#lord knows i would be unwell if i put two and two together

[goodoneguys]

some of the house blogs out there actually terrify me because one post will be "look at these silly little gay men owo" and it's a cute lil hilson shitpost and the the next post after is a gut-wrenching post about what-could-have-been anderperry hcs that makes me wanna rip my heart heart out

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 5

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 4012

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Aelinor was beaming when she finally reached the chambers that had been allotted to her family. After nine long years, her reunion with Aemond had been everything she had hoped for. And Aemond…well he was certainly more than she had hoped for.

But when she stepped through the doors, she found her family sulking in tense silence.

“Whatever has happened?��� She asked, causing her mother to look up from her seat. 

“Our meeting with the Queen did not go as planned.” Rhaenyra sighed.

“And the King?” Aelinor moved to take baby Viserys from the nursemaid, holding her half-brother close to her chest.

Rhaenyra clenched her fist, looking toward where Daemon stood in the window. “My father is…not well.”

Aelinor frowned at that, easily bouncing the baby on her hip. She did not like to hear that her grandfather was unwell, though she couldn’t pretend that it was a surprise. His health had not been good for as long as she had known him. But it saddened her to think of the man who had taught her to paint marble figurines and who had always had a seat for her on his knee as suffering and in pain.

Daemon smacked the wall loudly, causing everyone to flinch. “That green bitch has let Viserys rot, all the while she paints the halls with her damned piety. It’s borderline treason.”

Aelinor lifted her skirt as she made her way to a small sofa, setting Viserys down before sitting next to Lucerys. “Well this isn’t good.”

“They’ve been like this since we got back,” He whispered. “You’re just lucky that you missed the screaming.”

“There was screaming?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost disappointed to have missed it.”

A hand wrapped around her shoulders, and she nearly screamed as Jacaerys pulled her back against his chest. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

He snorted, leaning over the back of the couch to hold onto her. “You said you were almost disappointed, sister. Would that ‘almost’ have something to do with who you were talking to?”

“Jace!” She hissed. “Shut your—”

“What is this, Aelinor?” Her mother asked, both of her parents now staring at her. “You were talking to someone?”

She winced. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep Aemond a secret, only that she knew her parents would not be pleased to see her take up with him again. They weren’t children anymore, and if their parents had seen no issues in them being close as children, it would be impossible to avoid the political implications now.

“Yes,” she coughed. “Lord Vaemond. He was arriving just as I went to meet the boys in the yard.”

“Oh,” Her mother relaxed. “And did he…say anything about this entire affair?”

Luc tensed beside her, and she reached around the baby to pat his leg. “No, Mother. Or, nothing more than some low-effort jibes. But we were in the training yard, so I doubt he would have started anything.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Rhaenyra sighed.

“Who else were you talking to, Aelinor?” Jace teased, unwilling to let the matter go.

She shook off his grip and reached back to smack him on the head. “Gods, you are insufferable. Can’t you just keep—”

“Who else, Aelinor?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aelinor sighed, picking at the fabric of her skirt. Lying was not in her nature, but she could tell just from the stiff set of her mother’s mouth, and how Daemon loomed behind her, that this was not something that they would just brush aside.

“I was speaking to Aemond,” she said finally. “We met him in the yard.”

“And then he chased after her because—”

Aelinor threw a fist back, catching her elder brother in the shoulder. “I hate you.”

“You adore me.” He snickered.

“Children!” Her mother snapped. “This is serious. What did you speak of with Aemond, Aelinor?”

“Nothing,” She insisted. “We haven’t seen each other in nine years, we were just catching up.”

“You two used to be joined at the hip, and you expect me to believe that you were just catching up?” There was nothing accusatory in her mother’s voice, only something like resignation.

“Truly, mother.” She insisted. “He is…he is my friend. I don’t know what else you expect.”

Daemon scoffed, and Aelinor was unable to bite her tongue.

“What should I have told him, Prince Daemon?” She demanded. “Perhaps how you have Luc and Jace practicing battle formations on dragonback? Or should I just outright accused his mother of treachery, as you have just done?”

“Aelinor!” Her mother protested.

“You should mind your tongue,” Daemon frowned. “I do not expect you to understand why—”

“I understand plenty!” Aelinor stood. “I know that we are here to support Lucerys’ claim, and I know that both of you fear that your time away from court has irreparably damaged our reputations. But surely it does no one any good for us to come in with our armor up. As if we have something to hide.”

“We have nothing to hide.” Rhaenyra insisted.

“Exactly!” Aelinor closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I only think that the best thing we can do is to act like we belong. I don’t see how this scheming and sniping can get anything done.”

“Scheming and sniping is how kings are made.” Daemon said. “However unfortunate that may be.”

“Then I leave you to it.” She said. “But I will have no part.”

“You already have a part in it!” Daemon began. “Just by existing, you validate your—”

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra held up a hand. She carefully eased herself out of her chair, one hand on her stomach. “Aelinor, we talked about this.”

“We talked about presenting a united front.” Aelinor said, “I fail to see how this is undermining that. As far as the court should be concerned, we are family.”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, steadying herself. “That notion is not incorrect.”

Aelinor was a little surprised to hear that admission. She had expected more resistance, considering how heartily everyone had resisted her friendship with Aemond when they were children. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Her mother nodded. “You are a woman now, Aelinor, and I will not harp on your every move. I only implore you to remember your family in all this.”

“Of course I will, Mother.” She gave a small smile.

“And,” Rhaenyra added. “Remember that, as you are no longer a child, the implications of your friendship with Aemond may be…different than before.”

Luc and Jace snickered, and Aelinor whirled to glare at them.

“I understand, Mother.” She smiled, some of her satisfaction fading at the look Daemon leveled her. 

“Now I must rest,” Rhaenyra said. “I think I shall take dinner in my chamber this evening. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

The children all watched as Daemon helped Rhaenyra from the room, collecting the small children before they left and leaving the older ones to fend for themselves for dinner. It made sense, as all of them were exhausted from the day and would relish the opportunity to relax in solitude.

As soon as her parents were out of sight, Aelinor turned to glare at Jace. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut?”

“Not when teasing you is so fun.” He laughed.

“You’re an ass.” She shook her head. “Luc, you continue to be my favourite.”

Luc beamed. “You’re my favourite too.”

“And you’re both pathetic.” Jace rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go unpack and then return to the training yard. I’ll see you both later.”

Aelinor gave him a crude gesture as he left. Once he was gone, she dropped back onto the couch next to Luc. He reached out and played with a piece of her hair, something she could remember him doing when he was only a babe.

“It’s strange, being back here.” He said quietly. “Everything feels different.”

“It does. But I think we’re different too.” She replied. “Maybe we just need to give ourselves time to settle in.”

“Maybe,” He hummed. “At least you have Aemond. Was it nice to see him again?”

‘Nice’ didn’t even begin to describe her elation at seeing Aemond. “It…yes,it was nice.”

“That’s good.” Luc looked down at the hair twining his fingers. 

“Chin up,” Aelinor nudged him. “Things will get better. We all used to be friends, once. We can be friends again.”

Luc shook his head. “Aegon is…he’s something else now. And Aemond was never our friend.”

“What? Of course he was.”

“No, Aelinor, he wasn’t.” Luc sighed. “He only ever liked you. He hated us. And with good reason.”

“His own brother teased him as much as you or Jace did.” Aelinor frowned, remembering how they used to torment him. She had hated it, even hating her brothers some days for what they did. Now that she was older, she knew that it was just boys being cruel, and that she couldn’t hold it against them. Surely Aemond wouldn’t either.

“Yes, but…” Luc trailed off.

“But what?” She prompted.

“I’m the one who cut out his eye.”

Aemond was waiting outside the library as the sun set, pretending to study the fading light on the horizon as he paced back and forth. She wasn’t late — in fact he was early — but his nerves were already standing on end. What if she didn’t come? He knew that if it were up to Aelinor, she would be there, but there were any number of things that might stop her. One of her brothers could turn her against him, or her mother might forbid her from meeting him.

He had no doubt that his own mother would have tried to prevent their dinner, which was why he had avoided his family all day. This was beyond them, and it was something they would never understand. 

“Aemond!” He turned toward her voice, and his mouth went dry.

Aelinor was rushing down the hallway with hurried steps, holding her skirt above her ankles as her shoes clicked against the stone. She had changed into a new dress, this one of a dark purple velvet that cut closely to her figure, betraying the slope of her waist and the shape of her hips. Her hair was unbound, flowing like liquid silver as she ran toward him.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” She exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of him. “I had to wait for Jace to be in his chambers so that I could sneak away.”

He had to swallow a few times before he regained the ability to speak. “Will he give you trouble?”

She waved her hand. “Nothing serious, he just likes to tease. Besides, Luc agreed to cover for me.”

The thought of Jacaerys and Lucerys filled him with something between rage and jealousy. For nine years he had seethed at the thought of them spending time with her, of them not appreciating her for what she was. Now she was here, with him, and yet her brothers seemed ever-present.

But he forced his face to remain passive, extending a hand to Aelinor with a small bow. “Well then, shall we?”

“Oh, we shall!” Aelinor beamed, grabbing his hand in hers. She ignored the proper etiquette, which would have demanded that she gently place her fingers in his, allow him to bow over it, and then quickly resume an appropriate distance. Instead she entwined her fingers through his, holding him tightly in her grip. It made Aemond’s head spin as he rose out of his bow. This was all so easy for her, to just fall into how things used to be, when all he could think about was how much things had changed.

He opened the door to the library, allowing her to step through first before following. She let their joined hands fall to her side, his knuckles brushing the soft velvet of her dress.

The King’s library was one of Aemond’s favourite places in the castle, and it had been since he was a child. The looming shelves cast a dark shadow across the room, which on a normal night would create an almost unsettling atmosphere. But the first thing Aelinor saw when she stepped into the room was the small table set up in front of the large picture window, with dozens of small candles propped up on piles of books to accentuate the light of the moon. It had taken Aemond close to an hour to get everything perfect, but from the smile on Aelinor’s face, he had succeeded.

“Aemond, this is wonderful!” She exclaimed, letting her hand slide from his as she rushed forward, spinning around to take it all in. “However did you manage all this?”

“A prince has his ways,” He said with false bravado.

She gave a little snort, quickly covering her mouth as she looked away. He grinned, deciding to let that pass without teasing her. 

“You’re ridiculous,” She shook her head.

“Only the best,” He stepped past her and pulled out a chair. “Princess?”

With an exaggerated swish of her skirts, Aelinor dropped into the chair. He had removed the heavy oak table, shoving it into one of the aisles out of sight, and pushed one of the smaller study tables up against the window bench. When they were younger, they had spent many hours curled up on that bench while Aemond read stories to her, but he had opted for two chairs this time.

He grabbed the rolling cart from one of the aisles, pouring some wine into both of their glasses before filling a third glass with some sweet ale, which he set in front of her. Only then did he sit in his own seat.

Aelinor was studying the spread of food on the cart, which was laden with enough bread, meat, cheese and desserts to feed a small village.

“You intend to serve us yourself?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” He took a sip of his wine. “We can’t very well keep this a secret if I have a flight of servants waiting on us.”

She glanced toward the table, with its silver place settings, and then to the many candles flickering around them. “And these?”

“All done by myself,” He added. “I didn’t cook, obviously, but the cook is hardly going to reveal us.”

She was silent for a long moment, and he worried that perhaps he had gone too far. He knew that his brother would ridicule him for putting in this much work, for spending an hour arranging candles and folding napkins, but he had strived to make everything perfect.

But Aelinor just smiled. “It is exceptional. You have given me quite the challenge to beat you next time.”

Next time . The thought filled him with warmth.

Aelinor took a sip of her ale, turning to look out the window. “The city hasn’t changed.”

“Did you expect it to?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s reassuring, in a way. That no matter how much else is different, the view from the library is the same.”

“I suppose that’s true. But what all do you think has changed?”

Aelinor hummed, considering her answer. Aemond took the opportunity to begin serving some of the bread and cheese, serving it smoothly onto their plates.

“Everything and nothing has changed.” She said finally. “The halls are the same, but the tapestries are different. The Kingsguard is the same, but some of the knights are new. And the courtiers still whisper and scheme, but I’m more aware of it now. So perhaps that hasn’t changed, and only I have. And you…”

He looked up quickly. “I have changed?”

She nodded slowly. “You have.”

He felt his heart drop from his chest. Was this it, then? Had she finally seen him for what he had become, and she was turning away? Perhaps the whispers of the court had already reached her and turned her mind.

Aelinor saw the worry on his face, and reached across the table to squeeze his wrist. “You have changed, Aemond. You’re even better than I remembered.”

Gods, was he blushing. Embarrassment flooded him, and he coughed quickly to hide it. “You don’t wear your glove anymore.”

Aelinor lifted her injured hand, letting the draped fabric of the sleeve fall away to reveal the injury. “I do, just not if I can help it. I’m sure I’ll wear one to the ball tomorrow.”

“You shouldn’t if you don’t want to.” He insisted. 

She smiled. “Then maybe I won’t.”

They fell into comfortable silence as they ate the first part of their meal, each of them sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

Aelinor spread some soft cheese on her bread, peering around the empty library. “This room doesn’t seem to get much use anymore.”

“No,” Aemond admitted. “I come when I can, but only the Maesters visit to maintain it.”

“Hm,” She frowned. “And my Grandfather?”

Aemond shook his head. “I have not seen him well enough to get out of bed in several months. He has not visited in…a long time.”

Aelinor turned her head, studying a set of heavy mahogany doors. “His chambers are right through there?”

“Yes.”

“And he is not even well enough to travel to the next room,” She sighed. “It is…it saddens me to hear it.”

“It saddens us all,” Aemond agreed, not liking the melancholy expression that had overcome her face. “But you must tell me more of you, Lina.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He searched for something to distract her. “Darrax. You are flying now? What is he like?”

The thought of her dear dragon caused a bright smile to spread across her face. “Darrax is…he is a dream. He was ever so patient when I was learning to fly, and now he is a positive beast, in the best of ways.”

“He’s grown, then?” 

“Yes. He is only slightly smaller than Vermithor. Though truthfully he still grows, and I have not seen Vermithor in several years.”

“But he’s bigger than the dragons your brothers have?”

Aelinor gave him a sly look. “Of course he is. Did you ever doubt it?”

“Certainly not,” Aemond popped a bite of cheese in his mouth. “He’s bonded to a true Targaryen princess, I would expect nothing less.”

It took him a moment to realize what he had said, and by then Aelinor’s eyes had only darkened.

“That was unkind, Aemond.” She said quietly.

“I did not mean…” He said hurriedly. “Only that you are…and that they are…”

“I know what you meant, Aemond.” She sighed. “May I be frank with you?”

“Always.” He was internally cursing himself for letting his inner thoughts slip. These years at court, far away from the Princess Rhaenyra’s family, had made him forget himself.

“I know what people say about us, about my mother and my brothers,” She began, excluding herself from the group. “And there is not much I can do to stop it. But I would hope for better from you. If only out of…out of your affection for me.”

“I swear, Lina. I only meant—”

“I know you are loyal to your mother, and perhaps even to your brother, but I had hoped that—”

“Lina!” He exclaimed, reaching across the table. Her hand was too far away for him to reach, which was probably for the best. “I swear, my loyalty…there is nothing that could compete with my affection for you.”

That was dangerously close to a declaration, and both of them knew it.

Aemond slowly drew his hand back across the table. “May I ask you a question? One that is perhaps a bit…frank?”

“Of course you may,” Her wide violet eyes were sparkling with the candlelight.

Aemond swallowed, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his mind. “Is it…only we had heard rumours…about you and Jacaerys.”

“Oh,” She glanced down at her lap. “Yes. It would seem so.”

His fingernails dug into the table. “And you…you’re happy with this?”

Gods, if she said she was unhappy to be marrying Jace, he wasn’t sure what he might do. He might censor himself around Aelinor, but there was no way that that grubby bastard deserved her. 

Aelinor just shrugged. “It is my mother’s wish, and I am willing to do what she asks.”

“But are you happy?”

“Was Aegon happy to marry Helaena?”

He saw the point she was trying to make, but if she knew the truth of it, knew what kind of a leech his brother had become, or how wretchedly unhappy Helaena was, she would not be drawing the comparison. 

‘If you…if you didn’t want to…”

“Then I’m sure my mother would respect that choice,” Aelinor said, and he sensed that she honestly believed that. “It’s alright, Aemond.”

It wasn’t even close to alright, but he had to pretend that it was. For her. He had to pretend that he wasn’t fighting the urge to run Jacaerys through with his sword, and Lucerys too, just for good measure. 

“But enough about me,” Aelinor said. “Tell me of Vhagar. You had only ridden her once the last time we saw each other.”

It was easy to let her change the subject, though the thought of her and Jace loomed in his mind as they dissolved into easy conversation that carried them well into the night. Eventually Aelinor migrated from her chair to the cushioned window seat, gesturing impatiently until Aemond took a seat at her side.

She rested her cheek on the cold window, sighing happily. Aemond stared, trying to memorize her features. She was content and a bit sleepy, but still smiling brightly as she looked at the dull lights of King’s Landing below them, and he found that he wanted to remember her forever.

“Are you happy to be back?” He asked quietly.

She shifted closer, her thigh brushing against his knee. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been this happy.” She admitted. “It’s like coming home.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” He whispered.

“Gods, I’ve missed you too.” She lifted her head to face him. “I honestly thought that we might never see each other again.”

“But we did. We have.” His fingers traced over her injured hand, gliding up her wrist before gently lacing his fingers through hers. “You can’t imagine how empty this place has been without you.”

“Can’t I?” She chuckled. “Try being at Dragonstone. With only Luc and J—”

“Don’t talk about them.” He frowned. 

“Why Aemond,” Aelinor teased, leaning closer. “Are you jealous?”

He felt himself being drawn in, until they were only a breath apart. “Always, Lina. Always.”

Her eyes were fluttering closed, her face shifting until he felt her nose brush against his. Another second, another breath and they would be—”

The heavy mahogany door creaked behind them, and they jerked away.

“What was that?” Aelinor exclaimed.

Aemond jumped up and studied the door to his father’s chambers. It was firmly closed, but still, someone must have opened it for it to have made a sound. It was too heavy to creak in a passing draft.

“It must have been one of the maesters.” He said finally. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“If they saw…” Aelinor began. 

If they saw what they had been about to do. How close Aemond had just come to ruining Aelinor’s reputation. She was engaged, and he had almost…almost…

Gods, why hadn’t he kissed her. 

“I’ll track them down in the morning,” He promised. “But I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.”

Aelinor didn’t look convinced, but she nodded anyway. Standing slowly from the bench, she smoothed out her dress. “I should get back.”

It was past midnight, and tomorrow was the ball. He shouldn’t have kept her this long, and yet he hadn’t been able to help himself.

“I’ll walk you back to your chambers.”

“No, someone might see,” She sighed, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. “Thank you, Aemond. Tonight was perfect.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course you will,” She smiled. “Save me a dance?”

“Always.”

[daddysfangirls-dc]

UnTamed Ch.20 -Interlude

Prev | Next

Damian Wayne x OC!Female

It was as if Asta had forgotten how well Damian could read her. She stood simply unbothered as Tim talked about the gag gift he had gotten for Bruce, something to make fun of his age but still thoughtful enough to be considered a gift.  On the surface, she appeared unbothered, laughing along with Tim about the gift, but Damian could see that she was anxious and saddened. He, however, didn't know why.

 "It is a decent Gift, Tim"

"Decent? It's hilarious." Tim says as he continues to wrap the gift 

"Your Gray Ghost memorabilia was more thoughtful." 

"Jason's Idea. I just chipped in and wrapped it." 

"We'll take our leave. I'll inform the other to stay out."

"Dont. Dick will come running in like a sneaky kid." Tim said," I'd rather not fend off a grown man like a toddler."

Asta laughed at that. Despite being the oldest, Dick often acted like the youngest of Bruce's kids. As endearing as it was, it was also annoying. 

"You're anxious," Damian said as they stepped out of the library, leaving Tim. " Care to tell me why?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to project-"

"You aren't, but I can still see it on your face, body, and silences." He takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently." You're unwell."

"You all do a lot of gifts. I swear I counted two dozen under your tree already, and you plan to put more down there." 

They strolled down the hall, stopping in front of a bay window. "Well, there are many of us and the things under the tree that aren't just random. Some of it is things we need, like new gear and weapons that we haven't gotten for ourselves yet. Also, Father likes to overcompensate for all his wrongdoings throughout the year. What is a gift if not to show how much one cares and pays attention? The perfect gift."

Damian smiles as he remembers his father standing at the door, trying to get all the packages before any of his children. And his secret trips to the stores. He'd be damn if the paparazzi spoiled his gifts. 

"I don't have anything under your tree," he looked at her and continued, " I'm sorry." She pulled her hands away. " Maybe I should go. Allow your family to have your holiday without me burdening you."

"Asta"

"I can go to your apartment." Your apartment?

"Asta"

"Or one of the centers to help out. They always need extra hands."

"ASTA. I want you here. I want to spend Christmas with you. This will be our first Christmas together." He takes both her hands in his. "Please, stay?"

"DAMIAN" 

Suddenly, her hands are gone, and so is she. All that remains is a pile of clothing and the faint buzzing that fades away. 

"Hey, Damian," Dick says as he places a hand on his shoulder " Where did Asta go?"

"What do you want?"

Dick put his hands up in surrender at the sound of anger in his voice. 

"Bruce wants us in the cave. Apparently, someone has something played for the holidays; nothing good, though."

-

Damian was semi-paying attention, but most of his thoughts were elsewhere, on Asta. The debriefing was long but nonsense. More activities were happening at the docks, including drug and weapons trafficking. Black Mask and Penguin were both involved, but to which and to what extent was still a debate. They were all to watch the dock and the crime lords. 

"May I speak?" Damian spoke before anyone could leave; they all groaned but sat back down nonetheless. "I would like for us to tone down our celebration this year. Specifically, the gift giving."

"No presents, why?" Stephanie asked in dramatic shock. 

"No, I just want it to be toned down. Decrease the amount of gifts. You can pass the off individual on a later day."

"Why?" Bruce asked, confused as the others. 

"Asta," he says softly. " She has nothing to give-"

"Then take her shopping. I'm sure there is something she can get at the last minute. We don't care." Tim says, offering a solution to the question so he can leave.

" This is last minute. Christmas Eve is tomorrow. How did she not know?" Dick asked. The trees, bright lights, and Christmas carols

"She doesn't celebrate the holidays. This will be her first official Christmas."

"You've known her how long? And this is her first official Christmas. What have you been doing?"

"She doesn't like receiving gifts when she knows she can't give anything in return. I usually bring her a plate of food and blankets and spend the day after Christmas with her." Well, at least they solved the mystery of the day after Christmas with Damian and extra food with Alfred. 

"I still don't see you. Just don't take her shopping," Tim says 

"She won't take our money to buy us gifts. She won't." Jason Saw Tim opening his mouth again. " She has no money, no home, hell, the clothes currently on her back aren't even hers. She already feels like she owes us."

"She doesn't -"

"But she does. That's why she's constantly helping Alfred, always cleaning or tucking herself into the smallest corner or in Damian's room when she can't. You can take someone from nothing, from the streets, and expect them not to feel suspicious or like they owe you. On the streets, everything is an exchange."

Jason knows this. Jason lived this. He had been in her shoes at one point. He constantly worked and was on his best behavior just to stay in this manner, fearing every action would have consequences. It wasn't until his adoption that the fear disappeared. That he thought himself worth. 

"I bet she saw a present or more with her name on it. The idea of presents won't upset her but for her specifically, and she had nothing to return. Yeah, that would be upsetting." It was moments like these where the family was reminded that Jason himself had spent time on their streets and that Jason himself had at one point been homeless. While Jason often took pride in being from Crime Alley, he never really spoke of his time in its cold. 

"No gifts?" Cassandra asked 

"Two gifts each" was still a considerably large number," and all the gifts with Asta's name on them should be removed. You can all exchange your other gifts at a later date." Bruce gave the order, and everyone began to move.

"Jason," Damian called for him to stay back. The others left, and Bruce stayed to work on the computer eavesdrop. " Your gift can stay under the tree. It's the one thing I know she'll appreciate.

-

Early Christmas morning 

3 am 

She was jealous you, Damian, could sleep so peacefully while she couldn't even close her eyes. She lay awake, listening to the silences and watching time go by. Eventually, she could not take anymore, so she shifted into a serpent and slipped from Damian's hold, slithering to the door and underneath. She turned human in the hall and made her way to the nearest window. Cracking it home, she slipped out and took flight as a snow owl. Hoping the clouds would clear her mind. 

Hours later, Asta returns. Upon her return, she finds the kitchen light on. Being polite, she knocks on the kitchen door before opening it and sticks her head in it. 

" It's a bit early and cold to be outside, no?" Alfred asked as he looked at the clock hanging on the wall, which read 6:17 am.

"I couldn't sleep, so I took a flight," Asta said as she stepped into the kitchen, closing the door tightly behind her and stopping the cold from getting in. "What are you doing up so early? " 

"Cooking," Alfred said as he pulled more ingredients out of the fridge. 

"Do they have an early morning?" she stepped to the counter, seeing everything splayed about.

"No, but it is Christmas, and dinner tends to be more special during the holidays, so more prep and time is needed.  Plus Breakfast and Lunch in between." Alfred explained as he checked one of the ovens that held the Ham. 

"Do you do this all by yourself?" she asked as she found a bookmarked with dozens of recipes on the counter. 

"Jason will assist with after breakfast."  Jason was the only other person Alfred trusted in the kitchen. He had no bad history of burning or breaking anything. But he also needed his rest after patrolling, so he only accepted assistance after breakfast, giving him time to rest. 

"Can I help?" Asta asked shyly. "I would ... I would like to help you make your family dinner." After all they had given and done for her, it was the least she could do. She could never give them gifts, but the least she could make their family dinner. Gift them a warm meal just like Damian had for her every year since. 

"Our family," she looked at him confused. " Our family dinner."  Alfred pulls out something from a drawer and hands it to her. It is a long dark blue apron dress. It is then Asta remembers that she is naked. Before she can even apologize, Alfred shakes his head (Damian has already explained her displeasure with clothes. And while he understands, he will not allow her to cook in the nude).

" You can start with the chopping." a cutting board and knife were placed on the counter. 

"Thank you," it was a load of thanks, but they weren't going to unpack. He knew what she meant and what she was grateful for. He knew. He always knew. 

[littlemsterious]

Fix-it fic where instead of offering Crowley a position, Beelzebub assumes Crowley and AZ are fully together and tells him about them and Gabriel. the rest ofthe season doesnt happen and they springboard crowley and Az getting together

“In my car? really?” why did ze have to fill his car with flies, it was such a mess!

“Ello traitor,”

“oh! lord Beelzebub!” could this not have happened a minute earlier? outside?!

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here,” said Lord Beelzebub, lord of the flies all over his car!

“you came to me!” Crowley said, and, in a moment, the flies surrounded him and suddenly he was in hell. 

“oh, I thought we had a” he spit a fly out, “generalised understanding.”

“We don’t.” Ze turned to look at him “You’re still a traitor. I could put a price on your head any time I wanted to.”

Crowley looked right back. “Is that a new face?”

“What, this old thing?” A chuckle “I’ve had it for ages.”

“Such a pity that Hell never appreciated your talents.”

“It is?” Ze were trying to butter him up for something. “Yeah, it is.” Might as well see what it is ze want.

“There’s news from Upstairs. Gabriel has gone missing.”

Yeah he was all too aware of that. “Ok, and?”

“You know Earth better than anyone.”

“You think I’d help hide the guy I hate?”

“Heaven is loosing it. They’ve started threatening Extreme Sanctions.”

“Those don’t actually exist. We used to make that up to scare the cherubs.”

“No, they do!” Ze looked at him intently. “They erase your name from the book of life. You won’t just die, you’ll have never existed.” Ze lean back. “But, if you did find Gabriel, Hell would reward you.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly a fan of the guy, but I’m also not a fan of coming back here.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “I promise, I’d rather have nothing to do with him or any of this.”

Zir face darkened, and Ze got quiet. Ze turned around, got up, walked to the door, and locked it, before returning to the seat next to Crowley.

“Crowley? Listen. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t think you’d get it. and you can't tell anyone about this, you understand?” Something was up. Lord Beelzebub never used people’s names, not properly.

“What on Earth are you talking about?“

“Just, shut up okay?” Ze paused and he could feel himself getting more nervous. “I’m not looking for Gabriel for Hell. I’m- I’m worried about him.”

“What do you mean you’re worried about him? Gabriel? The archangel of heaven?” What kind of elaborate joke was this meant to be?

Beelzebub tilted zir head and pursed zir lips, “We’ve” ze nodded, once, “we’ve been seeing each other.”

The two stared at each other for a second.

“Romantically.”

Crowley felt his jaw loosen and his eyes widen.

“You? Have been dating? The Archangel Gabriel?”

Beelzebub rolled zir eyes “You make it sound so human.”

“I don't believe you.”

“What.”

“I don't believe you.” He leaned forward. “You could just be saying that.”

“And why would I do that?” Ze shifted zir weight and leaned to the side. 

“I don't know?! To trick me because you think I’m working to help Gabriel?!” It even sounded crazy to say out loud, despite, technically, being true.

I was gonna come up with some sort of magical proof for this but I started feeling unwell and just wanted to post this. So just pretend Beelzebub said something here that made sense. Sorry. I might get around to adding something here later.

Crowley sat for a minute, pondering. Beelzebub looked at him.

“There’s a coffee shop, cross the street from the bookshop. Meet me there in an hour.”

Beelzebub looked up at him, wide-eyed, then lifted zir chin. “An hour.”

And Crowley was back in his car.

The walk back to the bookstore was, in short, short, and not long enough to figure out how to explain this to Aziraphale.

Eh, whatever. He threw open the door, “I’m back”

“I can see that.” He didn’t even look up from his desk.

“Listen, angel, we don’t have a lot of time, I figured out what’s going on. it’s—“

“Are you going to help?” 

Crowley sighed, “Yes yes, sure. I’m helping. Listen, Angel—“

Finally, Aziraphale stood up and turned towards Crowley. “I think I need an apology first.”

“We literally have less than an hour for me to explain what’s happened. I will apologise all you like, later. But right now, we do not have time.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “What could possibly be so urgent that we have less than an hour?” 

“Gabriel, I figured out, well at least part of it." Crowley folded his glasses, and set them on the table. "I don't have the full story, but I have enough of it.”

“Well?” 

“He’s seeing someone.”

“Gabriel?!”

Crowley nods.

“Seeing someone?”

He nods again.

“How could you possibly know?”

“Because that someone,” Crowley walks up closer to Aziraphale, “came to me looking for him.”

“Meaning it’s someone you know?”

“Oh, someone I know all too well.” he rolled his eyes.

“Is it someone I know?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Well who, stop stalling,” he said huffily. 

“You’re not gonna believe me, Angel.”

“Crowley.”

“Lord Beelzebub” 

Aziraphale stares at him. “You’re right I don't believe you.” He slaps his arm. “What kind of silly game are you playing?”

“Oh it’s no game, Ze proved it.”

“Proved it? how?”

[Insert Proof Here]

“Well I suppose that might change some things.”

“Oh you suppose?”

“Well I’m just trying to understand!” Aziraphale said in a huff. “Gabriel and Beelzebub? I can’t image what they might share, or see in each other!”

“Definitely a rather odd pair.”

“Most.” Aziraphale paused. “But what were you in such a rush about.”

“I told Beelzebub I’d meet them in the coffee shop cross the road in-“ he looked to the clock. “Less than thirty minutes now.”

“Why so soon?”

“We don’t know how long until Heaven comes knocking on your door looking for him.”

They sat for several minutes with that thought.

-

“Hey, if you two aren’t busy,” Gabriel stopped dusting and came over, “where does the dust go?”

Aziraphale tuned out Crowley’s answers to Gabriel’s various dust questions and wondered to himself. After some time, he spoke up.

“You stay in here with him. I’ll go to the coffee shop.”

“Well, ze’re not gonna listen to you.”

“Yes well, you weren’t here. I was.” he grabs his coat. "I have the full story. Besides, I have every right to make sure ze're telling the truth before letting zem into the shop. Ze will enjoy dealing with me much less."

“Fine.” 

He shut the door and walked quickly across the busy street.

Lord Beelzebub looks up to see Aziraphale walk in. Alone. 

“Where’s Crowley?”

“Oh, he’s busy. I understand we need to have a talk?”

Ze lean back in the chair. "Maybe. What’s he told you?”

“Back again Mr. Fell?” Nina interrupts. 

"Oh yes, very busy day today." 

"Right, what can I get for you and your friend?"

"A hot chocolate for me, Nina."

She turns to look at Beelzebub.

"Coffee. Whatever dark roast you've got."

"Sounds good." And she left.

"I didn't know you ate."

"Yeah, and?" Ze looked at him. "Mr. Fell? Really?"

"Have to be called something."

Ze rolled their eyes as Nina brought their cups. They both took a long sip.

“So?”

Aziraphale sighed. “This morning, I heard a commotion outside, and when I opened the door, it was Gabriel, with nothing but a box.”

“I mean, he’s normally carrying nothing. what kinda box, how big wazzit?”

“You misunderstand me. He wasn’t wearing anything, just holding the box. I suppose about this big?” He gestured with his hands.

Beelzebub's eyes grew. “What’s he doing that for? And why’d he come here?”

“I don't know. And apparently, neither does he. That’s the thing, he doesnt remember anything.”

“Nothing?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not at all.”

Beelzebub chewed zir lip.

“What in heaven coulda happened for him to get like that?”

“I don't know. He said something about bringing the box in order to prevent something terrible happening to him. But it was empty when I checked it.”

Beelzebub’s face sold AZ more than any proof could have. Ze looked so worried, Aziraphale almost felt awkward still sitting there. 

“I wanta see the box.” Ze looked him in the eye. “and then I wanna see him.”

Aziraphale took one last sip of his hot chocolate before the pair headed out the door.

They got to the front step of the bookshop and Aziraphale held open the door.

“You can-“ He looked at zir face as ze raised an eyebrow. “You may come in.” He said, tensely.

“Thanks.” Ze took a few steps in and look around. “Now where’s this box”

“Hi! I’m Jim." Gabriel walked over from behind a shelf. "Do you enjoy chairs? I think I’m starting to really like them.”

Beelzebub’s eyes lit up when ze saw Gabriel in a way that made Aziraphale’s heart flutter. 

“Hey there.” Ze walked up to Gabriel, more gently than he’d ever seen zem.

Gabriel squinted. “Do we know each other?”

"Sorta." 

“Cool! But the chair thing.”

“I do like a good chair. How are you feeling?”

“Um. Weird. But it's been getting better since I figured out the whole chair thing.” He sits down in the closest chair.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.

Ze lean down, hold his head between zir hands, and kiss him gently on the forehead.

“Um, okay,” Jim says with a grin. “What was that?”

“Don't worry,” Beelzebub says softly, "we’ll figure this out.”

“Okay! Figure what out?” 

Beelzebub smiles before turning to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Where’s the box?”

“Oh, right of course,” Aziraphale says, turning quickly to grab it off his desk. “I’m afraid it was empty when he arrived.”

“Hmm.”

Lord Beelzebub opens the box. Ze inspects the inside for several minutes, running zir fingers along the inside as if to feel for a tear or inconsistency. Finding nothing, ze sighed and leans over it, looking closer at the inside. 

Another minute passes before Beelzebub sits down and closes zir eyes for just a moment. Aziraphale, feeling rather awkward, breaks the silence. “So, when did the two of you, well, I mean—“

“Start meeting up?” 

“Yes, exactly”

Beelzebub chuckles. “Bout right after Armageddon failed to happen. We met up to figure out what to do about, well, Armageddon. So really we ‘ave you two to thank. not just for that, but y’know. I guess seeing the two of you together made it all feel a bit less crazy. a bit more possible.”

Crowley stood up a bit straighter, his shoulder’s at his ears, and his eyes wide.

Aziraphale sputtered. “The two of us?”

Beelzebub didn't seem to notice either of them. “Yeah.” Ze chuckled and looked up. “So what about you? When’d you two get together?”

Crowley bit his tongue.

“I- mhm- I'm afraid you have us wrong. We are not together, in that sense.” Aziraphale says, looking to the opposite end of the bookshop from Crowley.

Beelzebub looks at Aziraphale, turns to look at Crowley, and then back at Aziraphale. “Are you having me on?”

“No, I am not having you on.” He says, the phrase unfamiliar in his mouth.

Beelzebub turns zir head back to Crowley, “Is he having you on?”

“Uh, no, he is not,” Crowley says, stiffly.

Zir eyes flit back and forth between the pair.

“How long have you two been working together, again?”

Aziraphale, still not looking, tilts his head and says, “I believe The Arrangement we have to work together goes about six hundred years?”

“No. No. Gabriel said you two were seen together way before that.”

“Formally, working together. We’d bump into each other on occasion before that.” Crowley says, tone relaxed but back still very stiff.

“And how long has that been going on?” Zir eyebrows were furrowed.

"All of time?”

Ze stare at him. “The two of you,” ze point from one to the other. “have been meeting for six thousand years?” 

“Off and on yes.”

“Huh.” Ze seem to consider this as ze lean back in the chair.

A minute or so pass before ze stand up again, and call out. “Jim?”

Gabriel peeks around the bookshelf. “Yeah! That’s me.”

“You brought the box here?”

“Uhhhhh,” he looks into the distance. “I think so”

“Do you remember where you got it from?” Ze lean on zir elbows over the box “Or how long you carried it for?”

“Uhhhh, noooo?” He shakes his head “Yeah, no I don't think so.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Crowley says rolling his head back.

“Will you calm down?” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley throws himself into a chair, almost entirely sideways in it, with his head lolling back. “Yeah, yeah patience whatever.” He pauses and turns his head, “What’s that on the bottom there?”

“Where?” 

“The box, it’s hanging just off the edge of the table.” He reaches out and points “It looks like a mark or something”

Beelzebub straightens up, looks down, before spinning the box between zir hands. Sure enough, black scrawl handwriting stretches across the bottom.

“I am in the fly.” Aziraphale reads over Beelzebub's shoulder “What fly?”

Beelzebub looks up and makes eye contact with Crowley before glancing around the room.

“Well?” Crowley asks “Is there a fly?”

“Just one,” Zir looking at one spot, rather intently, now. “and it’s familiar.” Ze hold out zir hand. “Come here”

A fly buzzes over to zem and lands on zir hand.

“There you are.” 

Aziraphale tilts his head and looks at the fly. Crowley sits up straight in the chair.

“Jim?” Ze say again.

Gabriel, who had started to wander the bookshop again, calls back. “Yes! That’s still my name!”

“Could you come over here?” Ze say, softly.

“Oh! uh, yes!” Gabriel comes careening back around the shelves. “Hello.”

Beelzebub, ever so gently, walks over next to him, fly still in hand. 

“This is yours”

Gabriel reaches out, finger barely touching Beelzebub’s. the fly crawls over to his hand, and he holds it up to look at it. “Open it.” 

Gabriel holds it up, closer to his eye and it flies in.

He jolts, arms out, and stares off into space. Barely a moment passes before the glaze falls from his eyes, replaced by recognition.

“Aziraphale!” he says, making eye contact and surprisingly chipper. He turns to his left, and, still just as cheerful, says “Crowley!” He turns the other way, and Aziraphale can see his shoulders relax when he sees zem. 

“Hey,” he says, in a much softer voice. 

Beelzebub smiles, a soft warm smile. “hey.”

“I was coming to you.”

“It seems you got about halfway. I just had to come the other half.”

"Well I'm glad you're here."

“If you two are done yet," Crowley says, "I’m not a big fan of ceasing to exist when heaven realises you’re here.”

“What?” Gabriel and Aziraphale say in unison.

Beelzebub rolls zir eyes. “Heaven’s in a tizzy looking for you. Started threatening extreme sanctions to anyone hiding information.”

“Those don't really exist… do they?”

“Oh they do, it’s just not something done very often. A bit extreme, y’know, ceasing to exist.”

“So the Supreme Archangel going missing would qualify for that?” 

“Well, technically, I’m not supreme archangel anymore.”

All three of the them seemed shocked at that.

"Whatever do you mean?" 

"I'm with him, how?"

“Yeah, we were discussing the redo for Armageddon and I voted against it, so I got fired.” He shrugged.

“Wouldn't that mean you just go to hell like the rest of us? Be with zem?”

“No! Actually. I thought that too. They apparently decided it would be better to erase my memory and demote me. Which is not my idea of a good time.” He smirked.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale spoke, quietly. He felt faint. Was that really how heaven was looking these days?

“Yeah, damn.” Beelzebub turned to look at Gabriel. “That’s much worse than I’d’ve expected from up top.”

“Yeah, I wasn't expecting it myself.” Gabriel shrugged. “Anyway, you are so right. We should get out of here.” He snapped his fingers and his blanket robe was replaced with light grey shacks and a pressed button-up shirt.

“if Heaven drops by,” Gabriel says, snapping at them both, “tell them I stopped by for a cup of hot chocolate, before heading out.” He laughs, “Technically, it’s not even a lie!” 

Beelzebub grabs his hand and pulls him toward the door. “and you two” Ze turn back, still walking, “figure yourselves out. talk, properly, for once in your lives.”

“Hm?” Gabriel looks at zem.

“They’re not together. You said they’d been together for ages, and they’re not. They’re dancing around it.”

Gabriel looked at them and scoffed, “Yeah, you two should talk.” 

They stepped outside, and Crowley, who had followed them to the door, shut and locked it behind them. The two didn't even notice as they disappeared into the busy street.

"Can you believe, the two of them, together, it seems almost ridiculous. And Heaven knows what on earth they were talking about--"

"Angel."

"--I mean making those kinds of assumptions--"

"Angel."

"--Talking as if they know us better than we know ourselves. We've always been distant from our respective offices--"

"Angel!"

"-they don't know us at all! It's an entirely ridiculous notion altogether, I suppose it's a good thing this worked itself out so quickly-"

"ANGEL!"

"-I think it's rather a good thing we won't be hearing from them for some time, seeing as--"

"AZIRAPHALE!"

The angel freezes, quieting himself. He looks up and makes eye contact with Crowley.

"We've known each other for a long time. And I think we both know that's not true."

Crowley took several steps forward until he was just in front of Aziraphale, their eyes never leaving each others.

"You and I have been together for a long time." He bites his tongue and looks off. "We've always relied on each other. We're a team, a group. And we've spent our existance pretending that we aren't." Another pause. "And I would like to spend-" He groans. "I would like to spend the rest of it, with you. Properly."

"Properly?"

Crowley leans into Aziraphale's space. "Properly."

Aziraphale leans the rest of the way, taking his face between his hands and looks him deep in the eyes.

“You know that’s rather sweet of you, Crowley.”

Crowley opened his mouth to respond but Aziraphale’s lips were on his before he got the chance.

[tea-with-eleni]

Invitation to Dinner

Vasili knocked on the door to my room at the inn before Nyshka, for once. He smiled down at me. I know I looked unwell. I hadn’t slept, again. The nightmares were getting worse. Still, he was too polite to say, “Volenta, you look like hell.” Instead, he said, “Good morning, Miss Volenta. May I accompany you to breakfast?” I took the arm he offered and let him lead me downstairs to the inn’s common room.

“I’ve already eaten,” he said, pulling out my chair for me with a smile, “But I hope you won’t deny me the chance for your company.” I tried to smile back, but this morning, something about him made me uneasy. He looked as charming and as well put-together as ever. He set his bag on the table and began to dig through its contents. “This isn’t purely a social visit, I’m afraid to say,” he said. “I do have a message to deliver.”

“From your employer?” I asked. I was going to be very smug if I could get him to admit that he worked for Strahd. Nyshka still didn’t believe me, even though I’d convinced everyone else. “Something like that,” he said, pulling out an envelope. “I think it might be an invitation from the castle, actually. I’d hoped to receive something like it myself, but, alas.” He shrugged. “Perhaps another time.” I frowned at my toast. I’d eaten about half of it, but I hadn’t tasted it. The nightmares were still too fresh in my mind.

“Should we be worried?” I asked. “He isn’t inviting us to the castle to eat us or anything, right?” Vasili raised an eyebrow and almost looked like he was going to laugh. I tried to smile, to laugh it off, even though the question was entirely serious. “I mean, given the rumors…”

“I don’t think he has the habit of eating anyone like you,” he said gently, patting my hand. I met his eyes, then had to look away. There was something in his gaze that was… almost too intense for the conversation. “Are you alright, Miss Volenta?” he asked. I shrugged, wishing suddenly that I was anywhere else — or that anyone else had joined us! It was silly, I belonged to Lady Gold Heart herself, mother would laugh at me… but there was something about him.

“I’m fine,” I said, faking a cough. “Just… a little nervous. The lord of the land and his lady are supposed to be… intense.” He did laugh a little, then, and I knew I was blushing. He hadn’t let go of my hand. “You don’t have anything to worry about, I’m sure, Miss Volenta,” he said. “Just pretend I’m there. Or, if you mess anything up, feel free to blame me. My reputation can survive some tarnish from Lord Strahd.” I pulled my hand away. His hands were cold, and it left me wanting to bury my fingers in my skirts. He must have forgotten his gloves, despite the chill weather. “Your reputation might survive,” I said, “But if we accidentally insult his lady or something, will you? I mean…” I tried to sound more confident than I felt as I tapped my neck. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Truly. You’ll be fine as well. He just invites interesting people to the castle sometimes. Maybe you'll secure a patron for your— what was it? Merry band of misfits?” It was my turn to shrug, laugh off how my sister had introduced us.

He left me shortly after that, so I could read the invitation myself. The wax seal looked official and the text told me almost nothing about what to expect, once I deciphered the antique style of handwriting. Strahd von Zarovich apparently thought it was time we met face-to-face and we were invited to join him for dinner in two evenings’ time. I had a feeling the invitation was going to prove compulsory. It wasn’t the most pleasant surprise with which to greet my sister and our friends when they finally joined me, but at least it was better than telling them that I had, once more, dreamed about amber and shadows and teeth and far, far, far too much blood.

[bigdog-23]

The loin and his huntress

Chapter four: remember Joanna

Y/n: your name

I/n: ikran name

Words like this are Na’vi

Warning: small mentions of sa, small panic attack,use of the word bastard

3rd pov

As Tywin walked to the doors of the ballroom with y/n and her aunt he lets y/n’s arm go looking at Tywin confused on why he let go “it isn’t proper to hold a woman like that it gives the idea that they are together” he said

“But we are you brought us here” y/n said ‘these people truly are strange’ y/n thought “no dear he means together as in mated with one another” her aunt explained “oh” y/n said blushing

Tywin then laughed a little putting two together and realizing what she said before the doors opened and they were welcomed in “there she is the woman of the hour” Robert said he then grabbed y/n pulling her to a man and woman

“This is Ned stark my dearest friend and his wife” the king said introducing the two to y/n the couple bowing down slightly y/n’s aunt then went up to the king “sir my niece’s English isn’t as strong as mine she does not know most words” she told the king

“Oh that is right well do you mind translating for her” he asked “that is what I’m here for” she said as the king started talking stopping at time to make sure the younger woman understood

“So lord Tywin it seems you’ve brought a new beauty into the castle” a old lord said as Tywin poured himself a glass of wine “yes I have lord r/n (random name)” Tywin said before drinking some “since she’ll be in your care I wonder do you plan on marrying her off once she’s done teaching us “her ways”” the lord said smirking

“Why do you ask” Tywin said staring the man down “well my boy needs a wife and since she’s under your care she could be called your ward and a Lannister ward would do my house some good” the lord said while looking at y/n “although I might want to take her as my wife” the lord finished

Tywin then sat down his wine sighing and grabbed the lord by his neck “that girl is under my care and she will be talked of with respect not as though she is just some whore to be traded off do you understand” he said his grip growing tighter “y-yes my lord” once the old loin hear that he dropped then man

People started to join each other on the dance floor as music started to play lords dancing with their ladies y/n was then pulled onto the floor by some young lord confused and scared she pulled away almost falling only for another lord to catch her and try to dance with her leading to her stepping on his feet and others as she tried to get away

Panicking y/n called out for the only two people she could think of “auntie! Tywin!” She yelled or at least tried to the music being so loud only one of the people who she called hear her

Grabbing her and holding her close to his chest as he stared down the lord you were dancing with once the lord walked away Tywin grabbed her face making her look at him “are you ok” he said his anger grew as he saw tears rolling down her face “i-i their hands were on me I didn’t want them near me yet they still pulled and tugged” she said panicking “hey hey hey calm down shhh” he said petting her hair pulling her close to his chest as he shushed her

“Oh dear I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have left you I thought you were having fun” her aunt said running up to her only for y/n to push closer to Tywin cries softly “maybe we should get her to bed” Tywin said a little shocked y/n had chosen his comfort over her own aunt’s

Nodding her aunt followed Tywin and y/n only for them to be stopped by Cersei “father where are you going the party just started” she said “y/n isnt feeling well” he said trying the push pass his daughter

“She’s a grown woman father I’m sure she can walk back to her chambers alone and even if she couldn’t she has her aunt” Cersei said before grabbing her father who pushed her away “stop this childish behavior Cersei the girl is unwell” he said

“Maybe she’s unwell because she has a bastard in her your bastard tell me father have you been bedding the girl” Cersei said only to be slapped across her face “you will do well to mind your words” Tywin said “I warned you to many times you want to act like a child I will treat you like one” he finished before pushing though and walking y/n to her room

Sitting her on the bed he looked at her aunt “what happened why is she like this” Tywin said “my niece is our leader’s daughter and for that reason meaning men want her unlike your way of life there are only two groups of people our leader and their family and the other group is everyone else most people would do anything to get in that second group even forcing mating on one another” her aunt said sitting down next to the the now sleeping y/n

“Forcing mating?” Tywin ask sighing her aunt grabbed the big braid and pulling it in front of her letting pink tentacles come out “this is a queue it lets us connect to the world around us all the animals we ride have them us Na’vi aren’t born with them unlike the animals we have” she said getting up and going to a big chest “you were supposed to see and get these tomorrow you and your sons” she said as she opens it and pulls out a long spine looking animal :

“These are given to at 5-8 when they start learning after a few months it joins into our bodies letting us bond with things around us” she said putting the animal back with the others

“When we mate join them helping us feel each other making the two true mates this bond can not be broken unless death so for one to force it and for it to go unchecked the one forced can be dependent on the other one my niece unfortunately was someone who forced into one of these relationships” she said as she walked back to y/n

“She was dancing with the young children of the tribe when it happened-“ she stopped before looking at y/n “maybe she should tell you when she’s ready” she said before looking back at Tywin who nodded “of course” he said as he walked out

“Where are you going” y/n’s aunt asked “to my tower since she is sleeping there is no need for me to stay” he said “stay like your daughter said the night is still young after something like this my niece likes to forget and move on if I was to let her sleep she would be mad plus she’ll be hungry” she said before waking y/n up “best to forget what happened until she says something about it” she whispers as y/n whines

“Come on sweet child it is time to eat” her aunt said only for y/n to jump up “that was fast what did you say” Tywin said chuckling softly “ahh my niece has always had what our people call a strong stomach and strong things need to eat”

Y/n then stood up “eat” was all she said as she started to walk “see” her aunt said following with a chuckling Tywin following closely behind the two

The three walked into the ball room to see everyone sitting down y/n then looked at Tywin “where we sit” she said Robert then spoke up “ash there you are here come sit” he said pulling out a seat next to him

“We sit with Tywin” y/n said surprising both Tywin and Robert no one even turned down a seat next to the king “dear I will be sitting next to you don’t worry” Tywin said as y/n nodded and walked with Tywin to the table her following close behind Tywin then pulled out her chair for her to sit

“Let the feast begin!” Robert yelled as plates were brought out and sat in front of everyone as her plate was placed in front of her she looked at her aunt confused “what is wrong” Tywin said catching her confusion

“We can’t eat this it has no protein it will make us weak” her aunt said “so what will you eat” he asked only for a roar to rip though the air “you’ll see” she said a few minutes later all the animals the women brought came in each with something different in their mouths “ahh there they are” the aunt said standing up with niece who happily followed

Petting the Large snake making it hissing gently as soft placed two large cooked deer like animals y/n then went to the large loin like animal doing the same it softly put down a bag down then she walked to the last two animals who both dropped bags “good girls” she said putting both of the deer over her shoulders then looked at the animals

Y/n clicked her tongue giving the animals the order to leave and hunt as her aunt picked up the bags they both then sat back down with y/n placing a deer in front of her aunt and on in front of herself before the two opened the bags pulling out sauces and smaller meats and sides

Y/n then looked at Tywin and smiled before pushing the old food he had on his plate and put some of her deer and other things on it “eat” she said before eating Tywin joining her “what is that” Robert said pointing to a dish “it is what you call deer” y/n said ripping a piece and giving it to the king “try”

“Lady y/n I hope you didn’t forget me and my brother” Tyrion said “of course not small man” she said before putting some of everything in two bags before hanging them on her tail and giving it the two men

Cersei looked at Jamie as he gladly ate the weird food she then looked at her father who was eating it as well she then saw a tail push some of the food on her plate “eat that not enough for strong women” y/n said before pulling her tail away and going back to eating

Picking the food up she then slowing took a bite before taking another “wow” she mumbles as she keeps eating she then saw y/n handing a different kind of food to her twin children and her youngest son

“What is that” she said as she watched her children eat happily “it is what we feed our young do not worry your father and brothers have eaten it before" y/n said leaving Cersei confused "my niece said that it is the food we feed our children and not to worry as your brothers and father ate it"

looking at her brothers then her father she nodded her head before going back to eating the weird food Tywin the looked at y/n who waved her tail in front of his youngest grandson who happily played with it trying to grab it only to be to slow

"i thought that your peoples tails are sensitive" he said "they are but if we know that it is going to be pulled we can act fast" said the aunt watching y/n as well before leaning closer to Tywin "but after one is mated our tails aren't as sensitive as they were before due to the pulling" she whispers

Tywin looked at y/n's aunt in shock causing him to choke on his food leading the aunt to laugh as y/n came up behind Tywin wrapping her arms around him before squeezing causing him to spit the food out “you ok” she asked Tywin as she pats his back

“Auntie what did you say” she said looking at her aunt who just giggled causing y/n to roll her eyes “Tywin are you ok” she asked again rubbing his back her tail wrapping around his arm as a type of comfort

Clearing his throat Tywin nodded causing y/n to pull her hand and tail away leaving the spots they touched cold leading him to frown a bit Tyrion and y/n’s aunt saw this before they looked at each other and laughed causing the people around them to look at them as if they were mad

Leaning in Jamie asked his brother “what’s so funny” causing Tyrion to lean in and whispered “father frowned when lady y/n stopped touching him” causing Jamie to spit out a little of his wine making his sister look at him “stop acting like children and making a mess” she said staring at her brothers who nodded and whispered to each other

“Lady y/n” Jamie said catching the girls attention “yes” she said looking at him “there’s some sauce on our father’s face can you get it off” Tyrion said looking at the aunt hoping she would catch on snd translate to which she did

Nodding y/n grabbed Tywin’s face before licking her thumb and wiping the corner of his lip as she did Tywin stared causing the trio to giggle once she was done she looked at Tywin making eye contact not he or him looked away till Cersei coughed catching their attention the two then pulled away and went back to eating

“Why would you do that” Cersei asked her brother only for them to play dumb “whatever do you mean sister we were just looking out for father” Jamie said “can’t have the great loin looking like a babe can we” Tyrion said smirking causing Cersei to scoff and go back to her dinner

“So lady y/n Tyrion told me how strong you were” Ned said “ah yes said you carried him up a huge tree only by your tail” his wife said joining in waiting for the girl to answer

Listening to her aunt translation she looked at the two “yes Na’vi live in trees high up no predators can climb and hunt us” she said slowly thinking of her home “he also told us of how you shot down three horses while on your dragon” lady stark said

“No dragon I/n is ikran and yes we learn to hunt and heal at young age” she said after that a uncomfortable silence was left only the people at other tables talking y/n’s aunt then puts her hand on y/n’s shoulder “did you know my niece is the best runner of our clan beating those two times her size Tywin saw it” she said looking at Tywin who nodded

“Oh yes she most likely could beat the hound and his brother” he said patting her back “oh that’s is something I have to see hound,mountain come!” Robert yelled “y/n maybe a race will change your sour mood go” y/n’s aunt told her she then stood up and nodded walking over to the king and the two brothers

The king then ordered people to go outside this castle as he grabbed a glass of wine once everyone was outside he drew a line in the dirt “you will go here to across the yard and back the first one back will be the winner when I drop the glass that means go” he said as y/n’s translated

Nodding the three took their spots waiting for the wine glass to drop as soon as it did the three were off at first the mountain was in the lead but y/n caught up and soon passed him “go sweetie” she heard her aunt yell causing her to smile and run faster soon y/n had to make the turn

She smiled even harder when she felt the dirt beneath her feet waiting a little then running again she soon crossed then line laughing Robert then grabbed her hand holding it up “a winner” he yelled

“Well done niece” her aunt said hugging her Tywin then walked up to her with a cup of water to which she drunk down finishing it faster then she finished the race she then dropped the cup and hugged Tywin shocking him

She then let him go and laughed “I win!” She said the hound then walked up to her and bowed “what a race lady y/n I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone beat my brother in a race” he said handing her a cup “wine is better to drink then water” he finished y/n then drunk it coughing at the bitter taste leading Tywin and her aunt to laugh

The mountain then walked up to y/n who smiled at him only for him to push her and pull his sword out causing Jamie and the hound to pull theirs out rushing to stop the attack only for him to be stopped by y/n’s huge snake which wrapped herself around the man

The beast getting ready to bite the man’s head off only for it to be stopped by y/n who rubbed the animal’s head as she told it to release the man once the animal did she picked up the man sword and handed it to him while saying something in her mother tongue “what did she say” Tyrion said looking at the two

Y/n’s aunt then walked behind her niece and translated “she said if you are going to try and kill me do it right and do it with honor” she said as she watched her niece walk to Tywin “we train morrow with sons now we rest” y/n said as she looked at her aunt who nodded and walked to the two

“May you walk us to the room” the aunt said as Tywin nodded

Tywin in the front with the two following behind talking in their language Tywin the stopped in front of the door causing the two to stop “here we are again” he said sighing leaving y/n confused “are you ok” she said Tywin then nodded “yes just tried” he said y/n’s aunt then jumped in “you should stay here Tyrion has told me that your tower is really high up and if you’re tried you shouldn’t walk that far” she said

“I’m sure my niece won’t mind sharing a bed with you it is normal to share one with others and is really rude to turn this offer down” she finished smiling leading Tywin to stare her down before looking at y/n “would it be ok for me to sleep here y/n” he ask

Y/n nodded opening the door only to see that her pets have claimed the bed as their sighing y/n opens a chest and pulls out covers and pillows before laying them down and pointing “down now” she told the animals who quickly listened and piled onto each other y/n then laid on the bed leaving space for Tywin before falling asleep

Her aunt laying on her own bed watched as Tywin put space between him and y/n “oh get closer boy it’s not like she’s going to bite you” she said “don’t call me boy you’re not that older then me” he said back looking at the woman who laughed “I’m 112 I’m way older then you” she said leaving Tywin to be shocked

“What” he said “we live till we’re 130 or more depending on the person due to our queues and way of life” she said “don’t worry you’ll be able to live a good long life with my niece” she giggled as she laid down “oh be quiet you sound like my son” he said laying down “I have no interest in your niece” he finished

“You are bad liar your eyes say it all” the aunt said “and your actions aren’t any better everyone who has eyes can tell that you have feelings for my niece and that she has some for you but I guess we’ll have to wait till the both of you stop being blind” she finished before closing her eyes “goodnight Tywin” she said falling into her slumber leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts

‘She has feeling maybe I sh- no I can’t move on I have to remember Joanna’ he thought as he fell asleep

[foreversecrets]

To Gild the Lily Chapter 4

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x OC

Rating: Teen

As quickly as it was announced Daphne would marry Lord Berbrooke, it was just as quickly dissolved when Whistledown ran him out of town. Daphne’s new availability paired with the desirability the Duke courting her provided had Madeline’s callers dwindling. She should have been envious of such a factor but she could never bring herself to harbor ill emotions towards her dearest friend. Especially not when she herself had provided the Prince sage advice in wooing her friend. Not that she’d found herself leaning towards another caller, in fact she found herself confused and distraught when that very night she came to a harsh realization.

As Daff spun round and round in another dance, her gaze had shifted to the man whom she thought herself besotted. But as she walked towards the Bridgerton bunch she caught herself in a mirror, the way she looked at Benedict was not the way her mother had looked at her father nor was it the way Violet had looked at her later husband. No, she looked at Benedict Bridgerton the way Daphne looked upon him. A love for sure, but not the type of love one shared for a life partner, no it was the love one harbored for those who’d endured much by one anothers side. She wanted to cry out, whatever would she do now? Marry Lord Baxter? She’d not been brave enough to seek out Benedict but she thought he’d eventually see her and now she felt like she’d never have love or happiness. But instead of crying, she found herself relieved. As if now she could truly begin her search for a husband.

It was also at this particular ball that Daff finally seemed to encourage the Prince’s pursuit of her. This made Maddy’s stomach twist uncomfortably though she knew not why. Her eyes found themselves glued to the Prince’s hand placement, convinced she was worried about her friend's honor but even that did not seem right.

“Maddy shall I occupy you in a dance?”

She was unable to offer a reply before Anthony pulled her on to the floor, his first dance of the season. Typically he avoided it like the plague, not wanting to incur the eager mama’s attention. Anthony would provide her the respite she needed to collect herself and attempt to converse with suitors once again.

“Are you unwell?”

“What?” fell from her lips.

“You are out of sorts,” without realizing it her eyes sought out Daff and the Prince, Anthony’s following quickly after. “No, Maddy.” he groaned.

“Have I done something wrong?” she inquired in desperation, fear of being ostracized by the Bridgertons terrified her more than her becoming an old spinster.

“You should not covet Daphne’s suitors, no man is worth tarnishing your friendship.”

“I do not desire His Majesty, I have spoken but once to him.”

Anthony didn’t persist but he knew what he’d seen in his surrogate sisters eyes. “And how are your prospects?”

“Lord Baxter is-”

“No.”

“You did not let me finish,” she laughed, finally feeling at ease.

“Lord Baxter is not a suitable match for you, you will not be happy with him.”

“He is the only one of my suitors who is not after the dowry, he is cordial and kind.”

“He cannot love you the way you desire or deserve.”

“Impart upon me what I should then do?” The song ended, the two parted and walked together to the refreshment tables. “Your mother knows, therefore I assume you have been apprised of my father’s failing health. What should become of me if I do not wed before I lose him?”

“We should take care of-”

“I will be without a title, without a dowry until some distant cousin sorts my fathers affairs and there is no guarantee my dowry would remain intact.”

“These are concerns-”

“There you are,” Violet’s always pleasant voice reached them before she did. “Lord Hardy was looking for you dearest.”

Maddy nodded kindly, using the knowledge to part from the every grating eyes of Anthony. Though she never did find Lord Hardy, she was stopped on her way out on the balcony by the Prince. He smiled as she respectfully bowed and put an arm out to usher her outside, following behind her. Several other pairs, mothers and fathers were on the balcony but it was less overcrowded than the ballroom.

“I should thank you for your assistance, Miss Bridgerton seems receptive to my attention.” he started as they walked, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Was he hoping for some sort of reaction from her? Maddy found herself annoyed by the prospect, an evil thought to provide him false information stirred within her mind.

“Daphne is easy to converse with and has a closeness to her family, one she wishes to honor by expanding.”

“And how many children should you want?” he kept his voice level but he was completely enthralled with her response. His aunt wished him to marry the Diamond of the season, he understood why: Daphne was appealing to gaze upon, she was well composed and educated, her demeanor alluring. But it was the seasons Lily that he found himself curious about, Tante had told him little of the woman apart from utilizing her as a stepping stone towards her friend.

“I am not ambitious enough to think I could out number the Bridgerton siblings,” she giggled and not in the way the maidens were trained to do so, it was genuine amusement. “But I should like a few to be sure, I am an only child. I was blessed to grow beside the Bridgertons who treated me as family but I wish for my children to have someone with whom to play and grow together.”

“I too am an only child but had a bounty of cousins to fill those childlike endeavors.” He smiled warmly, turning to face her and halt their journey.

“She compliments you well, Your Majesty.” Did she sound bitter? His heartbeat was more noticeable at her tone, did she want to bring envy out of her? “Daphne is a most gracious dancer, I find myself barely able to survive without crushing my partners toes.”

“Perhaps you need more practice.”

“Practice,” she snorted. It sounds much like Daphne’s upon his first encounter but coming from Maddy he found his smile genuine. “Your grace, I apologize-”

“There is no need, I found your amusement charming.”

Her expression softened for the first time since he’d met her, “The Viscount has told me on ample occasions to receive such laughter and that no amount of practice will correct two left feet.”

“A better instructor seems to be in order, though I can say in earnest, the Viscount does not seem to be the best guide in the manner.”

“Be careful Your Grace Anthony Bridgerton is not known to take harsh criticism well.”

Her bright white teeth showed, reeling him in. Her attention strayed to the other basking in the moonlight and he found himself dismayed that her gaze had left him. Looking back into the ballroom he took note of his aunt and Miss. Bridgerton speaking with smiles. His aunt had chosen Daphne Bridgerton as his match and he understood why, but standing out in the evening glow with Madeline Walcot he wished she had been named the Diamond. Things would be easier, different. He would not be settling for the lukewarm connection Miss Bridgerton offered him, he would be free to indulge in the way this young lady had his heart beating.

“I should return to Miss Bridgerton,” nothing had hurt him in such a visceral way when Miss Walcot's smile dropped into a frown and her searching, nay, her pleading eyes turned on him. She may not know it yet but she was just as enraptured with him as he was with her. His heart told him to reach out and offer her comfort but his mind and duty told him to retreat as quickly as possible.

“Of course Your Highness, I apologize for keeping you.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to reassure her but she was slipping away from him too fast, too far. It was too much when she looked back at him wearing the falsest smile he ever seen and a glossiness in her eyes. He couldn’t help feeling as though he was the cause of her grief, he wanted to wrap her up in his arms but instead he found himself reentering the ballroom to ask for Daphne Bridgerton’s hand.

Even as he spun around in a dance with the Diamond, speaking the practiced words his aunt had schooled him, he found himself seeking her out in the observers. He found her amongst the herd of Bridgertons the matriarch gently touching her forehead while the second eldest wrapped Maddy’s arm with his own and began leading her from the building accompanied by his mother. A terrifying realization fell upon his heart, even when he was wed he would not be freed of her. She was his intended dearest friend, that connection was built on a strong foundation that would keep her in his life. He’d live everyday with a woman he hoped he could call friend but nothing more while he watched a woman he could have more one day wed another and grow her own family without him.

His heart said to chase after Madeline Walcot but everything else led him to proposing to Daphne Bridgerton.

Or trying to. For the second time this evening he found a beautiful young lady running away from him in distress.

[kingschoicewriter]

A break from Work

A Break from Work

________________________________________________________________

 A short fanfic to start this account off. Mild angst, lots of fluff.

Word count: 2262

Warnings, None

           “Lance, how much do we have left?” I ask, sighing. The light is beginning to dim outside. I see my guards changing shifts below us in the courtyard. They are starting to light torches to keep the court yard bright when night finally decides to consume the land.

           “Not that much my lord. Only seven more edicts, five troop recruitments, some trading laws, and-“ I sigh again, leaning in the chair I’m in. I rest my forehead in my palm. Lance sets the papers he was organizing down. “Are you feeling unwell my lord? I could send for Diana or Myron.” I look up, and see he’s concerned. His eyebrows are pulled together in a furrow, slightly raised. He looks at me with eyes full of, concern? It must be concern. And he looks like he’s about to come out of his seat.

           I sit back up, trying to pull myself together. “No Lance. I’m fine. Just tired of staring at these papers. I’m trying to hurry so that I don’t get too restless.” I look at the new law in front of me, and begin to read over for what feels like the seventh time.

  Decree Seven-Eighty

Trade with Meridina and Niveal

This law, by decree of Lord Y/n, submits…..

  “My lord, do you wish to take a break?” I look up at Lance, my mouth slightly slack.

         “A break. Are you feeling well, Lance? I wasn’t sure you knew of such a thing.” I giggle slightly. My cheeks immediately heat up at my stupidity. Giggling? As if Lance needed another reason to think I’m not competent. I mentally smack myself in the head.

         I’m drawn out of my mental beratement when I hear a low grumble of a chuckle escape from him. “I do not indulge in such things often, but a break from work every now and then, well I find it to be quiet rewarding to my headaches.” His cheeks flush a little pinker than they were before. “Besides, you have been trying very hard these last few days. I have noticed your dedication recently. A break may be good for both of us.”

As he stands and turns to put his coat on, I let my eyes linger for a moment. I had been putting more effort in the recent past. As recent as I had seen him in the astronomy tower, out of his usual courtier’s uniform. He was more relaxed then, strolling down the corridor with his nose in a book. It was then that I had seen through some of the formal exterior he had put up with me. His lord.  Although I wasn’t particularly fond or unfond of my title most of the time, when it came to Lance, sometimes I wished I was just Y/n. Just a person he would talk to. Of course, I highly doubt that with my intellect that he would talk to me if I wasn’t his lord.

Pushing that dark thought from my mind, I stand as well. “And where shall we be off to?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

“Well, it is your palace, where do you wish to go?” He retorts, in the same slow, calming manner as always. I think for a second, before my mind decides on a place. I smile at him, and nod as he holds open the door for me.

“Lets just wander, and see where we end up, how does that sound?” He smiles slightly, nodding in agreeance. As we trapse the halls, I try slowly to work up my courage.

“So, read any good books lately?” I say, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I had a book of every law ever written to bang my head against. I might’ve well have asked him about the weather.

 “I, uh well, erm-” He looks at me sideways. “What about you? Any… good books? Recently?” I smile at him softly.

“Not of late. Mostly just edicts, laws, troop recruitments, you know, the works.” He chuckles again, this one a more hearty, deep chuckle. Almost, almost a laugh.

“Wow. Two chuckles in one evening. I must finally be doing something right.” I say, laughing myself. Suddenly, Lance stops. I brake too, looking back at him. He’s deep in thought. I know that look, its about the only one I know. “I’m sorry, what did- did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head, leaning on the wall. “I know I’m cold. And aloof. I’m sorry, my lord.” He sighs, sitting down on a bench in the hall. I quickly join him.

“Y/n. Please, call me Y/n. With how closely we work, there isn’t much need for formalities.” I say, looking at him. His eyes are downcast, looking at his gloved, clasped hands with his jaw clenched. Suddenly, I grab one of them, taking it in mine. He looks shocked. “Lance, please, tell me what I did. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you.” At my words he looks even more hurt. I’m working up yet anther apology when he finally looks into my eyes, his deep brown eyes searching my e/c ones.

“Y/n… you can’t do anything wrong. Especially with me. I... I am formal with you because it is all I know how to be. Formal. Rigid. Cold Aloof. Those moments where I loosen my reigns, I feel out of place.” I place my other hand atop his as he talks. “And I feel out of place because you cannot find an answer in books for the feelings I have. There is no logic, no sense to be made of feelings for a woman out of your reach.” My eyes now draw down, looking at the floor. I make up my mind quickly, to react to him as I would any friend telling me the same, that they have feelings for another. Even if that person isn’t me, as I so wish it to be.

With a deep, even sigh I start my speech. “Lance, whomever this person is, well they are probably the luckiest person in my realm.” He looks up at me, a glimmer of hope in his eye. “You are wonderfully funny, and smart. Not to mention that you are one of the most handsome people I’ve seen. Sometimes I wish to step into your shoes. To be as sure of myself as you are, to be sure that my decisions are smart and just. If this woman seems to be out of your reach, I think it is merely that you need to reach out your hand to her. She will gladly accept if she has a sliver of brain that you do.”

He smiles softly. “She does. She has more brain than me, honestly. I can store all of the counsel in my head. But she holds that and so much more.” He frowns again, continuing. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she has men falling over themselves to throw themselves at her. She has her pick of any man in any realm. Kings, Princes, Nobles. Knights even. A mere common courtier like me doesn’t hold up to that. I am not of any kind of nobility. I am just… Lance the courtier to Lord Y/n. I serve lords, not court them. That is not my place.”

I feel a swarm of butterflies deep in my stomach. “Lance…” I start, and he looks into my eyes again, setting the butterflies on fire. “I am your lord. And I would do anything to hear you talk of me like that. This lord… well she is beyond lucky to have someone of your caliber to talk of them in such a way. You use your words only when they mean something, so I know she means something to you Lance.” He draws his hands from mine. I am thankful for his leather gloves right now because my hands are sweaty. Though they have no right to be. He is sitting here, confessing his love for another and yet I am still falling for him even more. He removes his gloves in a methodical way as I try to discreetly wipe my hands of the sweat on my dress.

“Why would you do anything to hear me talk about you that way?” He asks softly, almost in a whisper. I look up at him from under my eyelashes, and I feel my cheeks heat up yet again. I’m sure I must be a full-blown crimson in the face by now.

“Lance, are you sure of your feelings for this woman?” I ask evenly.

“Yes.” He whispers, not taking his gaze from mine. “Why do you ask?”

“Because what I say next, I do not wish to affect those feelings.” I take one more deep breath, sealing my doom. “I would do anything to hear you talk about me that way, because I wish to be the one to hold your attention like that. I have feelings for you, the way you do for this lord. Everything I have said has been true, because they are coming from the same place you talk of as you talk of her.” I look away as I say the last bit, too ashamed to face him.

“Y/n- “

“If you wish to leave my service after this confession, I will not blame you. I will even give you a reference to this lord as a way to thank you for all of your work with me. I wish to remain friends, should that be an option.” Tears start to make their way to my eyes, but I push them back. As I turn to face him finally, I see the shock on his face. He is slowly regaining himself, composing piece by piece. He takes my hand in his as I had done to his before, without his gloves his hands are hard, not like a knight’s. Not battle or training worn, just rough. And oh, so warm.

“Don’t cry Y/n.” He says softly, lifting my chin with his other hand. “I have been speaking of you this whole time.” My eyes lock onto his, drinking in every word as my heart catches in my throat, making my pulse quicken along with my breath. “You are more radiant than anyone I have ever met. I have been falling for you this entire time, trying my best not too, and somehow you have found a place in my heart that I did not believe to exist. To hear you say these things… I am one of the happiest people in the kingdom in this moment.”

I am so taken aback that I don’t react for a moment. Then finally I look at him again, and see in his eyes, there is something burning. Desire, as am I burning with it. But being the timid gentleman that he is he would never make the next move. Unless… “Lance…” He looks at me hovering between the wall and me, not quiet closing the gap between us. “Kiss me.”

 The words have barely left my lips before his are upon mine. Soft and warm and wonderful. My hand travels to his chest and I turn into the kiss, he moves his hands from mine, cupping the back of my neck. The kiss lasted forever and barely a second at the same time. He pulls back, small beads of sweat appearing on his forehead that has turned pink along with the rest of him.

“I have waited far too long to do this.” He says, suddenly taking charge. He leans in again not quiet touching my lips to his. “It’s better than I could have imagined, Y/n.” He closes the distance again, timidly. Softly. Barely brushing my lips.

 We sit there for many moments to pass, drinking in each other and the feeling swirling in the air. Kisses, giggles, and looks shared. It’s like every time we think this is it. We’ll be done after this one. Someone closes the distance between us again. By the end of it, I am leaning into him, and he has his arm around me.

“Lance?” I ask, my heart still soaring.

“Hmm?” He mumbles, squeezing me into him a bit.

“I think we should take breaks more often.” He lets out an actual laugh, deep and rich. I feel the reverberations from his chest. I laugh into him as well, silently.

“That I suppose we should. You can distract me from work almost as much as you wish.” I smile, and lean into his shoulder.

“You were wrong though.” I say, chuckling.

“About what?” He asks, and I can hear the contentment in his voice.

“This break didn’t clear my head. I think if I tried to work anymore tonight, well, we would still be in the ministry by dawn.” I put my hand on his stomach, as content as he.

“To be honest, I’m intrigued to see how many ways you can prove me wrong, Y/n. I’m sure there will be no end to that talent of yours.” I laugh again, rising from the bench.

“I guess we will see, won’t we Lance?”

“We shall.”

With that we parted ways for the night, content and happy. I was sure I was on his mind as much as he was mine. Ministry would be interesting tomorrow, and all the days to follow. But at the end of each day, I would have Lance. And I was more than okay with that.

[dangermousie]

Mousie’s absolutely subjective, very biased Top 10 web novels list

Please note that this is hardly aiming to be objective, if one can even be properly objective about a work of fiction. It is 110% based on my preferences, which means this list is heavy on the angst and has nothing set in the modern day. It is also heavily danmei-centric, even though I read way more het romance than danmei, because for whatever reason, most of the danmei I’ve read has been insanely good.

10. Return of the Swallow - one of the two non-danmeis on this list. Smart and nuanced and with a large cast of characters. Our heroine is a long-lost daughter of the family that is brought back in and has to cope with familial struggles, crazy royals, court intrigue, invasion et al. It’s SO GOOD! There is romance with the sexy smart enemy general but honestly, it’s the heroine that is the main selling point for me.

9. Transmigrator Meets Reincarnator - the only other non-danmei novel on this list, this was my very first web novel and what drew me into this insanity. This is just a ton of fun, probably the lightest novel on this list, not an ounce of angst to be found. But it’s hilarious and features competent heroine and tsundere hero and I will always love it for opening a new world to me. Anyway, our heroine transmigrates into the novel as the female lead. Unlike the original lead though she doesn’t want to seek adventures and angst - she just wants to comfortably live with the wealthy, nice husband heroine has. Alas, said husband is no longer nice since he has previously lived this story where he was betrayed by FL and then transmigrated/reincarnated into the past. Oh well, the heroine opens up businesses and makes friends. And eventually, her husband realizes his wife is way different this time around. This actually doesn’t have much romance, not until close to the end, but this is so fun I don’t care.

8. Lord Seventh - I am only partway through this so far, but it’s already on the list because it’s smart and somehow intense AND laid-back (not sure how this works, but it does) and is honestly just a really really solid and smart period novel, with the OTP a cherry on top of a narrative sundae. Plus, I love the concept of MC deciding he is not going for his supposedly fated love - he’s tried for six lifetimes, always with disaster, and he’s just plain done and tired. When he opens his life in his seventh reincarnation and sees the person he would have given up the world for, he genuinely feels nothing at all. (Spoiler - his OTP is actually a barbarian shaman this time around, thank you Lord!)

7. Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS) - oh come on, how are you even on this tumblr if you don’t know MDZS/The Untamed? This was my very first danmei and it’s so much fun! I love everything about it - the unreliable narrator, the looping structure, the main OTP, Wei Wuxian’s laidback, traumatized insouciance, everything. Anyway, the plot in the event you somehow transported here from 2005 is that the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Wei Wuxian, was defeated by the righteous sects over a decade ago and fell of a cliff to his death. Only now that same Wei Wuxian opens his eyes in another body and everything that was supposed to stay in the past starts again.

6. Heaven Official’s Blessing (TGCF) - people either love its meandering narrative, picaresque structure and cast of thousands, or find it a detriment compared to much more compact MDZS. I love it even more than MDZS for those very qualities. It does have a rock-solid, darling OTP, but what really elevates it to me are the MXTX trademark combo of snarky/light tone hiding a ton of trauma underneath, the insanely intricate world-building, and what it has to say about the nature of grace and goodness. Xie Lian is one of my top 5 web novel characters and probably in top 10 from anywhere. Oh, and while MXTX’s stuff is not as angsty for me as Meatbun’s or even Priest’s, there are always exceptions, and there is one chapter in this novel that pretty much broke me and sometimes I still flashback to it and feel unwell.

Anyway, what is it about? There is a commotion in the heavenly realm - Xie Lian, the Crown Prince of a long-destroyed kingdom, has ascended to Godhood. That in itself is not so exciting. However for Xie Lian this is the third time (!!!!) as he’s ascended and lost his godhood twice prior. And now, the biggest joke of the divine realm is back, throwing the heavenly realm into chaos. And elsewhere, Hua Cheng, one of the four most powerful demons of that Universe, sits up and takes notice.

5. Golden Stage - my perfect comfort novel. Probably the least angsty of any danmei novel on this list (which still means plenty angsty :P) It also has a dedicated, smart OTP that is an OTP for the bulk of the book - I think you will notice that in most of the novels in this list, I go for “OTP against the world” trope - I can’t stand love triangles and the same. Anyway, Fu Shen, is a famous general whose fame is making the emperor antsy. When he gets injured and can’t walk any more, the emperor gladly recalls him and marries him off to his most faithful court lackey, the head of sort of secret police, Yan Xiaohan. The emperor intends it both as a check on the general and a general spite move since the two men always clash in court whenever they meet. But not all is at is seems. They used to be friends a long time ago, had a falling out, and one of the loveliest parts of the novel is them finding their way to each other, but there is also finding the middle path between their two very different philosophies and ways of being, not to mention solving a conspiracy or dozen, and putting a new dynasty on the throne, among other things. It always makes me think, a little, of “if Mei Changsu x Jingyan were canon.”

4. Sha Po Lang - if you like a lot of fantasy politics and world-building and steampunk with your novels, this one is for you. This one is VERY plot-heavy with smart, dedicated characters and a deconstruction of many traditional virtues - our protagonist Chang Geng, a long-lost son of the Emperor, is someone who wants to modernize the country but also take down the current emperor his brother for progress’ sake and the person he’s in love with is the general who saved him when he was a kid who is nominally his foster father. Anyway, the romance is mainly a garnish in this one, not even a big side dish, but the relationship between two smart, dedicated, deadly individuals with very different concepts of duty is fascinating long before it turns romantic. And if you like angst, while overall it’s not as angsty as e.g., Meatbun stuff, Chang Geng’s childhood is the stuff of nightmares and probably freaks me out more than anything else in any novel on this list, 2ha included.

3. To Rule In a Turbulent World (LSWW) - gay Minglan. No seriously. This is how I think of it. it’s a slice of life period novel with fascinating characters and setting that happens to have a gay OTP, not a romance in a period setting per se and I always prefer stories where the romance is not the only thing that is going on. It’s meticulously written and smart and deals with character development and somehow makes daily minutia fascinating. Our protagonist, You Miao, is the son of a fabulously wealthy merchant, sent to the capital to make connections and study. As the story starts, he sees his friend’s servants beating someone to death, feels bad, and buys him because, as we discover gradually and organically, You Miao may be wealthy and occasionally immature but he is a genuinely good person. The person he buys is a barbarian from beyond the wall, named Li Zhifeng. It’s touch and go if the man will survive but eventually he does and You Miao, who by then has to return home, gives him his papers and lets him go. However, LZF decides to stick with You Miao instead, both out of sense of debt for YM saving his life and because he genuinely likes him (and yet, there is no instalove on either of their parts, their bodies have fun a lot quicker than their souls.) Anyway, the two take up farming, get involved in the imperial exams and it’s the life of prosperity and peace, until an invasion happens and things go rapidly to hell. This is so nuanced, so smart (smart people in this actually ARE!) and has secondary characters who are just as complex as the mains (for example, I ended up adoring YM’s friend, the one who starts the plot by almost beating LZF to death for no reason) because the novel never forgets that few people are all villain. There is a lovely character arc or two - watching YM grow up and LZF thaw - there is the fact that You Miao is a unicorn in web novels being laid back and calm. This whole thing is a masterpiece.

2. Stains of Filth (Yuwu) - want the emotional hit of 2ha but want to read something half its length? Well, the author of 2ha is here to eviscerate you in a shorter amount of time. This has the beautiful world-building, plot twists that all make sense and, at the center of it all, an intense and all-consuming and gloriously painful relationship between two generals - one aristocratic loner Mo Xi, and the other gregarious former slave general Gu Mang. Once they were best friends and lovers, but when the novel starts, Gu Mang has long turned traitor and went to serve the enemy kingdom and has now been returned and Mo Xi, who now commands the remnants of his slave army, has to cope with the fact that he has never been able to get over the man who stabbed him through the heart. Literally. This novel has a gorgeously looping structure, with flashbacks interwoven into present storyline. There is so much love and longing and sacrifice in this that I am tearing up a bit just thinking of it. If you don’t love Mo Xi and Gu Mang, separately and together, by the end of it, you have no soul.

1. The Dumb Husky and His White Cat Shizun (2ha/erha) - if you’ve been following my tumblr for more than a hot second, you know my obsession with this novel. Honestly, even if I were to make a list of my top 10 novels of any kind, not just webnovels, this would be on the list. It has everything I want - a complicated, intricate plot with an insane amount of plot twists, all of which are both unexpected and make total sense, a rich and large cast of characters, a truly epic OTP that makes me bawl, emotional intensity that sometimes maxes even me out and so much character nuance and growth. Also, Moran is my favorite web novel character ever, hands down.

Anyway, the plot (or at least the way it first appears) is that the evil emperor of the cultivation world, Taxian Jun, kills himself at 32 and wakes up in the body of his 16 year old self, birth name Moran. Excited to get a redo, Moran wants to save his supposed true love Shimei, whose death the last go-around pushed him towards evil. He also wants to avoid entanglement with Chu Wanning, his shizun and sworn enemy in past life. And that’s all you are best off knowing, trust me. The only hint I am going to give is oooh boy the mother of all unreliable narrators has arrived!

The novel starts light and funny on boil the frog principle - if someone told me I would be full bawling multiple times with this novel, I’d have thought they were insane, but i swear my eyes hurt by the end of it. I started out being amused and/or disliking the mains and by the end I would die for either of them.

[meher-sumedha]

Gwynriel Headcanon - The Summer Court

Azriel, Elain and Gwyn finally arrive at the summer court after 15 minutes but felt like eternity to Gwyn. They were right outside Tarquin's mansion. "Excuse me" Gwyn said while putting a hand over her mouth and dumping out her insides in a nearby bush.

She heard Elain laughing and when she finally turned and cleaned her mouth with her sleeves, she saw Elain wrap her arm around Azriel's. Oh how much Gwyn would like to kill her with her knives.

She went walking towards them and they both quieted, apparently Elain was laughing at something Azriel said. Those fucking bitches.

"So how the hell do we do this? " Gwyn asked, her gaze not faultering from Azriel's. "Well you leave that up to me Gwyn, you needn't worry about charming someone, it's definitely not worth making an effort either, " Elain replied for Azriel.

Gwyn would have retored back but they were suddenly interrupted from a voice behind them. "Well, welcome to the summer court, " The voice said and Gwyn thought it could be the young high lord.

Gwyn finally turned around and saw a person standing not 10 feet away from them. "Hi Tarquin-, " Elain was interrupted by the High Lord rushing to Gwyn and hugging her fiercely.

Gwyn didn't know what to do and Azriel almost pulled the High Lord away from her. "You don't remember me? " The lord asked. His view was being blocked by Azriel so she pushed him aside a bit, not knowing what that action could mean to Azriel.

"I'm sorry, I do not-" She stopped herself when she recalled the light brown eyes and brown hair. Her best friend at Sangravah even though he was 2 years younger. She almost sprinted towards Tarquin and hugged him fiercely. "QUINN" She shouted while hugging him. He hugged her back. "How long has it been-" She took her neck out of his shoulderd and looked at him.

"Almost 6 years" He replied, with his hand still wrapped around her waist. He was smiling. Azriel was burning. All he wanted to do was burn the entire summer court down with the help of the sun and unleash his shadows. He wanted to rip apart Tarquin slowly and torture him. But Gwyn's thoughts were completely the opposite.

"I came back for you, you know" He said, looking at her and taking her in. "You did?", she asked, not believing a word he said. "Yeah, when I was made high lord I came back for you". He said.

Gwyn stepped back then. "High Lord?? YOU'RE THE HIGH LORD". Tarquin immediately regretted saying those words, but she would have found out, sooner or later. "Gwyn I searched for you, I really did. I-I'm sorry, I would have told you but my mom-she came to Sangravah so I wouldn't have to rule. I came back to the summer court because the others were hungry and I couldn't provide for them. And then my dad was killed by Amarantha and, " Tarquin stopped speaking, he couldn't complete whatever he was about to say. "I'm sorry" He said.

"I understand" Gwyn said while taking one of Tarquin's hands in her own. He had the same ring which she had on her middle finger. Tarquin had gifted it to her almost 10 years ago, when she was 12. He also bought himself a similar one. Except Tarquin's had a golden one, and she had a red one. "You still have it" He said while taking her hands in his.

"You still have yours" She said. They hugged again. Just staying like that for a few minutes.

Azriel wanted to kill everyone and every damn thing in the world. His shadows were crazy. They didn't come out but Azriel could feel their rage under his skin to see Gwyn with someone else, hugging someone else, being friends with someone else and whatnot.

Gwyn had to ask the question which was in her mind. She couldn't stop it from coming out. She knew the answer could hurt her but she had to know. "Are the others safe? " She asked Tarquin. Pulling her head from his shoulders to look him in the eye. "Yes" He said and Gwyn couldn't be happier. Her smile was more brighter than the sun and then Tarquin tucked a piece of Gwyn's hair behind her ear.

The ear tucking was the last straw for Azriel. He finally went up to them and asked "what the hell are you two talking about? " And Gwyn finally pulled herself away from Tarquin and wiped her eyes. "No-nothing" She said.

"I'm sorry I have to leave right now, but my people will direct you to your rooms, I have to urgently deal with something" Tarquin said. "Now? " Gwyn asked like a little child. "Yeah, it's pretty important, but if I had known you were coming, i would have cleared out my schedule, but we can spend all the time together tomorrow. " He said.

Best friend my ass. Azriel thought to himself.

"I'd like that very much" Gwyn replied. They all were directed to their rooms. Azriel's room was in the middle of Gwyn's and Elain's.

Gwyn went to her room and didn't come out for Lunch or Dinner. Azriel thought he should go to her room but then again he thought, he shouldn't.

He finally went up to her room and saw that she was sleeping. She fluttered her eyes when the door creaked and Azriel said some pretty colourful curses. "Az-shadowsinger" She said. Stopping herself from calling him Az. Again, breaking his heart once more.

Azriel came to the corner of her bed and sat down on his knees. "Is something wrong? " He asked. "I'm just a little unwell after winnowing, that's all. You shouldn't be here in the middle of the night anyway. " She said. "I'm sorry about that. Do you, do you need anything? " Azriel asked.

Gwyn was just about to answer when Tarquin came rushing into the room with a huge chocolate cake. Gwyn started giggling. Tarquin was wearing normal clothes, clothes a normal fae would wear and he came and sat down on the opposite side of Gwyn's bed. Gwyn tried to take it but Tarquin took it out of her reach.

"Give me it" She said trying to get the cake while crawling in his lap. Tarquin started laughing and gave her the cake.

Doesn't he know about Gwyn? How can he just come and sit on her bed? I swear I'm gonna kill this son of a bi-

Azriel's thoughts were interrupted by Gwyn savoring the cake and moaning. Oh how many times he thought and dreamt that she would moan the same way when he-

"Oh my god, Quinn this cake is amazing. You have to teach me how to make it" Gwyn said with chocolate all over her lips. She can call him Quinn but she can't call him Azriel.

"I promise I will" He said while taking the same fork as Gwyn and eating the cake. Azriel then got on the bed. It was big enough was 10 people to sleep in, but him and his shadows took the place of four people.

Gwyn was surprised by his action but didn't say anything. Mostly cause she didn't know what to.

"Are you all having a midnight feast without me? " Gwyn turned and saw Elain at the door. She came and got between Gwyn and Azriel and put her hand under his shirt. "No, I was uh-I was just going for a walk" Gwyn said before getting of the bed and keeping the cake on her bedside table.

She started walking out of her door and Tarquin followed. Azriel wanted to follow but Elain's hands was in his pants already, he couldn't move.

Gwyn and Tarquin walked out of the room and got in front of the house door. "Wait, I forgot my robe" Gwyn suddenly said and walked up the stairs to her room and as soon as she opened the door she saw Elain in her underwear kissing Azriel's bare chest. Elain noticed and suddenly wrapped the blanket around herself. Azriel then noticed and got up.

Tarquin suddenly came behind Gwyn and saw Azriel and Elain. "Gwyn I think it would be better for you if you took the room beside mine as this room is already-already in use. I'll get your things to your room tomorrow. " Tarquin said. "Yes, yes please that would be great" She said and they both got out.

Azriel's shadows were begging him to say anything, anything to Gwyn but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

But he did hear Tarquin's and Gwyn's conversation. "Was there something going on between you two? Because you were so up-"

"No, there was nothing between us" Gwyn interrupted Tarquin before he could complete his question.

"Then why were you so angry and upset? " He had asked.

"Because he used to be my friend, but he chose her over me when I needed him". She said and Azriel heard the sound of a door closing...

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

An old friend - Part 2

Summary: You've been invited for tea at the Bridgerton's household. You'll meet some new faces and perhaps dig in the past with your host...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Other characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton

Warnings: looooots of yearning, face touching (?) if this counts as warning

Words: 3.6k+

A/n: I wasn't planning on doing a second part but here we are! I know it's long, and the start can feel a bit slow, but stick until the end; things get interesting there😏😉

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

As you stepped down the carriage, your eyes were immediately drawn to the facade of the house: even though you weren't a child anymore it still looked majestic to your eyes. The lilac wisteria hanged from the red terracotta wall, swinging his blooming flowers just above the door, giving the compound that vibrant hint of colour that you remembered.

When you heard the wheels of your carriage move against the pebble, you decided it was time to enter the Bridgerton's household. However, you soon realized that your feet were seemingly planted in the ground just before the gates of the estate.

Nervously holding your shaking gloves near your lap, you tried to calm down that sudden wave of anxiety. You truly had nothing to be worried about: your hosts were some of the kindest human beings you had ever met and the house was no stranger to you either. Nonetheless, war drums started playing in your chest at the thought that Anthony was waiting for you inside...

"Can I help you, miss?"

You turned towards the voice that called you back to reality to be met with the tall figure of Benedict. "Mr. Bridgerton"

He bowed as you curtseyed. "Well, this is embarrassing" he muttered, taking off his hat with an apologetic smile. "You know my name, but I don't know yours... should I know you, miss?"

You smiled back, shaking slightly your head. "Probably not, sir. I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I believe I am awaited for tea this afternoon: Lady Bridgerton invited me at last night's ball"

"I recall Anthony mentioning something about a guest..." he started but shrugged afterwards, "however I wasn't listening". His green eyes moved on you, squeezing slightly as they took in your features. "I beg you forgiveness in advance if I'm mistaken, but do you appear to be that little girl that used to play with Anthony when he still possessed a sense of humour?"

You hardly stopped a laugh from escaping your lips. "I shall not know, did Lord Bridgerton used to entertain himself with many young ladies when he was young himself?"

Benedict shook his head, still smiling. "Not that I can remember"

"Then that's probably me" you confirmed, chuckling slightly as the weight on your stomach eased considerably.

"I shall not believe that! The world is much smaller than I thought it was". He rubbed his cheek, his face lit by shock and delight. Then, looking at the front door and then back at you: "Why then were you standing here like a statue?"

At his question you lowered your gaze to your hands, not as shaky as before but still partly trembling. When you opened your mouth to reply, no rational answer came out from your parted lips.

Thankfully, Benedict seemed to notice your distress and simply took your arm in his. "Admit it" he said, smiling cheekily and guiding you inside, "you were waiting for me just to escort you inside. Isn't that right?"

With a giggle you nodded. "You uncovered my plan, sir. I shall hope it remains a secret between the two of us"

Benedict opened the door for you. "I'll take it to the grave, miss Y/L/N"

You flashed him one last smile before your eyes wandered on the interior of the household, leaving you speechless: everything was exactly where your clouded memories placed it, with few errant exceptions, like the china vase in the vestibule or the tiny pottery work on the table next to the door of the drawing room.

It felt almost unreal, like walking in a dream made long time ago... nonetheless, the way your heart jumped in your throat when you saw Anthony slouching on a couch near the window felt very much real to you.

"Miss Y/L/N". When Violet's voice reached your ears she was already in front of you, taking your arm to drag you away from her second-born. "It is a delight to see you again so soon. I believe you haven't met my youngest children, Gregory and Hyacinth".

The two siblings looked at you, Hyacinth smiling fascinated while Gregory was subtly munching something.

You smiled at them. "It's a pleasure to meet you"

"Miss Y/L/N, could I ask you something?"

Your eyes fixed in Hyacinth's, wide with curiosity. "Of course"

She took some steps towards you and you bent down so that she could cup your ear. "Is it true that you and Anthony made all the nurses go mad when you were our age?"

"Who told you that?" you whispered back, grinning. "We made them go mad when we were much younger than you"

Hyacinth covered her mouth, giggling silently as she went back next to her brother. Gregory, still looking at you, finally gulped down his food and turned to his mother. “Can we go play outside now, mama?”

With a sigh and a gesture of her hand, Lady Bridgerton released her youngest from the strings of formality and you watched them running one after the other out of the drawing room.

“Pardon their impatience” sighed Violet, sitting on the sofa next to her. She seemed terribly tired and you couldn’t imagine otherwise: if the other Bridgertons were half the troublemakers you and Anthony were, you were surprised the household was still intact.

You took a seat next to her, your back straightened as a greek column. “There is no need to apologise, I do envy their freedom” you admitted as your gaze fell in your lap. “They should enjoy every moment they have left before they come of age”

“From your tone, miss Y/L/N, it transpires the belief that there is no freedom in our society whatsoever”

You turned to Anthony, now seated a little more properly on the couch. His eyes locked in yours terribly easily, as they already possessed the key to your soul.

"Not if one wants to be accepted by said society, Lord Bridgerton" you clarified. "And we know well enough that not many would risk their place in this - pardon my words - refined golden parade for a semblance of temporary freedom"

"A golden parade". Anthony tasted your words on his tongue. "Shall we ever be freed from the chains society imposed us then?"

"It is possible, yes. Nevertheless, it may not be as easy as one might expect"

Anthony was still looking at you and the fabric of your gloves started sticking to your sweaty hands under his stare. You lowered your gaze. "But of course, this is just my humble opinion"

"Quite pessimistic, if I may" Benedict's voice broke through your thoughts. Slouching like Anthony on the other couch, there was no doubt those two were brothers. "But my word, you and Eloise would get along perfectly well"

"My second daughter. She is quite a free spirit" explained Violet seeing your confusion. "Unfortunately, you won't meet her today: she went for a walk with her friend, miss Penelope Featherington"

“On another quest to find the writer who hides behind the name of Lady Whistledown” added Benedict, earning a glare from his mother.

"I'm sure there will be many other occasions to meet her. And your eldest daughter as well. I’ve heard she married the Duke of Hastings, is that right?"

Her eyes lit as soon as you mentioned her daughter, and before you knew it, your mind was filled with every single detail of the wedding and engagement party, and all the circumstances that preceded and followed it.

A light knock made everyone turn towards the door. The footmen placed swiftly and silently the trays with teapots and cups on the small tables around the room, together with many small plates full of different biscuits and what looked like delicious refreshments.

One of the footmen approached cautiosly Violet, who was now talking about the scandal in which Colin had been unknowingly drawn. "Lady Bridgerton". The woman turned towards him with a smile. "Miss Francesca denies her medicine..."

Violet sighed, putting her cup back on the tray. "Goodness gracious... She went to Bath on her own, she's almost of age and she keeps throwing tantrums for these little things...". She then turned to you: "I shall be back in a few minutes, my dear"

You nodded, watching her leave the room with the young footman. The exact moment she disappeared through the door, Benedict jumped from his seat, almost making you spill the tea on your dress.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I shall leave as well" he explained, putting his tailcoat back on in a hurry. He looked towards Anthony. "If mother asks, I'm in my room feeling unwell and I definitely won't attend dinner"

"Shall I know where you're going?" asked Anthony with a smirk on his face. "Perhaps getting a new suit?"

Benedict ignored him, which made Anthony grin even more. “It’s been a pleasure, miss Y/L/N. We shall talk more next time we meet" he said with a small bow and a smile, before walking out the drawing room as well.

You took a long sip from your small cup, trying to focus on the taste of the tea and not on the fact that you and Anthony were now completely alone. The hot drink had a fresh mint scent and... and then his touch on your skin was everything your mind could think of.

"Are you enjoying yourself, miss Y/L/N?"

"Absolutely!" you replied, your voice an octave higher than normal. Clearing your throat, you attempted to think of something to say that wasn't in any way related to Anthony's hands on you. "The tea is divine"

He chuckled, taking a biscuit from the tray. "I'm glad you like it". He took a bite before asking again: "Does the house do justice to your memories?"

"It does" you nodded. "I'm surprised how few things have changed over the years but I'm glad to be able to recognise every corner. It's like stepping in the past"

Anthony smiled without taking his eyes off you. Looking down on your empty cup you felt your skin itch under his deep stare. Before you could think of anything else to say, you heard the sound of fabric rustling: Anthony Bridgerton had stood up and was now moving closer with every step. He stretched his hand out to you, smiling like he did only around you.

"Would you like to step in the past again, miss Y/L/N?"

With his eyes locked in yours, your mouth was wholly dry. You had no idea what he had in mind but, strangely enough, you didn't care: you just took his hand.

The heat radiating through the thin fabric of your gloves set on fire every nerve of your body. You held tight onto his hand as he pulled you down a maze of corridors, running within those walls like when you were kids. The excitement, and the new feeling that was pushing against your corset, let a wide, joyful smile appear on your face, as you felt lighter than ever before.

Then, after a last turn, he pulled you in a room, closing the door behind him. It took a deep breath for you to realise Anthony had dragged you in the library: it was smaller than you recalled, and even so it held so much knowledge you always found overwhelming stepping inside, as if you weren’t worthy of it.

Still panting, Anthony collapsed on the settee near the window, his smile wider than ever. "Good Lord..." he sighed letting his head fall back, his shoulders shook by laughter. "I haven't felt this alive in quite some time..."

"As much as I enjoy seeing you smiling, did we truly have to run all the way here?" you whispered, trying to steady your breath. "If anyone saw us, they probably thought we were up to something, which is not true at all"

Placing his elbows on his knees, Anthony bended over, his eyes lit by the spark of mischief. "If we're not up to something... then why are you whispering?"

You shook your head, turning your back to him. You walked closer to the atlas, opened on book stand in one of the corner of the room. With your index you gently traced the lines of the continents shown on the page, searching names of places you knew. Then a realization hit you.

“We shouldn’t be here”. Taking a step back from the atlas, you turned to Anthony.

He looked at you with furrowed brows. “Why so?”

"I'm quite sure you're aware that, for a lady, being in the same room as a man without a chaperone is improper and disgraceful" you clarified, rubbing your hands nervously.

"Is it?". You shot Anthony a glare.

"Yes, my lord. Awfully disgraceful". You looked at the door, terrified someone might walk in.

Anthony sighed. “Very well. But before we go... would you please read something to me?”. The request wasn’t exactly what you were expecting and Anthony, as he had read in your mind, added: “There’s nothing improper in that”

You took a sharp breath but then nodded. “Very well”. You moved your eyes on the many books on the bookshelves, the titles and authors embossed on their spines in golden letters: Shakespeare, Edgeworth, Scott.

"Do you want me to read anything in particular, my lord?"

He closed his eyes, slouching again on the settee. "Anything as long as I can hear your voice"

Taken aback by his words, you were glad he couldn’t see your scarlet cheeks. You took a small poetry volume, opening it at a random page. The words written on the paper danced in your mind with the finesse of a butterfly.

You sat down on the other end of the settee as your lungs tried their best to fill with enough air to keep you from fainting. You took a last deep breath before starting to read out loud.

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,

The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

As you kept reading, the book in one hand and the other resting in your lap, the verses rolled on your tongue like candid pearls on velvet; an ancient incantation created to charm minds.

You didn't realise that Anthony had been getting closer and closer by the second until the moment he took your empty hand in his. You stopped mid-verse as your eyes jolted to your joined hands.

"Go on" he gently asked, stroking his thumb on your hand.

Gulping down your beating heart you started reading again, but your attention was nowhere near the words printed on the paper. It was all on the way his fingers rested on yours and moved against your glove, as trying to find a path past the thin fabric.

That small and seemingly meaningless touch unleashed a thunderstorm within you: powerful, destructive and awfully seductive.

You finished the poem, the last word leaving you breathless. Closing the book, the closeness with Anthony felt way too much to handle.

"We should go now". You stood, breaking the contact with Anthony to put the book in its place. Your hand without his touch felt extremely empty.

You heard him sigh. "I believe we should". Anthony stood up, smoothing his blue tailcoat. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his eyes set on fixing his sleeves: "I must apologise, miss Y/L/N"

You turned towards him with eyes wide in confusion before frowning. "For what, my lord?"

"I'm convinced that my puerile behaviour put you in an uncomfortable and improper position" - his voice and face were completely emotionless, not the face of the Anthony you knew - "and I beg your forgiveness for that. I had no rights to act this way towards a lady such as yourself and I would totally understand if you chose to..." he stopped a moment, searching for the strength to finish the phrase, “...interrupt our acquaintance”

"Lord Bridgert-"

"Of course” he continued, "I would never want for you to interrupt your visits to my mother and family. And, of course, I shall have prepared a carriage to take you home and then, hopefully, everything will soon seem just a-"

"Anthony"

You finally moved from the bookshelf, catching his hand in yours. His eyes moved from the doorknob, first resting on your joint hands and then raising to your face. It had felt like days since he last glanced at you.

"Please, let me speak”. He didn’t move, his face still unreadable but his eyes had your complete attention. You took a deep breath as you put your messy thoughts in the right order.

“You didn't offend me" you explained, even if your trembling voice could've told otherwise. "Your actions, your attentions weren't a discomfort to me whatsoever. They were just-", a shaky sigh escaped your lips, "What I feel in your presence is overwhelming, like standing on a cliff while the wind howls around you, trying to push you off the edge... you wish you could ignore it but it keeps luring you in and-"

His hand on your cheek cut you off. His thumb caressed your cheekbone and slid down, along your jaw, to stop on your chin. "So this pleases you?" he asked, his voice deep as his eyes were staring into yours. At a loss of words, you nodded as fireworks exploded in your stomach.

At his words you suddenly remembered: “Your mother! She’s probably still waiting in the drawing room!”. You took your hands to your face, covering your heated cheeks. “Oh no... she’ll never forgive me...”

Eventually he smiled, and seeing his eyes lighting up was just what you needed to feel relieved. "That's good to hear” he murmured, stroking your cheek again and again, “but now you should really go home: we don’t want your mother to get worried, don’t we?”"

He shook his head chuckling. “My mother doesn’t hold grudges for such ridiculous matters. However, if it could help you sleep better tonight, I shall talk to her. You must trust me: I already have mastered a talent in finding quite believable excuses”

You smirked. “Why am I not surprised?”. Anthony smiled before taking again your hand. A bolt ran through your arm.

"I know it may sound bold, but would you join me and my family at tomorrow’s picnic in Hyde Park? These social gatherings always bore me to death but I’m sure your company would be the perfect remedy"

"Two invitations in a row?”. You grinned. “The ton will talk about this for quite some time"

“Is that a yes, miss Y/L/N?”

You smiled. “Of course it is, my lord. I could never refuse you anything”

<-•☆•->

When the carriage left you in front of your house, there was still enough light for you to see the pathway leading to the front door. As you entered and closed it behind you, your mother appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Thank Goodness you’re back!”. She run down the stairs, immediately cupping your cheeks. “Are you alright? Did anything happen to you?”

“I’m good, mama” you confirmed, with a smile. "Lord Bridgerton invited me to attend the picnic in Hyde Park tomorrow". At your words, every inch of blood seemed to be drained from your mother's face. “Is everything quite alright?”

“I’ve heard some awful rumors at the market today...” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. “About the Bridgertons”

You smiled gently. “Is it about the scandal surrounding Colin Bridgerton? Because I can assure you he had no part in-”

“it isn’t, my dear”. She shook her head, some locks of hair escaping her tight hairdo. “It’s about Lord Bringerton”

Your smile fell in a second. “What about him?”

Your mother took a deep breath before going on: “I believe him to be a rake, my dear, and from what I’ve heard, he spent most of last season attending the private rooms of different opera singers...”

"What?". You shook your head in disbelief. "No, it can't be... I know him and he's nothing like this"

"It has been years, sweetheart" she said, kindly caressing your cheek. "Maybe he's changed, like you have..."

"But he's not a rake!". You took a step back from your mother. "Lord Bridgerton is a gentleman, he would never-"

You stopped mid-sentence as what happened that afternoon replayed in your mind: surely you didn't dislike his behaviour, as daring as it was, but it was improper. Terribly improper. Something a rake would do with light skirts. Or with young and willing ladies.

Your corset seemed to be tighter than ever, squeezing your lungs until no air was left behind.

"I do not want to push you, my dear..." continued your mother, "but perhaps you should rethink your choice for tomorrow. You could say you had forgotten a previous engagement or-"

"No". Your steady voice didn't reflect the turmoil in your chest at all. "I have already accepted, mother" you said, walking past her to the stairs. "It would be disrespectful to refuse the invitation of a Viscount"

Besides, you wanted answers, and the only people who could give you some was Anthony himself.

Taglist: @ba-cute @xceafh @latekate1807 (if you want to be added or removed, let me know)

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 27, Nessian multi-chapter)

Notes: Hello lovely readers! I am so sorry for the day's delay in posting this chapter. I was really poorly last week (and I'm still recovering) so I wasn't able to keep on top of my writing in order to bring you a chapter yesterday. That is not only because I found this very difficult to write, but because this is a LONG chapter. 14k words. There was so much to pack in, and as you all know, I am not one to gloss over certain elements, especially not Nessian goodness. Thank you to everyone who has sent me will-wishes this week and last. You are all lovely people and it's very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, as always. And apologies for any typos and inconsistencies—as I said, I've not been well so my brain has not been functioning like it usually does!

Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

Chapter Twenty-Seven Cassian

Frawley and Lorrian were all ready to go when Nesta came downstairs. Those ever-perceptive eyes—ice blue and brown—fell immediately to Nesta’s chest as she stepped into the hallway. But to Cassian’s relief, the witch remained relatively silent, mounting Caerleon and casting into the sky with her husband close behind her in a glow of emerald without more than a few crisp, comments.

Nesta flew on Sala. Despite knowing that she had trained on Caerleon enough the previous week to know what to expect, Cassian could not help the fear that wound its way into his mouth as beast and Fae left the ground. He needn’t have worried. Sala’s gait seemed as natural to Nesta as breathing; her legs tucked into the manticore’s flank just before the beast’s wings with a confident, determined grip and her fingers were secure in Sala’s ruff. Cassian had launched himself into the skies straight after her, watching Nesta as if he were a hawk. He knew the magic binding Nesta and Sala would keep Nesta seated despite the battering winds and any notion of gravity, but that didn’t stop him from flying a few feet below her for the first couple of miles, ready to throw himself into a nose dive should she fall. 

But later, when he realised that Nesta was perfectly at home on top of her manticore, Cassian had risen to fly beside her. And when he had winked at her, his broad wings flapping to match her furious pace, the smile she had sent back had been genuine enough for Cassian to know that if he died that day, he would die happy. That he had seen Nesta offer him a true smile without any thought of stifling it, and it was beautiful.

A few miles from the camp, the four of them landed to leave the manticores in a thicket of pine trees. Cassian watched Nesta bury her face into the manticore’s neck and whisper in the beast’s ear before she wordlessly strode over to him.

They had decided the night prior that Frawley and Nesta would leave their manticores behind. It was an idea that had been met with great protest by Frawley, but in the end, Cassian and Lorrian had talked her round. They were both of the same opinion; bringing the manticores to the Solstice luncheon would probably push the already hostile Illyrian lords to self-combust. So the manticores would remain on stand-by, out of sight but near enough to the camp to intervene if necessary.

“Ready to go for a ride, sweetheart?” Cassian teased Nesta as she walked towards him.

Cassian had expected things to be strained between them since he had given Nesta the necklace. There was also the small matter that they would be publicly declaring themselves together today, but Nesta appeared wholly unfazed. If anything, she looked happy, despite the sexual innuendo which usually had her dropping swiftly into irritation. Her cheeks were stung pink from the cold air, giving her a healthy glow, and her eyes were impossibly bright in a way that made his own heart ache.

Her lack of reaction didn’t help Cassian to stop thinking about Nesta in a sexual capacity. And the thought of Nesta actually riding him… He had dreamt of her so many times now that their imagined actions had become a well-rehearsed dance. He knew what it felt like for her to straddle his hips. Knew what she sounded like when she sighed and sank down onto the length of him, his lips attacking the column of her neck. Of how he groaned so deeply that everything in him shook. Nesta’s phantom hands always weaved through his hair at the sound, and when she bent to kiss him, she tasted entirely right...

“I suppose I’ll have to make do with you,” Nesta struck back, pulling Cassian out of his salacious thoughts with a jolt. Her tone was playful, but there was an underlying edge of disappointment that told him she was fed up of being carried around.

Even though it hurt, Cassian understood. He wouldn’t want to be carted around the skies when he could fly through them. So, he only cast a new protective shield over them, knowing that Nesta would spit blue murder if he ruined her hair. He also knew that he should look presentable for once, rather than turning up in blood-stained armour and hair so wind-snarled that running a brush through it threatened to break it more than it promised to ease out the knots.

Cassian might be the Night Court’s general, but that didn’t mean it was beneath him to look presentable.

For a long, the two of them travelled in silence. To his surprise, Nesta had curled her fingers into his chest, an action which had been lost long ago with her fear of flying. The action was absent-minded enough to tell him her thoughts were elsewhere. Indeed, when he glanced down at her she looked far away.

Cassian was just about to ask if she was all right, when Nesta asked, “Sala will be ok in the forest?”

He bit back a smile at her concern. Somehow, he knew that would upset her.

“Yes, she’ll be fine,” Cassian replied sincerely. “She’s an alpha predator and she’s with Caer.”

Darting another glance downwards, he found Nesta chewing on her lip. The action made her appear even more beautiful. Cassian didn’t know how Nesta always managed to look so arresting. Sometimes, he thought it was because he saw her through rose-tinted lenses, but then someone else would make a comment, like Lorrian yesterday, and he’d know it wasn’t in his imagination at all.

“If you need her, she’ll come,” Cassian assured Nesta, locking his eyes with hers so his words held weight. “Sala is bound to your magic, just will her presence and she will find you.”

Slowly, Nesta nodded. When she unclenched her teeth, her bottom lip was swollen and flushed. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her when they weren’t dying. Whether she’d let him. Sometimes—only rarely—Cassian thought she might. Like earlier, when he had given her the necklace and she had twisted to look up at him. It would have been so easy to cup her cheek and bow his head that little bit further. And for a second, he’d thought that was what she had wanted. Her eyes had darted to his lips, but rather than satisfaction Cassian had felt a stab of mutual fear. Because they both knew that if Cassian was to give in to temptation—if she let him and wanted it—they would not stop until their skin was bare and their bodies were moulded into the other.

Cassian fortified his ring of fire at the thought. Made it even tighter and more formidable. Blocked out the thought of Nesta’s endless skin and her unforgiving curves. Since the kerits attack on Windhaven, Cassian felt more of Nesta down that shared tether. It was still constricted, but it was enough to get hits of emotion more frequently than before. And even though Cassian was desperate to, he hadn’t dared to reach out and touch that twisted rope again.

It hurt to deny himself the pleasure of brushing against it. The urge pulsed beneath his skin, whispering her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

“You’re ok with today’s plan?” Cassian asked Nesta, because he needed to say something that didn’t make him think about how they would be sharing a bed later. How he would be so consumed by her scent it would be hard to breathe, let alone think. Needed to focus on the fact that today could be very dangerous and that he was willingly carrying her right into it.

It would not be like last time when she had been suffering from nightmares. This time she would be lucid. He would not be able to arch a protective wing over her and ghost his body alongside hers. It was going to be necessary torture and he had no idea whether she had yet pieced together that they would not have separate sleeping arrangements. Nesta was usually so quick to put two and two together, but she had not truly snapped or refused point blank to be anywhere near him, which made him suspect that it hadn’t yet clicked.

“Aside from being promised to you?” Nesta asked, a slight crease appearing between her brows.

The words were not vicious, but Cassian still had to snicker away the hurt. “Aside from that.”

“Yes, I’m ok with the plan,” she replied. She craned her neck up to look at him. “You’re worried.”

Cassian could not help but press his lips tightly together. He thought about denying it, but somehow he knew that she could read his expression too adeptly.

“I’m always wary before I meet with the war-lords. I’m even more wary when a meeting has been brought forward,” Cassian admitted. He cast his gaze forward to the skies, to Lorrian and Frawley who were flying ahead of them. Lorrian’s natural gait had always been faster than Cassian’s. Whilst Cassian’s wings were bigger, Lorrian’s build was made for speed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it,” he admitted. “Marsh is a notoriously harsh war-lord, but he’s been unwell in recent years. Usually, a war-lord would not think twice to rid himself of a son who would pose as a threat. Kallon has openly claimed to have Enalius’s sword and his father has not made a single move against him, even though it threatens his position.”

“You think Marsh would kill his own son?”

Cassian snorted. “It has happened before. That, or a son would be cast out of the camp and stripped of his entitlement.”

Nesta frowned. “So, what you are saying is that you do not think that Marsh has long left to live and he is allowing Kallon to rule in his stead?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I think,” Cassian replied seriously, not at all surprised at Nesta’s intelligence. “And that means Kallon could soon be in a position of great power and influence, especially if he claims to have been chosen by Enalius to unite the Illyrians.”

They flew in silence for a few minutes. Cassian could almost hear the cogs turning in Nesta’s mind, as she digested the information he had just given her. But when she finally spoke, it was not about Kallon or the rising discontent. “I won’t be subservient.”

Cassian looked down at her in surprise. Did she mean today? “I don’t want you to be,” he said carefully. Honestly.

“Aren’t you going to remind me of the Illyrian customs and how I shouldn’t behave considering I’m a female?” Nesta asked stiffly.

Cassian frowned. Maybe things weren’t fine between them, after all. There was a sudden edge to her voice that he had heard when he had first shown her the necklace. That sharp, brittle parry that had almost seemed like she was purposefully attempting to put distance between them. He had felt her panic. She hadn’t been able to stifle that emotion before it flew down their tether. Nor had she been able to disguise the beating of her heart, which pattered at such a rate that it had melded with his own terrified rhythm.

Nesta knew what the necklace was, Cassian was sure of it. Knew by now that he had dived back into the Sidra to retrieve the gift she had refused, just as she had rejected him.

Now Cassian was no longer clouded by the fierce grip of rejection, he could not entirely blame Nesta for turning him away on Solstice. She had spent the evening sitting as far away from the fire as possible during a visit against her will. And not only had she had to fight battle trauma, but she had been forced to endure how they were all moving on without her. It was what Nesta had insisted upon, but Cassian was not stupid enough to think that it hadn’t hurt, especially when he had opened Mor’s gift and laughed along with everyone, pretending everything was fine when it most certainly was not. When it had felt as if someone had already thrust a hand into his chest and thrown out his bloody, bleeding heart for everyone to see.

To see the world through a pair of dusky blue eyes rather than hazel had everything tilted sideways, but it was necessary, he knew that now.

“No,” Cassian replied shortly, and meant it. Nesta was wild and he hungered for it. To see her chained and timid went against every fibre of his being.

“Is that not what is expected of the females here?” Nesta questioned, her voice that little more pointed.

Cassian frowned again. “It is, but I like you just the way you are,” he confessed slowly. “It is not what I would ever expect of you.”

Then, he barked a laugh, missing the sudden change in Nesta’s expression. “And you’ll find your defiance is in good company. You and Frawley are going to make a formidable pair.”

A soft snort. It was as close to a laugh as Cassian was going to get, but he would settle for it, even if it was nothing on the joy that had hit him square in the stomach a few weeks prior. He had been eating breakfast in the kitchen when he had felt it: pure, radiating laughter that had somehow ghosted into his ears and wound itself around his most vital organs. He had been out of his seat and in the skies before he had a moment to catch himself, following that tether between them that was more defined than ever before. But the cold, bracing air had done him good, and Cassian had turned sharply around, suddenly understanding that it was not his moment to share. That it was something Nesta needed to experience independently from him.

So, Cassian had waited at the bungalow for Nesta to return, every second a new form of torture. And from the moment she stepped through the front door, he had known they had reached a turning point. There was a lightness to her features that he had not seen before. As if the laughter had broken through that expressionless mask and rendered her new.

Cassian had expected to have to wait for a glowing retelling from Mas the day after, but Nesta had told him herself, a ghost of a smile on her lips as he made her breakfast and a mug of chai, listening to her talk and talk and talk.

He would have sold his soul in that moment. Would have done anything for her. But he had only sat opposite with a cup of steaming coffee and watched her eat as if she hadn’t for days. And when he had asked if she wanted to come with him to oversee his camp duties, she had nodded without hesitation, telling him she had a few hours before she was due to show Feyre around the camps with Mas.

“I should warn you that they’ll be interested in you,” Cassian told Nesta after a moment.

Nesta’s body turned stiff in his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Word has spread amongst the camps about what you did,” Cassian explained.

Mas had encouraged the widows to do as much. The monthly market set deep in the mist-shrouded valley of Empyr, was the perfect opportunity for those that could fly to spread word, just as Kallon’s recruits spread vicious discourse about the Night Court. The valley was flanked by lush forest green and cascading waterfalls, and Illyrians flew from all over the mountains to stock up on essentials, from grains and spices, to weaponry and healing medicines. It was also the location of the Illyrian festival Kharon, where once a year, Illyrians congregated to sail souls to rest down the River Styx.

Cassian couldn’t wait to take Nesta there. Was waiting for the perfect moment.

“Feyre was there, too,” Nesta reminded him, but Cassian only shook his head.

“You brought Mas back to life. A lowly widow in the eyes of the average Illyrian. You gave someone worth who was deemed as having none, Nesta. You sparked an oppressed female to lead others and finally stand up against cultural traditions that have been engrained for centuries—”

“But the males don’t see it that way?” Nesta guessed, cutting him off. Her expression did not give any indication that his praise had either pleased or irritated her.

Cassian tilted his head in a shrug, but he did not stop staring into her eyes—into the smoky blue that mesmerised him even now. “Should the dissent continue to rise, we might be forced to invoke a referendum about whether Illyria should become an independent nation,” Cassian explained. “Females have the right to vote. Rhys instated the law many years ago, much to the chagrin of the Illyrian males. I think that’s why Kallon has been targeting the females who lost their husbands and sons in the war—in the hope that their support would swing the cause in his favour.”

“But if he is behind the orchestrated attacks, then we could stop a divided nation?” Nesta asked, finishing his strain of thought.

Cassian’s smile was grim. “Exactly.”

“You think he did it?”

Cassian shrugged. “I keep thinking about those bastards who have disappeared. I would not be surprised if their allegiance had been bought by the rebellion. I’m sure they have been promised a station above the lowest ranking foot soldier. You heard Devlon, they are all exceptional in the skies, but they aren’t recognised for their talents. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“What would happen if you captured them?” Nesta asked quietly.

Cassian looked into the distance—at the pine-capped mountains and the craggy mountain stone. He didn’t want to think about what would befall those males. He knew them. They were good soldiers with no sense of self-worth.

Nesta touched Cassian’s shoulder. “Maybe it won’t come to that,” she said.

“Maybe,” Cassian replied, but he knew he didn’t sound convinced.

  Lord Marsh’s residence was a too-large stone building set deep into the forested mountain ledge that overhung the rest of the mountain pass. Flags bearing the Ironcrest insignia—a crested hawk eagle with its wings spread wide—rippled in the breeze, and Fae males armed with spears flanked the huge double-doors, which were made of heavy pine and punctured with black iron studs and heavy handles in the shape of Illyrian wings. The guards iron helmets were plumed with pointed black feathers tipped with white, just like the hawk that had given Ironcrest the latter part of its name.

Carefully, Cassian touched down onto the stone a careful distance from both the entrance and Lorrian and Frawley. He did not give Nesta the opportunity to step away. Instead, he tightened the arm that was still wound around her waist and curled a wing around them like a shield.

Already he felt territorial. Already he did not want to let her go.

“You stay with me tonight.”

Nesta’s head whipped up at the dead seriousness of his tone. His words were not up for debate but to his surprise, she did not hiss ‘no’ and he did not feel that silver power push against her skin. Cassian suspected that Nesta’s nerves had started to fray at the prospect of being somewhere that was not the bungalow or Lorrian and Frawley’s cottage.

He touched her hand to bring her back. Nesta stared down at the fingers that clasped hers as if she did not understand how they had got there, before she tightened her grip and turned to face him. As she met his gaze, that smoky blue latched onto him and he felt as if he was a predator who had crawled into the palm of her hand and rolled over in surrender.

“If you need to get my attention when we are inside then send me a subtle signal,” Cassian told Nesta in a quiet voice. Already there would be too many prying eyes and ears. He could already feel Fae watching him from the crown glass windows, their faces distorted by both the plain whorled glass and the stained colours of the insignia set into their middle.

Nesta frowned. “How—”

Cassian pressed his fingers gently against Nesta’s stomach. He felt the wings of her ribs and the muscles of her core. “Here,” he said softly, his heart battering against his chest. “Like you did the other day at Kanaman.”

This close up Cassian could taste the sweetness of Nesta’s breath. Could see every single one of her eyelashes and the black-blue kohl that rimmed the upper lids. Nesta was not usually one for enhancing the features she already had. She did not need to. Staring at Nesta as a human had been enough for Cassian’s breath to catch in his throat, but as Fae… she was devastating. And whilst Cassian preferred Nesta windswept in leathers and a simple braid, he could not deny that when he had found her that morning to give her the necklace, his knees had gone weak.

Yet, there was something about Nesta being dressed up which made Cassian feel as if he were at a distance from her. As if the formal garments and the tight, intricate arrangement of her braid slammed a partition between them, highlighting how he was only a lowly bastard and she was too good for him. It was why he had often kept his distance before, too fearful to speak with her in front of his friends in case she were to shoot him down publicly. And the truth of it was that Nesta made him feel like he was young again. He had played games without realising it. Ignoring her to feign indifference, hoping to hide just how affected he was by her mere presence in a room. How scared he was to let his friends see just how much his wild and vulnerable heart had been flung out before this bewitching female for the first time in centuries. Because Nesta was not like anyone else he had ever met. He had never felt like this. Not just an undeniable pull of attraction, but something deeper than lust or fancy. Something more.

It was only when Cassian spied the pyrite laying below her collarbone did he relax a little.  Perhaps it was too simple for someone as arresting as Nesta, but she hadn’t rejected it. Had let him put it on her and she had not taken it off, not even when she had realised what it was. How it highlighted that painful memory that was strung between them.

She had called the necklace beautiful. Had meant it.

“What—” Nesta started, but she broke off suddenly, a flicker of recognition dawning on her face. Absent-mindedly her fingers closed around the pyrite, as if touching it allowed her to understand—to tap into his mind and read his thoughts.

For a moment, they stared at one another. Both of their hearts thumping even as their expressions remained impassive. If not for the slight stain on Nesta’s cheeks Cassian would not have known she was affected at all.

It amused him that she had thought she had gotten away with sending an emotion back without him noticing. It was the first he had felt something gentle from her, rather than a blast of emotion. And whilst the sensation had still been stifled down that constricted tether, it had touched him in a way he could not explain. That she had cared enough to soothe his torment.

In that moment, Cassian had felt wholly connected to her, but Nesta hadn't even glanced his way.

Outside of their cocoon, Cassian heard approaching voices and the clink of armour. Even still, he found himself hesitating, wanting a private moment with Nesta for a little longer before they were thrown to the vultures.

So, Cassian surprised her, raising her knuckles to his lips. Her skin tasted so intoxicating the primal part of him internally growled, but he only looked at her with dark eyes as he slowly retracted his wing — at the smoky silver that slid behind her irises, and unable to help it, breathed softly, “Pulchra.”

His lips quirked against her skin when her breath hitched. Then, slowly, he dropped her hand and offered her his arm with a smile that for once he did not have to catch and shape into something else. “After you, amore,” he said.

Nesta studied him for a moment. He watched her eyes slide past him to the stone building—to the window and the faces that he knew were staring, prying and scheming. Saw the understanding dawn on Nesta’s face that told him she had believed the kiss for show, when really it had been nothing but a perfect excuse.

And then she took his arm.

  Warriors on duty armed only in fighting leathers and what Cassian suspected was a number of well-hidden knives led them to the drawing room. Stone walls lit by bobbing faelights cast dark, long shadows in the hallways and onto the faded rugs. As they turned a corner, female servants came into view laden with silver plates piled high with food. In the near distance, a wide doorframe gleamed, light spilling into the corridor and with it, the rumble of forced conversation and the clink of glasses.

One step into the bright room had Cassian on high alert and scanning for every possible exit point. As usual, the Solstice Luncheon did nothing to bring the Illyrians together. Instead, the clans remained steadfast in their own groups of lords and ladies, save for the odd stiff conversation between camps with long-formed alliances. Cassian spied Lord Condor from Forktail speaking stiffly with Devlon, and Cassian immediately thought of Lorrian. How would he fare coming face-to-face with his younger brother today? Notoriously they did not get on. Rumour had it that Lord Icor Condor had not been happy that Lorrian had been promoted from outcast to Colonel. Cassian had received a hate letter for it, not that he cared. Everyone knew Lorrian was the best equipped Illyrian to get their warriors back to a high-level of skill in the skies.

It did not take Cassian long to locate Ironcrest’s war-lord. He was sitting at a large pine table laden with Illyrian cuisine in front of the right-hand bay window. In front of him, a large silver goblet was full to the brim with red wine, as well as a plate piled high with untouched food.

Lord Anguis Marsh had always been a broad shouldered male who was unusually well-kept for a warrior. His dark hair was slicked back to feather at the nape of his neck, and he sported a hooked, crooked nose and an ugly scar which effectively splitting through his upper lip. When Marsh had been in good health, he had been known for his alarming speed on the battlefield and the vicious nature with which he gutted his opponents. Now, Cassian could not find that male in front of him.

Marsh was the eldest of the war-lords—a few millennia old, perhaps—and as Azriel had reported, his health was not what it was. The lord—or prince, as all the top ranking war-lords were referred to (with Enalius being viewed as their God and King)—had not been able to fight in the most recent war, nor had he made a point of sitting in on the War Counsel. Kallon, who was Marsh’s only princeling and son, had been denied a place on the Counsel in his stead, with Cassian arguing that it was not only because Kallon was unseasoned, but because he wasn’t intending to fight against Hybern himself. It had been a decision that Cassian knew had not been taken lightly, and he did not delude himself to think that the repercussions weren’t now stacked against him.

The prince’s declining health was far worse than when Cassian had last seen Marsh. That much was evident from where he remained seated at the thick pine table rather than standing with the majority of his guests. Although, Cassian mused, he would not put it past any Illyrian war-lord to feel so superior that they remained seated at their house table as if it were a throne.

Steering Nesta over the table to get the formalities over and done with, Cassian deliberately shortened his strides to match hers. As he did so, he tracked Marsh reaching stiffly for his goblet to take a deep drink. It did little to disguise the unmistakable tremble of his hand. Only the war-lord’s eyes remained the same as Cassian remembered; small, yellow and beady — alert and vigilant in the way that only a true Illyrian warrior was. They slid from Cassian to Nesta, before moving on to Lorrian and Frawley behind them.

“General.” A deep, drawl laced with the faintest rasp. Not as fierce as it used to be, that was for certain.

Yet, the sneer that twisted the male’s tan face as they came to a stop a few feet from the table undoubtedly belonged to Marsh. The movement highlighted the scar on Marsh’s lip, the skin crumpling as the split caused it to curl in the wrong way. “I see you brought company, bastard, when usually you do not grace us with your presence at all.”

Cassian did not let a flicker of expression taint his blank canvas. He had sent word of their intended stay well ahead of time, but Cassian knew that Marsh would feign ignorance just for the spite of it. “Yes,” he replied. “As I am sure you are already aware, Colonel Lorrian has been reappointed and is overseeing the armies aerial fleet. Neither of us would miss the Rite counsel.”

It was true, Cassian would not miss the Rite counsel that would take place later that afternoon. It was unusual that it had been moved. Usually it took place mid-January, but seeing that it was Ironcrest who was due to hold the ceremony that year, combining the Solstice luncheon and the Rite counsel made sense. It didn’t stop Cassian from being suspicious. Any deviation from the Illyrian’s deepest traditions always had Cassian’s hackles raised, not because he did not appreciate progress or the ability to adapt, but because it was not the Illyrians usual way, especially when it came from one of the oldest Illyrian war-lords.

Marsh did not acknowledge Cassian’s comment regarding the Rite. Instead, he said maliciously, “I didn’t believe there was an aerial fleet left.”

Cassian did not allow his body to stiffen. Did not allow to show how they affected him, even now. He could beat them all to a pulp if he wanted, Cassian reminded himself. He had more siphons than all of them. More Killing Power. He may be a bastard but he was a worthy warrior and better suited to lead the armies than any one of them.

So, he dropped into a voice that he saved for occasions like this. A voice which promised death and destruction and was not to be disputed. “Colonel Lorrian will oversee the training of your aerial warriors tomorrow morning,” Cassian clipped coldly, as if he had not heard the rebuttal. “And we will see how much of that rings true. I am sure Ironcrest would not have allowed their warriors to sink in standard.”

Another curl of the lip as Marsh sneered. Without looking behind him, Marsh raised his goblet with a shaking hand. A female servant rushed forward with a tall, heavy pitcher of wine. When his goblet was refilled, Marsh did not shift his yellow, beady eyes from Cassian as he lifted the goblet to his lips. His hand shook with enough effort that the contents spilled over the lip and onto his arm.

A snarl unleashed itself from Marsh’s throat, the sound not unlike a whip hitting home. The goblet thunked onto the pine table, wine sloshing over the surface. “Maya, you useless female,” Marsh chastised the female servant, whose eyes had widened with fear. “You jostled me. Get me a napkin at once or I will banish you to the widows camp and be done with you.”

The hand that was still looped through Cassian’s arm tightened slightly, and Cassian felt the threat of Nesta’s magic push beneath her skin. Training regularly with Nesta had allowed Cassian to become used to the seal of her magic. It was something which had become as naturally as breathing to him since that day at Spearhead, when they had first trained with his siphon. It was almost as if Nesta’s magic had imprinted onto his very being. When it moved, he felt it. When it blazed, he burned without fire.

As if it were the most natural gesture in the world, Cassian brought a hand to cup Nesta’s where it lay on her arm. It was a reminder to stay calm. Nesta’s job was to scout out the emotions in the room, not set it aflame.

“Father,” a male voice announced.

Cassian turned to see a male standing a few feet from them. Kallon was the imitation of his father when he had been in good health: impossibly dark hair scraped back to the nape of his neck; yellow eyes; a chiselled jaw; and sharp cheekbones. He was handsome in the way that most Fae were, and his skin betrayed his youth; the majority of brown unmarred, save for a vicious looking scar on his arm and half of a missing index finger on his left hand, which left the digit intact only to the knuckle. Kallon did not have Illyrian tattoos yet—had not seen war to earn them—and on the backs of his hands lay no siphons.

Given the steadfast rule at all gatherings for the war-lord, Cassian was not surprised to see that no sword lay either in a scabbard by Kallon’s side, or strapped down his spine, as was Illyrian custom.

“My son, Kallon,” Marsh announced with the stiff flick of a trembling hand, “who I presume you have met before.”

Cassian did not bow his head. “I don’t believe we have met in a number of years.”

Piercing yellow eyes studied Cassian. “I don’t believe I would have had cause to, considering our General does not visit Ironcrest often, and given that I was not permitted a place on your war counsel.”

An insult already and one that was not entirely true. Cassian had visited Ironcrest a fair few times over the last four months, but Kallon had never been in the training ring or with his father at the same time.

Kallon’s luminescent yellow eyes moved from Cassian’s to the female beside him. They stilled and then, painstakingly slowly, they deliberately raked a path over every inch of Nesta’s body. The movement was purposefully claiming, and Cassian suppressed the growl that came roaring to the forefront as Kallon dared to flex the claws on his wings. “And who is this bewitching female?” he asked.

Nesta had turned preternaturally still, and not one part of her body moved save for her eyes, which slid to the talons at the apex of the princeling’s wings. In fact, Cassian noted, Nesta’s posture had not changed since she had entered the house; her spine stacked tall, her chin slightly raised, those beautiful eyes lined with silver shimmering mercury blue. But there was something in her stillness that made Cassian wonder if Nesta, too, had dissected that Kallon’s good looks had a cold and unreachable quality that hinted at something far sinister. As if he used them as a way of luring in victims, much like sirens tempted sailors to the rocks at sea.

Nesta would have felt distant and otherworldly if she had not been holding his arm. If he could not feel her, ever so slightly, down that bond thanks to her lowered walls.

“This is Lady Nesta Archeron,” Cassian replied, forcing all malice from his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Kallon mused smoothly, his irises flaring as if they were an extension of his nostrils. No doubt trying to scent whether Cassian had claimed her. “I have heard of you. I can feel your power. I’ve heard others call you a witch, but I have also heard that you have taken a power that is ancient beyond reckoning. Something that is not yours.”

The princeling’s voice had dropped into a purr and a snarl roared inside of Cassian as Kallon closed the distance between them to take Nesta’s hand. His signet ring flashed in the faelight as he placed a slow, deliberate kiss to Nesta’s knuckles—the exact same spot atop Nesta’s ring finger that Cassian had kissed moments earlier.

“Such a touching story,” Kallon continued, his voice unbelievably even as he looked up at her, “about how you defended one another on the battlefield.” His gaze intensified and sharpened on Nesta as he lowered her hand from his mouth. “Rumour has it that your dedication did not last long, but who can blame you for deciding not to settle for a lowly bastard?”

The way in which Kallon straightened was slow and deliberate. He did not let go of Nesta’s hand, his yellow eyes continuing to stare pointedly at the female before him, as if he had been privy to every night she had fucked someone else and Cassian had perched outside on the rooftop.

Hot and cold washed over Cassian’s body with such ferocity it felt as if he had jumped into both ice and fire. Rage and humiliation battered against his shields, but he did not lower them. Would not allow Nesta or anyone else in the room know how much those words affected him.

But then he felt Nesta’s anger fling itself hard down their tether, the sensation not akin to a blow to the stomach. It pierced through his fire, his heart, and for a moment he felt as if he had been set aflame. He knew she had lowered her shields so she could sense others' emotions in the room, but to be reminded how much she truly felt when she let every barrier fell away was astounding.

Even so, when Nesta spoke, her voice was icy and level beyond reckoning. “Evidently that is not true, otherwise I would not be here.”

She retracted her mist-wrapped hand from Kallon with such care Cassian knew that she was considering smacking him round the face.

A low, sensual laugh that was more fitting for jovial conversation than it was here. “Do not try to convince me that you, a High Fae, has settled for the lowest born faerie? Just how poor was the offering back in Velaris? I hear there was no shortage of males in your bed…”

Cassian had stopped breathing for fear that if he did he would launch towards Kallon and use his fists to beat him bloody and blue. His shield had faltered, the fire sputtering as the words hit home like a spear to the heart.

Nesta did not rise to the bait. She only clipped, “It turns out that the only male I found to be worthy was an Illyrian bastard, so that is no longer relevant.” That chin of Nesta’s rose defiant, and with it, she grew even taller; a vengeful mighty queen looking down on her subjects with pure loathing. “And I may have been Made High Fae against my will, but I am human at heart. I believe you think them to be at the bottom of the chain, so perhaps that will help you sleep easier at night.”

Kallon blinked at Nesta, momentarily stunned. His gaze slid to her fingers, where mist was still seeping from them, curling around Cassian’s bicep. The heat was a welcoming lick rather than hot enough to burn, but the way her fire started to take form, the mist turning into a rope which blazed in coils around her forearm was enough to insinuate otherwise. And there was the fact that Nesta could will it to burn hotter if she liked. Cassian did not doubt that she could incinerate the room with a mere flick of her fingers.

The thought thrilled him. Stacked up the fire inside of his own body, his internal shields answering to hers as his flames licked higher.

Kallon did not step back, although Cassian saw the muscles in his body tense as if to fling himself out of range. He cocked his head to the side, contemplative, as if Nesta were a puzzle he wanted to figure out. And then, he slipped. For a fraction of a second his right hand fell to his hip, where a sword or knife usually hung from his weapon’s belt. But the way his fingers remained there, lingering… it was enough to tell Cassian that he was hiding something. That he was armed, even though he was not supposed to be.

And the knowledge clearly gave him courage, because he stepped towards Nesta, his eyes gleaming—

Nesta snarled, her whip uncoiling itself, the tip lashing out across the clearing with such speed Kallon recoiled.

“It’s true then,” Kallon said, his eyes bright as he took a step backwards. “Silver flames—”

But his father interjected, as if he had endured enough of his son’s games. “I do not remember inviting two witches and an Incomplete to this luncheon,” Marsh snapped.

“Scared of what we’re capable of?” Frawley asked, speaking up for the first time since they had stepped into the room. Her voice was quiet but chilling, and her ice-blue eye levelled Marsh with such a glare that Cassian found himself tensing. Frawley was not irresponsible enough to start a fight, but she had been known to provoke the war-lords when she saw fit. Usually when they insulted her husband.

“To think that you would be in the company of two females more powerful than you,” Frawley mused with the deathly sort of calm that Cassian usually harboured for himself during battle. “And that’s not to mention that one of us beheaded the King of Hybern.”

That lip twisted and contorted, but Kallon spoke before his father had the opportunity to do it himself. “I do not think that we need to thank a witch for ending a war where Illyrians were treated as disposable,” Kallon said.

A murmur went through the crowd. But that did not deter Nesta, who levelled Kallon with a gaze which had him stilling as a slow, cruel smile crept across her face. “I’m not a witch,” she vowed. “I’m something much worse.”

True silence. So quiet that Cassian could have heard a pin drop.

And that was when, without waiting to be dismissed, Cassian chose to steer Nesta away from the war-lord’s table and into the watching crowds.

  Nesta moved beside him as if she were floating, as if gravity did not apply to her. Cassian challenged every stare and every curling lip they passed. When they reached the large windows farther down the room where it was less crowded, he drew them to a halt.

Begrudgingly, he dropped his arm, but then he felt couldn’t resist the temptation this partnership had granted him, so he dared to raise a hand to touch his fingers to the nape of Nesta’s neck. As well as being self-indulgent, it was also a gesture of intimacy that he thought would make Nesta least uncomfortable. It was a self-indulgent move, something that sung intimacy and was designed to stake a claim. Because he had seen the way in which Kallon had stared at Nesta. The way he had tried to scent for a bond or claim on her. The gleam in Kallon’s eyes had told Cassian he was not wholly convinced about their claim of being partners, enough for him to prod and poke about Cassian’s bastard status and Nesta’s bedding habits. To see what they said and how they behaved.

And whilst Illyrian males were not overly affectionate with their partners in public, Cassian never intended to take a wife who he did not openly cherish.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked softly.

To his surprise, Nesta did not flinch. Instead, she turned into his touch, lifting those smoky blue eyes to his as if this impromptu dance they were orchestrating was as natural as breathing. That she hadn’t just been called out on her promiscuous behaviour and her continual rejection of him.

She gave a short nod. “Please.”

Her expression, Cassian noted, might be carefully blank, but her eyes were readable to him. He had spent four months living with her. Had learnt to dissect every hollowed out stare and every dulled light whenever she was unguarded enough to let him. And whilst Cassian had expected Nesta to wear the mask she so habitually wore, her eyes were open enough for him to know that she was still angry.

Sweeping up four goblets of wine from the closest servant, Cassian tried not to mourn the loss of Nesta’s skin beneath his fingertips. Frawley flicked her hands casually at both Lorrian’s and Nesta’s drinks, turning the wine to juice before either of them had a moment to comment.

“I could do with some wine,” Lorrian confessed to Cassian in a low, bitter tone as Nesta turned to respond to something Frawley had just said. His friend’s face was wholly impassive to the outsider, but Cassian knew Lorrian well enough to catch the slightly mournful look in the Lorrian’s eyes as he glanced down into the depths of his goblet. “I give it five minutes until I have a war-lord upon me demanding for an update on the state of the aerial fleet.” He cast a slow, hard look around the room. It was a look that Cassian had honed himself over centuries of learning how to assert authority. “That being said,” Lorrian continued, “I think that could have gone a lot worse.”

Cassian grunted, the sensation making his chest jolt and his armour clink. “Speak for yourself.”

Lorrian shot Cassian an apologetic look. He watched Cassian take a deep sip from his goblet. At least the wine was good, Cassian thought bitterly, as if the silver lining would smooth over the battering he’d just received.

“If it’s any consolation, my brother has been sneering at me since we set foot in the room,” Lorrian admitted to Cassian, as if he knew what Cassian was thinking. “I’d sell my other arm in a wager that he’ll have strut over here by the end of this damn luncheon to give me hell.”

It was intended to be a joke but Cassian knew how sensitive Lorrian was about his missing limb. And understandably so. Illyrians were cruel at the best of times, but to have already been referred to as an Incomplete was enough to have a traumatised warrior drowning in a sense of underserved dishonour.

Like Cassian, Lorrian was resplendent today in his black scaled armour, and his right arm glowed a soft emerald from where he had used his magic to temporarily reinstate his limb. “At least we took Frawley’s poison blocker before we left,” Lorrian continued to mutter under his breath. “I bet the majority of this room would take great joy in our deaths.”

Another grunt from Cassian—this time one of agreement. He glanced down into his goblet which was now empty. It was not like him to drink so quickly in the company of the lords, but Kallon had Cassian’s anger pushing at his skin, ready to jump to the forefront with one sneering look.

He lifted his eyes to search for another servant, but the same female Marsh had snapped at earlier—Maya—appeared at his left-hand side with a silver pitcher of wine as if she had been watching him.

The first thing Cassian noticed about the widow was that she had large, almond shaped hazel eyes that were so light, they were almost amber. Her long, ebony hair was fashioned into a double bun at the nape of her neck—a style at odds with her servant status—and on the inside of her wrist, as she lifted her arm to pour him a drink, Cassian spied a tattoo of a sun and moon.

A twin.

Cassian was so distracted by the ink that he didn’t realise he had moved his goblet away until it was too late. The wine spilled over the rim of the cup and onto the flagstone floor, the red liquid splattering over his leg and onto the back of Nesta’s dress.

Maya’s eyes went as round as saucers and he saw the panic flood her expression in a way that told Cassian she was not treated well in the Marsh residence. Nesta turned around sharply, most presumably, from feeling the females terror with her magic.

“I—I am so sorry, my lord,” Maya stammered. Her eyes, which had been dutifully downcast, had snapped up in alarm to connect with his. “Please, let me clean this up. I—”

But Cassian only shook his head, wordlessly taking the handkerchief Lorrian passed to him and took a deliberate step backwards so Maya was deliberately placed in front of him. “I think you will find that it is me who should be apologising,” Cassian corrected kindly. “I moved my goblet.”

He turned to Nesta. “Are you wet?” he asked, holding out the handkerchief to her before even thinking about drying off his wine-covered hand.

“I’m fine,” Nesta replied, shaking her head. She had not made any movements to draw attention to herself like many other females would have done. It was as if she, too, had deduced that if Marsh was to catch wind of the incident, Maya would be cast out into the cold. “It’s only a little on the bottom of my skirts. It will soon dry.”

Maya’s eyes slowly fell to the floor at Nesta’s words. They widened in horror at the spatters of red that had already seeped into the light fabric.

“I am not wed to this dress,” Nesta assured Maya. Her usually clipped manner had fallen into something softer and more sincere. It was a voice she used with a fair few: Elain, Roksana and Mas. Sometimes him.

Sometimes.

Cassian pressed his lips together to stop himself from protesting. Because whilst Nesta might claim not be wedded to her dress, he certainly was. The floating material was the colour of dusky cornflower, a shade which made Nesta’s irises so light they shimmered ice blue. The effect was so startling Cassian’s heart had stopped when she’d opened her bedroom door that morning. If he hadn’t been so nervous he would have probably gone to hell with it all and bent his head to press his lips with hers. Instead, he had stared into those mesmerising eyes and, for a moment, forgotten the silver chain that was burning into his fist.

Avoiding the puddle of wine, Nesta stepped deliberately closer to Cassian, using their bodies to shield the spillage from the war-lord’s table. She touched his arm with her fingertips and looked up at him. “It’s nothing our housekeeper can’t fix. Isn’t that right, amore?”

For a moment, Cassian stared at Nesta, unable to process that she had not only spoke a word of Illyrian, but the term of endearment he had used earlier. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was something lacing the words that made him, for a stupid second, believe she meant it.

“Our housekeeper is very skilled,” Cassian assured Maya, allowing a rare smile to slip across his expression. “It won’t be an issue.”

But Maya was still pale. Her eyes slid past them, to the war-lord sat at the far end of the room.

“He can’t see you, Maya,” Cassian assured the servant evenly, as he finished wiping the wine away from his arm and sleeve. When he was finished, he wound an arm around Nesta’s waist, intending to pull her closer to his body, but she moved for him, moulding her curves against his hard lines, blocking Marsh completely from view. Jasmine and vanilla washed over him, the scent a relief. He rubbed a thumb over the fabric of her dress in thanks for playing along. For the blessing of having her pressed up against him.

“I can take care of it.” Frawley took a small step forward to close their circle.

She held out her goblet purposefully outwards, as if she were in need of a refill, and Maya tentatively topped up her a drink as Frawley subtly flicked her fingers. The puddle of wine and the stain on Nesta’s dress vanished.

Again, Maya’s eyes widened, but she was clever enough not to make any kind of movement to attract attention.

“Th-Thank you, my lord. My ladies,” Maya said gratefully, the clear relief in her voice enough to make Cassian angry. When would the injustices inflicted on Illyrians by Illyrians stop? Cassian had no doubt Maya had been mistreated, despite the fact that her twin status must provide her with a certain amount of protection. Illyrians were a superstitious race and would not risk the wrath of the Gods for casting a twin out into the cold.

In fact, Cassian was surprised that Marsh dared to keep her as a servant at all. Usually twins were the only low-born Illyrians that were established into civil society. And they were always low-born and always unbelievably rare. More often than not they were the product of lords unable to keep their cocks in their pants outside of their marriage bed.

Holding back a grimace, Cassian made himself nod at Maya as she bobbed a perfect curtsey to each of them, her golden eyes downcast and submissive, before she took leave.

Curiously, Cassian cocked his head at the widow as she quickly disappeared into the crowds, no doubt to find solace in the kitchens for a moments reprieve.

“Do you know who that was?”

Lorrian’s voice brought Cassian out of his thoughts, and he dragged his eyes away from Maya’s retreating figure to look at his friend. He continued to slowly rub his thumb over Nesta’s ribcage, the curve of her bone beneath the his skin a comfort, somehow.

“No,” he admitted to Lorrian, because he didn’t.

“That’s the widow of Halias Marsh.”

Cassian caught the eyebrows that wanted to disappear into his hairline just in time. “Marsh’s younger brother?”

Halias had not been alive in Cassian’s lifetime, but he knew that he had been a cruel male who had made Anguis Marsh look positively sweet in comparison. Whilst Anguis was known for his sharp, cunning intellect, Halias had been made of a brute strength which had led to an arrogance and dominance both inside and outside the sparring ring. It had been no secret that the brothers had an ongoing rivalry, with Halias believing he was best suited to the role of prince. When Halias had died in a fire, there had been rumours that Marsh had orchestrated his brother’s death, but those sorts of whisperings weren’t uncommon amongst the Illyrian camps, where everyone was out for glory at the expense of others.

“Yes,” Lorrian confirmed in a low voice.

“What happened to her twin?” Cassian asked with a frown.

As Cassian and Azriel’s self-appointed guardian, Rhys’s mother had done her best to teach them the history of the Illyrian camps and the war-lords family trees. They had been lessons which Cassian had found inanely dull at the time, usually because he had been exhausted from a rigorous day of training. But he did remember learning that the Ironcrest brothers had secured twins for brides. He also recalled that it had caused uproar amongst the clans at the time. Twins were rare in Prythian and a symbol of fertility, power and good luck. As was usual for twins, they weren’t of high status, but had been plucked from the mud and inserted into elevated society from birth—reared for the two princelings for when they came of age.

The tattoo Cassian had spied on Maya’s wrist was a part of Illyrian culture. When twins were born, they were marked with the tattoo of a sun and moon: separate yet integral to one another, forever entwined. They were said to be a gift from the Gods: fertile and harbouring power beyond reckoning which would be passed down to their offspring. Their wings were cut at birth. Twins were too precious to risk flying away when they could produce offspring with hearty Killing Power.

“Her twin died in the fire with Halias. I believe she was called Lyanne.”

It was Frawley who had spoken and Cassian looked at her with a frown on his face. “With her twin’s husband?”

“It was quite the scandal at the time,” Frawley said in low tones. “Her twin sister was married to Marsh but sleeping with his brother. I’m surprised you have not heard of it before.”

“Marsh loved his first wife.” It was Nesta who had spoken, and Cassian instinctively tightened his arm around her. “I felt his pain when he looked at Maya. It ran deep, as if he could not bare to look at her.”

That would explain why Marsh had not taken Maya as his wife, Cassian thought. To be wed to a replica but know that they were not the Fae you loved… The heartache would be too much, especially if the female you had given your heart to had bedded his brother, and whilst Marsh was cold beyond reckoning, it was interesting to know there was a side of him that was warm-blooded.

“I bet there’s a reason she’s not in the widows camp,” Lorrian said quietly, and Cassian’s eyes snapped to his friends so quickly his neck cricked.

His neck burned but he was too busy processing what Lorrian was saying. To think that Marsh had kept his wife’s sister in his residence so she could warm his bed when he willed it… the hairs on his arm stood up and something inside of him recoiled, even as he knew that it was incredibly likely. It would explain how well-kept Maya was. How, like Lorrian had said, she had not been turned out into the widows camp and into the cold.

“How long have you known that?” Cassian demanded quietly.

Beside him, Nesta had turned rigid. He didn’t have to look at her to know her skin had turned pale. And despite their constricted bond he felt an unfathomable icy rage force its way down the tether of twisted rope to meet his own.

He did not look at Nesta as he sent an emotion to soothe. A heat to lick against their anger until it had thawed.

He dragged his thumb across her rib cage in a slow, deliberate motion. He felt her let out a long, measure breath.

“I don’t know it,” Lorrian corrected Cassian smoothly, as if he were discussing the weather, not wanting to raise his voice so others could hear. His eyes burned when they connected wth Cassian’s. “But it would be interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”

By the time Cassian and Lorrian headed into the Rite meeting, Cassian wanted to leave Ironcrest so fiercely that he had almost refused to leave Nesta behind. As usual, as the lords consumed more wine throughout the luncheon, they seemed to overcome their disdain at approaching rival clans. It result in the pursuit of a kind of hostile, verbal swordplay that reaffirmed why no-one had been permitted to enter the residence with a weapon.

Not, Cassian thought grimly, that it would stop any of them from magicking one with their siphons anyway.

Icor Condor—Lorrian’s brother—had been the first to stride over to them and interrupt their conversation to publicly sneer at his sibling

Despite being the eldest of the two, Lorrian had lost his right as princeling heir when he had left the camp for Frawley’s heart. When their late father had died, his brother Icor had inherited the status of war-lord, much to his pleasure and Lorrian’s disgust.

Icor was Lorrian’s sole sibling, and at a first glance, the two of them were almost identical in looks. It was only on closer inspection that one noticed the unrelenting hardness to Icor’s dark features—something that was due to the constant state of stark displeasure that hung across his expression. He was also slightly broader in build, the twisted cords of his muscles pushing against what Cassian suspected was too-small armour, and whilst Icor’s eyes were technically hazel, the majority of the time they were a light, unnerving jade.

To the untrained eye, it was Icor who appeared more formidable. But outcast or no outcast, Lorrian was the finest cut of Forktail princeling, made for the skies in a way his brother was not. And whilst Icor was undeniably an exceptional warrior—his primary skill was with the spear—Forktail’s ancestry boasted formidable warriors from the skies, and Icor had been loath to forget it.

To his credit, Lorrian had appeared completely unaffected as his brother barrelled insult after insult his way, but when Frawley’s ice eye had glowed brightly with threat, Icor had taken sudden leave, claiming that he couldn’t stand to breathe the air of someone who was not only Incomplete but a defector of his race, as well.

Nesta had dug her fingers so hard into Cassian’s armour at that point that Cassian had thought her fire might beat Frawley’s own magic to throwing itself across the room and hitting Icor square in the chest.

Now, Lorrian and Cassian followed the rest of the war-lords as they made their way to the war-room, which was situated in the right-hand wing of the residence.

They had barely had time to say goodbye as Frawley and Nesta were ushered into the parlour with the war-lords and Rite representatives partners. Frawley’s eyes had gleamed as she and Nesta floated from the room, and Cassian knew that the witch hoped to wheedle out some information from the females whilst their husbands weren’t by their sides.

The issue of oppressing others, Frawley had said the evening prior, when they were hashing out their plans, was that oppressors had a tendency to become over-confident and over-trusting in their tyranny; so sure of their unwavering power over others that their mouths became loose. And if the females did prefer to keep quiet due to fear of being found out by their husbands, Nesta would sense it.

It was, Frawley had insisted, a win-win situation, and Cassian would have been inclined to agree, if the Illyrians didn't harbour such a fear of outsiders, especially those that were not only powerful but looked terrifying, as well.

Lorrian, Cassian had noticed, hadn’t pointed that out to his wife. Nor had he reminded her that her independently moving eyes had a tendency to put Fae on edge rather than at ease.

Which, Cassian thought with a near huff of laughter, probably made Nesta the most approachable out of the two of them.

That knowledge grew inside of his mind until he wanted to howl, and he clamped his lips tightly together to stop a sound from escaping.

He supposed it was a good sign that he could still find humour in things, especially when he had a looming sense of dread that everything was about to go southward.

“She will be fine,” Lorrian told Cassian, frowning at his friend as they walked through the dimly lit corridors which were darkened all the more by heavy tapestries. “Nesta is more than capable of looking after herself, and she has Frawley with her. They are probably safest with the females, anyway.”

Cassian didn’t want to explain the reason for his expression, so he just nodded. It wasn’t as if he liked being separated from Nesta. The more time they spent together, the more he dreaded their time apart. It was a constant sort of worry that gnawed at his insides and made him feel as if someone had ripped a limb clean off his body. And since Nesta had nearly died healing Mas, Cassian had started to experience incandescent, sporadic flashes of panic that Nesta was dying and he did not know. That she was suffering and he was not there to ease it, even as reason told him that anything that urgent would fly down their shared tether.

“That’s what it was like with Frawley,” Lorrian added to Cassian, his hazel eyes discerning as they followed the hulking, retreating backs of the other war-lords.

“What it was like?” Cassian repeated, feigning confusion. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to partake in the discussion.

But Lorrian only dipped his chin. “It’s when I knew we would be   chroí  . After we were joined, it felt like the greatest relief, as if a spool of yarn had been pulled tight between us but now it could just… exist. Relax a little.”

Cassian thought of the constricted tether between them and the way his light was desperate to push against the inner walls, until that rope had widened into a tunnel clear of brambles.

Not once had Cassian spoken with Lorrian or Frawley about Nesta. About how he was in so deep that sometimes he thought that if she were ever to reject him again he wouldn't be able to climb out of the pit he had fallen into. Both of his friends were sharp enough to have dissected his feelings, he wasn’t naive enough to pretend otherwise. He had never introduced them to a female before, had never allowed them to get to know someone so intimately that was clearly not a friend.

Not that Cassian knew what he and Nesta were. Wouldn’t dare to ask for fear of ruining it all.

And his friends had not pressed him for more information or, to his knowledge, asked Nesta about the two of them. The latter of which he was immensely thankful for.

Yet, that didn’t mean that Cassian hadn’t felt Frawley’s ice blue eye swivel carefully between the two of them, or Lorrian’s knowing smile as Nesta joined in with his friend to torment him.

In fact, the only thing Frawley had commented on was her fondness for Nesta.

“I hope we get to keep her, Cassian,” the witch had said sternly when he had arrived at the cottage earlier that week, as if, ironically, the decision was up to him. Then, without commenting on how premature his arrival was, Frawley had waved impatiently to the back door, “She’s training with Lorrian.”

Having been thoroughly dismissed, Cassian had headed into the backyard to find the paddock to the left of the barn had been cleared of its usual horses. Instead, Nesta stood at a shooting line that Cassian suspected had been made by Lorrian dragging the toe of his boot through the mud. At the far end of the ring —20 metres or so away—stood an archery target.

His friend had not turned as Cassian drew up beside him. Instead, they had both watched in silence as Nesta pulled back the bow string with a strength that no other Illyrian female possessed before releasing it.

Together, they watched an arrow fly across the clearing and hit clean into the outer yellow ring of the target. Lorrian had still not looked at Cassian, had only kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest as they watched Nesta stride over to the target on her long legs to collect her arrows.

“You’ve met your match,” was all Lorrian eventually said, shaking his head in disbelief, before he went over to correct Nesta on her stance.

Now, Cassian glanced sideways at his friend. Lorrian’s eyes were full of a shared understanding that Cassian could not bear. So he looked away, and before he could stop the words, he admitted tightly—quietly, “It’s going to be the death of me.”

Ahead of them, the heavy double doors of the war-room came looming into view, and with it, another layer of dread. Cassian flared his siphons, breaking the sound bubble Lorrian had encased them in, and stalked into the room.

Marsh was already seated at the long, wooden table. He had left the drawing room well before the rest of them, no doubt to hide the extent of his illness, but Cassian could almost taste death on the war-lord.

The others could, too. Those sharp, beady eyes never missed a thing. And if they had not gleaned it for themselves, the way in which Kallon seated himself beside his father was enough of an indication of who was truly intending to run the meeting.

There was a growing expectancy in the air. The deafening kind that was almost like a ringing silence, even as chairs scraped against flagstones and war-lords muttered to their Rite representatives, who took a seat beside them.

It did not escape Cassian that one of Ragar’s friends was seated beside Devlon. That beside the other war-lords, Cassian recognised lordlings who had been reported to have met with Kallon all those weeks ago.

That sense of apprehension intensified, but Cassian settled his wings over his chair and waited for the first war-lord to break the silence. Even as his mind worked at a hundred miles per minute, trying to piece together what he was clearly not seeing.

Unsurprisingly, it was Icor who finally broke the silence. “A representative can’t take place in the Rite,” Lorrian’s brother sneered from where he sat opposite Cassian and Lorrian, his lip already curled as he narrowed his eyes at Kallon.

The princeling did not rise to the barb. He only settled back into his chair with an unrivalled arrogance and smoothness that made Cassian want to smack him in the face. It was an action that almost reminded Cassian of Rhys when he was playing wicked, but there was something impossibly cold and threatening beneath the movement which set Kallon apart from his brother. It made Cassian want to sit up straighter, but he did not allow himself to do it. To let others know that Kallon held his attention so fiercely.

“I am aware of that, Icor,” Kallon replied, once he had taken his time getting comfortable. “I do not intend to partake in the Rite this year.”

Not a murmur ran down the table, but the air became tight and pregnant again. Expectant. It was almost unheard of for a princeling not to partake in the Rite past a certain age, and Kallon was near twenty-five.

It meant that he would not earn siphons of his own for another year.

It was an unusual move, especially given that Kallon was trying to stake authority amongst the Illyrians. Siphons were the quickest way to earn respect amongst Cassian’s race. It was why they begrudgingly accepted Cassian.

Kallon’s birth as a princeling meant that he was born with a natural amount of Killing Power that superseded low-born foot soldiers. Azriel’s information had detailed that Kallon usually trained with three siphons in the sparring ring. That although he was green, he was better than most with the Illyrian saber. That since he had been training with the sword he claimed to be Enalius’s, he had taken to using a fourth siphon to contain the Killing Power that seemed to still be growing within him.

That, in itself, was a worry. Cassian’s Killing Power had reached its maturity at the age of twenty-five, training with seven borrowed siphons in the sparring ring until he finally earned his jewels after the Blood Rite.

The Siphon Master had not hesitated in giving Cassian siphons the colour of blood.

For the blood glory you will earn in battle, ratnik, the Siphon Master had said at the Rite ceremony, as he placed red siphons atop Cassian’s hands, on his knee caps, his upper arms… And across his heart, a flawless star ruby. Even now, Cassian remembered how the jewel had beat a deep, dark red that took on a blueish hue, as if it were kicking into life for the first time. Cassian remembered the gratification that had flickered over the Siphon Master’s face as the ruby did not shatter but became an additional heart, pulsing gently in the spring light.

“Shall we begin, Father?”

This time, every war-lord bristled as Kallon spoke. Somehow, the air became even thicker. A princeling did not order a prince. Yet, Marsh only raked his shrewd eyes over every single male in challenge, before he waved a trembling hand at his son, commanding him to start.

Kallon stood with a confidence that superseded his age; as if he were a messenger sent by the Gods and had the intention of delivering a fucking sermon. Cassian’s stomach dropped leaden to his toes at the same time that his blood began to boil beneath his skin.

Beside him, Lorrian stiffened, as if he too knew that they had been foiled, even though neither of them had yet learnt why.

“Many of you are probably wondering why my father and I have called this meeting early,” Kallon started. The princeling stood tall, his feet slightly apart, his shoulders squared, his wings held up high… A warrior’s stance. But there was something infuriatingly relaxed about his posture, as if commanding an audience was all completely natural to him.

“Tradition states that the first Rite counsel is not held until the new year, but given that Ironcrest is hosting the ceremony this year, we thought it made sense to arrange for this meeting to coincide with the Solstice luncheon.”

There was a pause in which Kallon looked around the room. His voice was too cordial for an Illyrian, especially a princeling, and if it were not for that unfathomable chill to his voice—a carved out emptiness—Cassian would have been willing to bet that he would have been sneered back into his seat. And of course, there was arrogance, too. An entitlement that came with those born into wealth.

“Since Enalius gifted our ancestors with a drop of his power and we were able to mine siphons, the Blood Rite has become the most important tradition in our culture,” Kallon continued. “Illyrians produce the best warriors Prythian has ever seen. Our bloody history shows that whilst we are perceived by High Fae and many others of our kind to be the lowest of faeries, we are triumphant in battle and far supersede not only the Night Courts forces, but the forces in every other court. We Illyrians are relied upon for our gifts, but we are treated as disposable when our talents are not required. The recent kerit attacks on our camps has highlighted what we have known for centuries; that the Night Court does not care about our race to provide sufficient protection.”

Another cessation of speech for what Cassian expected was not for Kallon to catch his breath, but to allow his words to settle. All of the war-lords and representatives remained eerily silent, and whilst they had originally sat forward as if they were waiting to jump in and protest, they were now stock still, drawn in by the words that they all already believed to be true.

“We suffered many losses in the war against Hybern,” Kallon pushed on. “Forces across all of our camps are drained and depleted. Whilst the Rite is an important part of who we are, the loss of more Illyrian lives would be the greatest sin. Enalius gifted all of our families with a drop of his blood so we could ensure that the Illyrian lines did not die out. That we could continue to perform our duty to honour and protect. My father and I have called you here today to consider a hiatus on the Blood Rite. To focus instead on strengthening our troops rather than inflicting more bloodshed upon our kind.”

Silence fell again as Kallon stopped talking. As, with a sweeping look around the table, the princeling sat back down and leant back into his chair with a superior expression on his face. No doubt a sense of achievement that he had captivated the hostile war-lords for enough time to say exactly what he intended. To plant the seeds in the minds of those who already did not look favourably towards their High Lord’s rule.

Lord Alcathoe was the first to snap. The war-lord from Swallow’s Ridge leant forward, his expression dark and openly aggressive. “The Blood Rite has been performed every year without fail. What claim do you have to suggest a hiatus?”

“We have not ceased the Rite in the aftermath of war before,” Lord Hamel added. Hamel’s voice was monotone and bored, but Cassian had learnt from his many visits to Craggs Peak that the war-lord was as vicious as any of the other males around the table—worse than some, actually. One misplaced word and the war-lord was known to explode.

Cassian thought it only a matter of time until everyone at the table witnessed it.

“I don’t think a young whelp who has not fought in a war or earned his own siphons should be leading a discussion in which he has no place.”

“Watch your mouth, Hamel,” Marsh snarled in warning. “My son is smarter than all of your offspring, both the bastards and your true heirs. If you have any true heirs, that is.”

Hamel’s answering snarl had him rising out of his seat. The war-lord’s face had turned purple with rage and his teeth were bared. Spittle flew across the wooden surface of the strategy table. “If you weren’t already on your death bed, Marsh, I’d—”

“It is true that I do not yet own my own siphons and that I have not yet fought in a war,” Kallon interrupted, standing again with a flare of his wings. The sound snapped around the room, like a nine-tail whip cracking against skin. “But I see what our race has suffered at the hands of the Night Court. We are treated as expendable and as bodies rather than being valued for who we are and what we stand for. To put a hiatus on the Blood Rite will allow us to become stronger. It will allow our warriors to become proficient in the art of battle and for our numbers to rise. We cannot afford to lose any more warriors.”

The blood in Hamel’s face was slowly draining from purple to red. Still angry, but not as if he was going to self-combust. The war-lord had sunk back down into his seat, and it was clear that an internal conflict was going on in his mind; as he decided what held greater importance, his hatred of Anguis Marsh and his son, or his opinions on Night Court affairs.

And the issue was that whilst there were statements of Kallon’s that were wrong—namely that the war was not an Illyrian cause and that Rhys saw the Illyrians as disposable— the princeling was also right. The Illyrians could not afford to lose any more warrior blood in the upcoming Rite. It was an issue Cassian had deliberated over repeatedly. One he had brought up with Rhys and Azriel. A problem they had decided not to interfere with for fear that it would set the Illyrians against them even further.

But what Kallon was doing… it was clever. It played on the Illyrians sensibilities and the ever-growing notion that they should not be ruled by Rhys’s hand. And if Kallon could get the war-lords to agree… he would be seen as a martyr, whilst the Night Court would be viewed as complacent in further deaths of the Illyrian race.

It would gain him support amongst the most influential of the Illyrians. It would strengthen the dissent. And if the war-lords made it clear that they were openly opposing Rhys’s rule, then many more Illyrians would follow their example.

As if Kallon knew he was triumphant, he pinned Cassian with a stare. “Do you not agree, General? We have suffered the death of an entire aerial legion, plus many of our strongest warriors against Hybern. Surely you cannot argue that we should go ahead with the Blood Rite rather than strengthen our forces before we allow ourselves to suffer any more losses?”

Cassian and Lorrian were rabbits caught in a hunters snare and Kallon knew it.

“The Night Court agrees that we cannot afford to lose any more males in the Blood Rite,” Cassian replied, his voice so deep and commanding that he did not recognise his true self—the part of him that was not General but Fae. “Should another war come to Illyria, we need to ensure we can protect our kind and those throughout our court. A reprieve from the Blood Rite is the best way to prevent further bloodshed.”

A growl sounded from Icor. It was an abrupt, guttural sound that sounded too much like a temper tantrum. He had no doubt been expecting Cassian to side with him. “You have not answered the question, princeling. What right do you have to suggest a hiatus?”

Across his cruel face, Icor looked briefly triumphant. A petulant child believing he’d won a game rather than contemplating the life or death of his best warriors. “So tell me, what right do we have to interfere with the will of our warrior Gods?”

“My son has been chosen by the Gods. By Enalius himself.” Marsh’s grating voice was deep and commanding. Forceful.

A dismissive snort. “I do not think—” Icor started, but Marsh dismissed Forktail’s war-lord entirely, and looked towards his son. His heir.

“Show them,” Marsh ordered Kallon with a wave of his hand.

The princeling turned his head in a way that was more automaton than Fae. He looked towards the doors, where a male steward wearing Ironcrest colours stepped out of the shadows.

In that moment, Cassian wished Nesta was in the room with them, if only to sense the emotions of every single war-lord as their lofty expressions turned carefully blank. As their eyes fell to the sword laying atop a velvet-crushed cushion the colour of mustard.

Enalius’s sword. Or at least, a sword with ancient magical properties.

Cassian could feel the hum of it in his blood—his magic—turning over inside of him, pressing against his skin as if it was trying to leap from his body and join with the steel. His siphons pulsed, his star ruby beating like a star-blessed heart. And from the look on every other males face, they could sense the magic of it, too.

The sword looked exactly as it did in the drawing printed in Heroicis. The sword Cassian had committed to memory as a youngling, as he stared at that inked drawing—the only thing he could understand as an illiterate bastard trying to make sense of a book full of words. The blade was arced, the steel etched with the Illyrian marks of glory that each of the war-lords wore on their own skin. The curved bone pommel gleamed as if it had been recently polished, even though the handle looked well-worn and cracked.

Just as Frawley had reported, the oval jewel was missing from where it should sit on the wide guard.

Cassian knew without Frawley having to confirm it—with a certainty that was completely devoid of doubt—that Kallon was presenting them with Enalius’s sword.

And worse, that the princeling would gain the begrudging respect of the males around this table for it.

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775  @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 3: AU Part 2

I hate that I have no self-control and have to make multiple posts for this lolololol

On AO3.

Part 1

When Hanzo woke, he knew immediately that he was not alone.

His eyes snapped open and he lurched upright, disoriented and tense.

His surroundings were unfamiliar, a fact that filled him with certain dread. His last memory was of trying to leave the bed of snow he'd been pushed into, how the dragon had only allowed him to stand so that it could nestle him into its side and curl up as if for a long rest. He remembered the deep, content cadence of its sigh as it settled with its huge head on Hanzo's lap.

As cold as it was, smothered in the dragon's hold, he'd been oddly...warm. And while Hanzo was no one's pet or prisoner, he was not so foolish as to disturb such a fearsome creature when its mood was in such a mercurial state, weakened and tired as it was. He'd resigned himself to being a dragon's pillow and had fallen asleep right there, hopeful that he could slip away in the small hours of the morning.

But waking up in an entirely new place had not been part of the plan. He barely took in the dark, polished stone of the room he was in or the thick furs that covered him across the lavish four-poster bed.

His surroundings were terrible for their strangeness, but what was worse was the man seated on the bed beside him, legs crossed, watching him. It was hard to see in the scant light that poured through the window as the sun just barely began to rise, but he thought he could just detect a small smile on those bearded lips.

"Good morning," the man greeted in a low, pleasant tone.

Hanzo went rigid. His hand snapped down to his side, but his weapons were gone—of course.

He risked exposing himself, but allowing capture was worse.

He summoned his flames, of a mind to send the man across the room with a ball of fire before he could so much as twitch—but the moment his light banished the shadows from the man's face, Hanzo stilled.

...It was his eyes. Pale white, nearly translucent, but in the flickering pulse of Hanzo's flames, they shined with a breathtaking iridescence that shifted with countless colors.

Pale-skinned and broad-shouldered, muscular arms bared by his dark robes, thick black hair pushed back from his face and beard trimmed short—he truly was a stranger to Hanzo in every sense of the word.

But, that scar. Those eyes. Hanzo knew those eyes.

The man's smile grew slightly, as if he knew exactly what Hanzo was thinking, and he threaded his fingers together, planted his elbows on his spread knees and perched his chin atop his hands, as if to better study Hanzo.

"Do you recognize me, pyromancer?"

Hanzo pursed his lips, wary. But even when he glared harder, tried to see some sort of flaw or deception, his eyes continued to scream a single truth.

But he did not have to admit it.

"I—I am clearly unwell," Hanzo said instead.

Without taking his eyes off of the man, he backed up until he was at the edge of the bed and quickly stood, head darting around as he tried to get his bearings, find the door. He looked back to the stranger and curled his fingers into a fist, flames threatening on the horizon.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"As impressive as your fire magic is," the man answered, "You would have succumbed to the cold. I thought it best to bring you to my home."

His home? Just judging from the simple, yet refined furnishings and ornate, carved walls, Hanzo assumed he was in some sort of palace.

His brow furrowed. This was making less and less sense. Some traveling lord had stumbled upon Hanzo and had simply—taken him in? In what appeared to be his own chambers?

No nobleman was that kind or giving. Hanzo knew.

Hanzo's skin itched with the desire to flee. Unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar company—he did not have any wish to linger here, at the mercy of this strange man and his stranger (familiar) eyes.

"Whatever you intended by bringing me here, it does not matter." Hanzo's face hardened. "You will not keep me here."

"No," the man agreed softly, making Hanzo pause. He was still smiling. "I imagine you do not succumb to anyone's will but your own."

The words caused a flicker of uncertainty to pass through him, though he did not allow it to show on his face. Why was nothing about this man proceeding as he expected? If Hanzo woke up, kidnapped to some strange, impossible palace in a snow-plagued, forsaken mountain, he should be caged. His captor should be talking to him through the bars of a prison, in his personal dungeon, not casually and comfortably sitting on his bed while Hanzo threatened to burn him.

...Somehow, some way, this is a trick. It must be.

It felt safer not to speak, so Hanzo did not. His eyes darted to the door, waiting across the room and, unfortunately, behind the man.

"Your weapons are there," the man said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm behind Hanzo, and indeed, when he warily glanced over his shoulder, he saw the overlooked table tucked into the corner of the room, where his blades had been laid neatly and carefully across a length of soft cloth. "Forgive me for taking the liberty, but I thought it best to divest you of them so you could rest more comfortably."

Hanzo glared at the man for a long moment. He only slept comfortably when he was armed these days.

Still, Hanzo accepted the invitation to take his things and he did so in quick, efficient movements, keeping the stranger in his line of sight at all times—not that it mattered, as the man did not so much as a twitch from the moment he'd awoken. His eyes tracked Hanzo without a blink and it was perhaps that which kept Hanzo on his guard. His utter stillness, the watching—Hanzo was rested, armed, and could think of a dozen ways to incapacitate this man in a few seconds, yet he felt overwhelmingly like an unwitting creature, soft and vulnerable, ignorant of the hunter in his midst, readying for the pounce.

Hanzo glanced at the door, had no more than thought of taking his first step towards the exit when the man spoke once more.

"Of course, you may leave whenever you wish," he said genially. "But you did not answer my question, pyromancer."

Hanzo's lips thinned. Uncertainty and unease blossomed in his chest.

"...no, I did not. I will not."

The stranger's head tilted and an expression of open amusement alighted on his face.

"Is it so terrible to accept?"

"It is impossible," Hanzo stressed, eyes narrowing. But, despite himself, his determination to fight faltered. He could not deny a certain curiosity, for all that he did not believe in magic such as this.

The man shrugged, affable as ever. It made Hanzo glare at him even more fiercely. It was irksome, how agreeable he was being...

Finally, the man moved, gave his back to Hanzo as he swung his legs off the bed and rose. Hanzo tensed when the man faced him and approached.

"That is far enough," Hanzo said in warning, raising two burning fists when the man was just outside of arm's reach.

"I have sheltered you and returned your weapons," the man pointed out. "Can you not accept I mean you no harm?"

"That remains to be seen," Hanzo replied, stiff.

Still, the man only seemed amused. He placed a palm on his breast, directly over his heart, and bowed, deeply.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Kuai Liang."

A strange name for a strange man. It was oddly fitting.

Kuai Liang rose and those pale eyes of his fixed on Hanzo with the same intensity that had yet to lessen since Hanzo had first met them.

"May I know your name, pyromancer?"

Hanzo almost refused him, simply on principle. But...Kuai Liang had sheltered him in his home, had given him back his weapons, and he had shown no sign of wishing harm upon him.

It went against every instinct within him, but slowly, warily, Hanzo lowered his arms as the flames in his hands gutted, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.

"...Hanzo. Hanzo Hisashi."

Kuai Liang's eyes brightened with pleasure.

"Hanzo Hisashi," he repeated. The way he seemed to savor it—Hanzo could feel his hackles rising once more. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Kuai Liang stepped to the side, gestured with an open palm to the door. "Allow me to escort you," he said. "I'm afraid you will be easily lost without a guide."

Hearing that this building was that great a size did nothing to ease Hanzo's unease, but he supposed he had no choice.

"Very well."

Kuai Liang smiled.

Hanzo had hoped for a quick, silent walk, and to be able to put this entire strange encounter from his mind forever. Instead, when they'd only just left Kuai Liang's chambers, his stomach gave a loud, insistent cry.

Hanzo kept his gaze firmly on the ground, mortified as Kaui Liang turned to him in a sharp, surprised movement.

After a slight pause, Kuai Liang offered, "I have food if you wish—"

"No." Hanzo took a deep breath, tried to will back the rise of heat he could feel on his face. It was more important to leave this place. He could hunt for something once he was gone. "I am fine."

And, of course, his body chose that moment to betray him once more with another growl, sudden and painful enough he could not check the urge to hold his aching stomach. He could not remember the last time he had a decent, filling meal...

"I'm afraid I must insist," Kuai Liang said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I would be a poor host if I did not see you fed and prepped for your long journey down the mountain.”

Hanzo attempted to protest, but it was a losing battle and he was forced to follow after Kuai Liang, lest he truly be lost in his vast palace.

It was harder to remember the urgent need to be gone from this place when the smell of cooked meat grew stronger the further they went, and then impossible when Kuai Liang opened the door to a small cooking room, where a large flank of meat was still roasting over an open fire against the far wall.

The smell was heavenly and Hanzo was briefly hypnotized by the sight of hot, sizzling fat dripping from the meat, how it fell into the fire with a soft hiss and caused new bursts of the incredible aroma to permeate the room.

Perhaps...there was no harm in eating—so that he would not collapse on his hike, of course. It was only sensible to accept a meal when it was offered freely.

He tried not to seem too eager when he sat at the small wooden table Kuai Liang beckoned him to, but when Kuai Liang carved a generous portion of meat onto a large platter and served it to him, his smile twitched, threatening to grow wider at whatever expression Hanzo had.

It was slightly embarrassing, being caught so obviously, but Hanzo did not care the moment the meat first touched his tongue. Hot, tender venison, succulent and delicious. If he were a weaker man, he might weep.

For a while, there was only silence as he ate. It was not until he'd partially satiated his aching stomach that he realized Kuai Liang had not served himself.

He glanced up, unnerved to find Kuai Liang watching him, chin propped in one hand, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.

He appeared so...satisfied, by the sight of Hanzo eating. It made Hanzo freeze.

He glared.

"...Stop watching me," Hanzo demanded.

Kuai Liang's smile widened, but he acquiesced, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He tilted his head back against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, looked for all the world as if he were simply meditating.

The way he kept instantly accomodating Hanzo—it was very annoying.

Hanzo resumed eating but did not stop glaring at Kuai Liang, trying—in vain—to puzzle him out. If Kuai Liang was aware of his staring, he did not seem bothered by it in the least.

This vast palace, Kuai Liang's own status, seemingly that of a man of wealth and power—he did not make sense. In Hanzo's travels, he had never heard of such a person having domain over this corner of the land, and yet here he was.

Who are you, truly?

His curiosity could not be denied, no matter how much he tried to quell it.

"Where are the people?" Hanzo finally asked.

It was perhaps not his most pressing question, but it was the one that was safer to ask. Down the labyrinthine halls to this modest cook's area, Hanzo had not seen nor heard so much as a whisper of another soul. Even here, in what was clearly a servant's domain, there was no one else to be found. Yet, a palace so large would need a large staff to maintain it.

Kuai Liang's eyes opened. "There are none."

Hanzo frowned, chews slowing, but Kuai Liang did not take back his words, just watched Hanzo back.

"...You live here by yourself?"

Kuai Liang inclined his head.

"How is that possible?"

Finally, Kuai Liang glanced away from him. His eyes dropped and his entire demeanor was suddenly—dampened, somehow. A subtle sort of sadness crept over Kuai Liang and it made Hanzo forget all about the sharp hunger pains that had burrowed into the pit of his stomach.

"Like you, I am the last of my kind."

...Oh. It was no secret that Hanzo's people were long gone—hunted to the brink of extinction for nothing more than sport. Mercenaries and outlaws, lowlifes and lords alike had participated in the massacre, eager to boast their fighting skills and claim the prestige of slaying an exotic, powerful pyromancer. If any of Hanzo's people still walked the lands, Hanzo had not met them. He hoped he never would. They were safer—he was safer, alone.

A life of constant movement, never settling anywhere, never staying in one town long enough for anyone to learn his name—it was a life he'd resigned himself to, one he thought, perhaps, suited him, even, but there were times when he felt the aching bite of loneliness. Of a muted, mourning despair that he would pass from this world without a single soul to notice his absence.

It was not a life he would wish on anyone.

"I...I am sorry," Hanzo finally said. At least he traveled, could outrun his feelings when they threatened to unmake him completely. To walk the same empty halls, day after day, ceaselessly reminded of a time they were full of life—he shied from even imagining it.

Kuai Liang blinked and a rueful smile replaced the understated, melancholic expression. Somehow, the smile made Hanzo's chest ache more.

"It was a long time ago," Kuai Liang dismissed.

Hanzo was not placated. He looked straight into Kuai Liang's eyes.

"But it is still difficult," he observed quietly, and Kuai Liang's smile, absurdly, stretched just a little bigger.

"You see right through me."

He stood, took Hanzo's demolished plate and returned to the roasting spit.

"No man is a fortress, and I am afraid I am no exception to this rule."

His voice was soft and steady as he refilled Hanzo's plate with another generous portion, but even when he set the dish before him, Hanzo could not move his eyes from Kuai Liang, aware of how something more lingered in the air, the same something that had remained unspoken since he'd awoken.

Kuai Liang did not return to his seat. He stood, looking down at Hanzo, and the impression that his next words would be important grew.

"I rarely leave my home. I hunt what I need and want for little else. But I have grown weary of solitude. And, if you'll forgive my forwardness," and here Kuai Liang broke eye contact, straightened, and crossed his arms behind his back. He took a moment, and Hanzo found himself all but holding his breath.

"I came down from the mountain in search of a mate." Kuai Liang's pale eyes met his, and the earlier look of determination intensified. "And I have found one. You."

A ringing silence stretched.

Hanzo's mouth opened, closed. Opened again. But there were no words. He could not think of a single thing he could say to such a proclamation.

His face felt hot.

Kuai Liang's head tilted. "Have I broken you?" he asked, amused.

His tone finally snapped Hanzo out of his shocked stupor and he stood, his chair scraping loudly against the wood floor.

"I—You—NO."

"We are well-suited for one another," Kuai Liang argued.

"You know nothing about me and—" Abruptly, Hanzo realized how completely absurd this conversation was. "Absolutely not."

"I know that you are brave, honorable, and compassionate." When Hanzo opened his mouth to protest, Kuai Liang stepped closer, just past the bounds of propriety, but Hanzo could not muster the will to burn him. "It would have been easier to leave me to die, but you intervened on my behalf, and even tended to my wounds. What more proof do I need of your worthiness?"

Hanzo stared at Kuai Liang, stricken. He had been ignoring the obvious, glaring fact that had been shouting at him since he'd first met Kuai Liang's eyes, but now that truth refused to be ignored.

His brow furrowed and he stared into Kuai Liang's eyes, wished he could doubt his own, but could not.

"You...you really are the dragon from before..." It was impossible, ridiculous—but the evidence was too plain to ignore.

Kuai Liang smiled. "I knew you were the one the moment we looked at one another." Another step closer, where their chests nearly touched, and Hanzo told himself he would push Kuai Liang away and run—in just a moment. "My ice, it can be unpleasant for a normal human. And in moments of passion, even harmful."

Kuai Liang raised his hand, slowly, tentatively, and though a part of Hanzo's mind, defensive and wary, screamed that he use his flames, now, he did not want to harm Kuai Liang.

The gentle, cool touch of Kuai Liang's fingers brushed across the stubble on his cheek, whisper-soft.

"But with your abilities, you could withstand me." Kuai Liang's eyes fell, hooded and dark with desire. His gaze seemed to pierce straight through. "Yes, you could withstand me well. You are very strong."

"We are complete opposites," Hanzo argued, because clearly he was the only one who had not taken leave of his senses.

"Opposites, yes," Kuai Liang agreed. "But also equals. Compliments. I would have it no other way."

"Well, I will not have you," Hanzo claimed hotly, and his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare.

Far from seeming dismayed by his refusal, Kuai Liang only watched Hanzo as if he were an intriguing puzzle.

"You find me unsuitable in some way?" he asked. "Or, perhaps, you bear the claim of another?"

"I—" It would have been better, to lie, but that was one skill Hanzo had never possessed. "That is not—"

Triumph surged to Kuai Liang's gaze. "If I must prove myself, you need only say so. I can offer you much."

Hanzo finally pushed away Kuai Liang's touch with a sweep of his arm and took a few steps back. He would not hear any more.

"I do not want anything from you. I do not belong here, with you, in—that way. Whatever you believe you see in me, you are mistaken."

"I see only that which you have shown me." Kuai Liang watched him steadily, so sure. "You could have a home here. You would no longer have to hide who you truly are, or be forced to run any longer. You could be free."

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath, shook his head harshly in the next instant. "You—you can not promise that."

"I can," Kuai Liang simply said.

He pushed Hanzo's chair out of his way, closed the distance between them once more. Hanzo flinched away the first time Kuai Liang reached for him, but Kuai Liang only paused, waited patiently, before resuming the movement. And the look in his eyes, gentle yet firm, kept Hanzo still when he took Hanzo's hand.

Kuai Liang raised Hanzo's hand, placed his palm atop it so he cradled him in his grip like something precious. Hanzo could not recall ever being touched in such a way. He wanted to hate it, but he did not.

"A few days," Kuai Liang proposed, voice a low, beseeching murmur. "Stay with me here, for just a few days. Let me show you what it could be like to share a life together. If you still wish to leave after that, I will respect your wishes. I will take you down the mountain myself."

An automatic denial sprung to his lips, but one look at Kuai Liang's eyes—pleading, soft, and filled with lonely, naked longing—killed the words before he could draw breath.

Hanzo looked away, to the strong, slightly cool and affectionate clasp of Kuai's hands around his. The weariness he always battled in his long journey, heart-sick from constant flight and avoidance, bloomed to an almost unbearable degree, threatened to swallow him completely.

"...A few days?" Hanzo eventually asked, voice unsure and wary.

Kuai Liang squeezed his hand and hope brightened his gaze.

"That is all I ask."

If Hanzo had not been wavering before, that expression would have unmade him; never, had he been beneath the force of such great, bare hope. To say anything else would be cruel.

"...Very well." He darted a quick look at Kuai Liang, glanced away immediately at the sight of his warm, wide smile. "Do not make me regret this," Hanzo warned.

Kuai Liang raised his arm, only smirked when Hanzo's eyes went wide, and placed a gentle, unbearably lingering kiss on the back of his fingers.

"I would not dream of it, Hanzo Hisashi."

[popcorn1989]

Emhyr/Cahir anon here. How would you imagine the two of them getting together in a canon setting? Would they have a power imbalance or do they find their way to something healthier? I'd love to read your take on a get together between those two if you have the time and willing to write such a thing.

A/N: Hello, my friend, I thought about it and created a little story. For that, I'll go further into the Witcher series story.

First off, since it's a prequel, I can only give you the balance between the two as a note from me below the Story. In case you are interested.

This is all based on my thoughts! Let us begin!

Pairing: Emhyr x Cahir

Mentioned Characters: Fringilla, Ciri

Warning: None

Words: 890

"You are my king, and I am your servant"

Again, Cahir sat in a dungeon, his hands wrapped around the cold irons of the cell door and his head leaned against it. He wondered what he had done wrong and why he hadn't noticed who his king actually was. He had tried to put the blame on Fringilla, but they kept coming back to him, he couldn't blame Fringilla alone. Cahir looked up, and his blue eyes searched the hallway outside his cell, but he was alone. He had no sense of time, how long he had been here, and he had no idea, what was to come.

Despite all this, he wanted to remain loyal to his king, he knew why, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. Cahir found Emhyr beautiful, his facial features and his hair, that he had only seen him today was because Cahir only ever got his orders from others. And he had turned away from him and Fringilla as he entered the hall, so they only saw him from behind, so it was a shock to both, when he turned and realized it was the girl's father. For a long time, it was believed, that he had drowned, like everyone on the ship.

Cahir let go of the iron bars, his hands shaking, not from the cold but from the sound of approaching footsteps. He took a few steps away from the cell door and soon reached the cell wall with his back. His hands lay on the cold wall and now made his whole body tremble. Three people appeared from the right in front of his eyes, including the king himself. He gestured with his hand, a signal for one of his servants to unlock the cells. At this, Emhyr's eyes rested on Cahir's face.

Cahir was unwell, and it intensified, when Emhyr gestured and said, "Leave us alone." The servants bowed and closed the cell and walked away, certainly not far, Cahir thought, always at the ready. Emhyr entered the cell, immediately Cahir took a step forward and bowed to him. "My King" - "Get up" he commanded, but Cahir just looked up, not knowing if Emhyr just wanted to find out, how subservient he was to him. Getting up now was an insult. His blue eyes met Emhyr's, he had put on a stony face and walked towards Cahir again, he put his right hand under Cahir's chin "I said, get up"

Cahir closed his eyes briefly, he felt the soft, warm hand under his chin slowly pushing him up as he stood up. "I'm disappointed in you. I've only ever heard good things about you Cahir, You're actually a loyal man, but that lie you made up with Fangilla" he shook his head and Cahir looked embarrassed on the ground. "And then you lost my daughter, you had her, and then you lost her." Cahir looked up and was about to say something, but Emhyr just held up his hand to silence him. Cahir swallowed hard and continued to listen to him. "I was angry, but gave you several chances, but you screwed up even those. And you even got caught and tortured by the magician, tell me, Cahir, what did you tell them?" - "Nothing, my Lord, nothing at all! I would never betray you!"

Cahir tried to speak calmly and without the tremor in his voice, but he couldn't, Emhyr's blue eyes looked at him intently, and he smiled at Cahir. Emhyr lifted his head and then nodded briefly "And yet you're lying to me, about the elves" - "We... I thought so..." Cahir stammered and looked down, "We didn't think anything at all" Cahir had his hands together folded, his whole posture indicating, that he was very uncomfortable.

"You admit, that you and Fringilla had this plan? To recruit elves to our side, give them food and water and training, and then be betrayed by them?" Cahir nodded slightly, it hadn't been his idea, Emhyr should have known that, because in that period of time he had still been a prisoner of the magicians. He looked up and saw, that Emhyr had put on a satisfied face. "I have to give you one thing, Cahir. You are loyal to your people and that shows me, that you are loyal to me, too. I'll think about, what to do with you two." He placed a hand on Cahir's cheek and smiled.

Cahir began to tremble again, his king made him tremble. He exuded so much power, that it brought you to your knees. "Thank you, my lord" Cahir said and wanted to bow again, but Emhyr grabbed his shoulders and he looked into Cahir's eyes again. "I hope for you, if I give you another chance, that you will find my daughter Ciri and never lie to me again, otherwise your pretty head will roll on the asphalt." He smiled. Cahir tried to breathe calmly and not let on, that his heart almost jumped out of his chest.

"You are my king, and I am your servant" Emhyr wiped his hand over Cahirs cheek and turned around, calling his servants, who locked the cell again. Even before Emhyr disappeared from Cahir's sight, he saw another smile, that Emhyr threw at him. Cahir had stood there, like a statue, the whole time, it seemed to him like in a fever dream.

Remarks:

Cahir will get his chance, he will work alongside Emhyr and let him know anything he will find out, no matter what it is.

For Cahir, Emhyr is a powerful man and his king, but in time he will find out, that he feels more for him.

Emhyr sees Cahir as his best man, he will challenge and encourage him, and he will always have a hand over him if anyone wishes to harm him.

Emhyr fell in love with him at first sight. Therefore, he lets Cahir closer to him, than everyone else, telling the other to leave them both alone. "So, they can talk about it in peace"

At first Cahir will find it difficult to show his love openly, after all Emhyr is his king and so Emhyr has to make the first move. But between them there is always: "I am your king and you, my servant."

But over time, Emhyr will feel so much, that he will treat Cahir like someone standing next to him. He will trust him and will consult with him on everything. And he'll share his bed with him every night, but all behind closed doors.

To the outside world, Cahir will always be just a servant/fighter and loyal man to Emhyr, and he will never show his feelings. Cahir won't have any problems with that, because he can wait until the doors close again behind them.

[cruelsfate]

Maria thinks many times about visiting Marianne in the waning hours of the day once chaos has given way to calm. She frets and flits about in the background like a robin to her many branches, but never does she forget that she worries for Marianne, too. What halts her steps, however, is a simple and integral question: would her company be gift or burden?

What gives her the idea, Maria isn't sure, but the feeling lingers that their battles weighed far differently between them. The solemnity in her face and the determination to her swings... She knows not how to touch them, or even if she should. Her friend is a quiet sort, after all, and the day itself has been nothing if not terrible and clamorous.

So it is that she decides-- with much consternation-- to visit Marianne the next day, when everything has had a chance to settle in. A rap of her knuckles against the inn room door ; a smile, warm and true ; most importantly, the heft of a bag of fresh-baked pastries in the cradle of her arm.

"Marianne!" The lilt of her voice is still bright, but not overwhelmingly so, and she holds up her spoils. "I got some sweets! Do you want to share?"

It takes a while longer for the gravity of the situation to truly set in, but after the fact, it is not difficult to fall into old habits again. Turn her head down, avoid others, keep to herself. They'll return to Garreg Mach before long, and the events that transpired in Merceus could become a faraway memory.

They are still in Fort Merceus, however, and Marianne finds herself unable to pass the grassy area when Errol had been felled without feeling something in her stomach turn.

Perhaps he was not a child, but so long as he wore the face of one then how could she truly say? His fearful little whimper as death came to his door...she’ll not forget the sound for a long time.

Neither would she forget expression on Sasha’s face, nor the tremble of her voice. Three blows dealt to her on the same day — though they were only imposters wearing her family’s skin, Marianne knows the truth likely does not help.

When a knock sounds at her door the next day, she considers ignoring it. She can play at being asleep, or say she was feeling unwell.  ( The second one almost certainly would not work, though, considering how many healers were among them. Still, perhaps they would indulge her. They were all there, after all... )  But —

“Marianne!”

— and she goes to open the door, for Maria's sake more than her own. She does not wish to leave her standing in the hall foolishly, all because Marianne is feeling guilty for a death she barely played a part in.

“Maria.” The greeting is not returned with as much vigor, lacking in the effort she oft tries to put in to match Maria's enthusiasm. Tired eyes are drawn to the bag of pastries in the younger students arms as she nudges the door open wider. “Oh, of course.” A pause. “Ah...come in, please.”

She worries, at times, that Maria is too kind to her. Longer and longer her list of debts grows, so long that Marianne wonders if she will die before she can ever repay the other for all that she has done. When she'd felled the false Lord Ziegler just the day before, she felt no pity for him. He and Errol were the same — monsters playing at being human, but still.

Wasn't she?

“Did you mean it?” she asks in between pastries. “When you said I was cool?” Marianne hadn't felt cool, but Maria would not lie to her, would she? No, she wouldn’t. Yet though her Crest had not manifested, Blutgang's siren song had called to her. Wield me, it whispered. Together, we will finish this.

And, okay, Marianne had whispered back, unable to resist its call.

It feels like she's taken a step forward, then two back. She can only deny the curse of her blood for so long before she wants to — aches to — give in. It was so terrible to have to hide all the time. Was it so bad to want to give in?

They will hate you for it, her father’s voice echoes, and though she knows he is right, it does not make her feel any better.

[persephonesfill]

fetters of gold—chapter one

a/n: I know I have like a dozen WIPS but this idea would just not leave me alone so here we are.

rating: teen (for now 👀)

warning(s): n/a

—————

Prince Steven Rogers had never cared much for the grand displays of power and wealth that came with associating with men of his station, and tonight was no exception. It was his 21st birthday, meaning in the eyes of the gods and under the laws of his kingdom, Brooke, he was now a man grown.

It was an important day in a man’s life, marking the transition from boy to man. His father had said as much a week ago when Steve had pleaded with him to not go overboard for his birthday and subsequent coming of age ceremony.

“Father, please,” he had begged, uncaring of how he might have looked in that moment. He hated being the center of attention and the thought of an entire day spent under the eagle-eyed watch of his father’s court as they pretended that they cared enough to celebrate his birth? He’d rather trade places with a stable hand and muck out the stables for a week.

“You’re my only son and heir,” King Joseph had said, his tone brooking no further arguments. It had been the third time that week he had tried to appeal to his father’s senses, but apparently, all he had succeeded in was earning his ire. “You will attend the feast after your ceremony, and you will be oh so gracious to receive whatever gifts that will be bestowed upon you.”

“But father—“

“Any other boy in the entire continent would be pleased with half of what you’ve got. So I suggest you hold your tongue before you join them.”

And that had been the end of that. He knew his father wasn’t serious, of course. But, as he had said, Steve was his only child. Disowning his heir wouldn’t do him any favors. Even so, he wouldn’t put it past his father to send him to the nearest village for a week, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

And so there Steve sat in the great hall of his father’s castle, surrounded by his father’s friends and ready to jump off the nearest cliff.

His sapphire doublet chafed at his neck, slightly too tight. He had had a growth spurt since he had last worn it, much to the pride of his father. Steve had always been sickly and frail as a child. The court physician himself had thought that he wouldn’t live to see one year, so it was a shock to everyone when Steve had grown a foot seemingly overnight.

“He was just a late bloomer,” his mother had said, pinching his cheeks much to his chagrin, but who was he to deny a mother her affection for her child?

His newfound growth spurt also, unfortunately, meant that the time for “childish games,'' as his father had put it, was over. Steve had been forced to set down his paintbrush and take up a sword in its stead. Of course, he was proficient with a sword, but he would always prefer the flick of a brush over the swing of a blade.

“You’re quiet tonight,” his mother, Queen Sarah, said, looking resplendent in a gown of ivory and cloth of gold. “Are you unwell?”

Feigning thirst, he reached for his goblet and mumbled under his breath, “I’m fine. But you know how I feel about feasts.” He knew better than to let any of his discomfort be known.

He took a swig from his goblet, savoring the taste of the sweet mead on his tongue. At least he could get blackout drunk and forget this night ever happened.

She pursed her lips but quickly fixed her face into a loving smile when his father glanced at them. His father was dressed just as fine as them in a doublet of crimson and the golden feathered crown of Brooke adorning his ash blonde hair. Together, they represented their kingdom’s crimson, ivory, and sapphire colors, showing a united front to their people.

“Gracious,” his father mouthed, his eyes promising that there would be hell to pay if he so much as yawned at the table.

Following his mother’s guide, he put on a blinding smile as the next lord approached their dais to present him with yet another gift.

So far, Steve had already been gifted two new horses, one a mighty black destrier meant for battle and the other a snowy white palfrey with a sweet disposition, a fine great-sword with a golden pommel in the shape of an eagle’s head, and a godsdamned statue commissioned by his father in his likeness. Each gift had made him clench his jaw harder and harder until he was sure he was going to crack his teeth.

It was all a waste. What did he need one let alone two new horses for? His current horse suited him just fine. A destrier would go to waste during times of peace like they were in now, the war with Ma’Hat practically over, aside from a few bands of rebels causing trouble. His new destrier would stay cooped up in the stables, rarely getting out unless one of the stable hands was to exercise him.

As for the sword, Steve much preferred the sword he currently had as well. Yes, it was simple, but it was functional and bore signs of usage. Any man who carried a fine sword encrusted with jewels had obviously never seen battle a day in his life.

And that damned statue. That cold, lifeless thing depicted Steve in full armor, sword drawn, fighting off an invisible enemy. Despite being made by the finest sculptors in the kingdom, he could hardly recognize himself in it. He wasn’t some conqueror or god of war, and he never would be. When he fought, it was for the sake of others, not for himself.

But still, he grinned and cheered and waited for the next monstrosity to be presented to him. All of his gifts could have fed every village in Brooke for a year.

“Presenting Lord Barnes,” the herald called out, and Steve’s smile grew genuine. Lord James Barnes, or Bucky as friends called him, was one of Steve’s eldest friends and knew him better than anyone. Whatever gift he had in mind couldn’t be too terrible.

Bucky approached the dais with his usual swagger, pausing to bow before them. When he caught Steve’s eye, he winked.

“Your Majesties,” he said towards Steve’s parents. “Your Highness.”

He rose from his bow a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes. Steve’s stomach twisted, the excitement nearly unbearable. Just what had Bucky gotten for him?

“A man’s twenty-first birthday is one of the most important days of his life,” Bucky began addressing the court. “It will live on in his memory forever, even when he is old and gray, and all of his youth is naught but an old dream.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a flash of scarlet and gold. Could that be his gift?

“I intend for my gift to mark that transition from boy to man. Happy birthday, my friend. Lay the boy to rest,” Bucky said and spread his arms wide as Steve’s gift approached the dais, “and let the man rise tonight.”

Kohl-lined eyes caught Steve’s gaze, practically piercing his skin. “Your Highness,” his gift purred and flashed him a charming white smile.