#rhysand sister au

[cowboylament]

“I thought perhaps the hours I spent between your legs would rid you of your perpetual scowl for more than a few minutes.”

I scoffed, “You think highly of yourself.”

“With good reason from what I remember,” he hummed, leaning closer. “I could boast of many females I gave pleasure but none actually cried.”

The whip in my chest lashed for his amusement, but he didn’t flinch. His focus had landed on the heat of my face, the reddening of my chest, “Embarrassed?” 

“If I knew you’d be this arrogant I’d have never offered you that food in the first place.”

“Poor thing,” he cooed. “What a terrible male you’ve found yourself under.”

Or

Lucien is even more annoying now that he's mated.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Bonus, Ao3

I stared at the townhouse. Subtle signs of life had begun to poke through the windows. A wisp against the curtain, a shadow behind the glass, I watched from where we stood on the street in debate. We’d winnowed there ten minutes before but hadn’t gone in. The boys had made it home before us.

“They’re not gonna know.” He said flatly. 

“You should’ve let me go to the market. I could’ve gotten something to help.”

“And wash away any scent entirely. You don’t think that might be more suspect?” His face was relaxed, his voice wavered with no emotion. 

“The bite might be too far healed.”

Lucien rolled his shoulders. We’d had to, again, grow used to the distance between our bodies. That morning we’d barely been able to separate and now in consequence they were inside and we were out here. The morning was well on its way. Our absence if it had yet to go unnoticed would be realized soon. The bond, in retaliation to our separation, had become a thick wire between us, taught, and I don’t know if it would let us stray too far. Even with all of yesterday and the night before it had not been enough. Such a small distance from him to me, it had become unbearable. Idle, our discomfort was apparent to anyone who knew to pay attention. But we were here, and we had to deal with whatever lay waiting inside as something always, was, lying in wait inside. I crossed my arms, pulled my own body closer, bolstering my confidence once more. 50 years and no one had paid attention to us. This morning would not be the beginning. 

Lucien looked back over to me and amusement released him. The tension of his arms softened before his stone face was wiped clean away by a smile. His eyes fell to my neck. 

“Want me to give you another?”

I grimaced.

“I thought perhaps the hours I spent between your legs would rid you of your perpetual scowl for more than a few minutes.”

I scoffed, “You think highly of yourself.”

“With good reason from what I remember,” he hummed, leaning closer. “I could boast of many females I gave pleasure but none actually cried.”

The whip in my chest lashed for his amusement, but he didn’t flinch. His focus had landed on the heat of my face, the reddening of my chest. 

“Embarrassed?” 

“If I knew you’d be this arrogant I’d have never offered you that food in the first place.”

“Poor thing,” he cooed. “What a terrible male you’ve found yourself under.”

I opened the gate and left him in the street. It was unparalleled, this ability he had to erase all traces of need for him. I climbed the steps and pulled a forced composure over myself as if I were at court. I had practice at secrets too. My hand lazily grabbed the cool brass of the door. I turned over my shoulder barely sparing him a glance as I shoved it open.

“I might have cried but Illyrians never beg.”

The bond flooded with that dangerous and utterly amusing mated jealousy. The wind off the river was cold, but nothing was as bitter and scathing as the look he shot my way before I slammed the door behind me. The house, noisy as it always was, hints of life fluttering through the floorboards to the rooms below, did not conceal the muffled snarl that came from the street outside. I sucked in my cheeks and walked toward the commotion of the house, swallowing all laughter into my throat. 

The wraiths were just leaving when I passed into the dining room. The both of them stared at me, as if they might see what I’d not told them. They alone knew I was missing. For a moment under their intense scrutiny, I was sure they’d work it out. They of all people would be capable of such witnessing, but the two looked at each other with narrowed eyes and left me in the doorway. They took turns peering back at me and I didn’t move until they were gone in case the way I walked, how I turned my head or swayed my arms, gave me away. 

When I turned to survey the room I found only Rhys had surfaced. He sat at the table, paying no special mind to me as I approached.

“Who won?” I asked.

“Azriel.”

I smiled, pulling food onto my plate. 

“Where were you? I went to your room when I got back but you weren’t there,” Rhys asked. His curiosity genuine, his eyes and words remaining casual and unsuspecting between us. The discovery I was missing didn’t inspire any suspicion. I let a small sigh and while I expected some relief there was a lingering strain in my chest. I absently ran my fingers over my heart. The world seemed unstable. A delicate secret between us and so easily it could be broken open, even if he guessed nothing about it.

“I didn’t want to interrupt Egrette’s solstice with the words I had in mind.”

“Won’t forgive her for choosing Lucien over you then.”

“I’ve known her a few centuries and he is far more annoying and useless than me.”

Rhys shook his head, laughter light and easy falling into the room. From the hall, we heard the door closing. Lucien appeared a moment later, rounding the corner with usual casualty. It was no surprise that he remained unflinching in the illusion of normalcy and indifference, as if his usual self was always just a glamor that I’d grown immune to.

“How was it?” Rhys asked.

Lucien didn’t even hesitate, “I’m surprised you had a city to return to.”

As we’d dressed in the cottage we’d constructed a careful story. It had been fun before, to be against one another in things like this, but as a team, there was an even greater advantage and added pleasure in duping not just a single person, but everyone. 

“Who won then?”

“Egrette,” we said in unison. 

Rhys sat back with his usual grace, “I’d go up against Amren before I went against that female.”

“Well, it was nice knowing you,” Lucien huffed. The pair shared twin smiles and a look that seemed to convey everything that had been unsaid between them. Some further joke, I suspect, at my expense. 

It was strange, not the joy they inspired in one another, but the lack of surprise I felt at witnessing it. No time had passed and my small world had utterly transformed. Lying on this table they’d stood a room away, one ready to kill the other ready to die. Now they shared it, unknowingly in part, as family. A mutual deal they shared at living, with life. And it's strange to think that these things work out as they should, that this was the best scenario, that I’d have never guessed the best scenario until only recently. This perpetually unfolding thing, always half hidden behind a crease, the greater life impossible until it isn't. What a joy it was, to be alive to see such secrets revealed.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. 

“They should be here soon.” 

I hummed, pulling my plate close, pouring my tea. A lick of flame brushed my leg and though I didn’t see its shape, it was known to me. The long fingers of a familiar hand, caressing not so much in provocation, but comfort. Lucien didn’t look at me and I didn’t look at him. I had never wanted to be beside someone so badly in all my life. It was too far, even just having him out of my eyeline. He was right there and all mine and the secret thrashed in my throat, my chest, my mind. My eyes strained, but still, I didn’t look.

Azriel appeared first, and unlike himself ever so slightly, a few minutes after us. He found his spot beside me as he usually did, only he was nearly sauntering. I withheld the observation. After so many years I still suspected the novelty of their game would wear off. Yet the shadow singer looked toward me and smiled brightly before he reached for the food. Cassian arrived after with Amren. Mor winnowed in last. The usual and unusual behavior fell proportionately and as such the tension in Lucien and my spine, in our eyes, was lost in the mix of the lightness of Azriel’s. No one was the wiser talking about their days, about the day after Solstice. 

“What did you get up to while we were away then Y/N?” Cassian asked “No longer needed to sneak into Lucien’s room I assume.”

Mor rolled her eyes, “You really are the worst.” 

Cassian smirked, “It's just a question.”

“A loaded one,” Amren added. “At least she doesn’t throw it in our faces. I prefer the surprise to your endless Illyrian—”

“After two centuries” Rhys interrupted, not looking up from his plate, “I’d be surprised to discover she hadn’t been in his room. No one likes a tattle tale, Cassian.”

I smiled at the Illyrian, “Next time you want me to tuck you into bed just ask,”

“As long as Lucien doesn’t mind,” he countered.

All eyes fell to my mate who turned toward Cassian, his indifference breaking into an amused half smile, “I might get jealous, you know I prefer to do it.”

Rhys turned toward me, mouth in a tight line. He was seeing, as I had seen those first days, that these two together would be a dangerous combination. I shrugged and turned back to my food and the conversation fell into casual chatter. Azriel described in great detail the moments before his win the day before. Cassian offered his edits to the story, Rhys mediated from time to time.

I suppressed a yawn, kept my head down, and settled into the weight at my eyes. Sleep had been something forced rather than found. That morning I’d woken with my body draped over Lucien. He was still inside me, a dreamless sleep, but full. All it took was the turn of my head, the flush cheek from the cold morning meeting his warm skin, and he’d woken. The shift of alertness had prompted something raspy and deep from his chest to rise into the silence. He hadn’t even opened his eyes before he was sinking deeper into me. Words and names only became available after we’d finished once, and even then it was very few. My name rolled around his mouth carried on some gust of pleasure he’d swallowed. He whispered it into my neck, my hair, turning us over my hips meeting the soft mattress, the only mercy. He was relentless, the sheets damp where my mouth opened against them, as he pushed into me over and over. He’d not been demanding, not at least that morning. The only order he gave came in the press of his fingers beneath my naval, lifting my hips against his thrusts, the curve of my body meeting his. His fingers sunk lower, and at their touch, I said his name as if I were giving it to him myself. What had broken open inside of us was a kind of life, so new and so desperately wanting to live it was impossible to deny it.

A tug at the bond pulled me from the memory, but I could not look toward it as I wanted to. Could not follow it as I wanted to, could not be outright in any way what had begun to burst from me since his arrival. Someone would see. Living things were hard to miss, even those that knew how to hide.

I licked my lips.

“Do you have any business in the Illyrian camps anytime soon?”

“Wishing to be rid of us?” Azriel asked.

I let my head fall lazily toward him, “We do not find your yearly tradition as particularly entertaining or charming as you. I already miss the quiet.”

“The alone time,” Mor said into her cup and I could not tell if it was a dig at me or at the three males who, even half distracted, managed to bore me by proximity.

“Next week,” Rhys said. “In the meantime, we should get started seriously planning for Starfall. Each year it seems to approach faster than the last with Calanmai right behind it.”

“It must be terribly difficult on you, throwing a party only to have to perform the rite. Such a weight falling from your shoulders and into your lap,” Cassian said.

Amren retorted for Rhys, “We all partake. You Illyrian dogs especially.”

Cassian unphased fell back in his chair feigning deep thought, “Where’d you get off to last rite Amren, again?” 

I sucked in my cheeks. She’d missed the whole night, a tradition she’d enjoyed most years before and very thoroughly. Since then she has been pretending the holiday meant nothing to her. Idle fae nonsense as she’d called it, proof of our uncivilized beginnings.

“I’m not the one who was found asleep in the bushes last year.”

Cassian shrugged, “Nor was I.”

“Well it wasn’t Rhys,” Mor said. “A young female in a very familiar jacket was slipping out that morning as I got home.”

I scrunched my nose and turned away. Lucien’s mind was open and I entered it as a little distraction.

I’d be interested to see how the Autumn Court celebrates fire night.

He rolled his shoulders again. It’s not gentle.

I’d be disappointed if it was.

Don’t start.

“Even so,” I said sipping from my glass, “apparently Azriel is the most upstanding of you all. The bushes are far less ridiculous than how I’ve found you both many nights.”

Cassian snorted, “That’s laughable. And I believe I have a few stories to share about where and how I’ve found you.”

I waved a hand indifferently, but I knew that had he told any of them Lucien would need to have the utmost control of his emotions to brush it away. Or else, if I could reach down the bond, I’d have to pull him from this fleeting phase of territorial show. Even now the bond between us had tightened.

“I’d be very careful Y/N, such provocation got your secrets spilled once before,” Mor advised. A veiled encouragement, though not as obvious as Amren’s who’d leaned forward with such grace to look at me from down the table. 

“Keep going, I’d like to hear.”

“Now,” Rhys said, forcing the single syllable out into the room to puncture whatever momentum had been building. He turned toward Lucien, “Since you’re officially free to roam, I was curious if you knew anyone over in Dawn Court.”

Lucien nodded, “I’ve plenty of friends, a few very good ones.”

Rhys hummed, “I might have business over there for you soon. Would you be interested in going?”

“A change of scenery would be welcome.”

How radiant he could be, in the light of dawn. I’d only seen him there a few times, only had to go a few times, but when he was there he seemed to touch something stunning and ethereal that softened that meticulously carved existence of his. It made him touchable, made him more real than he’d ever been. I felt susceptible to wounding him, as if he were further from his usual self and yet we were closer than ever. I would not go with him, could not go with him, but I should like to. Not because I’m particularly possessive, but because this thing we had together, what we’d become, was a kind of goodness that made people hopeful instead of envious.

“Will you manage, with your mate away,” Cassian asked, “or will you haunt this house all over again?”

I sucked at my teeth and began to lather butter on a roll, “Now that my work is done I suppose I’ll use the time to catch up on some sleep.”

There was a stillness, like that of an animal about to pounce, the whole world not yet in its claws and yet in them all the same. Their attention acute, I held firm, didn’t let anything cross my face as the room shifted in its energy, something once united with me now against. Lucien’s foot from under the table nudged against my own ever so slightly. I’m here, it said. I pulled away, crossing one over the other. 

“You’re famously very busy,” Azriel said.

“She gets Cassian out of trouble. That’s no idle hobby,” Amren said.

I didn’t look up at their satisfied faces, not until Rhys mused with a lethal smile, “And what, pray tell, is this work you’ve been doing?”

Still put out that I’d kept him in the dark over Helion—with good reason. In time, as I’d said. I met his teasing stare with my flat matter-of-fact one and nodded toward Lucien, “Finishing our mating ceremony.”

It had been unfathomable that any more tension could settle along the spine, but surprise filled Lucien’s being so that he became as straight as an arrow. The rest of the table, however, fell—each in their own way. Their faces downturned, the shoulders curved, mouths open, the only sound was the clatter of a fork before the wind off the river warped the glass on the windows making them sing. I took a bite of the roll, waited for movement, for noise, something to break the moment but Amren was the only one managing the news with any movement. With a smile, she leaned back leisurely in her chair. 

I no longer needed what I’d just a day ago had needed. Or maybe I simply didn’t desire it, how love transforms you and changes you. Everything was precious, maybe we didn’t have the time we thought, maybe we had all the time we thought and it would be made better by inviting everything closer to me. I would risk it all, love, respect, pain even, if it meant being known. Lucien had done so long before Velaris, taken all he’d learned in his hands and even then he’d been gentle. I was still afraid, but not in the same way, but it had never really been about being unafraid. I would not hide any longer, out from the wings. Where once there had been darkness now shall be light.

My face though did not break as theirs had. The years of relentless teasing were worth it just to watch them so dumbfounded. I turned toward my mate and smiled at him and he bowed his head.

Good game, he seemed to say.

“You what?” Rhys asked finally. 

“After Solstice I made the food, I gave it to Lucien and blah blah you know how it works.”

“Don’t get too emotional, Y/N,” Lucien said in mimicked flatness. My mouth twitched and I took another bite of my food to prevent the look of glory from slipping entirely into bliss just yet. I wanted to revel in my winnings. Not only a mate, but everything—I’d had everything. 

“You’re mated?” Azriel said, voice hollow and breathy.

“Yeah, as far as I know,” I said looking back to my plate and continuing to eat.

“And…and that’s it?” Mor said.

I turned to Lucien, “Did you want to throw a party?” 

With his mouth downturned he nodded his head back and forth as if each option sat as a weight on either shoulder. Such profound joy struck so deeply that I knew it had cemented itself in every life to come. A game we’d play forever, he and I against the world. That mask of indifference fell with the most amusing effect, but the bond was bright with our shared mischief. 

“I can’t see why we’d need one,” he said. 

“But…the Frenzy?” Cassian said.

Lucien coughed, surprised, and the both of us grew red. I glared at the Illyrian who winced in apology as we recovered from what our silence admitted. No one seemed to notice, however, stuck in the stupor of what had been revealed. The veil of privacy was not totally lifted, and the embarrassment fell away faster than ever.

“Now that we’ve avoided the search party,” I hummed standing and checking the time on the clock. “Are you ready to go?”

Lucien nodded and I felt his relief though he showed nothing of it as he began to rise. 

“Go where?” Mor asked. 

I smiled, “I’ll tell you later.”

“When did you do it?” Rhys asked with unwavering stoicism, his eyes narrowing, looking between the both of us. His attention apparently flimsy, I opened my mouth to answer with a huff but Lucien spoke first, a sharpness to his gaze, like that he’d used against me at dinners previous.

“Just after midnight.”

“Hold on,” Cassian said both hands out before him. “You don’t mean solstice last, or even 50 years ago, you mean a few days ago?”

“While you all were preoccupied with your bets and that stupid little game I was busy too. So was Lucien.”

“You’re joking,” Cassian said.

Lucien clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Fortunately not. That handful, as you call her, is all mine.”

“You have our utmost sympathies,” Amren said.

Lucien, suddenly braver in the face of the small female, leaned toward her with a toothy grin, “So I heard.”

The female just nodded in a kind of approval. A signifying gesture, I believe, that if Lucien were to behave like Cassian then he would be subject to her insults as he was. Officially, then, part of our family. Lucien pushed in his chair and joined me on the other side of the table, placing a hand around my back and lightly brushing against it. I don’t know if we could manage much else without falling apart. I would’ve leaned in, I wanted to, would have grabbed his hand, and brought us back to the cottage then, but Rhys had yet to utter more than a few apathetic words. Even still he sat silently staring at the tips of Lucien’s fingers which could just barely be seen from his perspective, before meeting my gaze.

“So,” Rhys sighed, “he forced your hand then.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” 

“Don’t tell me it was a surrender. You were raised better.”

“It certainly wasn’t that,” Lucien said under his breath and I shot him a glare. 

“It was a momentary truce to renegotiate the terms of our agreements.” 

Rhys looked at me skeptically, “So those cheap lines worked then.”

I smiled, “You’re cruel.”

He shrugged as if to agree. As he stood from his chair, however, all at once whatever excitement he’d been hiding burst out from him in two long strides. He was there before us in an instant and he grabbed me into his arms and with a booming laugh squeezed me against him, lifting me off the floor. He swung us around with little care and I laughed in return, just as loud. The world broke open with life. Some deep well I didn’t think would ever cease.  When he placed me down again, he held my shoulders at an arm's length, looking me over with the same face he’d had at Solstice. It was the kind of gratitude he did not have to say, one glad to be allowed close to me, to know of such happiness and things. I mirrored the look back.

We pulled away and Lucien had his arm around me the moment he could manage it. 

“Where are my winnings?” He asked.

Rhys was already reaching into his pocket, however, as if he knew the question was coming. Tossing a small sack his way, Lucien caught it as the coins clanged from within it. 

I pulled away from his hold.

“You placed a bet?”

He shrugged, “Rhys and I went double or nothing once he was the only one left. He’d thought you’d do it by Solstice, I thought you’d do it by Starfall.”

“Conflict of interest,” Cassian said, the liveliness having returned to his face.

I paid him no mind, “But you tried to mate me before the solstice.” 

“I’d have been fine if Rhys won, would have preferred it really, but you have a predisposition for doing the thing that will bother me the most. I bet on that. I had nothing to lose, I won either way.

I turned to my brother, “And you would’ve won had you not interfered. That little early morning chat was your demise.”

Rhys rubbed the back of his head, opened his mouth to speak, but came up empty.

“If I weren’t so happy I’d throttle you.”

“Then let us celebrate,” He smiled throwing an arm around me but I couldn’t retract the brightness of my face from its fall upon the room. In reply a chorus of chairs scraped against the floor, arms were flung around us both and so fast, with such muttered, fast excited words, I couldn’t keep track of who they came from. Words of congratulations and I knew it and a return of all the teasing remarks they’d abandoned for all of five minutes in their shock. A short-lived victory, at least between us, but that was not what I had wanted to keep forever anyway. Over Azriel’s shoulder, I spotted Lucien smiling at Rhys, the two hugging, and none of it mattered. I could live here, in this, if he were here. 

We broke away and in a circle we all stood staring at each other. I couldn’t tell if a moment had completed or just begun, but there was both a settling and a building around us that seemed to suggest both things could be true at once. 

“You’ll be having a party then,” Azriel asked.

“You’ll need to help me plan it.”

“First one to duck out pays for the ceremony.”

I laughed and Mor turned to Lucien, “Glad she finally relented.”

Lucien bowed his head, “We have you to thank.”

The two eyed each other with the childish glee of two people who had secrets between them. I knew enough to know whatever had happened the night that they’d found each other in the bar had made a difference to both of them. 

“And you,” I said turning toward Cassian who was standing arms crossed looking at Lucien. “Don’t be too put out that he picked me over you. I’ll send him home each night to tuck you in.” 

“Send him home from where?” Mor asked. 

Cassian didn’t seem phased, “Glad to see you’ve gone unchanged despite the bond.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Clearly you don’t know either of us if you think we’d ever be so ridiculous.”

Everyone looked between them and the bite at my neck seemed to burn in answer, but Rhysand spared us, stepping out from the circle to give space to clear and asking, “You’re going to the cottage?”

“What cottage!” Mor asked, exasperated. 

“Yes,” I said.

My brother smiled generously, “Then I’ll see you in a week.”

“And what of work?” I asked.

“You said it yourself you’ve been awfully busy,” He said, with the wave of a skeptical hand. It seemed he did not recall the efforts with which he himself had taken just to get us speaking to one another. “Enjoy that mating vacation. You get only one.”

Lucien’s hand settled firmly on me. He was ready to go then. The whole room was lighter, warmer, than when we’d entered it. A fine thing really, to share yourself with the world and to see that world reflect it back. I would never, no, I would never be so closed again. Lucien pulled me into him as if he could feel it, tucking me into the curve of his body almost as he had earlier that morning.

“Go,” Rhys said. “I don’t want to see either of you for more than a few days.” 

With the bow of our heads, we were gone.

Lucien had dropped us into the cottage. We landed in the entry, and before I could turn to smile at him both hands were at my face, holding it so he could push his lips against my mouth. I laughed into him, as he trailed away, leaving small and light kisses against my cheeks, temple, nose, forehead. 

“Thank you for telling them,” he said, voice both aching for something and intently satisfied. 

“Don’t go to dawn,” 

“I won’t,” he said pushing us toward the stairs. 

“Defying your High Lord. Has the bond made you soft on me?” 

He took my hand and pushed it between his legs in answer. I’d have laughed again if it had not demolished whatever foundation I’d put in place to help me last through breakfast. Lucien made to grab either side of my dress near the buttons at the back and I grabbed his arms immediately, pulling away from our kiss.

“You already owe me one dress.”

He smiled, “What did you think the money was for?” His winnings in his pocket he pulled from my grip to show them to me once more, “Certainly not for me.”

“I like this dress.”

“Then I will take great care to keep you out of it.”

I raised a brow at him but he pulled our bodies away and began to untuck his shirt, revealing slivers of skin as he went for his pants, unbuttoning them. Caught as I was, staring at him in the daylight, the streaks of sun coming through the rooms, revealing the outline of everything I could not see. 

He nodded his head at me, “Hike it up.”

I blinked, “What?”

“I have little patience. If you don’t wish to lose it, hike up your dress.”

I narrowed my eyes before bending forward slowly to grab the hem. He watched, pushing the waist of his pants to his thighs. How lazily I’d run my tongue across them the night before. And now, slowly I gave him access to more skin, the material sliding up my legs. His eyes following the smooth skin, gaze alight, mouth watering.

“Are you to have me here?” I asked, “Or will you be a gentleman?”

“I never claimed to be one, not at least with you.”

I huffed a laugh, the hem brushing my knee, “You’re no better than the boys I knew. Your pants shoved down your legs, maybe I ought to go—”

“Don’t push me,” He said.

The dress revealed my thighs and his eyes fell between them. All emotion from his face fled and was replaced with awe—his feelings and wants so filthy they became pure. 

“Why?” I said and he took a step forward, tentative, all that restlessness now cresting into a wave of desire. What had us rushing for our buttons and belts we’d reigned in for the last part of the game. “You weren’t going to be gentle anyway,” I said placing a hand on his shoulder in wait.

“No,” he said finding enough will to look away, to look at me. “I wasn’t.”

He lifted me off my feet, his hands at the back of my thighs, the dress pooling at my hips. My back was against the wall in one swift step. He found the only bit of empty space on that wall, a miracle and not by his design. The moment I’d shown him my arousal all thought of leaving that spot had vanished from him. The cool of the wood had not yet seeped through my clothing before he lined himself up and buried himself inside me. 

I gasped, my hands balling his shirt in my fist. He savored the moment of relief, moaning against my throat pushing his face closer to my skin and inhaling my scent. I was nearly panting at the fullness, the heat of our skin building in one single thrust. He found my chin and pushed my face to the side, and sucked at the skin of my neck, his fingers slipping into my mouth. I lapped my tongue at them, before closing my lips and sucking. He pulled away to watch my mouth, eyes dropping to my chest where the need rose and fell. He pushed his fingers further and drool slipped from my mouth.

“Has anyone ever been so pretty around my cock and fingers?” He asked, shaking his head already in answer. I whimpered against him and he removed them, smiling as he leaned forward, “Should I be mean and make you beg too?”

“Lucien,” I said, wrapping my legs around him. If he wouldn’t move, then I would. 

He laughed, an arm out to the side to steady and I knew it would be brutal. Especially with the soft purr of his voice as his mouth nipped my ear and promised, “No, I’ll be nice.”

He withdrew to the tip before thrusting hard setting a pace that held little mercy. I clenched around him, clamped my thighs tighter on his hips, and bit at his shoulder to suppress the whine I felt building in my throat. He hissed, but did not relent, and instead pressed his slick fingers between my legs, working circles at my clit.

I fell back from him, back against the wall, and moaned desperately. A heat had already begun to build in my stomach. It was like this with no one else, that a single touch could begin and finish me. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to climax, knowing if I looked between us where our bodies met as he fucked into me, I would finish and he’d tease me forever. He’d use his tongue where I was most sensitive and make me cry.  

“You’re already close I bet,” He said snapping his hips into me. “What a selfish mate I have. Can’t even wait for me to cum with her.”

“You’d have to know what you were doing for me to be that close,” I said.

He hummed, “I don’t know what I’m doing?”

I shook my head.

“Show me then,” he said winnowing us to the bedroom, his cock still buried just as deep. He pulled me off, tossing me onto the bed but wasted no time, falling between my spread legs and giving me a heavy needy kiss. I began to back up onto the bed, Lucien crawling after me. I closed my eyes again from the sight of it, of him on all fours following. I could feel it, all the distance between us.

I knew the risk even as I did it, the cotton in either hand, both sides of his shirt between my fingers that in one sharp tug pulled. The buttons showered onto the bed and Lucien withdrew just enough to look down at his now exposed chest. Amusement alight between my ribs he smiled just slightly and whatever niceties he’d meant before, if you could call them that, I knew had vanished. I knew too, that however much I liked this dress, it would need repairing. So I let him flip me over and ruin it as he had ruined me. 

Nude before him he pulled me into his lap and I sank onto him with relief. His hands at first guiding me I would not, however, give him more satisfaction than he deserved. So I let him watch me stifle my moan. He leaned back against the bed frame and I waited for him to lift my hips but instead, he tucked his arms behind his head. Such male satisfaction on his face. That anyone got to see him this way, so smug, so flush with his pleasure, made my blood hot.

“Show me,” He repeated. “What does the little emissary like?”

I willed my face not to flush and leaned forward, our lips nearly touching, “Bastards,” I whispered. His mouth opened with the slight friction. I smiled, “wings.” 

He grabbed the nape of my neck and forced our mouths together. I needed no further encouragement, rocking my hips setting my own brutal pace. He groaned before sitting forward, pulling me upright, and taking my nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled against it and I arched into him, holding to his shoulder for support as I rode him. He moved to the other side, savoring one long broad stroke of his tongue. 

Neither of us was able to keep up any rouse or game, he pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me, and began to fuck into me. I panted against him, legs shaking, as at last the heat coiled inside me. 

He was all praise, “Such a perfect cunt, isn’t it? So good for me.”

I gasped as his hands moved my hips, giving him room to go deeper. He smiled up at me, and I let my eyes close as I felt every inch of him over and over again. He pushed some hair from my face, cradled my cheek, and said, “Show me again, how pretty you look when it’s your bastard mate making you cum.”

And with those words, the proximity of our bodies, his mouth at my nipple, I came undone. Whatever shift of my hips I had used to meet his thrusts stuttered to a stop and he without faltering drove into me. Sensitive and exhausted, he did not let up, my legs closing around him. When he finally stopped, he let go only to force my gaze onto him with stoic command. 

“Ride me.” 

A breath left me, but I grabbed him for leverage. My face grew red as I rose shakily on my thighs and sank back down on his cock. A whine escaped, but I was saved partially by the hum of pleasure he let out. I knew the taunts the noise veiled. If I continued that way, so weak from my orgasm, it would be only a matter of time before he played the hand. I gripped the headboard until my knuckles were white and rocked against him, not with the speed I had before, but close. His eyes shut and his mouth fell open, the beauty of his face enhanced by his own pleasure. It was enough to keep me moving, to ignore the burning at my thighs as I rose to the tip and took him deeper.

He laughed lazily, he was close, “I think you can do better than that.”  

I grabbed at his neck with a sudden lucidity, the haze of orgasm lifitng and turned his head to expose the place below his ear. I ran my teeth down the sensitive skin, “You’re a real wretch.”

Lucien was surprised, but arousal flared. He wrapped a firm hand around my wrist and pulled it away, kissing my palm. 

“Get me off and we can really play.”

I hummed, nipped at his skin, and with such encouragement, rose and sunk onto him with the same mercilessness he’d had when we began. All quips, all control fell apart in his throat and were replaced with his own sounds of pleasure. I braced myself on his chest and watched him writhe beneath me, his climax building, his breath furious. 

“Y/N,” he whimpered and I laughed. How quickly the hands changed. 

I leaned forward, “Watch me,” I said and his eyes opened. I smiled, “You’re being so compliant.”

“Y/N,” He repeated with greater desperation. 

“Do you want me to stroke your ego too, is that it?” I said, my words dripping with amusement. How glad I was, to have switched our old game for this one. He groaned and I leaned forward whispering against his lips, “What do you need to hear, how you’ve ruined me? It’s true. This perfect cunt is yours.”

Lucien grabbed my hips and I kissed him as he pushed himself into me entirely. He held me against him and spilled into me as he let out raspy moans. They vibrated through my bones, filling me enough that just the sound made me wetter than I was before.

We lay like that as he panted into my hair. Even once he was done he did not let go. His heart beat calming, the thud of it pressing the warmth of his chest to mine. I let a few minutes go by before I shifted in my restlessness. His voice a few notes lower than it had been when we arrived followed speaking with stunning clarity and conviction, “I want to taste you.”

***

It took a week. Down to the hour even, on the 7th day, the heat of desire became a simmer. On a dime yes I wanted him more badly than I had ever wanted anyone, but we managed to get out of bed and make dinner, get dressed, have a conversation that involved topics outside our bedroom. 

Rhys had given us a week, and we used the two days after the frenzy had ended to put the house back in order. Part of which involved the brief conversation with my brother as we grabbed a few things from the townhouse. Mor, he informed us, had not relented in wanting to know what the cottage was after we left and he’d managed to hold off on telling her if we promised to host family dinner. So even as the winds off the Sidra pressed in on the house, I kept the windows open. Lucien in answer kept the hearths ablaze, but he was never too far anyway, the warmth of his body even through his clothes a second remedy. I would not have them over, until they could tell our scent from Ritas.

“I can do this,” Lucien said taking the knife from my hand, his sleeves rolled up. I followed the expanse of his arm to meet his face. His mouth pulled into a soft smirk, he watched me from the corner of his eye. His amusement was not foreign to me, I felt it in myself, to see him at his most domestic, the pleasure of seeing him finally at home. 

“When will they be here?” He asked as the blade met the cutting board. 

“I told them to come once it got dark.”

Outside the sun had almost entirely dipped beyond the horizon. If Mor was not here the moment the light disappeared I would be more than surprised. Amren surely late and last. I rested against my elbow, leaning on the counter, stealing vegetables freshly cut. Lucien’s fingers curled, the knife brushing the knuckle.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” I asked.

“Where did you?”

“Egrette,” we said in unison.

“I didn’t imagine Rhys was giving you many lessons,” He admitted. “My mother taught me.”

“Did she cook a lot?”

“On our birthdays.”

I hummed. The side of his face was a glow from the warm lights off the sunroom. We’d moved the dining table there so we might eat under the stars. Low lamps lit made the whole room a subtle blaze.

“What did she make you?”

Something heavy and light took over his face, a good memory, but a memory just the same.

“Harvest bread.”

Somewhere the Cauldron and the mother was laughing. I leaned forward and placed a kiss against his shoulder. He sighed with relief. I began to pull glasses from the cabinets, lining them against the counter for when everyone arrived. I was sure beyond measure that tonight we’d be faced with a dozen or more questions about our mating ceremony. Something I’d thought little about, all of it had felt so real, so sure, the ceremony itself seemed redundant by comparison. Anyone who looked at us would know. I’d felt it in the market when we went to buy food. At long last, he was here, what had been missing, what everyone knew to be missing before I had, even my hands.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Yes. Are you?”

I nodded. He tried to hide the satisfaction at the answer, like all this happiness if he showed it would make it easier to take away, but there would be time to remember. There would be time to forget what had already happened. This goodness would not leave, I would not let it get taken away.

The last light dimmed and I counted the seconds, 37, until the first knock came. I looked at Lucien to see if he was ready if such a thing were possible. He playfully rolled his eyes, but as I made to leave he grabbed my arm and pulled me into him. He was still smiling as he gave me one final playfully outrageous kiss. His hands wet from the vegetables pressed into my skin. Our teeth gracelessly knocked together and I laughed, kissing him back, letting his tongue slip in my mouth. 

“I’m going to smell like garlic,” I said into his tight lipped grin.

“I’ve done worse.”

He let me go barely, the soft sounds of the knife at the cutting board returned more feverishly. I walked down the hall and just as I had my hand on the knob a second more frantic string of knocks came unending. I hadn’t had the door a sliver open before it was bursting, blonde, bounding down the hall.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” she yelled, walking between both rooms, kicking her shoes off, looking closely at everything hung on the wall. “We could have been so much worse those years if I knew we could come here after.”

She didn’t wait for my reply and merely rolled along, into the kitchen. Her voice carrying as she yelled Lucien’s name. I turned back to the open door where Rhys stood. His brows were carelessly lifted as he looked at me.

“You smell like garlic.”

“I’ve been cooking.”

“I’ll be leaveing here hungry.”

I shoved his shoulder and he laughed easily. Lucien yelled from the kitchen, “Don’t listen to her I was the one cooking.”

Rhys stepped inside shrugging his jacket off, “Then its fine.”

“How quickly you join his side!” 

He, like Mor, began to turn about the hall checking out the walls and their decor. He knew the cottage existed but he’d not been inside after it had been finished. In fact whenever I was here, however rare that was, he never came over. The closest I got was he stood outside once while I dropped something off that I’d bought at the rainbow. 

“Anyone who wins money off of me has my utmost respect and resentment. Cassian and Azriel should be just behind us. They wanted to fly.”

I left the door ajar. Rhysand’s focus had landed on a receipt from his birthday with perhaps the largest sum we’d ever acquired on tab. He huffed a laugh at the memory, if any left. We’d never been more drunk and I don’t know if we could ever be so drunk again. Cassian had to pay it and he never forgave us for it. I had secretly suspected he cheated so often after, if only to win something.

“What would you like for your mating gift?” Rhys asked. How predictable we all were. There was money to be made in placing these bets, if I participated I didn’t doubt I’d win every time.

“A favor.”

He raised a brow at me and I smiled, “Forgive Gawayn.”

Rhys barked a laugh, “Of all the things I expected you to say. What reason did he send you with as to why I should?”

Perhaps I wouldn’t win every time. Rhys knew everyone a bit too well too. 

“He thinks you might use his stealth.”

He shook his head, a smile plastered on his face,“Its amazing he has managed not to piss every male over there off.”

“I’ve said the same thing for years.”

“I’ll do it, but think of something you want truly.”

I bowed my head in answer. A hiss came from the pans on the stove and it drew our attention a moment. Mor was searching through the cabinets and before I could ask what she wanted or if she were simply making herself at home, the door banged open, striking a frame and nearly knocking it off the wall.

“We’ve been sleeping on Mor’s couch when this place has been open?” Cassian said his voice booming, disrupting the house to the very foundation.

“Nice to see you too,” I said before he stepped forward and brought me into his arms. I hugged him back and he placed me down with a hiss.

“My my, have you gotten stronger? I think my rib is broken.”

I shook my head, pointed him toward the kitchen, “Wine is in there.”

He winked and made his way down the hall. Azriel wordlessly stepped through the threshold, having shut the door silently behind him. I’m sure it hadn’t been hard with all that noise being made. 

He gave a soft smile, “It’s lovely here.” Then he handed me a gift. Flowers. 

I pressed them to my nose, inhaled. “Thank you.”

He nodded a bit bashful before he stepped through. I watched him make his way to the kitchen, the congregation of bodies connecting, voices raising and mingling so I couldn’t tell what was being said. Lucien threw his arms out and Cassian watched enamored. Mor looked to Azriel with some skepticism. 

The cottage, it had never been this. I’d filled it with things, with memories, but from the moment the door had closed and the builders had left it lacked the life I had bought it for. I could see it all so clearly, the issue. I wanted something that was mine and was waiting for it to take on the warmth of having been lived in without allowing any life near it. I’d wasted time, just enough I should think, but that part of our life was over and I could never go back. This, I could tell, was the very best thing. 

When I turned back Rhys was staring at me, a softer look around his eyes. He let me see it, as I had let him see me. 

“I need to speak with you,” I said.

He bowed his head, “After you.” His voice was hoarse, straining against his emotion. I liked to think that I too would get to hold such happiness for him. He’d already done enough to deserve such a thing. I lead him to the livingroom, and put the flowers in a vase we’d had the fern in a few days before.

“Quite the library,” Rhys said. “Helion will be envious if you no longer visit.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about,” I said closing my hands together in front of me. “You should know that I discovered a few things in Day Court. My bargain is legitamte, but you have no reason to worry. I’ve spoken with—”

A piercing shriek came from two voices in unison, “Y/N we forgot the wine!” 

Rhys and I jumped, walking to the hall and peering out toward the kitchen. We just as fast needed to duck away, Cassian and Lucien had come barreling our way. Lucien turned to come back, grabbing my face and giving a chaste kiss that as it peeled away turned to laughter.

“What are you doing?”

“Its a race,” He said Cassian already tying his boots. Lucien shoving his own on in haste. 

“Whoever wins gets to sleep in your room,” Cassian said. 

I raised a brow, “What about me?”

The Illyrian smirked, but looked at Lucien in answer, “That’s the prize.”

He had a death wish on a good day. He wouldn’t pass up a freshly mated male. If he were any closer to Rhys, Cassian would have been throttled, but Lucien within arms reach gave nothing away, no jealousy, just finished tying his laces as Cassian went for the door. The two males burst out, and once on the front stoop with great force my mate shoved Cassian over the edge into the bushes. He fell with such a thud we all winced as Lucien left him and made his way down the steps into the street. Cassian swore, up in an instant, and they ran after each other laughter rising up through the cold world. A swift breeze came off the river and Rhys rolled his eyes.

“Idiots.”

He gave me a look and I knew whatever conversation we were about to have would be finished another time. We had enough of it now anyway. Mor’s laughter filled the house again and was followed with the familiar homely sound of the front door closing. Rhys stood before it, eyes caught on the frame that Cassian had nearly knocked next to the hangers. It was half hidden in jackets and hats. He glanced over the scrap papers inside and he turned to me and smiled. Cassian and Lucien would return, but it seemed they were already forgiven.

He passed by me and went to the kitchen, “What should we do while we wait?”

I did not hear their answer. My scarf had fallen. I threw it over the hook as I stared at the frame. Two tags one on top of the other.

To cover the bite

For what I can’t chase away.

And an undying fern stem tucked between them. 

A/N: Thank you for reading my first-ever fic :') I'm still a bit shaky with writing smut, but it's a short and sweet final chapter that I hoped would be a good place to try something new. I also wanted to add that I wrote some bonus content when trying to work through the logistics of the conversations that happened in the penultimate chapter and how they affected the characters. I figured they'd be fun to post once I finished in homage to SJM and her bonus chapters! these are more or less unedited but there to read!

@hardcoremarvelfan @bookworm-with-coffee

[prythianpages]

Just A Girl | Eris x Rhysand's Sister

series masterlist | summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

word count: 2K

a/n: Hi guys! It's been a hot minute since I've written anything and I feel rusty lol (kinda like when you stop riding your bike and have to relearn type of feel.) Anyway, this is entirely based off no doubt's just a girl bc I felt like it gave off Rhys's sister vibes and then I thought why not incorporate this into an au I had planned for an Eris x Rhys's sister one shot??

“When I’m High Lord, I’ll go–”

“I’m sure you’ll go far,” you interrupt, a half smile playing on your lips as you look up at the first born of Spring. With his luscious blond hair, striking green eyes, and well-defined jawline, he's undeniably a sight to behold. Unfortunately, his personality doesn't match his looks—dull yet somehow arrogant and miserably misogynistic. 

You don’t have it in you to spare him a moment longer, especially not when his overbearing pride is becoming overwhelming for your senses. You push past the desire to call upon your abilities and manipulate his emotions into something more humbling. He is not worth exposing your powers.

With a pat on his shoulder–too harsh for his liking– you add, “and I really hope you stay there. It was nice speaking with you, Heathen.”

“It’s Heath.”

You give an uninterested hum before making your way to the refreshments table, desperate for something to soothe the tension between your brows. A silent prayer is sent to the Cauldron that no other male approaches you with a lame attempt at conversation. If they are interested in you, they should at least be able to hold a good one. One that doesn’t incorporate any microaggressions toward you.

Fortunately for you, it is your brother who approaches you next. He takes your–what was it? fourth or sixth, you can’t remember– champagne flute from your grasp with an effortless ease. A glare settles upon your features as you watch him chug it before fixing your gaze straight ahead, to the dais where your father and mother sit. 

Your father occupies the grand throne, while your mother sits beside him in a smaller, less ornate chair. The Lady of the Night Court—magnificent and burdened with countless responsibilities—receives none of the praise that is lavished upon your father. Despite her contributions to your court, she is not held in the same regard… simply because she is a female.

It leaves you to wonder what your destiny is.

Rhysand looks at you with sympathy, and you realize that in your moment of vulnerability, you've let your mental shields slip. “Please, save your breath,” you mutter.

Sensing Cassian and Azriel approaching, you flash them a small, relieved smile. “And please, stay by my side,” you say, your eyes scanning the room where multiple pairs of eyes are fixed on you. You feel so exposed and though it’s no surprise, it still leaves you unsettled. When your gaze meets that of one of Autumn's sons, you quickly look away and strengthen the shield around you.

“I could use my scary brother privileges right now.”

“Who are we scaring, princess?” Cassian asks, flexing his muscles as he pretends to adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

Azriel lets out a snort, but his keen eyes are already scanning the room, easily locating the Autumn male. The red-haired male immediately cowers under his cold, hard stare.

“No one.” Rhysand replies, shooting them both a warning look. He then turns to you and you don’t need his daemati abilities to know what he’s about to say. “y/n–”

“Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand?” You interrupt him with an exhausted sigh.

Tonight was a celebration–a ball to honor you and all you’ve done for the Night Court during the war. When the war started, you were twenty-three and deemed too young to participate. Though, at that age, Rhysand had already completed the bloodrite and was esteemed a formidable warrior. You were fortunate that your father allowed you to train and even more so that he allowed you to join the Night Court council.

You quickly mastered the politics of war and the intricacies of the Prythian courts. Midway through the war, your father entrusted you to visit the war camps and delegate on his behalf. There was no doubt that it was a privilege you were granted due to your powers. Still, you embraced it eagerly and tonight was the night you would officially be recognized as an emissary.

But of course, many–especially the sons of the High Lords–confused tonight as your debutante ball. You were in your third decade, after all. While your brother was recognized as a fierce warrior and heir, you were regarded as a highly sought out bachelorette. 

Lucky you.

“I am meant to be pretty and docile,” you continue, gesturing to yourself. 

The dress you wore was far from your usual preference. The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and sequins, featured a sweetheart neckline that teased a glimpse of your breast—but not too much. The skirt of the gown was voluminous, made of layers of soft tulle that shimmered with every step as the light caught the scattered sequins. It was a beautiful black ball gown, crafted by your mother's talented hands. Yet, you much preferred dresses that clung to you like a second skin, revealing more of your figure.

To put it frankly, you felt quite suffocated in this gown. And you rather not even get started on your makeup. You were transformed into a perfect painting of a sweet and innocent princess. Not the daring and powerful female you knew yourself to be.

“Desirable but not too attainable.”

 “However, that does not mean I need to be consistently tortured by dull conversations and hungry stares from controlling males,” you finish, crossing your arms against your chest with a scowl. “No one has even asked me about my role in this court.”

“Oh, yeah. How is it being an emissary to the Night Court?” Cassian asks, earning a smack to the back of his head from Azriel.

“Just splendid,” you reply with a sarcastic smile.

“You played a significant role in establishing peace between Spring and the rest of the courts after the war. I’m sure your efforts will not go unnoticed,” Rhysand assures you.

“Perhaps I played my role too well. Heathen has seemed to have taken an interest in me.”

It’s as if he heard his name being called, for the blonde male’s gaze meets yours across the ballroom. He winks at you with that stupid, cocky smirk of his. A grimace crosses your face. You had been hoping your conversation from earlier would deter him. It seems it has only spurred him on.

“He’s... pretty,” Rhysand starts, but then trails off, struggling to find a compliment for Heath. “Pretty full of himself,” he finally manages, shooting you an almost apologetic glance.

Both of you erupt into laughter.

“It could be worse,” Azriel comments after a moment, a futile attempt at making you feel better. “It could be the heir to Autumn. As the by-product of growing up under Beron’s cruelty, I hear he’s pretty ruthless. Might even turn out to be crueler than him. At least Heath isn’t as bright…”

“Ouch,” Cassian says with a playful wince, almost feeling bad for the Spring heir.

Your eyes find the male in question. Eris Vanserra. His vibrant red hair makes him and his siblings easy to spot in a crowded room. Surprisingly, Eris hasn't made any attempt to approach you tonight. Unlike his brothers. Instead, he stands by his mother's side. She appears uncomfortable and weary, her arm linked with his as she rubs her swollen, pregnant belly.

 As you focus on him, you feel a mix of anger and concern. “Somehow, I doubt that,” you voice your thoughts out loud, following the trail of emotions. Your eyes land on the recipient of his anger. Beron. The High Lord of Autumn stands amongst the other High Lords, engaged in conversation with your father.

Sensing your gaze on him, your father looks up from where you stand. He holds a hand up, summoning you and your brother.

“Time to shine,” Rhysand says, holding his hand out to you.

**

“Ah, my son,” your father greets with a smile as you and Rhysand come to a stop before him and the other High Lords. He then turns to you, violet eyes alight with pride that has your chest swelling with warmth. At least your father recognizes your worth and you don't dare to wonder if he'd see you the same if you weren't blessed with your power.

“My daughter, the guest of honor," he introduces, reaching for your hand to pull you to his side. You offer a polite smile and curtsy to the High Lords. “Y/n has done a lot for this court and all of Prythian. Tonight is a means to show my immense gratitude and present her with the official title of lead emissary of the Night Court.”

It is the High Lord of the Winter Court who speaks first, offering a slight bow of his head. “I look forward to continuing working with you, Lady y/n.”

“A wise and thoughtful member of the Night Court.” High Lord Thesan says with an amiable smile, the High Lords of Day, Summer and Spring sharing his sentiments.

However, the same cannot be said for the High Lord of Autumn. His lips curl in distaste, the thought of having to interact with a female tasting sour on his tongue. He had tolerated you before but only due to the war.

“You expect me to welcome her to my court to discuss important matter?" Beron huffs. "She’s just a girl.”

You don’t speak. You don’t even make a sound. But the look in your eyes…the look in your eyes was downright murderous.

Memories begin to flood your mind of you being berated and undermined. The box in which you had locked away your emotions can no longer contain them. A wave of anger and frustration begins to surge forth...

Rhysand knew exactly what was about to happen, his hand silently reaching out for yours. To hold you back.

But it was too late. Your mind was like a wall of steel. Impenetrable.

All you saw was red, your wings bursting forth from your glamor, unfurling behind you. They tore through the seams of your dress, provoking gasps. Swiftly, your magic mends the fabric, accommodating your true form.

Tendrils of darkness emanate from your outstretched hands, weaving through the air like sinister ribbons. Your gaze, unwavering and intense, remains fixated on Beron.  With each movement of your fingers, the room plunges deeper into shadow. The once-illuminated space is now consumed by a thick veil of darkness. Even Azriel’s shadows, accustomed to the darkness themselves, cling onto him like a second skin.

As the last glimmer of light fades into oblivion, the ballroom becomes a chamber of obsidian night. With a mere thought, you tap into the emotions swirling within the hearts of those present. Careful to be subtle upon the intrusion as you do not want to expose the true extent of your abilities.

You summon only the most negative emotions like a maestro orchestrating a symphony. Screams erupt, drawing your lips upwards. You can feel resistance against your power and whether it is from your father or brother or even one of the other High Lords, you can’t tell.

Gathering all your pent up frustrations, you use it to fuel your strength, wanting to hold onto this moment of mayhem just a bit longer. It is only when you feel Beron’s heart racing, feel the trace of fear threatening to dim the fire in his veins that you let go.

In the blink of an eye, your tendrils of darkness disperse, succumbing to the resistance. The faelights around the ballroom shimmer to life once more and the moon’s light seeps back into the room. It casts an ethereal glow over you, revealing the calm and cool expression on your face. Yet, your eyes remain seething with the fury of a dark, raging storm.

Beron's scowl deepens at your display. He parts his mouth in disbelief, looking towards your father, who says nothing. Beron then looks back at you.

For once in his miserable life, he is at a loss for words. Pride swells in your chest and you push against the talons raking across your mind, wanting to bask in your small victory.

“I’m just a girl,” you finally say and then give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders before turning to leave.

Reveling in the animosity radiating off of him, your smirk deepens as you recognize a faint trace of humiliation somewhere among the fire of his wrath.

The assembled crowd parts before you, their gazes a mixture of disdain, shock, and fear. You keep your head held high and eyes focused straight ahead. Dread begins to settle in, the onset of a headache from overexertion threatening to break your composure.

Still, you carry on, feigning nonchalance. The only sounds echoing through the room are the hushed whispers and the sharp click of your heels against the marble floors.

Yet, amidst the sea of wary onlookers, one figure stands apart.

Eris.

The heir to the Autumn court is leaning casually against the wall near the exit doors, his mother nowhere to be seen. The corner of his lips are upturned into a smirk, amber eyes alight with amusement and curiosity and perhaps, even something more.

Your steps threaten to falter as your eyes meets his. He looks back at you, holding your gaze with a searing intensity, it sends a shiver down your spine. He looks at you in a way no one ever has...as if he can see you for you who you really are.

Because you aren’t just a girl.

You’re the daughter of the Night Court. A shining star. A force to be reckoned with and one he finds himself irresistibly drawn to.

series masterlist

a/n: I honestly don't know how to feel about this one. I guess it's kind of a prequel to my upcoming one shot. Also, you can't tell me Eris wouldn't find anyone besting his dad like reader did in this hot lol

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

[thelov3lybookworm]

Plants Of Thorn Bear The Prettiest Of Flowers

Summary: Another day, another kill.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: Alright, so before you read this, be warned. The reader in this is bit dark and will do anything to win her father's approval.

FYI, she is the middle child, the second born after Rhysand and before Celeste, the one who later on dies along with their mom

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n flipped the dagger again, for what felt like the thousandth time as she walked through the winding halls of the Moonstone palace, humming a tune her father had hummed to her when she was a child to calm her down.

Her lips lifted at the edges, knowing she was the only one who got to see that side of their father.

It was not that she was glad that her father could not be bothered about her siblings, it was just that he was the only one who ever really gave Y/n any ounce of kindness other than her mother, and Y/n had snatched whatever scraps she could get and then moulded herself to someone who would not have to rely on scraps for affection.

"She can not find out about this, you know that right? She would skin us both alive." Y/n paused, her head turning the slightest towards where the voice was coming from.

Celeste. The youngest of the three children the High Lord had sired.

Y/n stood still, straining her ears to listen to what she was saying. Or more like who she was saying it to.

Y/n was almost sure Celeste was talking about her.

"I know."

The voice that reached Y/n's ears next was one she knew all too well, one she had come to like. Not love, not yet. That would be taking things too far too soon.

Alan.

"You need to leave."

"I know..."

Y/n glanced towards where the voice was coming from, cocking her head. It was a room where the servants kept supplies.

Honestly, they could have chosen a better place to partake in whatever act they had. Y/n rolled her eyes internally.

She turned away, and before they could realise that the event they had been fearful about had already come to pass, walked towards the nearest exit, erasing all traces of her presence as she went.

She opened her mind after she had hidden herself away in shadows, and it did not take long to have her father's attention on her.

Yes?

There is an intruder in the palace.

She knew she had her father's full attention on her then.

Interesting. Bring it to me.

On it.

•○🌑○•

It did not take long for Y/n to catch this intruder, and it took even less time for her to winnow him to her father's office, where her siblings were already waiting with him in tow, a bag over his head.

When she saw her siblings in his office, Y/n figured her father had drawn the conclusion that someone had let him in.

Y/n strutted in through doors, shoving the male she had in her arms to the floor.

"There comes my daughter." The High Lord drawled.

Y/n inclined her head, folding her arms behind her.

"Why have you summoned us here, father?"

Y/n glanced at her brother without moving her head, watching his face as it contorted with confusion.

But at his side, Celeste stared and stared at the male at Y/n's feet, the colour draining from her face.

"I'm sure Celeste knows why you have been summoned, don't you, Celeste?" Their father tuned his shrewd eyes to his youngest, whose eyes flew wide, shaking her head.

"I don't know what you are-"

"Don't play the fool with me girl. If you did not know who this was, you would not look like you had seen a ghost."

Rhysand's eyes flitted between his baby sister and father, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

"Y/n found an intruder walking freely around the palace." Their father spoke, drawing everyone's attention. "And he could not have come up here by himself, for he has no wings. Only four people have wings inside these walls, and neither Y/n nor your mother would have done this. That leaves you two to bring him up here, let him enter the wards. So," He stood, rounding the magnificent mahogany desk to lean against it, his hands in his pocket. "Who is it?"

Rhys glanced to Celeste, his eyes holding something akin to rage.

He sighed before he opened his mouth. "I brought him here. He is a friend-"

"Do you take me for a fool, boy? You have no friends save for the illyrian scum."

Rhys swallowed, and Y/n could see his hands clenching from where he had them behind his back. "Father-"

"If you continue lying, Celeste will receive the punishment for you."

Rhysand's mouth shut with an audible click.

"Ask her if she brought him up here. Do not waste my time, I have much work to do."

Rhysand only glanced at Celeste, who, with a scathing glare at Y/n, dipped her chin in a small nod.

"Hmm. Y/n?"

Y/n moved, walking to the shelf behind the desk and pulling out a whip, only one of multiple, and walked back to her father, holding it out to him.

He picked it up, studying it for a few moments before he hummed. "This will do. Celeste, now I want you to whip this young man here. Would fifty lashes be enough?"

No one moved, except for Alan, who began struggling. Y/n felt the heat of two glares on her face.

"Answer me!" The high lord's facade slipped for a moment, and he screamed, his voice high and scary, making his oldest and youngest flinch. Y/n stood still as a statue at his side, staring at a wall opposite.

"Father please." Celeste's voice wobbled, and Y/n ignored the part of her that rebelled at the fear that filled her voice.

Calm settled once again in her father's voice when he spoke next.

"Fine. If you don't want him to live, I will let Y/n slit his throat. That way you will have his head to keep in your room, and you won't sneak any more boys in."

Y/n knew it was no suggestion. That had been his plan all along, to kill the male.

Alan had stilled once again, the smell of fear that emanated from him very nearly overwhelming Y/n.

Y/n bowed her head to her father, and unsheathed the biggest dagger she owned, stalking forward.

Her previous lover looked up at her in fear when she tugged off the bag, silver lining his eyes as she grabbed him by the hair.

"Please. Don't do this." He whispered.

Y/n slipped into his mind, staring deep into his eyes as she raised the dagger to his throat, ignoring the scream emitting from her sister. She could not stop until her father told her to, and she would rather not disappoint him.

"This is what you get for betraying me, my trust, and wasting my time."

"Please don't do this Y/n. You know I love you. She tricked me-"

But before he could let another word slip, his throat was slit, and he drew in a wet sounding gasp, blood bubbling from the deep cut.

He was dead before his head was separated from his body. Y/n, still clutching his head, turned to look at her father as his body fell forward, landing with a sickening thud, blood splattering everywhere.

She raised her hand slightly, and he nodded to where her sister kneeled, her eyes fixed on the body on the ground. Swallowing the guilt that rose, Y/n let the head drop and roll to her sister's feet.

Rhysand, who clutched at Celeste's arms to keep her from running to Alan's body, growled. His eyes flashed to Y/n, filled with hatred, and Y/n turned away. Meeting her father's eyes, who smiled wide at her, and nodded his head to her legs.

"Get some servants to clean the filth up, then go and eat something."

Y/n bowed, then walked out the door, leaving all the events of the evening behind and hoping she could forget it all after she added a mark for him to her skin as a testament to her kills.

•○����○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

[starrbirrd]

something something ACOSF AU where the first fae-tradition Nesta learns is cutting her hair and sending it to Rhys as a declaration of war

[autumnshighlady]

All I Gave You Is Gone (ACOTAR x The Silmarillion AU) - Chapter 1

RHYSAND'S SISTER X MAEDHROS

summary: The story begins with High Lord Rhysand’s sister, Ravenna, moments before her death. Before the sword is swung across her neck, she pleads to the Mother to rescue her, to intervene and get her out. Ravenna’s prayers are answered, and she wakes up in a strange land across the stars, far away from her home – Arda.

warnings: graphic violence

word count: 3.6k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: this AU is so niche that most people probably don't know what the Silmarillion is - fear not! I will be writing it in a way that you won't need to know anything about lotr or the silm to understand it, as everything will be explained. I'm super excited for this series and I hope you guys grow to enjoy it. Any support is appreciated! Huge shoutout to the Anon that inspired this!

Screams rang through the shrieking wind, rattling Ravenna’s eardrums as a coppery tang filled her mouth. It was almost impossible to see anything amidst the smoke and rain, not that she wanted to be cursed with witnessing the horrifying scene. No, part of Ravenna was glad for the masking of the carnage.

The scent of blood choked her senses, closing up her throat and making her eyes burn. Her head throbbed from the impact of its collision on the nearby rock, stomach stinging in pain from the arrow laced with faebane that was lodged in her flesh. Through blurry vision, Ravenna lifted her head, groaning as every ounce of her body protested. Up above, the few fully trained Illyrian soldiers that were stationed at the war camp were falling from the sky, their lifeless bodies brutalised upon meeting the rocky ground. Hybern soldiers swarmed them like ants, their laughter echoing above the sounds of slaughter.

Tears pricked at Ravenna’s eyes as she inhaled deeply, immobilised by her wounds and the faebane arrow in her stomach that stifled her magic. She hadn’t even wanted to come here today to the Illyrian war camp with her mother, Nienna. They had fought over it – Ravenna had even offered to go to the Hewn City with her brother, Rhysand, then accompany her mother to Illyria. She hated it there. Everything from the leering males and the icy chill, to the sight of downtrodden females with their heads low and their wings clipped. Despite being half-Illyrian, Ravenna never felt any desire to spend time there.

Her black hair stuck to her face, clinging to her skin as the rain poured down. She lifted her wings, trying to flap them enough to get her body off the ground, but it was no use. They were dead weight on her back, too exhausted from the effects of the faebane to help her. Panic began to settle in as Ravenna realised she could not make her wings disappear with the poison in her veins. Her wings were a target now, a weak spot. Unable to defend herself, she was now a sitting duck.

As she laid there half-conscious, the screams eventually stopped, her blood turning to ice at the eerie silence from Illyrians in the war camp. Ravenna let out a sob. As Hybern soldier’s footsteps echoed on the hard ground, growing closer to where she was laying beside the rocks, she knew she was going to die.

“Hey! There’s one over here!” A gruff male voice called, followed by the sound of cheering. 

No. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real.

Pathetically, Ravenna tried to drag herself away, fingernails breaking and scraping against the hard rock, efforts in vain. Panic rose in her chest as the sound of the soldier’s leering grew closer, closing in on her like a pack of wolves.

Thanks to the arrow, she had no magic to defend herself. Her asshole father, Ronan, the High Lord of the Night Court, had never even let her train to defend herself. She knew a couple moves from her sparring with Cassian and Azriel, but they were useless in this situation. Ravenna could hear Azriel’s voice in her head, pleading for her to get up and take a stand. But she couldn’t. Every muscle in her body was lifeless, her head spinning and aching with pain.

“Pretty little princess, all on her own...” One of the soldiers sneered, twirling his sword in his hands as he came to stand above her. She could practically smell his rotten breath amidst the blood covering his body that was not his own. 

Ravenna tried to lift her head, but a dirty boot quickly connected with it with such force her neck snapped backwards, body jolting painfully. Fresh blood began to pour from the gaping wound on her forehead, and she cursed under her breath. Snide laughter sounded from above her, echoing in all directions as the world spun. “Nobody can help you now, princess.” One of the other soldiers said. “Not your half-breed brother, not your spy boyfriend. Certainly not your mommy.”

Ignoring the screaming pain, Ravenna opened her violet eyes and looked upwards at the soldier. Her gaze met his blood-stained face, then travelled down to his hands, eyes settling on what was grasped within them.

In his left hand was a familiar set of wings, tarnished with mud and dirt. Blood pooled onto the ground beneath them like a river. Bile rose in Ravenna’s throat as her gaze landed on his right hand.

And she screamed, raw and painfully.

In the soldier’s right hand was a severed head with long, dark locks identical to her own. Purple eyes were wide, face twisted in a frozen picture of agony, a female mid-scream. Bruises and scrapes were littered across the face, but it was unmistakable nonetheless.

It was Nienna. Her mother. The beautiful seamstress who had held Ravenna in her arms for countless nights, who taught her everything she knew. The female who kept her chin high, even as males sneered at her for her lowborn status. Dead. Dead before Ravenna’s very eyes.

Screams continued to rip through Ravenna, cursing the Hybern soldiers with promises of slow and agonising death. She didn’t care that she, too, was about to meet the same fate as her mother. As soldiers grabbed her arms and hauled her upright to her knees, she thrashed and fought like a wildcat. More hands grabbed her, steadying her slightly as she spat at them, tears streaming down her face. 

“Hold her steady!” One of the soldiers snapped before bending down to sneer in her face. “It’s your turn, half-breed bitch. But first we gotta take care of those wings. Can’t have you flying away now, can we?”

“If you cut off my wings, I will flay you.” She spat in his face, screeching as one of the soldiers reached down and ripped the arrow out of her stomach, shredding the flesh as blood began pouring out of her faster.

The soldier snickered, his dark eyes brimming with hate as his twisted face stood mere inches from her own. “We won’t do that quite yet, that takes away half the fun. Your bitch mother bled to death when we ripped her wings from her body, so we didn’t get to enjoy her. We won’t make that same mistake with you.”

Ravenna howled furiously, sinking her canines into the nearby arm of a soldier as hard as she could. A whip cracked across her back in response, cleaving flesh from bone in one stroke as it shredded the material of her black dress. She bit down harder on the arm as pain blinded her, the blood of the soldier making her gag and eventually release him. At least her scream had been muffled.

Before she could curse them out again, she felt it. The presence of a cold, small blade against her wing. Right in the very spot she had seen scars on every female in the Illyrian camps.

No. No no no no.

She hadn’t even realised she was screaming the words out loud, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she begged and pleaded pathetically. Flying was her favourite thing to do. She would spend hours soaring through the skies, feeling the wind on her wings as she shot through the air like a shooting star. Sometimes she had flown hand in hand with Azriel above Velaris before their relationship had soured in the last few months, admiring the dazzling view of the city below. Flying was her peace.

Ravenna had accepted that she would die at the hands of the soldiers. But to die with her wings clipped would break something inside of her.

“Rhys!” She began screaming out her brother’s name mindlessly, despite the fact he was miles away and likely clueless as to what was going on in the war camp. “Rhys! Rhys!” She screamed over and over, praying that somehow he would show up out of nowhere and save her. 

Her pleading only spurred the soldiers on more, and then that blade made an incision in the wing’s tendon near her back, the one that her wings relied on to carry her body. She barely even felt the physical pain from the slice as she screamed furiously, not just for herself, but for every female who had gone through this.

For decades, she had argued with her father over the practice of wing clipping. Gone head to head with the High Lord over it. Rhys would often have to step in, talking his father down from clipping his daughter’s own wings as punishment for slaughtering every male she could find who kept the practice going. Ravenna never cared how angry Ronan got with her over it, for she had no shame in taking it upon herself to try and end wing clipping. No matter how much he threatened her, yelled at her, she didn’t care. For she knew that she was untouchable – the people of Velaris loved her too much for the High Lord to get away with locking up or punishing his own daughter.

And now here she was, bleeding from that one tendon in her wings, rendered unable to fly for the rest of her life.

The soldiers whopped and cheered, spurred on by her tears as Ravenna cried angrily. Her body felt numb – a blessing as the Hybern soldiers began to brutalise her body with their fists, whips, and blades. Her skin was sliced and bruised and spat on, but she barely felt it. All she could feel was the hole inside her chest at the sight of her mother’s wings and head, now discarded on the cold, wet ground like trash. 

Rain mixed with blood, blood mixed with tears, mud and grime becoming her second skin as Ravenna was pummelled into the ground. A barbed whip lashed at her skin, the soldiers having ripped open parts of her dress to expose her soft flesh like meat about to be butchered. The whirling black Illyrian tattoos that marked her body were now hidden behind red blood. They had begun at her left thigh and coming up across her hips and ribs, swirling up to the right side of her body across her back and collarbones then travelling down her arm. Now, they were marred, a ruined art piece at the hands of Hybern.

Please. Ravenna begged the Mother silently, teary gaze lifting up to the darkening sky where a few stars peeked out behind the rain clouds. Please help me. Get me away from here. Please, I will do anything. Just get me out of here.

She could have sword one of the stars brightened in response. Throughout lash after lash, she kept praying silently. Grimy hands groped at her flesh, digging into the fresh wounds and twisting her like a ragdoll. She closed her eyes, feeling the cold blade of a sword line up against the back of her neck, ready to swing down on it and cleave her head from her shoulders.

And then everything went bright, instead of the darkness that Ravenna had expected. White hot fire overtook her body, and then it all faded away.

****************

The first thing Ravenna felt was the wind on her skin. It was gentler than the harsh wind of Illyria, but still strong. It soothed her body, which felt lifeless. The rocks she was laying on felt different than before, and she realised it was dirt beneath her, not stone. Her throat was dry, mouth caked with blood as she inhaled a deep breath. The air was fresh, not stifled with the scent of the war camp’s death. It filled her lungs blissfully, and it took all her strength to crack open her eyes.

She was met by sunlight, blinding her momentarily before her eyes finally adjusted. From her position on the ground, she could make out soft, windswept grass on either side of a dirt road. She was in a valley, a mountain pass judging by the steep hills nearby and the narrow windingness of the path ahead. 

Ravenna’s mind was still swirling as she fought to figure out where she was. The landscape was unlike anything she had seen before in the Night Court. There was something different here, something that unsettled her bones. It did not feel like Prythian, somehow.

Before she could go through what she knew of the landscape of the various other courts, voices sounded in the distance, along with hoofsteps. Ravenna stiffened, pushing herself up into a sitting position as the sound grew closer. But it did not sound like the rough, sneering voices of Hyberm. No, these voices were different. They were strong, but songlike, lilting up and down in tones unfamiliar to Ravenna. From the winding path emerged a small group of males on horseback. They donned silver armour, long hair flowing in the wind and revealing pointed ears. Ravenna’s brow furrowed. She had not seen fae like this before, but something in her gut told her they were different. Sure, they donned the same ethereal grace to them matched with pointed ears, but there was an unsettling difference between them and the fae males Ravenna had previously encountered. They did not have a predatory feel to them like most fae males, but seemed colder. Calculating.

And nonetheless, terrifying. 

A male with long blonde hair shouted something and charged his horse forward, icy blue eyes fixated on Ravenna as his group followed. She could barely move her aching body, merely slumping in defeat as the horses surrounded her in a perfect circle, a various assortment of blades and arrows pointed at her. On instinct, Ravenna lifted her wings to shoot herself up into the sky away from the males, but with the incision made she could barely lift them off the ground.

Once again, she was defenceless.

A male with black hair and cold, grey eyes barked something at her in that unfamiliar language. Squinting against the bright sun, Ravenna looked up to meet his stare. He and the blonde male were the only ones without helms and armour – the leaders, she presumed. An eight-pointed star marked the centre of their embroidered white tunics, and red capes flowed behind them in the wind.

When she didn’t answer, the black-haired male repeated his question, angrier this time.

“I’m sorry…” She muttered, barely getting the words out due to her dry throat. “I don’t understand…”

This time, it was the blonde male who spoke up. “You speak the common tongue?” He asked, his voice less harsh but still with a lethal edge to it. She nodded.

“Who are you and why are you in the pass of Aglon?” He continued, pressing his blade against her throat. She swallowed – never before had she seen such a beautiful blade, marked with swirling inscriptions and metalwork that would impress the most prestigious blacksmith in the Night Court.

Evenly, she met his blue eyes, which scanned her up and down. Distaste and surprise came across his beautiful features as he seemingly focused on the blood covering her body rather than her wings. Finally, Ravenna realised her dress had all but been torn to shreds, revealing her wounded skin in places she would have preferred to cover up. She curled herself into a ball, hands desperately trying to cover the parts of herself that had been revealed by the rips in her dress. 

But the males did not leer like she had anticipated. Even the dark-haired one who had snapped at her in that foreign language did not seem affected by her skin on display. He was more focused on her wings, which were covered in Illyria’s mud and dirt. Ravenna still trembled with fear in their presence, but at least they seemed better than Hybern thus far.

“The pass of… what?” She asked, even more confused. She had never heard of such a place before. Certainly not in Prythian. Where the hell was she and what happened?

“She’s a spy of the Dark Lord, brother.” The dark-haired male said, a hateful look in his eyes as he drew his bow. “Let us kill her and be done with it.”

“Put that away, Curufin.” The blonde one scolded with authority. “We are in Maitimo’s lands. He will decide what to do with her. Spy or not, she comes with us. He will have our heads if we kill her without his permission.”

Curufin rolled his grey eyes and retracted his bow. “As you wish, Tyelkormo.”

Ravenna’s mind reeled and the sound of the names being given, especially the last one. They were unlike anything she had heard before, leaving her even more confused. Was she dead? Was this some sort of strange afterlife? She shivered – by the way the wind bit at her cold skin, she knew she was very much alive. 

The blond one whose name Ravenna’s brain hadn’t wrapped around took note of her shiver, huffing loudly before muttering something in another tongue to one of his guards. He swung a leg off of his grey horse and slid down onto the ground, walking over to where Ravenna sat in the dirt. Part of her instincts told her to run, to back away from this ethereal, too-perfect looking male. But another part of her was lured in by his beauty, as if some strange spell surrounded him. 

She baulked as he came to stand over her, blue eyes mercilessly staring her down as if she were nothing more than a speck of dirt. The male was enormous, almost a foot taller than Cassian was. Long, silver-blonde hair flowed over his shoulders, two small braids behind each ear trailing down beside his neck. Jewellery adorned his pointed ears, which were similar in shape to her own. Based on his elaborate-looking attire this male was of a decent status wherever they were. 

The blonde male unclasped his cloak, tossing the fabric towards Ravenna. She caught it, the material soft as clouds in her hands as she wrapped it around herself, grateful for the warmth. 

But there was no warmth in the male’s eyes as he barked at her, “Get up.”

Keeping the cloak wrapped around her blood-soaked body, Ravenna pushed herself up. But her legs buckled, sending her tumbling painfully back to the ground. She hissed in pain, pressing her hand into her stomach where the wound from the arrow was. Her fae healing had kicked in enough that it began to slowly heal, but not nearly fast enough.

“Are you incapable of following orders and standing up?” He hissed angrily.

Despite her pain and exhaustion, fire lit in Ravenna’s veins at his attitude. “I’m not exactly in a position to do so without struggle.” She snapped, unfolding the cloak just enough to reveal the large, unmistakable arrow wound in her stomach. 

His blue eyes followed, assessing the wound with impatience. “You’ll live.”

“Unfortunate for you.” She shot back, temper heightened by the ache in her wings.

The male scoffed. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No.”

“I am Lord Celegorm, Prince of the Noldor and third son of Fëanor.” He stuck his chin arrogantly in the air. 

Ravenna took a deep breath to steady herself, slouching and rolling her eyes. “I must have hit my head pretty hard. I have no fucking clue what any of that means.”

Surprise crossed Celegorm’s face, and he exchanged an uneasy look with his brother. Curufin shrugged, muttering something in that strange tongue before turning his grey eyes back towards Ravenna. “And who exactly are you, may I ask?” He said dryly.

“Ravenna,” She said. “Princess of the Night Court. Daughter of Ronan, the High Lord.” She introduced herself in a similar manner to Celegorm, snorting at the confusion that continued to grow on his face.

“What are you talking about?” He snapped. “There is no such a court here, or a Lord Ronan.”

Ravenna shrugged. “Now you know how I feel, I guess. Believe me, I don’t know where the hell I am or how I got here. I am just as confused as you. I mean you no harm, I swear by the Mother.”

“That will be for Maitimo to judge.” Was all Celegorm said before reaching down for Ravenna’s trembling, weak body. She did not have time to protest or process what was happening as he reached underneath her wings and legs, lifting her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. The world swayed as she was picked up. Thankfully, he did so in such a manner she remained covered with the cloak.

Still, she did not like being manhandled. “Put me down!” Ravenna hissed furiously, writhing as best she could in his grip. But it was no use – between her weakness, lack of powers, and Celegorm’s sheer size and strength, it was pointless.

Celegorm lifted her onto his horse and set her on the front end of the saddle before climbing up behind her. She winced in pain as his large frame brushed against the incision on her wings. “Watch the wings.” She snapped.

“We are taking you to our eldest brother.” Celegorm said, ignoring her protest but leaning back ever so slightly and relieving the contact on her wings. “He can decide what to do with you. It is half a day’s journey from here, so I suggest you rest while you still can.”

All Ravenna could do was sigh and hold onto the horse’s mane as the prince sent the group forward up the winding mountain pass. She had come no closer to figuring out where she was, or who these strange fae-looking people were.

And she had half a day to do her best to figure it out.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @decadentpostnacho @

[thewoodpeckercries]

ok so…. now i can’t stop thinking about a nesta x lucien fleabag au.

nesta as fleabag !!!

lucien as hot priest

feyre as claire (obviously…. the potential for sister angst is unmatched)

rhys as martin (literally the same person lol)

but from there it gets a little less clear…

boo could be a clare beddor type ORRRR she could be elain…

whereas… i hate to say it… i might have to make mor and cassian stand ins for the dad and the step mom…. just since their feelings towards nesta/fleabag (minus the whole romantic/sexual feelings) is just too similar!!! the dad never standing up for fleabag, never choosing her over the step mom etc… the step mum being the biggest bitch ever….. tell me i’m wrong. obviously i would have to take creative liberties but they don’t call it fan FICTION for nothing

or cassian could be a harry stand in except a much more aggressive version of their not very health relationship… especially since the way nesta uses cassian parallels fleabag/harry

azriel would just be azriel.

plot would vaguely follow the plot of the show… but again the creative liberties… let’s say it will be ‘inspired by’ instead of an AU

@ae-neon thoughts????

[achaotichuman]

I am going to preface this by saying it has been well over a year since I sat down and actually read the Acotar series instead of just skimming it for information so this could incredibly incorrect buuuuuuut.

What if instead of Rhysand's sister being decades younger than him, she was his seconds younger twin?

They had that little sibling's thing where Rhysand took the inch that he was a couple seconds older than her and ran a mile with it. They both fought in the War together, they both trained in Illyria together, when they were younger, they were barely indistinguishable, yet Rhysand solely referred to her as his 'little sister' instead of them being the exact same age, literally only a few seconds off each other.

And this continues even long after she's dead, Rhysand is just leading Feyre to believe his sister was much younger than him out of that sibling need to constantly irritate the other, even in death.

[shallyne]

The Diary of Feyre Archeron Ch 9

(Romantically)

Chapter nine! So exciting! Some relief from the insanity of the past chapters. I hope you enjoy! Full Fic on AO3

Words: 1.1k

June 15th

Dear Diary, 

I still haven't burnt it. I will, I need to. I do, I know. I will. Soon. 

Although, the worst of the cases for Amarantha, Tamlin and Rhysand's father is over. It's been a hectic few months but we managed.

I have started therapy, too. It's been ROUGH but absolutely necessary. I'm glad Elain and Nesta pushed me into this direction, it's…I don't know how to explain it. I just feel so grateful for my sisters. We definitely had a rocky road and a fair share of fights over the years but when we needed it, we were there for each other, through our worst times. 

Since the accident, that's what I'm calling it now, Rhys and I have not spent one day apart. If it's work or just hanging out, he is there. Another wonder of the past months that I am infinitely grateful for. I have missed him a lot. I forgot how much of a rock he was for me. 

Something is definitely different between us now, though, but I am not mad about it. We became adults. He is some kind of criminal mastermind now (can you believe I say that casually? I would have RAN nine years ago!!) and I, well, I don't know what I am but I will find out. It's going forward, in baby steps. But baby steps are still steps! 

June 18th

The nightmares were bad again last night. After turning and tossing after an especially nasty one I called Rhys in the middle of the night. He actually picked up. That's insane, he should have been asleep. What did he even do at 3am? He refused to tell me. Not because he doesn't trust me but because he wants to focus on me. His words. It's kind of cute, right? 

I asked him to tell me about constellations because he LOVES astronomy, he's always getting super nerdy about it. 

For a moment I imagined him polishing his gun while telling me all about Orion and I kind of, I don't know, it was very attractive. It shouldn't be, right? That's wrong. That's SO wrong. 

I shouldn't get wet at the thought of him doing crimes. 

But I do. 

I should feel bad about it. 

But I don't.  

Haters can die mad about it. A wise woman once said “Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate”

Anyways, I'm going to meet Rhys in an hour, I have to go now. 

June 19th

Nesta said Rhys and I are going on dates. Romantically. That's so not true! We are not going on dates. Romantically. I'd KNOW if we were going on dates. Romantically. This is absurd! And Elain agreed with my sister!! We never gave any signs that we would even date. He kisses my forehead to calm me down, nothing romantic about it. I enjoy it, yes, but that's a ME problem. And we only hold hands to not lose each other in crowds or to keep my hand warm. I get cold hands easily, even in summer. And we hug frequently but that's what friends do. They hug. People hug all the time. 

Nesta just gave me the Sure, Jan look and went back to reading her book while Elain stayed silent. 

Fine, if they want to think we are going on dates (romantically) then I can't stop them but this is not the truth! 

Rhys will also think it's ridiculous when I tell him over dinner later. 

Anyways, I can't decide if I should put on my wine red lipstick or my crimson lipstick. I'll decide on a whim when I'm done curling my hair. 

June 20th

What. Is. Happening. 

I

I don't know what is happening. 

Something is happening. 

Something GREAT is happening. Something amazing and equally terrifying. Oh god, it's definitely happening. I don't know what's happening. No, I know. I know what is happening but I just can't believe it. Maybe I'm still in that coffin and I am about to die and this is just a daydream and–

God no we're not going down that route. I definitely have to talk about this in therapy. But I digress. 

Okay, so, Rhys and I met for dinner yesterday and I told him about my argument with Nesta about her saying we go on dates (romantically) and he got that weird look, like, I was so sure he was about to agree with me that it's ridiculous. Spoiler, he didn't. He agreed with NESTA. He thought, well no, he hoped we were going on dates (romantically). I was flabbergasted. Absolutely shocked. I think I freezed for a moment, I'm not sure. Why was so sure about these dates not being romantic? I don't even know! I wore the sluttiest lipstick I have, that I bought for our dates. I'm so blind, oh my god. 

Anyways, he asked me if we are dating. I said yes. I cried. In the middle of the fanciest restaurant in velaris. I am dating Rhysand. This feels like a dream. And we kissed! I swear this was the most swoon-worthy kiss EVER. I'm blushing just thinking about it, I feel like a damn teenager. 

But, Rhys and I are only dating for now. I am not ready to throw myself into anything just yet and Rhys was, of course, respectful of my boundaries. We didn't have sex yet, either. I thought about it but I couldn't. Not yet. He said he's waiting as long as it takes. 

It was the perfect evening. 

June 28th

I just came from therapy and I have to write this. There is something I have to do and I will do it tomorrow. I am nervous. So god damn nervous about it but it's time. I feel ready, finally. So, it is time and I will do it no matter how hard. I will also ask Rhys to come with me, my therapist said I should take someone with me that I trust and I trust Rhys. With my whole life. I want him to be with me when I do this step and if I'm being honest, I need him to be with me. 

There is this quarter in Velaris, a quarter I never stepped foot into because I couldn't. There were times when I stood close but turned around, I never was quite ready. It's called the Rainbow, it's the Artist's quarter of the city, which Velaris is actually quite famous for. There's all kinds of arts strewn throughout the whole quarter, everyone finds their place there and there is also an art school people dream of attending, it's quite famous. 

I never took a look at it, or anything. But I want to. So badly. 

And I will. 

Tomorrow.

With Rhys. (I hope) 

Feysand Taglist:

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @starfall-spirit @rhysiedarling @corcracrow @sydney-fae25 @tothestarsandwhateverend @aayo-whatt @dreamlandreader

[lyssasdrafts]

which cabin i think the acotar characters belong to

nesta: hecate or nyx

cassian: ares

azriel: hades

elain: demeter or aphrodite

lucien: dionysus or hermès

rhysand: hades

feyre: apollo

amren: athena

[flowerflamestars]

Effloresce snippet

“How did you,” Nesta had managed to surprise her, “How did you come to meet this woman?” Nesta let out a ragged, half-mad laugh. “I tried to hire her to smuggle me into the Spring Court to save my sister.” She twisted, looking straight at Kali. “Why do they call Rhysand a pretender?” Warmth, whatever warmth Nesta had garnered, evaporated. “The heir died,” Kali pronounced. “The current High Lord prevented us from vengeance. We could not- the Lady Shahar did not return to the sky. You cannot lead the clans without honor.” Nesta’s honor was tarnished in every direction. Her father, her sister, her dead uncounted. “Who is the next heir?” Kali sucked in an audible breath and then, just as careful, off as the way Koram had touched her, clapped the back of Nesta’s shoulder where bone and muscle would meet in wings were she something else. “That pale bitch who’s been dragging Cassian around by his throat for centuries, my lady.” Morrigan. Of course, it was Morrigan. Nesta wiped her face. “Will it cause problems?” “Your friend, the mercenary? The mortal child of an Illyrian?” Kali shrugged, motion half wings, “It will be strange. Not violent.” “And probably good for them to see.” “Them,” Kali echoed. Nesta pressed hard against her wet eyes, once, the pressure twinned with pain in her face. “I’m not going to tell anyone who they can or cannot consort with,” Nesta nearly hissed, before she reeled herself back in. “I am not a High Lord. These things happen, and there is nothing wrong with them.” Kali, quite obviously cautious, squeezed Nesta’s shoulder like it was made of bone fine porcelain. “Lady Nesta.” It was kind, and utterly unbearable. “Why do you need her?” Kali asked, after a long moment. “The mercenary?” Nesta, feeling like the expression cracked her, bleeding open, smiled. “She travels in the company of Jurian,” Nesta told her, one more Archeron secret laid bare, “Breaker of chains and kings. I have need of him.”

[highlordofkrypton]

For the second prompt of Day 4 of @tamlinweek, please enjoy the small moments of Happily Ever After in Tamlin's life.

There is also a direct correlation between Tamlin's happiness and him being an idiot with his best friends. (Lookin' @ u Cassian)

Read Happy Endings on AO3 or below the cut:

The thing about ‘happily ever after’ is that is that it begs the question—after what? Happiness, in Tamlin’s opinion, is not an end. It is constantly in motion, and cyclical. It is intangible; no matter how hard he tries, he cannot capture it. Although, he has figured it out.

Happiness is not a state of mind.

Happiness lives within others.

CASSIAN

“You broke my nose, you fuck!”

Tamlin grins, a little too smug. The rules of their sparring is simple: don’t kill each other. Everything else is fair game, but Tamlin has never bothered with weapons. Not when he can shape himself into whatever he dreams of, and Nature has provided him with all the tools he needs to achieve his ends.

Today, he just wants to even the score.

“I owed you one. More than one, actually.”

Cassian makes an incoherent sound of frustration, setting the bone back in place without a complaint. “What else was I supposed to do with a big ass Spring Court invader in our war camps?”

“Rhysand invited me,” Tamlin deadpans. He’s pretty sure Cassian headbutt him all those years ago (and broke his nose) to prove a point. To think, everyone thinks Tamlin is the brute.

“Whatever, I’m not sorry.”

“Actually,” Morrigan chimes in. “May I propose literally any other way of greeting each other? Have you considered ‘hello’? I hear it’s all the rage with all other sane beings in this world.”

Both Tamlin and Cassian look at one another, they grin, two idiotic peas in a pod, before looking back at her and responding in perfect synchonicity: “Nah.”

Morrigan sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose with manicured nails. “There’s two of them. Two of them!”

As if to prove her point, Cassian turns and headbutts Tamlin in the face.

“Ack! My nose! Now we’re even.”

“No, that makes us uneven. Learn to count, you fuck!”

ELERI

The pitter-patter of light feet captures his attention. He’s curled on the lounge chair, reading one of Rhysand’s books. It’s a human fairytale that Eleri had mentioned, something about prince charmings and damsels in distress. Absent-mindedly, Tamlin twirls the ring on his finger made of Illyrian steel. It belonged to the Lady of the Night, passed down to him as Rhysand’s chosen-mate.

The pitter-patter continues, and Rhysand’s little sister pops up behind the back of the chair, regarding him with her big violet eyes. She flutters her lashes and smiles at him. “Hi, Tamlin.”

“Hello, Eleri.” He shuts the book carefully and raises a brow at her. She wants something, but with her, he can never guess what it is.

She rests her chin in her palms, admiring him. It’s strange to call her little. Yes, she is very small in stature, taking after her mother, but she is technically older than Tamlin. Most of his newfound family is.

“What?”

“I need your help.”

Without question, Tamlin gets up. “Lead the way.”

There isn’t anything Tamlin wouldn’t do for her. He’s saved her life once, and he would do it again without second thought. He doesn’t bother questioning her; the bounce in her step means that whatever she needs help with will be entertaining at the very least.

Together, they find Azriel in the House of Wind’s study, looking through the High Lord’s papers. The shadowsinger raises a brow in Tamlin’s direction, but Tamlin has only a shrug to offer him.

“Tamlin, please lift me,” Eleri demands once she plants herself before Azriel, extending her arms to give Tamlin room.

He tucks his hands beneath her armpits and raises her to eye-level to Azriel. What he witnesses is the single most hilarious berating he has ever heard in his life. Tamlin bites his lip to stifle his laughter. Apparently, she’s upset that Cassian caught wind of their date, and he keeps making kissy faces at her. Now, Rhysand is doing it too! She wasn’t the one who told them! What kind of spymaster can’t keep secrets?

Tamlin clears his throat.

“Um, we saw you both in the pastry shop. We were all having ice cream.”

The young Lady’s face burns a bright red. “I—! Mother above, Az, I’m so sorry!”

Tamlin’s laughter is a rumble as he hands the very short, very embarassed High Faerie to Azriel. “You’re very cute together. By the way, why did you need me for… this?” His voice trembles with amusement and guarded laughter. He doens’t want her to feel bad.

“The others are nosy, I trust you,” she says over her shoulder, feet dangling while Azriel holds her like a live bomb. To her crush, she yowls. “Hug me already!”

Oh, this family is ridiculous, but he loves them dearly. Most of all, Tamlin loves being a part of it.

MOTHER

“Mmmver, yr sqshng me.”

Tamlin wouldn’t trade it for the world. His face is smothered in her arms, a nice change of pace from her squishing his cheeks and crying at him.

“My baby! My little baby is getting married,” she says for the hundredth time.

He had made a point to tell her before the rest of his family. Before his father, he cannot be happy, and she cannot be free, so he tells her in the middle of her garden and her flowers that will live forever. This moment will live forever with them.

He had made a point to tell her months ago, but her mind never recovered from the loss of her second son. It’s alright, he thinks, if she can relive this happiness over and over again. He’s proud that he can be the one to make her smile like that again.

“I grew him a valley of eternal flowers, too, as my proposal.”

“Oh! You did! That’s so lovely, my sprout.”

This time he hugs her, nuzzling her hair and breathing in the scent of her yellow roses.

LUCIEN

Music is a language spoken through the heart, and the body. It speaks only of truths—harsh ones, sweet ones and the ones that they try to keep secret.

Music from Andras is a massacre. His voice has not improved over the years, sounding more and more like an offended cat every day. Tamlin tries to strum louder, or provide a healing rhythm for their ears while Lucien stokes the fire. Its crackling soothes, a baseline for whenever the singing comes to a lull.

“Why don’t you ever sing, Luce? Do you play an instrument?”

“Has anyone lived to tell the tale of a siren’s song?”

Andras looks unimpressed. “You’re telling me your singing is that good?”

Tamlin snorts. “Idiot.”

The clearing by the forest holds memories of pain and desperation, of many attempts to lure Tamlin out of his anger. Together, they have reclaimed this space. Here is a place where happiness lives.

ANDRAS

“It’s happening!”

The door to Tamlin’s map room slams against the wall as its virtually punched open. Lucien startles beside him, far too deep in his strategizing, not having hear the silver storm barreling down the hallway.

“Already? Time flies,” Tamlin hums getting to his feet. Today, he promised he will be picture perfect calm.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Lucien blinks, giving his tired brain a moment to shift gears. He jumps up with a gasp. “It’s happening.” He turns to Tamlin, grabbing him by the shirt to shake him. “It’s happening!”

“Yes, remember the plan? Cool, calm and collected?”

Lucien clears his throat. “Yes, yes, very calm. Bastion of support for the new parents.”

Despite this, the three of them winnow to Andras’ home and within seconds they are by Ailsa’s side. They crowd the healer who jabs at them with her carved wooden cane.

“Really, An? You couldn’t go a day without tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb.” Ailsa teases and tosses her head back against the headboard, her brow lined with sweat and hair sticking to her forehead.

“Watch it, I can still claim your child as this year’s Tithe,” Tamlin teases. The glare she shoots at him can tear down mountains, and he recieves another jab for stressing out a mother in labor. “Sorry, sorry!”

“What happened to cool, calm and collected?” Lucien hisses.

“It was too easy.”

On one side, Andras holds his wife’s hand and caresses her head, soothing her however he can. Lucien takes her other hand, bearing through the crushing squeeze. Ailsa is more than Andras’ wife; she’s a member of their little group, except her tolerance for their nonsense is much lower than her husband’s. Andras’ also worries that the more she sees the side of him when he’s with his friends, the more she’ll reconsider her choice in partners.

Tamlin helps the healer, acting not as the High Lord, but as the only student of the greatest healer the Spring Court has ever seen. “Do you still have the potentillas petals I gave you?”

“Yes, my lord. I have kept them safe for when you need them.”

The flowers are rare, and he’s unsurprised to hear that the healer has not used them yet. “Now would be a good time.” He says calmly, and takes them to brew Ailsa a cup to soothe her pain.

The birth of a child is not easy, and Tamlin remains at Ailsa’s beck and call. It takes hours, and none of them sleep.

When the cries of a baby rings out through the burrow, relief washes over all of them. They each get a turn holding her, after the parents, of course, and when Tamlin finally gets his hands on that bundle of joy, he cannot help the tears that escape him.

“It’s a baby, a baby,” he says to none—he says to everyone. “I love her.”

“You realize you have to give her back at some point, right?” Ailsa reminds him.

“Oh, Cauldron, he’s never going to leave, is he?” Andras sighs, but the smile on his face never fades.

RHYSAND

There is no word for Rhysand.

He is just Rhysand.

No memory,

No gesture,

No titles,

No one thing that can qualify the what he means to Tamlin.

The things that he has done for a boy in need, for an enemy in the wrong place, defy anything as simple as happiness, as vague as perfection.

He is the home that Tamlin returns to, the understanding that he needs.

He is the gentle touch that soothes a vicious, wounded animal—a quiet that brings peace to a storming mind.

He is the bar against which everything is measured.

Would the Mother sacrifice her soul for him? Would she abandon her morals in the name of protecting him? Would the Cauldron grant his every wish? Would it defy its own laws if only to comfort him?

No, they would do none of those things.

There is no word for Rhysand.

He is just Rhysand.

[cowboylament]

“Did you respect me?” I faltered, asking because I couldn’t bear the other question, the obvious question with the obvious answer. Even if asking this in its own way revealed my hand, revealed the knowledge to him, of the things I couldn’t say. 

“Yes, of course I did. To me,” he said thinking for a long moment his voice wavering a little so he made to clear his throat. “This has always been a risk, it wouldn’t have been worth it to me if there wasn’t. I respected that our inherent bond, the way you witnessed me, gave you power over me and for some reason you never used it. Knowing or not knowing this about you didn’t take that power away. Especially when I know you can wield your words rather effectively when you want to.”

“What could I’ve done?”

“Plenty. Who knows me better than you?”

Or

Lucien makes wanting bearable Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Bonus, Ao3

I’d felt old the first time I shared a bed with someone. Maybe by comparison I was, but I’d not made the decision based on any particular ideal or inner conflict. I wanted to and Gawayn, an Illyrian, did also. So without much ceremony or romance we decided to. When I think about it I get the sense that it happened just as perfectly as it should have, that despite the following events I learned something irreplaceable I couldn’t know without doing it as I had. Which is to say, my mother walked in and found us in my bed and that is why I spent one winter in the cabin at the Illyrian village.

It's funny to me, but perhaps not in the way it is to everyone else, because we forget. We forget the things we swore we’d always know, like how hard it was to be old when really you were young. We forget why we wanted to remember and how much you can know even when you’re inexperienced. Mostly though, we forget the mistakes we made, specifically my mother’s, who despite ensuring no one discovered what we’d done, made the error of telling Rhysand. 

I don’t know why or how but she did. When he asked her who’d done it, she pretended not to have seen him. Rhys was too young at the time to manage whatever it was that sent him into the protective rage. He interrogated half the village before recruiting my long-time friend Gawayn to his cause. 

Naturally, he never discovered who it was.

The ordeal mortified me, because despite having taken the right sort of care to guarantee the moment belonged to me, I lost most of the intimacy anyway. I didn’t leave my room for days, not until Gawayn returned and brought with him a new book for me to read and some sweets. 

My mother took one look at us and shook her head. “Well, I guess you at least put some thought into who you wanted it to be.”

It was the first time I laughed since the mortification began. I don’t know if it was pity or sympathy but she offered me an out. She told Rhys I was to stay, as per my ‘punishment,’ in the cabin until after Starfall. Really, I couldn’t bear to face anyone until then anyway so the choice was easy. 

When they tell the story of my winter away from Velaris they hold a small idea of a much larger story. I laugh, because it's the way it is, some things only we can know. In the end, I took comfort in the fact that I remembered, and what I remembered made everything easier. 

I never dated the Illyrian though we returned to each other again and again. We knew how it would end if it were any more serious. Meaning simply, that it would end. That’s why it worked, because we knew we couldn’t, so we didn’t. I might have found it tragic had it not been so comfortably predictable, so easy. I liked the intimacy it offered us, I liked knowing what we’d do and how we’d do it. I learned as I got older that other males were just as happy to cycle through the tragedy once and wipe their hands of it. Not everything needed intimacy, not everyone deserved it. 

So it went on like that, knowing and knowing and knowing. Never again not knowing, never again making the mistake of not knowing, risking mortification, risking loss. You say what I know you’ll say you’ll do what I know you’ll do and if anyone finds out then nothing was on the table to begin with because we didn’t have anything to gain anyway. We never gave over ourselves. Nothing in the world, not even a mate, could have had me give something like that up. 

Lucien was like this too until recently. 

***

Rhys had gotten to Madja first. 

“No, it's quite important. I said as much to your bother when I saw him.” The healer said, when I inquired over these walks I was supposed to take. “Although I didn’t say two hours, just one will do.”

She upheld his lie, even corrected me, so I knew Rhys had found her. She wasn’t just going along with whatever I said, she knew all the details. My cup clinked against the saucer. The house had resumed its usual noisiness, the wraiths in the kitchen, the world outside seeping in with the light through the windows.  

“With my mate?” I asked.

The healer threw her arms up, “I don’t care who it's with.”

The authority she wielded, even as she lied through her teeth, was applaudable. I might even say as much to Rhys if he hadn’t gotten me so badly. Regardless he was absent and I sucked in my cheeks. She knew I knew she was lying but she held little fear, in fact, she grew taller with each lie. I clasped my hands, attempting the grace of a High Lord’s sister. 

“And you didn’t mention it to me because?”

“Because I knew you’d try to get out of it.”

Outside footsteps pushed passed the house growing and receding without a word from either of us. I couldn’t intimidate her, and the silence wasn’t an attempt to. The moment I saw the old fae I understood the odds were against me. Whatever my brother’s cause was, however much he needed Lucien and I to confront our differences so he could move on with his plans for claiming him,  they were indeed more attractive and much more glamorous than mine. Yet it was one thing to find Madja had taken a side, but another to be so predictable that even she knew how I’d react had Rhysand's lie even been true. 

I asked once more if she was sure she didn’t want some tea and after declining again she checked my stitches and left. The edges had singed from the mistake in the garden. The burning within was no work of glamour or imagination, fire had set under the skin and had wanted to get out. She reprimanded me no matter how much I swore it was an accident. Even as she made her way to the door she didn’t so much as hint at a smile, she only reiterated no magic and that in five days she’d be back.

The door shut behind her and I rested my forehead against the cool wood, just as I’d done last night, after Lucien disappeared, and had since remained hidden in the house. The last I’d seen of him was a blush on his face and a bow at my door before he slipped away across the house. I’d waited there, waited for the same thud of the door carving out the new and growing desire to know precisely where he was. 

When I woke there was no way of knowing for certain if he had not gone back, slipped out the front door, and made to see the city himself. This was an old habit, thinking the very worst of him. I would not bring that idea with me, it had grown obsolete. In this world I was brave. He never scared me before. I let out a breath, listening for something, but nothing shifted or turned, no tinkering of trinkets or creaking of floorboards. But he was there, and I was there, and this was much more comforting than it had been the days previous because I knew him. He was waiting for me.  

When, even by lunch, he had not shown up to the library I surrendered to his waiting. I knew he could hear me. He probably was on the other side, in his room, smirking over just how many minutes had passed with me standing outside his door, tracing the whirls of the wood with my eyes. Through an act of insanity or pure stubbornness he’d sat in that room after last night and let a silence settle between us. Absence, once, had been readable between us. Now though, there was very little comfort. I realized that even understanding could not make up the place where nothing was. 

I raised a hand and knocked.

After the dinner, after the hallway, any mood we might find ourselves seemed just as likely as the last. We’d cycled out of any regularity or predictability. The door opened and he was familiar. So to say, he was indifferent to my being there. The bond was empty. 

I swallowed. “Lunch is ready.” Across the townhouse, pots and pans rattled in their places

“Alright.”

Behind Lucien, his room was just barely visible. A chilling air spilled into the hallway, caressing my arm, despite the glowing embers in the hearth. A draft, maybe. From the windows I could see, none were ajar. It might be too cold now for him to do as he liked to at home. Waiting for me had its consequences, Autumn was falling fast this year. Lucien shifted, blocking my view of his belongings, if any there were, and the origin of such coldness remained a mystery. 

“I came to see if you wanted to join me—would join me.” I corrected recalling his desire, his need to mortify me even now, into asking for him instead of after him. I met his eye and almost smiled but refrained when he showed no small mercy himself. “Then we can go see the city.”

Despite our conversation the night previous, he’d returned to the skepticism of his past self, the one he didn’t want to give up so easily. He studied me carefully. So I just stood there and pulled from the past the self I’d been too or part of it. The piece that didn’t care how or when he looked at me. 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” He said and shut the door. 

I don’t know if I wanted to have access to a shield more badly than that moment, knowing the pit of shame was likely traveling through the door toward him, giving me away. All the while I was tormented by no feelings that did not already belong to me. I didn’t wait and let the steady consistent step of my walking away become a kind of shield between us. 

When I sat in my normal spot at the table I placed my feet flat on the ground and straightened my spine. I took long breaths, trying to imagine the calmness pushing up from between the floorboards. The calamity of the days past pushed out of my head, out of the bond, and into the atmosphere, rising up to the rooms above, rising out into the open sky where I hoped they’d disappear and never return. I said I would be brave and so brave I was. There was nothing to be ashamed of, I’d been far braver than him. I risked first. 

I let out another breath.

This is what he told me to do. In the old game, this would have been a loss, but this isn’t the old game anymore. Eventually, I would know the rules. I would not let him mortify me. I would not lose. 

I made my plate, I opened my book, and I waited. 

“Where’s everyone?” Lucien said, appearing in the doorway half an hour later. I didn’t pay him any attention. I compelled myself to care about my book, to keep my eyes on the page, my back to the door, as I had the 30 minutes before. Page after page came into my focus, smothering any contempt from my body and subsequently the bond for his delay. 

“The Illyrian village.”

He walked around the table and sat across from me. I still knew, despite the emptiness between us, that his eyes were on me. They were there the moment he walked in like a brand or a sunbeam. The place between my shoulder blades warmed, my neck, my hands. His steps were slower, contemplative, as he’d rounded the corner and came to a certain finality when he sat. I didn’t know what he’d do anymore, but I got the sense that now some new motive had taken the place of whatever had kept him behind his door so long. 

He piled food onto his plate. “I suppose that's why I’m chaperoning you today. And also why your brother was at my door at dawn.”

“I wouldn’t know. His agenda and my own rarely overlap.”

The tension in the room made it to my eyes. There was a pull now. Not just in this moment but in all of them. I’d noticed it this morning. In the foyer when I walked Madja out my eyes drew to the place the spill of our wine had landed the night before. I stood over it when she’d arrived. Our intimacies became fated themselves with tethers to pull us toward them in some kind of way. It couldn’t be avoided, each time I moved my hands I bumped the place his lips had been. I woke in the morning to my body on the edge of my bed where a chair had once waited all night. There was an almost ineffable weight, dragging me across the world. It was inevitable, like a marble circling a drain. If we’d moved through universes so easily then this one, whether it was the old world or a new one, had hooked into me like a marionette. 

I would mention none of this to him. 

“You can convey to him then that I’m capable of making such decisions.” 

I hummed and kept eating, only turning away from my book to grab my tea and nothing else. Whatever those decisions were I didn’t care to ask and I wouldn’t tell Rhys what he’d said. Whatever had happened between them had given me the upper hand. Lucien was thoroughly annoyed by what had transpired. Too much time in our earnestness had left him with an arrogant streak and Rhys would agree a little annoyance would do him good. I was thankful enough that my brother’s antics didn’t bother me, they couldn’t, or I might go insane. I was busy anyway, trying to learn and remember all at once. I took a sip, then another, then placed the cup down with a clink and swam in Lucien’s attention. I had only just managed to turn the page when the male started again.

“And will you tell him?” He said, voice harsh. Down the bond, a small thread of annoyance wove between a glittering tug of longing. He wanted me to look at him. Despite sitting in his room all morning, waiting behind a door as I ate here alone for lunch, he wanted my attention. He wouldn’t ask for it, no. That was for me to do, he'd said as much himself. It was convenient for him, that in all our mutual waiting, I was the only one who had anything to lose. 

I lifted my gaze at last, “I’m no one’s keeper.” I said.

Surprise wore his face the moment I made to look at him. He wasn’t expecting it, me to give in to his need. He thought I’d make some sly comment too I imagine, but I wasn’t playing into his hand. His mouth, open and at the ready with something cruel, closed and he bowed his head. Then it was I who was surprised, because where I expected an explosive anger, the annoyance, for as light as it had been, disappeared entirely. What was in my chest was replaced. The whole world went soft and he bowed his head. 

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t let my surprise show as he had. “Are you finished?”

He withdrew his gaze, embarrassed. He’d asked the same of me a thousand times and knew what such a question meant. Are you done with your little tantrum? How annoying it had been those years to sit beside him as he became emotionless, impenetrable, when he would not give in to my taunts. I understood now the power it could give to break the illusion between one person and another. A composure required for the task that asks you to put it all down. 

“Yes,” He said and it was true. His whole body visibly seemed to recede at the edges and at once the powerful male seemed smaller and steeped with that new sincerity. When he’d asked the same of me in the past I’d never done it, let it all go. Whatever Rhys and he had talked about must’ve truly shaken him. 

He peered over the dishes at the center of the table, “what are you reading?”

“It's not interesting,” 

“I don’t mind.”

I flipped absently through the many pages I still had left. “It’s legends of forgotten Gods.”

He reached for a roll and began to lather butter over it, “is that something of interest to you? Folktales and myth.” 

It probably seemed that way from the book he’d found on Velaris myths and likely the many more in the library. A collection we’d had forever that I’m not sure we could attribute it to one singular person's interest but the cumulative need of friends and family. Or maybe it was just nice, to some people, owning precious stories that fell out of popular circulation. 

“Not really.” 

He narrowed his eyes at me, but it was true. 

“Have you thought of what you’d like to see today?” I asked.

Lucien shrugged.

“Nothing in your reading has piqued your interest?” 

He shook his head. 

I sighed. There was one place I knew he’d like, but I couldn’t bring him there. Not yet. She would rip me apart and he would help.

“Do you need anything?” My eyes fell to his shirt, flimsy by comparison to what everyone who passed the window wore. “Perhaps some shops so you don’t freeze.”

“I don’t care where we go, anywhere is fine. Your favorite places.” 

His delivery was soft but there was a quiet enthusiasm to him. It wasn’t so large it couldn’t be contained from the bond, but it wasn’t small enough that his face didn’t hide it, his desire to know me and the city itself. A harsh gust struck the windows behind Lucien and the ensuing draft pushed the wafting scent of him to me. Even just the act of it entering my lungs warmed me substantially. I ran a hand across my chest like I could smother it out of me, or else, warm the cold palm that fell flat at my collarbone.

“You’ll need something warmer.”

“This is all I have.”

I shook my head and rose. Instinctively and too quickly he followed. For someone who’d been scowling at me earlier, he had quite the blush. Apparently, this was what it took, a little moonlight and courtly manners. He followed after me, but I didn’t mention it. A small mercy, and anyway I wanted to see something. 

In the hall closet I pulled from an old box and prayed it wasn’t moth-ridden. At the very bottom, a detail that was perhaps its salvation, a sweater was waiting. I handed it to Lucien. His fists balled the wool, as if feeling for each stitch and seam. His fingertips rolled the material a few times before finally, he looked up at me. 

“This is a bit drab.”

My hands flexed, hidden behind my back. “You can buy whatever gaudy clothes you prefer today.”

“The birdlike fashions of the Autumn court as you’ve called it.” There was a lilt to his voice I recognized, playful but not quite as mean as I was used to.

“Do you remember everything I say? A bit obsessive.” 

He smiled in reply. Yes, he did, but the bank of my memory was just as extensive, just as rich. So I teased him no more.

“I won’t forget you called it drab.” 

“I know.” 

But he did not, not really. 

He threw the sweater over his head and the edges of his shirt lifted up barely to reveal him to me. The edge of his stomach, the waist of his pants. The sweater fell perfectly, and my heart thudded against my ribs from deep in my chest. He must have heard it, mistaking the cause for something else. He looked down, assessing the sweater, but said nothing because he couldn’t. It fit perfectly. 

Outside a howling wind whistled. Lucien stared toward the door. “This is all the protection you offer me then.”

“I’ve nothing else, nothing at least that’s warm.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he smirked. “Give me a kiss and I bet I’ll warm right up.”

I scoffed, “I’m beginning to find it hard to believe you’ve pleasured anyone at all.”

“And how often, before now, did you speculate my proficiency in giving pleasure?” He shifted forward with such satisfaction I realized I had been letting him win far too much. It was becoming pathetic, how this languishing had extinguished the fight I’d once had in me. He added, “and if you really want me to love Velaris you might introduce me to some friends at Rita’s.”

I’m sure he waited for the hollow part of his chest to ring with jealousy but after last night it would take a little more than the threat of a pleasure hall I should think. “None would stoop so low.”

He rolled his eyes, “all this new material from living in the same place and you continuously go for the same old joke. You’re boring me.”

“I surprised you just a few minutes ago.”

“It wasn’t the kind of surprise I wanted.”

“I’ve no interest in being entertaining for you.”

“I very much so doubt that.” He took one more step forward and I took a step back. He didn’t follow. He was stuck there. I blushed, and let my eyes drift down where the sweater that had waited stretched across the broad of his chest. It really did fit perfectly despite how little sense it made. I didn’t care if he saw my stare, I couldn’t help but not care. 

I kept my eyes down, “I see your mood has improved.” 

“It might continue too, depending on what we do today.”

“You’ve given me little help.”

“I think I’ve given a lot.” He said, leaning against the table still set with a bottle from the night before. “And you wouldn’t let yourself be so powerless would you?”

My gaze which had remained on his chest flicked up to his which had a little fire behind it. Those words were still a severe thing to say. I flinched at the question and tried to turn my head like I could convince him it was all one seamless move. For the briefest of moments something in his face fell, like he too had flinched from the aftermath of me. I could tell he’d seen the new tension I’d failed to hide. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

He stood upright and smiled. 

“Nothing. Relax,” he seemed to say this with duel meaning. I could feel the sincerity of it, that he wanted me to be at ease with him like we’d done the night before. He wanted a different tension than the life we once had. But I also could hear the humor, so when he followed with his usual taunting I wasn’t surprised. “The spontaneity is good for us. You might learn how to actually surprise me.”

“Maybe,” I cooed, glancing over my shoulder and leaving him in the foyer standing directly over the center of our spill from the night before.

***

The Sidra was unforgiving, just as I liked her to be. The icy winds blew across the water and whipped through the chasm between us. It felt like a chasm, at least. I was keenly aware of the skin across my hand. It was like a wound, my desire and his together. It didn’t hurt but there was no other word. Wanting was a wound. We creased at the cold lashes of the afternoon, folding into ourselves. Lucien wouldn’t say it, but there was a tug of relief and gratitude between us with each pull of the sweater. Fall came that way, in the middle of lasting bits of warmth sudden spells of bitter cold that left little traces of their origin.

“So this is where you truly grew up then?” He asked. 

“We have a cabin in the Illyrian village, but otherwise yes.”

He nodded, “that's good.” He said, looking out on the river as we arced over a hill that inaugurated us into the real thrum and heart of the city. Children laughed and played, people were eating and chatting in restaurants and their hum reverberated off the stone making the whole of the city, not just the people inside it, feel alive. Like the stone itself was pleased, was laughing. 

“It never made sense to me, you growing up in the Hewn City.”

“I think perhaps it made sense, you just didn’t like the idea of it.” I said and Lucien spared a slight glance my way as I skimmed my hand over the icy water of the fountain at the center of the square. Where Prytahin needed a villain, the Night Court always managed to find its step inside their perception. How could it not, what with the Court of Nightmares under our rule. How ruthless we were supposed to be and how ruthless we managed when we needed to. People believed what they wanted, and outside of Velaris we behaved very particularly to expectations. So it did, in fact, make sense that I was from that wretched place. 

“I never liked it, how Beron was your father,” I said. We hadn’t spoken of him since we’d arrived and Lucien stiffened at the sound of his name. “It made sense though, that he was. I saw the traces, but even then, even before, I thought you deserved better. When I saw you and Eris standing there that night I felt betrayed because you’re better than your kin.”

“It's not hard to be.”

“It is, actually.”

He stopped walking and made to look at me, the movement seemed to drag him, like there was a powerful burden resting on his shoulders. At my chest, a growing despair began to climb through the nameless thing between us. From the look on his face, I could tell it was taking great effort not to reveal to me the true intensity of his feelings. “If he saw me, if he suspected anything I’d never have been allowed to participate. The risk—”

“I understand,” I said reaching for him but he backed away, out of my grasp.

“No, you don’t.”

I stood upright, swallowed, and forced myself to see the sadness lining his face. How quickly we moved through an emotion, nomadic, like we couldn’t stand any goodness too long. Perhaps we didn’t deserve it. No, I didn’t, for what I’d done to him. “Alright. I don’t, but I place no fault on you.”

He stared at me for a long time, before he licked his lips and I felt a tug, sharp, on the bond. He didn’t falter from the effect he had on me. “You’re right though, when Eris described the Hewn City I hated the idea that you had to endure that place.”

I smiled, just barely managing it until the weight of his burden shrunk from me. “I’m sorry you wasted your limited sympathies for me on a lie, but I was actually well cared for in Velaris, learning from Cassian how to gamble and causing a general spectacle of myself.”

“I assume that's what they keep referencing, this winter in the cabin was because you made a fool of yourself.” He said, smiling, and it was true again, true enough that something settled. Another piece of worry left my chest, worry for him. What the space would carve out and become I wasn’t sure. He took a step toward me as we began to walk again and our shoulders bumped.

“Something like that.”

“And will you ever tell me or should I ask Cassian?”

“You should wait for me to tell it. Right now I don’t think you’d like my version, or anyone else's for that matter, very much.”

His brow rose, “why?”

I smirked at him but said nothing. It took just a second for him to look away and from the center of my chest, a strong tug of jealousy burned hot and unending. I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh as Lucien cursed under his breath and rubbed the skin above his heart. My steps swayed but he didn’t protest when our shoulders collided and remained touching, even as I kept laughing, and we continued on that way in the world's most intimate and hidden of touches.

Entangling Lucien in the city was a process of pulling loose threads of memory until they unraveled themselves. Each time I passed a restaurant we’d been to or a place we frequented I’d tell him a detail, a funny story, and that would only recall finer points, funnier stories, more important details. He laughed, he listened, and we didn’t bicker for the time. He could likely sense it, my desire to really introduce him to this place. We’d lost time, I’d forgotten what I had not known I needed to remember. He tried though, took what I had, and pieced it together. 

“When we go drinking, we’ll probably start at this restaurant. Amren likes the drinks there best,” I said as we sat on a bench just across from the rainbow, outside a tea shop. We’d ended in the art quarter. Lucien had inquired about the shop just as the full hour had passed between us, his official duty ending and something less clear beginning. I didn’t know if he’d stay or go, but he wanted to make the stop, and get something warm to hold onto. 

“Are they any good?” He asked, the cups in our hands, a thin streak of steam rising before our faces. 

“For her particular palette, yes.”

Lucien didn’t inquire further. Call it survival instincts, when it came to Amren even if she weren't around. He did, however, point toward the long alley with which people came joyously out of, bags in their hands. “What’s this?”

“The rainbow.”

When he’d decided not to shield he’d said we’d both be vulnerable to each other, I don’t know if he realized I already was vulnerable to him in a way he could never be with me. Autumn Court lay unknowable across Prythian. There were friends I’d never meet, stories obscured by memory with no one to correct them. I didn’t know what his laugh sounded like there, in a place that had belonged to him. The balance between us could never be righted perfectly. We wouldn’t ever be true equals. I tapped my fingers along the cup and his eyes fell to my hands, caught by the nervous tick.

“It's the artist's quarter. Our best theater resides in this neighborhood, the building with the gold top. You can’t miss it, if you like that kind of thing.”

“I’ve known you to have many faults but none so severe as a dislike for the arts.”

I scoffed, “what makes you say that?”

“you’ve given me a detailed account of every street we’ve passed but suddenly you’ve nothing to say.”

“So?”

“So I saw you fall asleep during a play once. It's fine, at the very least you’re well-read, but I’d like a female with a little more culture.” 

“I prefer the orchestra and if I recall correctly the play we were watching was actually an opera in another language so I can’t be blamed.” 

I’m sure he could feel my annoyance climbing through my chest and down the bond. I could see it in his face, the dual pleasure he got in thinking he’d pinned me down precisely, and the joy it gave him to annoy me. Wouldn’t it have been nice for him to have given that vice up when we arrived. Instead, he gave a cunning smile and leaned back against the bench, his arm stretching along the length of it behind my back. Wretched.

“It was in the old language and I know you know it,” Lucien said, the bond remained quiet of any real feeling. He seemed perfectly at ease with the conclusion he’d drawn. “What is it about the arts that bothers you so, that you can’t charm any with a few cheap words or is it the patience thing you’ve struggled always with?”

I sat forward and turned to face him more fully. “You’re in Velaris for less than a month and suddenly you know me so well,”  the words were sharper, like that which had passed between us when we’d set off that morning. We were right on the edge of returning to our bickering. 

He narrowed his eyes, “I think all my years before coming here are actually what are aiding my knowledge of you now.”

He was no longer complaining that we’d fallen into our usual game of accusations. Suddenly being shocked or surprised was not on his list of things he wanted from me. If I told him now it certainly would shock him, but then wouldn’t I be giving him exactly what he wanted? The reason for which I said so little, the reason why he believed me to be indifferent. 

I stood, after a long beat of silence.“You need clothes.”

“I’d rather—”

“I’d rather you do as I say.” I interrupted, scowling as I turned to leave him. “I won’t take you anywhere while you look so ridiculous.”

Lucien caught up to me, his arm nearly ghostly, and guided me forward with the lightest push on the small of my back as he leaned close to my ear. “You used to love when I made a fool of myself. Have you warmed up to me at last?”

Inside the shops Lucien took on a much more bearable demeanor, his voice kinder and more considerate than I’d ever heard, discussing at length what he liked, what he might need. He asked the elder male who’d approached us when we walked in of the climate, of the winter coming. Though winter had barely arrived he inquired about spring too, then summer. He listened like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I ran my fingers over the fabrics on display, the shirts ready-made, glad that at the very least he might leave here with something.

“What do you think?”

I turned back to the two males, the elder holding out a bound book of cloth. The colors were rich, deep, almost immersive. It was hard to say which color had dragged my attention first, all of them seemed to pull on me and the more I stared the more I saw, the less sure I was of which to pick. Lucien sat idle, waiting for my answer to the question I hadn’t heard. “He says these colors suit me best.”

The older male was the only person Rhys ever went to. He boasted of his expertise and I could see now what he meant. The colors, even just close to Lucien, brought a brightness to his face. I ran my hand along one of the scraps and nodded.

“You wore this color once, at a party, I think it was the best you’ve ever looked. I would trust his recommendation.”

Lucien half raised a brow. We’d already revealed to each other an acknowledgment of beauty. What did it matter if in the past I had been capable of the same, of looking past the distaste to acknowledge an honest truth.

“Then I trust you,” Lucien said to the male and he nodded.

“Put it on my account,” I said as he began to rummage through his bag for tools. Lucien would go in the back and they’d take his measurements, show him styles I knew the deal. It would take another hour before he emerged. I could certainly entertain myself, if I knew what was good for me.

“No,” Lucien began, placing a hand out toward the male. “Put it on mine.”

My forehead creased with my confusion, “you don’t even have one.”

He barely glanced at me. “I do, actually.”

“I assume that's what my brother spoke with you about this morning.”

“You’re free to assume,” he said his voice taking on a sudden severity again. I let a silence fall between us, averted my eyes, and let him think about the tone before I took a breath. He already seemed to be crumbling, softening around the edges especially when I met his eye again. 

“Please,” was all I said and I wanted it to convey my need to do this. If I could not undo, could not give him what he lost at my hand, his title, his home, his freedom, then I could at least take care of him. A heat rose over my body— that was what I wanted really I realized, just to take care of him. We were here because of me. That night he probably had already known which favor he’d call in, he probably had somewhere he wanted to go for safety from his father. But I brought him here. I was pure ego in my thinking that I was his only hope. I couldn’t even blame him if he wanted to leave. His life here, if there were one, would be so different. 

For the briefest of moments, I saw the way this constraint might look on him, emissary for a court he’d been born hating, a court that had long tormented him. It didn’t have to be this way. I saw that now, I could have married Eris. Why was my freedom more important than his own? We could have ushered a new life without the same violence, saved some trouble. I would’ve, knowing all this now, if it meant he got what he wanted. If it meant he got the life he wanted.

Lucien grabbed a hold of me as I made to turn toward the door like he understood this, like he was just as capable of slipping into my mind. He said nothing, instead his fingers ran down my forearm before grabbing a hold of my hand. He held it there between us like it meant something, like there were words I wasn’t seeing in our palms. Only when I looked at his face I understood precisely what he was saying. 

Enough. 

He nodded his head in confirmation, enough . He brought my hands to his lips as he had the night before, satisfying the hunger I’d had all morning, just as he said, and straightened. The private moment over, fading from us, and I didn’t feel much better, but I at least felt full.

“I’ll find you after.”

I nodded and grabbed for the door before he yelled out, characteristically shifting pace on whim like nothing, “be good, and try and find something to like about the arts for my sake won’t you?”

I didn’t spare him a glance back and walked out the door.

“I was beginning to think you died.”

I had barely shaken my jacket off when I looked up to see Egrette, standing behind the counter, a sour mood written on her face. 

“I almost did.”

“Figures.”

I scoffed, hanging the coat where I always did, and walking toward the tiny female. In her later years, she’d seemed to get smaller every time I saw her, though her strength was out of the question. She wasn’t frail, not in the slightest. I sometimes worried she’d wring my neck if I waited too long between visits, and could scarcely persuade Cassian to walk me there. 

“I see you’d have wept at my funeral.”

“For the loss of the free labor,” She said, but as I stared at her until the crease in her anger appeared and she let out a small smile before opening her arms in welcome. I laughed, hugging her back, trying not to wince as she pressed into my stitches.

“What happened? Do I need to write your brother again telling him to keep you out of that business?”

“I like that business you know. And I’m good at it.”

“You’re avoiding the real question.”

I waved her off before lifting my shirt to reveal to her the wound. “I cut myself training. I was messing around and if Rhys hadn’t been away I’m certain he would have finished the job for my stupidity.” 

The fact was, I could not keep her and Lucien apart for very long. Our lives would intersect and they’d be made aware of each other so the less they knew the better before meeting. I could not, in any way, compromise him with more strikes against the Autumn Court, even if it had been him who’d saved me. Some forgiveness is understood only by the people who give it. 

“Well if it was your own stupidity then I should think I’m allowed a complaint or two until I’ve forgiven you for being gone so long.”

I rolled my eyes, “and how have you been?”

“Oh great,” she said her mood shifting toward joy and pleasantries to an almost extreme degree. “You just missed my nephews. I’m starting to think perhaps you are purposefully avoiding them and the prospect of joining my family, but regardless, we’ve had more business this time of year than at solstice last.” 

I smirked as she told me of the interesting projects she’d seen people starting, and how they’d sold out of this and that, things she’d not sold out of in years. She was going on and on I was surprised she even caught my smile, her newspaper coming down on my hands and startling me. 

I withdrew, disarming her as she swatted me again, and pointing the paper back at her. “I’d hate to say I told you so, but I think the nightly workshops have helped. People like doing things with their hands. And might I add your nephews are afraid of me.”

She rolled her eyes, a familiar disdain on their male cowardice, “who cares if you have a mate is what I say.”

Most males, if they knew, wouldn’t interfere with something of that nature for the risk on their life alone and for that reason, most males didn’t know about Lucien. Egrette’s nephews were not to my taste, and so I’d told them inadvertently in the hopes that it would drive a wedge and I’d have some excuse as to why we avoided each other. 

“So, what have you really been up to, injury aside,” the old fae asked.

I lounged back in a chair and closed my eyes. The shop for now was quiet and you could count on someone coming in just when something exciting or revealing was to be said. It was a nuisance and a safety net. 

“I was in Autumn Court, as a sign of good faith or what have you after denying a marriage proposal.”

The old woman mirrored my ease as if the both of us were merely at home rather than in a store where anyone could see or walk in. “Rhys made you do that?” 

“No, it was my choice.”

“You’re lucky the cauldron hasn’t smitted you down yet. You do an awful lot to test its patience.” 

“The cauldron loves me.” I said exaggerating my enthusiasm and it made us both laugh. 

I smiled, “I missed you.”

“And I, you.”

“I’ll be in Velaris for a good while. You’ll probably grow sick of me.”

“Good,” she said. “It's the only way I can ever let your brother have you for his little courtly affairs.”

Lucien and Egrette would get on well. They had something in them made the same. They were both sincere when it was needed, both charming and scathing, loved for the latter adored for the previous. And both seemed to take me into account in my entirety. The same way Lucien could look at me, that kind of look that really was understanding and seeing, Egrette missed nothing. 

“He knows as much. When he sends me to represent Night Court it’s only under dire circumstances.”

“Autumn Court was dire?”

I swallowed and nodded wordlessly. It was never good to make the politics and alliances of another court known in this way. It was better to leave pedestrians unaware, better always to keep this life and the representative separate from one another. Egrette though, she had a way of considering things. I’d told Rhys more than a few times it would have been better if he hired her instead of me for these jobs.

She was the one who’d informed me of the earlier years, the manners and respect most older High Lords would desire. Autumn was particular in how they believed things should be done. Over the years I’d come back and discuss small slights or missteps and she’d helped me get a grasp of what was suspect, what was an issue. 

When Rhys said he didn’t care if we offended Autumn via letter of rejection for the marriage proposal I knew by then that we’d be more at risk his way. He was not thinking as a High Lord, but as a brother. Walking that line, figuring out just how to balance the cruelty and respect had been my job. When I said I’d go to Autumn and deliver the news personally, I’d done so under ‘good faith’ that even if we were rejecting them, Beron would have at least respected the fact we’d done so in person. That was the way of his world. It was what he believed they deserved. 

Why the blessing of the Lares I don’t know. I always had the strange impression the High Lord of Autumn, for all his ancient beliefs, respected me for our game. We had our rules and we played by them, something the Night Court wasn’t known for. When the offer was made, the hand of a future high lord no less, I understood that for all Beron didn’t like me, he at least saw the power I wielded and wanted it for himself. I don’t know what he’d have done if he discovered Lucien was my mate. I didn’t like to think about it. 

“Who was the male you were with?” Egrette said suddenly. She didn’t say where she’d seen us but I knew she had. She knew the boys by name. The only new face was Lucien. 

Our eyes met and she looked unsuspecting, even tranquil. 

“A friend,” I managed to say. 

“He’s Autumn.” 

“Yes.” She’d said it more as a statement than a question. 

“Your mate is Autumn yes?”

A cold sweat began to form along my back, “unfortunately.” 

She narrowed her eyes at me, “what really happened when you went to Autumn?” 

The bell overhead rang and I relaxed so visibly I knew that she’d ask me again if I didn’t make myself busy. She stood, welcoming, her peripheral gaze settled on me as I moved past her to take up my spot behind the counter. She had a better understanding of the inventory than I did and when the customer approached looking for a color match she ushered him to the back. I ran my finger over the big book at the front, checking to see if it was balanced. 

Her voice, enthusiastic as ever, asking for the male’s name gravitated toward me and settled between my ribs with a homely familiar warmth. I turned behind me, looking at the various packages labeled for pick up, and ran my hand over the yarn before I found a parcel with my name on it. I already knew what it was for and turned back as another customer came in looking for help. 

The two of us spent a good hour side by side before I felt a tug along the bond, he was looking for me. The store quieted enough that I could make my leave, least before she started questioning me again. I took the small package and grabbed a bag.

“Thanks for your help,” Egrette said before resuming her space behind the counter. 

“I give where I can,” I smiled. 

“That reminds me.” She crouched and pulled out a box hidden beneath the counter. Within its contents was a colorful array of yarn. I ran my hands over the contents. She watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction. There was too much, more than I had ever taken at least for any task.

“It's rare you’re gone so long I’ve been hoarding a bit more than usual for you.”

I huffed a laugh, “what could I possibly do with all this?”

“Look here,” she said grabbing the cuff of my sweater. “This is far too big on you. You can practice learning proper measurements for yourself. Maybe even deign to find time to knit a gauge and then make a fine knit sweater that actually fits.”

In his own way, Lucien was right. I was far too impatient for the arts, but somehow managed on anyway. For years I’d been knitting and for years I had not done so properly, making sweaters too big, too small, wonky in places that you did not want them wonky, but it endeared me almost to the act of making. Proof that it was truly made by me, that some mortal hand had been part of its conception. 

“You know that's not what I do with this.” 

She shrugged, “well some of it is a solstice gift.”

“You’re giving it too early. In your old age you’ll forget you gave it to me and save me more until you’re bankrupt.”

“With all those classes you gloat about I can give more than I used to,” she said crossing her arms before he body relaxed. She sat at the counter, crossing out inventory in her big book, before looking back at me. “I never truly forget I just like seeing what you make.”

I threw my jacket on and managed to find a bag for all she’d gifted. I slipped a small sum for the yarn in the box when she was turned around and distracted. So in the end I got the last laugh. I wished her well and before I got to the door she looked at me with a sudden seriousness. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I knew what she meant. I looked back at her, but as I was leaving a customer was coming in and she just as conveniently avoided me as I had her the hour before. She’d seen Lucien and she knew who he was to me. I backed out of the shop and stared at the massive trove of yarn. I had yet to think of a reason to say I had the bag. I couldn’t quickly winnow home to drop it off. Even if Madja wouldn’t find out, that burning from within gnawed at my memory. I’d have to think of something on the way to the shop.

“What’s that?” 

I turned and, coming up the street, Lucien stood in new clothes. Though they were more to his taste, Velaris already had brought upon a fashion I’d not seen on him. I hesitated to think it was his preference and not the matter of the male who made them. A fine vapor curled from his mouth with each breath. He slowed as he got nearer and neither of us said anything as we took each other in, like we were meeting here by impossible chance. My cheeks were already red and cold from the weather which disguised any reveal of how handsome I found him in his version of Night Court clothes. 

Lucien pointed at the store a silent repetition of his question. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder which tucked the bulk of it behind my back and out of reach or glance from him.

“A yarn store.”

He peered in through the window and I saw Egrette helping the new customer, her eye on the scene unfolding before us. I prayed the business would keep her busy enough so that she would not come out into the street, would not demand an introduction. That was for another day, one for when I finally had answers to the questions I had not yet dared to ask.

“What were you in there for?”

I adjusted the weight of my bag and his gaze made to follow the strap. “I used to work there. I like to visit.”

He gave a breathy laugh, “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He looked toward the store, then back to me, before glancing over my shoulder. His fingers hooked into the small mouth of the bag still exposed and pulled it open before he peered inside. There was indeed yarn inside the bag if looking through the windows had not made it clear to him that I was telling the truth. The cauldron hadn’t given me a chance to make anything up so perhaps it didn’t want me to. I could believe in that, at least for a moment.

A cruel smile overcame his face and I was ready for his next words. “So wifely are we? I was only joking earlier. There’s no need to pretend you spent your youngling years making mittens and scarves, it won’t make me any more eager to mate you.”

“I’m not lying.” I said flatly, nodding toward his full hands. “Where did you think that sweater came from?”

He opened his mouth but I saw the moment the words struck as those words failed and his face paled. He looked down at the drab piece in his hand. I’d been trying to make it for myself, but it was too big and not in the way I liked. It didn’t fit any of the boys so I’d packed it away years ago where it waited, almost on purpose, for the male I’d unintentionally made it for. Like my hands had always somehow been moving in his direction and were aware of his absence so were trying to make him from nothing. 

Lucien pulled the material between his fingertips to look at it, reaching into the back collar for an embroidered logo, something to prove I was lying, and found none. “Maybe if you tell me what colors you like I can make something less drab.”

“Hey,” he said stepping toward me but I continued.

 “or, perhaps, some mittens. I’ve never made any but I’m up to try.” The element of surprise was, indeed, a fine addition to our little duels. I’d have to use it to my advantage if it made him look this stupid. 

“Wait a minute.”

“And don’t worry,” I said, attempting to be just as cruel with my smile as I turned away. “I’ve no intention of persuading you to mate me.” And left him in the middle of the rainbow, as people walked past laughing.

***

Lucien stood by this duty, like he had in the garden. For one hour each afternoon, we went for our walks and while out we explored various shops I'd come to love and new ones I hadn’t known well that had caught his eye. We did not go back to the rainbow. When the hour was up he would take my hand in his, place a gentle kiss, and we’d part ways. Madja was coming though, to take out the stitches that morning. We’d no longer have any duty, imaginary or real, to spend any time together. 

I hadn’t thought much of it, not until yesterday. After returning from the Illyrian village, everyone carried a density to themselves that had started to seep into the rooms of the house. Even the furniture had begun to bloat with the heaviness they couldn’t put down. I didn’t ask about the visit. Lucien, however, upon arriving back at the townhouse seemed to need little instruction. We shared just one look and his hand came gently down between my shoulder blades as he pushed us toward the room where they’d gathered. Their low voices were just barely able to come up over their slumped shoulders. They didn’t tease, didn’t look at the hand of my mate falling away in encouragement, or the immediate gentleness with which Lucien followed behind me as a silent promise passed between us, a vow, to get them on the mend. 

The hour away from the house was our only reprieve from the stilted conversation over the general lethargy of the court. Life happened as Lucien said it would. Suddenly the problems were forgotten and we tried to fix what had been made aware to us. When either of us entered the room after the other, our eyes would meet in the hopes of finding that knowing nod that said all had been repaired. Only each day, a silent shake of the head passed, and we began the routine all over again. 

No, things were not well. 

“I’ve seen Y/N’s side of the city,” Lucien said looking toward Cassian as he swallowed the last of his drink. “I thought you might have some suggestions too.”

Csasian shrugged, “some.”

“I’m open to any recommendations to try,” Lucien said turning the attention away from the male who had perked up ever so slightly once the weight of conversation had been lifted. Rhys was silent, Azriel too.

“I’ll show you. Tomorrow after Madja leaves.” Mor said. Her voice did not have its characteristic lightness, but it was sincere. She managed to give a smile his way. I tried not to get too excited, I had not seen her smile, had not heard such a long sentence leave her lips in days. And even if she could not totally shake from her being the weight of that world, I believed she really would take him up on the offer. The night then wasn’t a bust.

I knew he felt it, the fondness I had for him as he smiled back at her soft and full of hope. I’d seen it, how he changed at the sign of their despair. His steps were slower, his voice quieter, even the topics of conversation stayed light and easy as he tested between them all who would talk, who wanted to, what topics they liked. He took the same tone he’d taken with me, the same kindness that had once reached across a table, and grabbed a clean cloth from soapy water. 

“I should be getting to bed,” Rhys said throwing his napkin on the table. In near unison, everyone followed with quiet goodnights, up the stairs. All but Mor who’d had plans to see Amren. She was not the kind of female who, even with fine excuses, I’d ever skip plans with. It would probably be good for her. I think they all just needed to be around others for a while, even if at times such socializing could be unbearable.

I looked toward Lucien and just shrugged as I had the nights before, he in agreement shrugged back. We’d done our best, eventually I thought that would mean something. I’d told him the first night what the camps could be like for them. He seemed to understand. He stood from his seat came around the table, and offered me his arm. I smiled and he escorted me to the den.

“Something to drink?” 

Lucien mulled it over, but nodded. “We can toast to your stitches coming out tomorrow.”

The prospect of a drink from Rhysand’s personal supply was the only thing that could rouse me again. I grabbed two fine cups, maybe to impress Lucien, maybe they were just the first I saw, and found my brother's brandy. I heard him fall into the sofa and I looked over my shoulder as I poured. 

He looked like a member of the court, looked as though he belonged here. My hands faltered and his eyes fell shut, a small mercy from the Cauldron so I could stare at him longer. For all that cruelty, the severity he’d had those years, his kindness fit him the most profoundly. It was like he was born for it, all that loyalty with nowhere to go. I liked thinking that he’d saved some, that the world had not made him bitter, and for now, he’d extended it to the very people who’d once despised him. A test of faith maybe. I liked to think one day we’d deserve it.

I turned back and found courage to tip the heavy decanter. The sound of his shifting, getting comfortable, like he’d known all along to keep still for me to watch. 

“I feel it you know,” he said from behind me. “I’ve always felt it. When you were looking at me.”

I hummed, “I can feel you too.” 

“Do you think it’s because we’re mates?” He asked.

“I don’t know if I remember noticing before the bond snapped.”

I began to pour the next glass, all my movements now slow, intentional. Lucien’s attention burned into my back, my arms, my neck which had been exposed thanks to the wraith's help. 

“Sometimes,” I began, “I think you see me better than anyone. Even before.”

When I turned around he’d undone the cuffs on his sleeves, rolling them up the way he had before we’d gone to the house of wind. My breath rose and fell in quicker succession. He could hear it probably, the intake, the need, the speed of a heart that is looking upon something which does not belong to her in the way it would like.

“It isn’t mutual then.”

The small of my back bumped to the table at the statement.“Mutual how?”

“You said the other night that you used to know me. You no longer think that's true?”

I licked my lips, crossing one arm over the other as I held the tops of the glasses in my warming hands. “I think…I think there was a time where we had something between us that was easy and it is no longer easy.”

“Easy how?” He asked.

“I always knew what you’d do with it, with what you found when you saw me.”

“What difference is there, between knowing and not knowing?”

His head lulled to the side and he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked pleasant, vulnerable, and to have anyone's attention the way I had him then would have made you want to be known, to say whatever it was you felt before you couldn’t say. He looked at me with a happiness I seldom saw in our world. That careful in-between, content as they call it, where everything has worked out how you wanted it to. It occurred to me, as his eyes moved side to side in wait, a delicate smile just barely legible, that it was Lucien sitting before me. Sometimes I’d forget, but a kind of possessiveness overcame me. Not because he was mine to have, but because he was mine to know. The one person who couldn’t leave Prythian without my knowledge, without feeling as if the entire continent had shifted toward less mischievous, cunning ends. 

 A girlish blush rose to my cheeks, but I wasn’t afraid. “I’d felt old the first time I shared a bed with someone.” 

My gaze took on that far-away look I recognized in Lucien as I began to tell him of the winter I’d spent away from Velaris. I could tell though, even as I crept far from the present moment, almost to a different world, my mate kept his undivided attention on me. The way he had all week when a corner of the city was becoming known to him as I peeled back the layers of history and meaning. 

He showed no signs of male anguish, no jealousy, but I felt something in him warp and change before at last it settled by the very end. Like I was witness to my own personal transformation, a dimension revealed that didn’t give him a fuller picture of me, but insight, contour, to the ideas he’d already figured out just by being near me all this time. I was his to be known too.

“That’s how it used to be with you too, until recently.”

He said nothing and I approached him, cutting through his quiet while the words hung in the air and the ice began to melt in our glasses. I managed to make it across the room before he’d said anything and even then he just looked up at me. I surprised myself then, stepping just once more so that both knees touched his two as I leaned into him, letting him support me as I extended his glass between us.

“I’m actually insulted you thought I wouldn’t be able to handle such a story. I’ve seen you do far worse.”

It didn’t matter then, who was sleeping or who was awake, I tipped my head back and let out the loudest laugh I think he’d ever managed. I could feel Lucien looking at me, and where once the furniture had seemed to carry with it the weight and despair of the outside world, the air cleared just for the intensity of the joy that had happened close by.

He shook his head, laughing as he grabbed the drink, “you’d think I was some sort of miserable brute of a male.”

“Aren’t you?” I laughed as I fell into the couch next to him.

He didn’t reply. His smile broadened as he brought the glass underneath his nose and smelled it. “You don’t drink brandy.”

“I can start at any time.” 

“Give me that,” he said snatching away my drink and taking nearly the whole of it in his mouth. I might have chided him for such a display, but instead I found myself gasping, as I had seen other respectable females do in his presence, and laughing. He swallowed, “if we’re celebrating you should have a drink you like.” 

I don’t know if we’d ever been so playful before. Maybe the week had called for it, maybe it wasn’t that things wouldn’t be the same forever, but that they couldn’t. It wasn’t the way of the universe, we started life one way and ended it another. And at times, what we could hope for, is that there was change that arrived on something as easy to manage as a clink of a glass, as a laugh between friends. 

I took the cup I’d intended for him out of his grasp and in the same quick motion, had a long sip and swallowed it whole. The warmth filled my stomach and ears and the effects felt rather immediate. He smirked and though at one time it would have meant something menacing, tonight it seemed like an invitation. We pressed our glasses together with shared smiles. 

“To the end of your recovery and the return of your mischief,” Lucien said and we didn’t break eye contact until our next sip was taken. An old Autumn Court superstition. 

We sat back and I leaned against the arm of the sofa, pressing the cool glass to my temple to try and ease the heat. Lucien’s legs lulled open and closed, every so often bumping my own, creating a different warmth I could not chase from myself without his help. So I focused on the coolness near my ear, at the sweat of the glass dripping down my cheek onto my neck. I tried not to think of his arms exposed to the world, exposed to me.

“You’re wrong of course,” Lucien said eventually. “You understand me still.”

I smiled at the thought. He was right, but I wouldn’t say. He knew I knew this and knew I wouldn’t. I relieved myself of the burden of holding up my own head and instead turned my body, tucking my legs under me, so I could rest my cheek against the back of the cushion. Lucien’s head fell to the side to look at me.

“You knew what I meant at the tailors with just a look. I saw the thought arrive and leave,” he added as proof. 

“What thought?”

His mouth formed a flat line and he looked at me with skepticism, the skepticism of someone who knew I remembered and didn’t like me playing dumb.

“The one where you were thinking of everything you’d have done so that I didn’t have to be in Velaris.”

I said nothing and Lucien shifted forward like he had a proposition in mind. Perhaps the alcohol was stronger than I realized because our noses were nearly touching and my body and his seemed to be producing such a heat that between us I thought the fabric would scorch. Sweat formed at the back of my neck and fell beneath my collar. 

“Knowledge such as ours is already a burden. Please, don’t consider marrying someone else, not while I’m nearby and can see.” He said and I felt his words brush along the divot over my mouth. The distance so precarious my own voice rose only loud enough to cross what little space we’d given each other. 

“If it bothers you that much I might not be able to help myself.” He narrowed his eyes and I nodded, “Alright.”

He readjusted, put more distance between us, and I could breathe. His face back to that inquisitive need. “Do you truly believe nothing was at risk between us, that knowing something like what I’d say saved you any trouble?”

I licked my lips, and closed my eyes a moment to help gather my thoughts that in so short a time had scattered to the far ends of my mind. “Yes. What could I lose if I didn’t have anything to gain?”

“But wasn't there something to gain?”

“Was there?”

Lucien shifted, less embarrassed, less afraid of what he meant, “love, I suspect. Respect at least.”

“Did you respect me?” I faltered, asking because I couldn’t bear the other question, the obvious question with the obvious answer. Even if asking this in its own way revealed my hand, revealed the knowledge to him, of the things I couldn’t say. 

“Yes, of course I did. To me,” he said thinking for a long moment his voice wavering a little so he made to clear his throat. “This has always been a risk, it wouldn’t have been worth it to me if there wasn’t. I respected that our inherent bond, the way you witnessed me, gave you power over me and for some reason you never used it. Knowing or not knowing this about you didn’t take that power away. Especially when I know you can wield your words rather effectively when you want to.”

“What could I’ve done?”

“Plenty. Who knows me better than you?”

Lucien was right, to really know someone is burdensome. People don't want to admit it, because on words alone, few would desire to be such a thing. But there is a weight that you are aware of when someone is known to you and you to them. 

It’s like this, I could tell when Gawayn fell asleep. After we had finished I’d hear his breathing deepen, his heart slow. For a long time that had been enough, had meant enough, to make it until morning. To last until the next time I needed him. 

The satisfaction I had with males over the years was seldom ever made from mutual knowing. After long stretches of winter or very early on spring mornings, a desire came about. The craving for weight. Where, at once, the layers of understanding reach through the world to pull you close. It is a particular heaviness that is needed, not just the knowing of names, but the intimacy of two hearts who are familiar enough for the purpose. And strangely it is not so mortifying suddenly. All you want is the burden of knowledge, the weight of someone who has known you all this time and chose you. So I’d call and he would arrive and the heaviness of all we carried in familiarity and expectations would press together and only there I found some relief. 

Yes, I think I understand. To be known, is that not also, a kind of love? Are then, love and burden not the same thing?

There was a deep unsettling feeling forming between my bones, leaking out into my body, my being. The moment of realization that what you’d thought had been protected had, in hindsight, been so dangerously close to peril after all. I was saved by, if only by, the respect of someone good enough to know what was unutterable. The intimacy of never using something you had to begin with. My mouth was dry. I took the last lingering sip of my drink.

Lucien didn’t break the stare, his drink finished. I wasn’t even trying to think of something to say, his insight had obliterated any chance of coherency. My heart rattled against my ribs and I heard it in my ears. Its speed picked up so effectively I saw Lucien’s eyes drop to the thin skin that protected it. 

A wisp of something slid along the wall in my peripheral and then, without ceremony, the lights went out. Azriel. 

“Curfew?”

“Bastards.”

Lucien laughed, his voice so obviously tired now that I heard it in the dark, separated from the alertness of his face. The cushion beside me sunk then lifted. As I had, his knees pressed into my own, and silence unlike that I’d ever heard before, as total as the darkness, as private as the room, stuffed itself into my ears and I was more aware of him than I was of myself. And, all the same, being aware of him, made me aware of myself, because through the darkness a warm hand reached laying itself across my cheek.

Then a thumb over the lips, as the steady hand fell. Moving lower, moving until there was an edge, my jawbone, and running along it. Testing, savoring, and suddenly slower, the hand becoming just two fingers lowering across the valley of my neck. 

Feeling me swallow, testing for breath, splaying itself out then gripping where breath might be, almost, but with some hesitation. 

My head shifted up, more room for possession, more space for claiming, he noticed, closing tighter, but releasing. A trail of water down the neck is reborn by fingers. Touches that said I know you, remember you. Lowering with the permission of knowledge, feeling the heartbeat at the side of my neck, feeling it calm, feeling it ready. A pressure relieved on one leg, he leans away and returns with his knee between my thighs. I was unflinching, I wanted to wrap around him but didn’t, in case he went further. 

He does.

The distance closed is not enough, but he moves his hand lower, moves places it has never been but somehow still is remembering. 

Tips along the collarbone, a suggestion between breasts—then nothing.  

Two hands clasped, and the warm one pulled. 

A sturdy chest in my cold hands, my breath pushed back against me, he still leaning in. Teeth, in restraint, along my neck. 

Prodding, light, grazing. My name whispered. 

 Then nothing. 

We exchanged what we could, the sounds of our breath—his caught, mine lost, and it said a thousand things that words did not exist for. I wanted to stay, thighs touching, wanted to let my eyes adjust and be sure, see his teeth, and know it had happened but I couldn’t. I walked away first, toward the den doors. His touching, however, wasn’t over yet. He pulled just barely at my skirt, not enough to say don’t go, but like he was holding onto the moment too by its edges willing it in place. He knew what I knew, that once we got out into the hall where the lights were dim he would go and I would go and that great distance would form between our rooms which each night began to feel further and further from each other. I hated it, to the point of tears, the joy that ceased from my not knowing what to do. I didn’t want to be so powerless. 

The knob of the den doors warmed under my hold and Lucien withdrew his hand from my dress. The tension of the fabric faded only to be replaced by the tug of regret pulling from behind my ribs, from between the vertebrae. Why had I left him there in the dark? That I’d thought myself newly brave and could not, even for a flimsy moment, withstand the intensity of having what I really wanted—to stay with him, and for him to stay with me. My stomach turned in frustration. I wanted to the point of sickness. 

In the hall at last I found him still lingering close by. For the first time, I saw it, the respect he had for me. It occurred to me that no one looked at me as he had looked at me. Not just in the way he desired me, males had looked at me with desire, but for that distinctly mated fact. To him, truly, I was his equal cauldron or no.

It made the wanting bearable. Who knew me better than him?

He took my hand in his and I knew what it meant, he would kiss the smooth skin and rush off like he had somewhere to be as he had most of the week. He kept that stare on me and I did not look away. I could feel what he thought of me and it made me feel brave. He made to pull my hand to his lips but this was not the end. I withdrew it, his face creasing in confusion. I wanted him to ask me something, so I would ask first. That was what I had to do, I had to go first and he would always follow. 

He moved away from me, retreating.

“Are you to be my burden?” 

The quiet of our first days back in Velaris returned. As if the walls had solidified, as if even the townhouse had straightened and the whole world was balanced on the point of a needle, unmoving, without breath.

Lucien’s eyes searched, “so that’s how it is?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing, and thought only a moment, the answer coming quickly to him. “I’d prefer nothing.”

I waited for him to say nothing more , nothing else , but no word followed the vacant choice before it.

“Nothing?” I asked.

“I’d rather be nothing than that.” 

Whatever heat had formed from our moment in the den had been smothered. A heavy cool blanket had been tossed over me and I couldn’t get it off, could not find the hem and relieve myself. Really I had the sense that something terrible had begun and even though we’d only just started to speak again we were already too far ahead in something for us to go back. I got the sense that no matter what I said I could not fix whatever had been broken by the risk I’d made, by the things I’d revealed.

I huffed an uncomfortable laugh, my words out of habit turned sharp, “you didn’t seem to mind a few minutes ago.”

“A few minutes ago?”

“In the den. I thought you wanted to.”

“Well you thought wrong.”

When I didn’t speak Lucien saw the confusion on my face and anger took hold of his words. “Why should I want any part of that?” The bond was alight with it, all he was feeling that seemed only to grow and carve away at any logic, to break it like a bone so we lost any control. 

“Because,” I faltered, my voice becoming small in a way I didn’t like. However, Lucien’s face seemed to soften when he heard it. He waited. There was something he wanted me to say. For a moment I saw a bridge forming between us where we might meet in the middle, where we could put all of this down, all the fear and vague language, and say what we really meant. I stepped forward, “because it’s me.”

I watched the tenderness die, before it had fully arrived, fading slowly away from me until it was entirely out of reach. “Why would that change anything?” 

In my chest the foreign anger grew exponentially, primally, lashing like an injured beast with an overactive maw. Its teeth pierced into me, injured me, and where once a single rage might have been a second formed in its place. 

I steeled, narrowed my eyes, then shielded our bond. Lucien noticed immediately. Flames ignited and extinguished in an instant at his palms. My side burned, a sweat formed at my lower back as I tried to remain unwavering through the pain. Dull and precise it climbed through my side.

“I forgot how cruel you Autumn males can be,” I said finally, looking him once over. “It’s cowardly.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes back and stepped forward, “cowardly?” 

“I know no other reason for someone to abandon what they’d begun.”

“Self-respect.”

Shadows gathered at our ankles and the pain pierced at my ribs. I shook my head, cast a glance over the male, my mate, who had apparently not changed at all. I was still the female in the garden, the one his brother almost sullied himself with. Waves of disgust seemed to push off him, even without the bond between us. His nostrils flared, his lips pulling back. Like he’d forgotten everything, like I was the female everyone knew from the Hewn City.

“What a disappointment you turned out to be.”

He opened his mouth but closed it, sneering as he pushed past me. 

“Where are you going?” I said, my voice echoing through the house and I regretted it immediately. I’d revealed my hand. I care. I care. I care. I care what you think of me. I’d said so in the face of his uncaring. I want you safe, I want you here. In fact, there was to me, no greater fear than what awaited for him if he left. But he wasn’t listening. He had stopped listening. He turned back and, with a new composure of his acceptance of where we’d landed, his voice did not echo as mine had. 

“I’ve no desire to be where I’m not wanted.”

He waited, watching me. He’d realize it. He knew me, he knew what my words meant. He just had to look at them again. Where are you going , it was easy. In any other world, any other time, he’d have teased me about it. He’d say, I’m starting to think you want me around and if it were any other time I’d say, don’t be delusional . But tonight, tonight I’d say I do . He knows this I don’t need to go first. I stared at him waiting for that realization to settle. 

When nothing was said he stepped forward. “But you’re so brave?” 

With his words a ripple of both our powers moved through the house. If whoever had gone to bed wasn’t awake before I knew they were now. I could feel the pain in my throat turning my voice into something pathetic, almost begging. 

“I gave something,”

“You’re a child if you think a few stories, a glimpse at your handwriting meant anything.” He said, the words loud so everyone might hear. They’d probably been listening all along.

“It’s all I have.”

His eyes searched my face. I was not as stony as he. I never had been. He saw the fraying and he didn’t care. He remained unflinching. Then he did something I didn’t expect. “you disappoint me too, how you let the world make you this powerless.”

He used his power over me. 

The front door slammed. Its sound rattled through the whole house, between my bones, my fingers. He thought me weak. And he left. Lucien had gone and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was trapped, standing in the hall, staring where he had only just been. Staring at the space between us, where a spill had used to be. I was caught looking for meaning where there was none. The bump of a hand, a place on the floor, meaningless.

 I slammed my bedroom door in return. It gave no reprieve. Slowly, through the darkness, I undressed waiting for the feeling to settle. Instead, it grew larger until a great mouth seemed to open up and swallow me whole. Stripped, I dropped my shield and went to stretch as I had in the garden to dispel the leftover burn. I placed my palm to my side and found no stitches. I went to the mirror and searched for them through the dark. They were gone. 

They’d burned away. The only thing left was a hint of ash, a long stretch of skin, and a scar.

All of this replayed again, over and over, as Madja prodded my skin while the too-quiet court waited downstairs. If the Cauldron cared even a little for me we’d have one more hour, one more minute, where we would be forced together. There had to be a seam somewhere I could figure out where I’d been mistaken. 

“How does this feel,” the healer said. She pressed into the raised skin around the injury. Her hands were cold. Maybe they weren’t, but by comparison to Lucien, everyone felt cold. 

He hadn’t come home last night. 

I stayed up waiting for that terrible sound to repeat. The slamming of the front door, then footsteps down a hall to a room that no longer felt so far away. He could be a great deal further than just one floor. With each growing distance, the thought of another further destination came behind it. He could winnow to the Illyrian village, to the Hewn City, he could leave Velaris. He might not even be in Velaris anymore. All night I tried to imagine where he’d go instead and the panic had me so sick I had to run to the bathroom before I decided to think of it no longer. I’d know if he’d left. I’d said that. I’d know. 

“It hurts.”

“Probably tender from using your power, but it shouldn’t cause you much grief. If the pain lingers longer than a week let me know,” she said pulling her hands away and moving toward her bag. 

“Thank you.”

She nodded and muttered with a laugh, “good thing you did your exercises.” 

 I cursed under my breath. I’m sure from the outside our predicament was a riot. No one remembered what the cost was. No one ever remembered. I fixed my shirt and made toward the door. Downstairs everyone was waiting. Just as Lucien and I had dropped all pretenses to aid them in their recovery, so too did their various ailments seem to vanish in the space of a sleep. When I’d found everyone at breakfast that morning, between warm smiles, I saw also weary eyes. No one asked where Lucien was. I knew then they’d heard everything. 

Their murmurs climbed up the stairs the stench of alcohol had lingered in the hall. We’d been celebrating and suddenly all that goodness was over, like it hadn’t even happened. I could do everything again, I could shield and winnow and sneak into minds for private mischief, but I couldn’t do anything I really wanted. I couldn’t tell him to come back, couldn’t even return to our old understandings that might have revealed why he’d really changed his mind, and I couldn’t ask him to stay here with me.

“She’s all set,” Madja said, passing through the doors before me. A mass of faces, wide-eyed, nervous, looked in our direction. 

His eyes the only one turned away, stared into oblivion, stared far away. Lucien was on the couch beside Mor in the same clothes he wore last night. Rhysand watched me, his attention undivided and acute. Though his face remained neutral there was an uncertainty between us. He was waiting for me to react to seeing my mate. Lucien’s whole body slumped like it weighed a thousand pounds and he was trying to hold it up. He reeked of a tavern. The stench had been him, stale beer, wine, and something faintly sweet lingered lightly near. Like perfume. 

Every muscle contracted, straining against a heat that was trying to burst through. Barbaric and uncivilized jealousy slammed into me. I tried desperately to remain in control of my body, feeling for my feet flat against the floor, my clenched fists, my slack jaw. I could not after last night reveal such a weakness for him. But one foot vanished from my focus and was stepping forward, then the other. 

“So happy to hear it,” Rhys said maneuvering toward me, carefully putting himself between us. I still didn’t take my eyes off Lucien. “Cassian could you walk Madja out please.”

 “I feel it's important I stay right here.” He said, his hand coming down to clamp on my shoulder with a friendly restraining hold. I didn’t need to look at my brother, didn’t need to tear my eyes away a moment, to know his mouth had pulled into a thin line. 

“Az?”

The shadow singer moved silently through the room toward the old healer who gave a word of goodbye. Their faint sound of footsteps in the hall was privacy enough by Cassian’s standards and so began his teasing.

“Don’t go scaring Lucien away too. He’s barely recovered from sleeping on Mor’s ancient couch.”

“Cassian,” Rhys said.

At whose expense he joked I couldn’t say. Our cousin avoided our eyes, looking around the room. Rhys moved even closer to me. My brother was serious, deathly so, my name falling from him with that command he could wield. It was a kind of remedy, not enough to forgive Lucien, but a logic momentarily denied took root in my spine and I felt any despair vanish. He wasn’t the type, he wasn’t so cruel as to slink off at the first sign of issue and find another female. And if he had he wouldn’t come back. In the time of our agreement for freedom from one another, at no point had I ever found him to be uncaring or cruel to the females he’d pursued. It was another one of the few qualities he’d had that I never deluded myself in snubbing him. No one would respect me had I attempted such an accusation because everyone knew it to be otherwise.

Cassian tugged me into his side as if it had all been playful. “Maybe we could head up to the house of wind, get a little training in, expel some energy. Lucien, you’re free to join us if you can stomach it.”

“I’m going with Mor today,” Lucien said flatly. 

“Where?” I asked.

Mor stood, “I’m showing him my favorite spots in Velaris, will probably need to get him something to cure his hangover, he tried to outdrink me and Amren last night.”

“Another time then,” Rhys said to Cassian before looking my way. “You and I have work to catch up on together now that you’re out of recovery.”

“ What work?” 

He smiled, and all the normalcy in the world seemed to return with his tendency to relish in my suffering. It was a small suffering, but a welcome one, that I wouldn’t be able to languish all day. A wave of gratitude moved through me. My life had been waiting and it was time for me to get back to it. 

“We need to discuss the solstice and a time to see the priestess about Starfall.” I let out a sigh, recalling just how much there would be for us to do then. Rhysand moved past me and with all the casualty in the world threw his hands in his pockets adding, as if he’d just remembered, “oh—and we need to discuss that trip to the Illyrian camps I mentioned this morning.”

I felt nothing at my chest. Just the idea of me and another male days ago had Lucien wincing. I thought… well you thought wrong. 

From behind Rhys, Azriel was waiting in the hall. It was slight, but a wisp of his shadows crept along his shoulder. He was staring at me but whatever it was he wanted to convey was too slight. It was Cassian who, fighting a laugh had turned away from us all and began to leave the room giving away everything to me. Lucien was truly a member of our court then, through the customary ritual of having everyone participate in a campaign plotted against you. Rhys just looked at me in wait.

“I’ll need three days not two, if what you said is true,” I said wanting to test it.

Claws crept along my mind. Cruel. Does he deserve this level of punishment?

Yes. 

“Three it is then. We’ll have to find a good time, likely just before the holiday at the start of the month.”

“Perfect.” 

Glad to see you back on my team.

Rhysand turned away, always have been. Get dressed, there really is work to do.

Mor followed behind my brother, leaving me and my mate half alone once more. Slowly, I turned to face him truly. Even when we’d had the bond his emotions had usually been small. Yet nothing, not a whisper pressed into me of any jealousy. He just stood there narrow-eyed, watching me the way he watched and knowing the way he knows everything. As if the bond itself had whispered my every thought his way, giving over what little leverage I had. 

“Lucien?” Mor said and he didn’t look away.

“Let me change and we can leave.”

“Take your time,” she said but he was done with me. She might know already, she who had watched him last night and took him home. Would he in all his silence confide in her, confide in anyone but himself? Most of what I knew about him was things noticed not shared. 

In silence, we parted. I looked away as he passed, the air off his hand coiling around my fingers with a certain hold. It was no longer warm. It didn’t even seem to belong to him. My eyes settled on the couch, settling on the faraway point Lucien had been staring at when I came downstairs. 

Two cups, their lips together, like a kiss. Like proof that something good here had actually happened. 

“How refreshing it is to see two mates so dedicated to communicating as you,” Rhys said as I entered his office.

“Bastard.”

“Here I was, lying in bed, happy that all my scheming had managed to get you both working together, laughing,” he said throwing his feet on the desk. “Only to listen to the two most stubborn fae I’ve ever met refuse to acknowledge what’s going on between them.”

“I think actually we rather successfully acknowledge what’s going on.”

I fell into the chair across from him. Lucien and Mor had left a half hour ago. I’d laid across my bed waiting for the closing of the front door, trying to settle and become familiar with the sound of him leaving. It took me 15 minutes after they left to crawl back out of bed and come downstairs. 

“And what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

He flinched, like my pain was his, and I felt our jokes vanish. He quieted his voice, “all that's nothing to you?”

“It could be nothing or something and as of last night it’s nothing.”

There was such pity in his eyes that I could’ve slapped him. I didn’t need the mortification two-fold that not only had they heard him say what he said about me, what he thought, but also they felt bad for me on top of it. As if I could survive the burn of a blade and not the disinterest of a male who, two weeks ago, didn’t care for me to begin with. 

“I don’t think that's true.”

I shifted, turning to look out the window. Despair sat right on the edge of my vision. If I looked away from my anger, if I stopped being in the present I knew it would close in on me the way those shadows had the night we’d arrived. The way it had last night until I fell asleep.

“You thinking so doesn’t mean that it isn’t.” I swallowed and shook away the nerves. A false smile, one I knew he’d see through, spread across my face. “Sorry you won’t win your bet.”

“There’s still time.”

“Wishful thinking,” I said to my brother, who probably really wanted for me to explain how everything had gotten so bad between his trip to this morning instead of what work we had to do. “You should learn from this experience and stay out of my business.”

“Your business is far more entertaining than mine,” he said gesturing toward the pile of paperwork waiting.

“Shall we get started then?”

Rhys let out a small sigh of disappointment. He handed me a pile of pages and I took it from him, looking over the names and businesses that appeared on it.

“Is there anyone first who comes to mind you’d like to make a donation to?” I asked, flipping through what had already been decided.

“Egrette likely for her priceless contribution of keeping you out of my hair.”

I rolled my eyes and found her name circling it, making note of the sum we’d donate. A list of name after name beneath and above hers was accompanied by their own scrawling notes, taken over the last year by Rhys. Passing words, complaints, compliments, anything that was important to their livelihood so that when we came together before solstice we could figure out what was needed, what we could do. 

“Might as well decide what theater gets what too,” I said.

He hummed and we began to rustle through the pages. To sit there with him, half comfortable, it made the whole thing seem rather banal, normal even. Despite what was going on outside the room I could count on him for this, for a moment of reprieve, to sit together like siblings who had spent so many years talking that they need not say anything from time to time. There would come a place for talking again. But for now, that place was up ahead, maybe 50 years, maybe two weeks, when the memory of perfume didn’t linger in my mind. I knew though that he’d be ready when it arrived. He was already there. 

We managed to get a larger chunk done than I expected. Rhys I think continued on so long just to keep me from leaving his office and spiraling. With a headache forming he said we could wrap up for the day. We’d have to talk to the priestess tomorrow anyway. No one had returned to the townhouse.

I sighed, dropping my pages on his desk and he muttered a thanks.

“You’ll need to pass along a message for me when you get the the camp.”

“To who?” I asked, not in any particular rush to speak to most of the males that dwelled there. 

“Gawayn. Let him know the extra work he has is courtesy of the princess of the Night Court. 

Rhys didn’t look up from his desk, jotting notes down in the margins of something and then opening one of his desk drawers. How loud had I been talking? Not too loud I should think. The alcohol we’d shared had made us careless and the laughter had certainly echoed through the house, but was the rest not just a low murmur? 

Rhys put down his pen before he scowled lightly, “he put on a performance, the prick. He had me running around in circles with ideas of where the male from the cabin would be. I’m sure he roared with laughter once he got home.”

I smiled, truly and smugly, “I’m sure he did.” 

He shook his head and began to fidget in his seat with somewhat graceless movements. “I don’t doubt that was humiliating for you. I wish I handled it differently.”

“It’s been a nice laugh over the years and I’ve no interest in carrying grudges. You were forgiven before the snow had melted on Ramiel.” 

“Yes but,” he said rubbing at his face. “I have a terrible feeling I’m to blame in part for whatever’s going on between you two.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. About 50 years after the fact you lose any claim to such a title.” 

He huffed a laugh and sat back, eyes tired, “what will you do with the rest of your day?” 

“I have my own charity to finish and some letters to answer.”

“Don’t sit inside.”

“Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not, but I’d rather not risk my life to step between two feuding jealous mates again.”

“You embellish,” I said and when Rhys gave me a questioning look I shrugged. “I couldn’t feel anything—down our bond. He doesn’t care what I do.”

His brows creased but settled. He looked at the cuff of his jacket, fixing it slightly before asking with the false casualty of someone who wanted desperately to know something. “What does it feel like, your bond?”

I thought for a moment, feeling around for the tether and knowing exactly where it was. And yet it wasn’t concrete, not so real, but it had this pull on us we couldn’t stop. Not at least without a far worse pain. 

“Like knowing something for a very long time.”

“Knowing what?”

I thought, “an answer and a question.” 

My brother was quiet and he seemed to toss this idea around in his head. Whatever he thought he settled on keeping it to himself. I heaved myself up and told him I’d see him at dinner. Whether I left the house or not he’d probably be cooped up in here with whatever it was that needed his attention now. My hand had just brushed the door when Rhysand spoke again.

“The night you came home, once Madja had begun to work, we could hear you crying. I thought it would be unbearable for Lucien, it was for the rest of us. But when I looked at him he was even-tempered, agreeable.”

I thought of all those years his body didn’t betray him. His cool exterior in the face of grief, happiness, longing. What he didn’t show. I wouldn’t have expected him to show it. I couldn’t even imagine it. 

“I asked him,” Rhys continued, “how the one person in all of Prythian who should be half feral at such pain could be so calm and he said because you’re you. Like it were the obvious answer, and he was surprised I didn’t know it. So he said, who else had such power, to survive the heat of Autumn?”

Something inside me tensed, like the bond itself was tugging and tugging at something. Pulling him toward me, it was like the cauldron was thrashing, desperate for us to be together. The darkness and despair at my eyes began to close in. You disappoint me. My mouth was dry but I spoke. 

“That doesn’t mean he likes me.” 

“No,” Rhys said. “It doesn’t.” 

***

The following morning I felt worse than the day before. Lucien, again, had not come home. At breakfast when I joined everyone downstairs all I had to do was look at Rhys and he told me.

“He’s with Cassian.”

 And that was that. Each morning it went on that way. If he wasn’t with Cassian then he was with Mor. I didn’t ask them about what they did together, what he revealed. Despite where we’d left things, despite the growing desire to hear his voice and to know how he was doing, if he didn’t want to tell me then that was his business to keep. The truth was I didn’t want to tell him how I was either. It had been over a week since my stitches had come out and the most I got of Lucien was the sound late at night of him coming home, if he did even that, followed by him leaving early in the morning. At times lying in bed I’d feel around for the bond to make sure it was still there, as if its disappearance would be better than what I found. That it was there, and he just didn’t feel much of anything. He had not been encased in any sadness nor did Velaris offer any joy for him to escape into. There was nothing. No reason to stay and perhaps one reason to go. Sometimes at my most desperate I thought, despite how pitiful it was, that the life in me that had been given back was leaving. I had not gotten used to it yet, the sound of a door shutting. 

***

What might have been an idle threat trying to make Lucien jealous had been made real. Two weeks before I was to leave for the Illyrian village we’d wrapped up the details. I’d go there, give my donations to the female I corresponded with, and then spend some time out of the city in the cabin. Though I enjoyed doing this each year, the lifelessness of the days that had passed seemed neither despaired at having to go or relieved to be away. I felt nothing. 

“It will be good for you,” Rhys said as he checked his watch and he didn’t need to say the rest for me to know what he meant. It would be good for me to get away from Lucien, get some space. Space, I didn’t remind him, was now the only thing we had. Every day had started to blur together. Every time I walked into my brother's office he took one look at me and I could see his disappointment. It was one of three checkpoints I’d begun to use to mark time passing. Lucien leaving, Rhysand’s disappointment, Lucien coming home. I tried not to think of it, of a day when there was only one marker that time had passed. 

“Do you have anything you need to get in order before you go?”

I shrugged, “not really. I finished the last of the work last night.”

“What time.”

I hummed feigning thought, “can’t remember.”

“You’re rotting in this house,” he said finally an air of sternness about him. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, sunlight. Egrette is probably looking for you.”

“I’m not there 10 minutes and she tells me her nephews are coming. I’m running out of excuses as to why I have to leave.”

“It’s a big city.”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“Get out of my office and go outside. Now.” He said, walking around his desk and grabbing me by the arm. It was playful, light. I tried to find where in his words he had also been trying to be playful and teasing but couldn’t. I could find no difference between one thing from the next anymore. He opened the door and Cassian and Lucien were in the foyer, cheeks red, like they’d been out in the cold and had just walked in.

“Oh good,” Rhys said, his practiced nonchalance rather transparent. A sudden cordialness overcame him, “Please, come in I need to talk to you.”

“Why of course,” Cassian said in a mock bow. He’d been spending too much time with Lucien I could see. The Illyrian gave me a sidelong glance as he passed and I heard him stifle a laugh before the door closed behind me. The air from the force with which they shut it brushed my skirts. The well of pity they’d had for me had run dry. I wanted to slip away, to say nothing to him, but just the sight of Lucien after so long pinned me to the wall. I waited for him to sneer, to see the register of disgust, like that he’d had before in this very hall. Instead, he just stared at me before he shifted and his legs began to move. Not further away, like I expected, but closer. 

“What do you want.”

His brows raised in faint amusement. “You’re in a good mood.”

He wasn’t in on my brother’s little game, but what of his own? He seemed happy, glowing even. The separation had looked good on him. He must have been glad to rid himself of such a drain on his happiness. Maybe he drained mine, and the time away, really away, would reveal that. For now, he looked clever and cunning and happy. He looked like how he had all the time I’d known him. He looked like before. 

“You look well,” he said.

“Don’t lie.”

“Fine, you look terrible.”

A familiar tease. I crossed my arms, “so do you.”

“Don’t lie.”

I scoffed, “don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Why you’ve missed me?” 

At least when he was hungover there was a level of delusion I could employ that our fight had bothered him as it had me, that he suffered from our silence. It seemed that his agonies were absent. He’d recovered almost, if not entirely, to who he’d been before he’d crossed the wards, before the slice had left me powerless. In the face of my own anger his goal, his only desire, seemed to be making it worse. It was so achingly familiar that I had to look away. When I glanced down, however, I realized he was wearing the sweater I made. Something like rage and longing intertwined inside of me. When I met his eye again they didn’t look glad.

“You’re set to leave soon.”

“Two weeks from today.”

He hummed, nodding, “and what will you do there?” 

I raised a brow, “why do you wish to know?”

He shrugged but I could see the thread of tension running through him. A tell of his that would probably always be familiar. Small and delicate, it was a tension easy to miss if you weren’t me. There was something that wasn’t so casual or sincere. In fact, it made him seem even a little sad. Like he was missing something. Nothing between us whispered of that unease. It was as if—

I conceded, “the first day I meet with some women I correspond with. The rest is for me to do as I please. See who I please.”

Nothing. 

Lucien swallowed, his neck tensing, concealed behind his relaxed face. “Anyone you’re planning on meeting?”

A test.

“Gawayn.”

A lick of flames at his hands sputtered but was extinguished. He was shielding from me. The reason it had gone cold and quiet, why he wasn’t feeling anything, why he didn’t seem jealous, was because he was hiding from me. 

I blanched at him, and he at me. In our moment of shock there was enough quiet to hear the door shift behind me. The wood pressed forward slightly like there were two males leaning against it to listen. I sent a sheet of darkness to the other side and the sounds of stumbling coughing bodies moving away could be heard. I grabbed Lucien’s arm and brought him to the library, shutting the doors behind us.

“You’re shielding from me!”

He scoffed but apparently didn’t have much to follow with. “You started it.”

“Are you incapable of doing anything that I don’t do first?” I snapped. 

He moved back half a step, the words pushing him further from me in their delivery. Did he know how he followed? Or was what shocked him that I knew so too?

“While you’re gone I suppose I’m free to go to Rita’s?” He said, changing the subject back, averting any blame. A maneuver we’d played before where one of us got the upper hand and the other tried desperately to take their place. Rising to the occasion, trying to make each other equally angry. A frantic and graceless business, but now that he’d revealed his jealousy he wanted to see mine. I knew though, better than he knew of me, that he wouldn’t do such a thing, an empty threat.

I raised a brow, a sudden calm overcoming me. I wouldn’t wallow any longer in inferiority, not when all that nothing had been something. I sighed, “for someone who rejected me you seem to have quite the possessive streak. Don’t tell me suddenly you like me.”

“Reject—” he began, shaking his head, changing course. “I certainly don’t like you.”

“Then this territorial display is poor form unless you’ve changed your mind. Otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, I’m still free to do as I wish,” I said flashing him a grin “and who I wish.”

Lucien seethed, breathing heavily, and something happened. Something like only that which I could compare to the way I’d felt the magic retreat into the land of the Autumn Forest. There was a sense of renewal, a clearing of the mind, and for a moment I felt I’d become wiser to something though to articulate what it was seemed still an impossible feat. The bone was set in place, something righted, I could think again. By the time I’d felt the weight of this knowledge Lucien had calmed himself. 

“Then let's change the terms of our arrangement.”

“Oh?” I said with indifference. 

He smiled, it seemed more in relief to him than a taunt, but his words managed to hold their weight. “How many males do you think you’d bed with my claiming mark on your neck?”

I went still. 

Lucien laughed, moving closer, circling me like a prey. He settled without a word, towering over me. I could feel the heat off his body and the seriousness of his words. He’d do it, he’d bite me right now if I agreed to it. He knew I wouldn’t agree to it.

“You’re not the type,” I said.

Shadows pooled around our ankles, he didn’t even look. Instead, he leaned forward and glanced at the place his teeth had narrowly been. “Didn’t have to be until recently.”

“If you brand me like I’m some prized mare there is no agreement I won’t break. Your immortal life will forever be made miserable by me.”

Lucien’s eyes met mine, bright with his arrogance and amusement.“Promise?”

My eyes bulged and I opened my mouth, half tempted to shove him over the low table at his feet. Before I could, however, the library doors flung open characteristically without thought to who was inside or what they’d been doing. Mor walked in aloof. Across the hall, another door shut. Rhysand. I’d known since Lucien arrived, since that wisps of shadow had shaken the chandelier, that we’d need privacy. True privacy, not just the feigned kind found in the closing of the door. This fight, perhaps, a message from the cauldron that the need was dire. 

“Are you ready?” Mor asked looking at me stretching like she’d been lounging for a long while. I’m sure Cassian put her up to this as a dare. I peered out the door to see if I could find the male clutching his stomach laughing. I suppose, now that I was enjoying the renewed pleasure of annoying Lucien, I could let them too have their laugh. 

“Ready for what?”

She groaned, “you always do this. We’re supposed to go shopping today.”

“When did I say I’d do that?”

“Yesterday at dinner.”

I’d said yes and mhm a thousand times and hadn’t paid attention to a single one. I’d pushed my food around, took bites when necessary, and let their voices all blend together. I thought that, much like the week they were half here, it was understood only small bits of what was said was heard and even less of that was meant.

“Go get a jacket,” she said, smiling widely. Everyone was planning something. That much I could tell, but who was working with who I had suspicion was not so clear. I wouldn’t be able to excuse my way out of it, not when apparently everyone had decided I needed to get out of the house. Without a word, I began to walk away. Lucien, with his long stride, pulled ahead and I pushed into his mind with determination to get the final word. 

What happened to that self-respect you spoke of?

Overrated. He said, throwing up a hand, waving the idea away as if it had been flimsy and small. Like it were nothing. 

Though she’d said she wanted to go shopping Mor bought nothing and seemed, rather contentedly, to be focused on wasting my afternoon. A command at the hand of my brother, if I had to guess private allegiances. He’d wanted me out of the house apparently all day not just an hour or two. Of the four hours she’d dragged us around only one thing had been bought and it had been by me. A flimsy dress, the kind you’d wear to bed in summer when the weather was so hot even cotton felt unbearable. I’d been looking at it and she’d said that, if I got it, we could be done shopping and have a drink right then. So I brought it to the counter. 

Even as I’d been suspicious of her intentions she did not ask after Lucien or why we’d been fighting. She mentioned nothing of what they’d discussed in their time together and didn’t even tell me where they went. I assumed that, eventually, we’d find a store they’d gone to, a place she’d taken him on her guided tour of Velaris, and she’d tell me what he’d thought of it or just that he’d seen it. However, no such admissions came. 

I tried not to be suspicious of her, but no questions seemed far more suspect than a few carefully placed ones. I’d learned a long time ago that what we didn’t say said just as much as what we did, and planned my silence in accordance. 

“So you’ll be staying in the cabin?”

“Yeah, I only really need a couple hours to do what I need to do.”

We meandered through the city, Mor leading. I didn’t care where we went. I just wanted to sit somewhere. The sunlight this close to winter seemed to be fading even as I woke these days. With the solstice lingering close, the longest night of the year on the horizon, I’d tried to use the shopping trip for inspiration for gifts. Yet even as I tried to focus on Azriel or Mor my mind turned to my mate. His gift was already ready, tucked away where truly no one would find it.

“And then what?”

“I’ll probably read.”

“Finish that book that you’ve been on for an age.”

I tucked my mouth under my collar as a harsh wind chapped my face.“It's for research, not pleasure.”

“What are you researching?” She said, a little too fast for me not to notice. 

I answered in time, “Summer Court traditions.”

She hummed, “so Tarquin has invited you then?”

I nodded, lying.  

Mor took a quick right and as soon as I rounded the corner after her I saw them. Rhys, Amren, and Azriel were at a table on the corner of the patio she’d brought us to. Even as their scheming was revealed to me I felt a happiness push through me nearly unending until it reached my face, my eyes. The world pushed into clarity, favored goodness and delight. Everyone’s matching smiles waited, the city beyond them cresting up the hills of the busy streets. The faraway laughter and the mingling of bodies even as it got cold took shape. Through it all too, out of windows and shops, a warm orange glow. Like sun or starlight, it made me feel warm. It made me feel glad. 

Up the street, two figures began walking downhill and even without the wings, I’d have known their relaxed, joyous walk. Cassian and Lucien met us at the threshold of the place, the gate swung open. I peered up at the Illyrian, ignoring my mate who watched me as I looked back at the table of participants. There were just enough glasses for all of us, and they would be finished quickly. 

“Who do we think will break first?” Cassian asked.

“Rhysand.” Mor and I said in unison. 

I could feel, after three glasses, the slowness of my blinks and the delay in my eyes when looking around the room. Everything seemed a bit funnier, more relaxed. It was like going into that universe in which Lucien and I had been allowed to say anything, though I knew that unlike before whatever was said would be remembered tomorrow by at least one person, and they’d not let us forget it so easily. Lucien was next to me and our legs were touching and I didn’t pull away, didn’t scold him down our bond. Though it wasn’t my brother’s collection, the wine they’d selected had settled in my stomach with a heavy warmth after only a sip.

“Lucien,” Mor said. “It's our turn to grab the drinks.”

“So,” Cassian said moving into the seat next to me as they went inside. “You and Lucien seem to have made up.”

I looked toward Azriel with a plea, “can you stop him?”

“I’ve learned it's pointless to try.”

I groaned and folded over the table, letting my forehead meet the wood with a loud thud. If I hadn’t had wine it would have hurt more but I couldn’t manage to react. It had looked like a lot of things between Lucien and me, but what was true seemed to evade any recognition or articulation. I lifted my gaze, resting my whole head’s weight on my hand, and looked at the Illyrian who was beaming with delight waiting for his taunts.

“Your dynamic is so interesting I’m not sure if I want you both to admit your feelings or keep at it,” Cassian said.

“I’d like a little more time to embarrass her before they decide they like each other and are no longer at each other’s throats.” Rhysand said, chiming in.

“Who’s winning the bet then? Am I allowed to know?”

The four remaining table mates looked at each other and smiled coming to an unspoken agreement. “No, but we can tell you who’s losing.” Amren said. 

“Cataclysmically,” Azriel added.

Cassian, Amren, and Azriel raised their hands. I let out a loud laugh, a sense of renewed motivation surging through me in having at least knocked three of them out. Though I’d have preferred to have snubbed Rhys over Az. I took the last sip of my wine and began crossing my arms, “I’m surprised you played Amren, I thought better of you.”

“She bet you’d be mated in a week,” Cassian said.

“You’re all terrible.”

“Not terrible,” Azriel said. “Just perceptive.”

Mor and Lucien returned, and Rhys and I passed out the drinks from the tray carefully. Rhys turned to Cassian and Lucien watching them take their next sip, waiting for them to notice, yet neither did. The two continued to talk about something they’d seen a few days ago in the market, a jewel of some kind. I met my brother’s eye again and we smiled, knowingly.

They’re going to kill you. I said thinking of the discreet words we’d shared with the bartender after we’d gone up to get the second round. Being the High Lord had an unfair advantage sure, but after dinner at the House of Wind, we were sure the two males would indeed pay for the words shared weeks before. We did not forget a promise. Not when it was so terribly easy to get a much stronger wine in their cups without them noticing.

And after they’ll kill you when they discover it was your idea.

Lucien fell beside me, as a debate waged over who lost the last time we’d done something like this. It had been me so I remained silent, laughing over the recounted drama of how we raced home on foot that night which culminated in Cassian pushing Mor into the brush outside the townhouse so he could win.

“There’s no rules so there’s no cheating.” 

Rhys raised his glass, “I’ll be sure to remind you of that.”

Lucien’s leg returned to brush against my own and in taking advantage of the spectacle, he managed to place his arm around the back of my chair. Even with the wine I wasn’t sure if we were alright, but I leaned back and let it for a moment be true that we were. Though to be claimed would be wretched, I liked at times to let him have his subtle possessiveness. I liked to pretend I was not just his to know, but his to have. 

“I have a question,” Cassian said finishing his 6th drink, voice noticeably more slurred than before. “Why didn’t you want people to know she was your mate?”

I hoped Rhysand would say something, push in with those manners of his to tell Cassian to stop, but as I eyed him he seemed just as drunk, if not more. Meanwhile, Lucien was laughing, at ease, barely crossed-eyed. I looked at his glass which had been emptied a while ago and tried to recall in our time across Prythian how much he drank those nights he was hungover at breakfast, but I didn’t pay enough attention back then. 

“If I’m not mistaken this feels like a bit of a trap.”

“And who’s to say it wasn’t me who wanted to keep it hushed,” I said at least draw some of the attention off of him.

“It was a mutual decision,” Lucien added casually. “Though I’d love to hear how you all found out.”

Cassian let out a low whistle and Rhys rolled his eyes. It was Mor who leaned over the table as the streets became nosier, more boisterous. The words fell lazily from her purple lips, “we were out like we were now and Rhys was pestering her about Egrette’s nephews,”

I turned toward Lucien who, despite his relatively short time in Velaris, followed along with the story and its inhabitants seamlessly, like he’d always belonged here. Like he’d happened to be away for 50 years and was learning everything that had happened in his absence. 

Mor continued, “Apparently they were smart and successful and not totally useless.”

“Which wasn’t really her type. Not at that time,” Cassian said.

I slapped his arm and though he tried to pull away the alcohol made him slow. Amren shot a hand out between us.

“And, after a thousand excuses,” Mor finished, “she said their discovering she had a mate made them not very eager suitors.”

“Our High Lord could have leveled the world with the lecture he gave,” Amren said.

Azriel huffed, still annoyed, “and it got us banned from our favorite tavern for years.” 

Lucien’s hand fell over his chest as he tipped his head back and a quiet amusement left his lips in laughter. It was again a moment of domesticity, the kind I’d seen of couples all over the city exhibiting in moments of intimacy where something was revealed and the other was displaying such a fondness. A laugh that wouldn’t have been had for anyone else because what was funny only mattered because of who they were to each other. He laughed a little too long, falling into a kind of dream, the only sign that the wine had any effect on him.

“She spent the summer waking up at 5 in the morning to go train with me. Including the morning after our night out,” Cassian said.

“You’re wretched,” Lucien said turning toward Rhysand

“You sound like her.”

I wobbled up to grab the next round and as I was looking over my shoulder to tell Rhys to follow after me, I bumped into a female who was crossing the patio. She spilled a bit of her drink on the leg of her pants and we both gasped.

“Oh I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It happens,” She said cooly, with little distress. She was a pretty female, her hair fell in long strands around her face. It looked almost golden against the warmth of the city's lights. I opened my mouth to speak, to offer anything, but my brother crept through like a breeze with an easy smile to match hers.

“You’ll have to forgive her.  She’s trying to outdrink a table of six.”

The female seemed to straighten and a brightness came to each of their faces that I thought certainly was enough to make it until morning. We moved toward the bar and he watched her as we walked away. Sometimes I think he joked about the dry spells just because he didn’t want to admit he had no interest in pursuing anyone. I sensed that we shared something unserious between us. Perhaps a mate was somewhere for him too.

When we returned to the table with our drinks everyone grabbed for theirs like animals and I could just barely hear the end of the conversation between everyone which sent my stomach lurching.

“—and suddenly so fond of each other?” Said Amren. 

Lucien removed his hand from behind my chair just as I sat and brought it into his lap, shifting with discomfort. I looked toward him, wondering if he’d give a silent plea, if he’d need me but he didn’t meet my eye.  Cassian picked up the line of questioning with his own suspicion.

“You both seemed rather in the middle of this thing by the time you got here and we know you can keep a secret.”

“I don’t know,” Rhys said, “I had to trip her down the stairs at the house of wind that first week when they were alone just to get them close to each other. Quite a bit of scheming has happened just to get to this point I have to think they were sincere in their dislike.”

I barely managed to process the revelation of his interference at the house of wind before I crossed my legs and drunkenly, put Lucien from his misery.

“We were in the middle of something. When Lucien was running through the woods looking for me and I was half dead hiding in the brush I made a bargain. Some forgotten God waiting to pull me under, I told them they could have me once I got Lucien safe, to our court. Then the darkness withdrew and I found out about his and Eris scheming and I brought him here. I’m probably only alive because Rhys choked Lucien long enough for Madja to make it to the townhouse. So, yes, we were in the middle of a bargain when you all arrived.”

Everyone was silent and I didn’t spare Lucien a glance though I felt the intensity of his attention seeping into my skin, like it was running through my blood, all that blood that had been lost and replaced in the last month. I don’t know if they were all uncomfortable but I smiled.

“I do hope I have such an opportunity to ask questions I shouldn’t ask when your unfortunate partners show up to Velaris.” 

We finished two more drinks with Lucien still looking the best of us all and Rhysand glancing over his shoulder every few minutes at the female who I’d bumped into. They stared at each other, not smiling, but something like it that said a lot without much veiling. I wondered, for a moment, if that was the obviousness that Lucien and I displayed giving cause for such questions to be asked.

“Talk to her.” Mor said.

He shrugged.

“As long as you don’t come back to the townhouse it’s fine,” I joked.

“It's already pretty late.” 

“What do you have to do tomorrow besides torment us?” Lucien asked and I couldn’t fathom the lucidity of his words when the rest of us were stumbling. Whatever they drank in Autumn must have been impossibly strong and I was glad not to know much of it. Rhys didn’t fight him on his words, instead he mulled them truly over. If he left it was his tab to pay and I don’t know if it had ever been this high. Not for lack of trying and certainly not just because Lucien was here. My brother looked around the table, then at Cassian who was still red in the face from whatever female had embarrassed him with a rejection, and stood.

“It’s on me.”

Though the world seemed to be teetering left and right I noticed the visible relief everyone had. We didn’t even bother to finish what was in our glasses. We all stood, Lucien holding his hand out to me, and began to pile out of our corner as my brother crossed the small patio. She had a kind face which made me glad, I’m sure a little kindness was deserved. From across the street, we all looked back, watching them, before we saw her nod. She moved away from her friends with him and with all the obnoxiousness we could muster, we screamed loud ridiculous cheers. Our High Lord glared at us, but it didn’t hold that bite. He was terribly pleased.

“Maybe Rhys and I can teach you a bit about females,” Azriel said throwing an arm over his friend. 

“Bastards.”

We walked along the Sidra passing other equally joyous groups who seemed more put together. Cassian challenged a few of us to a race but when no one would join him he dragged his feet. I jumped up onto the wall of the Sidra and began to walk along it as the icy water flowed below. Frozen shards had begun to float down the river though the first day of winter was still a few weeks away.

“Get down from there,” Lucien said not two steps in. He crossed and I could hear the group of them, or what was left after Amren had disappeared, laugh not so silently to themselves.

“I do this all the time.”

“Drunk?”

“Yeah,” Azriel replied for me. “Ask her about the time she fell in.”

Lucien didn’t hesitate and lifted me off the stone himself and the movement sent my stomach in my throat. I held my hand at my mouth, unable to fight him on the maneuver, and tried not to wretch what had only just managed to go down. The trio of them peeled away, down a different thin street, their laughter echoing off the stone.

“Where are you going!” I yelled, as they took a left down a long street.

“Mor’s ancient couch is waiting,” Cassian yelled. “There's no payment in the whole of Prythian that would force me under one roof with two drunk mates.”

Then time moved strangely. Maybe because I was on the edge of oblivion, but each moment seemed like an island. I was in the bathroom peeling off clothes I remembered but couldn’t picture Lucien handing the new ones against the sink. Then I had them on. I was looking in the mirror, I was splashing water on my face, then I was doubled over. I was retching and falling away from that spinning nothingness. I was falling fastly back to my body and Lucien was kneeling beside me. 

“You alright?”

I nodded, but alright was not the word I’d use. He pulled my hair back after I keeled over again. I sat there until my stomach settled just enough. My eyes closed, the world had stopped spinning at last, but I knew I’d need to sleep or it would begin again. Only I didn’t want to leave the place where Lucien was holding onto me gently. I wanted to wake up to a big house with no one in it and a stomach that wasn’t upset, but a mate who, regardless, was still trying to take care of me. My hair fell from his hands. Maybe he could feel all I wanted and didn’t want my hopes to get too high. Or maybe he was tired too. Either way, I crawled toward the cool tile near the tub and laid my body across it. 

“Lift your head,” Lucien said and I did as I was told. He shoved a pillow under me, though I’d not even known that he left the bathroom and before long a blanket came too. He settled against the tub and his hand came to my hair, pushing it back as he had that night we’d arrived. When the blood and water and tears had pushed it slick against my temple.

“You don’t even look drunk.”

“I’m not.”

I opened my eyes and peered up at him as his warm hand fell again to my forehead. He was smiling, very faintly, like he liked me. He’d said so once, that he didn’t, but I was starting to think he had lied. His eyes were bright, clear, like he knew something all-encompassing that I myself had yet to become aware of. 

“I switched to juice after round 3.”

I gasped, “cheat–”

“You think I don’t know the difference between two wines? I don’t think it's a coincidence that you and your brother went up and suddenly Cassian and I have a notch on our glass with a wine inside I’d not tasted before.”

I groaned, and fell back against the pillow. I didn’t fight him, I still couldn’t manage. My mind was already pulling far away to the look he’d given me and a world where it would happen over and over again. I thought it might be enough to make it until tomorrow, to sleep here on the cool tile, the skin of my bare legs rising at the exposure of it. I looked ridiculous, I’m sure, and was glad that the blanket shielded some of the foolishness. Mostly though, I wanted to sleep before Lucien left and pretend that, like that first time he’d been in my room, he’d wait here all night.

“Do you want me to stay?” 

“Yes.”

“Do you need me to?”

If I were sober maybe I’d know he was teasing but instead, I lifted the blanket and he shifted beside me. His warmth seemed to fall off him in waves, like he were the kind of person made to meet cold things and I suppose for now that cold thing was me. His hand returned to my hair and he twisted it through his fingers as the very tip of my nose was pressed against his chest. For whatever reason, even with the excuse of alcohol at our fingertips, we didn’t get any closer.

“I missed you,” I said knowing I was only brave enough to in such a context, where the consequences felt too far away, like they belonged to someone else who for the time was not me and might never become me.

“I know,” Lucien said. There was a long quiet and I wasn’t really waiting for him to miss me back. It didn’t even occur to me that he did until something inside my chest opened up and a powerful wave of yearning, of somberness, of joy, and missing pushed through my body with a warmth that had become familiar, that was lying just beside me. I let out a sigh of relief. I slept until morning. 

[prythianpages]

His Star | Eris Masterlist

Eris x Rhysand's Sister | Eris made the mistake of falling for you. Someone he could never have.

warnings: angst, some smut, no happy ending

angst= ♥️ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎

a/n: This was supposed to be only a one shot but the more I listened to No Doubt/Gwen Stefani, the more I became inspired to make it a series and the one shot I originally planned will be the last part (:

playlist for this series (if you wanna get a feel for what's to come)

Also, big thank you to @daycourtofficial & @stormhearty because I'm pretty sure they've helped me plan some scenes/listened to me talk about this idea! Love y'all 🫶

★࿐࿔ Just A Girl

Summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

★࿐࿔ Starstruck

Summary: Eris finds out the truth of your powers and strikes a bargain with you.

★࿐࿔ Walking Into Spiderwebs

Summary: The heir to the Spring Court has his eyes on you but you have yours on the Autumn heir.

★࿐࿔ Got Me Missing You ☁︎

Summary: You can no longer hide your feelings for Eris.

*there are 9 more parts, for a total of 13 that are planned but I'll add them onto here as I upload.

series taglist: @emy1-9, @lady-of-tearshed, @5onedirection5, @sillysillygoose444, @acourtofbatboydreams

@babypeapoddd, @tenshis-cake, @freefallthoughts, @venussdovess, @unlikelywolfenemy

If you'd like be to be added to the tag-list for this series, comment a "❤️‍🔥" I'll be adding y'all here just to be more organized.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Plants Of Thorns Bear The Prettiest Flowers (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: She has come far.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: so... if you all didnt know, ive had this idea in my mind for like, over a couple of months, and this is my baby. I just wanted this sister who hated everyone except her father, and so that is why i have the urge to show you all their relationship.

i love this series, it is my baby 🥹

(￣y▽￣)╭ Ohohoho.....

(also, Y/n is like, around two years in this)

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Orion's pov, 65 years ago.

Orion had just finished signing the paperwork for the renovations of a few houses in Velaris and leaned back in his chair when the sound of a child crying reached his ears. His brows furrowed when the cries only became louder, as if the child was coming closer to his office.

If Orion was being honest, he had not cared for his children for one day since they were born. There were nannies for that. But when the crying did not cease, he wondered what the hell the nanny was doing.

His wife was not present either, or she would have quieted the babe, Y/n, before she even started crying.

Y/n was... one of a kind. Orion knew she was different than his son the moment she was born.

He stood from his chair, hoping the nanny could quiet the girl before he got annoyed and stretched, popping his joints that had become stiff after having sat for so long.

Someone knocked on the doors to his office in the moonstone palace, and Orion sighed, walking up to it and yanking it open, ready to tell whoever it was to leave him alone-

The loud cries of the babe in the nanny's arms made Orion wince, and he glared at her.

"What?" He snapped at the young lower fae who he was sure was not Y/n's nanny.

"I beg your forgiveness my lord, but I am new here. Julia has been called away due to some family matters, and I don't know why, but the princess has been constantly crying for the past couple of hours."

He rose a brow at the female. Julia was the nanny that usually looked after Rhysand and Y/n, so it was a real shame that no one who knew how to take care of the kids was around.

Orion cursed his wife for leaving to visit Illyria without the babe.

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"I just... my lord, I thought you would know how to calm her down."

The babe in the females arms screamed louder, her legs kicking. Her small hands fisting and pulling and pushing at the shoulder of the nanny.

Orion sighed, grabbing the little girl from the females arms. It felt a little awkward, considering it was the first time Orion was holding his daughter in his arms.

"Get lost. And no need to come back. Also, tell Julia to leave someone who actually knows how to do their work next time."

"But my lord-"

Orion did not give her the chance to complete the sentence, turning away and slamming the door shut with his leg.

He still held Y/n away from his body, his palms grasping at her ribs and holding her as if she was a dangerous object which could explode at any second.

She was.

Orion was just pondering what to do when he realised that Y/n had stopped screaming, soft sniffles the only sounds coming from her now. She stared at Orion with wide eyes, shiny with the tears still in them. She was panting a little, her chubby cheeks red.

Orion stared back. In the back of his mind, he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she see a monster? A high lord? A fae male?

Her father?

Orion shook his head, trying to dislodge that thought and wondering what to do with Y/n. His arms were beginning to strain now, and he quickly looked around the room, his eyes landing on the couch near his desk.

Orion walked over, leaning down to set Y/n onto it.

But before she even touched the couch, her eyes widened, her mouth opening as a scream again ripped from her chest. Big, fat tears began running down her rounded cheeks, and Orion straightened.

She quieted instantly.

"What do you want me to do?" Orion questioned the little girl, who did nothing. Her eyes seemed to have been glued to his face.

Of course, he felt dumb for trying to converse to a babe.

Sighing, he wrapped his arms properly around her, just like the nanny had, and watched her reaction. She relaxed, settling into Orion's chest, looking around with curious eyes.

Orion huffed, deciding to try and set her down again. It was a mistake, as she... did not like that. She glared at her father with accusatory eyes, and amusement spread through him when she started blabbering to herself under her breath.

But Orion knew he could not stand with her in his arms all day. He still had more papers to sign and reports to read. Orion looked around once again, his eyes now lingering on the giant windows of the moonstone palace through which the distant mountains were visible, shining softly under the tender moonlight.

He turned so Y/n could look at it. "You want to look out of there?"

Her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his shirt, and she turned her head away, staring at something on the wall behind the desk. Orion sighed.

Once he had settled down in his chair, he set her carefully on his lap, praying to the mother for his wife to return soon.

"Are you always this fussy?" He questioned, making her look up at him from where she was examining the wood of the desk. She babbled something at him, her index finger raised. Then she settled back against Orion's abdomen, her fingers twisting around her little dress. "Mother help me."

Orion returned to his paperwork, and it was almost an hour before he glanced down to the babe in his arms. She had not fussed at all since then, and it was a little suspicious.

There she was, sucking on her thumb, her other hand wrapped around the index finger of the hand that Orion had put around her to keep her from falling, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

He could not stop the tiny smile that bloomed on his face at the sight.

•○🌑○•

Orion's pov, now.

Orion took a sip of his drink, glancing up from the paperwork he was examining. His eyes found the hunched form of his eldest daughter as she worked on a few reports for him.

Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up. "Father? Is there anything you need?"

"How long till the reports are finished?"

"Only a couple of pages left."

Orion hummed, gulping down the rest of his whiskey before speaking. "Where did your mother and sister go to again?"

Y/n blinked. "Oh, they told me they were going to visit Rhys in Illyria."

Orion nodded, reaching out to grab the whiskey decanter to pour himself another glass. Y/n returned to her work.

His wife had told him she was visiting Illyria. She did not tell him she was going to meet their son.

He would have to have a chat with her.

His eyes again wandered back to his daughter as he leaned back.

That first day when he had held her and then she had fallen asleep on him flashed through Orion's mind, and a small smirk quirked the side of his lips.

She had come far. So far.

From that innocent little babe who just wanted love to this- this tool who would do anything to please her father.

He was proud of her, he realised. Though he had never said that to her. He probably never would.

Or returned to his paperwork, storing that information in the back of his mind to be analysed later.

He had just picked up his quill when that first feeling of terror and pain came through the usually closed off side of his mate's side of the bond.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @mirandasidefics

[thatpurpledudetrey]

acotar modern au but feysand and nessian relationship got ruined ever since rhysand and cassian started to binge watching skibidi toilet and scrolling through yt shorts

[autumnshighlady]

All I Gave You Is Gone (ACOTAR x The Silmarillion AU) - Chapter 2

RHYSAND'S SISTER X MAEDHROS

summary:  we're back in Prythian with an Azriel pov as the aftermath of the attack is revealed

warnings: violence, angst

word count: 4k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: this is a short chapter, i was going to add a Ravenna pov but given the recent shitstorms in my life I'm just posting what I've had in my drafts. It's not my best but i hope you enjoy nonetheless

Azriel’s shadows were incessant, swirling up his arms and whispering in his ears. Ravenna, they echoed urgently, only for his scarred hand to shoo them away. Annoyance prickled through the shadowsinger as he tried to focus on what Cassian and Rhys were saying. The three of them were lounging in the spacious living room by the fireplace in Rhysand’s family residence in the Hewn City, exhausted after a day of dealing with learning the art of politics. They were on their third bottle of wine, but it did nothing to ease Azriel. For his shadows continued to whisper Ravenna’s name, no matter what he did. They said nothing else, no indicator of what they wanted him to do. Only her name, frantic and insistent.

He cursed under his breath as another shadow flicked his ear, urging him to listen. The shadows had always favoured Ravenna, insisting he go to her after every fight – something which had increased lately. Frustrated, the shadow slithered back down his arm, ducking back behind his hands.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, noticing Azriel’s distraction. “What do they want?” He asked lightly, taking another sip of rich red wine from his goblet.

Azriel sighed, rubbing his face with his scarred hands. “For me to go to Ravenna, I believe.”

“Did you two have another fight?” Cassian asked, kicking his feet up on the opposite end of the sofa he was laying on. 

Azriel kept his tone as neutral as possible. “You could say that, yes.” He found it difficult to talk about his relationship with Ravenna when Rhysand was around. The last thing he wanted to do was put him in an awkward position where he’d have to choose between his sister and his friend. Keeping his life private was something Azriel prided himself on until recently. These last few weeks, it was getting harder and harder.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, concern lacing his voice.

For a moment, Azriel contemplated changing the subject. But his shadows incessantly whispered Ravenna’s name with increased volume. Maybe talking about her would shut them up a bit. “We fought about work for the fifth time this month,” He said, wings slumping slightly in his chair. “She thinks I’m not focused enough on her, and what I am focused on with work is on the wrong things. We argued about Illyria and the Hewn City again.”

“Cauldron above,” Cassian grumbled. “How many times have you had this exact argument?”

“Too many.” Azriel said bitterly, annoyance rising as the memories of yesterday’s argument came rushing back. “Every time I try to explain to her that the High fae are slow to change, the Illyrians even more so, she gets mad and just says we aren’t trying hard enough. That if she were in charge, shit would get done. Doesn’t matter how many times I explain that the Illyrians won’t accept change, she’s too stubborn.”

  “Well, talking down to her certainly won’t help.” Rhys said evenly, sighing. “I told you that only makes her more angry.”

Azriel threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what to do, Rhys. Nothing I say helps. The more your father makes her go to Illyria and the Hewn City, the angrier she gets that things are still the way they are.”

 Rhys nodded in understanding, his violet eyes sympathetic. “She doesn’t understand that they have to remain that way in order for Velaris to be protected.”

More shadows curled wildly around Azriel, chanting Ravenna over and over again. He swore more loudly this time, shrugging them off angrily. Concern crossed Rhys’s face as he observed their franticness. “I’ve never seen them like this.” He said slowly.

“Neither have I.” Azriel responded, trying to squash the strange uneasiness he felt. His shadows, while having a mind of their own, typically never pushed him like this. And when they were insistent on something, they typically revealed more information than this. But all the shadows did was urgently whisper Ravenna’s name.

“Are you sure everything is ok with her?” Rhys asked.

The shadowsinger shrugged. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. She’s probably just angrier than usual because your father made her go to Illyria today with your mother. Pretty bad timing.”

“So are you two even together?” Cassian asked bluntly, heaving himself into an upright position to interrogate his friend. “The last few fights you’ve had, you said things were over. Then you fuck, make up, and get back together the next day. It’s like you’re caught in a fucking time loop. Are you really convinced she’s your mate if this is how things are?”

Azriel shot Cassian a death glare. “Watch it. The bond will snap, I know it. We just… we just need time to get over this rough patch first.”

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a glance, which made Azriel’s skin prickle with anger. Ravenna was his mate, he was sure of it. He loved her, and she loved him. All he could do was wait for the bond to snap into place, and all of this would be forgotten. Luckily, Cassain struck up a conversation about plans to visit the Summer Court in a few weeks, and the subject was changed much to Azriel’s relief.

When Ravenna got back from Illyria, he’d fix things. And all would return to normal.

****************

By the time the sun set, Azriel felt his sanity slipping. The shadows were relentless, their repetition of Ravenna’s name only increasing as the day went by. What little patience he had left was thinning with every snap at the shadows to leave him be. No matter how many times he sent them away, they came back. He lay in his large bed, wings spread out but tense with that unexplained anxiety.

Every creak from the hallway went detected by Azriel, expecting to hear Ravenna’s soft footsteps heading towards his room, ready to talk things over. But they never came, the hollowness in his chest only growing.

The angry things Ravenna said in their fight haunted him, and his own hurtful words he threw back at her plagued his mind, too. It was their ugliest fight by far, and the fact she hadn’t come to him yet made him wonder if things were truly over. 

“Care to explain to me why every time I ask you or my brother to talk to my father about wing-clipping, you run away like a frightened dog?” Ravenna had asked him, sitting on the end of his bed with her arms crossed.

Azriel had rolled his eyes, pulling his sweaty shirt over his head. “I’m not doing this right now.” He had grumbled. His temper was short, having tried to set the mood for a pleasure-filled evening with Ravenna, only for her to stop him and demand he first answer why he had changed the subject earlier when she began discussing her plans to try and get her father to ban wing-clipping in Illyria and help the females in the Hewn City.

Ravenna had only gotten angrier. “Ok, tomorrow then? Or are you going to find some excuse then, too?”

“Heavens above, Ravenna!” Azriel had snapped, running a hand through his hair. It had been a long day, his patience waned thin. “It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to get your wings clipped or marry you off to some scumbag. So why does it matter so much?”

“If I have to explain it to you, then you’re just as dumb as those brutes in Illyria.” Ravenna had snapped. “I want to change things, and you will not stand by my side in it. Why? Do you really care that much about the opinions of people who will hate you regardless?”

Her words had hit their mark, and he flinched. “I know they hate me, I don’t need you reminding me. You know I love you, why do you need my support if you’ve just decided you’re going to do things your own way no matter what I say?”

Ravenna had fixed him with another angry glare, violet eyes stormy. “Because we are supposed to be partners, and you are supposed to back me up on this. Instead, you hide and run away every time I try to stand up for what I believe in because you’re too scared of my father and the people of the court’s opinions.” 

“I am not scared!” Azriel had growled, slamming his drawer so hard that the glass atop the wood came crashing down onto the floor. 

“Yes, you are.” Ravenna had pushed back. “You’re being a coward, Azriel. If my father suddenly ordered I had my wings clipped, you would fight him on it. Why can’t you do the same for the hundreds of females who don’t have a male to advocate for them?”

“Because they’re not you! I care about you, and the rest of Illyria can go to hell. I want to end wing-clipping, I really do. But it’s not possible, not without losing the entire army.”

Ravenna had scoffed. “That’s selfish, Az. I am no better than those other females. The only difference is you’re not fucking them, so they’re not worthy of being advocated for I guess. You can’t just pick and choose which females you want to fight for.”

Azriel had whirled around in shock, fists clenched as Ravenna met his angry gaze. “Is that really what you think? Do you really think that low of me, that I would only support the ban on clipping because I’m sleeping with an Illyrian female?” He demanded before letting out a harsh laugh. “I suppose that’s on track for a spoiled princess like you to look down upon a lowborn bastard like me.”

Ravenna had flinched, and Azriel knew his words had stung. Good. He had wanted them to. “Do NOT turn this into a pity party for your sad, pathetic childhood.” She growled. “Your daddy and brothers hurt you? Boo hoo. Get over it. Females in Illyria and the Hewn City go through exactly what you did, only you’re free of it now and seem to not give a damn about them.”

Azriel had rolled his eyes, a pounding headache coming on. “For the last time, I do care!” He had insisted. “I just don't think it’s possible to create a perfect world where we can properly ban that shit. Why can’t we just move on and let this subject rest?”

“Because we are partners and one’s attitude about such matters shows a lot about who they are.” Ravenna had stood up, glaring at the shadowsinger.

Azriel’s brows had furrowed. “What are you saying?”

The fiery female had lifted her chin to meet his gaze, violet eyes hard as she spoke with a coldness that sent his shadows running. “That I don’t want to waste my time with a coward who will not stand by my side during difficult battles simply because it’s more convenient for him to ignore all of those problems since they don’t directly affect him.”

For the first time in that argument, Azriel had been speechless. His mind had screamed at him, urging him to say something to avoid losing her. But he didn’t. All he could do was stare emptily as Ravenna scoffed, turning on her heel and storming out.

All of those last night talks, the sneaking around the last few years, the relief of finally telling Rhys about their secret… Perhaps it was all for nothing, and the sensation of Ravenna’s soft body curled into his own would grow to become a distant memory.

Azriel shook his head, refusing to believe it. No, this may have been their worst fight yet. But time would pass and it would be forgotten, surely. He would accept no other answer. Ravenna was his reason for existing, no matter what anyone said or thought. 

But that niggling worry remained. Ravenna had been colder lately, more distant. Granted, Azriel was not much better. Their productive conversations had been few and far between, most of their arguments ending in angry sex without any further discussion. It had worked so far, he had thought. Ravenna’s fiery temper thawed the icy wall he built around his rage, letting his usually well kept temper rise and bubble over. She knew just how to push his buttons, where to strike the hardest. 

Just as he did with her.

Guilt plagued him as he remembered the things he said. How the light in her violet eyes went out like someone had splashed water over a raging bonfire. The way her voice turned ice cold as she said she was done with Azriel before she turned away. Fuck, he’d have a lot of apologizing to do.

A faint knock sounded at the door, much to Azriel’s surprise. The shadows hadn’t reported any movement outside, and it was the middle of the night. He practically lept from the bed, flinging open the door to his chamber and expecting to see Ravenna.

Only it was not his lover in the hallway, but rather a sombre looking guard. His expression was grave beneath the metal helm, voice serious as he spoke. “The High Lord requests your presence in his study.” Was all he said before turning away and retreating back down the long corridor.

Confused, Azriel pulled his shirt on and followed, noting how his shadows had gone eerily silent. His meetings with Rhysand’s father were never this late, leaving him to wonder what Ronan was up to. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

The shadowsinger couldn’t sink the cold feeling that washed over him as he entered the High Lord’s study, where Rhys and Ronan already were. The High Lord was still in his regal night robes, his black hair aged with grey strands hanging loosely around his chiselled face, as if he hadn’t even run a hand through it yet. An animalistic rage simmered beneath his black eyes, and his knuckles were clenched as he gripped the back of the chair he stood behind.

Azriel bowed as he entered the room, but Ronan took no notice. He only stared at the desk in front of him, motionless. Shocked, Azriel looked at Rhys, who sat in one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Rhys only shrugged, confirming he, too, knew nothing about this late night meeting. Quietly, Azriel took the empty seat.

It felt like an eternity of cold silence before the High Lord finally raised his head, fixing each of them with a hard stare. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room, do you understand me?” He said, his voice cutting through the tense air like a curved blade.

“Yes, my Lord.” Azriel said while Rhys nodded in agreement next to him.

Ronan’s black eyes were wild as he fought to calm himself. Azriel tried not to flinch as those hateful eyes landed on him specifically. “Not even your brutish friend finds out until I order it to be so, am I clear, boy?” He seethed. “The only reason you are even here is because this matter concerns my daughter, who you are currently courting.”

Azriel stiffened, his blood running cold. Panic began to rise in his chest, shadows gently stroking the scarred palm of his hand as if to soothe him. But he kept his expression neutral, merely nodding. 

“There was an attack at the war-camp in the Eastern steppes,” The High Lord said through a hoarse voice, as if he had been screaming for hours. He turned to Rhysand. “The one I sent your mother and sister to.”

Beside him, Rhys went pale. It took every ounce of self control not to have Azriel’s expression falter as his heart raced. Blood rang in his ears, and the High Lord’s voice sounded as if he were speaking underwater. “There were no survivors,” He continued gravely. “All I found… all I found was Nienna’s head..”

Time seemed to slow around Azriel, his stomach dropping as if he had fallen a thousand feet. He could feel his blood coursing through his veins. No, he begged the Mother. No, please, don’t say it…

“...And Ravenna’s blood everywhere.”

Azriel barely heard the choked scream that Rhysand emitted from beside him. All he could feel was the world crumbling around him as he strayed out of thought and time. It was as if a roaring sea echoed in his ears, muffling the sound of his High Lord’s voice and his best friend’s sobs. He wanted to go to Rhys, to offer some form of comfort, but he was completely frozen. And he knew if he moved an inch, he would collapse to his knees.

“Did you look for a body?” Azriel’s voice was soft as death, afraid if he spoke any louder it would break entirely.

Enraged, a dark tendril of Ronan’s power lashed out and wrapped around his throat, suffocating him. But he barely felt it, his body numb. “Do you not think that’s what I’ve been doing for the last few hours, you stupid boy?” Ronan hissed furiously, eyes wild and spit flying from his mouth like a rabid dog. “You think I would not search high and low for the body of my mate? And my daughter?”

Azriel welcomed the suffocation for making him feel something other than what he was feeling. This couldn’t be happening, not now. Not after the fight that they had the other morning.

Eventually after a few moments, the dark power retreated. Ronan sank down into his chair, eyes empty with grief. Azriel had never seen the High Lord exhibit any kind of emotion that wasn’t hatred or contempt until now. It was a jarring sight to behold, a chip in the heavy armour that had become a second skin for Ronan. 

Azriel’s chest felt tight, as if a bomb were about to go off inside it and shatter his heart into a thousand pieces. All day, his shadows had whispered Ravenna’s name to him and he had brushed them off with annoyance. Guilt made his stomach churn as he thought of Ravenna, suffering and fighting for her last breaths as he ignored the warnings from his shadows. Somehow, they knew something was wrong. Perhaps if he had listened to them, he’d have been able to stop this somehow. A single tear slid down his cheek, burning hot against his cold skin as the grief began to settle in, the shock fading away.

“How did they find the camp?” Azriel forced himself to ask, though his throat was drier than a desert. Illyria was difficult to navigate for anyone not born there – for a foreign power to attack so precisely was worrying to say the least.

“I have my spies looking into it,” Ronan answered, anger returning to fill the emptiness in his dark eyes. “But they must have been tipped off. There are over a dozen war camps across Illyria, for Hybern to happen across the one with my mate and daughter is no coincidence.”

A shadow gently poked Azriel’s arm, whispering his friend’s name. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhysand go pale. He had stopped crying, his eyes wide with horror. Realisation dawned over Azriel, and he forced his face to remain neutral. Rhys had befriended Tamlin of the Spring Court, son of the Spring High Lord – Ronan’s enemy. The two families hated each other, constantly looking for an excuse to break out into war. Azriel had not approved of the strange friendship between the High Lords’ sons, but had never said anything.

But based on Rhys’s expression, he had certainly said something to Tamlin. Something that may have caused this.

Upon seeing his son’s face, Ronan sharply turned his head towards him. Dark eyes narrowed as he spoke with a growl, “If you have something to say, boy, spit it out before I pry it from you myself.”

More tears spilled down Rhys’s face. “I’m sorry…” He sputtered. “I’m so sorry…”

Azriel could barely breathe. His heart stopped as he felt the High Lord’s dark power fill the room as Ronan rose from his chair. His shadows hid themselves as the tension thickened. Ever so slightly, he situated himself ready to leap and help his friend. That is, if he didn’t throw up everywhere first.

“What did you do?” Ronan growled. When Rhys didn’t answer, the High Lord slammed his fist down onto the table so hard the wood splintered, making both Azriel and Rhys flinch. “WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?” He roared furiously. 

Rhys’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I mentioned to Tamlin that my mother and sister would be going to the camp in the Eastern Steppes for a few days. But I swear–”

“You told that Spring Court boy?” There was no mistaking the pure rage that bled from Ronan’s voice as he stormed around the desk, grabbing Rhys by his collar and shaking them. Azriel could not bring himself to move – he had suspected that Rhys may have revealed their location to the enemy, but hearing him admit it out loud was like a tidal wave crashing over him. “You told my enemies where my mate and daughter were going to be? Tamlin must have run straight to his father, who gladly tipped off Hybern.”

“He wouldn’t have told him willingly!” Rhys protested, violet eyes desperate. “Tamlin isn’t like that–”

“Silence! I told you that you were to end your ridiculous friendship with that boy. That he would stab you in the back one day if you did not do so first. He has betrayed you and if you hadn’t told him where Nienna and Ravenna were, they would still be here!”

Anger rose within Azriel. On the one hand, part of him wanted to defend Rhys. To his knowledge, Tamlin had always protested against the brewing feud between the families only to be shut down by his cruel father. But he couldn’t help but feel like strangling Rhys for being so careless.

Rhys only stared at his father, body limp with no resistance to the rough treatment. “I’m so sorry…” Was all he could say, over and over again.

Eventually, Ronan released his son, and Rhys slumped against the back of his chair. The High Lord stared at him with hatred. “The only reason I am not ending your pathetic life right here is because you are my only heir.” He hissed. “When we get back, you will be paying for this mistake, believe me.”

“Where are we going?” Rhys asked as Ronan snapped his fingers, their night robes quickly transforming into battle gear.

 “To the Spring Court. We are going to teach that family a lesson, and you are going to help me. I want every member of that family dead by morning.” 

Azriel’s heart dropped. Rhys blanched even further, looking at Azriel for support. But he could not meet his eyes. A thousand different emotions ran through him – guilt for not listening to his shadows earlier, anger at Rhys for giving away such sensitive information to someone from the enemy’s side, and regret at the way he spoke to Ravenna during their last conversation. It was all too much, threatening to boil over if he saw even one second of the apologetic glance from his friend. Stiffening his shoulders, Azriel took a breath. He had to keep it together in the presence of the High Lord. 

Ronan stormed past him, a mighty sword in hand. Rhys followed him, and the door slammed behind him on the way out. Finally, Azriel was left alone. He winnowed to the cliffs upon the tops of the mountains surrounding Velaris, letting his shadows swallow him whole and remove him from the room where he received the most devastating news of his life.

The biting, icy chill of the wind was welcome as the shadowsinger emerged on top of the distant cliffs, where he sank to his knees on the cold rock and fell apart, letting out a hoarse scream towards the glowing stars above.

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