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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years ago

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Chapter 11 - Nesta and Azriel have "the talk" (TW: SA in this chapter regarding Rovena's history)

Terror like no other incapacitated Azriel. A deep rumble of thunder rattled in the mountains. The words fell about them, the sentence worse than any weapon. Nesta’s eyes matched the storm, wide and churning, a power that brought the world to its knees. He waited for her hysteria. For her joy. For her refusal. For anything.

She tilted her chin, confusion nibbling at her features. ‘So, what?’

‘A mate bond is sacred, Nesta. They’re incredibly rare.’

‘What’s the point of it?’

Azriel swallowed. ‘Nobody truly knows. A mate is your equal in every way. It’s a bond where the strongest offspring are also produced.’

Disgust wrinkled up her nose. ‘I’m to become Cassian’s prize breeding mare, is that it?’

His pulse surged. Azriel would never let that happen. ‘No. Absolutely not. This your choice, Nesta. I had to tell you because you didn’t know. I don’t want you throwing away a mating bond when some wait their whole lives for one and never achieve it.’

‘And mates are always happy?’

She was surely considering it to even ask that question. Even this relationship, Azriel couldn’t have. Wasn’t worthy of. The Cauldron had cursed him for his beginnings. It would take the best thing in his life. But he would be honest. Nesta deserved honesty.

‘Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Rhys’ parents weren’t. Rhys and Feyre are.’

Nesta turned his face sharply towards her so that she could examine him. ‘Who decides mates?’

‘The Cauldron.’

The pinched expression of worry gave way to amusement. Nesta tossed back her head and laughed. ‘The Cauldron? I’m to be ruled by the Cauldron? The Cauldron that broke my body and held me under until I became this. The same Cauldron that I clawed the heart out of and drew blood from?’ She laughed again, scrubbing at her face as she marched to the window. ‘Did you not consider that it’s punishing me? That it has paired me with the one male who makes it his personal mission to upset me every time we are in the same vicinity?’

Without breaking her steel spine, Nesta faced him, all determination and grit. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Nesta would not hear of keeping a distance between their bodies. Refused to even entertain the idea of them not touching while Azriel relayed the day’s events. Nesta sat against his chest as they leaned against the headboard, blankets wrapped around them watching streaks of lightning hitting the mountains. Her hands weaved into his, drawing them against her body. It still amazed Azriel that she could touch his scars without recoiling or pretending they simply did not exist because it was easier that way.

She didn’t want anything to be clipped or censored to protect her. So Azriel told her it all, every horrid thing anybody had said – himself included. And when he was done, Nesta took it with an unflinchingly clear mind. He expected nothing less from her.

‘It doesn’t seem like much of a choice to me.’

‘Of course, you have a choice,’ Azriel said, squeezing her. ‘I’ll fight tooth and nail for you to have that choice, even if it’s not me you choose at the end of it.’

She shifted slightly to twist her face towards him. Brows raising in surprise. ‘You think I would pick Cassian over you?’

‘If a mating bond is rejected or severed then the males can go mad from it.’

Nesta nodded. She had her thinking face on; Azriel knew it well enough. Her eyes would drift up towards the ceiling and her lips would part slightly.

‘So that I understand: It is my choice to accept the bond or not. If I accept this rare bond then I will be utterly miserable because we have nothing in common except arguments. During your conversations where everybody has, once again, told you and Cassian that I’m horrid and tearing apart your family, he did not speak up in my defence.’ When Azriel tried to speak, Nesta pressed a gentle finger to his lips. ‘But if I don’t accept the bond then Cassian will go mad.’

Nesta had managed to raze through the issue with her uncompromising clarity.

‘It doesn’t really seem like a choice to me; it feels as I’ll be pressured into accepting it and be miserable or I’ll have to face the consequences. Once again, it is Cassian who is prioritised rather than me.’

Azriel shook his head though her words rang true. Phrased that way, there was little choice. Despite the sanctity of a mating bond, it did not guarantee happiness. Nesta and Cassian already did not see eye to eye. He had already hurt her feelings many times or had not tried to stop anybody else from doing the same. Azriel had little doubt that Cassian would protect her from harm from external forces; he’d proved that against Hybern. But from their family? There had been no instinct from Cassian to protect her from the people he loved. Never. Over and over, Nesta had been belittled and judged with no support. Cassian could never turn against his family. It was the one difference between them; Cassian had never had love so clung to it whereas Azriel knew he could survive without it.

The inner circle’s concern had been over the effects of a rejected bond on Cassian’s well being rather than how Nesta might suffer if she was compelled to accept it. She would be miserable. Down-trodden. Was it any different to an arranged marriage that a female had no say in? Had Mor not been saved from that fate so she wouldn't become the same shell as Eris' mother?

‘And I am to understand that Elain has no choice either? That whether she likes it or not, she would have to be Lucien’s mate simply because the Cauldron decided that they would make a strong child.’ There was a quiver in Nesta’s tone – not sadness, but pure anger seeping out of the gilded cage she’d managed to trap it in. ‘Did Feyre have a choice really? Could she have rejected a bond with the most powerful high lord of all time and face no consequences?'

Azriel kept hold of her. He knew that anger. If Nesta could winnow, he’d stake money on her meeting Rhys’ jaw with a fist. Then Lucien’s. And then Cassian’s. Her sisters did not seem to realise that Nesta would wage on their behalf.

‘There is an illusion of choice. Say it how it is, Azriel.’

He brushed his nose against her temple, kissing once. ‘That’s not true. If you don’t want the bond then I support you. I will always be there to protect you from any fallout. I will follow you wherever you want to go.’

Azriel hated that she would need protection. That she would need support. That a female could not reject a male without fear of retribution.

None of it was fair. Not to her. To him. Or to Cassian.

For a long time, Nesta remained in silence. The storm fell away, clambering over the mountains as it went. Only the sounds of the rain still pattering against the roof and windows could be heard. Faintly, Azriel could make out the shuffle of his mother’s steps as she also went to her bedroom at the opposite end of the house. She had always been a night-owl.

Nesta nestled herself against him. Even through her clothes, Azriel could feel the tremor of her heart. He cradled her, wondering if this might be the last time that he’d have the chance.

‘You are all I will ever want.’

A few words and Azriel was undone. All of the tension that had weighed heavily on him since that revelation had spilled from Cassian’s lips was shattered. He felt as if he could breathe again. Nesta was choosing him. He had needed to hear it. Needed to hear that she was choosing him. Didn’t it mean more if she chose him of her own will without a predestined force guiding her?

It made it all worth it. Azriel would deal with whatever came their way. With Nesta at his side, he would manage.

Their clothes were peeled away in a silence that was only punctuated with the sounds of their lips meeting. He pulled the leather tie from the end of Nesta’s hair, letting her braid fall away so golden hair cascaded down her bare back.

For a moment, Azriel savoured the view; the female he loved, bathed in moonlight, in his home, choosing him. It was enough to bring him to his knees. And it did.

He went to his knees before Nesta, arms snaking round her body to hold it to him. And Azriel thanked the Mother for bringing Nesta into his life. She was a blessing. One who had seen the dark parts of him that he had tried to hide and never wished him to change. Azriel would devote himself to Nesta; give her his heart, his love, his everything.

Her hands caressed his face.

‘Mine,’ she whispered.

Azriel did not want a release. Had no need for fast, banal fucking. Not tonight.

He pressed Nesta down to the blankets. As his lips met hers, he entered her body. The gasp she emitted was a holy song that was only for them to know.

Their bodies moved together in slow waves of intimacy. Azriel barely wanted to peel his skin from Nesta’s, he wanted all of her, every soft moan or stroke of her hands against him. Her fingers grazed against his broken ribs and battered face. A testament to what he’d endure so they could have this.

They made love without hurry. There was a whole future ahead of them.

***

Nesta had never been so cherished. When she had tried to emerge from the bed, shadows had tangled around her body. They tugged her back onto the mattress then Azriel’s eyes opened. He’d murmured a “not yet” and his shadows rolled her to him. A leg clamped over hers then a wing swept around both of them. The sleepy shadow singer burrowed against her. The warmth of his body had Nesta’s own eyes drifting back closed.

Their sleep came like waves, one waking and the other pulling them back to a sleepy embrace. The grey morning didn’t entice them from the covers either.

A light knock on the bedroom door, roused them both. Nesta tugged the blankets up over her body, even though she had slipped her night gown back on to fend against the chill. Azriel groaned into the pillow.

Rovena entered, carrying a tray of breakfast and tea. Despite Nesta’s sheer mortification that she was currently in bed with Azriel in his mother’s presence, Rovena did not bat an eyelid. She settled the tray down on the bedside table. Elta streaked in after her, pouncing onto the bed to wrestle against a shadow.

Then the female crouched down by the fireplace where she began stacking logs and packing it with kindling.

‘Don’t do that,’ Azriel said. ‘I can do it.’

Rovena gave him a smile over her shoulder, but continued kindling flames with a striker. ‘Let me look after my son this once.’

Nesta pressed a hand against Azriel’s chest to stop him from rising. She had the sense that Rovena needed to do this; needed to take care of her son after being denied it in his childhood.

After Rovena had gone, Elta remained. Her claws swiped at shadows who seemed to delight in driving the cat to insanity. She grappled on the bed with them, staggering over Nesta’s ankles, trying to seize one.

‘Who is Joar?’

Azriel drizzled honey into a bowl of porridge then gave it to Nesta. ‘He came here yesterday?’

‘For a few hours over lunch.’

‘He’s a good male,’ Azriel said, offering no more.

It wasn’t right for her to press or to be nosy, but Nesta was unable to help herself. ‘He brings her food.’

Azriel nodded. ‘She doesn’t like to go to the village. Joar brings her whatever she wants. He’s compensated for it.’

Nesta had a feeling that the male would do it without payment. He’d limped through a storm yesterday for Rovena.

‘What happened to him?’

Faeries didn’t scar. Or at least they didn’t from most injuries. The only marks Azriel had on his body were the ones on his hands and faint ones on his wings.

Azriel pinned Elta with a hand. The black cat’s tail flicked and she chomped at the flesh between his thumb and finger. ‘That’s what two wars and a Blood Rite can do to a male. When the legion was blasted by the Cauldron, Joar was on the outskirts. One of the lucky ones.’

Nesta’s stomach roiled. She had known the Cauldron was about to do something that day. Had felt something terrible coming, a shadow that she could not name. And it had been Cassian’s name she screamed, knowing that shadow was coming for him. Perhaps a part of her had known deep down that the Cauldron had tied them together. But she did not want him. Did not want that male. Nesta deserved somebody who put her first.

‘Will you tell me what happened to your mother?’

The cat scratched Azriel hard enough to draw blood as shadows wreathed the hand she fought. His wings had become stiff like they had been carved from stone.

‘I only mean so that I do not say the wrong thing,’ Nesta continued. ‘I asked yesterday if you were also from the village. I don’t want to upset your mother again by not understanding her pain.'

Nesta nudged his arm, encouraging him to eat too. His mouth twisted. It was a difficult conversation to have. It ripped open wounds that he never wanted to acknowledge.

‘I love all of you,’ she reassured him.

‘This village is not aligned to any camp. It’s too far north. Each year, the lords rotate and one will come in Spring to recruit any worthy males for their camps. It hurts the village because they need strong males for fishing to survive. When my father came, he found the males lacking. Iron Crest has always been one of the cruellest, taking only the biggest, strongest – non-bastards.’ Azriel sucked in a breath. ‘But that year he took a liking to my mother instead. She was only sixteen, training to be a seamstress alongside her mother. He declared she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen and invited her to Iron Crest. He was much older than her, nearly six hundred and married, but handsome - and charming when he wanted to be.’

Nesta prised the cat’s claws from Azriel’s hand. He’d let it shred the skin. And she knew exactly why - because he needed pain to get through this story as a distraction. She kissed the swollen scratches.

‘My mother politely declined. He still pursued. Her own father was dead. She had no brothers. Only her mother to support her decision. That female encouraged my mother to go to Iron Crest where there were more opportunities than this frozen wasteland. I think maybe she knew that she’d not be able to protect her, that it would bring danger to the village to refuse a camp lord.’

‘He took what he wanted when he wanted. And then she fell pregnant. My mother was only ever allowed to feed me, no comfort, then after three months, she was swapped out for a wet-nurse and forced back to work. She couldn’t go home because I was trapped there. Joar was her friend. He was away on a fishing trip when my mother was taken to Iron Crest. When he found out… He threw himself into training. Managed to be selected for a camp named Hill Gate, entered the Blood Rite to become a true warrior. I think every drop of blood he’s ever shed was a step to get back to my mother. When I was dumped in Windhaven, Joar managed to steal her away. I think he knew she wouldn’t leave Iron Crest if I was trapped there too.’

Nesta kissed his hands again. It was the only comfort she could offer for such a tragic story.

‘Joar’s brother and his wife kept my mother safe. Mostly she lived on their boat so that he would not come under suspicion while he remained at Hill Gate. He was discharged after the war so could return here. I will always owe him for saving her life. My father’s wife… she was cruel to my mother. Rather than take out her hurt on her husband that he’d sired a bastard, she took out her rage on my mother. Her sons too.’ Azriel scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Rhys’ parents visited the camp to inspect it. His mother saw what was happening to my own. Realised that her child was somewhere in Iron Crest, seized from her. When I was dumped in Windhaven, she saw the resemblance to my father, realised I was the son of the downtrodden seamstress who’d mended her dress. She was the wife of a high lord but took pity on my mother. If she didn’t take me in at Windhaven, I’d likely be dead.'

‘Alright,’ Nesta said, stroking his face. ‘I know enough now. We don’t need to-’

‘Thank you,’ said Azriel, relieved that it was done.

They stayed in their silence, drinking the last dregs of tea from the pot even if was barely warm.

‘Sorry.’

Nesta’s heart cracked. ‘Don’t say sorry. Don’t ever apologise for something you had no control over.’

***

They spent another five days at Rosehall. It was the most time that Azriel had ever spent there. His mother would not hear of it if they offered to cook for her. She guarded the kitchen sink better than any sentry too, still claiming that they were guests and she liked being able to take care of them. Both he and Nesta were likely a stone heavier too, because she plied them constantly with food and snacks lovingly made – and Nesta felt too guilty to ever say she was full.

It made his heart swell to see how comfortable both females were with each other. There was a conversation to be had one day with Nesta about her own mother. She’d been reluctant to speak of her, but had said how different her own was to his. He was glad that Nesta found comfort with his.

Most evenings, they could be found sewing together with Nesta learning simple garments like a tunic or adding her own decoration to dresses his mother had already made. Joar made appearances most days too. Nesta would listen to his Illyrian folktales of fishermen who became heroes or their warrior, Enalius, with a fist propping up her chin at the table and a cat in her lap. Or she’d follow his mother’s instructions whilst learning to make Illyrian dishes, taking care so that the spiced pastries were perfectly folded and even.

Nesta had seized the culture that Azriel despised. She saw only the good in it, drew out all the light, when he saw only the savagery. Illyria could be good. They were proud people, but in the north, their hearts were filled with love.

On the rare few hours where Rosehall wasn’t swallowed by a tempest, all four of them took walks to show Nesta the landscape. It was still bitterly cold and often the wind battered them, but the fresh air worked wonders – at least Joar claimed it did. Often Azriel had to brace his wings to stop his mother and Nesta from being swept away in a gale.

It was worth it to see Nesta’s face the first time she saw the sea.

As the sea rushed along the shingle, Nesta’s face broke into one of wonder. Azriel heard her sudden intake of breath when it had emerged on the horizon with great waves pulsing forwards. The visibility was poor due to the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, but it didn’t bother Nesta. She probably would have stood there for hours, not caring about the cold that numbed her fingers if Azriel let her.

Azriel had encouraged his mother and Joar to return to the warm while he remained with Nesta. It took some tempting, but eventually, Nesta sat in his lap while still gazing out at the ocean. Her cheek was cold against his face. Her vigil remained.

‘Aren’t you freezing?’

‘No.’ Her eyes were wide and unblinking. ‘Before all of this happened, I wanted to go to the Continent. It was the sea crossing that stopped me. I heard stories of ships wrecked by it.’

Strange to think of the life that Nesta could have had without their intrusion to it. Azriel could not imagine a mortal Nesta, setting off alone to build a life in the Continent – yet at the same time, he could. She’d had an unbreakable will when they had met, never showing her fear or backing down even as a mortal.

There had never been the opportunity to grieve for the life she had lost; to mourn the opportunities that were now out of her grasp. Nesta had been too busy caring for her sister in her moment of need to lament the life that Prythian had stolen from her.

Azriel would give her the life she deserved. Give her those opportunities that had been taken from her.

‘If you want to go there, I’ll take you there.’

‘I exist where you are,’ she said, curling her body closer to his. ‘Where you go, I follow. Do you ever wonder how many people have done this? Just watched the sea curling against the shore? It feels like it calls to me. A song only I can hear.’

‘The sea is as powerful as you are. Joar always says that the song of the sea is one that none can deny,’ he said – and looking at Nesta, Azriel had to agree.

Her fingers were like shards of ice, her lips almost blue with the cold, but she begged for just one more minute watching the sea before he winnowed them back to the sanctuary of Rosehall.

Azriel soaked her cold feet and hands into warm water, before peeling off her stone-cold clothes and putting Nesta into his own thick tunic to stop her shivering.

There was something about seeing her in his clothes that sent his pulse shooting upwards. It was oversized and he so rarely saw Nesta in black that it had Azriel drawing Nesta in for a long kiss.

‘Rhys has asked me to go back to Velaris. Do you want to stay here a little longer or?’

‘I go where you go.’

@theleafpile @wannawriteyouabook @mis-lil-red @rarephloxes @loysydark

#nesta vs the buffer #nezriel

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kingandfireheart · 4 years ago

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The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

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A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws��grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,�� Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

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