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separatist-apologist · 7 months ago

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On My Vigilante Shit Again

Summary: At the High Lords Meeting, Rhys doesn't dress for friends-He's dressed for revenge.

Read on AO3

Thank you @velidewrites for the moodboard!

Note: This is what should have happened post High Lords meeting and you can quote me on that

“The moment you let him fuck you like an—”

Rhys was going to explode. Was going to kill him. Laws be damned, Rhys stared Tamlin down as he ripped through Tamlin’s feeble defenses and held his mind. Just his tongue, for now. But his mind was pliant, his will weak. Rhys could so easily rip his mind apart, make Tamlin beg and plead. Make him grovel before Feyre on his knees, head bowed so low he couldn’t breathe for the marble slammed against his nose.

Rhys’s hands shook under the table, his jaw clenched so painfully he could taste blood. Had he bitten his cheek or was he merely tasting what was to come? Even as he held Tamlin’s tongue, forcing the High Lord into silence, Rhys thought it wasn’t enough. This was merely a show to the five others watching what he was capable of should they test him.

Should they insult his mate, his wife, his life. Feyre was visibly shaken, freckles stark against her gray face. Her eyes were too bright and if he really parsed through the mingling scents of the room, he knew he’d smell salt gathering in the corners. Tamlin had succeeded in undermining her at her first meeting, at the first test of power and everyone knew it. Weakness wasn’t tolerated among High Lords and they’d be circling her like vultures now, looking for more cracks.

Rhys could kill them all. His eyes flicked toward Beron Vanserra, brown eyes locked firmly on Feyre. It was a dark impulse and yet…if they wanted to test him, he’d destroy all six of them and leave their territories in ruins as their ruthless courtiers fought and killed for power. He’d let them eat themselves alive and then sweet in benevolently and take all of Prythian for Feyre. He’d lay waste to the world and set all that power at her feet.

Did they not know what Rhys would do to keep the ones he loved safe? Happy? Rhys kept Tamlin’s tongue silent for the duration of the meeting with barely a second thought. But there, in the darkest recesses of his mind—the part Feyre never ventured, in part because she didn’t think to—Rhys knew what needed to happen next. And he knew how he’d justify it when the other High Lords came to him, furious and fearful.

Tamlin had opened the gates for Hybern. He was a traitor to them all. That’s what he’d say, anyway. Some of them might guess the true reasons—Helion, certainly, who had very loud fantasies about doing worse to Beron than Rhys intended to do to Tamlin. And some might not care very much at all so long as they were reassured they were in no danger. Tarquin and Thesan, certainly, would know he was a liar and not care—Tarquin especially. Though he wasn’t fond of either Rhys or Feyre, his anger for Tamlin burned so hot that Rhys had been able to feel it in the back of his throat.

Tamlin’s foolishness had cost him more lives than Tarquin was able to count. He wanted to see Tamlin punished, too, and couldn’t for the same reason none of them could—they were forbidden from interfering in the matters of other High Lords. Rhys simply didn’t care. Stalking the halls, he listened until he found Tamlin’s pathetic thoughts.

Where did you go? Feyre’s voice floated through his thoughts, her presence caressing his own as she asked for entrance.

Rhys had never once refused her, but he did then. Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll be back before you can miss me.

Rhys, her voice carried a warning, some of the sleepiness gone. Whatever you’re thinking—don’t. Come back to bed.

I can’t.

It was the truth. They could insult him. Call him a whore, a bastard, evil, Amarantha’s right hand—whatever they liked. Rhys didn’t care. Even if they said it in front of his family in their attempt to humiliate him, Rhys didn’t care. Let them say whatever they liked about him.

But how dare they say a word against Feyre. She was the reason they were able to speak freely at all. If Rhys had his way, they’d get on their knees and worship her like a goddess, not taunt her like she was lesser.

Rhys!

Maybe it was better to let her see—not to shut her out, but to invite her into his mind. To let her see the lengths he’d go. He’d promised her he’d do this once, didn’t he? That he’d hurt anyone who hurt her and he’d take his time doing it. He’d enjoy it.

As Rhys turned the handle to Tamlin’s door, he dropped his defenses so Feyre could slip in. He could feel her peering through his eyes, settling softly just behind his eyes. Her presence was a comfort, reassuring him that this was the right thing to do.

Rhys found Tamlin standing by a window, hands folded behind his back. When Rhys slipped inside, Tamlin turned, green eyes glowing brightly for just a moment.

“Have you come to gloat?” Tamlin asked, teeth sharpening ever so slightly.

“Not exactly,” Rhys replied, jamming his own hands in his pockets.

Tamlin sighed, eyes rolling in his skull. “Have you come to defend your mates honor? Spare me—she has none.”

The hair on Rhys’s neck stood on end.

Don’t, Feyre pleaded softly, her voice a shade too high pitched for his liking. He’s not worth it.

“She’s the reason you’re standing here,” Rhys reminded Tamlin, forcing himself to remain calm. If he alerted Tamlin to his plan, he wouldn’t get to say everything he needed to say. “You owe her your life.”

“I’ve given her enough—”

“You’ve given her nothing,” Rhys snarled, his magic swirling around him like furious vipers. Tamlin didn’t blink, didn’t blanche, thinking incorrectly that Rhys was all talk and no action.

“Are you angry about what I said or angry I had her first?” Tamlin spat, a fool to the very end.

“When I found her locked in your home, it was only her love for you that spared you. I would have ripped you apart piece by piece otherwise.”

Tamlin turned back to the window. “She’ll betray you, too. Feyre isn’t capable of loving anything or anyone but herself and her power.”

Rhys’s stomach twisted in knots.

“She died for you. For that love.”

“And I tried to make it up to her—”

“You locked her away like a trinket!” Rhys snarled again as Feyre pushed closer against him, talons stroking against his mind lovingly. “You were satisfied to let her waste away so long as she warmed your bed at night. If that’s love, well. I’d say I shudder to think what your hatred feels like, but I am intimately aware of how hateful you can be.”

Tamlin only sighed. “When she leaves you—and she will—I’ll be waiting for your apology.”

Rhys raised a hand as Feyre gasped softly in his mind, understanding right then what he truly intended to do. Tamlin, too, realized the danger he was in. It was too late. Immobile, Tamlin’s eyes widened as Rhys cocked his head to the side.

“You can wait for that apology in the afterlife and we’ll see, when I arrive, who was right.”

“Rhys—!” Feyre burst into the room a mere second before Rhys snapped his fingers. Blood sprayed through the room, coating not just his skin, but Feyre’s too. Where Tamlin had once stood, now there were merely the remnants of a male who’d lived a pathetic half life unworthy of memorial.

Feyre turned, still in her silken nightdress, eyes wide. “You…”

Rhys didn’t dare back down, though he felt a sliver of genuine fear. “Yes.”

“You shouldn’t…you didn’t…” Her eyes welled with tears as she approached him. Raising a hand, Rhys flinched, expecting her to slap him. Maybe that’s what he deserved.

Soft fingers caressed his jaw. “Thank you,” she whispered. Rhys exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“You’re not angry?” he asked carefully, eyes darting around the room. There was something delicious about his mate soaked in the blood of his greatest enemy. He wanted to strip her naked and lick her clean.

“No one has ever had me,” she whispered, inching closer. The scent of her arousal slammed into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. “Not like you.”

That was all he needed to hear. Just the knowledge that she could see his worst, ugliest impulses and still love him for it was enough. Rhys needed her right then, so badly he was unwilling to even make the walk back to their shared bed chamber. She knew it, too.

Feyre surged upward on her tiptoes, their mouths crashing in a symphony of heat. Rhys groaned, snaking an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him.

“I need you,” he told her, unable to add that what he needed was for her to confirm what he already knew to be true. They belonged together—he’d waited his whole life for her, would have waited centuries more. And it had all been worth it, in the end—to know it was her on the other end of all those sleepless nights, the years of misery, the loneliness that had plagued him. No one understood him the way she did, had ever truly looked at his very soul and found it beautiful rather than horrifying.

“You have me,” she told him, arching her neck so he could scrape his teeth against her soft, sensitive skin. “I’m never leaving.”

What would she say if she realized he wouldn’t let her leave? That his hatred of Tamlin was almost unjustified because Rhys understood why someone would want to lock her away and keep her all for themselves. Rhys felt the same urge, felt the same drive to snarl and snap at every male that dared to look at her without showing the proper reverence. They were too casual about her, didn’t venerate her the way they should. Feyre was more than just High Lady—she was a living goddess, the Cursebreaker herself.

“Fuck,” Rhys groaned, tongue licking a path down her throat to taste the blood adorning her skin like rubies. If Rhys had known she’d taste so good coated in another male's blood, he’d have killed Tamlin at their wedding. That scrap of silk was soaked and when Rhys ripped it away, he found the skin beneath stained red, too. Rhys needed her more than he needed anything else.

They’d condemn him for this. When they found the remnants of Tamlin, they’d smell his arousal and what he’d done atop the bits that remained. Rhys didn’t care—he hoped Tamlin’s soul lingered so he could watch how well Rhys fucked Feyre. And if Tamlin were still alive, Rhys might have told him that he’d fucked Feyre so thoroughly she had no memory of his pathetic attempts at satisfying her.

You were inadequate, Rhys wished he could say. The problem was always you and never her.

“I can hear your thoughts,” Feyre complained as Rhys sank to his knees. “Stop thinking about Tamlin and your witty comebacks.”

“I have so many things I didn’t get to say,” Rhys complained, pushing her gently against the very same bloodstained window Tamlin had been brooding beside mere minutes before.

“You can say them at his grave,” she reminded him.

“You’re so brilliant,” Rhys praised. “And beautiful. And you taste…”

He had his face between her legs as he spoke the words, raising one slim leg to hook it over his shoulders. Feyre exhaled, leaning her head back so her thick hair spilled over her shoulders, the tips teasing peaked, rosy nipples.

Rhys almost stood back up but Feyre, the clever thing, pushed his head back down. “Focus,” she whispered. He’d forgotten she was still in his mind, listening to his thoughts and watching through his eyes.

“Can you feel how badly I want you?” he whispered, letting his breath curl like shadows against her wet cunt.

“Yes,” she panted, nails scraping over his scalp.

Rhys let go of his power, drowning the two of them in darkness. His wings flared outward, enveloping the both until she was hidden from the world unless someone happened to be flying by the window her ass was pressed against. Feyre moaned loudly, unconcerned about anyone else hearing. Good. Rhys wanted her screams to echo off the vaulted ceilings, to keep them all awake. Let them hear—let them know how far Rhys would take it. That the true power in his home was Feyre herself.

Feyre was High Lady and Rhys was her sharpened blade.

Rhys licked up the side of the thigh, cleaning the blood before switching to the other. Feyre was practically trembling by the time he reached her center, the taste of copper mingling with the sweetness of her arousal. Rhys reached upward, using his strength to hold her so she could relax and, perhaps selfishly, so he could spread her further apart. He liked to see her flushed pink with arousal, liked to tease her with his fingers without wholly penetrating her. He wanted her desperate for his cock by the time he finished with her. Rhys teased her with his thumbs, pulling her cunt apart to rub her clit with his fingers and his tongue while Feyre writhed over him, gripping his hair so roughly she was in danger of ripping them out by the roots. Rhys was so aroused it was making him stupid, the throbbing between his legs almost painful.

But he needed to do this. Needed her to see him on his knees before her, worshiping her the way the rest of the world refused to. Besides, the taste of her was soothing something wicked and angry in his chest, calming the raging beast threatening to go on a rampage.

Feyre’s breath hitched in her chest, her free hand coming to his shoulder to stroke the edge of his wing just the way he liked. He didn’t need her to touch his cock at all to come—if she kept her cunt in his face and her hands on his wings Rhys would be spent before he ever had her grinding against him.

Still, Rhys began to work faster, tongue flat against her just the way he knew she liked. Feyre began rolling her hips against him, her orgasm building. Ride her through it—that’s all he had to do, now. Rhys liked when she used him like this, taking her pleasure without concern as to what he thought about her. Daring to press into her mind, Feyre’s arousal slammed into him with enough force to nearly knock him on his ass.

Her thoughts were a mindless chant of one word—Rhys, Rhys, Rhys, Rhys, Rhys—

If he hadn’t been so turned on, he might have wept. Unwilling to disappoint her in the final moments before she fell over that ledge, Rhys doubled his efforts, looking up as he licked her to watch her come. Feyre was radiant, glowing like silvery moonlight as she fell apart. Head thrown back, breasts arched toward the ceiling and her skin flushed, Rhys wished he could paint so she could see herself the way he did.

“Stop,” she panted, fingers sliding from his hair to cup his face. “I can hear you, I—”

“I need you,” was all he could manage to say. He could have laid her out on the bed if he’d wanted to, taken his time. But Rhys didn’t want to. He wanted her right then, right now, and he’d have her against that window or not at all.

Feyre clawed at his clothes, drawing forth a talon to slice open his shirt. Rhys didn’t want to think about the walk of shame the pair were going to have to undertake when they were finished. Perhaps he’d call Cassian and beg his friend for a favor and endure the inevitable teasing that would happen in the aftermath. It was well worth it—Rhys couldn’t wait to tell Azriel, Mor, and Cassian that he’d slaughtered Cassian. Unlike the rest of the ruling elite, his friends would find it funny.

“Now,” Rhys told Feyre, hoisting her up so her back was flat against the window. He offered no other warning before he slid his aching cock into her body. Rhys nearly lost himself, rutting into

Feyre like the animal Tamlin claimed he was without a care or concern for the female pressed against him. Her body gripped him so tightly, still convulsing from the orgasm he’d given her with his mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Rhys whispered, biting gently against her shoulder. “Sometimes I think you were sent to destroy me.”

“You should have run from me, then,” Feyre replied as she raked her nails down his back.

“Dying at your hands would be a gift,” he said, half delirious from pleasure. All Rhys could focus on were his hips, thrusting hard enough that the window rattled in time behind them. His words were merely his unfiltered thoughts given voice because Rhys had never learned when to shut his mouth.

“There will be no death for you,” Feyre told him, lips gliding over his jaw. “Only me.”

Rhys shuddered, holding her so tightly against him he felt her ribs groan in protest. He needed her like he needed the air in his lungs, the sun on his skin, the wind on his wings. How had he managed so long without her? Rhys could barely remember that time before, the memories tinged gray with loss.

How much different would every horror have been if he’d had her at his side? If he knew she was at his back, bow pulled taut, gaze focused and lethal on his enemies? Rhys tried to imagine Feyre going up against his father, against Amarantha in the first war, against Tamlin and his family.

His breath stuttered at the image. Gods, they would have been unstoppable.

“Rhys,” Feyre breathed, holding his face so he had to look at her. “Come for me.”

Rhys was everything Tamlin accused him of being, but without any shame. He was fucking her like an animal because that was how Feyre liked it. She panted, nails clawing at his tattooed skin until the smell of his fresh blood mingled in the air. He was desperate and needed to feel her come again, wanted her wrapped so tight around his cock he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but wait until she released him.

Snaking a hand between them, Rhys rubbed circles over her clit—it took two, maybe three before Feyre cried out, allowing Rhys the pleasure of capturing the sound with his tongue and teeth.

Taste yourself, he ordered, thrusting into her with brutal efficiency. Feyre was pliant in his arms, her cunt just as tight as he’d hoped it would be and twice as wet. Rhys couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to, coming with a snarl so loud there was no way everyone in the hall didn’t hear him.

Rhys poured himself into her, half wishing something would take. He didn’t want to stop, even when he was spent, balls empty. He could have kept going if he took a minute to catch his breath.

Feyre, too, seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“You’re so beautiful covered in blood,” she murmured, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

Rhys suddenly didn’t care if someone watched him carry Feyre naked through the palace. Fuck everyone.

“Come on,” he purred, pressing a soft kiss just beneath her ear. “Let's get you to bed.”

#feysand #okay im free #im gonna reward myself with pho for dinner tonight

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zenkindoflove · 28 days ago

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Erixius Masterlist

New to Erixius? I suggest reading my one-shot "Carry You Home" as a good introduction to the ship if you aren't ready for a multichapter fic.

Multichapter Fics

Summer Heat (E) - Elain x Lucien, Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

Complete, 18/18 chapters, 114,890 words Summary: Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years. Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance

Pull Me in Deeper (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

Complete, 23/23 chapters, ~115,000 words Summary: Needing more alliances, Eris strikes a deal with Helion: go to the continent and find out information for him, and Day Court will support him usurping Beron. What he didn’t account for is the beautiful Day Court emissary accompanying him that makes his heart race while being such a thorn in his side.

Autumn Leaves and Day Dreams (M) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

WIP, 2/? chapters, 2,000 words Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and short fics for Eris x Alexius, a male OC from Day Court I created in my fic Summer Heat which you can read for longer form Eris x Alexius content. These are mostly from prompts submitted via Tumblr. Each chapter is its own story and some may have follow-ups in the future.

Short Fics

Taste of You (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 2,200 words Summary: Eris and his mate Alexius are on a tour of Autumn. Alexius is feeling cooped up in the carriage and Eris has an idea of how to release some tension. PWP

Caress Me Down (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 2k words Summary: Alexius pulls his hamstring and Eris has the perfect remedy: a massage. PWP. For Eris Week 2024 Day 3: Healing | Betrayal.

The Jewel of The Forest House (T) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 5k words Summary: Eris’ mate Alexius brings home a stray dog to the Forest House that Eris is reluctant to accept. Jewel is feisty, impolite, and most importantly, nothing like his smokehounds. For Eris Week 2024 Day 4: Tradition | Hounds

Carry You Home (E) - Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

One-shot, 15k words Summary: During the Hybern battle, Eris is mortally wounded and ready to die. Until a knight in shining armor saves his life. He isn’t sure how to thank him, but he has all night to try. Takes place during ACOWAR. For Eris Week 2024 Day 5: War | Adventure.

Fanarts, Commissions, & Other

Eris x Alexius moodboard Ch 7 Summer Heat

Eris x Alexius moodboard Ch 12 Summer Heat

Eris x Alexius moodboard Ch 16 Summer Heat

Eris x Alexius commissioned fanart 🍂☀️ by @works-of-heart

Eris x Alexius PMID fanart by @thrumugnyr

Eris x Alexius blob fanart by @bonecarversbestie

Eris x Alexius commissioned end of PMID/Autumn Court fanart by @jennastokesart *banner art

Eris & Hounds fanart with TJOTFH inspo by @little-fierling

Free and unashamed: an Erixius playlist

Erixius at the beach commissioned fanart by @luciensdefenseattorney

Freddie Fox Eris fancast commissioned fanart by @evermorelore

OC Alexius fanart by @queercontrarian

Erixius Vampire AU fanart by @works-of-heart

OC Alexius Blob fanart by @bonecarversbestie

Erixius Stupid Ass Ship Chart

Erixius: Get To Know My OTP Chart

Eris Week 2024 Masterlist

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

#eris vanserra #eris x oc #eris x male oc #eris x alexius #erixius #erixius supremacy #oc: alexius #eris vandaddy #eris acotar #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #zenkindoflove: erixius masterlist

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shadowqueenjude · 7 months ago

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For Day 7 of Tamlin Week: Tamlin, defender of the people, enemy of tyranny.

As much as I love gentle awkward Tamlin, I just think Tamlin's declarations at the High Lord's meeting were so iconic and deserve more appreciation! I made a moodboard and a poem!

I once told you I would fight against tyranny, Against that sort of evil, Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?” I will fight against such people for eternity, Even if I die, How dare you think me an entitled brat?

You're not in the business of discussing plans With enemies? No, you're just in the business of fucking them. You've planned your escape route out in advance, Tell me coward, Will you kneel for Hybern as you were Amarantha's gem? You stood by as twelve children died, At her hand! It was your mind that broke and killed, Oh by all means tell their parents that you tried, But their blood, Will always stick to your skin even if your cock is skilled!

@tamlinweek

(Quotes I used from the High Lord meeting:

I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that? I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.

No, you’re just in the business of fucking them.

Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his— You stood beside her throne while the order was given. Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered. That you tried. Who knew that a cock could be so persuasive?)

#it's a little anti rhys sorry guys #but i just think tamlin>>>>#tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin week 2024

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clockwork-ashes · 2 months ago

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All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXVII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3 ONE MORE THING this is a little bit spicy ;)

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Elain traced the fine calligraphy of the letter in her hands. Her name was written across the sealed envelope in a pretty, looping scrawl. She would have recognised Nesta’s lovely script anywhere.

The familiar wax seal had been pressed with a symbol she knew well. The peak of the mountain was one she had seen painting the horizon of her home for the last few years, the three little stars drawing her attention.

Cora had given her the envelope just as she had been getting ready for bed. The knock had her freezing at first, anticipating the worst. Lucien never made his presence known, choosing to simply use his magic to enter their rooms, same as Eris. At the late hour she could hardly imagine anyone coming for a social visit.

The sound of her friend’s voice, had Elain tugging a nightgown over her head in a clumsy rush, running barefoot over the carpeted floors to open the oak door of her and Lucien’s shared chambers.

Cora had looked serious, passing her the piece of parchment with her full lips tugged into a slight frown. “From your sister,” she had whispered, so low Elain almost had not heard. She had pressed it into her palm, pressing down slightly to indicate its importance.

Elain had known her brows were furrowed, the confusion she had felt etching onto her expression. She had opened her mouth, but had not been given the chance to respond, or even ask for clarification.

“Sleep well,” Cora had offered quickly, shifting in a flurry of dark skirts. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The day of her wedding.

As the thought whirled in Elain’s mind for a moment, Cora stepped past the stone archway and winnowed down the hall effortlessly. Her steps were silent, her long hair swinging in its simple braid.

“Goodnight,” Elain mumbled, more to herself as the Night Court female turned down the corner, hardly casting her a second glance.

Lucien had gone to find his mother, and Elain was left to rip the letter open in privacy. She closed the door behind Cora, leaning her back against its rough surface. The bark was uneven through the fabric of her clothes, grounding her as she read over the words on the paper. Only one statement stood out to Elain, making her bite the inside of her cheek until she tasted the copper bitterness of her own blood.

The last few weeks of searching for a loophole have led us to dead end after dead end, and Rhysand wants to avoid a conflict at all costs.

While the writing was clearly Nesta’s, the words were obviously Feyre’s. Elain stopped reading to take a deep breath, her heartbeat thunderous, blood rushing to her ears. She wanted the same thing, especially after the war with Hybern. Seeing the death and destruction in the aftermath of such a war had been awful, had haunted her nightmares for months.

You have to decide whether you want to cancel this wedding, Elain, and whatever choice you make, me and Nesta will be there to support you.

The letter ended, leaving Elain to her own thoughts. She could not stop the small smile from gracing her features, glad that her sisters trusted her enough to make this decision without their influence. She read the letter one more time, committing the words to memory.

There was a loud crack coming from the logs in the fireplace, and Elain found herself taking small steps toward it. She understood completely that if she wanted to end her rushed engagement to Lucien, she was well within her power to do so.

My mate.

Elain knew all she had to do was tell Cora, and the two of them would face the High Lord of Autumn. Perhaps he would dismiss her, tell her it was wedding day nerves, but ultimately she figured he would let them leave. Eris might even help them, she was certain he did not want to see either of them dead at his father’s hands.

Lucien.

Elain whispered his name softly to herself, his name bringing her nothing but a sense of comfort and calm, so different from the emotions that had tormented her before she arrived at his cruel home. Elain traced her finger along the crisp edge of the letter, tossing it into the raging fire without a second thought, having made her decision days ago.

Elain was going to marry Lucien. She had convinced herself it had very little to do with their mating bond anyway. It all seemed so simple in her head. When they returned to Velaris together, she would get to know him further. At some point, Elain had begun to consider him a true friend, a partner as they navigated the obstacles in the Autumn Court. She could see him in her future as clear as if she were looking at it through glass.

Without warning, Lucien winnowed into the large space, causing Elain to jump with an embarrassing yelp. She watched as the last of the letter shrivelled and burned, turning to ash, just as she whirled around to face him. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the cotton of her nightgown beneath her fingers.

“You scared me,” Elain mumbled, pouting as she walked towards him, hoping he had not seen the last of the envelope’s remains in the fireplace. She hoped to avoid having such a conversation with him, especially as there were other more pressing matters on her mind.

Lucien laughed, leaning towards her as she approached, comfortable. “My apologies, lady,” he replied, bowing at the waist gracefully.

Elain rolled her eyes, not willing to admit she found him charming. She cupped his face between her hands, kissing him on the cheek softly. “How’s your mother?”

“Excited,” Lucien said, dimples flashing as Elain smiled up at him. “She’s been desperate to marry one of us off for centuries.”

There was a bit of guilt eating at Elain, and it had been for some time. Knowing that there were lies between herself and Callista did not seem like a good way to start their relationship, but she had decided that if the Lady of Autumn ever learned the truth, she would simply find it amusing.

“You never even got me an engagement ring,” Elain accused playfully, watching with hungry eyes as Lucien took off his emerald jacket. The muscles on his arms tensed, a brown flash of skin at his throat making her blush.

He seemed to notice, tossing the clothing carelessly onto an armchair. He rolled up the white sleeves of his shirt in practised gestures, revealing his forearms. “We don’t exchange rings in Autumn.”

Elain cleared her throat, feeling heat travel to the tips of her pointed ears. She turned away from him, inching towards the wooden dresser near their bed. The comb Eris had gifted her when she had first arrived to the Forest House glimmered in the light of the candless, a glare shining on the sharpened point of each tooth.

“Did you want me to get you one?” Lucien asked genuinely. She felt him searching the bond for any hint of whether she was upset, wanting to understand.

Elain smiled to herself, thinking about the last ring she had been given. Being on the other side of the wall seemed like a lifetime ago. “No, I don’t think I want another.”

She heard Lucien pause, waiting before he asked. “Do you still have that one?”

There was kindness in his tone, no anger or possession over the idea of whether she had kept it or not. Elain shrugged, remembering how she had taken Graysen’s ring off one day when she had been gardening years before. She had crushed the cheap iron between two rocks and dusted the remains of the pretty pearl into the dirt next to the roses.

Elain snorted, the sound unladylike but she found that she no longer cared about such things in Lucien’s presence. “I got rid of it a while ago.”

He nodded, and she saw him through the mirror, considering. “We exchange necklaces,” he offered. “Everyone can see the rings you wear, but a necklace stays hidden beneath the collars of our clothes, just for us. Usually there are promises engraved onto the metal.”

Elain hummed, tilting her head. “I like that.” She faced him, not realising how much closer he had gotten. She placed her hands onto the surface of the dresser behind her, feeling the edge digging into her hips. “They’d be made from gold?”

“Always,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to her lips for the briefest of moments. “Gold is the colour of love here.”

“I’m nervous,” Elain blurted suddenly, surprising herself with the admission. She gazed up at him, biting the inside of her cheek.

Lucien only smiled, the slightest tilt of his lips. “It’s not too late to call it off,” he replied with a shrug.

“I don’t want to do that,” she shook her head, loose curls bouncing. She liked how insignificant he made it seem, as if he would simply do whatever she wished. “It’s just…what does a wedding even look like here?”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “You’re more worried about the ceremony than the fact that we’re actually going through with this?”

“Being married to you doesn’t seem entirely awful,” she said sweetly, patting his arm.

“How flattering,” he mumbled. She felt the way their bond practically sang at the contact.

Elain giggled, searching his gaze. “So Eris walks me down the aisle, you’re standing at the altar with a priestess, and the reception begins. Then what?”

“Then there’s a whole lot of praying to the mother,” Lucien said with a shrug. She motioned for him to go on, wanting him to continue. “The priestess is going to tie our wrists together, she’s going to pray a little more, and then we’ll officially be husband and wife.”

Elain frowned, trailing her finger up his arm, toying with the fabric of his collar. “That doesn’t sound romantic at all.”

Elain was certain she saw Lucien blush the slightest bit. “The romance starts when the couple is alone. Our court prefers small gestures, honest ones made in secrecy.”

She decided that sounded very much like the Autumn Court she had briefly come to know. She pressed her hand flat against the nape of his neck, forcing him to come closer. Her voice became strained as an awareness took over her body. “So we go to the ceremony, we celebrate with the guests, and once we’re alone?”

Lucien looked her up and down, and Elain tried to ensure scarlet did not stain her cheeks at the attention. His voice was low as he answered, “I suppose that’s up to you.”

Elain swallowed, humming softly, threading her fingers through his silken hair. It fell in loose waves down his broad back.

“Usually that’s when we would exchange the necklaces, and take our vows,” Lucien said.

“When would we kiss?” Elain asked, desire making her forward. She knew he felt the same.

“Up to you,” Lucien repeated softly, his breath fanned the curls framing her face.

Elain got on the tips of her toes, arms curling around Lucien’s neck so she could press her lips to his. What started as a gentle kiss quickly shifted into something more desperate, especially as she moved her one hand so that it could trail along the bare skin just beneath his collar.

Lucien held onto her waist tightly, keeping her pressed against the dresser. She arched into him, pressing herself more fully against him until there was no space left between them.

Elain felt his sharp canines drag against her lower lip, gasping as he moved to place a rough kiss on her jaw. She threaded her fingers in his hair, keeping him near in case he thought she wanted him to pull back.

The bond thrummed softly, familiar, as Lucien turned his attention to the laces at her throat. He undid them swiftly, pulling at the strings carelessly, so he could trace his nose along her collar bones. When he bit the exposed skin of her breasts, Elain began to pull at his shirt, attempting to remove the fabric.

“Lucien,” she breathed, his name a whisper as it fell from her mouth. He paused, shifting to look up at her. “I want you to…” the words caught in her throat, the growing ache between her legs fogging the rest of her senses and making her thoughts a mess. She rolled her hips in a gesture she hoped was enough to make him understand. At the feeling of his own arousal pressed against her core, he shifted forward to lean a hand onto the dresser. He pressed his forehead to her own, his eyes fluttering shut. He held himself like a coiled spring, every muscle tense.

“Whatever you want,” he murmured. He smelled of crisp apples and summer mornings, the scent of his desire lingering in the air around them. “Whatever you want, Elain, I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you,” she finished, kissing his cheek, her lips catching on the most brutal of his scars. The skin dipped and raised, but she did not feel it, merely noticing the way he seemed to relax at the action.

With no warning he lifted Elain into the air, gripping her with steady arms as he winnowed them to the bed. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she dragged him on top of her as she fell.

Lucien leaned on his elbow, hovering above her, his legs between hers. He bunched the fabric of her nightgown in his one fist, kissing her deeply as he waited for her consent. Elain pulled the shirt from where it had been tucked into his pants, letting her fingers trail along the exposed skin of his sides. He groaned at the contact, slowly moving the skirt of her dress so it rested in a wrinkled heap above her knees.

Elain lifted her hips in a silent invitation, needing him to be inside her, aching at the thought of it. Lucien had other plans, though, kissing and nipping at her through the fabric of her nightgown, inching lower as she whimpered. He was on his knees, and she pulled the cotton further, understanding dawning on her as she held his flame-filled gaze.

Lucien’s auburn hair reflected the sparks of the fireplace, his golden eye whirring softly in the silence while his russet one drank in the sight of her. His mouth brushed the place where all her pleasure centred, and Elain held her breath as she waited for him to make his next move. His broad hands spread her thighs slightly, keeping her in place, making her shiver.

When Lucien pressed the flat of his tongue against her, Elain moaned, the sound ripped from her. He lapped at her hungrily, encouraged by the whimpers she made. He pulled her close, and Elain hooked a leg over his shoulder, searching for the strands of his hair as she reached for him.

My mate.

The skillful way he slipped his tongue between her folds had her feeling feral, she moved her hips, already knowing she was close to falling over the edge. When Lucien pressed a finger against her entrance, Elain brought her hand to her mouth, biting at her thumb until she was sure there were marks.

He moved inside her slowly, drawing out her pleasure as he continued to lick and kiss at her. Elain thrust up into his hand when he added a second finger, shattering completely when he groaned, the vibrations making her see stars.

Elain was still dizzy when he gingerly unhooked the leg she had wrapped around him, easing back up into her arms. She tugged at his shirt. “Take these off,” she ordered weakly, reeling, needing more of him immediately.

Lucien huffed a laugh as he kissed her, and she could taste herself on his tongue. She made a soft sound, cupping his face with her hand, tracing the shape of cheekbone.

She felt the outline of his length pressed against her core, his pants separating them. “Lucien,” she whined, his name muffled as she tucked herself into the crook of his neck.

There was a flash of golden light as he gave in to her demand, ridding them of their clothes effortlessly with his magic. Next time, Elain promised to herself, she would painstakingly undo the buttons of his jacket and the laces of his shirt, but she was glad there was nothing between them anymore.

Elain was burning with desire, pulling him closer for another kiss. He kept his legs between her thighs, his body on top of hers overwhelming in the best way. She let her foot idly caress his calf, encouraging.

Lucien dragged the tip of his length between her folds, angling himself at her entrance. He shifted slowly, carefully, as though he was worried about hurting her. It was so unbelievably kind, emotion crashing over her as she realised just how much the bond must be affecting him. He seemed entirely unbothered, a sharp contrast to the creature Elain had become seeing him so vulnerable.

Lucien’s thrusts were slow, as he brought himself to the tip before pressing his hips fully against Elain each time. He kissed her between breathless gasps, soft sounds of pleasure falling from his lips as well. When he placed a hand between them, rubbing where she needed him most in rhythmic circles, she clenched her eyes shut.

When Lucien’s movements became more erratic, she watched, wanting to see him fall apart because of her. He threw his head back on a groan, his thrusts not stopping until she felt as her walls clenched around him. Elain bit his shoulder, stifling a cry, noticing they were both slick with sweat.

Lucien shifted, easing her onto his chest as they both caught their breath. Elain kissed his lips in small pecks, laughing softly as he wrapped his arms around her. He held her close, seemingly not wanting to let her go, and Elain decided she could have stayed with him forever.

My mate.

They fell asleep, limbs tangled, breath mingling. Elain felt safe tucked against him.

At some point in the night, she reached for Lucien once more, finding herself back under him. The candles had gone out and there was nothing but embers in the fireplace, but Elain was consumed in flames, the bond between their souls alight as she and Lucien came together once more.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #autumn court #all you have is your fire #ashes writes sometimes

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sjmvillainweek · 1 month ago

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SJM Villain Week Day 7 Masterlist (Prompt: Free Day)

Fanfiction

Droit du seigneur (Beron Vanserra x Nesta Archeron) by @nocasdatsgay (AO3 Link) Can I Get It? (Beron Vanserra) by @fourteentrout (AO3 Link) Heat and Help (Beron Vanserra x The Lady of Autumn) by @acourtofladydeath (AO3 Link) A Love That Bleeds (Amarantha x Original Female Character) by @jules-writes-stories (AO3 Link) Silver-Bleeding Prophecies (Amarantha) by @paytowinsundays (AO3 Link) The Greatest Foe of all (Paperwork) by @sonics-atelier (AO3 Link)

Fanart

The High Lord of Autumn- Beron Vanserra by @velarisbynight

Headcanons/Moodboards

Beron Vanserra Headcanons by @highlordofkrypton Villain Memes by @shadowqueenjude Amarantha Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky Attor Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky Beron Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky Keir Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky Ianthe Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky King of Hybern Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky Koschei Core by @sizzlingstarlightsky

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deathsweetblossoms · 2 years ago

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I feel very seen.

One of the reasons I will always defend Elain is because I too went through a period of catatonic grief after unimaginable loss after loss after loss (in a short period of time) There was no Rhysand to rescue me from an abusive relationship, no Cassian to teach me how to wield a sword and feel strong. There was only myself with my thoughts, stuck in my mind as I replayed events over and over and could barely get out of bed to survive past all of the pain that was completely out of my control. Maybe if one hasn't experienced it, it's harder to understand how easy it is to disassociate in the face of too much incomprehensible sadness, no matter what is going on around you. I can see how that would be perceived as weak, from that perspective (I suppose), although I do not agree.

#leave it to em to write the most beautiful response to my angsty ass post ever #& its okay to not know elain its basically written into her characterization - nobody knows her or sees her #“nobody sees me but he did. he will not now. “#but what’s funny is when I make moodboards for Elain and Taryn their vibe is the same #i was JUST making some the other day and I thought "lol ok two of the most hated girlies having the flowery princess aesthetic #while also being capable of murder? (locke and hybern) ok i see you two #i love both of them and demand justice for their unwarranted hatred DAILYYYY #also my “ghost state” lasted literally two years and im only just now getting out of it #ACOTAR is what broke me out of the haze #so its really debilitating #and quite frankly anyone could have given me the tools to heal and i would have continued wasting away #its HARD but to pull yourself out?? and to decide to live and make something of yourself? takes a lot of work

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velidewrites · 2 years ago

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ACOTAR CHARACTERS || THE KING OF HYBERN

#acotarcharacteredits #the king of hybern #hybern acotar #acotar moodboard #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #sarah j maas #sjm

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damedechance · 2 years ago

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not a star

Kallias x Viviane | Read on AO3

[Listen to the Playlist]

This year, I had the tremendous pleasure of participating in the @acotargiftexchange and creating a fic for @daevastanner! Izzy, I really hope you enjoy this little moodboard and oneshot. Happy holidays, and please stay safe and warm!

Summary: At the Southern Border of the Winter Court, Viviane spends Solstice battling the growing resentment she feels towards her childhood friend, Kallias, who has mysteriously reappeared in her life after being the one to assign her to the border in the first place. She sets out on a mission to prove to him that he was wrong, which inevitably lands them both in deeper trouble, as the unspoken attraction between them lies just below the surface.

You can read the opening below, but the entire fic is on AO3!

The Southern Forest laid sprawling before her, a great taiga with its towering evergreens that spiraled so far into the sky, their very peaks were obscured behind the wintry fog. The pines were magnificent pillars, their branches full and laden with snow. They stood packed so densely together that nearly every inch of ground was covered. If she climbed down from this turret, she would find the forest nearly impossible to navigate, with its labyrinthine paths and the air thick with icy, suffocating wind.

She’d been to the Northern Border, seen the steep mountains and climbed to their summits. Even for the most seasoned of climbers, the mountains were practically a guaranteed death–either by hypothermia or a horrific fall down the sharp, jutting mountainside. But Viviane would contend that the forest was far more lethal. That unseen enemies, disorientation, and madness would wear away one’s soul long before the cold wore all the way through their bodies.

It was exactly what made the Southern Border so impenetrable. The forest was a beast all on its own, something few dared to broach. But in these years, even the most calculated of Winter’s enemies were growing heedless. Roaring, desperate soldiers from Hybern that had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Viviane supposed the forest wouldn’t look so ominous to her, either, if she had a ruthless general like Amarantha and nothing waiting for her at home.

And so she stood, high upon the topmost platform of the turret, and braced her gloved hands on the railing in front of her. Eyes rocking over every inch of the vast, unfathomable forest, and carefully scanning for any hint of intrusion or attack.

Such level of scrutiny was hardly necessary. Even on the night of Winter Solstice, the guards were as watchful as ever, and there were many eyes on the taiga tonight. Her guard was a formidable force, keen and powerful. They would have managed tonight’s patrol just fine without her.

In fact, her absence likely would have been more productive, in the long run. As it was, her unusually sharp and caustic demeanor was setting them all on edge. She could feel the anxiety in the air just as biting as the chill in the wind. She was well aware that it was her fault, that this stark contrast to her usual levity and compassion had flipped the dynamic.

Usually, Viviane was kind. She put her guards at ease by offering smiles, or inquiring about their families. On occasion, she had even been known to suggest sledding or group meals in their off-time, just to bolster morale. Viviane cared for the people who were under her authority, but more than that, she fought for the people under her protection.

A fact that at times warped and twisted in on itself. Brought fear and self-doubt instead of warmth and satisfaction. She had to protect them. It was her job. It was all she had.

Viviane’s hands tightened around the railing, and she ignored the way she could feel her knuckles practically splitting the skin that stretched over them as the cold metal bit into her palms. She wouldn’t allow herself to be resentful of the fact that this border guards was the only responsibility she had, now. Not even if that meant admitting that she had been cast aside, that everything else she had once cared about was now under the protection of someone else. Admitting that she couldn’t do more.

A few miles north, there laid a city. One that was just fierce and scrupulous enough to survive out in this taiga. It was where many of the guards went for a drink or a hot meal after their shifts. Where they slept at the inn, after one too many drinks made them far too sluggish to return to their tents at the border. It was lively and bright, a guiding light in this endless blizzard.

A visitor had arrived in that city that very morning, all too painful a reminder of everything Viviane longed for.

Which, perhaps, was exactly what her turbulent mood could be attributed towards.

She took refuge in the wind that slashed across her number cheeks, in the snow that fell over her head, clumped in the fibers of her fur-lined coat. The harsh winter was at least familiar enough that she could find comfort in it, even as the ends of her fingers lost feeling and she constantly had to suppress her shivering.

This was familiar. He was not.

Viviane supposed it might have hurt less, if she had never seen him again.

#acotar secret santa #acotar #viviane #kallias #viviane x kallias #winter court #fanfiction

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highladyofdawn · 4 years ago

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make an elain archeron moodboard please :)

elain archeron : a mood board

“Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair.”

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separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

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Time, Curious Time

And isn't it so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me

Summary: Briar just barely survived the war with Hybern and his terrible camp. All she wants is a little peace…especially from her dreams. Nightmares plague her, urging her to return to the place that tormented her.

What lies beyond that woodland threatens to reshape Prythian and Briar?

Well, she's right in the middle of it

for @ladynestas (who also made the moodboard)

Read on AO3

She still had nightmares.

More often than Briar could count, she woke coated in sweat. She didn’t know why her mind forced her to relive the days spent in the Faerie camp. No amount of safety would ever convince her body, her mind. Briar ought to have been right back to that spinning wheel, utterly naked for the amusement of the males. She could feel their hands, their teeth, their blades, always plucking, biting, pinching.

She still wore the scars, hidden beneath her dresses. She’d said nothing to her parents after Viviane returned her to the now ruined wall. They’d made her swear her days as a member of the Children of the Blessed were over.

It was an easy promise to make, harder to keep. There had been stories, when she was a girl, that to drink faerie food or drink faerie wine bound you to their land. She knew that king was dead and yet a tugging in her gut was always pulling her back. Briar had done a good job ignoring it over the last year but tonight it was too much.

She pushed the blanket from her bed. It was cold out, the last vestiges of winter clinging to the windowpane with clawed fingers. The promise of dawn lit over the sky, casting purple shadows as Briar dressed, sliding fur lined boots over warm, woolen socks. Her parents would be furious with her, though that was hardly new.

They wanted her to get married. Phillip. He wanted her to get married too. Sometimes even Briar herself wanted that. He didn’t know what happened in Prythian. Didn’t see how she was haunted. What would he do when he unlaced her wedding dress to find the knife marks? The whipping scars? The burns forever etched into her skin? Proof someone else had been there first, that many people had. He wouldn’t understand it wasn’t necessarily, sexual. He would assume it all the same and human men were far too willing to believe the worst of women associated with the fae.

Briar braided her silky, dark hair from her face, cursing the beauty staring back at her from the mirror.

Her friends had been killed on sight. She’d been preserved because one of the fae took a liking to her face. The king of Hybern doubly so. It would have been far kinder to execute her on sight, she thought. Brian rubbed the heel of her hands against dark brown eyes, wishing the fae had marred that, too.

Maybe Phillip wouldn’t be so interested, then.

Pulling a hunter green cloak over her head, Briar stepped out of the cottage that had once been home. She’d dreamed of leaving this village behind, of finding love and beauty and something more beyond the wall. She’d found a nightmare, one Briar could not wake up from. She was cursed, trapped in that enchanted sleep.

There was no waking and whatever was calling her back would certainly only damn her further. If Briar had been smart, she would have turned back, crawled back into bed, and stayed there. As Briar trudged through snow with only a small knife–gifted from the fae princess Viviane—she considered that her curiosity had always been her problem. She wasn’t content to leave well enough alone.

It was what kept her moving. Briar had considered that she was walking straight back to her doom. She wasn’t afraid, not this time. The worst had already happened, right? Maybe it tempted fate to assume that but Briar almost hoped something was waiting for her with glistening teeth and an open maw.

The forest was endless and massive and by the time the sun was fully up, Briar realized what a terrible idea the entire thing was. She’d brought no food, had no thought as to where she was going. Her body was half dragged, propelled on, on, on. She knew what it was.

Magic.

She’d smelled it before—coppery and metallic, like blood but worse. The wall was gone, reduced to ash and yet Briar had thought she’d see the wreckage. When Viviane had brought her home, rock and rubble lay ruined along the ground, creating division.

It had all been cleaned, removed by some unknown hand.

She forced herself to keep going. It was too late now to turn back no matter how she might like to. Her heart fluttered in her chest, smashing up against her ribcage until she was panting with the effort it took to keep air in her lungs. Whatever corded around her now yanked, causing her to stumble and trip. More than once, Briar fell to the cool ground, cognizant that the snow had melted into the crisp afternoon of spring.

She remembered the High Lord of this place—not by name, but face. He appeared in her dreams as often as the rest of them did. The monster who’d come at the last minute, who’d fought those vicious dogs she’d been certain would kill them all. His face should have been the worst given how beastly it was. Furred and horned, with vicious fangs and a body as large as a moose.

She would have taken one hundred monsters like that over the beauty of Hybern’s soldiers.

The ripping in her body ended abruptly before a tree. Spiked and vicious and so utterly out of place with the tall oaks that swayed around her. This tree was something else—old and ancient and utterly magic. She almost laughed out loud.

“This?!” she called out to the world, looking skyward at the cerulean blue peeking through treetops. “All this effort for this?!”

Briar reached her fingers through the thorny branches for one of the golden pieces of fruit. Maybe the magic was offering her a way out. A reprieve from the hellish nightmare she’d been trapped in. The fruit was squishy and not firm like it appeared. Slimy, even, as if it were rotten. Briar ripped her hand back, pricking her hand in the process

The world seemed to tilt and three drops of blood rolled down her wrist, dripping to the earth.

Briar.

The wind wrapped around her throat.

Welcome home.

She let it take her.

~*~

Tamlin had been living in the forest for too long. Three years since the war, surfacing only when the insufferable Night Court came to pay him a visit. Lucien was the usual suspect but sometimes it was Rhysand. Lucien wanted things to go back as they were and Rhysand?

Tamlin understood the High Lord of Night merely wanted to know if he was alive or not. Perhaps he meant to fight Beron for the remainder of Tamlin’s land when the world finally took him. He’d felt it, that pull, that aching tug. Dragging him towards the wall, towards the place the Cauldron had sat before it pulled that ancient magic apart. Tamlin refused.

Usually, anyway.

Not today. He could sense Rhysand prowling about, nosy as always. He’d drag Tamlin back and pretend he cared while digging through Tamlin’s mind. It was all so tedious. Exhausting. He simply lacked the energy to watch Rhysand preen about, hero in his own mind. He’d vanquished the terrible evil that tried to take his mate.

Wasn’t that enough?

Apparently not. Tamlin knew Rhysand wouldn’t truly be satisfied until he was dead. Maybe he deserved that for what he’d done to Rhysand’s mother and sister. Maybe that was a fitting punishment for giving in to his father, to his brothers. Tamlin had made peace that made blood demanded blood and though his own mother had paid for his mistake, perhaps the world wouldn’t be right until he was dead too.

He plodded forward, nails digging in the ground. Some days were better than others. Some days he could take on the shape of the male, could bathe and dress and clean up the estate and turn his attention to the land.

Other days he couldn’t bring himself to eat, let alone walk on two feet. Today was one of those days. Tamlin pushed deeper in the woods, wondering if this was the route Andras had once taken. So much death was piled around him, their bodies scattered like ashes. What had it been for? What had he accomplished?

It was all for nothing.

Nose practically dragging against the leaf strewn ground, Tamlin didn’t notice the tangled thicket of thorns and brambles that stretched like a wall in both directions. He reared back, slashing his nose against the sharpness, dragging three drops of blood against the ground. Around him, the air hummed with approval and that ancient, whispering voice murmured a greeting.

Welcome home, High Lord.

He snuffed in response, stamping his foot impatiently. These were still his woods. The Mother, ancient and wise as she was, had no right to interfere this way. Another metaphor, he nearly asked. He simply lacked the energy.

A soft, whispering laugh made every hair on his body stand on edge. He disliked the way the gods still played their little games, no longer content to watch from above. Using the Cauldron had awoken something primordial and Tamlin was certain he wasn’t the only creature that felt it.

The vines retreated into the earth, filling his body with the sensation of life reborn filling his chest. He’d forgotten, if only for a moment, how the magic of Spring truly felt. He was more than just the vicious beast.

Tamlin hesitated when the last of the vines vanished, revealing a tree that certainly did not belong. Stepping forward, he snuffed at it, snarling at the violent tang of magic. He’d wondered what would happen when Daglan and Brannagah had set the Cauldron on his land. What might rise up when they spilled it to the ground? The tree was rotting and yet somehow brimming with life.

Tamlin sighed. He’d be forced to tell the other High Lords who would be rightly furious. Tamlin took another careful step, his clawed foot colliding with something soft beneath a layer of fallen leaves and other debris he’d mistaken for the ground itself. Sighing, he lowered his snout, certain’d find more rotting carcasses from the unfortunate creatures that dared to try and eat from the tree.

The scent clanged through his body like a bell, rippling through his blood like a brand. He didn’t realize he was digging against the earth, trying to find the source of this new thing. He shifted without meaning to, utterly naked, to reach for the female laying in that soil filled grave. He recognized her face though her name eluded him.

She’d been the human in Hyberns camp. He still thought of her from time to time, wondering what had become of the human who’d survived the camp. He supposed now he knew—she’d come back, had eaten from the tree.

Cursed, was his first thought as he gently pried her from the earth's loving grip. How long had she been there? She had a distinctly immortal glow to her, though the arching ears tipped through her brown black hair was a dead giveaway.

Lowering his ear to her breast, Tamlin could hear her steady, soft heartbeat. Alive but only just. Enchanted sleep was rare, not because the spell was difficult but because the curse was easily broken. True loves kiss, according to the ancient grimoire but in truth, the fae had learned any kiss would do.

Maybe not a naked male, he decided wryly. He’d take her back to the estate, break the spell, and send her on her way. She could stay the night but after that Tamlin wanted her gone—out of his estate, off his lands and ideally, out of his mind, too.

He took his time on the trip back, sensing Rhysand’s departure mere moments before he emerged from the woods. It took no great effort to winnow directly into the estate itself given he hadn’t used his magic for anything significant in years and his wards were no longer maintained. Lucien occasionally came by and threw one up and Tamlin always pulled it down the minute the Autumn court male—Night court, now—vanished.

Rhysand’s scent lingered in the dim halls, taunting Tamlin all the same.

Look what’s become of you.

Pathetic.

Tamlin knew all too well.

He took the female up the stairs to the one bedroom still in good condition—his own. She could have it, at least for now. Tamlin had no intention of sleeping here. He set her among the white and gold duvet without a second look. He had to dig through his things for a pair of pants, a shirt, and tunic. Good enough, he thought, sweeping his long, blonde hair off his face. He doubted he looked less mannerly but clothed and semi-groomed was far better than letting her wake to a naked male hovering over her.

Tamlin hesitated at the edge of the mattress, eyes locked on full, pink lips. She truly was lovely. He hadn’t thought so when he rescued her, had been too busy to care for such things but now? He understood why Hybern had chosen to torture her. All faeries coveted lovely things and given the reputation of humans for being dull, ugly creatures, this female was a gem among rocks.

Blowing out a breath, Tamlin leaned forward and brushed his lips across her own. She was warm, practically asleep for all he could tell. He stepped back and waited, fascinated at the rippling gold and green shimmering off her. How long had she been down there for? It took her a moment to shake it off, to inhale sharply. Long lashed fluttered, revealing the warmed set of brown eyes set in her heart shaped, moon-pale face. She blinked, brows pulling into a frown.

She turned her head to look at him, detonating a vicious, ripping explosion in his chest. Tamlin choked, stumbling back a good four steps before he regained his balance.

The reverberating snap in his chest was an answer to the question he’d been asking ever since he’d met Feyre.

Mate, that laughing voice murmured against his cheek.

She was staring at him too. Tamlin came towards her, halting when she scrambled away, her whole body trembling violently. “Where am I?” she asked him, fingers curling in the blanket. How did he explain when the walls were covered in curling ivy and the windows were shattered husks? Ruined floors from years of rain water and sunlight weren’t any more inviting. Only the bed was intact given he still slept in it on occasion.

He could fix this.

“Spring Court,” he said, speaking for the first time in months. His voice was hoarse, a terrifying grunting even to his own ears. “You’re safe.”

“Safe,” she whispered, looking away from him with hollow eyes. “Safe in Prythian.”

He nodded. “I…” Gods, he didn’t know what to say. “My name is Tamlin.”

She looked back at him, recognizing that, at least. “The monster?”

He cringed.

“The monster,” he agreed, swallowing hard. Her shoulders relaxed, filling Tamlin with the strangest mixture of hope and fear.

“Will you take me home?” she asked him.

He hesitated. This was his mate, after all. Returning her back to the humans was risky. They were likely to kill her.

“Home?”

“I live in the village beyond the wall,” she said earnestly, scooting closer. Pretty eyes, he thought. The same as lightning churned earth, of rough bark branching into green treetops against a clear blue sky.

“For how long?” he asked her. Maybe the humans were softening, were willing to tolerate her because she’d been one of them.

She frowned. “My whole life. My parents, they’ll…” she bit her bottom lip.

They’d be worried. Tamlin’s whole body rebelled at the notion and yet to force her to stay was merely replicating all his past mistakes. He nodded and the female stood. He needed, at least, to know her name.

“What do they call you?” he asked her softly. She passed by a mirror, turning her head to look.

“Briar,” she whispered, halting in front of the cracked surface. Her hair was unbound, falling in soft ringlets down her back, her eyes dark and wide and utterly lovely. Her lips parted and, with trembling fingers, she reached for those delicate, arched ears.

“I…” she trailed off. “Is this a trick?”

He didn’t know what to make of that. “A trick?”

She looked at him with such anguish though Tamlin didn’t understand the cause of it. Gesturing down her body, Briar said, “My body.”

He didn’t dare comment on that, though he couldn’t pretend he didn’t appreciate it. Tamlin merely shook his head back and forth.

“I went into the woods human!” she said, a tear sliding down her face. Tamlin truly studied her in that moment, drinking in her fur lined cape and her waterproof boots. At best she’d been in the woods for almost a year. At worst…he cleared his throat.

“Did you eat from the tree?”

She shook her head back and forth. “It was rotting.”

Tamlin closed his eyes, thinking of the offering he’d made in order to gain entrance to the thicket itself. What a cruel joke, offering up his blood without knowing what was waiting. He’d thought, foolishly, it was merely to signify he was High Lord.

Like called to like.

“Did you spill blood?”

She looked down at her unblemished hand and without hearing her answer, Tamlin knew the answer was yes.

“Take me back–”

“They’ll kill you–”

“Take me back!” she sobbed, sinking to the ground. He caught her before she crashed, lowering her gently. “Please. Please take me back.”

Tamlin resisted the urge to run his nose along the back of her ear, to inhale the soft scent of hyacinth and honey clinging against her skin. This was close enough, gripping her slim arms while she trembled mere inches away.

“Winter was nine months ago,” he whispered, earning another strangled sob.

“They need to know I’m not dead,” she said, turning those beautiful, tear soaked eyes on him. He would have done anything in that moment to see her happy. Without considering what kind of male he was or even if she even wanted a mate, Tamlin nodded his head.

“You won’t be able to stay,” he warned her. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“Where will I go?”

“Here,” he said, his own voice breaking at the thought.

Their eyes met again and he prayed that she’d feel that snap, too.

Nothing.

“Take me home.”

BRIAR:

Tamlin was terrifying to look at. He’d clearly seen better days if his rough shaven face and the smudging purple bruising beneath his eyes were any indication. He spoke very little as he walked her across the overrun grounds. Everywhere he went the world seemed to right itself a little. The grass shrank, the vines retreated. Floors reknit themselves, the glass repairing. If he put any effort into this strange clean up effort, Briar genuinely could not tell. His face was utterly impassive.

She was tempted to ask how it became this way. It looked as if a war had ripped through the land. He’d said she could stay, but Briar didn’t think she wanted to.

When they reached the edge of the forest, the man beside her offered her a calloused, broad hand. “We’ll winnow,” he murmured. “So you don’t have to stay the night in the woods.” Brian sucked in a breath. Viviane had done this, too. She nodded, sliding her hand against his own while bracing herself for the crushing wind and the darkness that accompanied that shift through time. Viviane had explained it to be like stepping through the world and Briar supposed it was.

Tamlin’s magic was warmer, softer than the princess of winter. Maybe Viviane would let Briar return, seek refuge in her icy palace. Briar hated the cold and yet a friendly face felt like a gift in the midst of her panicking uncertainty.

Tamlin squeezed her hand as they reappeared just inside the treeline where no one would see. Nervously, Briar unbraided the rest of her hair, carefully arranging it against her ears while Tamlin pretended he wasn’t watching. Forest green eyes surveyed their surroundings with a mix of interest and disdain.

“They all look the same,” he murmured, catching her watching him. “Nothing changes.”

She didn’t agree. It looked to her as if everything had changed. Roads, once little more than dirt, had been repaved with concrete. Houses had been remade with nice brick and stone. It was autumn now, evidenced by falling leaves and little candles and pumpkins on the front porch, carved with scary faces in hopes they would ward off trickster spirits. Tamlin had been right—she’d been gone nine months.

“I’m coming with you,” he said when she didn’t respond. He straightened out his spine, standing his full height. She felt small beside him, the top of her head coming to the swell of his shoulder.

“You’ll scare them,” she whispered. He glanced at her again, lips pressed into a thin line. She knew what he was thinking and was grateful when he didn’t say it.

She’d scare them, too.

That was evidenced when she stepped onto the road. No amount of clever hair could hide what she was now. The once bustling streets died as the people she’d once known scrambled out of her way. Men held swords though they didn’t dare point them. She supposed she ought to thank Tamlin for that. His broad, muscular frame was a threat all on its own. Any man untrained in the art of battle might think twice before going up against the faerie.

Her parents' home had not been spared the remodel of the village. It had always been nice—her father was a blacksmith and their life, while small, had been comfortable. Two stories, three bedrooms and running water had always been a feature of Briar’s life. Everything looked nicer, she thought. The door had been replaced and repainted navy. Yellow shutters hung cheerfully against clear windows and a plot of marigolds lined the path from the street to the door.

Briar knocked, pretending Tamlin wasn’t standing at the edge of the yard watching. Would he let her go inside?

The door opened and too late, Briar realized it had been more than nine months since she left. Her father’s face was aged and lined. His once dark hair was silvered at the edges and his whole body seemed to sag. He halted at the sight of her, sighing heavily.

“Two years, Briar,” he said by way of greeting. That stunned her.

“I…two years?”

“Just like before,” he added, his gaze hard. “You’re missing from your bed. We searched the woods for you, but I knew. You went back and now look at you.”

His eyes found Tamlin just behind her.

“She’s your problem now. I don’t want to ever see her again.”

“Where is mother—”

“Dead.” His voice was hard, unforgiving. “You sent her to an early grave. She was so sure you were hurt. Begged me to keep looking long after it was clear you crossed the wall. How disappointed she’d be, to see you like this.”

Tamlin snarled softly behind her. Briar wiped the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

It wasn’t my fault, she wanted to add as he slammed that door in her face. “Where is she buried!” she screamed at the wood, lunging forward and slamming her palm against the solid mass.

“Tell me where she’s buried!”

The door groaned and cracked at the force of her hand. Briar didn’t care. She’d break it down, destroy the whole thing.

“Tell me—”

Hands on her shoulders pulled her backwards. “Briar,” Tamlins voice whispered. She yanked, even as that crushing warmth swept around her. He deposited her on the lawn just in time for Briar to swing, catching him upside his chiseled jaw. He stumbled backwards, caught off guard, and Briar, horrified she’d hit him, pressed her palm against her mouth.

“It’s fine,” he told her. It wasn’t, though. Shaking her head, Briar meant to apologize but the words came out as an anguished scream. He caught her again, arm sliding around her middle so she didn’t face plant into the ground.

“Two years,” she sobbed as the two gently tumbled to the ground. “I was gone for two years.”

He released her, sitting close enough she could feel his warmth while she sobbed viciously into her hands. Briar dug her fingers into the earth, furious Prythain had played this little trick on her. Hadn’t she been through enough? Hadn’t her body suffered enough?

All her hatred, her anger and pain and anguish seemed to slide like viscous liquid, tangible to her somehow. The world itself drank it down like an elixir…and then pushed something back. A daisy. White and bright and swaying in the breeze. Another popped from the ground, and then another, until there was a blanket of them stretched between her and Tamlin.

“I want to go to winter,” she said breathlessly, knowing full well he was going to tell her no. Already, Tamlin, his eyes round and wide, was shaking his head. He merely sighed, skimming his hands over the delicate petals with obvious wonder. Briar had stopped crying, at least. Small mercies, she supposed, wiping her face on her shoulder .

“This is all Spring,” he told her, those grassy colored eyes finding hers.

“I didn’t ask for it,” she replied softly. Tamlin nodded, biting his bottom lip.

“No, but…we haven’t had magic like this in centuries. It was bred out of my family line in favor of strength.”

She yanked her fingers out of the dirt and dropped them in her lap. “I suppose the world has a sense of humor, then.”

“You could say that again,” Tamlim mumbled.

“I know Viviane,” Briar tried again. “She was nice, I…”

He sighed, all his wonder shifting into some new emotion she didn’t recognize. “I’ll write to her. Will you come back with me in the meantime?”

“What happened?” she asked, pushing off the ground to rise to her feet. His expression tightened, that same, unreadable look still ghosting his face. Tamlin merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Too much to say.”

She didn’t understand it.

But Briar knew exactly what he meant.

TAMLIN:

She asked to keep the room she’d woken in. Who was Tamlin to tell her no? Could he have mentioned it just so happened to be his bed? Sure. Did he? Absolutely not. It was, perhaps, selfish and yet Tamlin rather liked the thought of his mate in his bed. It was certainly the nicest chamber in the entire estate, at any rate, and after her ordeal, Tamlin thought Briar deserved it.

There were other, more pressing problems outside of his mate lying beneath his sheets though everything seemed to go back to that. The estate was ruined, the grounds in disarray. Autumn was pushing on his border, his people were scattered and impoverished and Tamlin had no idea where to start. He had no friends he could call on anymore, no support or allies. Just a terrified mate—asleep in his bed—and himself.

Grinding his teeth, Tamlin was forced to make a choice.

Fucking Lucien Vanserra.

Writing his once best friend felt like being kicked in the face repeatedly. Lucien, the traitor. Lucien, who’d hung him out to dry and joined Rhysand. Lucien, who’d taken Feyre’s side on everything despite the centuries of friendship between them. Lucien, who had abandoned him to lick Rhysands boots all so he might one day be allowed to speak to the female Tamlin heard was kept far, far away from him.

Did he prefer it, Tamlin wondered? Did it feel like freedom to his old friend? They’d once rode all over the countryside, had dreamed of a better way of running things. They’d tried, briefly, before Amarantha, even. What had Rhysand done, other than reinforce the same tired system that kept too many broken and impoverished?

Tamlin did it anyway, knowing Lucien would tell Rhysand he was requesting help. That anything Lucien learned here would be handed over to the Night Court for their perusal. And that Rhysand would eventually come, playacting as High King, to see if he approved of Tamlin’s attempts to rebuild.

The letter vanished with a whisper, leaving Tamlin to sit in the ruined study. It was easy to blame everything on Rhysand—and he did, for a lot of it. Rhysand was determined to punish Tamlin for the rest of his life for that mistake. The problem, at least in Tamlin’s estimation, was how much better Rhysand had always been at playing politics. Tamlin have been particularly eloquent or well versed in being a courtier. That had always been Lucien’s job, perhaps to Tamlin’s detriment. When it all fell apart, he didn’t know where to start.

Didn’t want to even try.

He wasn’t supposed to be High Lord. It had been drilled in his head his whole life. His brothers had been courtly and Tamlin had been the warrior, for all the good it did him. Everyone was dead or gone and he was what was left. His father was likely spinning in his grave.

Tamlin fell asleep in his chair and woke to the sound of boots echoing on the marble in the foyer. He heard a familiar sigh and then felt the shimmering wards sliding over the estate again.

Lucien.

He wiped his palms on his trousers, swallowing the mix of hatred and nerves mixing in his chest. Their relationship was fraught now, tangled in the emotions of people who had once known everything about each other that no longer cared. Only, Tamlin did care. Not caring about Lucien would have made hating him all the easier.

Tamlin met him in the hall. Lucien looked well enough—dressed as he always had been in his fine clothes, not a hair out of place—and yet exhausted and worn down at the same time. Their eyes met, the tension between them so taut Tamlin could have played it like a fiddle.

“I got your letter,” Lucien said, breaking the silence between them. He pressed his lips in a thin line, clearly irritated that Tamlin hadn’t said something first.

“You came faster than I thought,” Tamlin replied, still getting used to the sound of his own voice. Lucien considered that. Tamlin could see the gears grinding in his old friend's head.

“I came straight here,” Lucien said, letting Tamlin fill in the gaps.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.

I’ve decided to see for myself before asking permission

I want to give Rhysand and his court a full update when I return

Tamlin clenched his jaw. “How fortunate for me your schedule allowed it.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched, as though he might smile at Tamlin’s irritation. Lucien looked around, drinking in the little repairs Tamlin’s magic had made. He could fix the whole estate if he wanted—though if he fell apart again, the estate would crumble in the wake of the lost magic. He wanted Briar to have somewhere safe to live even if he wasn’t in it.

He couldn’t tell Lucien that. In fact, Tamlin didn’t think he wanted Lucien to know about her at all.

“So,” Lucien, smug and stupid all at once, turned his gaze back to Tamlin. “You wanted my help?”

Ask for my help.

He swallowed all his pride. “Rebuilding my court.”

Lucien’s surprise skittered over his face for only a moment before his friend hid that and any other emotion he felt. And Tamlin, irritated and embarrassed, added, “Not you, of course. I know how important it is to remain emissary to the Night Court.” Lucien scoffed. “Half your court defected to Autumn and has been feeding their High Lord information for months?”

“And the rest?”

Lucien shrugged. “Holed up in their own estates playing lord. Taxing the populace far beyond their means, staging their own Calanmai rituals…at least one of them will likely try and stage a coup when they realize you plan to actually return?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

“So is that it, then? Spring is just lost?”

Lucien’s face was impassive. “You were the warlord, not me. I can go around and make my little threats but perhaps, first, you might stroll to the summer border and see what your former soldiers are up to.”

Gods damn him, Tamlin was certain he didn’t want to know. He was going to have to go on an apology tour around Prythian, apologizing to the High Lords.

“That will take weeks,” Tamlin grumbled, thinking of his mate still in his bed. Lucien raised a brow.

“Do you have something better to do?”

“I need someone I can trust to watch the estate while I’m gone,” Tamlin said in response. His meaning was clear.

Not you.

Lucien ran a hand down his mouth. “I have a thought–”

“No one from Night Court,” Tamlin interrupted flatly. Lucien was undeterred.

“Elain Archeron–”

“Absolutely not,” Tamlin growled. He didn’t want another fucking Archeron sister stepping foot in Spring. He couldn’t tolerate another female with Feyre’s features giving him a hard time. He’d saved Feyre’s mates life. When would it be enough?

“She’s not like Feyre,” Lucien murmured softly. “And she’s a gardener.”

“She’s an Archeron.”

Tamlin understood Lucien’s desire to bring Elain to Spring. Get his mate out of Night under the guise of rebuilding and unity. Tamlin and Lucien were at an impasse and Tamlin, distrustful and angry, made an impulsive decision Lucien would have once berated him for.

“Come back and you can bring her.”

Lucien stared.

“Excuse me?”

Tamlin forced himself to hold Lucien’s stare. “Come back to Spring and you can bring your Archeron mate.”

Lucien’s anger was too much to hide. He strode forward and without warning, slammed his fist in Tamlin’s stomach. Tamlin doubled over, taken aback by both the action itself and the force with which Lucien had hit him.

“You fucked me over with Hybern,” Lucien snarled. “You fucked over all of Spring. Why wouldn’t you tell me? We were friends. I would have helped you, you dumb motherfucker.”

“I know,” Tamlin wheezed. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien shook his head. “If you think I’ve been having fun over there, I hate you even more than before. You could have told me and I would have stopped Feyre. You chose to trust Ianthe, Tam.

At least Rhysand doesn’t pretend to be my friend when he’s fucking me over.”

Tamlin stood again, still panting against the assault. Nothing Lucien said was untrue and yet— “You left with her.”

Lucien’s face slackened for a moment. “My loyalty is to my mate.”

“Yeah? How’s that working out?”

Lucien clenched his fists but didn’t dare come any closer. Hitting Tamlin once was a matter between old friends and once brothers. Hitting him twice invited letting the High Lord exact justice.

Lucien couldn’t withstand that kind of onslaught.

“Fuck you, Tam,” Lucien snapped.

“No go say that to Rhysand,” Tamlin taunted, having clearly touched a nerve. This was how they solved arguments in the past. Before Amarantha, before the mountain, when the stressors between them were smaller and more manageable. An ocean lay between them now, unnavigable and still Tamlin, ever stupid, wanted to try. “Go hit Rhysand in the gut.”

“I never said he was my friend—”

“Then why is he your fucking High Lord?” Tamlin snapped.

“He has my mate!” Lucien snarled furiously, unleashing his rage. Chest heaving, Tamlin watched all Lucien’s careful restraint snap against that rising tide of fury.

“Invite her,” Tamlin said dismissively.

“If you think either of them will allow Elain into this court—”

“Is she a prisoner, then?” Tamlin asked, referring back to a very old conversation he and Lucien had regarding Feyre. High Lords couldn’t just kidnap females that had no ties to them. Especially another males mate. Tamlin had once thought Feyre to be that very thing, though there was no snapping bond between them.

Lucien’s rage smoothed back into that unnerving nothingness. Tamlin hated how easily he managed that.

“Stealing her from her family will hardly engender any good will.”

Tamlin didn’t bother mentioning it was working perfectly well for him. His mate was in his bed. “Of course. I’m sure your way is better. Let me know what you decide.”

Lucien hesitated as Tamlin turned. He took a half-step, stopping Tamlin in his tracks. “I want to come back,” Lucien admitted softly. “I just…”

“I know,” Tamlin replied. It didn’t make him any less resentful, but he knew what kept Lucien all the same.”

“I’ll be back with an answer,” Lucien said, sweeping one last look around. “I’ll meet you at the border.”

Tamlin huffed a sigh. Briar would be fine.

Briar was in his bed.

He turned abruptly, leaving his former friend still standing in the foyer.

He wanted to see his mate.

In his bed.

BRIAR:

Briar woke to the High Lord offering breakfast. She knew, from years of experience, that acts of kindness didn’t come without strings.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking in the strange state of him. He looked as if he needed a good bath, sleep, and a new tailor. She wasn’t sure if she could just tell him to go wash his hair—if she’d told the lord of the village his hair looked stringy, he’d have her flogged.

Tamlin ducked his head appreciatively at her thanks. Breakfast, like everything in Spring, was spartan and yet eggs and toast and juice were all perfectly good in comparison to enchanted sleep.

Besides, while she waited on Viviane, maybe she could try her hands at growing. She’d never tried before, though.

She’d never had magic before.

“I am going to be at the border this evening,” he told her by way of greeting, standing at the very edge of the bed. “I uh…do you want to come?”

“And do what?” she asked. He winced. Nothing fun, then.

“I need to rally some of my former soldiers.”

Oh. “Can I stay?” Briar was perfectly content to be alone. She was used to it, besides. Her parents hadn’t paid her a ton of attention growing up which was how Briar had ended up with the Children of the Blessed to begin with. She’d wanted anyone to look at her longer than a few minutes.

To love her.

Not that she needed the faerie before her to know that. He’d think she was desperate and pathetic if he didn’t already, given how often she broke down sobbing in front of him. Not today, she vowed. Today she would make herself useful, would show him that it hadn’t been a mistake rescuing her from that curse and that as long as she was in his court, she could both be of use to him and not embarrass him.

“Stay?” he asked, as if he couldn’t make sense of the word. Briar nodded, dropping her fork to the tray to come closer.

“I could try my hand at gardening, if you don’t have one—”

“You want a garden?” he breathed, his eyes glazing over. Briar blinked.

“Are you alright? Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, though it seemed to be dawning on him that he was filthy. He glanced down at his clothes before examining his skin. “I could…I should bathe.”

“Okay. So we have a plan. I’ll stay and you’ll take a bath, take a nap, and—”

“The only working tub is in this room,” he informed her. Briar, still sitting on the bed, hadn’t bothered to ask whose room she was actually in. Now, though, she looked at the massive chamber and wondered why she hadn’t guessed. It was masculine enough, despite the cream and gold sheets. She ought to have guessed when she found multiple daggers hidden under the mountain of pillows, that the High Lord was sleeping there.

“Oh. Of course. I apolog—”

“No need,” he headed her off with a wave of his hand. “I will bathe and then we can discuss remaining behind.”

Briar nodded, practically tripping over the edge of a sage colored rug on her way out. The High Lord had given her his bedroom. She didn’t know what to make of that and so Briar, like she did so many other things, merely stuffed it deep down. Still, there was something fascinating about the knowledge that the thing she’d always wanted the most—living among the fae as one of them—was literally playing out before her very eyes. Had she met him prior to the war, Briar thought she’d be more excited, more thrilled to be around him.

Hybern had taught her that the fae were just like humans with their taste for cruelty and far more powerful and sadistic than the humans could ever dream to be. This man–male, she reminded herself. She used to be so good at speaking like they did. This male wasn’t a regular faerie but a High Lord. If he thought it might amuse him, he could tie her to a wall, too. He could torture her, too.

What could she do about it?

Heal, she thought happily as she stepped into the early morning sunlight. A cheerful breeze ruffled her hair, practically pushing her over the grounds. They looked better than the day before but only marginally. Anything was an improvement, she supposed. Even the estate seemed a little better, though whatever had destroyed it was hardly undone.

And just to the west of the estate, ruined and ugly, was the biggest garden Briar had ever seen. Clearly, better days had once been had here. She could relate to that. She, too, had seem better days. The High Lord, too, if she had to guess. Maybe this whole place was made of broken people just trying to piece themselves back together.

The thought offered her a small measure of peace, if nothing else. Her chest still ached from the knowledge her mother had gone to the grave worried about her and her father blamed her. Her father never had loved much. He’d always loved her mother, though.

Briar dropped to the cracked, dry ground, likely ruining the pretty lavender dress she’d pilfered. She’d take care when she washed it later but if it always had dirt stains, well…who expected her to look like a great lady in this place? Besides, Briar thought she could be forgiven as she’d only just become faerie and wanted to see how the magic worked.

Weeds were the predominant greenery in the garden. She could see, from the crumbling stone path, that there had once been a hedged path that centered around a now defunct fountain. A half-cracked bench beneath a rather sad looking oak tree made everything feel a little more pathetic.

She cracked a nail sliding it into the earth. She could feel, just like before, everything wiggling and moving. Life, as it was, shifting and churning, poking through the rough, unwatered soil as it shoved something with softer roots out of the way. Grass gripping the ground, swaying merrily as it soaked up sun and little earth words inching their way towards her fingers without even knowing she was there.

It would take time to master it entirely. Briar had the sense she could make things bloom if she wanted. Killing things was much easier, a metaphor hardly lost on her. By the time Tamlin rejoined her, freshly bathed and dressed and looking like a High Lord, she had killed a whole patch of weeds by coaxing them back into the ground.

He hadn’t come alone. Briar barely had time to admire just how handsome Tamlin was in his fitted green tunic and his nice, black pants that fit perfectly against his muscular legs. Another male had joined him, just as handsome as Tamlin despite his scarred face and missing eye.

“Tam,” he breathed as she stood up, his nostrils flaring. Tamlin held out his hand, silencing his friend.

“Briar, this is Lucien. He’s going to stay for the day while I’m gone.”

Her eyes flicked back to Lucien. Tamlin was dressed well but Lucien was well-dressed. It wasn’t just his well-fitting clothes but they specific colors he’d chosen—silver and blue and white—and the way in which he’d draped them over his form. He chuckled when she realized she’d been staring just a moment too long.

Cheeks flushing, Briars eyes dropped back to the ground. “Just for the day.”

“Just the day,” Tamlin agreed, his voice more grumble than anything.

“We’ll have a nice time,” Lucien added with his rich, deep voice. “I heard you were human once. I happen to know a little about that.”

Hope bounced around her chest like a ball. “Really?”

“Not a lot. And Tam knows more, I’m sure,” he replied, both gold and russet eye sliding towards his friend. Tamlin was utterly rigid beside him and despite their easy going words, the tension between them was palpable.

“You’re in good hands,” Tamlin agreed tightly. He was such an unbelievable liar. Still, what else was Briar supposed to say? No? Tamlin turned to leave and she, terrified, darted after him faster than she meant. Grabbing at the corded muscle of his bicep, she stopped him in his tracks.

The scent of whatever soap he wore slammed against her senses. Deeply masculine and yet somehow reminiscent of freshly tilled earth and cut grass set against a moody spring rain.

Salty, too, she thought, wrinkling her nose while Lucien actively laughed behind her. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking and it deeply amused him. Tamlin was too busy staring at her hand on his arm to say anything.

“Is he…he won’t…” she swallowed hard. All at once the laughter stopped. Tamlins gaze pinned her in place, rooting her to the spot.

“No one will harm you here.” He spoke the words like an oath.

She nodded. “I—okay.”

“I swear it,” he added for good measure. And from the look on his face and the sword hanging casually from his hip, Briar believed him. Nodding, Briar dropped the hand he was still watching. Maybe he didn’t like being touched. She should have asked.

Tamlin shot Lucien a pointed look, one Briar didn’t know but understood was a silent warning of some kind. Lucien stepped beside her.

“She’s in good hands. We’ll be old friends by the time you return”

“Keep him away from her,” Tamlin barked before vanishing in a floral scented wind. Briar looked up at Lucien, noting the scowl gracing his easy features. He tucked a windblown strand of red hair behind his ear.

“Who is he?”

“No one of importance. Now,” Lucien added, heading off her argument. “My mate likes to garden. Maybe you could show me just enough to talk to her about it?”

Briar looked up at the golden skinned man looking back so earnestly. “Only if you tell me everything there is to know about Spring Court.”

His face warmed with a wicked smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#spring daddy #tamlin x briar #brilin #this is for ladynesta and ladynesta ONLY #HAPPY EARLY BDAY

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helionweek · 3 years ago

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Join us in appreciating everyone’s favorite Sun Daddy! Helion Appreciation Week will run from October 11th-October 17th. Here are the themes!

The Sun Personified

Tell us (or show us!) your Day Court aesthetic. This can include moodboards, art, whatever you want!

What If?

What if Helion and the Lady of Autumn had stayed together? What if Lucien was raised in the Day Court? What if Helion wasn’t the fun-loving party animal that we know and love? What if he’s actually Sellyn Drake (he totally is)? Give us ALL the headcanons and fic!

The Autumn Flame

Long before we heard their sad story in ACOWAR, Helion and the Lady of Autumn had a great love affair that spanned decades. We know how it ended, but how did it begin? Give us your take on their first meeting at that fateful Equinox ball, or their reunion when Helion killed Hybern’s beasts to save the lady. What do you hope will happen in the next books? We want all the sad moments, the happy moments, and the tooth-rotting fluff. Tell and show us your version of the most beautiful untold love story of the series.

Dadcanons

Helion might have a secret son, but he’s always been a daddy! Okay, we’ll stop. Tell us your favorite headcanons (or dadcanons) about Papa Helion and Lucien. They can be happy, sad, or funny—we will devour all of them. Art and fic are also welcome!

Favorite Song

Tell us which music reminds you of our Sun Lord. Personally, we get big Mamma Mia vibes, but that’s just us.

Pride

Pride month might be over, but we want to celebrate one of SJM’s most iconic LGBTQ characters in style. Give us all the fic and art and moodboards of a character who is entirely and unabashedly himself.

Free Choice

Surprise us!!

We can’t wait to celebrate Helion with you. We’ll see you on October 11th!

#helion spell cleaver #Helion #acotar #acosf #Helion week #lucien vanserra #the lady of the autumn court #character appreciation #character appreciation week #sarah j maas

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years ago

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The Bet | Chapter Thirty-Four

Masterlist//Moodboard//Timeline//2698 words

Day 96

Feyre clapped her hands excitedly as Mor read the news. Lucien was a bit quieter, containing his ecstasy as he listened.

“‘Spring was found with multiple counts of insurance fraud, tax evasion, and identity fraud. And this is just after glancing at the surface. Who knows what the FTC will find once they really start digging?’” Mor narrated.

“‘As of now, Spring stubbornly refuses to make a statement, likely afraid of implicating himself further. For years, he has gotten away with illegal activity in his company by bribing and allegedly threatening officials. After his former fiancée, Feyre Archeron, spoke up about his mental and physical abuse, Spring has since no longer been able to use his power and wealth to keep everyone turning a blind eye; not after the public decided a reckoning was in order. Hopefully, this is the turning of a new page for America in how justice is served.

“‘On that note, Hybern Corporation will also be thoroughly investigated after the interview of Rhysand Night, an acquaintance of Miss Archeron. Both of their confessions were backed up by Lucien Vanserra and Morrigan Hewn.

“‘The FTC will continue digging, and in the meantime, all we can do is wait for their next report. Stay tuned for updates.’ And that’s it, guys. Great, right?”

Mor was practicing vibrating with excitement, and Feyre and Lucien were hardly any better.

Lucien wrapped Feyre in a hug. “You did it.”

“No, we did it.”

“Well don’t leave me out. I love hugs, remember?” Mor said, feigning hurt as she wrapped her arms around both of them.

Feyre giggled maniacally. “Fuck, I’m famous.”

Lucien snorted. Then Mor. Before she knew it, all three of them had dissolved into laughter, Mor shaking so hard she slid to the floor. The other two joined her, taking spots on the carpet and trying to stifle their giggles.

“You should call Rhys. He’ll want to know,” Mor suggested, directing this statement at Feyre.

Feyre stopped laughing. “He probably saw it already.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Not everyone checks the news every second of the day like Mor does. Besides, who cares if he already knows? He probably wants to talk to you.”

Feyre frowned. “One of you can tell him.”

“You did something, didn’t you?” Lucien questioned after seeing her expression. “What did you do?”

Feyre looked at the floor, wincing. “I don’t think he’ll ever speak to me again.”

Mor snorted. “I am so done with your drama. Spit it out.”

Feyre groaned, resting her head against her knees. “I told him I love him.”

A moment of silence.

“You did what?”

“What the fuck?”

“What did he say?”

“What did he do?”

“Stop it!” Feyre yelled, trying to silence the pair of them. “It was so awful.”

“Well didn’t he say it back?” Mor asked.

Feyre scowled. “Of course he didn’t say it back. He doesn’t love me. But that’s not the point. I didn’t mean to say it. He gave me an early present for my birthday and I meant to say ‘I love it.’ But I may have accidentally said ‘I love you.’”

Lucien laughed. “You two give me so much entertainment. How is it even possible to attract drama like this?”

Mor frowned. “But what happened after that?”

“I corrected myself, rather awkwardly, and ran out the door. He hasn’t come back to my studio since.”

“So maybe he didn’t have a chance to say it back. Or maybe he didn’t want to because he wasn’t sure whether you meant it or it was just an honest mistake. Or—get this—maybe he was in shock to hear his soulmate tell him how she felt and he needed a minute to process.” Lucien crossed his arms.

Feyre groaned loudly. “I hate you both. That’s not at all what happened and if you ever refer to Rhys as my soulmate again I will strangle you. Even if we don’t talk about it ever again, it will still be awkward.”

“You mean especially if you don’t talk about it?” Mor asked. “You need to clear the air. And by that I mean you need to say, Hey, Rhys, that thing about me loving you? Totally true. Let’s get married now.”

Feyre elbowed Mor, then elbowed Lucien for good measure. “I can’t.” She buried her head in her hands.

Lu sighed. “Gods, you’re hopeless.”

Feyre whined pathetically and said, “Does this mean the bet is over? Because I remember a very clear section saying no love confessions or something.”

Mor looked undecided. “We’ll see. You’re still in it for now.”

Feyre knew better than to argue, even though this was, like, the fifth slip she’d made. They’d sort it out later. Only a few days left in the bet—she’d checked her calendar this morning, shocked to find how close she was. Feyre would probably have to pay up when it was over.

With a mournful sigh, Feyre pushed herself to her feet.

“Where are you going, babe?” Lucien asked.

“It’s Monday, remember? Gym day.”

They both let out sounds of understanding as Feyre collected her bag and pulled on her sneakers. The snow had melted, and the weather forecast didn’t predict any more snow for the next few days. It was only December 14th.

Four days until day 100, a week until Feyre’s birthday, and eleven days until Christmas. And in the midst of all these days would be loads of reporter drama and Tamlin shit going on. Not to mention dealing with Rhys—unless Feyre did manage to avoid him forever.

After she was clad in athletic clothing and standing in the practice room, Cassian greeted her. He also mentioned what was going on with Tamlin and Hybern.

Feyre gave a smile—a genuine smile—and told him she already knew. After a minute of talk, they were ready to kick some ass.

Cassian came at Feyre from the side, with a blow designed to confuse her. She narrowly avoided it, spinning back. Cassian struck again, but Feyre was done dodging. She blocked his fist with her forearm and threw a punch.

He dodged and Feyre punched again. This time, Cassian grinned and grabbed her fist, twisting it and throwing a foot under her leg. This wasn’t the first time he’d used the move on Feyre, so even though she fell to the ground, she was able to quickly roll back to her feet.

An impressed whistle was all Cassian would acknowledge the move with before lunging at her. Feyre spun and lifted her foot, going for a side kick.

The man avoided contact with her foot, albeit barely. Feyre knew he was still going easy on her; after all, if he was using the full extent of his ability, she wouldn’t learn anything other than the taste of the mat. Still, it was encouraging to get this far, to have the pair whirling and striking and dodging and scheming.

Cassian often talked about fighting as a dance, a bewitching and deadly dance. The passion with which he talked about the theory of fighting, the mindset required to become better, and the beauty of the fight honestly made Feyre think he was crazy at first. She hadn’t understood. After all, it wasn’t chess—yeah, there was some thought process, but really it was just beating someone up. Being physically sharp and able was all you needed. But now Feyre did get it.

Feyre spun and threw her arm out, hitting Cass in the gut. She had moved with the chop; she had become a warrior in her head and her body had responded. Mondays were by far the highlight of Feyre’s week. Training gave Feyre an outlet not just to distract herself with, but to tame the roaring fire in her veins and give it life, rather than dousing it. No matter how screwed up the rest of Feyre’s life was, she was here and she was getting stronger and faster and more skilled and no one could take that away from her.

Cassian knocked a blow from Feyre aside and swept her off her feet, effectively ending the match as the breath was knocked from her lungs. Once she managed to regain her sense of respiratory ability, Cass helped pull Feyre to her feet.

“You did good today, kiddo. You’re getting a hell of a lot better.”

Feyre blinked, then glanced at the clock. Sure enough, the full session had passed. “Gods, I didn’t realize how long we’d been in here.”

Cassian a shit-eating grin and said, “You got caught up in the thrill of it, didn’t you?”

Feyre snorted, but nodded. It was so easy to lose herself in the movements.

He gave Feyre a friendly slap on the shoulder and told her, “Happens to me all the time. I blink, and all of a sudden, half the day’s passed. It’s hard not to get caught up it in when you’re so good.”

Feyre laughed. “I’m not that good.”

“Don’t argue with me. I’m the teacher here.”

Feyre smiled with him. “If you say so.”

“Still keeping up with your exercises?” Cass asked, changing the subject. From their very first lesson, he had assigned exercises for Feyre to do in her free time. Among them were push-ups, pull-ups (she could do them on the doorframe), and crunches.

Feyre smiled and said yes.

“Good. I can tell. You’re getting stronger.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at the compliments, but she knew she was blushing. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

Cassian chuckled good-naturedly and started for the door. Feyre followed.

And nearly ran into the doorframe as she noticed Rhys leaning against the wall just outside of the door, likely waiting for Cassian. She thought back to their first session and remembered something about eating lunch together on Mondays. She narrowly avoided the doorframe, though still probably looked like a clumsy, graceless lump, and straightened herself as Cassian sent her a smirk.

Rhys looked up from his phone, blinking in surprise as he noticed Feyre standing beside Cass. “Hey.” His voice was far too light. He was obviously faking pleasantry. Of course he hadn’t forgotten or dismissed Feyre’s slip from last Friday.

Sighing internally, Feyre decided to ignore the curious look Cassian sent her way, noticing the tension. “Hey, Rhys.” Her voice sounded just as fake, if not more.

He gave a thin smile.

“We’re all eating lunch together,” Cassian announced.

“We are?” Feyre and Rhys asked at the same time.

Cassian grinned. Fuck, he was meddling. “Yes, we are.”

“I would love to, but I should get to work,” Feyre said.

“And you plan on not eating lunch at all today?”

“Well I didn’t bring anything.”

“Rhys brings food from Mor’s.” Cassian smiled, daring her to argue more.

Argue more she would. “Not for three people, I’m sure.”

“We can share.”

Feyre crossed her arms. Cassian did the same.

Rhys cleared his throat after several moments, likely braving awkwardness in order to end to staring contest. “I’m sure we can share. I brought plenty.” He didn’t sound at all confident in this assessment. He likely wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Feyre retorted stubbornly. No fucking way was she eating lunch with Rhys and Cassian.

“You wouldn’t be,” Rhys said, somewhat reluctantly.

Feyre was tempted to counter that with Yeah I fucking would be, but she could hardly get into this with Cassian watching amusedly. She probably wouldn’t have even been able to say it to Rhys alone.

“Okay,” Feyre murmured.

Cassian was grinning. “Let’s go.”

Feyre had never eaten lunch with him before, and she could only follow hopelessly as Cass led the pair of them to his office in the back. They entered a cozy space with a small table in the middle, a couple of chairs on either side.

“I’ll get another one,” Cassian said cheerfully. No. Wait.

Feyre was alone with Rhys.

“So, um,” he started. A moment passed and he didn’t seem to have anything to add.

Feyre knew she had to act casual. She was a shitty actor, but she had to at least try. If she pretended nothing was wrong, maybe Rhys would let it go.

“How have you been?” she asked. Uncreative, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

Rhys smiled widely. The gesture screamed I don’t want to be here. “Great, how about you?”

“I’ve been pretty good,” she replied. The conversation ended there. Neither said anything more, and even though Feyre wanted to make Rhys think nothing was wrong, she couldn’t decide what to say to him.

Under any other circumstances, Feyre would be concerned about the length of time it was taking Cassian to find a chair. But she knew he was interfering, sensing something wasn’t right. If only he knew the disaster that was Feyre and Rhys’ relationship. Maybe then he’d back off.

After another minute of curiously eying the wall (not wanting to look at the other), Cassian returned. He didn’t say anything about his lengthy absence, only setting down the chair and gesturing for the pair to come over.

Screaming inside, Feyre sat down. Every instinct in her body was telling her to run as fast as she could. So much for being a badass ninja.

If Feyre had to describe the lunch with one word, it would probably be miserable. Or perhaps pathetic. Or sordid. Or wretchedly uncomfortable—though that was two words. Whatever.

They had distributed the food as equally as they could. Then Cassian had asked the two questions the whole time. If not for him, there would be silence. Each had given the minimal answer then stuffed food in their mouth so they could stop taking.

Cassian, a permanent smirk fixed on his lips, had actually had the nerve to ask Feyre if she was seeing anyone. He knew damn well she wasn’t.

Feyre had denied this—after she finished choking on her food—and given him her death stare. Cass had merely smiled and asked Rhys, freakishly still, the same question.

Rhys had smiled robotically and said, “No, I’m not. Want another dumpling?”

And that had been the most exciting part of lunch. Once everything was cleaned up, Rhys left hurriedly, Cassian crowing at him for not even working out after coming to a fucking gym and Rhys muttering something about his digestion. Apparently acting casual had been a fail.

Once Feyre was sure he was gone, she whirled on Cassian. “You asshole,” she hissed, slapping his arm. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cassian replied, an innocent smile on his face.

Feyre had groaned and leaned against the wall, still in his office.

“What’s up with you two? And I don’t need to hear the basics; I do have eyes. I want something juicy.”

“You’re all such vultures,” Feyre spat. “You and Mor and Lu.”

Cassian just grinned. “Is that an okay dear Cass, I’ll tell you everything?”

Feyre sighed. “This is all so screwed up.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, struggling with the nervous energy.

“What happened?” Cassian asked.

“I did something incredibly stupid,” was all Feyre could say. She’d told the story once, and thought about it a billion times since it had happened. She didn’t want to go through it again, especially when she hadn’t told Cassian anything about her feelings toward Rhys yet.

Cassian only said, “Want to go punch something?”

“Our lesson’s over.”

“I don’t have anything scheduled after lunch.”

Feyre weighed the sincerity of his statement, as well as her need to beat somebody up. “Yeah, thanks.”

He chuckled and grabbed her wrist pulling her back to their private room.

“I hate you,” Feyre told him.

“No, you love me.”

Despite the horrendous lunch she’d just suffered through, Feyre laughed. “Only a little bit. You’re still an ass.”

Cassian got in position with a punching bag, and Feyre readied herself. Taking her frustrations out on the pad was always so satisfying. And she had a lot to be frustrated with right now. Not just Rhys, but also Tamlin and Hybern.

Feyre checked her stance one last time, then let her fist fly.

———

Tag List:

@a-court-of-milkandhoney

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@infernoqueen19

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@rhysandswingspan

@scatterbrainedgirl

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thebonecarver

@whythefuckdoiexist

#feysand #acotar #the bet #my writing

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