, and his drink spilled all over them.

No, not them. Nesta.

She looked up at him with rage and cursed. “Seriously? This is brand new. Do you never look where you’re going?”

Cassian was looking around quickly for someone who could grab some napkins, but all he saw was a crowd of drunk people by the bar, and no waiters in sight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you and-“

She held a hand up to his face and growled. “Save it. If this is your attempt at making ‘friends’ it’s not working.”

Cassian was about to reply with a rude comment, but she was already storming towards the table which was now in view. Cursing at himself for screwing everything up once again, he made his way back.

Feyre was practically in Rhys’s lap, but Cassian ignored them and grabbed the seat next to Nesta.

“At least let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can-“

“The best thing to do right now is to stop talking to me.” She glared at him and turned to Feyre and Rhys.

“So how did you two meet again?”

Cassian narrowed his eyes at her as she completely shut him out. He had never been treated so…rudely, before. Nesta wasn’t even giving him a chance, and he started to think that maybe he was passing a line. But he was far from it.

He had been kind to her, and even helped her get into her apartment, but she still pushed him away like he was some rodent. It made him want to scream, but he kept his calm and listened to Feyre and Rhysand.

“While I was at NYU for a tour, we got to have a lunch break, and I went to this café near Washington Square Park. Rhys was sitting at the table next to me, and when I took some of my paintings out of my bag, he said they looked beautiful,” she smiled to herself as she spoke, and Cassian could see the way they looked at each other.

She was the one for Rhys. He could tell.

“We started having a conversation from there, kind of getting to know each other, and the next time I came back was to apply for classes. We ran into each other again when I had finished, and he took me out to lunch and…” She glanced at Rhys who was listening to everything with a small smile on his face. “We exchanged numbers and I started to come here more often. I just hope NYU accepts me, that way we’ll be closer.”

Cassian had never heard the whole story. He had only heard bits and pieces from Rhys’s point of view, but hearing it fully made him grin.

His gaze moved to Nesta who was also smiling, but for some reason, Cassian sensed it wasn’t real. He wondered if she ever smiled for real. It seemed so unlike her.

He made it his goal to see her smile at least once in his life. A real smile.

As he watched her, his eyes trailed down to her upper arm, where a bruise lay on her pale skin. He looked a little closer and realized that it almost looked like…finger marks.

Confusion filled his head, and he returned his gaze back to the side of her face.

She turned to look at him and immediately caught him staring. “Take a picture it will last longer,” she rolled her eyes and muttered.

Cassian smirked, erasing all thoughts about the bruise. “I’d love to take a picture.”

She gave him a threatening look and turned back to Rhys and Feyre. “That sounds lovely. I’m glad you two are happy together.”

Feyre cuddled closer to Rhys and smiled at her sister. “Thank you, I am too.”

Cassian could sense some tension coming from Nesta, but he decided not to comment and instead took another sip of his drink. The music around them had gotten louder as more people began to arrive, and Cassian watched the groups of people dancing across the room.

Tonight, he couldn’t get his mind off Nesta…again.

~

The cool night air hit Nesta as she made her way outside of the now crowded bar. Lights illuminated the streets and she quickly tightened her overcoat around her shoulders, protecting her bare skin from the chilly breeze.

Rhys and Feyre had stayed behind a little longer, and Cassian had been getting ready to leave as well. She thankfully got out before he did.

She had not meant to be so…harsh.

Lately, she had lost all of her patience. She wanted to blame Thomas, but she couldn’t. He did so much for her, and blaming him would be unfair. He loved her.

Honking sounded down the street, and she quickly made her way across the crosswalk to the sidewalk in the other side of the street. The smell of smoke and food filled the air, and she regretted not taking a cab back to the apartment. At this hour, she would never get one with the thousands of people out and about.

Her dress was still wet down the front, and the cool air didn’t help. She would have to get a new one soon, since that was one of the only nice dresses she owned.

She turned the corner onto a less busy street and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Quick footsteps sounded from behind her, and Cassian’s voice caught her attention.

“You walk very fast,” he muttered, even as she continued walking ahead. He caught up and they walked side by side. She wore a hard expression, acting like he wasn’t there.

“Nesta, I’m sorry about your dress,” he said softly, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. She ignored him and walked faster, trying to get rid of him like he was some clingy child.

Just as she sped up, he gripped her arm gently and made her stop, breathing heavily. She almost snapped at him again, until he spoke.

“Listen, I don’t understand what I ever did to you, but you need to cool the attitude. I’ve been nothing but nice, and all I wanted was to have someone to talk to in that stupid apartment building. Clearly you aren’t the person though. So if you ever decide to get out of your little shell, let me know, because right now nothing’s working out.”

She was utterly speechless. The tone he used made her see red, but his words…

She was pushing people away, like she did best. She was pushing him away, even though he did nothing to her.

He stared at her for another minute before releasing her arm and strolling forward, towards the apartment building a couple blocks ahead. Nesta felt empty, and she didn’t know why, but she decided not to let him go so easily.

“I’m sorry.”

She thought he couldn’t hear her, and she didn’t try too hard to be loud, but he stopped and stared straight ahead, facing away from her.

“I’m not good at opening up to people,” she said honestly, her arms wrapping around herself as a breeze swept through the street.

Cassian turned to look at her with a blank expression.

“I push people away. It’s natural for me. I’m-I’m sorry.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, and she wished they didn’t. She wished she could apologize without feeling weak or self-conscious. She wished she could open up to people and make more friends. She wished so many things that a headache began to form.

Cassian jerked his head towards the long street ahead, and she realized that was his way of telling her to follow him.

She made her face expressionless again and walked up to his side.

“I used to be like you, but I met Rhys and Az, and now everything’s different.” His voice was distant, and they both began walking as he continued. “All you need is someone to teach you not to be afraid of opening up. For me, it was Rhys and Az.”

She glanced up at him and rose a brow, deciding not to question who Az was. “I don’t have anyone.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

She quickly glanced at the ground and bit her bottom lip. “Yes. I do.”

Cassian was silent for a moment, and she looked up at him to see him staring at her arm. At the bruise.

She pulled her coat over the mark and continued walking, hoping he wouldn’t ask where it came from. She would have to wear long sleeves for the next few days until it disappeared.

The building came into view on the next street, and Cassian glanced down at her again.

“Do you like the apartment?” Such a dry question, and she would have rolled her eyes, but she answered instead.

“It’s nicer than the house I used to live in. There’s a lot more space.”

Cassian nodded in agreement and they finally stepped towards the door into the building. He pulled his ID from his pocket and scanned it, causing the door to unlock. He held it open for her and she muttered a small, “Thank you.”

“Just warning you,” Cassian said in a low voice as she pushed the elevator button. “The guy across from us is old and cranky, so if you ever run into him don’t be surprised.”

Her lips twitched into an almost smile, and they entered the elevator.

The ride up was quiet, and she began tapping her foot against the floor, until she realized she had told Cassian to stop the first time they had met. She glanced at him to see a smirk on his face, and for some reason a blush creeped up to her cheeks, so she quickly looked at the ground, hiding er face behind her hair.

The doors eventually opened and they walked  down the hall to their apartments, stopping outside their doors.

Nesta looked up at Cassian and smiled. It wasn’t real, but she figured she had to look somewhat happy.

“Can you get into your apartment this time?” He teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I can manage.”

He nodded and walked over to his door, getting his key out. “Goodnight, Nesta.”

“Goodnight,” she said, and watched as he entered his apartment.

She took her key out and opened the door, smiling to herself because for the first time in a while, she felt alive. She didn’t feel alone for once.

But that moment ended when she turned around to find Thomas staring at her.

And he didn’t look happy.

[rwolf19]

Garden - An Elucien Fic

Length: 2379

Rating: T, SFW

Next | The Pull (Nessian) | Star of Spring

A/N: I'm back with more I-should-be-asleep-but-I'm-writing 'cause my crush is coming over in a few to watch some Hobbit so I'm awake. This is an Elucien fic (no shit, right?) that takes place a little before my Nessian fic but still post-ACOWAR. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to continue The Pull -- not like I already wrote the next chapter or anything ;)

—•—•—•—•—

They did a lot of quiet sitting. Lucien seemed happy to sit and read in her presence and Elain . . . didn't mind at all. Every so often he would get up to do something in another room (she pretended not to watch as he moved) and return only to sit some place else, closer to her. She didn't mind that either.

 Elain did not want to be forward. She didn't know how many people Lucien had been with. She didn't know if any had been as quiet as her. She felt like she didn't know anything about his life before her. Feyre had given her a quiet warning not to talk about Tamlin, who Elain was perpetually confused about. She didn't even know how many hundreds of years old Lucien was, or if he was just fifty years old. She wondered when fifty years old had become young to her.

Elain never, never tried to use her abilities to see Lucien. Not once. She didn't want to know. She wasn't brave like Nesta and Feyre. She'd rather pretend to be as normal as a human-turned-faerie could be. Considering her models were her sisters, she was struggling.

Elain finished a chapter and fitted a book marker Azriel had found for her between the pages. Lucien was watching her over his own book, not at all discreetly. She hoped she wasn't as obvious about her staring whenever he got up. She didn't mind his eyes on her, she just didn't know if he didn't like it when she watched him. She didn't want to upset him.

"I'm going up to the garden," she said softly.

Lucien nodded, "Would . . . would you like me to join you?"

Elain nodded back, biting her lip. She never asked him to come with her. She didn't want him to feel obligated to accompany her. But if he wanted to, if he offered, that was different. He closed his book and set it down on top of hers, offering his arm. Elain took it, looking away from him down to the floor. They went upstairs together, chatting amicably about their books.

"You know, it's a little odd, actually," Lucien chuckled. "Feyre recommended it to me."

"She understands people so easily," Elain sighed. She was never sure of what someone else thought, of her or anything else. She just wanted them to be happy and she could do that with little things. She liked little things, flowers and the tiny birds that flitted through the small fruit trees, smiles from strangers and a friendly face. So, she thought, at least some people must be happy with those things too.

"You believe the best of people," Lucien said. "Not enough do."

Elain met his eyes for a heart beat as they paused near the door to the roof. "You think that's a good thing?"

Lucien smiled, "I think it's a wonderful thing. And . . . I'd like to see you keep believing the best of people."

"You don't think I will?"

He chuckled, a low rumbling that Elain liked. She had learned all sorts of male laughs lately, what with Feyre's Court, but she enjoyed Lucien's most. She didn't know if it was because they were mates or because it sounded so genuinely amused. "You've already seen a war, Elain. If that hasn't shaken you, I don't want to know what will."

Elain liked the way he said her name, too. His voice in general. She kissed his cheek before she could convince herself not to and skipped out to her garden. She also liked that he had faith in the part of her that she was so scared would leave her. Everyone spoke of how kind she was and said she was a sweetheart (though they said it differently than Cassian did when he crooned in at her sister). She feared waking up one day and finding herself taking joy in other's misery. The closest she'd ever come to that was stabbing someone in the neck. She didn't particularly want to do it again, though.

Elain pulled weeds that shouldn't have been able to find their way to the rooftop garden. She suspected the birds of carrying seeds. Lucien tried to help. He knew enough not to accidentally uproot her flowers. He missed some, though. Elain paused as she touched a late blooming flower. She could hear ten thousand roots pushing into the ground, Lucien's steady heart and breathing, the City of Starlight's bustling.

"Elain?" He was touching her arm gently where she knelt. She leaned back into him, touching her head gently. It was all so much sometimes. She still was adjusting to her new form and gifts. Things came to her so vaguely. She couldn't think over the plants' rustling. The wind was howling, louder and louder. "Elain," Lucien's warm breath tickled her brow as he pulled her hair back with hands that felt even larger than usual. He shifted to kneel in front of her carefully. She tried to find his eyes. She could hear the not-russet one whirring and clicking. His heart beat was becoming faster. "Elain, are you all right?" She closed her eyes, trying to keep the sun from burning her eyes. She could hear worms twisting in the earth, the same way they had twisted through bodies not long ago. "My mother is a lot like you," Lucien said quietly. "She has powers no one expected of her and she is so incredibly kind. But my father, he doesn't care about her kindness. After he gets what he wants from her, he doesn't care at all. He has the power to control flames too, but there isn't a thing about him that's warm. My mother, on the other hand, was the warmest personality I ever knew, until, that is, I met you. My father hasn't actively strived to smother her kindness, but it has been happening for centuries regardless. You've never had a soul do that to you. And I want to keep anyone from trying, purposefully or not."

"Did you tell Nesta that?" Elain murmured. She looked up at him finally. She hadn't realized how much she was shaking until she saw her hand on his shoulder, twitching.

"Nesta won't hear more than three words out of my mouth before she attacks me or leaves the room," Lucien smiled but he looked the same way he did when he was tired after a long night of Feyre's Court bickering.

"I'm sorry," Elain whispered.

"You're still adjusting to- to everything. You have nothing to apologize for," Lucien's brows scrunched so that there was a line between them. Elain liked it. It seemed very human.

Wings boomed above them, and Elain looked up. Feyre, Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian dropped down from the sky, landing one after another. Lucien helped Elain to her feet, and she wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress without thinking.

"How my garden?" Rhys called.

"Your garden? Elain takes care of it," Feyre shoved him, pausing to flare her wings out in the sun with a sigh. Rhys dragged a finger down her wing and she gasped.

"My house."

"Our house."

"You make house payments?”

"I didn't realize you make house payments," Feyre said slowly, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"The plants would all be dead without Elain," Lucien called bluntly. She murmured a denial and hid behind him slightly.

"Elain's garden," Azriel nodded, offering her one of his small smiles. She returned it before looking to the door, waiting. Ten seconds later, Nesta burst through it. She stopped once through the door, taking in the winged troop before her. She and Cassian each took a step toward one another before stopping.

Elain was just mildly irritated with this. She had seen a nephew of hers, winged and dark haired and tanned. She just didn't know which of her sisters he belonged to and when he would arrive. It had been Mor holding him, clapping his hands together as she sang. But it wasn't Mor's child. She knew it more surely than she did most things that had already happened. Nesta turned to Feyre, "I take it flying is going well."

"Cassian nearly took her arm off training," Rhys grumbled. They all started moving toward Nesta and the door. She stepped aside to let them through. 

"She nearly decapitated me," Cassian protested from the back of the group. Azriel chuckled and ducked inside. Feyre followed.

"You taught me well, you should be proud," Feyre laughed.

"Proud my ass," Rhys muttered.

Cassian lingered to murmur something to Nesta even Elain couldn't hear. Nesta scowled and pushed him, though Elain thought she saw a blush redden her cheeks. Cassian chuckled and trailed her inside.

"Do you want to go in or stay out here?" Lucien asked, his hand finding the small of her back. He was very warm.

"I haven't done much gardening yet," Elain said quietly, looking down at her flowers. "You can join them, if you want."

"Would you rather I stay with you?" She found his eyes at this. He asked her more questions than any other being she'd met. She didn't know if it was because her sisters had scared him so terribly or if that was just his way. She found her fingers tracing the edges of his scar.

"You understand people better than I do," Elain whispered. "Do you know why they say mean things to one another and laugh about it?"

"No, not really. Mostly to show their friends they like them, as far as I know," Lucien smiled, his hand sliding across her back slightly. She was very close to him. "But it is good fun."

"Flowers don't do that," Elain said, not entirely sure why she was talking. He was looking at her . . . She couldn't explain it.

"They certainly don't," he admitted. His hair was pulled back. It looked bright and lively in the sun.

"You're rude to others and dote on me too much," Elain tried. She was certain Cassian would've roared with laughter at her poor attempt at mimicry. Lucien just smiled wider.

"You spend too much time with flowers," Lucien said. Elain smiled to match him. He laughed and leaned down so his forehead touched hers. "I feel like a child again."

Elain giggled, "I think I might still be a child, compared to the rest of you."

"Not many children can boast of your aptitude for foliage."

"Foliage?" Elain gasped. "Foliage?!"

Lucien laughed harder, his shaking rolling through her.

"Well, Lucien," Elian's face heated. But Feyre would've said it to Rhys. And she wouldn't have even thought it a brave thing to say. And Elain wanted to say it, and she wanted to see how Lucien would react. "Not many children can boast of your aptitude for seducing females."

His laughter bubbled out. He was looking at her that way again. "I didn't realize my abilities applied to you."

The low way he spoke made Elain bite her lip and find safe haven in staring at his chin. She couldn't help it when her gaze drifted to his lips. She was still holding his face, still gently stroking the marred skin below his eye.

"Maybe you aren't as good at people as I thought," Elain murmured. Lucien smiled again, smaller and more predatory. Feyre would've called it 'male satisfaction.' Elain didn't mind it at all.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Elain," he breathed. She closed her eyes as he leaned closer until finally his lips met hers. He was soft and gentle, even when her hand slid back into his hair. As though they had all the time in the world, and they were the only ones in it. She felt it for the first time. The bond between them. Her joy was echoed and multiplied on the other side of it. She could hardly breathe by the time they pulled apart. Lucien touched his forehead to hers again, laughing quietly as she giggled.

"I haven't wanted to do that in a while," Lucien said.

"I thought I was more tantalizing than that," Elain pouted. He kissed her cheek gently, another laugh rumbling through him.

"You have no idea," Lucien promised.

"Tell me."

"Elain," Lucien coughed, pulling away from her slightly. Her hand drifted out of his hair down to his shoulder. She brushed at the nape of his neck with her fingertips lightly. "You'd think I was some kind of . . . uncontrolled beast."

"Tell me, mate," Elain said, watching him. His eyes widened slightly and he stared blankly at her, blinking several times. She liked to surprise Lucien, she decided.

"There are moments," Lucien sighed, leaning closer to her until his breath tickled her ear. She closed her eye again, listening to his voice. "Where I want nothing more than to throw you against the wall and tear your clothes off. And I have to think of what Nesta would do to me to stop myself from touching you."

"Are you really that scared of her?"

"I've considered alliances with Cassian to distract her, but I doubt he'd risk his own neck for me," Lucien chuckled.

"I'll talk to her," Elain kissed his jaw. He buried his head in her neck, breathing in the scent of her. She did the same. The scent of people was still such an odd thing to her. Yes, she could see and taste and hear so much better, but the scents were off putting. She could track Nesta and Feyre starting from where they'd been hours before. Lucien's scent was as warm and welcoming as his voice.

"Elain? Are you still-"

She pulled away from Lucien just slightly at her sister's voice. His hand hooked around her waist lightly. Feyre's eyes darted between Elain and Lucien. She neither smiled nor frowned. She just watched them for a moment. "Nesta is going to have a trip south of the- of Spring Court in about a month and a half," Feyre said plainly. "We're eating dinner at the House of Wind in a few minutes."

"Shall I get started on the steps?" Lucien asked drily.

"Cassian will come back for you," Feyre said, turning to go back inside. "Probably."

[janelizziemarykittylydia-blog]

Shattered Glass Smiles, Chapter 2

Synopsis:  In which the year is 1959, Feyre is engaged to Senator Tamlin Greene, and Rhysand is the head of a notorious mafia dynasty called the Night Court.

Send me prompts!

AO3

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2: “Pistol in My Pocket”

-2-

"Pistol in My Pocket"

The next morning, Tamlin rose from our bed at eight o'clock sharp, stumbling around our room as he yanked on his suit.

He spent most days at his campaign office in midtown, speaking to his PR manager and refining the finer points of his policies. I'd asked to visit once, but he'd just patted my head. Politics isn't the place for a woman, he'd said, and I hadn't argued.

"I'll see you tonight," he said now, kissing my cheek. His chin was freshly-shaven, and he smelled of Old Spice and cloying aftershave. He pulled on his overcoat. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I said. A knee-jerk reaction, an automatically programmed response, like a practiced driver's tendency to brake at the sight of a traffic accident.

He smiled at me, slinging his briefcase through his fingers, and left the room. A far-off door shut, and I exhaled: he was gone.

I stayed in bed for a while longer, tracing shadows and patterns of light across the ceiling. No one would be home for another few hours—the maid, Alis, didn't come to the penthouse until ten.

I had no idea how long Rhysand would extend my grace period. He wasn't stupid; he knew I'd find the note in my coat pocket. How long was he prepared to wait—one day, maybe two?

Ruffling a hand through my hair, I rose from my bed, knotting a wrap around my shoulders. Retrieving the crumpled note from my dressing room, I lifted the phone, my mouth dry.

I dialed. One-eight-four-seven-six...

I waited. And waited.

And then—

"Hello?" It wasn't Rhysand's voice that answered; it was someone female, with a slight accent that I couldn't quite place. I didn't say anything at first, deprived of words. The person on the other end huffed. "Who the hell is this?"

That spurred me into action, a rough kick to the sternum, if only by shock factor. I'd been in the world of politics so long that I'd forgotten what a rough, unapologetically pissed-off voice sounded like. "Is this the residence of Rhysand Black?"

A rustle of fabric. "Depends. Who's asking?"

I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "This is Feyre Archeron," I said. "Tell Rhysand that I got his little note, and I haven't forgotten. I'll be at the Trefoil Arch in Central Park at noon. Then he can call in his dues."

I hung up, my hand shaking.

The oddest thing was—

I felt more myself than I had in  months, since I'd come back to Tamlin's apartment. I felt alive, charged with the vitality that came with doing something productive. Not planning parties, not shopping for dresses I didn't need, not lying on the chaise in the penthouse, drowning in memories I wanted nothing more than to forget.

Tamlin didn't allow me to lift a finger, didn't let me leave the apartment, especially since last spring.

"New York is dangerous, Feyre," he'd said. "We live in the Upper East Side, but the West Side is fraught with gangs and drugs. They'd like nothing more than to use you up and leave you in a back alleyway."

"Nice, Tam," I'd snapped.

His face had softened somewhat. "I'm trying to protect you, Feyre. You're not strong enough to walk through New York on your own. Not without me, or Lucien."

I'd wanted to fight back—wanted to tell him that I might have spent my early childhood in a fancy house in coastal Massachusetts, but from the age of eight and upward, I waded knee-deep in Boston's shit. When I was fourteen years old, and the last of the money ran out, I walked to the gun store on the corner and asked our drunkard next-door neighbor to teach me how to shoot. I practiced: fired at dented Coke cans in the backyard again and again and again, until my ears felt like they were bleeding and my mouth tasted of smoke, and then I tucked my gun into my boot, shoved beneath the cuff of my jeans, and got myself three jobs.

I rang up groceries at a twenty-four-hour convenience store, waited tables at a greasy diner, and later, when I turned fifteen and there still wasn't enough money to go around, I stripped on a dull metallic pole.

I'd dropped out of school at fourteen, not that the schools that we'd been enrolled in taught me much. I could barely read: no one had taken the time to teach me.

Tamlin had found me like that—worn, beaten thin as pounded gunmetal, walking around a metal pole.

He'd been in the audience of the strip club one night. I'd been nineteen, and he'd come with five or six of his work associates; fellow politicians networking over shitty cocktails and tight asses.

I still didn't know what about me had caught his attention. I was like every other girl in the place: tired, worn out, singing the same old song of tough luck. I stripped for my sisters, slipping into a different skin to bring home a fistful of dollars so that Elain could have a new winter coat, and Nesta a pair of shoes.

Evidently, Tamlin had seen something in me, and he'd come back the next night, and the next. And after he'd been coming back for weeks, and he asked me for a drink, I thought of the pocket knife in my jeans and the gun in my bag, and said, wryly, Sure.

Still, when Tamlin said I wasn't strong enough to walk the streets of New York, I hadn't argued. I'd learned my lesson last spring, and now I watched the hustle and bustle from a penthouse balcony, a million miles away.

I looked at the telephone, half-expecting it to ring again. It didn't.

Come twelve o'clock, I would stand on the middle of the Trefoil Arch and wait to hear my fate.

—

When I told Alis that I was going out for a few hours, she seemed confused.

I genuinely liked Alis, which was more than I could say for most of Tamlin's extensive staff. A middle-aged woman with coffee-brown skin and warm, if cynical, eyes, her friendship had been hard-won but well worth the effort.

She lived down in Harlem and took the subway back and forth from Park Avenue every day. Once, I'd tried to get Tamlin to send a car for her, especially at night, but he'd given me an odd look. "Alis doesn't want our pity, Feyre," he'd said. "She'll think it's strange. People like her are used to walking the streets after dark."

I tugged my gloves on now, fur brushing my wrists. November in New York meant a chill that sank into my bones and red-gold leaves that danced in late autumn's cold exhales, and I'd donned a camel-hair coat, a woolen skirt, and a pair of black pumps, my hair tucked beneath a round hat.

"You're going out?" Alis said.

"Yes."

"I thought that Mr. Greene didn't like you to leave the apartment."

"He doesn't," I said, and bit my lip. "Alis, I need to... to do a few things. Today."

Something like recognition flickered in her eyes. "And you don't want me to tell him?"

"I'll be back by three," I said. "Three-thirty at the latest."

Alis studied me for a moment, her lips pursed. I'd lost weight rapidly since spring, and I saw her track my bony frame; my sallow, sunken cheeks.

"Take care of yourself," she said at last.

I nodded, fighting past a sudden lump that rose in my throat, and stepped out the door, pressing the button for the elevator.

On the curb, I hailed a taxi to take me to seventy-third street, wringing my hands. It was eleven-thirty; I was early, but I still had to fight past the anxiety tossing and turning my stomach.

Last spring, I'd been kidnapped, held in a cellar with other victims. Rhysand had saved my life, but he hadn't done it for free—he'd done it for a favor.

What if Rhysand asked for something that I couldn't give? He delighted in wrecking lives. Perhaps he'd force me to leave Tamlin, or kill Lucien, or something equally as obscene.

I had not gone those long months spent as a hostage without learning a bit about Rhysand Black, primarily that he was the head of a very old, very wicked crime dynasty notorious for its cruelty. He might well decide to shoot me in the middle of Central Park and call it even.

But that, I thought, fingers brushing the tiny pistol in my pocket, was why I'd come prepared.

Tamlin didn't know I still had a gun. I imagined if he did, he'd throw a fit—scream and shout and yell, and I'd wake up the next morning with fresh bruises and an aching in my bones. I hid the pistol in a locked box in my unmentionables drawer, buried beneath brasseries and stockings and pantyhose.

If Rhysand wanted to shoot me, fine. I'd shoot him right back.

—

The Trefoil Arch was a bridge tucked in the midst of Central Park, shadowed and enclosed by a copse of burnished oak boughs. I arrived at eleven-thirty, half an hour early.

Rhysand was already there.

He stood beneath the bridge, something out of a gothic novel; clad in a black coat that brushed against his ankles, a slim gray tie peeking out from his immaculately ironed shirt. He paced back and forth beneath the bridge, muttering to himself, raking a gloved hand through his styled hair.

I froze.

Unexpectedly, something my mother used to say came back to me, over a decade after her death.

The first step's the hardest, she'd say. Downhill or uphill, you already know how to walk.

One foot in front of the other. One step, two, three, four...

"Rhysand," I said.

His head snapped up. And for a moment—a hairsbreadth of a millisecond—I thought I saw something like nervousness, like pain, flit across his features, but then it was gone, replaced by the suave smile I knew so well.

"Feyre," he said. "You got my note."

"I got your note, you asshole," I snapped. "What do you want?"

Rhysand didn't answer; instead, he eyed my figure. "You've lost weight."

"What's it to you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he set his jaw and said, "Let me take you to lunch."

I laughed. Laughed.

Rhysand's expression grew stony.

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going to lunch with you," I said. "I have a pistol in my pocket, Rhysand. I'm not stupid."

"You brought a gun?"

"Didn't you?"

"Yes," he said, "but that's because my profession requires that I always wear a gun, even to bed, and I know how to use it."

"I know how to fire, Rhysand."

He took a step forward, eyes flashing. "But do you know how to aim?"

"Haven't missed yet."

Rhysand stared at me for a moment. "Tell me, Feyre, when have you had occasion to aim a gun? And just what—or who—was on the receiving end of your barrel?"

"Fuck off," I snarled, the bolt hitting too close—too deep. And he knew it, too.

"Interesting," he mused. "Does Senator Greene know about this particular piece of your oh-so-checkered past?"

I glared at him. "What do you want from me, Rhysand? I got your note. I made a meeting."

"For that matter," he continued, "does Tamlin dearest know about our deal—our clandestine rendezvous?" He flicked his gaze up at the keyhole arch of the Trefoil. "It's terribly romantic. I'm swooning."

I rose my hand, grabbing a fistful of my hair in my fingers. "You—"

"What's on your wrist?"

My camel-hair coat had ridden up, exposing a ring of purple-blue splotches. Bruises, left by Tamlin's quick, strong fingers.

"Nothing." I shucked down my sleeve, cheeks burning, but Rhysand stalked toward me, something other than amusement taking root at last.

"Are those bruises?" he demanded.

"No."

"Liar," he said. "Liar."

"So what?" I said. "It's not your business."

Rhysand's eyes flashed. "Bullshit."

"The bruises on my arm and the numbers on the scale have nothing to do with you, Rhysand. You have no part in my life—and nor will you ever."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might care?"

"You don't care about anyone," I said coldly.

"You don't even know me," Rhysand growled, sounding uncharacteristically hostile. "Is Tamlin the one that left those bruises?"

"Piss off."

A muscle in Rhysand's cheek jumped, pulsing erratically, and silence settled between us, toxic and weighted.

"Come to lunch with me."

"I'm not going anywhere—"

"You owe me," he reminded me quietly. "You have my word that I will not try anything. I will take you somewhere public, and somewhere safe. But I will watch you eat five bites of a sandwich before I say anything about our deal."

I glowered at him.

"If I try anything," he said, "you have my full permission to shoot me."

—

Rhysand took me to a café a few blocks from the park, dimly-lit and brimming with the tinkling of forks and jazz Muzak. I ordered a roast beef sandwich and sipped at my iced tea, staring daggers at Rhysand over the condiment bottles.

"I want," he said, "you to work for me."

I'd taken a swallow of my drink, and I sputtered it all over the table, showering him in regurgitated amber liquid.

He took a napkin and wiped his forehead, unbothered. "You're smart," he said. It wasn't a question. "And brave. I have uses for your talents."

"You're a criminal," I retorted. "No. Absolutely not."

His lips quirked. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might not be a merciless killer?"

"No."

"Excellent," he said. "Well, rest assured that I'm not. And the kind of jobs I'd have you working wouldn't be... crime-oriented."

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Work for me," he said, "and you'll find out."

The server arrived with my plate, setting it in front of me. Immediately, my stomach rebelled: the bread looked stale, the meat dry.

I took a chip, instead, washing it down with a swallow of tea. I looked up to find Rhysand studying me, his mouth tight.

"I won't work for you," I said. "Pick something else."

"It's not indefinite. One job. Work one job for me, and I'll walk out of your life—forever."

"No."

Rhysand leaned forward, irises glittering like trapped beads of amethyst in a glass case at a museum. "You made a deal," he said. "Are you intending to go back on your word?"

"I'm going to be a senator's wife, Rhysand, and you know it. I can't break the law. That can't possibly be your price for choosing not to be an abominable dickhead."

His gaze dropped to the ring on my left hand. "Ah. Yes. The engagement emerald. I'd noticed." He smiled, but the glint of his teeth had a bitter edge. "When's the wedding?"

"March. Not that you're invited."

"Pity," he said. "And here I was, expecting to be made best man. Ring bearer, at least. I'm ever-so-talented at carrying a little velvet pillow."

I took a bite of my sandwich. It wasn't that bad, actually; a pickle gave it a nice crunch. I hadn't eaten real food in... Christ, in ages.

"I won't work for you," I said.

"Give it forty-eight hours of thought," he said. "Think about it, Feyre. I won't make you break any laws. Not any decent laws, anyway. The legislature of our fair country is full of loopholes."

"Forty-eight hours,” I said disbelievingly.

"Forty-eight hours," Rhysand confirmed. "And if the answer is still no, then..." He lifted a shoulder. "We'll reevaluate."

I heard the unspoken words beneath his statement loud and clear: You might not like what else I'll come up with.

—

May 1959

The Cellar

I’d been close to death before.

I knew fear, and I knew mortality. But it was different, this time, to lie on the cellar floor, staring up at a dank, damp ceiling crawling with mold, and know, with iron certainty, that I was going to die.

The other girls in the cellar were weeping, holding each other. I had refused to cry, at least in front of an audience, but their vigil of tears was neverending: night and day, for hours at a time, a siren’s song of lamentation that never ended.

The door opened, and abruptly, the girls stopped crying.

I did not look up. My breaths were papery rasps.

“Shit,” someone said, voice distorted. “Shit.”

And then someone was kneeling beside me—a doctor. Someone in a white coat, with a bottle of medicine and materials for a splint. For a broken arm—my broken arm.

But he was not alone, I realized, as the faces finally stabilized. There was a doctor, and a man with purple eyes.

“Go away,” I croaked out.

“Do you want me to save your life,” Rhysand said, “or not?”

His words came to me through a wind tunnel, distorted and distended.

“You’ll owe me a favor,” he said. “But you will not die.”

I closed my eyes and nodded.

—

November 1959

New York, New York

When I arrived back at the penthouse, Tamlin was waiting for me.

And he was furious.

He sat on an armchair in the living room, his hands clenched so tightly over the armrests that his nails dug holes in the fabric.

Alis was nowhere in sight.

"I thought I'd come home for lunch," he said, "and surprise you."

I didn't move from the doorframe, every nerve and muscle in my body coated in impenetrable ice.

"Imagine my surprise," he said, "to find that you've gone out." He rose in a slick, smooth movement that made me recoil instinctively. "Where have you been, Feyre? What did I tell you about walking by yourself in New York?"

"I survived," I said, and hated—hated—that my voice trembled.

"You never should have gone out in the first place."

"I had to do something."

"Oh? Like what?"

I had no intention of telling Tamlin I'd gone to see Rhysand. He'd hated Rhysand long before last spring, long before he had anything to do with me, for reasons that he still refused to divulge.

"I don't have to tell you everything that goes on in my life."

"Actually, yes, you do," he said. "I'm your husband, Feyre, or close enough to it. I should know everything that goes on in your life. And furthermore, as your husband, you should not disobey me!" He stalked across the floor, grabbing my shoulder, and I could almost feel the new bruises appearing, blooming on my skin like a tattoo of forget-me-not blossoms over my shoulder.

"Let go of me," I said. "You are not my president, god, or king, and I do not owe you any absolution."

Silence.

I began to shake, trembling under my layers of wool and fur. "I need your help, Tamlin. I have not been able to breathe since May—for months—and I need your help."

Tamlin's chest rose and fell, heaving.

"Locking me up," I whispered, "telling me to sit and stay and lie down like a dog, trapping me in here with nothing but my mind—"

"Trapping you?" he cried, throwing an arm out at the plush carpet, the damask curtains. "I wasn't aware that this sort of luxury was a hardship. Especially considering the hellhole I dragged you out of, wading in your own shit."

"It's not the luxury that matters! For Christ's sake, Tamlin, can't you listen to me, instead of being personally affronted by the insult to your apartment?"

"No," he said. "You're just confused, Feyre."

"Fuck you," I said, without even realizing the words were tumbling out of my mouth. "Fuck you."

In retrospect, I really should've seen it coming.

Later, it came to me in pieces:

A crack,

a stinging in my cheek,

my head smacking back against the threshold of the door,

a roaring in my ears.

And Tamlin's white, stunned face before me, his still-upraised hand.

"Shit," he said. "Shit. Feyre, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

My mouth tasted like cotton.

I didn't fight him as he brought me to his chest, limp and disjointed as a rag doll. I let him soothe his own aches and pains, and I let mine sting and fester on.

Words sat between us, strung on a sickly telephone wire of disease. Words that could not heretofore be unspoken, unsaid, erased.

But we did our best. We knotted our fingers hand-in-hand, ignoring the slap and the crack and the truths that ate me up inside, and painted over the piece of me that did not want to become a wooden doll.

Sit. Stay. Lie down.

Sit.

Stay.

Lie down.

—

The next morning, while Tamlin still lay in bed, I rose from the mattress, bereft of clothes and shaking with cold.

I walked into the dressing room, shutting the door with a soft, muted snick.

I took the piece of yellow paper out of my jewelry box, lifted the phone from its receiver, and dialed.

This time, Rhysand did answer.

"Hello?" His voice was groggy, still rough with sleep. When I didn't answer, I heard a long, breathy exhale. "Who is this?"

In the background, I heard another voice, this one distinctly male, call, "Who the fuck is calling at five am?"

"It's me," I said. "Feyre."

Rhysand went silent.

"I've thought about your offer," I continued, "and I accept."

[feysand-is-life]

Teenage Feysand Pt. 4

Part 1               Part 2               Part 3

Warning: This chapter has references to sexual abuse

A lot of Angst in this. Don’t shoot me. Also, parallels to the actual books in this part, so all rights to Sarah J. Maas.

Feyre

I was awoken by the sound of footsteps on stone. I sat up and slumped back against the wall behind me. The rigid stone cut into my back, but the pain was a welcome feeling to the dread that had washed over me. I had been down in this cell for what felt like days.

No one spoke to me. No one brought me food or water. I sat alone and stared at the walls around me, drowning in my own thoughts. That was when the flashbacks started hitting me:

I was in a different cell, the walls covered in my blood from my most recent punishment. The King of Hybern was smiling down at my broken form with wicked delight. I looked up at him with a promise of death in my eyes. I knew when I had chosen to take my sisters’ place as his prisoner that it would be hell. Hell was only the beginning of what I was experiencing. I was beaten daily to the point when death was ready to take me away, but he would always heal my wounds and bring me back. This day, I had refused to do my daily chore of cleaning his chambers, and he had beaten me with a large staff until every rib was cracked, and I blacked out due to the pain.

“Such a naughty little human. Tell me, Feyre, if you do not like to make my bed, why don’t you do me the honor of lying in it?” the king whispered as he shook me awake with his booted foot. The pain was so severe that I vomited all over his shoes. He only laughed darkly, “I won’t have you if you are in this state. Do feel better, and remember that you can stop this at any time by agreeing to my offer.” With that, he walked out of my cell, and I was once again left to lay on my small pallet of clothing scraps.

I would never accept his offer as long as I was still breathing. He wanted to attempt to turn me into High Fae by using an extraction spell to steal power from the High Lords across the sea in Prythian. The very thought of becoming anything like those awful creatures made me want to end my suffering by my own hand.

As I lay down that night, I thought of the sky. Not the vast blue of the day. That had always reminded me of the time my family worked in the fields as slaves to those beasts. No, I thought of the night sky, with stars as far as I could see. I cried myself to sleep as I did every night since I was brought to that forsaken castle, and prayed that I’d one day get to see the night sky again.

I was pulled from the memory by the sound of the iron door of my cell being unlocked. I sat up from where I had slumped against the wall and craned my neck to see who was coming through that door. My heart jumped as I saw a head of black hair come into the room, but my face fell when I realized it was only one of the guards.

“The High Lord would like to see you now for questioning,” the young male said as he made to help me up. I almost balked at the kindness, but allowed him to pull me up. My legs barked in pain at the effort it took to walk after hours in a sitting position. I straightened my back despite the protest from my aching muscles and held my head high with pride. The guard led me down a dark corridor to a stone staircase. When he motioned for me to go first, I must have looked shocked because he simply said, “You may be a prisoner, Miss, but you’re still a woman, and I will always allow a woman to go first. It is common courtesy.” I gave him a tight smile that he took as gratitude for his chivalry, and we began our trek up the long staircase. Three hundred stairs up, he motioned for me to veer off down another hall to the right of the landing. I let him lead this time, calculating how much of a threat he may really pose if I decided to make my escape. He seemed to know what I was thinking because his hand never left the weapon at his side. After what seemed like a lifetime of walking, he finally stopped at a thick wooden door.

He opened it a moment later and motioned for me to go inside. I walked into the room cautiously and felt my heart drop when I looked around the room. I was not afraid of the High Lord of the Night Court perched at the head of the long obsidian table that took up most of the room. No, what made my stomach turn and bile rise in my throat was the Hybern commander that was sitting next to him.

Rhysand

Never in my life had I been so…furious with anyone. When my father had sent Feyre away, my first instinct was to shove him as hard as I could. I let the leash on my power slip as I shoved him, and the entire mountain of which the camp sat upon shook. Fear, genuine fear, flashed in my father’s eyes as he was slammed back into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. He winnowed a second later before I could land another blow. Coward, I thought as I beheld the wall where he’d just been. There, inside the plaster, was a perfect imprint of my father’s body.

A dark smile ghosted my lips at the damage, but it quickly faded as I realized the events that had just taken place.

My mother stood at the entrance to our dining area with her arms wrapped around her delicate body. I walked to where she was standing and took her into my arms, squeezing so hard I’m sure it hurt, but she was the only thing keeping me from exploding. She squeezed me just as hard and rubbed my back.

“I will forever be grateful for all your father has given me since we mated, but I will never forgive him for the decisions he is choosing to make,” my mother whispered into my chest. I nodded my agreement and stroked her hair.

“We’re going to get her back, Mom, and you can be the one to beat Father’s ass for this,” I replied with a breathy, humorless laugh. Her returning laugh mirrored mine as she looked up and stroked my cheek.

“I do not wish to see your father ever hurt, but I cannot wait to see what an amazing ruler you will become. My darling, Rhys,” she said and then she was walking out onto the porch of our tiny house.

“Cassian! Azriel! I know you’re circling above this house. Get down here this instant. There is no time for sulking when your brother’s…girlfriend—crush? — is trapped in that godsforsaken place,” my mother shouted into the night. My brothers swooped down from where they indeed had been flying in circles over the house, waiting for my father’s departure. Cassian looked like he was ready for bloodshed, and Azriel’s arms were already cloaked in shadows. I’m sure I looked as distraught as I felt because Cassian cringed when his eyes fell to my face.

“Dude, I want her back too because, let’s be honest, she’s damn good to look at, but I didn’t realize you were whipped already,” he said as Azriel quickly smacked the back of his head.

“That is not helpful at all, Cassian, and as I recall, Rhys was the only one who held you while you cried when your favorite stuffed animal got its head ripped off,” Az said.

Cassian looked at Azriel incredulously and rubbed the back of his head. “HE was the one who ripped Mr. Twinkle’s head off!”

My mother looked between the three of us and shook her head as if she was rethinking why she ever had children, much less took in two more. We all smiled at her innocently.

“So here is the plan,” she said slowly to get every point across, “We are winnowing to the Hewn City, which is where Rhysand’s father has Feyre. Cassian, Az, you two are to get Rhysand into the dungeon without anyone triggering the alarm. I will distract my mate while you get Feyre out. She probably won’t be in the greatest of shape, but she will have to at least stand. Understand what we must do?”

We nodded our agreement, and I grabbed Cassian and Az as we disappeared into stars and dust. 

Feyre

My old tormentor, the one who beat me all those times for the king, was seated next to Rhysand’s father, talking as if they were old friends. Amarantha turned to me when Rhysand’s father addressed my presence and flashed me her infamous blood red smile. A wave of nausea hit me as I remembered those teeth grazing my breasts. The memories must have flashed in her mind too because her gaze drifted down my body lazily.

I had been starving then, so she was taking in the new, full curves of my well-fed body. Her black eyes seemed to light up as they drank in the new hard planes of my stomach. Rhysand’s father watched our interaction with cool amusement.

“I wonder what my son would say if he found out that you once preferred females,” he said amusedly. I did not let the disgust show on my face.

“I did not prefer females. I did not have a choice in the matter at all”

Amarantha straightened at that and rolled her eyes. “Come on Fay-ruh,” she said, drawing out my name as if it were a plea coming from her lips, “We had fun together. Don’t you remember the way I made you beg?”

I did remember. I also remembered that whenever I refused to pleasure her, I would find myself tied to a table and tortured, both sexually and just physical pain, until I was bedridden for days. I distinctly remember screaming when I relieved myself because of how sore and raw I was. I shuddered then, and she took that as a sign that I was getting turned on. She stood and made to come circle me like a lion circling wounded prey. I whimpered when she fisted her hands into my hair and leaned to whisper in my ear.

“Remember when I would grab you like this and fuck you?” she hissed and snatched my head back. I cried out in pain as tears stung my eyes. The High Lord of the Night Court made a tsk tsk noise, and Amarantha reluctantly let go and sat down again.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, wiping the tears that escaped down my cheeks. Rhysand’s father looked bored as he replied, “I merely want to know what power roils in your veins as we speak. Since you were Made, and you possess some of Beron’s gifts, I am curious as to who else’s powers that you stole.”

“I stole nothing. These powers were given to me, and it was not my choice,” I said and I cursed myself as my voice wavered. Amarantha purred at the quiver in my voice and licked her lips. I cringed and focused my attention anywhere but on that sadist. Rhysand’s father merely snapped his fingers, and another guard came in and escorted me out. He was not courteous like the last guard, and he shoved me down the hall and into what appeared to be a giant throne room.

“Kneel, bitch,” the guard hissed and kicked the back of my knee with such force that I fell to the ground. Black splintered in my vision as I tried and failed to lift myself up. Amarantha’s laugh drifted to me from the throne she now sat upon. Rhysand’s father looked at me as if I were a fly that had been circling too long and was about to be swatted.

Just then, someone pulled me up onto my knees and slapped my face. The stinging in my cheek was nothing compared to the pain I was feeling in my chest. My heart, my still-human heart, was breaking at the hands of the father of the boy that I…

I couldn’t bring myself to even think those words now because I would never get the chance to say them. I just bowed my head and accepted the blows as they came.

Rhysand

We winnowed into a long corridor that led to the stairwell that would take us down into the dungeons. Cas and Az slipped off into the shadows to despose of any guards that may come looking. I began walking down the stairs two at a time. I reached out with my power to see if I could slip into Feyre’s mind. I was so entranced that I didn’t see the guard to my left until I received a blow to the head. I whirled and kicked out, bringing the guard to his knees. I held his mind and rendered him unconscious. Before I could alert Cassian and Az, I was hit from behind again. Consciousness slipped from me as I heard the guard laugh.

I awoke to a female scream piercing the air. I groaned as I sat up and rubbed the back of my head where a lump was surely forming. I looked around to see that I was in the throne room of the Hewn City, and I was not alone. My mother was staring at the floor and trying to escape the grip my father had on the back of her dress. Cassian and Azriel were restrained by a group of guards in the corner of the room. I felt a sense of pride at the bruises on the guards, the evidence of my brothers’ struggle to be held. A woman with deep auburn hair and obsidian eyes was seated on my father’s throne. But all of this slipped away as my eyes fell to the beautiful body of a girl crumbled on the ground.

“Feyre!” I shouted as I tried to crawl towards her. I was met with a shield of hard air. I slammed my power against it, but the wall wouldn’t budge.

“Rhys,” Feyre groaned and turned her bloodied face towards my voice. I could see the bruises forming on her cheeks and counted how many there were. That was how many hours I was going to take killing everyone that had touched her.

The auburn-haired woman stood from the throne then and walked to where Feyre lay. Slowly, so slowly, she pressed her heeled foot into Feyre’s side. Feyre screamed in agony, and I vomited all over the floor.

“Please, leave her alone. Please,” I begged. The woman turned to me then and cold amusement flashed across her face.

“I guess this is the one you left me for, Feyre,” she said in a cheery voice, “I wonder how good he’d feel to play with. Shall we see?” She started making her way towards me.

Even broken and bleeding, Feyre stood and shoved the woman away from me. “Amarantha, if you so much as lay a finger on him, I will kill you.”

The woman, Amarantha, laughed, and I watched in horror as she summoned a knife from somewhere and shoved it through Feyre’s chest.

I screamed. Not because the girl I was in love with fell to the floor, but because I felt the knife as if she had stabbed me instead. The wall of air shattered as Feyre hit the ground, and I crawled to her, a puddle of blood already pooling below her.

“No, no, please no,” I whispered as I pulled Feyre into my lap, “Hey, Fey, look at me. Don’t stop looking at me, okay? Listen to my voice.”

She nodded and kept her gray eyes locked with mine. I could see it then, like a black chain between me and Feyre, that now shined like brilliant gold.

“Mates…” she whispered as the realization clanged through her. Despite the situation, I smiled down at her and brushed a piece of hair from her face, “Mates,” I whispered back.

Her face was pale, so so pale, but she smiled back at me. My father’s gasp filled the room as he sensed the bond between Feyre and I. As he realized he had allowed his son’s mate to be killed in his court. I looked at him then with simmering rage etched into my features.

Amarantha was still holding the knife when Feyre whispered, “I love you, Rhysand,” and let her eyes close.

“No…Feyre! Feyre! Wake up. Please baby wake up,” I begged as tears fell down my face. I snarled when Amarantha took a step towards us and instantly misted her into a blast of blood. My mother’s scream pierced the air as Feyre’s body slumped against my chest.

My father, utterly horrified, stepped down off the dais and over to where I sat cradling my dying mate in my arms.

“Son, I had no idea. I thought that she was some sort of spy. I didn’t want to risk it with the coming war with Hybern. Amarantha had contacted me before and told me of Feyre’s past dealings with Hybern. I had no idea she was your mate. I swear it,” he said. He looked back to where my mother was sobbing on the floor, but she did not meet his gaze. A sob broke from my lips as I stroked Feyre’s hair.

“Just bring her back,” I said as I looked down at her face. He looked from me to Feyre and then back to me. Darkness flared from his hand as he laid it against Feyre’s bleeding chest. I reached out for her mind and felt a sliver of life still there. I stroked the walls of her mind gently with my power, trying to coax her to come back to me.

I grabbed that chain between us and snatched it.

I felt her draw in a breath, and relief clanged through me as she opened her gray eyes to glance up at me.

“So, does this make us even for me leaving you on that bank?” she said and groaned as she tried to sit up but failed. A broken laugh escaped my lips as I crashed my mouth to hers.

She kissed me back just as hard until she winced in pain. I leaned down and rested my ear against her chest. We sat like that, with her in my lap and my head against her chest listening to her heart beat, for hours. My father left the throne room after begging my mother to forgive him, to which she told him to go to hell. She came over to where we were clinging to each other and told us to go get some sleep while they sorted this mess out.

I flew Feyre to our moonstone palace at the top of the mountain and laid her feet on the floor of the large bathroom.

I grabbed a wash cloth and some soap and handed it to her. She cleaned her face and neck as best she could. I gave her my shirt so she could change out of her ripped clothes. When she made her way out of the bathroom, I picked her up and laid her onto the bed gently.

She reached out for me when I turned to leave, so I crawled into the bed next to her, wrapping her as tightly in my arms as she could stand it with her injuries.

“You never said it back,” she whispered sleepily.

“What?” I asked softly.

She leaned up slightly and winced with the weight of propping herself up, “I told you I loved you, and you didn’t say it back.”

I looked at her incredulously, “Did you miss the part where I begged my father to bring you back to me? I thought that was ‘I love you’ enough,”.

She rolled her eyes and replied, “Just say it. Unless it’s not true.”

I shook my head but pulled her tighter to my chest.

“Feyre, you are a pain in my ass. You are the biggest tease I have ever met. You make me want to choke you daily, and fuck you until neither of us can walk,” I said as her eyes widened, “But, I am irrevocably in love with you. I think I have been since that day you dismissed me like I wasn’t a future high lord. You make me feel normal. I love you, Fey. I felt it today when you almost died, and it felt like my entire world had been ripped from me. Don’t do that ever again.”

She smiled and nuzzled deeper into my chest, “I love you too, Rhys. I guess I’ll try not to die again.”

When I felt Feyre’s breathing even out, I finally allowed sleep to take me.