#seasonal courts of Prythian

[thefatesofspring]

A list of Tamlin’s magic abilites & their potential

It’s quite a long post so be prepared…let’s start off with the abilities we are 100% sure of.

• Shape-shifting

- So as we know Tamlin can shapeshift, we also know he can shapeshift others (he mainly reserves this for his sentries as stated by Lucien)

- Potential: when Tamlin shapeshift’s he can do so into anyone or anything & if it’s anyone there is a high chance that he can take on that persons power/magic/ability e.g. if he were to shift into Rhysand he could take on Rhysand’s misting, daemati powers & whatever else he has.

(We kind of already know this is a possibility because of Feyre & her pregnancy, we find out that Nyx was conceived when Feyre was in her illyrian form & that he has illyrian wings, now even though in the book I’m sure it said Nyx was only 1/4 Illyrian, it makes no sense for that to be true if Feyre changed her entire body to her illyrian form which would suggest the shapeshifting happens on a cellular/gentic/DNA level & that Nyx is actually 1/4 high fae & 3/4 Illyrian, Nyx’s wings forming in the womb like an illyrian babe is consistent with him only being 1/4 HF because Feyre had shifted fully into an illyrian form & Rhysand being half illyrian)

• Glamours & illusions

- we know that Tamlin can create glamours & illusions because he did with the Archeron family (except Nesta of course) & he even did it against Rhysand & would have fully succeeded in that if he remembered to remove the 3rd plate set at the dinner table

- Potential: Tamlin has the potential to create glamours & illusions on such a huge scale that there really wouldn’t be much of a limit except maybe either his imagination or distance, we know that he glamoured his entire estate so that Feyre could not see the other faeries so what’s to say he couldn’t glamour an entire court?…or maybe even a continent?…

if Tamlin decided to be a villain after his mother was killed who’s to say Tamlin not only created this glamour but also put an illusion over everyone if he went into his villain era? What if he decided Amarantha was just made up so that he could get back at Rhysand? The potential is truly close to limitless, the fact that Tamlin was able to very nearly get one over on Rhysand & he is a daemati & supposedly an incredibly powerful one at that shows how powerful he really is.

• Air/Wind control & manipulation

- So 3 books in & we find out Tamlin has yet another ability when he single-handedly saves Feyre, Elain, Azriel & Briar using his ability to control air…I’m sorry is he the fucking avatar??😩😂

- Potential: at this point he can literally do anything Storm from X-Men can do with her ability to control the air element as well as anything Aang the avatar can do, if Tamlin wanted you to suffocate by simply removing the oxygen from the particles around you he could, tornado?✅ Hurricane?✅ Typhoon?✅ Cyclone?✅ Check✅ Tamlin has the power & potential to do it all. I’m not joking when I say this is an extremely fucking deadly ability to have.

• Healing

- Tamlin can heal himself & others exactly like Thesan can as he tried to do when it came to saving that Faerie who had its wings ripped off by Amarantha but do to Amarantha taking most of his powers he wasn’t able to do much at that time

- Potential: Well I mean he could cure pretty much any disease or bone breakages, whether that be in himself or one others.

• Shielding & Repelling against dark magic

- At the end of ACOTAR (book 1, Chapter 45, Page 405) we see through Feyre’s eyes what she sees just before Tamlin rips out Amarantha’s throat, “Amarantha screeched, kicking at Tamlin, lashing at him with her dark magic, but a wall of gold encompassed his fur like a second skin. She couldn’t touch him.” However I think SJM changes this whether it’s because she forgot she even wrote in this little gem of realised she made Tamlin too powerful & this alone makes Rhysand look weak in comparison I don’t know because in Hybern he’s no longer able to shield himself against that dark magic when Hybern uses a “leash” to subdue him so that he can’t attack the king of Hybern.

- Potential: Now the potential for this ability is insane & realistically Tamlin has the potential to go up against Koschei because we know Koschei uses dark magic of some sort & giving that it would be the perfect battle of light vs dark but it would also mean Rhysand’s magic can’t touch Tamlin so his misting ability could potentially falter on Tamlin

Now moving along to the hidden magic/abilities/powers Tamlin could have

• Elemental magic

- Honestly Tamlin could be Prythians version of Aang & Storm rolled into one, if SJM were brave enough to thoroughly write Tamlin & flush out his character in every aspect Tamlin would literally be Prythians mutant category 5 avatar👀 when Aang first broke free from the ice he only had the element of Air…Tamlin as we know it also at the moment only currently has air, if memory serves me correctly Aang then goes onto learning Earth bending…👀…what if Tamlin already knows he can earth bend…👀…or begins to learn it, he is after all the embodiment of spring!! & if we want to put more of a fantasy twist on it he can control plant’s & wildlife he is essentially an ecokinetic & his ability is ecokenesis.

Description from Superpower wiki: “The user is connected directly to the natural world and thus can communicate, influence, manipulate and control nature: all living beings and plants and natural phenomena, such as the weather and geology of the Earth, and the matter and energy of which all these things are composed. They can survive in any natural environment on earth.

The user can manipulate, tap into, blend and/or become elements of nature, including air, weather, lightning, earth, stone, metal, water, ice, light, darkness, clouds/mist, magma, fire etc. They can control animals and plants and mimic their abilities and forms.”

Now there’s been no indication to my knowledge that Tamlin can influence or control water but again if he has elemental magic that is a given & lastly FIRE!! If Tamlin is a descendant of Aelin & Aelin is know as fire-bringer descendant of Mala…YOU GUYS!!!…what if Tamlin has the colbalt blue fire!!! What if like Aelin, like Aang he has to descend into his power!!!…👀ive already said many times before Tamlin is a starborn fae like Bryce & Aelin so there is a potential for him to!!

• Daemati

- I want to thank @theegemini92 for reminding me of this one because I genuinely forgot about it until I saw her post today. So as it goes when Tamlin supposedly uses his glamouring ability to make the Archeron family believe Feyre is staying with an aunt it doesn’t strike anyone that his “glamouring” acted a lot like daemati mind manipulation??…👀

Now yes we know the ability to glamour is a trick of the mind to make you see something that isn’t really there but seeing something & thoroughly believing something that doesn’t exist are two vastly different things, the extent to which Elain & Papa Archeron truly believed that Feyre was living with a distant aunt over Nesta being fooled is crazy, both abilities revolve around the mind & we know Nesta has a “steeled will & mind” and Rhysand struggled greatly to enter Nesta’s mind using his daemati abilities…👀

The fact the only time Rhysand is ever actually able to access Tamlin’s mind is at the HL’s meeting strikes me as convenient more for Tamlin…almost as if Tamlin let it happen because he needed others to see that Rhysand would use his abilities against them if he wanted to…👀

• Resurrection & Reincarnation

- This one would tap more into the Spring Court magic lore side & the God of Spring, so again as we all know the definition of season of spring is life after death, rebirth, resurrection, rejuvenation, renewal, regrowth & new beginnings/blessings so on & so on.

Well you know how The Spring Court celebrate Calanmai what if on Calanmai when the magic is most potent it wasn’t just used as a night to increase fertility & create the next heirs but also a night where you could resurrect or reincarnate someone, not only would you rejuvenate the land but you’d also create life after death & resurrect a loved one maybe & it would technically all still fall under the category of Spring magic & maybe a bit of blood magic or something other magic but it’s still spring magic at its core performed by The High Lord of The Spring Court aka Tamlin.

Let me know what you guys think in the comments below🩷

Also let me know if you want me to do this for any other acotar characters

[acotarxreader]

The Sea's Call

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: You belonged to the sea in every and all sense of the statement. Pirating the seas was just who you were and you loved it, its where you belonged until a pesky Spymaster takes an interest in your activity, quickly finding himself captivated by you in more ways than one.

Warnings: Flirty back and forth, snark, angst, near drowning, seasickness, light smut, enemies to lovers to omg could this be mates!?!?!?!?!? Rough editing (its exam season yall)

A/N: Hello! For this to make sense lets pretend that Azriel was with Amren and Feyre when they went to get the Book of Breathings! hehe, okay sound good? good!

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The feeling of solid ground beneath your boots was always a source of discomfort for you, a child of the sea would never feel at home on the solid soil of Prythian. Rarely did you leave the comfort of the ship you captained, only coming to shore for the more lucrative deals. Passing through Adriata, you felt yourself admiring the shimmering buildings, catching yourself in an instant and banishing away the thought. You practically counted the cobblestones back to the port, where a smaller sailboat would bring you back to your floating home. You passed a building that was in the process of being rebuilt, the whole city still practically on stilts after Amarantha’s reign of terror, the stories your crew told you enough to keep you awake at night. 

“Excuse me” A broad, winged male apologises as he gently bumps into your shoulder, your cloaked head unlifting from your course home as you pass. Never noticed, never seen, the main attribute that landed you at the helm of one of the most infamous ships at sea.

Through the crowded area before the final dock, tradespeople called from their port, customers eager to obtain the precious goods they brought from their travels. You quietly noted who sold what and for how much, marking their ship's colours in the back of your mind for later. You chuckled lightly to yourself at the plethora of unassuming fae, all ripe for the rip-off at the hands of these merchants, their financial gain ultimately trickling into your own. A sudden shudder shot up your spine as you found your feet instinctively taking you to shield yourself behind the canopy of one of the port side stalls. A large crowd of people stood in awe and fear as Tarquin transversed the crowd, a female in Night Court clothing on his arm with Cresseida and the Lord of Night following closely behind. You sneered at the sight of the foursome, playing Court to the crowds and clearly winning favour with all. 

“How am I going to pass by their giant egos?” You scoffed quietly to yourself for no one to hear. 

“I know the cape is a bit overkill on the Lord of Night Court’s part” You laughed lightly at the comment that came from the warm voice behind you, your movement then stilling completely. On the ball of your foot, you turned to face the wall-like male who you had passed earlier. Azriel raised an eyebrow to you, clearly feeling cocky he had caught you off guard, something that made you feel bare. Your eyes fell briefly on the Night Court emblem on his chest, its gleaming blue goldstone flickering in the unrelenting Summer sun. 

“Shouldn’t you be part of the other swans?” You asked boldly, your hood still slightly obscuring your full face, a smirk dashing for a moment across Azriel’s face. 

“Not my style, besides, who would keep an eye on the ones who normally avoid all observation?” 

“I know know what you’re implying sir” You did your best impression of the confused damsel, the type you were sure Azriel spent countless nights with before you turned away to head into the flowing crowd, the royal four now nearly at the exit of the port marketplace. Azriel caught hold of your wrist, the leather of his glove crinkling under the light pressure on your skin. You turned to watch him lift your own hand between you both, his eyes falling on the toughened skin before sweeping away your hood. Azriel swallowed what gasp rose in his throat, trying to stay with his feet on the shore as your marine blue eyes seemed to flicker back iridescence. 

“A seafarer?” He questioned gesturing with his head to your waterworn digits. 

“I dabbled briefly” You lied, taking your hand back from him and a step to put some distance between you. 

“What brings you to shore? You don’t seem to have a stall here? Or not one that I see that hasn’t recoiled on sight of you?” He quizzed, the mystery prickling along every nerve. 

“Maybe I’m a tough of a boss?” 

“I don’t doubt that somehow” he laughed as you fought to not show your offense. 

“I have no business with the Night Court right now, no cause for this line of questioning” You bristled, turning your back on the Illyrian and striding away, the end of the dock in sight. You thought of your contact waiting beneath the boardwalk, you unable to meet him with the Night Court’s Spymaster breathing down your neck. 

“Interesting how you said right now. What previous business had you with my cour?t” He called out to you, stopping you in your tracks. You balled your face into a knot, rookie rookie mistake you cursed yourself. The sound of the rising tide crashed beneath the tall boardwalk. Beneath the gnarly warped boards, you could make out the silhouette of your contact, gently swaying back and forth between the slats of the wood. The end of the unfenced dock now a mere metre away.

“I meant… I’m always open to business with all courts, perhaps we have business to agree to down the line” You lied again, the business you occupied yourself with would never be agreed to by any Court inner sanctum. 

“I somehow doubt the business you deal with would be in the interest of my Court unless it is to stop it?” Azriel’s voice danced the line between playful and arrogant ease similar to that of a cat with a cornered mouse. 

“I spoke out of line sir, I have nothing to offer anyone, I was simply shopping for wares for presents” You decided to change tacts entirely. 

“And the large bag of rare gems and crystals you have in your shoe, is that the payment for these invisible presents?” 

“How di-” You cut off your own question, Azriel’s eyes fully aligned with the thrill of the catch, he would have to try harder to catch you. You scoffed, your face changing from faux concerned cornered damsel to the hardened confidence in your ability that years of trade had given you. Your hands clasped together in front of you before you clapped slowly, the action seemingly catching the Illyrian off guard. 

“Nice catch, tell me is your outfit fully leather?” the question surprised Azriel, his eyes looking down briefly.

“Are you a fashion consultant now?” 

“No no, just making an observation, you seem so fond of those” You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet, ever so softly inching your way to the edge of the dock. 

“And what observation is that?”

“Quite a heavy material when it's wet” Azriel didn’t have time to further question you before your foot slammed harshly down on the rotting board, Azriel narrowly but nimbly dodging the gap created by the crumbling plank, its reminisce crashing into the swirling tide 20 feet below. 

“Cute, any other party tricks?” Azriel straightened himself. 

“Just one” You saluted him with two fingers against your forehead before once again surprising the Illyrian and launching yourself backwards off the dock to freefall into the rushing wild tide below. Azriel ran to the edge of the dock, foamy white circles fizzed around your entry point into the water. The heel of Azriel’s ankle slipped from his boot as he prepared to follow you the moment you came up from the air. Except you didn’t. He waited and counted to at least 2 minutes before planting his foot back into the boot. Azriel looked out towards the growing swell in the ocean where he squinted to bring the very distant hazy grey outline. He couldn’t understand how you had made it so far, so fast, clearly at home in the crispy sea. 

“Azriel, if you’re gonna off yourself you have to at least warn me so I can get a jumpstart on the funeral speech” Rhysand laughed from behind the Spymaster, his voice making Azriel jump slightly, the sight of it confusing Rhysand. 

“Hey you okay?” Rhysand clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, ever so gently guiding his friend back from the edge of the dock. 

“Yeah I eh..” He couldn’t find the words.

“Oh Azzie I know that look, well keep it in your pants, we’re here to get the book and go, I’m sure you can find someone just as fun at home” Rhysand laughed, turning Azriel’s body away from the edge of the dock, guiding him back up the boardwalk. Azriel took one more quick glance, no longer able to make out your distant shadow. 

—--------------------------------------

Azriel cursed every moment of his life that led him to this one that he shared with Feyre and Amren. This was the Spymaster's ultimate nightmare as the floods of endless water crashed into the chamber room, Feyre seemingly having a psychotic breakdown while clinging to the Book of Breathings. Every nerve was screaming at Azriel to entirely freak out but watching Feyre struggle with whatever the Book was giving her kept his head between his shoulders. As quickly as the water flooded in, the pulling force wrapped around the friends and tugged. Feyre and Amren seemingly had a silent discussion that pulled the three through the smothering water. 

The first swallow of salty air was choked down by the three as the wraiths pulled them upward through the blasted door, the dehydrating water still keeping a tight hold on Azriel. Alarms blared in any and all directions as Rhysand clearly had his own trials during the retrieval of the book. Wraiths suddenly squabbled over Azriel, their sharp talon like nails clawing along his wings, his yelps drowned out by the waves. Swelling currents pulled and pulled as the wraiths clung to Amren out of fear and Feyre out of repayment of debt leaving Azriel to fend for himself against the violent washes of water. Azriel had felt all his energy sapped by the fight for air inside the chamber being challenged again by the pulling force of the water. Out of bloodshot eyes, he saw the wraiths successfully bring his friends to shore until he could no longer fight the fray and instead allowed it to sweep him out. 

—--------------

Azriel’s face was swollen in the colours of choking purple and blue as his lungs fought to cough up the swallowed seawater. He felt his bones sink into the water-swollen wood of the ship he found himself hauled up onto. The sound of his body being dragged along the wood rattled against the strong gusts of wind. 

“Well, who did you piss off this time?” You laughed down towards the greying Spymaster as he tried to blink you into focus. He could only groan in reply before you jerked your head to the side, the large males dragging him across the deck continued their course, tossing him into the bowels of the ship. A smaller fae quickly clasped heavy chains on him, energy stores still depleted from the fight with nature. 

Azriel couldn’t tell if it had been minutes, hours or days since he had arrived on board the next time he woke up. He took in the musty surroundings, unable to detect any other living creatures in the room with him.

“I told you leather was a heavy material when wet” You smirked from atop the beam above Azriel before jumping down to land in front of him. 

“Remind me to take the fashion advice next time” Azriel rasped out, his throat raw from the salt. You circled him briefly before retrieving a tray from a darkened corner of the room, the swells of the wave lifting and dropping the boat in a natural rhythm, it never throwing off your stride. You placed the tray down by his side as he squared off his hips to sit upright on the sodden wooden floor. 

“Drink” You half ordered, Azriel looking from the liquid lifeline to your eyes of equal colour. 

“To have you poison me?” he scoffed. 

“The salt in your system will do that work for me if you don’t drink” Azriel looked back down at the water, weighing up the options before deciding to take it with a heavy chained hand. The water tasted of pure light itself as you watched him carefully swallow it all while attempting not to drool yourself. Another swell hit the side of the ship, causing Azriel to fall to his side. 

“You’re going to want to find your sea legs soon Leathers if you want to be able to keep your lunch down” You laughed, removing a cloth from the tray to reveal a thick, nutritious stew. 

“Where are we going?” He managed, trying his best to keep his sickly grey cheeks from turning green. 

“We're chucking you out closer to home, a courtesy” you squatted down to his eye level, drawing his amber eyes into meet you. 

“Why?”

“What can I say, I don't love the drama it loves me” you laughed standing again, pushing the tray closer to him with your foot. 

“Real answer” the stew bubbled in the dish, punctuating Azriels words. 

“I fish a prize out of the ocean, I'm going to collect”

“Aw you think I'm a prize” Azriel batted his eyelashes in faux flirtation, righting himself. You squatted back down, catching his chin lightly and to his own surprise he allowed you. 

“No, but the High Lord of endless wealth does” you let him go with a jerk. 

“Now eat, we've a few stops to make” You left him to his thoughts. 

-

Azriel picked at the food, before falling in and out of a state of pure exhaustion, it had been at least 3 days since he was sent out to sea. He gave into the food after 72hrs of deciding whether or not it was poison until it's filling nature sent him to as comfortable sleep. Azriel woke to the feeling a cool liquid dripping down his wings.

“Don't touch me” he jerked his wings out of your reach, the cloth going slack in your hand. 

“Listen here Leathers, either the wounds are cleaned or you lose the wings” You bit, Azriel weighing up your words, the cuts the wraiths left fighting to heel under his diminished energy. 

“Fine, do it yourself” You wrung out the cloth before dropping it to his side.

“Why do you care?” The thought rattled around Azriels head for the hours you had left him in the dark, he had to try to find the answer. He reached for the cloth, dripping the liquid down what wounds he could reach under the constraints of the chain. 

“You're less valuable to me dead” You lied, trying your best to ignore the cuts he missed. You ran your tongue across your teeth, and Azriel took note of your inspection. 

“Seems you care an awful lot about someone you see only as monetary gain” he smirked, unable to hide how your interest made him feel. He then proceeded to miss the wounds on purpose until you finally snapped, whipping the cloth from hands. 

“Just let me!” You snapped harshly and then met his wing with surprising tenderness. Azriel watched you from the corner of his eye, afraid to blink and you'd disappear. 

“Damn wraiths” you whispered, the deep claw marks fighting against the healing solution. 

“The way you swim, I thought you might be one yourself” You met his eyes with a grin, the cloth slipping from your hand. 

“Don't belittle me like that Spymaster-” Azriels eyebrow raised again at your coy response “-yeah I knew the moment I met you who you were and how much it drives you crazy that you have no idea who I am”

“I'm piecing it together” he said softly, watching you trace your eyes over his wings. Veins of opal and midnight blue liquid leaked from your hand, flowing over the deeper marks and sealing the shut-on contact.

“And more pieces fall” Azriel said, watching in amazement. You brought a finger to your lip and whispered shh, a banging then coming from behind.

“Captain, we're here” a burly voice came from the door, you stood before they could see what you were doing. 

“Business to attend” You grinned down, wiping your hands on your trousers and leaving Azriel once again.

—------

The boat soon after began to rock again, Azriel still not finding comfort in the waves. He tried to map out mentally the course you had taken him and why his family had yet to appear and save him. He knew the importance of the Book of Breathings and its vitality in a successful mission but he thought he was equally as vital. The swells rocked the boat to almost vomit-inducing levels as it reached the peaking waves of the thick sea once again.

On the main deck you glided with ease, your whole crew used to wild seas and never wanting to change any part of them. A long day of scouting out treasures and seeking payment for your protection had you staring up at the ceiling of your cabin, contemplating it all. The rush of waves hitting the solid oak of the massive ship sent you to welcome sleep shortly, the whole ship falling into well-earned rest after a day of various activities. Hours later you woke with the feeling of a true unfamiliar sickness. You ran quickly to the private washroom adjacent to your room, your skin a sickly green colour, your body at the will of the ocean for the first time in centuries. 

“What the fuck?” you said to yourself before wrapping a cloak around you and heading to the deck. Stray waves washed over the rim, flooding the deck as your crew fought with the sails, waves almost as tall as them made an attempt to claim a prize. You raised a stray hand, deflecting the walls of water from any serious damage, still unable to fight off the full feeling of sea sickness. You were always one with the ocean, allowing it to reek it havoc but keeping it from toppling the ship. The boat rocked nearly level to its starboard side before you willed the water to keep the mast from tilting, your crew ever happy to have a master of the elements at the helm. 

“Just keep the fucking sails straight” You barked, your crew scrambling to obey as lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the flooding deck, your stomach doing somersaults to match the movement. You rushed from the wheel down the decks again before entering into the depths of the ship, shielded from the rain. 

“For fuck sake, drink this before I vomit” You fired a small vile at the green Illyrian who caught it through his disorientation. Azriel always hated being at sea, doing his best to avoid it during his training and having a stark reminder of why now that he found himself at the centre of a colossal storm.

Azriel’s eyes locked on you as he fiddled with the lid of the bottle, he no longer cared if it was poison, if it ended the hellish seascape he’d drink it happily. Your eyes rolled like the waves before you made short work of the distance separating you both and in quick movement you separated the blade strapped to your thigh from its holder, sinking it into a miniscule chink in one of the chains on Azriel’s arm. You quickly hauled him upwards, the movement rattling his head to accompany the severe seasickness as you hauled him over to the side of the room. With your bare hands, you pulled the small wooden sheet nailed to the wall down, revealing a porthole. In a swift motion, you whipped it open, pressing Azriel’s face out into the swirling sea air. 

“There! See that line, thats the horizon, stay on that!” You barked at him, the ravenous waves crashing up to meet Azriels face through the hole as sea spray. He rocked from foot to foot, allowing his weight to rest in your strength as he found the horizon, nearly boring holes in it with his eyes as he focused.

“Just focus on the centre of your world Azriel, focus” You tried more softly this time, his name from you striking some deep nerve he always neglected. He caught as much air as he could before turning to lock eyes on you, colour drained from his face. 

“Not on me, the horizon!” You snapped, catching the back of his head and forcing it forward again. The curling, twisting sensation in your stomach was quickly replaced by a different sinking sensation. 

“Okay, okay, I’m okay” Azriel called out, your pressure releasing slightly on him, allowing him to sink back to the floorboards, one arm still tethered to the bowels of the ship. You followed his lead, sliding down the wall of the ship to meet his side. He curled his knees into his chest like he did as a child and you found your thumb tracing small soothing circles on the back of his hand before realising. He scanned you in almost horror, panting deep breaths into his lungs.

“That vein in your head is gonna pop if you keep thinking that hard” You found yourself laughing breathlessly, thankful for the end of the illness you so rarely felt. 

“Do you make this many visits to prisoners normally?”

“I guess you’ll never know, maybe this is how I am with all my guests” You rolled your head against the wall to look at him.

“An interesting way to treat your guests” He jingled the chains.

“Chains make it more fun” You whispered, the words rolling over his nerves like a wave at sea.

“More pieces, Captain” his rusty voice stopped your thoughts under his warm gaze.

“You’ll never have enough to understand”

“Oh yeah?” In one smooth movement, Azriel swerved his chained arm over his head, hooking it around your throat. He pulled until you found your back flush with his chest, his legs like vice grips around you from behind as you dug your nails into the betraying chain. 

“Chains make it more fun-” He whispered into the crook of your neck, the hairs on your neck standing on their end “- Now tell me how you knew I was sick down here?! Have you spelled me?” He ordered, rolling his hands into tighter fists around the chain, ensuring you were fully at the will of its biting metal jaws. He released enough pressure for a life-saving gasp of air you took hungrily. 

“The-the same way you-you knew how to find me on-on the dock. How did you see m-e that day?” You rasped, Azriel allowed more slack on the chain as he thought, the answer rolling off his tongue like a rogue wave. 

“How could I not?” he admitted in a whisper, the only sound filling the room. 

“Then that is my same answer to you” You thought of the ways you could overpower him at this moment, the simple ways you could will the sea to save you and yet you didn’t. You weren’t ready to end this moment and you weren’t fully sure why, well not in a way that you’d admit to yourself yet.

“I just-I felt someone need me, call to me without a voice… I just saw you through it all” he realised aloud.

“People don’t usually”

“I thought you were a Captain, or was that just a pet name?” his head tilted in question, “I’m no ones pet” More tension was released from the chain, enough for you to put your fingers between it and your marbled throat.

“I bet I could change that” his warm breath coated your ear, some force pulling him forward until the full slack was released from his chain, it clattering to the floor along its captivated wrist, his other hand tracing along your chest to gently catch your chin. You felt your back relax further into your chest until you instinctively fell to the side allowing the Spymaster the access to your neck he desperately craved. Fresh, electrifying bittersweet pain rattled through your body as Azriel sank his teeth into your tender flesh, his chained hand anchoring you to his chest by curling tightly around your abdomen. You released the air from your lungs that felt as though it had been held forever. Azriel’s hand left your obedient chin to trace down your body, landing at the fraying waistband of your favourite sleep shorts. His thumb traced beneath the band, his nail skirting along your skin, a shiver shooting up your spine. 

“Tell me your name” He whispered with tantalizing ease. 

“YN” You replied, not often telling those outside the inner sanctum. 

“The name I’ll thank the sky for and wish on every star to hear” His hand finally sank beneath the elastic, stroking small circles to coat your throat in soft moans you fought to keep hold of. You could feel him against your backside, feel how much he wanted this and you and yet you didn’t want him to know the same about you. 

“For you, only you” He groaned, pressing further into you as if hearing your thoughts, a rewarding groan this time unable to be stopped from leaving you. As quickly as he had trapped you, you turned, hooking a leg over his to press him back into the deck, straddling either side of his waist, his chained arm clanking against the wood. Your hand traced his cheek and he allowed himself to rest against your palm, his wings relaxing outwards, the wraith marks on show. You felt rage boil beneath the surface at the sight of their claim to what you felt was yours. You lowered down to his mouth, eyes swirling into his as he drank your energy in. 

“I’ll kill them for hurting you”

“And I’ll do the same to those who look at you in any unkindness, or look at you at all, unworthy of the pleasure” His free hand found the nape of your neck, magnetic forces guiding you down until a wash of the purest release met you both in one another's lips. Nirvana. Then unrelenting hunger. Your mouth parted slightly causing him to eagerly take the invitation, his tongue conducting teasing strokes that you happily match. Your hands clutch the material of his shirt, afraid to let go of him and the movement.

“Land!!!” An unwelcome shout came from far above where the two of you were deep in entanglement. The voice of your second mate pulled you back from Azriel, who tried his best to not whine at the movement. You quickly shot from his grasp, retucking your shirt and pulling your damp hair to one shoulder. You looked frantically at the broken chain before darting to cover the porthole again. 

“What-what just happened?” Azriel asked, doing his best to stand.

“We just reached your drop off” You left a sad smile paint your face as Azriel bolted towards you, his chain dragging.

“But we-I just- we just-”

“I know but they’ll be expecting you and my crew will be expecting the payout I promised them when we diverted course to fish you from the sea” You caught his knotted hands in yours, the marks of your years of hard work melting into his of deepest cruelty. 

“Run with me, come with me, just don’t leave me” he found himself begging.

“This is my world, that’s yours, I don't have land legs just like you definitely don’t have sea legs-” you laughed “-besides, I don’t think we’ll be welcomed in this Court after our capture of one of the favourite children” You joked, your hand tracing his cheek. 

“YN, I’ll tell them the truth, tell them how you saved me, how you will save me in so so many ways” A knock came at the end of Azriel’s plea, your sign to say goodbye. 

“I’m sorry Azriel, my crew are my family and I owe them what they deserve” you stepped back outside the range of what his remaining chain would allow. You reluctantly opened the door, towering males like those who dragged him aboard entered, your back facing him unable to look. Azriel wasn’t sure what happened yet, wasn’t even sure he cared. 

—------

“Is he dead?” Azriel heard Nesta through the screeching song of overhead seabirds. He rolled onto his back, the sharp sun scratching his retinas after a few days in the dark.

“Azriel!” His friends said in unison, helping him to sit up in the soft sand. 

“They didn’t drop you where they said, sorry it took so long to get to you” Feyre smiled, dusting the sand from his hair as Rhysand and Cassian scanned the horizon for any semblance of your ship, long long gone. 

—-----------------

The following weeks were rough for the whole Night Court, all unsure of their next moves to save their world from Hybern. Countless nights watching the bay allowed Azriel time to devise plans and hatch ideas. All paths lead to you more so than success against Hybern. 

That Starfall his family rejoiced in their full reunion, their first in 50 years and yet Azriel still felt a missing part of him, it cast out to sea. He watched Rhysand take Feyre by the hand up the stairs, a smile decorating his face at his brother's deserved happiness. His rusty coloured liquor reflected the moon, the party danced around him, the noise of it all not enough to drown out what he felt was a call he had to answer. 

Azriel landed on the shores of Velaris, the hidden home he’d die for, thinking about the hidden love he’d do the same for. An idea pinged into his head at the sight of Velaris residents releasing lanterns from passing canoes. 

Without full coherence, Azriel found himself rowing a small dingy of a boat out of the Velaris port. He dug deep against the slowly growing waves, the House Of Wind and it’s gleaming party lights in the growing distance. He rowed until he could no longer see his home over the crests of the waves before he stood on rattling legs and found the bow of the small boat. With one deep breath, Azriel swan dived into the crystal clear depths, allowing it to overwhelm him and pull him down. Cautiously, Azriel opened his eyes beneath the water, adjusting to he burn before swimming deeper. Lactic acid began to build in his muscles and beg him not to swim deeper into the pressure of the unforgiving water. Black blots inked across his vision as the darkening water began to overwhelm his system once again until right before blacking out an arm wrapped around him. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me” Was the first thing Azriel heard you say in weeks as you both breached the surface. He almost howled with laughter and exhilaration of his near-death experience and seeing you again. 

“I-I knew you’d come” he rasped out in giddy excitement. 

“Risky game Leathers” You laughed until he kissed you, the lapping water supporting you both. Overhead the sky began to fill with lights on their journey, reflecting off the water with pure light but in that moment Azriel knew that even the darkest night would be illuminated by you.

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

Teehee Whatcha think?!

[multifictional]

A Court of Burning Seasons || Part 1

— > eris vanserra × archeron!reader, lucien vanserra x elain archeron

• Part 1: Elain starts to confide in her sister, y/n remains close off but offers support while they both prepare for a festival in the human lands. Elain remembers her moment with Lucien as she told him about her choice.

• Summary: [Y/N] Archeron always felt the pull of autumn, even as a human. The fallen leaves, the warm colours, the spicy sweets, even her birthday. For Elain, it was the sun and the way of feeding her gardens and flowers with its light. Together in the Night Court after being thrown into the Cauldron, they both feel out of place. But while Elain has her growing bond with Lucien, [y/n] remains an outsider. With her powers still silents even after years, she feels a longing she can't quite place. A mating bond with Eris Vanserra is the last thing she expects and also what she seemed to need. But nothing is ever easy as it seems in Prythian, especially not with Beron impeding presence and courts rivalries always finding a way of creating complications.

• Warnings: focused mostly on elucien and the relationship between Elain and y/n, with a mention of Lucien’s past love. Eris doesn’t appear yet, but his time will come soon enough I promise!!

• Word count: 5k (I know, it’s so long and I’m sorry, but it was necessary for the set up)

[introduction]

You didn’t hear Elain come in, or maybe you just pretended not to.

The late afternoon sky outside your window was already inked with stars, Velaris perpetual night cloaking the city. It seemed midnight, though the day was far from over. That was how things worked there, darkness at every corner, every hour. Extremely beautiful for some, but strictly suffocating for you.

Elain hesitated at the doorway, her footsteps soft but not silent. She wasn't unfamiliar with the sight of you, still and quiet, your mind clearly somewhere else. It was usual. You always were lost in thought, but there was something now that made her pause with familiarity. The guarded way you carried yourself, the weight behind your mask of silence, Elain knew it all too well. She understood it.

Because it was similar to the weight she had been carrying, too.

Still, she was the one that understood you the most.

“Do you miss it?” Elain asked, finally breaking the silence.

You didn't move, didn't turn to look at her. “The human lands?”

Elain stepped closer, her voice softer now. “Everything.”

The question lingered, filling the room like a breath neither of you were ready to release.

“It doesn’t matter," you said at last. Your voice was low, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in it. "It's all the same. I didn't belong there, and I don't belong here. My destiny has taken an awful liking in reminding me I never belonged anywhere."

Elain's expression softened further, though she said nothing. She knew you well enough to recognize when you weren't ready to hear her argue otherwise, although she wanted to. But even in your stubbornness, she could see the truth in your words.

She was no stranger in how you felt in your past human life.

Elain stepped beside you, her gaze following yours out of the window and into the starlight horizon. “Were you counting them?”

You blinked and stared at her, startled for just a moment before putting your walls back on. But Elain wouldn't give up.

“Is that your replacement of picking up fallen leaves?” she teased gently, though there was no mockery in her words, only her usual apprehension, the only one capable of getting at you.

Elain had always known why you started doing that in the first place, if only counting stars didn't made things worse. Stars could never comfort you like dying leaves used to. They only reminded you of how out of place you'd always been.

“I tried,” you managed an half smile. “Not the same at all.

The silence returned, thick but never heavy, familiar in its own way. Usually, Elain wouldn't mind it, both of you thrived in the unspoken words of your bond, which never needed constant noise to affirm itself, especially not after what had happened with the Cauldron.

But today, Elain had come to talk.

And you were too observant to miss it. The way she seemed... different. Nervous, relieved, and even impatient, it seemed.

“There is a reason in particular you came here?” you prompted, casually. “Or you just wanted to be delighted by my presence?”

"Yes. There is," she said, shifting awkwardly. Her voice was light, but you caught the nerves she tried to hide behind it. "Two reason, actually. And you won't like one of them."

"I won't like it, you say? I'm almost afraid to ask," you turned to face her fully, your arms crossing over your chest. "Start with this one, then."

She gave you a faint smile before giving in to your request. "Feyre and Rhysand will be coming too.”

Your response was immediate. A sharp snort, deliberate, more amused than anything else. Of course they would. "Should I be surprised?" you said, rolling your eyes. "They don't trust us to handle our own, don't they? They just can't help themselves. Of course, Mother forbid us stepping out out of their sight for more than a minute!"

Elain winced at the sharp edge of your tone, but she said nothing. You turned away then, pacing towards your bed as you muttered to yourself. "They believe Velaris is the only thing worth protecting, but they expect loyalty in return, while keeping us at arm's length. They want all of us to fall in line, no question asked at all."

It wasn't the first time you said something of the sorts, and Elain doubted it would be the last. She knew what you felt about Feyre and and Rhysand, and how your sister's action had shaped your existences without consent or consideration. Elain didn't disagree, not completely, at least. She had learned, eventially, to make her peace with it in a way you hadn't.

“At least we can go back, for once," she said, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. "To the human lands, to the festival."

Sensing how hopeful and excited she sounded, you gave her a pointed look, skepticism written all over your face. "We both know why we're really going. Do you thing is about reminiscing sweet old times? No, it's not about the festival. It never will be. It's an excuse about politics for them. Checking alliances, keeping tabs on humans. That's all it ever is."

"Maybe," she patiently conceded. "But does it really matter why they go? We could still enjoy it, you know. A quiet night. Away from here. Together."

Your hesitation crumbled, just a little. Elain could see the resistance in your expression, but also how mentioning to step outside the Night Court, even for a few hours, was the right string to pull. You would do anything to get away from Velaris, and she knew it. It was the only way you could finally breathe, at least for a little while.

With a final sigh, you relented. "You know I'm coming. I already promised you this. And I've never broken a promise to you, not once. And you know it."

Elain's smile grew, relieved by your acceptance. "No, you never did."

That simple truth, the unwavering loyalty you shared, even more than with your other sisters, meant more to her than she could put into words. But that wasn't all. There was something else she needed to address with you. The weight of it pressed heavily on her chest like a machete.

"Besides, it's autumn time in the human lands, you will enjoy it."

You tried to seem indifferent. But the mention of the season that always made you feel a little bit like home, made your eyes sparkle. Elain noticed that, and smiled amusingly.

"What's the other thing?" you prompted, watching her closely.

Elain checks blushed hard as she looked down, deliberately avoiding your gaze. She didn’t know how to start this conversation, but she knew you were the only one she could trust. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, but it was you who talked first.

"It's about Lucien," you guessed.

She froze, not expecting your straightforwardness. Then, slowly, her head moved in a quiet nod, tentative. “You’re the only one I could talk to. Feyre is… I don’t know which part she would take, and Nesta…”

Your brows lifted. There was no need to say more. Nesta’s dislike for Lucien was no secret, she didn’t even try to hide it, she never did. The passing of time didn’t soften her, all the contrary.

You sat beside her, while still giving her the space she needed. After a moment, you talked. “Don’t mind Nesta. She has her own life now, she made her decisions. Now, you make yours. It’s not about her, it’s about you.” You placed an hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture coming from you, but still treasured for Elain. “You shouldn’t follow anyone’s expectation.”

“Not even Lucien’s?” she asked now, her voice trying to be steady, but failing.

“I’m sure Lucien has no expectations of you. Hope, maybe, but no expectations.”

“Yes. He told me as much. Repeatedly.”

“Follow your heart, Elain. Don’t think of what the Inner Circle would want you to decide. Not what Nesta would like to see. Not even what Lucien’s hopes are,” your voice grew steadier by the seconds. “You always wanted to have a choice. You can’t have what you had before, I’m not going to lie, but you can still choose for yourself.”

“I’ve made my choice,” she admitted. Her voice wavered, but there was a soft determination beneath it. “I gave Lucien a chance.”

You stared at her. There weren’t many things that stunned you, but this certainly did. It wasn’t the revelation itself that came as a shock, it was the strong conviction in her voice. That was the Elain you knew. The Elain everybody else didn’t even know existed.

She chuckled softly, taking advantage of the moment. “I thought about it for a long time. And I realised, we both deserve to find out what this could be.”

You took her hand in yours, offering a rare, genuine smile she so often brought upon you. “If this is what you have decided for yourself, it can never be wrong. It’s your life, your mistakes, your choices. No one gets to take them for you, and you’re certainly allowed to make wrong decisions, but you will never know if you just follow everyone else’s standards.“

Her eyes glittered with gratitude, and for the first time in a long while, you saw not the broken pieces of your sister but someone stronger, someone rebuilding. Her true self, strong and determined, finally taking voice.

And as she remembered the very moment she made that decision, you squeezed her hand before letting go.

Earlier that afternoon, Elain sat cross legged on a blanket in the middle of the garden, her hands bloodied by her recent gardening, though she barely noticed. A cup of tie was cooling beside her, untouched, a plate of pastries forgotten, as she stared at the flowers she'd been tending just a moment before. They were thriving, growing beautifully, but this place, beautiful as it was, wasn't the garden she had in the human world she'd left behind. It wasn't hers.

A subtle and familiar tug at the edge of her awareness distracted her. She had ignored it for months, years even. But recently, resisting had become impossible, more than usual. It felt too insisted, too present to deny anymore. Which was strange, since the mating bond hasn't snapped into place for her yet. She almost had hoped it never would. Almost.

She lifted her head just as a flash of auburn caught her eyes.

Lucien. Her… mate.

He was far away, his russet hair catching the light, but her chest tightened as though he was already standing beside her. His presence had been haunting her dreams, creeping into her thoughts, and now even her visions. Vivid glimpses of him, flashes here and there, lingered in her mind more often than she cared to admit.

Sensing her gaze, Lucien's head snapped up and their eyes met. He froze mid motion, finding himself lost in awe by her soft beauty, her petite frame in the middle of the grass, her blue dress all around her like an aura. For him, she was the ultimate vision.

Elain flushed and quickly looked away. The damage, though, was already done. He started to walk closer.

He always did.

It was a matter of seconds before he was standing right before her, his tall frame casting a shadow over the blanket. He spoke carefully, trying to temper his natural boldness. It was as if he expected her withdrawal.

"Everything alright, lady Elain?"

Elain tried to ignore the stuttering of her heart and the tug of the bond caused by the sound of his voice, warm and deep. She avoided his gaze, focusing on her hands instead. "Everything's fine."

Lucien's sharp mechanical eye zeroed in on her hands, still speckled with blood. Without thinking twice, he knelt, taking one of them into his. His touch was light, almost reverent, as he inspected the scratches.

"You're hurt," he murmured.

Elain tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was too firm. "It's nothing," she insisted.

"It's not nothing," he replied, holding her gaze, his golden eye far too serious. It took her aback. "You should never be harmed. Not even by thorns, not by anything.”

For a moment, his words, and the way he said them, stunned her. There was no condescension in his tone, no assumption that she was some little thing that needed protecting at all costs. This wasn't someone dismissing her strength. This was Lucien, holding back instincts she could barely understand. It didn't matter how much it tore him apart, he would still put her needs first and worry about her nonetheless.

And despite herself, Elain found herself half smiling. The smallest curve of her lips, fleeting as it was, made Lucien's heart lurch. He committed it to memory, knowing he might not see it again anytime soon. It was the very first time Elain had smiled at him.

Elain didn't know how to name the butterflies that started flying in her chest as Lucien, with a movement of his hand, erased the scratches from her skin.

"What if I liked it?" she asked suddenly, her question almost a challenge.

Lucien blinked, too distracted by their closeness. "Like... what?"

"The sting of these scratches. What if I like how they feel?" the amusement in her voice surprised even her. "What if that's the reason I love gardening so much?"

Lucien's lips quirked into a smile. "It is?" He appeared really curious about this. As if he wasn’t waiting for anything else than getting a glimpse of her. Even as little as it might be.

Elain hesitated only for a second before giving him a slight nod. She didn't realise it, but with only one sentence she had given him more than years of failed conversations.

Lucien chuckled, the sound warm, his voice softening. "Then I will heal your every scratch so that you can enjoy the sting of the thorns all you like as many times as your heart desires, without worrying about your hands."

Lucien stepped back, not wanting to overstep, giving her the space she always seemed to need. He wouldn't take her arm when she barely offered just the tip of her finger. But Elain felt his absence like a weight pressing on her. The silence between them grew suddenly tense, and she found herself breaking it before she could stop.

“I don’t even know what my heart desires."

Lucien studied her carefully. “That much was clear,” he answered, unable to held back his response. “But you’ve got all the time you need to figure it out."

“Is it that easy to find out?” she met his gaze, the question slipping out of her mouth before she could think better of it. “And what does your heart desire, Lucien?”

His expression tightened for a moment. He closed his eyes briefly, as if to steady himself, then opened them, meeting hers.

Hearing his name in his voice was something majestic. But, how could he answer that question? How could he say those words without seeming an overbearing male, pressing her?

“I suppose it would be to know where you stand," he admitted softly, the weight of the words pressing on his chest.

“Where I stand?” she echoed, her brow furrowing. When the meaning behind his words hit her, she blushed, looking away again. "Oh."

After debating it for a few seconds, Lucien sat down on the edge of the blanket, leaving a careful distance between them. It took everything in him not to take her hand again, but he kept his movement measured. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Do you regret asking?”

Elain shook her head. "No. I figured you wanted the truth."

"I do," his was quiet now, a deep note of sincerity. "That's all I ever wanted from you."

For a long moment, Elain said nothing, lost in thoughts. Finally, she looked at him again. Lucien waited for her to force the words out.

“Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For always granting me the space I need, for being honest and for... for keeping up with my constant refusal.”

Did she really said that out loud?

Lucien's eye softened, though his jaw tightened, as if holding back a thousand things he wanted to say. Instead, he just nodded, his voice as gentle as she'd ever heard it.

“Your life changed overnight. I would never anything on you, let alone myself.”

Elain looked surprised and she stuttered, unable to find the right words. “But I thought… that day…” she trembled, the trauma of that fateful day still too deep ingrained into her mind. “When you said that we were…” she breathed again, shaking her head. “I thought you were stating a claim.”

Lucien’s breath hitched. He didn’t expect that.

All the unease, all the resentment he felt through the bond, was because she had always believed he was… what? Stating that he had a right to her? Laying a claim on her?

“You misunderstood,” he said gently. “It wasn’t anything like that. Not for me. I would never do that. I was just… surprised. That’s all.”

“Surprised?”

Lucien’s hesitated, his hart beating fast. Memories of his past flashed in front of him, painful. He didn’t like to share, to reminiscing how much he had to endure. He didn’t plan to talk about this with his mate, of all people, either. But he knew she deserved the truth.

How would Elain ever trust him if he wasn’t willing to give her something, anything?

Swallowing down the pain he still carried even after centuries, he spoke up. “I had someone too.”

It was all he managed to say. And Elain understood instantly, her mind wandering back to the human lands, to Greysen, his ex fiancé and the same one he turned against her after her transformation. She remembered how she had hoped he would still want her, that their love was stronger than a mating bond, stronger than her new looks. But she had been mistaken.

“It was centuries ago. We always thought we were mates. But the bond never snapped into place.“

Elain stilled. “But it did with me.”

“Yes,” the honesty in his voice was raw. “I barely whispered the words. But you were newly made like us, your senses had sharpened. I didn’t think before talking, but I was too surprised, to stunned, to do anything else.”

Slowly, every pieces found its rightful place in her mind. And in that moment, she realised something. The mating bond wasn’t something she asked. Of that, she was sure.

But it wasn’t something Lucien asked, either.

"Is she...?"

Lucien's voice turned sharp. "Yes. She's gone."

Elain swallowed hard, her heart aching for him. They had both lost.

Perhaps the Cauldron wasn't entirely wrong. Perhaps this bond wasn't just a cruel twist of fate. Perhaps this was the door towards their second chance. With each other.

She handed him the plate of discarded biscuits, an innocent gesture to lighten the moment. “Take one.”

But Lucien's reaction was anything but light. His russet eye darkened. Her offering felt innocent. Too innocent. A surge of rage dwelled inside him, as he barely held back a growl.

Had anyone at all explained her how faes work? How to move in this new life, in this new body? Or they just discarded her, as if she would know everything just because she was a seer?

"Do you even know what offering food means for us, Elain?" he asked, firmer than he realized but still gentle. "Do not ever offer me food like that, especially if you don't know where you stand and if you don’t want anything to do with me or this bond. Just don't."

Elain was stunned by the dark edge in his tone that betrayed the fire beneath. She froze, stunned. Realization dawned on her, and her cheeks burned.

And that’s when her movement stilled, right at the motion of standing up. She looked at him, who was frozen, ready to let her go, resigned, and Something in his look gauged at her insides. She swallowed, as the truth in front of her laid finally bare.

She had misjudged him, blinded by her pain and trauma. She was the seer, yet she hadn't tried to see him, to understand.

"What if I want to try?" she whispered.

Lucien's heart stopped. He stared at her, searching for the truth in her words, fearing he could have misread. There was no reason Elain, the same girl that had ignored him for years, would suggest something like that. But the thing was, despite her refusal, he never stopped hoping. For the first time after he recognized her as his mate, he felt something else than her rejection.

"I’m not saying I'lI accept it," she clarified, her voice resolute, but she wouldn't apologize for her sharp tone. He wanted to know where she stood? Then he would have his answer. “But I’m tired of running from the truth. Instead, I want to understand it. To understand you."

His eye softened, hope blooming in his chest. He tried to restrain himself and he let out a long breath. “You don't own anyone anything, especially not me."

“I know," she replied softly. "But my stubbornness is not doing us any good. I understand now that whatever this is, is something we both have to live with, not just me. And... I won't refuse - or accept - anything, until I don't understand it."

Lucien’s mechanic eye looked through her, as if trying to convince himself that she wasn't under any spell. "If that's something you want, that is your decision alone, then I will give you whatever you want. Time. Patience. Space. Honesty. But, especially, I swear I will not take more than you're willing to give. Not ever."

She smiled sincerely for the first time in years. And it was directed at him.

"I can take honesty and patience," she murmured, an almost amused smile on her face. "But I think I already took space and time well enough for a lifetime."

Lucien shook his head, tentatively approaching her. "Doesn't matter. If you need them, just say the word, and that’s what you will have."

"Thank you."

Lucien hesitated for only a second before reaching out, silently seeking her permission first. Elain didn't move, and so Lucien let his hand linger on her face, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin.

And as he tucked a lock of hair behind her hear, Elain knew she would never forget the look on his face.

It was as though she had handled him the world.

And, perhaps, that's exactly what she did.

Back in the present, Elain grew quiet, her gaze distant as if lost in a labyrinth of memories. You didn't dare interrupt her, letting her have the moment she seemed to need, not pushing, not asking questions. Instead, you turned your attention to your wardrobe, absently sorting through the dresses hanging inside.

Blue and dark. The typical palette of the Nigh Court. You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head.

Elain stared at her hands for a long moment, as though searching for the right words. “He’s coming with us to the human lands,” her soft voice reached you tentatively but steadily. “It will be our first official... date.”

You turned, a smirk already forming on your lips. “Already calling it a date?” you teased. “Does he want to court you now?”

Elain blinked, cheeks tinting pink/then looked away. “I don’t… I don’t know. But I want to be ready.”

"Ready?" You chuckled knowingly. “You’re serious about this.”

Elain's fingers played with the edge of her sleeve, her expression distant for a moment. “I am,” she admitted, her tone holding an uncharacteristic firmness. Then, as if deciding something, she said softly, “I want to make a good impression.”

You leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed. “Oh, darling,” you shook your head, grinning. “You already have Lucien wrapped around your little finger. Quite literally, he had been ready to court you since the moment you were made. You don’t need a fancy dress to make any impression. That poor male will lose his mind just by looking at your eyes.”

Elain blush deepened, but she didn't deny it. “I just want him to know I’m serious about this. That I’m not just… playing around.”

Your heart softened. You wanted to tell her that he already believed that, that she didn't need to prove anything. You knew how much he wanted this, a real chance with Elain. Over the years, you'd grown close to Lucien, enough to count him as a friend, maybe the only one in that place.

Elain knew that, and it had never been an issue. You'd never pushed her to share more than she wanted with him. But now, seeing her trying to step out of her shell, and choosing to move forward instead of always look back, differently from you, made you unexpectedly proud. She deserved this. They both did.

“Then you'd better wear your best dress,” you grinned.

Elain sighed, brushing her fingers along the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t like Night Court fashion but… I think it will have to do for now.”

“I've got you covered here, sister," you offered. "I miss my human clothes too.”

Elain turned towards the door, but not before throwing a sly glance your way over her shoulder. “You don’t miss human dresses, y/n, you just miss their colors.”

Scoffing, you wavered her off, even though she wasn’t completely wrong. "Oh, please."

But her amused voice carried on. “You will be back in those shades you’ve always obsessed over soon enough. You could already, if only you weren’t so stubborn.”

You let her go, without responding, her words lingering in the room like a distant echo. She wasn't wrong, though. There was nothing stopping you, if you decided to. You wouldn’t let anyone, not even the Night Court’s Inner Circle, dictate anything for you, let alone your choices. And there were plenty of shops in Velaris selling the vivid, warm and earthy tones that once defined you. Yet, something about wearing them here, in this court, under their scrutinizing gazes, it just felt... wrong.

So you just went along. Stuck to the dark, muted colors of the court, as you let them cloak you like a shadow.

You never belonged anywhere, anyway. Fae or human, it didn't matter. Even now, reunited with your so called family, you would always be out of the world. An outsider everywhere you went.

It was easier to just... remain that way and to play along with it.

And that was fine. You were used to that.

Later, you and Elain met at the top of the stairs. She practically buzzed with excitement, her hands fluttering nervously at her side. You, in contrast, barely managed a shrug. The only thing pulling you along was the promise of leaving Velaris behind, at least for s little while. Even if Rhys and Feyre's presence would still follow.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, glancing at Elain.

She drew in a deep breath. "A little," she admitted.

Together, you descended the stairs, and here they were. Rhysand and Feyre, in their usual black and blue attire, and Lucien, dressed in his ever-effortless finery, stood talking with them.

The moment Elain arrived, though, his attention shifted entirely. His gaze swept over her, taking in the way her light blue dress flowed around her frame, her hair loosely pulled back, as if she had fretted over it but stopped herself from doing too much. She glanced back, her gaze almost hesitant but lingering, testing the waters of her own bravery. When their eyes met, her heart stumbled and his eye softened as though he could see every unspoken thought she couldn't yet voice.

You walked behind Elain, letting them have their moment, and you didn’t need to look at Feyre to feel her gaze studying you, dissecting you. The sigh that followed was soft, but you heard it light and clear. Another silent judgement, but you ignored it, as you always did. You had gotten used to the way the Night Court worked: all control wrapped in silk and smiles. Feyre's mask was perfect, but it didn't fool you.

"Let's try to keep it subtle and to not draw attention to ourselves, shall we?" Feyre said, her arm already tingled with Rhysand’s. It was impossible not to notice the way all of them, Rhysand included, used their hair to mask the pointed ears as much as possible.

You snorted at her words. Subtle. Hide. That was always the answer with them, wasn't it? Blending in, so would somehow make you less of a target. But it didn't matter, because you could blend in all you wanted and you'd still feel the same.

Why going to the human lands at all if you had to hide what you were?

If only they could understand. This wasn't just about hiding pointed years. You had spent your entire life, both of them, feeling like a shadow in someone else's world. And now, even here, you wore a mask all of them believed in, never letting anyone see past it.

It was a mask you had worn so long that you weren't sure how to take off, even if you wanted to.

As the group prepared to winnow, you couldn't help but notice the way Lucien stood closer to Elain, his fingers brushing hers before gently twining them together. The gesture was tentative, as he expected her to pull away. But she didn't. Instead, she glanced up at him with a quiet smile reddened cheeks.

At least your sister was getting there, slowly but surely.

And, for now, that had to be enough.

Part 2

A.N: I apologise again for the length, I hope the next chapters will be shorter. If you arrived here, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you liked that! Also, my asks are always open, so if you want to ask something about this story or make a request, I answer everyone!

If you want to be added in the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @wrenisrad @antisocial-architect @homeslices @fox-in-flowers @thecraziestcrayon @bunnyredgirl @lizzytish82 @lportes-22 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @iowaladynerd @samuelseoswife

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Mr. and Mrs. Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut

His eyes are cold and restless, his wounds are almost healed, and she’d give half of Prythian just to change the way he feels. She knows his love’s in the Hewn City and she knows he’s going to go. But it’s not a female he’s leaving for, it’s his damned duty to the Night Court.

Warnings: sexual content, grinding, dom/sub dynamic, language, bondage, grinding, fingering, toxic couple, using intimacy as a form of persuasion

Her mate was strong but gods damn it, so was she. Perhaps that’s why by some cruel twist of fate, she was mated to the infamous Spymaster of Night Court. A male that could torture the secrets out of seasoned liaisons with even the highest of clearances. Nobody in Prythian was better at the game than him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone a moment to doubt it. “Cold”, “Calculating”, “Ruthless”, those that feared him would whisper.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Azriel?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

His cold, stony gaze fixed on the door behind her as she pressed her body against it, blocking the exit.

Placing two palms to his leather covered chest, she shoved - perhaps she was the only one who didn’t fear him. In fact, she loved him and that was the fucking problem. She wished she didn’t, wished she could let his ass walk right out that front door and not give him a second glance. Instead she was so hopelessly devoted to him that she couldn’t fathom letting him go without a fight. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she needed him, like he needed to draw information from anyone he perceived as a threat to the Night Court. Those that respected him would call it honorable. She called it fucking insufferable.

To his credit, at the belligerent outburst of his mate, a slight tick of his jaw was the only sign of his irritation - a large hand raising to each of her shoulders.

“You just got back! This is fucking bullshit and you know it!” She huffed. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see her weak. No, not today. Let him read the resolve in her eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” His firm tone left no room for argument.

Too bad for him she didn’t give a damn about personal space as she made room to retaliate anyway.

“You’re not even healed! Your left wing is tattered in two places. Never mind the fact that I’ve barely seen you this past month. What the hell, Azriel? Do I not matter to you?”

His cold, restless gaze faltered for a moment. “That’s unfair, Y/N, and you know it. You matter and so does ensuring the safety of the court we live in. It’s my duty.”

She pushed a finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “No, Azriel, what’s unfair is the way you are walking out on me again. Fuck this court and every person in it, I only want you.” Rage seeped through her, rising to a boil beneath her heated skin. Azriel’s lips remained pressed in a firm line, a slight rustle of his wings the only show of frustration.

Lifting a scarred finger and tracing it lightly along the side of her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mean that.”

Her brow creased at the implication. “I do and you know it. You are all I care about, you’re my fucking mate, not the people of this court, not the city of Velaris, YOU.”

Shaking his head, he remained calm, letting out an exhale. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You’ve known my duties since well before we mated. You don’t see me complaining when you’re away on missions for the Valkyries.”

Oh- he struck a nerve with that. Bracing himself for the recoil he stood firm, crossing his arms in the warriors stance he and Cassian had both perfected over the years. With a cock of his head he continued, “Did I strike a nerve there? Let it out, Y/N. Let’s get this out of the way so you’re not stewing the entire time that I’m gone.”

“You are infuriating!” She howled, her power rolling off her skin in waves, Azriel’s shadows recoiled but he didn’t flinch. “You know why you don’t complain? Because you’re still fed, fucked, and fawned over every single night you’re home. Do I get the same treatment in return? No!”

“So that’s why you’re upset?” He challenged. “You need me to fill your pretty cunt? Is that it baby?”

He hit his mark with the statement. A rush of arousal barreling into him before she clamped down on their bond, rage again lining her sharp features. “I can get off well enough on my own, Azriel.” she spat, his name dripping off her lips with venom. He wanted to bite those lips, suck the venom coating right off of them.

He leaned in, centimeters away from her ear, running a thumb gently up and down her forearm. “You sure about that? You seem a bit-“ hazel eyes roved hungrily up and down her form, from the exposed flesh of the thighs her negligee did very little to cover, to the hint of areola peaking over the deep cut of lace trim, disheveled in her haste to catch him before he left the house. He closed the distance, his lips now caressed the shell of her ear. “-tense.”

“Fuck you.” She snarled.

“Oh, did I not make that clear enough?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hazel eyes boring into the depths of her own. “That’s what I’m offering.”

“You can’t fix this with fucking! I’m going to get Rhys, now. You’re not leaving. Not this time.” She stormed to their bedroom, the curve of her ass teasing him as he followed her through the house. Throwing open the armoire door she grabbed a silk t-shirt and leggings, hurriedly putting them on over her slip. Azriel’s tall form leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching his angry little mate with a smirk.

“I’m not fucking joking.” She scowled. “I don’t give a shit that he’s your High Lord. You’re MY mate first. Or did you forget that?” She marched toward the doorway shifting to slide past his towering frame. Just as she thought he’d let her past he flung out an arm. “How could I forget, my love? Your fiery rage is the soothing balm warming my own forged of ice.”

She hissed as she barreled into his arm, no match against the 500 years of hard-earned, corded muscle beneath. “No you don’t.” He hauled her over his right shoulder as she kicked and beat her clenched fists against the defined muscles of his back. “Put me down!”

He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the fact that though his mate was livid as all hel with him, she still was careful to throw those fists away from the sensitive membranes of his wings.

Reaching the edge of their oversized bed and much to her dismay, Azriel cradled one hand to the nape of her neck, and looped the opposite arm beneath her ass, dropping her onto the bed, his shadows darting out to restrain her.

“This isn’t going to work!” She yelped.

He hummed, a look of pure male arrogance crossing his gorgeous features. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he braced his weight on his left arm, tracing a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts. “Is that why the sweet aroma of your need is filling every inch of this room?”

Gritting her teeth, she fought the shadows pinning her to their bed.

She loved this and he knew it. His mate was wild, untamed, only yielding within the safety of their bedroom walls.

He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them, and placing just enough pressure against her core to earn a whimper at the friction.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” he demanded.

The female shook her head.

“I may be a patient male, love, but I don’t have time to wait for you. Going to need you to use your words.”

She only scowled at him and he didn’t miss the way she almost imperceptibly arched her back, raising her chest, pebbled nipples peaking from beneath her silken shirt.

“Very well.” He tsk’d, turning his back, wings flaring slightly to remind her of just how accurate the rumors about wingspan were.

He stepped outside the door frame, turning the corner when a pitiful “Wait.” came from their room.

Her scent flowed to him from their room, his cock jerking at the win, at the fact that her submission and desire for him was so evident. He waited a moment. Oh yes, he was going to make her wait for this. Spymaster duties could hold off long enough to punish his girl for her outburst, in all the ways she loved to be reprimanded. She needed the attention and her behavior was a clear sign of it.

So he sauntered back into their room, oozing with confidence as he took in the sight of his mate, defenseless in her binded state.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” He asked in a condescending manner.

She nodded her head, apology dancing in her eyes.

“Promise me, baby.” He teased. “Show me just how good you can be.”

“Yes, sir.” She spoke submissively.

Pride sparked in his chest at her changed behavior. Releasing his shadows, he looked to her with faux empathy in his eyes, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “Strip.”

She did as he requested with no argument.

“Good girl.” He cooed, patting his thigh. “Now c’mere”

He took in every inch of exposed skin as she strode toward him, avoiding eye contact in a show of deference. Very well, the subtle bounce breasts with each step was captivating his attention anyway.

His submissive girl was so fucking good for him.

She spread her legs, straddling his thigh, dropping her weight down onto it, waiting patiently for his next command.

Looking into her eyes, he whispered in a low voice that sent chills through her, his palm cupping her jaw, thumb running across her lower lip. “You’re so delicious, you know? Those pretty lips make me want to devour them until they’re puffy and red.”

He was setting the bait. The next sentence determining whether she’d be rewarded or not based on her response. “But, unforunately” Azriel let out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t have all day. Our court needs me.”

He caught the flash of violence in her eyes, the rage warring within them. But to his surprise, she didn’t react. Not one single word of resistance falling from that pretty mouth.

He placed a hand on either side of her hip, situating her center over the seam of his leathers. “I know you didn’t like that, sweet girl. But look at you, you’re being so good for me right now. You’re learning.”

She smiled coyly at the praise, biting her lip and looking up to him with fluttering eyelashes.

“You can move now, baby. Take your pleasure.”

So she did, finding that perfect angle and rhythm to bring the friction she so desperately needed to her aching core.

Her body began to tense, little moans and whimpers spilling from her lips, brows furrowing as she focused on her pleasure. “Azzie.” She whispered innocently. “Please, may I come?”

He brought a scarred hand to the back of her head. “Such good manners, baby. So proud of you.”

She beamed at the praise.

“Yes, my good girl. You may.”

A whimper fell from her lips as his thumb found the sensitive bud of her clit, moving it in those rhythms he’d long ago perfected, bringing her to the edge in no time.

She cried out his name through shattered moans, her head falling to the crook of his neck, breasts heaving against him. When her panting settled, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Opening his mouth to accept her gratitude, he was taken back by something pulling at his wrists, ankles following suit.

His mate hopped off of him, heading to the closet. “What the hell?” Azriel shouted.

“Some Spymaster you are.” She chided, eyes rolling with contempt. “When would I ever submit so easily? Think with your other head next time, Az.”

Throwing on a set of leathers that typically would have had his cock at full attention by the way they hugged her like a second layer of skin, she flashed him a vulgar gesture and left the room, leaving him pinned to their four-poster bed by his own damned shadows.

He fought against the binds but the traitorous things were having none of it.

“Y/N! Come back!” He yelled but the only response was the slamming of the front door echoing down the hall.

——————————

Hours later a disheveled Shadowsinger found himself in the Hewn City. After much convincing his shadows had finally let him free of their restraint when he promised the lecherous things their share of playtime with their favorite little mate - their mate who was absolutely going to be punished later.

He was fuming, embarrassment weighing heavily upon him like an anchor. He almost felt bad for the subject Rhys has sent him to elicit information from today. They expected it would take at least a day, if not two to work on this one. Azriel guessed a day based on the less-than-generous mood he was in.

His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hewn City dungeons as he neared the cell of his subject, shadows promising violence, an obvious attempt to win back his affections after their betrayal.

Azriel gaped as he rounded the corner to find his leather clad mate sitting in a chair outside the cell, seated in a relaxed show of dominance with one leg crossed over the other, irreverently picking at her cuticles with fucking Truth-Teller.

“What the hell?” He fumed at his mate. “Where is the prisoner?”

“Oh, him?” She flashed a wicked grin.

“He’s gone. I got the information Rhys needed.”

His brows furrowed with disbelief. There was no way. It had only been a couple of hours. “How?”

She stood, swishing her hips as she sauntered toward him, brushing her chest against his. “I have my ways. Certainly you would know that.” She flicked her gaze to his swirling shadows who quickly hid in shame. “Your shadows surely do.”

Gripping him by the front of his leathers, she pulled him into a kiss, claiming his mouth with her own. The Shadowsinger too dumbfounded to argue.

“C’mon Shadowsinger.” She quirked an eyebrow, as she looked into his eyes with challenge. “You’re mine. Now, let’s go home.”

—————————————-

A/N: you get extra credit if you know where the summary for this story came from.

General tags: @lilah-asteria

[olenvasynyt]

Here's some Prythian lesser fae world-building headcanons because I am so bored of human-looking hot guys with semi-pointy ears and literally nothing else.

Spring has several races of lesser fae that have wings like butterflies. They are the main farmers and bouquet makers for the Spring Court but they were targeted by Tamlin's father before his death.

Spring also has a lesser fae race that are a bit like fawns / satyrs but resemble sheep instead of goats or horses. They have fluffy white wool and ram horns for the males

Many lesser fae races migrate between the seasonal courts based on the season. There are the monarch fae, who migrate between Spring, Summer, and Autumn.

There are also the Kontio fae, who are bear-like lesser fae who travel between courts based on the season. They hibernate in Winter during the winter months, travel through Summer and Autumn on the Spring Equinox to settle in the Spring Court, then they travel to Summer and Autumn perspectively until it's time to hibernate again. They are one of the main lesser fae races in my Lucien backstory fic A Court of Embers and Sunlight :)

Sprites are common in all of the courts, but each court has their own unique variety based on the elements / main features of the Court. Spring has sprites that resemple petals and sleep in flowers; Autumn has sprites that glow like embers and hide in the colorful leaves; Summer has wood sprites and water sprites. Winter has snow sprites with frosty skin. Dawn has fae that only come out during the sunrise and camouflage with the clouds. Day has sun sprites that are completely gold and shine in the sun like jewels. And Night has star sprites that hide in the mountains and shoot across the sky like comets.

Winter has ice giants that hide out in the mountains. These became almost extinct after the Human War, and many believe they no longer exist.

Winter also has snow leopard fae with tails, spots on their white skin, and and fluffy ears that peek out from their soft white hair.

Summer has the Áfruvvá fae, which is a mermaid race that lives on the coast

Night has the Aranrot fae, which is a fae race with beautiful silver skin that glows and sparkles like a star. The race is all female, very stern and independent, and live proud sexual lives.  Believed a virgin was an independent female who was answerable only unto herself. Associated with the galaxy.

Autumn and Winter have lesser fae that resemble wood lemmings. They are covered in soft fur, and have small paws with a flattened claw as their index finger. They have terrible eyesight but their sense of smell and hearing are 10 times better than the High Fae. They're called Sopuli Fae in my fanfic :) 

These are a small precentage of my lesser fae headcanons and it's one of my favorite things to write. Like come on, it's so fun! Give me more, SJM 😩

[isa-beenme]

It took me long enough

Sorry for keeping everyone waiting

I don't know how i feel about this

But anyway, do we want a part 3? With happy ending or do we want to suffer? It honestly doesn't matter to me lol

Summary: Prythian saw the way that Rhysand's mate fell into depression but tried her best to get better. They saw the way that Cassian's mate fell into depression and turned it into pure anger and self-destruction. But... what if Azriel's mate simply... doesn't care?

What Was I Made For (Part. 1)

Maria (Part. 2)

Four Seasons (Part. 3)

Azriel was, once again, deeply engrossed in his work, the dimly lit room shrouded in the stillness that suited his nature. He meticulously reviewed intelligence reports, noting details that others might have overlooked. His mind was always a few steps ahead, always vigilant, and the weight of responsibility eternally rested heavily on his shoulders, a weight he sometimes thought would turn impossible to carry. Except when he had his mate with him. His world seemed to be brighter and more joyful. You had a quiet nature, almost quieter than him as some usually noted with surprise. But you were perfect in his eyes.

The mating bond was a constant presence in the back of his mind. It was a source of comfort, a reassurance that no matter how dark the world might become, he had someone who understood him completely, who completed him in ways above the world. Even though his bond was always silent. He tried his best to send love and happiness and every other feeling down the magical string inside him to his mate, but never received anything back. Rhys said it was because they had a new bond and didn't learn how to talk through it yet. But that was a long time ago, and the bond kept silent.

But lately, there was something different about it. It had grown ridiculously silent, eerily so, and Azriel couldn't quite place the reason or the difference. His connection with his mate had always been a bit unique, quieter than most when they sat together in a room and didn't talk for hours, reading or eating or working or just… existing, but the bigger absence of your presence was unsettling.

Days went by without you coming back home. But he was used to it. You would spend days in the woods or in another Court traveling or studying something. His shadows seemed to always want to talk to him about your moods, or show him something he didn't seem to notice about his mate. A ridiculous idea honestly, no one knew you better than him, there was nothing he wouldn't notice about his own mate. Everything was safe. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect. There was nothing to worry about.

It was just a casual visit from Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court, that finally brought the eerie silence to Azriel's attention. Helion, ever the jovial and inquisitive friend, inquired about his mate's trip. Azriel's brows furrowed as he considered the question. “What trip?” He asked, everyone's eyes turning to him with worry. He instinctively reached out through the bond, seeking a connection that had been his anchor for so long. But the void remained. It was as if the link between you had been severed, leaving Azriel in a disconcerting state of emotional limbo.

A chill crept through him as he realized the truth. You were gone. You had left without a word, without any indication that you were planning to do so. He always thought something would indicate if you were truly unhappy. But, if he remembers correctly, it was on any other ordinary day that you had left him. The emptiness in his chest, which he had sometimes interpreted as your indifference, now felt like a gaping void, and the pain of your absence hit him like a physical blow.

The following days were a blur of frantic searching and desperate inquiries. The shadows that had once been his comfort now whispered their condolences. Azriel's world had been shattered, and he was left to pick up the pieces. The bond, once silent, now echoed with his sorrow and longing, but you remained out of reach. The Spymaster, known for his ability to uncover secrets, had lost the most important one of all—his mate's intentions and desires. Azriel realized, too late, that he should have paid more attention to you, should have understood the depth of your struggle and the pain that may have driven you to leave.

He never knew what you truly wanted, everything always felt good to you, everything was nice and simple… wrong. He should've known. He should've seen that there were moments you were smiling but see you weren't there. It took him days to find your letter. Another thing he should've seen, but failed to look at.

In this city that had saved Azriel, but drowned you. Maybe you were too big of a fire to be restricted to such a small world that his life had offered, and, like fire, you needed to go. He tried to think of the good memories, of the moments you were in love with him, but in his thoughts, all he found was your letter, in your last words you had written in that calligraphy he never saw enough because you never showed him your writings:

“Sorry, I can't love myself the way you love me. And now I can't go back, my home is on fire, I am on fire and don't know how to stop. I needed to leave myself to find out where I was. But it's not that I feel bad with you, I just don't feel anything… I don't feel anything here, not the things I feel for you. Let me go, just this once, to understand what I was made for. Azriel, for once in my life, I wanna be the star that guides my path.”

As he is left with the hollowness of your absence, the crushing weight of his failure, and the endless uncertainty of your fate, he smiles to Velaris’ sky and wishes that you can shine to yourself as bright as you shine for everyone around you. Azriel's silence had become a reflection of his soul, a reflection of how you seemed to be, shattered and incomplete without the answer to why he feels so empty. He knows you are fine, but is he? If he could have one more chance.

[surielstea]

Puppy Love

Eris week day two: Childhood

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x WinterCourt!Reader

Summary: Reader and Eris adventure beyond their courts borders to go hunting in the secluded, evergreen forest.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff | adolescent Eris is a force to be reckoned with.

2.5k words.

The crisp, cold air fogged in front of my mouth as I let out a relishing breath. Officially winter, the season sacred to my Court. I nearly giggled with delight as my boots crunched in the snow, the sweet sound putting a beaming smile on my face.

I was on my trek towards the Autumn Court border, where I'd meet with Eris. Vanserra, a young lord and the sole heir of the Autumn Throne, though rumor has it that the Lady of Autumn was pregnant with another.

Eris and I met last year when he scared off my prey with his loud steps, I practically growled in his face but he only stared at me wide-eyed with flushed cheeks— and then I realized he had never met a girl who wasn't tripping over themselves in attempt to charm him, a young handsome lord would be any Court Lady's dream. That day he had claimed he didn't know what he was doing, that his father sent him out here with some fancy arrows and told him to bring back dinner. I gave him my harvest that day and he demanded I teach him how to hunt, and we've met every morning since.

"I hate the cold," The young lord grumbled, his reddened nose awfully adorable and destroying his facade of distaste.

"Of course you do, Lordling." I sigh. "Accustomed to a life of warm meals and crackling fireplaces," I drone on as I approach him, my white fur cloak blending in with the blinding snow.

His lip curled. "You're a princess, you're accustomed to that too."

I shrug. "Yes but I, unlike you, don't whine when the weather isn't to my liking," I hum with a snarky smile.

He deadpanned. "If I recall, five months ago you were moaning and groaning about the heat." He retorted and my smile fell.

"Well then," I click my tongue. He looks down at the basket in my hands, his brow raised.

"This is a gift for you, for our one-year friend anniversary." I hum and hold the wicker basket out to him, the blanket over it shifting with movement. He looked at it curiously, as if whatever was inside might bite his hand off.

"Friend zoned? After all my efforts of attempting to enchant you?" He says, taking the basket from me. I give him an incredulous look. He knew it'd never work, that the Prince with fire in his veins and Princess of ice and snow could never be together, forever opposing courts. No matter how badly I wished for that fact to change.

"Just, open it." I push the basket into his hand and he takes it, a sniffling snout peaking out from beneath the blanket. Eris looked at me slightly alarmed but I only gave him an encouraging smile. He sighs and flips back the rest of the blanket, revealing a pup with a gray coat, his tail wagging excitedly at the sight of his new owner.

"Where did you get this?" He looked at me with alarmed confusion and I rolled my eyes.

"My uncle gifted him to me on solstice, but we don't have the right environment to train and take care of him," I took the pup from his basket and cradled him in my arms, he chuffed and attempted to lick my cheek.

"He's a hunting dog, a smoke hound to be exact," I explain and hand him to Eris, who holds the dog like he was an alien.

"I know what he is. Do you understand what you're giving away?" He raises a brow. Smokehounds were the best breed in Prythian, not only that but this was a pure breed, so rare that even one was extremely difficult to come by. I knew the Autumn Court had prized them, and I could think of no one more deserving than the young lord who had snuck his way into my frozen heart this past year.

"Yes, very aware." I smile.

"I can't accept him, any of this," He shakes his head and puts the dog back into the basket, and attempts to hand it back to me.

"But look, he's already so attached to you,"  I argue with adoring eyes as the pup licks at Eris's ringed fingers.

"Let him hunt with us today, and then we'll decide who he goes home with." I place the basket down and watch as the hound spills out of it, trotting through the deep snow. His thick coat kept him warm, and his tongue lolling out was enough to say he was happy to be outside rather than trapped in my castle, to be doing what he was born to.

"Fine," Eris sighed, then grabbed his bow from his back. I did the same with mine. We followed the dog through the forest, allowing him to lead us as he tracked an invisible scent that even our fae senses couldn't pick up. His long ears nearly dragged through the snow as he trudged forward.

"What will you name him?" I ask softly, my voice quiet in fear of scaring off any prey.

"You can name him," Eris grumbled, showing only disinterest in the dog. I'd find it rude if I didn't know him better than that. He was trying to let it not get to him, he had never received such a meaningful gift for no real reason. He didn't like the warm feeling in his chest that he had never quite been able to control.

"Come on," I groan. "At least bounce ideas with me?" I suggest but he ignores me and I stop in my tracks, staring at him and sheathing my arrow back in its quiver.

He halted too after realizing I had stopped and turned to me with a raised brow.

"Why do you do this," I sigh.

"Do what?" He slings his bow over his shoulder.

"Deny any form of admiration I try to give you?" I stride closer, only a pace but enough to send him a message.

He stayed silent, only swallowing thickly as a reply. "It's a hound, Princess. I appreciate it but it's too grand of a gesture—" He begins to argue after a moment but I cut him off.

"This isn't about the dog." I shake my head. "Why do you refuse to let me you let me love you?" My brows crease and he bristles at my wording, but that is what it was, isn't it? That warm feeling he couldn't control that twisted him into knots, it was love, and he was terrified of it.

"Because I don't feel the same." He wills himself to say and a twinge of pain cracks through my heart but I remain strong.

"Liar," I snarl. "What are you so afraid of?" I take another step forward, so close that if I reached out, I could grab his hand in mine.

He shrugs and looks to the side, at the long line of evergreen trees that were more free than him, rooted into the frozen soil but still, alive and thriving. Far more than he'd ever be while chained to a throne. "Eris," I whisper and he shudders at the way I say his name. It was too intimate, it held none of the malice it often did when his father spat it, only heavy with adoration and guilt. "Eris look at me," I say and he steels his features, because my eyes were too much for him to bear, the eyes of the female he loves, and that horrifies him, because he cannot fool or trick me when I stare at him with those all-seeing eyes, cannot attempt to plot or ensnare when I look at him like that.

"I'm afraid of my father finding out," He confesses. "Terrified that if he discovers that something other than power makes me happy, he'd destroy it." His voice was as pure and raw as the fresh snow beneath our feet.

"We're seventeen, we shouldn't have to worry about that—" I begin but it was his turn to cut me off.

"But we're not normal kids, we will never be normal kids." He reached out and cupped my cheeks, and despite the negative temperatures, his palms were warm and soothing against my icy skin. "And I can't risk you."

"I'm a princess of my court, sole heir to the Winter Throne. To hurt me would be an act of war, he cannot touch me." I claim.

"No, but he will find a way. He will cleave us and tear us apart until you hate me." He claims and I frown.

"That will never happen." I shake my head, refusing the idea of ever hating the male that stood in front of me.

"Won't it?" His hands on my face press firmer, stressing his point. "We're heirs of opposing courts, inevitably we will become enemies." He explains.

"But we could be the ones to form an alliance," A fool's dream. The autumn court was too prideful to accept any other court, and the winter court would never ally with fire bringers. "Can't we just be stupid and reckless and young, for once?" I plead. "Even for only a few moments?" I say and reach forward, gripping his tunic in my fist.

"Is that too much to ask for?" I murmur and his eyes soften.

"Far too much," He replies, his warm breath mingling with mine. "But I'm willing to give it to you," He says, his voice steady and warm like crackling embers to a recently put-out fire.

"As a friend-anniversary present?" I taunt him with a teasing smirk and he shakes his head.

"You don't know how to shut up do you?" He drawls and I smile.

"I can think of one way," I suggest, stumbling forward and his breath hitched as I rose onto my toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. I pulled back with a soft smile and that was enough to send him reeling. He advanced forward, his fingers singing with heat against my cheeks as his lips, finally, met mine.

It was innocent and gentle, and a little awkward, but gods was it perfect. The kiss alone heated my entire body, all the way down to my fingertips which were still clutching his green tunic. Realizing I was still gripping him I relaxed my hands and allowed them to slip up his chest, around to the nape of his neck so I could pull him closer and encase myself in his warmth while he deepened our kiss.

My stomach clenched when he pulled away, it was quick, only a moment— exactly what I had asked for. I hadn't realized I was now going to crave those moments until the end of me.

He looked at me, his cheeks flushed and I knew it wasn't the cold that tinged them. "You ruined my makeup," I say, reaching up and wiping away the smear of cosmetics on his bottom lip.

"But you look beautiful," He mumbled, too caught up in the action of me so casually touching his lips. I lift my eyes up to his gold-flecked ones and smile wickedly.

"That kiss really did a number on you," I taunt because it was the only way to stop myself from being greedy and kissing him again, and again, and again until I could recall the exact feel of his lips from memory.

He looked to the side, attempting to get rid of his blush, forget about how perfectly he slotted against you.

Then his brows bunch in concern and my spine stiffens with alarm. "What is it?" I ask, looking out towards the empty forest.

"Your dog already got lost." He grumbled and I relaxed, my shoulders slumping.

"He's your dog," I stress. "And he's not lost. He's hunting." I say proudly and Eris casts me an unbelieving glance. I smile at him and press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Come on," I take his hand in mine and drag him through the frosted-over forest. "We have to catch at least a few squirrels before leaving," I say and he mumbles a string of curses but follows me anyway.

We had been crouched behind a bush for so long now that my legs began to ache from my position. Eris was fletching an arrow leaning back against a tree, his auburn hair blending in with the trunk of the redwood. I admire his pale features, his sharp nose, and high cheekbones. His amber eyes that were flecked with gold if you were close enough to notice. I was just about to blurt something foolish about how handsome he was, when the crunch of snow sent my ears peeking up.

Eris froze too, becoming alert and peering over the side of the tree as I drew my arrow from its quiver and nocked it against my bowstring. The sound of steps comes from behind, straight at us, growing faster.

I whirl around and aim at the grey creature bounding towards Eris.

The smokehound pup trotted towards him with a limp rabbit in his maw. The hound chuffs then drops it at Eris' feet as an offering. "Aw, he's brought you a gift," I beam wildly. "You should turn the rabbit into jerky and treat him with it. He'd love that," I say while patting the pup's dark coat.

His gaze lingers on you for a long moment, analyzing your gentle features when you look at the dog. "Maybe I will," He mutters and I look over to him with a soft smile. "I think we're done for the day," I say and stand upright, stretching my legs as I do so. He does the same, the pup looking up at him with his tail wagging excitedly. Eris bent down and patted the dog's head and the hound began running circles around the both of us.

Eris shakes his head with feigned annoyance. I grabbed him by his collar and pulled him forward, right into me. His arms wrapped around my waist on instinct, stabilizing himself with his hands planted on my torso— and even through all the layers of clothing, I could feel the warmth emanating from him. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, right?" I tilt my head up at him and he nods with a soft smile.

"Mhm, bring Flynt," I say and he raises his brows.

"Is that his name, now?" He asks, looking down at the dog weaving between us happily.

"You said I could pick," I shrug innocently and his smile grows.

"Flynt it is," He nods, then leans forward and places a soft, precious kiss on my forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Princess." He whispers against my frosty skin and I nod, taking a wobbly step back and turning away towards my Court before I got the idea in my head that I could find us an empty cabin to live in until we were old and rotting.

I don't bother with goodbyes and continue my march towards the Mountain Home. But I did look back, just once, to see Eris and his new obedient pet walking alongside each other back towards the realm of crackling bonfires and falling leaves.

Eris Week Tag List: @adharanotfound @mp-littlebit @its-me-meg @olive-main @bookwormysblog @inurus @iwishiwasaprincess @randomgurl2326 @tigerlily00 @i-know-i-can @bubybubsters @booklover0318 @lalaluch @hallabongy @paintedbyshadows @ninthcircleofprythian @weirdo-fun

Comment an “🧡” to be added to the Eris Week tag list!

[readychilledwine]

The First Hunt

Eris Week - Day 4 - Hounds And Traditions

Summary - Open season in Autumn always creates a fun game for you and your husband

Warnings - fingering, dirty talk, praise, signs of dumbification and pet play, signs of predator prey play, hunting.

A/n - Slowly reworking through @erisweekofficial things and getting them reformatted 🫠 Happy late day 4! Day 5 should be up this evening. 💕

🍂Eris Week Masterlist🍂Eris Masterlist🍂Master Masterlist🍂

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

You sighed as you walked through the fallen leaves and branches behind your husband's path. Autumn had fully fallen throughout Prythian. Leaves were changing in the solar courts, and coffee shops began to request goods from your home.

But none of that matter to Eris right now. What mattered to Eris is Prythian welcoming Autumn along all their borders meant one thing.

Open Hunting Season.

Every court had different laws regarding when hunting certain game was appropriate. With Mabon having past, Beron had opened deer and elk season. Your husband's favorite time of the year.

He spent weeks training the hounds for this, and they were as ready as their handler.

“Eris, this isn’t-”

“Now, now, my pretty bunny. Silence is the most important part of the hunt. The hounds can't find their prey if you sit here huffing.” Amber eyes stared at you, a pleased smirk on his face as you crossed your arms. “I warned you, little wife. I said this would bore you.”

“I wanted to come to the cabin, spend time with you,” you huffed again. The hounds were deep into searching. Their sensitive noses buried in the ground. They were stealthy, silent. It was as if they knew exactly what leaves and branches to avoid.

The smokehounds were one of your favorite things about Eris. It was a preview to how he'll treat your future children, a sign of the amount of love he truly had just waiting to emerge, and his patience. One of the hounds, Cyprus, came and brushed his hand before walking another direction, the others following him.

He wordlessly motioned for you to follow, bow strapped to wide shoulders again as he moved. Eris was such a graceful being. Even in his most lethal moments, Eris carried the signs of his love of dance.

You followed them, deeper into the woods, deeper into thick brush. There were no villages nearby. No fae for you to decide to leave and speak with.

You all finally stopped in a field, a cleared area in the woods with only a single ancient oak tree.

It would be the only witness to what he was about to do to you. Your back met soft ground before you could even respond and he stood above you, bent at the waist and smirking, “Little wife, on your back for me already?” His bow was carried away by Willow, weapons now long gone as the hounds began to surround the clearing, sitting in the grass to stay guard.

You pushed up to your elbows, “Huband, help me back up.” You held a hand out to him, only for him to remove his shirt. Inches of new skin was revealed before he ultimately got on top of you, caging you to the ground below, “This isn't hunting?”

“Oh but it is, sweet bunny. I ensnared you right where I wanted.”

“Did you now?”

A soft kiss found your lips, “I did.”

“What if it is I who ensnared you?”

Eris only chuckled in response, “Then maybe we are both getting what we want.” His lips found yours again, more heated and needy as he forced you to lay back again. Your own shirt was pulled of moments later before he moved to pull down the travel pants you had been allowed to wear.

His hands began to explore then, his eyes soft as he looked over your smooth skin. “This is is much better than sitting lonely and waiting for the hounds to find something,” he squeezed the plush skin of your thighs, groaning as he did.

Eris loved every inch of you. He loved the curves you carried. He loved the strong muscles of your legs. “You're already wet for me, I can smell it.”

“Eris, I'm always ready for you.”

He lifted his head at you words before glancing to where Oak had stood, “It appears we only have about 10 minutes. They've found something to chase.”

Your remaining clothing became heated, burning off to ash before a hand came to rest on the most sensitive part of you. Fingers danced through your folds, a sigh leaving your lips as you laid back. “That isn't long enough,” you whined as a nimble finger found your clit, circling it.

“Not for everything I'd like to do, no, but long enough for me to get you to finish on my hand, yes.” Eris slid a finger in while holding your eyes. “Did you really think I would not find the rabbit foot treats you hid?”

You could hardly respond as barely brushed your spot, teasing you, giving you a taste of what you craved without fulfilling the hunger.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice my hounds munching on their favorite snacks during their prehunt routine? Little wife, how silly of you to think I didn't know you were trying to get fucked against a tree.”

He began working his finger in and out, curling it just below where you needed him to touch. You continued to hold eye contact, soft moans coming from your lips as you slightly raised your hips for him.

“Gods, you're beautiful like this,” he murmured. “So responsive and soft. Who's my dumb little bunny?”

“Me,” your voice broke with pleasure. “I'm you're dumb bunny.” Eris smirked, adding a second finger and stretching you out more. His thumb grazed your clit with every movement of his hand.

Your mind shut off with every word whispered into your ear. Praising you, degrading you, the dirtiest things about how warm and wet you were, how greedy your pretty pussy was as it took his fingers so easily.

Eris began to focus on chasing your high as the hounds broke into a sprint, his fingers moving fast as the build of barking began to intimate their prey. His second hand grabbed yours, placing it on your bundle of nerves so he could focus on finding the exact angle he needed.

His free hand began to squeeze your breasts, pinching your nipples hardened from the chilly Autumn morning.

Your cries as you felt the wave approaching were drowned out to all but him. The barking now louder and insistent, indicating the hounds were closer to you and Eris, leading the prey straight to you both.

“Need you to come, bunny. Need you to a the best girl for me,” his voice had dropped, deeper as his own arousal began to grow. He kept working you, fingers pulling like a magnet and pushing you towards the sea of pleasure you wanted to bathe yourself in. “Come, bunny,” he commanded.

His spare hand forced you into a kiss, swallowing the scream of his name falling from your lips as your body found what he was working for. He kissed you through the high until he couldn't, grabbing a single bow and arrow and turning while you laid shaking on the ground to shoot whatever finally came into the clearing.

“Not bad,” he muttered as he looked between his trembling wife and the large stag. He handed you your clothing, helping you put it back on, before standing and offering all 12 hounds their individual praise.

You shook your head as Eris smiled at his first game for the season, “Good first hunt?”

“Absolutely.”

“Better than the game we played last year?”

Eris seemed to pause at that question, “Well, considering you picked the most obvious choice in distraction for the hounds this year, I would say the game of cat and mouse we played during the hunt last year was better.” Your mate, blunt and honest to a fault, looked you over. “Though, I do think you look incredibly sexy with leaves in your hair.”

Eris bent down, lifting the deer with ease, “Besides, you, my bunny, only made it 20 feet from the cabin.”

Your jaw dropped as your eyes grew wide, his laughter rang through the clearing, hounds turning in circles of excitement with him. “I swear I tried.”

He moved, kissing your forehead, “Try again later.” The invitation was soft as he whistled, rounding up 12 smokehounds. “Let's go take care of this and then I can fulfill your wishes.”

He turned and walked away, muttering to himself again, “Not bad at all.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[astrababyy]

the whole situation in the high lord meeting bugs me so much because in a lot of ways, the seasonal court high lords like tamlin and beron make really good points. it’s THEIR courts that will be made the battlefields and the homes for the refugees. meanwhile, the solar courts can send the soldiers and get all the glory. but it’s autumn, spring, and summer that get dealt all the damage. i’d bet a lot of money the same thing happened with the war 500 years ago too, since the infighting was mainly in the southern part of prythian.

[scorpioriesling]

Hello! Do you think you're going to continue writing part 5 of " invisible strings" with eris? I really loved this series! Thank you

Invisible String - Part 5

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): Please be advised; this part might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: My apologies, this took forever for me to finish writing for you all (I've had so much on my plate lately). This part IS SHORT, HOWEVER I'm literally already working on the next part and wanted to give you guys at least what I had done so you knew I was indeed working on it! Lol. I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't read the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- I hope you are excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @mellowmusings @talesofadragon @rcarbo1 @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kitsunetori @dannul @velarisdusk @lamarmotta @paintedbyshadows @i-know-i-can @adventure-awaits13 @acourtofbatboydreams (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

The Autumn Court experienced the changing seasons like any other in Prythian. Spring was still spring, there was still snow in the winter -- but, the current state of dreary, grayness that took over the sky and stretched beyond the court's borders was quite the contrast to a usual week in July.

Perhaps, it was a reflection of the inner turmoil seeded in those residing in the Forrest House.

"Y/N," Riley whines. "When will the sun come back?"

You sigh, wondering the same.

"I don't know Riles. I truly don't."

She huffs, her fingers reaching for her the mason jar sitting in the middle of the table. The wilting flower inside has lost the vibrant orange coloring on its petals from last week, now replaced with wilting brown ones.

"My flower is yucky with no sun on it." She frowns. You pat her head as she inspects the plant, your shoulders stiffening when you hear the front door open and close quietly.

"Daddyyyyy," Riley groans. "When is the sun coming out?" She trills, hopping off the dining room chair and making way for the front door. It seems she heard him come in too, as she makes her way toward the foyer.

The two of you had gone the entire week with as little communication as possible -- a whole lot of "yep"s and "mhm"s and nods and short debriefings. Since the whole closet incident from the week prior, you hadn't gotten the courage to talk with him again anyways; he'd been so cross with you, so irritated. Your cheeks heated at the thought, how embarassed you'd felt that night. The shame.

Honestly, the whole thing made you a bit angry.

You take a deep breath as footsteps approach, their hushed, mindless conversation drowned out by your own thoughts clouding your headspace. It's not until Eris is standing right in front of you that you come back to reality.

"Play tea party?"

You glance down, taking in the little one's innocent expression from down below. You give her a soft smile, looking to Eris quickly before returning her gaze.

"I'd be honored, dear -- would you go set it up? I'll come join you in a few minutes. Let me talk to your dad first." Riley nods, skipping down the hallway toward her bedroom. Eris looses a sigh, passing toward the kitchen island and leaning against it before looking to you again.

"So..." He says, folding his arms across his chest. You suck in a breath, prepared to hand it to him -- ask him what the Hell all that disrespect was for, what the deal is with the gowns, what was going on between the two of you, all of it.

But, your eyes catch on the wilting stem in the glass jar still sat on the table. You stall a moment, every angry thought in your head receeding like the tides when you consider what could be a more imortant topic of conversation in this very moment.

"So..." You begin, taking a step toward him. He watches you, his face expressionless, as you continue. "I... I've been thinking. Riley is, almost five, and... well, it is the last week of July..."

He simply nods, as though saying go on without saying it. You can't help but roll your eyes, stepping to stand right across from him in the space between the island and the kitchen counter.

"I think she should be enrolled in school."

His brow twitches at this, the most you've gotten from him all week. It's silent for longer than necessary, almost uncomfortable, so you start again.

"She's asking me things, Eris, that she needs a proper teacher for-"

"No."

You startle, blinking as his face returns to that look of emotionless stone.

"W-what?"

"I said no." He shrugs, staring you straight in the eye like it isn't negotiable.

"...Okay, well, I want you to hear me out." You say, trying to remain calm. "She wants to learn. She's inquisitive, and smart, and she-"

"I know she's smart." He cuts in. You huff, your brow furrowing.

"Eris, you're not even listening to me." You can't help the way your voice pitches, but his brows flatten into a straight line.

"I don't need to hear it, Y/N -- she has you. We can hire a teacher to come here if you want. But no, she isn't going to a public school where Gods know what could happen to her." He says, his low tone rising with each sentence.

You push off the counter, folding your arms across your chest. "She needs the social interaction with other kids her age, Eris. You can't keep her locked up in here-"

"I'm her father," he says angrily, leaning toward you. "I think I know, what she needs."

Once the words leave his mouth, his face softens as though he realizes what he's said and how he has acted. You stand still, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. Never has he acted so defensive, not even with the damned dresses -- but this, this was on a whole different level.

You watch as his expression changes from rage to pure worry, his concerned eyes searching yours in desperation. You can't help but look away, only glancing back when his fingers hesitantly reach for your arm.

"Y/N, I didn't mean-"

"Don't." You yank your shoulder back, sneering up at him. He drops his hand slowly, shaking his head as he fumbles for his words.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that, I-"

"You're damned right, you shouldn't have." You said, glaring up at him through your brows. The lump in your throat only grew as you began to feel bad, practically kicking him while he was indeed apologizing.

Maybe he deserved it... a little.

You turned on your heel, making way for Riley's room. He could make dinner tonight. After all -- maybe some pretend tea would do you good.

･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

"I need to leave at first light for another trip with the guard."

It'd been a few days since you'd had it out with Eris, and maybe it was good you did; he'd been much more present, insisting on cooking, proving more when he was home, and being more involved with not just his daughter but you as well when he was home in the evenings... well, as much as you'd let him be. You hadn't entirely forgiven him yet, all things considered, and the incident from a few weeks ago hadn't even been mentioned, so the relationship was, awkward. To say the least.

"How long this time." You said it as plainly as you could, trying to ignore the burn of the firepoker upon your heart at the thought of him leaving again. You wished it didn't hurt so bad, wished it didn't effect you so much each time.

"Only three days. A quick trip to Spring and back." He nods assuringly, setting his pack on the dining table and looking to you. Nodding, you awkwardly run your hand along your arm, feeling a bit exposed under his intense gaze. This late in the evening, you knew he didn't tell Riley he'd be leaving (per usual) -- so she'd wake up tomorrow with that lovely realization.

"Ok." You chew on your bottom lip, and Eris sighs, stepping toward you. He reaches for your hand, but sensing your hesitation, he retracts. A look of sadness crosses his face before his eyes meet yours.

"Those dresses... in the closet." He murmurs. "They were Selene's." His jaw tightens at the name, and you swear you stop breathing. This was not the conversation you planned to have tonight.

"She... her family, they pass them down for tradition." He continues. "On her way out, she didn't really care to take them; I mean, she took just about everything else, but." He huffs a humorless laugh, but continues when you don't say anything.

"Anyway... I kept them because." He sighs, his head dropping before looking to you again. "You're right, Y/N. Riley is a very smart girl. One day, she is going to ask about her birth mother, and, well."

He shrugs. "I'm not going to have anything to show or give her that was hers." His gaze drops.

"The only thing I had left was those silly dresses from her side of the family."

Your heart clenches as though you can feel every ounce of sorrow he is feeling in that moment. You reach out, your hand caressing his cheek softly before you can think.

"Eris, I... I had no idea, really, I'm sorry-"

"Please, Gods don't apologize." His hand covers yours, his fingers wrapping around yours as he holds it against his cheek. "I know how it looks, and how it must have looked when you happened upon it." He sighs, his other hand reaching for your waist.

"It didn't help that I handled the situation poorly, either." He admits, sorrowfully looking into your eyes. You gaze up at him, your mouth twisting to the side. "I can't take it back, but I truly hope you can understand how sorry I am Y/N."

You step closer, closing the gap between the two of you as he pulls you into a firm embrace. His hand runs through the strands of your hair, a gentle reminder that everything might, just might, be okay.

･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

"Y/N! Another!"

Riley holds out an identical bloom to the one previously in the mason jar to you th efollowing day, her earlier sadness at her father's departure replaced with temporary glee.

"Oh wow! Look -- this one is very vibrant." You wink at her, continuing on the path back to the Forest House.

"Vi...bran...t." She sounds out, examining the stem in her hand. She dumped out the dead flower pre-garden walk, and surely will now want to replace it.

As the two of you approach the front door, you stoop down to grab the few pieces of mail collated there. One envelope of deep mohogany with gold embossing catches your eye -- but, you follow the little girl inside nonetheless and push the door closed.

"We put this in the cup?" She asks, already making way for the sink to gather more water for her jar. You set down the paper pile, giving her all your undivided attention.

"Of course dear," you say, helping her to sit on the counter and fill her jar from the sink. She places the new flower in the glass, beaming at its brilliancy.

"Yay!" She squeals, her little feet kicking with delight. You help her off the edge, carefully transporting the jar to the table where it sat prior.

"We make sure this one has sun," she insists. "So it won't be ugly."

You chuckle, returning to the mail pile and plucking the envelope from the top. Your intrigue only grows when you see it is adressed to Eris, Riley and you.

You don't waste another moment in tearing it open.

Scanning the page, you feel a new kind of excitement -- a flutter of hope in your heart, a surge of excitement through your veins. Every nerve ending is electric within you as your true joy grows, the passionate feeling inside deeper than what you thought you could explain before. You felt, like truly, what you said meant something. Someone cared what you said, and you'd been heard.

"Riley?" You called. Her little footsteps bounded into the room, a look of interest on her face as she took you in and the paper between your fingers.

"Uh huh?"

You grinned, telling her the wonderful knews.

"Your daddy signed you up for school next month, sweetie."

･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

[forgetful-lethean]

A Hand Bleeding Starlight (I)

A Court of Thorns and Roses Story

Azriel X Hemophiliac!Reader

4.6K Words

Summary:

A human hiding amongst the Fae, you operate as a common bookkeeper in Velaris, using tactics to avoid being detected and sent back to the mortal realm (or worse). Trouble and violence brews in your homeland and the clarion call of war threatens; if you are sent back, you face immeasurable danger. For now, you pray you remain unknown, and your shop successful. That is, until a stranger appears and challenges your idyllic existence. You have secrets that may spill blood; a certain Fae has secrets that will spill blood. Will they remain hidden? Or will the life you've spent years cultivating come crumbling down in the tangled web of Fate and silver-tongued lies?

Chapter One:

"The Face of Stars"

Where you, a simple bookkeeper of a quaint corner in Velaris, must navigate two facets of a dangerous, violent life: papercuts, and an untimely, unexpected, and (frankly) unwanted visitor.

NOTE:

Hemophilia is a bleeding disorder (described in the author's note in the end with an analogy; if you want a more in-depth genetics analysis and explanation, let me know).

This is not to be confused with haematophilia (sexual arousal by blood).

Same suffix, very different definition. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

* * *

It was a simple, universal fact that there was no possibility of taking a walk this day.

It wasn't because of the weather. The weather was stunning—the sun reaching down with fingers of halcyon daybeams, scattering the wandering shadows of the lustrous night as she wound her way across the sky, chased by the unfettered chariot of the sun. The Sidra was set alight in a shimmering rainbow of crepuscular brilliance, an altar of the morn's natural sublimity few ever bore witness to. Thus, it was not a matter of happenstance.

It wasn't because you were busy. The bookstore still hadn't opened—you had a few more minutes for preparation. The invading silence that permeated all aspects of the rhythms of the world lay quiet, peace a tamed, weary beast settling heavily on your floor, your shoulders. Silence bled from the walls; thus, it was not a matter of time.

Maybe it was because Fate, with her silk-shrouded hand, touched you upon the shoulder, imparted some distant, budding wisdom—a seed to form a garden—and said to you, "Stay." A command laced with whispered fury that forced your mind, your being, to frigid standstill, as if the very air turned to a prison. Perhaps it was thus, the prison of destiny preventing you from taking a walk on this beautiful day with a bundle of (decaying) Time on your hands.

Literally, that was.

In the process of mending a delicate spine, lost in your reveries that so entranced your thoughts into sweeping dances of eloquent reflection, you mindlessly bound yellowed pages of antiquated paper into bunches. The ink was brown and faded in some pages, scrawled meticulously alongside beautifully rendered images of birds. It was an ancient tome—one you had found from a seller peddling some wares a few months back in the Rainbow. The History of Prythian Birds—while not the most riveting of titles, thumbing through its archaic histories, its depictions of the courts (death-white realms of Winter home to dark-eyed juncos, snow buntings, and an assortment of monochromatic birds; the buoyant warmth of Day, the eternal seasons so stalwart in their climate that hosted the cardinal vigils welcoming the season's everlasting climate) held your rapt attention. This knowledge of the vast expanse of birds that gifted the lands with generous song and colorful visage...it was so invigorating.

In your spare time, you'd studied the birds, hoping to glean some insights into the courts so far away that eluded your abilities to visit.

Travel would be difficult, of course, given that you were a human hiding amongst the Fae. Having snuck your way across the border, chasing caution on a fading tail-wind in a desperate bid to escape bubbling turmoil threatening to burst in the mortal realm, you'd traipsed your way cloaked, hidden, and bravely (if brave was panicking at any single interaction with a Fae individual that you would be uprooted and cast back across the border) through the courts until you found Velaris. And thus, you set up shop (and home) in the shape of a bookstore that you presided over.

Now, a curious reader in your store might ask how exactly you were to protect yourself against the wiles of the Fae—surely in those daring adventures inked into the books along your dark-wooded shelves you would find the answer. Armed with ancient folklore (which, granted, may be too vastly outdated of use, but you couldn't exactly throw away a rusty set of armor if you needed protection, right?), you set three rules for yourself in this shop.

1.) Do not tell anyone your name. If they ask, your name is Wren (stolen from the book on your counter). The Fae may steal it.

2.) Always wear a cloak to obscure your body, and wrappings around your eyes to cover your round ears. These are sheer enough to still let you see. Thus, your stature will be concealed.

3.) To cover your human scent, always wear a heady perfume. The Fae, with their hypersensitive senses, will be overwhelmed.

And, most importantly:

4.) Never spill blood. The Fae will know.

That last point sank into your heart like a dagger. A mandate that ruled every second of your life—to spill blood would be to spill a secret; to spill a secret was unforgivable.

A Fae did not bleed as a human did.

A Fae did not bleed as you did.

It was a weakness. If you were caught, Death awaited you. And in a world of Fae, those shadows lurked in every corner, every breath, every thought that slipped eel-like through your mind.

Nevertheless, to follow those rules would ensure your comfortable existence within the beautiful Velaris. It had worked so far—with little hiccups of misspoken words that easily were brushed off as the "Bookkeeper's eloquent tongue" or something of a similar fashion. You just hoped it would continue working for the foreseeable future (that is, your lifespan, or a drop in the proverbial bucket for the Fae).

Easy, right?

You shut the book with a solid thunk, the noise deadened by the intricately-carved wood of your repairs desk. The desk was situated away from the counter, tucked into a gap with two shelves towering beside it, sharing a wall perpendicular with the door. Originally, you repaired your books in the privacy of your own room, but you'd realized that many patrons actually found the process interesting, and thus you moved your desk into the main forum of the store, just by the entrance.

Alas! The time to open was upon you—and already, some patrons waited beyond the glass. Your shop wasn't a large attraction, but there were always some Fae you could count on to indulge in books now and then. And, as a bonus, they operated on a purely transactional basis—no questions beyond book inquiries, and thus nothing to reveal.

You set the book aside, making a mental note to revisit the damaged spine barely holding the pages together, and sauntered forward. The wiggling of a key in the lock, the determinate click of the shop opening for the day, invaded the steady silence perched in every corner.

Soon, the door rattled open, inviting a Fae dressed with an impeccable sense of fashion—a tailored mauve coat trimmed with ivory, a slim handkerchief tucked elegantly into a pocket, triple-folded in that ostentatious style. Pale skin, dark hair, and gorgeous green eyes; you could swear he'd somehow captured a jungle in them. He looked you up and down, that snooty light glistening in his eyes, before a broad smile broke his austerity, "Wren! My most fantastic bookseller this side of Velaris—your recommendations last visit were impeccable, I must inquire for more. My lady-friend said—"

"You want more of the romance?"

He paused, a sudden rouge dusting his pale face, "Well, of course! You don't have to say it so loudly, I thought you prided yourself on discretion in this manner of entertainment!"

That stole a breath of raucous laughter from you, and you motioned him towards the largest shelf along the wall perpendicular to the front-set windows. "Naturally, Master Oberyn—but seeing as the store has just opened, I don't think the mice in the walls are going to be spilling any of your secrets anytime soon."

Oberyn's gasp of ghastly surprise—his hushed, "There are mice in the walls? There are mice in the walls! Oh, I can hear them now!"—was enough to make your day...or at the very least your morning. You quieted his discontent, assuring him that, no, there were no mice in the walls and your building was up to code, and that, no, the sounds he heard were not in fact the treacherous critters he dreaded but rather the foundation settling.

You clambered up a ladder leaning against the shelves—a fancy piece of equipment that made you feel like a proper librarian, with wheels on the bottom so that you could roll effortlessly up and down the swaths of books to pick and choose as you pleased. Of course, it also leveled the height difference between you and the vast, vast majority of Fae. A moment spent pondering the selection of romance, most of which Oberyn had ravenously devoured over the months he'd been attending. You spotted one he had yet to read—a leather-bound piece you'd picked up on a dalliance in the Winter Court. Short, but it would tide him over for a few days at least.

You kicked off from the step on the ladder, sliding down with practiced ease as you dropped to the floor, proffering the book with a small bow, "To my most loyal customer."

He crooked an eyebrow, "Then perhaps a discount between friends? Seeing how close and honest we are with each other, no?"

If only you knew, Master Oberyn.

"Ah," you grinned, meeting his brilliantly green eyes—sparkling like two emeralds set against pure, lit clouds at the height of noon, "You know the policy. The price is the price—"

"—and only if you're nice. Yes, I'm quite aware." The drawl in his voice, intending to convey annoyance, instead betrayed his bubbling joy. He looked like a kid, so happy to have a book in his hands, like it truly was a treat! Seeing that feeling, the fierce, fiery spark, it was worth all the secrets. He settled his debts quickly with a few silver coins dropped on the counter, which you promptly ferreted away, and then wished him well on his travels (he was to visit the Summer Court on invitation to one of Tarquin's feasts, naturally).

Oberyn was always the earliest of the customers you served, and usually the brightest. As the day wound on, you served a few wealthy Fae, a few short Fae, a few intimidating Fae, and scores of many interesting individuals. It was going well, as well as could be expected. No accidental paper-cuts, no inquisitive Fae, no mistakes. Everyone seemed to see you as an odd, shorter-than-average, and generally eccentric Fae. They asked no questions, always attributing it to you being just the Bookkeeper.

Until that stranger entered your store.

The dingy bell that announced his presence—overwhelming, scintillating—seemed to pale in comparison to the aura he cultivated. The sun leeching through the windows in lazy beams, decorating warmly the store's interior, seemed weaker. Shadows seemed to twist, seemed darker, seemed slightly more malevolent.

The current batch of patrons—a young girl perusing the small collection of botanical records; an older gentlemen leafing through restored historical pieces; and a gaggle of young men studiously selecting a bundle of books on an assortment of topics—all fell still and quiet. The pulse of vivacity, the heartbeat of murmurs and discussion, faded.

The rhythm of the world seemed to die for three seconds.

Was it possible to feel the beat of a world in motion? You thought you could—there! Fleeting, as the heart of the world began again, and the fear paralyzing your body thawed.

You didn't recognize the stranger—not by his clothes, nor by his appearance. But everyone else did—and that seed of doubt wormed into your heart, your mind, a snake in your own Paradise that whispered and seethed. If all of them recognize him, and I do not... . The implications shone crystal in your head—if you spoke wrong, it would blow everything out of the water. If you treated it just like any other transaction, and that approach was wrong, that was dangerous. It invited violence to your peace.

The man—adorned in dark leathers set with a collection of beautiful sea-blue stones that electrified the air in the store—unknowing of your internal war, simply walked in. His wings—wings! The Fae you knew, the Fae you read, had no wings like this!—filled the space behind him. A wingspan wider than the birds captured in your secret tome, blocking out lazy sunlight and plunging the quaint shop into immediate darkness, an eclipse that killed all caustic brilliance.

This man was so absorbed in the tranquility of hushed tones and rustling pages, dark eyes suddenly bright as he drank in the atmosphere, that he stalked forward with confidence and, with his wings, swept your ancient tome right from its perch on the repairs desk.

Horror jolted down your spine. A flurry of papers announced its fragile death as the jaws of its broken spine released. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, clarion calls rang—the worth of that book!

The shock that lightened his eyes, the disbelief at the destroyed book on the ground...he almost seemed sheepish as he folded his wings back, awkwardly rocking back a step, letting a flood of light back in. The stranger glanced up, met your eyes, saw your horror, and raised his wings—carefully, this time—in a rough acknowledgement of an apology.

Better than him just leaving, you supposed. At least he seemed sincere.

Still you did not approach; still you did not dare disrupt what regal atmosphere followed him. His golden-brown skin, and dark wind-swept hair; he was a classical beauty. The curiosity staining his earth-hued eyes as he swept the store, only stopping on you. It was something different.

Something, perhaps, dangerous.

Shadows seemed to lurch and leer as he finally stepped forward, looking towards the pile of pages at his feet, back to you, searching. No one had spoke, and no one had moved, as if out of deference, not fear. The muscles in his throat worked (did he seem nervous? Fae emotions were always fickle). His voice was husky, a rough timbre, as he asked, "Can you help me find a book to read?"

The telepathic, silent exchange between you and him—to discuss that mess of pages in a moment—let you push past the destruction and instead focus on what he needed. And whatever that was, to get him out of this shop before he wiped out another book!

Regardless, his was an innocuous question. But then, why did it make your heart ache so, your body fear so, your soul wail so?

You nodded, absently dragging a hand along the fabric around your eyes and ears—an old, tough habit—not trusting your voice in this moment. Then, steeling some strength born from your frail mortal courage, you met the Fae's gaze. "Are you looking for anything specific?" There, a general, easy-going question. Professional. Safe.

"Hm. I hadn't really thought about that."

You couldn't bite back your smile at the uncertainty in this man's voice. "You came into a bookstore and didn't think about what type of book you wanted?" Brave, very brave, maybe too brave. He didn't seem to mind.

The man waved a hand, dismissively, "Something interesting."

You dipped your head sagely, as if all the nuance and secrets of the world lay in that simple statement. Two words, four syllables, and potentially a threat to your existence. You glanced down, faintly remembering the destroyed book at the foot of the desk. His eyes followed (you could feel them follow). His presence was dominating, suffocating. A radiant heat, a radiant energy suffusing the area close to him.

The title that riveted you earlier now seemed so mocking. The History of Prythian Birds. An ancient Fae's book, where the author had spent his time moving around the courts, and even the mortal realm, to catalogue the varieties of birds. Your cloak swished around you as you approached and knelt, melting into a pool of aureate silver around your frame. He seemed to stiffen slightly as you brushed by him, then glanced down, looming over your shoulder.

"Actually, that one seems interesting."

You closed your eyes, praying he didn't ask—why was ancient literature involving the mortal realm like this on your shelves? Why was it here? Because you couldn't answer—you didn't keep it available on the shelves. For this. Exact. Reason.

"It's not for sale," you said briskly, the words tense like a rope pulled taut. A flurry of movement caught your eye as a mass of darkness dropped to your level. You refused to look, staring at the pages instead.

"Why not?" A scarred hand fingered the mess, rubbing a soft, weathered page between two fingers. He moved to sweep the pages into a nice stack, just as you were about to. Your hands had already grasped the edges of the paper but he had already began to stand and—

You gasped.

The slicing pain. The burn. The existence of mortal frailty flashed into being, like glistening dew condensing in the morning sun.

A drop of blood welled on your fingertip.

You jerked backwards, yanked by some supernatural force as you pushed your finger into your thigh—hard, too hard. Terror—unadulterated, raging, a harbor sea turned tempestuous—raced through your body. The man was speaking—you heard him speaking, but you didn't register the words. You stumbled back, offering a weak smile, "On second thought, take it!" The words sounded warbled, uncertain even to your ears. This wasn't your blood weakness. This was adrenaline.

Right now, he was a threat.

"On the house. In the condition it's in, you can take it on loan, alright?" The Fae clasped the gathered book in his hands, but it was a gentle hold. Careful, as if the book was going to disintegrate in his hands if he so much as breathed on it. The spine had split; it would need extensive repairs. You could see the questions shining in his eyes, swimming in their depths next to the genuine concern (why would he be concerned? It was only a papercut! It wasn't like you were losing your mind!). A twin uncertainty reflected in him, searching for what, exactly, had caused such a drastic shift in you.

Unfortunately, he insisted: "I have to pay you something, at least."

Please.

He reached into his pocket, drew out a few stray coins—not nearly enough. That book was priceless. You had to trade—to trade—

Please leave.

You pressed your injured finger harder into your thigh. A heartbeat pulsed in that finger. The rush of blood given sentience. Suddenly you were aware of the haze of perfume suffocating your senses—gagging words on your tongue. Why didn't he seem phased? Hopefully it was enough. Hopefully nobody could discern it between aged paper and ancient ink and incensed air. This stranger—the man you wanted to abandon your shop, to take this stupid book that you secretly loved (and now destroyed) and never come back because he was a threat to your merchandise and your secrets—placed the coins on the counter. Dimly, you were aware of the clink of metal on metal.

You forced yourself back to reality, eyes focusing on the Fae man before you, the book clutched in his grasp, his broad wings shuffling behind him. A breath, inhale then exhale. Again. Again. Dodging behind your counter—slamming your hip into the corner in the process—you fumbled around for a bandage, disguising it as though looking for a quill. "I'll need a name to loan the book."

"Azriel." He offered it quietly, like how a child would soothe an injured Luzon bleeding-heart without invoking it to fly on damaged wings.

Az-ri-el. It sank into your mind, settled onto its haunches like a putrid beast taking up necessary mental space; the name stuck to your thoughts. You didn't know why, didn't have time to ponder why. You found a bandage, a clean strip of pure white cloth, and wound it tightly around your finger. Even through the bandage, blood already welled again, seeping. It would have to do. You couldn't solve that issue now—it was in Fate's hands. Then, with an air of faux confidence, you swept a pen from a jar, delicately dipped it into a pot of ink previously left open for record-keeping, and scratched a note on a spare piece of paper.

Prythian Birds.

Loaned.

Azriel.

Condition: Destroyed

Blowing on the ink, you slid it across the counter. "Sign here, please," and you tapped your wrapped finger against the bottom of the page, "For record-keeping, as I don't normally loan this book out." You tried to hide the quaver in your voice.

Get him out get him out get him out!

Azriel, balancing the book in one hand with deft agility, scrawled a quick signature along the bottom of the page. Just barely legible. Good enough for you.

He seemed satisfied, though without the preternatural excitement of Oberyn, with this prize in his hands. Those unfathomable depths that were his eyes met yours, and from this hulking form was a gentle, sincere, "Thank you." Such softness in his tone; was he truly only here to find a book to read? Judging from his attire—a ranking warrior of some type, no doubt—he'd have the funds to host a whole library of tomes just to his fancy.

So why here, in some hidden corner of Velaris? Why here, where secrets came to bare their teeth and curl up on the center rug, content to exist amongst yellowed pages and weathered tales?

Azriel tapped a finger on the counter, and you noticed his wings were tightly pinned to his back now. "Is there anything else you need?" And his voice, his voice! shocked you back to reality. You'd been staring at him, his form, lost in transient thought.

You shook your head, "No, that's all. Just bring it back in decent condition—" you winced, altering your statement, "—I mean...not worse than it is currently."

He gave a solemn nod too serious for this whimsical store, offering a simple, crisp salute with his freehand, "You have my word, bookkeeper." It was almost comical, this warrior's oath, to protect an old book. Maybe he felt indebted as he was the one who, having slain it on the battlefield of your shop, now cradled its corpse. You couldn't help the alacrity that forced you to smile, a hint of warmth blossoming at the silly title.

As he turned with that supernatural quiet, you noticed a splotchy area of fresh ink stained his wrist, spines and dots surrounding it like small stars, where he'd pressed it against the paper while signing it. A drop of ink from the pen must have fallen. Strange, that it almost seemed alive, like the night was dancing on his wrist.

The door rattled, the bell tinkled.

The maestro of Fate clapped her final applause as this not-stranger who you knew as Azriel—a man who, today, killed the sun with shadows that followed his body, a man with gravel in his voice and worn steel in his warm eyes—left. The other patrons, pretending to be absorbed in their search, reanimated suddenly (the girl hadn't flipped a page since Azriel walked in, now she leafed through with renewed enthusiasm; the group of men hadn't uttered a word, now they broke out in exuberant chatter; the old gentleman had spent way, way too long perusing a small paragraph of Fae political history, and, now bored, he stepped away and left the store).

Obviously, they knew something you didn't. You couldn't just ask them, of course—and given you rarely ventured too far out of your store nor engaged with Court politics besides grasping names and titles of the High Lords, their Inner Court, and, in this case, a High Lady, you never delved any further. Perhaps an oversight on your part. Might more knowledge have suited your self-imposed spy life? Certainly.

Was that also invariably more risky? Absolutely.

Thus, you maintained your own microcosm of a Court here, where you yourself ruled the domain of books and stories and endangered tales, and nobody could threaten you here except Fate herself...and paper. Risk-adverse, safe, and with minimal threat to the burden situated primly in the forefront of your mind, eternally.

What were you saying? Fate had no hand in this occurrence, or your ability to take a walk, or this imposing behemoth of a man.

Fate doesn't exist.

That terrible mantra twisted in on itself. There was no ill-defined force twisting the threads of the world. There was no fate, because if there had been, you wouldn’t have turned out like…like this. You wouldn’t have strangled your dreams and hopes and fears into submission so a small bookstore with not enough patrons to support it suffered bills that piled and piled next to that open jar of ink and faltering financial accounts.

Each one was a vicious beast, crumbling the foundation of your dream, of this place.

Fate led you here; Fate will take it away.

And some part of you despised it for that, for its duality.

Quickly, you tended to your seeping papercut with a new, more professional wrap. The blood had now dried and was stark on your skin, but the injury, minor as it was, had slowly stumbled to a stop. A minor blessing, at least.

Just as quickly, you tended to your patrons. The group of males sauntered up to the counter with a smattering of tales spanning genres. They were congenial, respectful, even offering a tip of a few coins (they'd watched the whole ordeal and the destruction of the book, after all, with rapturous excitement). A nice change from some of the more brutal and demanding customers you often dealt with.

You helped the girl find a book her friend had recommended and, upon learning you had a copy, she had raced here. Her delight was palpable, it made your weary smile that much lighter. You were just about to send her on her way when she asked a question.

"So what do you think a member of High Lord Rhysand's Inner Circle wanted with your store? Was it really just a book? You'd think he'd have all the literature he needed right at his disposal!" Her voice held saccharine sweetness; her eyes burned with bitter jealousy.

Why didn't Azriel talk to me? That question plagued her. You could tell. You also knew the answer—the books she was reading...

You didn't pursue that way of thought as the door rattled, bell tinkled, and silence swept through like a tempest once more.

A member of the High Lord's Inner Circle?Panic speared through your heart, eyes widening and breath quickening. The dull ache of your finger surged back to life. That's why the name has resonated in some odd corner of your mind. Was he here because someone had figured you out, and he needed a way to disguise a mission to scope the place out?

Did they know you were human? Were they coming to throw you out already, in just a small time of finding freedom?

That flickering fire, that virile, incessant whisper to discard anything and everything Fate had in store burst forth. The beautifully-tended garden of your store, planted with flowers of paper and watered with the ink of labor and authorial love, was overcome with the weeds of your pestering thoughts. Shadows seemed darker, just then, in the drizzling light, and not because of that forlorn stranger. That supposed spy.

You tried to distract yourself, rearranging a few staggered books on a shelf that had been haphazardly tossed aside.

Thoughts didn't vanish into their silence as they usually did with menial tasks. They stood, vigilant guardians of your sickly, demanding desires. Was Azriel's life so loud, like yours was, in the mind? What if he really was just here to quiet the tremors in his life, as you were? (Why were you thinking that? This man could upturn everything! Why were you entertaining such ideas of a man barely more than a smudge of ink yet to be rendered stalwart and crisp by the artist's brush?)

Was the peace and freedom you desired his as well?

You couldn't shake that nagging persistence. That seeing Azriel again could somehow change everything.

And...what if it did?

Would Fate really be so terrible, then?

* * *

A/N:

Hey there! New writer on the block, wanted to introduce myself a bit after tossing you the wolves (my beautifully-written, flawless, gorgeous piece of classic literature that obviously wasn't a sleep-deprived delusion of grandeur~).

As mentioned above: this reader has a bleeding disorder known as Hemophilia (not to be confused with haematophilia, which is arousal stemming from interaction with blood). The easiest way I've found to describe it is imagine that you and someone else got an entirely identical papercut (unrelated to the story topic at hand). Your papercut would bleed longer, heavier, and overall have a grumpier attitude than your friend's. Or, imagine you have a weakness debuff and a damage multiplier on your body. If you're at all uncomfortable with this idea, that's perfectly fine! But to those that stick around (and I hope you might!), I thought that it might add an interesting weight to the Fae-Human dynamic of frailty and mortality.

All experiences related with hemophilia come from a personal perspective and relationship with the disorder. This is in no way a reflection of myself upon the individual; however, it might be a nice way to raise some awareness about it! Similarly, if you have any questions, or want to share your own experiences down below (I know there's a lot more than just one type or variation of blood disorder), please share--I'd love to hear! If people are willing to share their own experiences about different bleeding/blood disorders that I'm not intimately familiar with (von Willebrand's, sickle cell, HHT, etc.), I may be able to incorporate them into various other instances throughout the story.

This is one of my first foray's into the public writing forum (I usually write just for pleasure), so if you have any tips and tricks, I'm all ears. :)

I plan on posting a chapter once a week, aiming for Friday or Saturday!

Anyways, blabbing done. Hope you enjoyed!

Your friendly neighborhood lore creature,

~ Lethe

[thefatesofspring]

Thought of the day:

It literally makes no sense that The Spring Court isn’t the most wealthy court in Prythian…

Not only does the court have the most to offer in trade in terms of food, it most likely develops the majority of fabrics in Prythian, not to mention herbs for medicines etc, then there’s wood exporting & possibly jewel mining. All of this most likely coming from just The Spring Court alone & then whatever overseas trade they do too…bruh The Spring Court is literally basking in riches!

This is why I’m adamant that Spring Court is the wealthiest court but is frugal with its spending, the high lords of Spring only spend when necessary.

The Spring Court is the very definition of a self sufficient court, it doesn’t really need anything from other courts & every return trade the do is really just an added luxury for them.

It also doesn’t make sense that The Night Court & Winter court are wealthy, by rights they should actually be the poorest of all the courts.

If I had to rank the courts in terms of wealth it would go like this:

1. The Spring Court

2. The Dawn Court

3. The Summer & The Autumn Court

4. The Day Court

5. The Night Court

6. The Winter Court

This is also why Sarah Janet Maas needs to spend so much more time on her world-building skills because we need more information on how the other courts operate their courts & gain their wealth

[driedposies]

"My little Nepenthe," {CHAPTER ONE: And The Dark Awaits Us All Around The Corner}

Series synopsis: The looming threat of the Death God Koschei and the High Lord of Autumn allying has those of the Inner Circle fretting about the consequences on Prythian. However, the heir of the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra, proposes a deadly machination of deceit to bypass laws and suspicions to remove his father from the board—a show of wooing and manipulating a reason for murder. You, the second eldest Archeron sister, still dealing with the repercussions of your mortal changes and manifesting gifts, agree to play the partner in Eris’s wicked schemes of usurpation. As you pretend to fall for the heir who always manages to get under your skin, you uncover more than just a male of arrogance and entitlement. Sometimes, even the best playwrights change the script in the production's final moments. And nothing makes a performance more exhilarating than a little behind-the-scenes romance. 

Chapter summary: Nightmares plague your every night, even after a year after your mortal changes. Grappling with new instincts and powers threatening to escape, you wallow in silence, until you were presented an opportunity to leave your glamoured cage. A ball in the Court of Nightmares appeared an exciting change of fleeting liberty—and, a chance meeting.

Warnings: Explicit language, sexual content in later chapters (18+ only!), violence, bodily injury, torture, character death.

Chapter lyric: "Heaven" by Mitski

Word count: 3.3k

Note: This is my first time publishing a series after lurking on Tumblr for years lmao, be gentle with any missed grammar mistakes :))

Before faeries were nothing but phantom fears beyond a magical wall, you worried naught but the frozen force of winter. You knew the turn of seasons that once brought the joys of snow angels was no longer a luxury you could watch through the crystal windows of your family estate. Safe and warm, bellies full and then some, knowing there will be another plate the next morning.

Your mother died and soon followed your father’s well-hand in trading. All comforts were lost, and winters must be battled, not enjoyed. Snow became your fear, and fire became your solace. Your nightmare was falling asleep and never waking again; your body frozen together like compact ice. 

Then, the fear of winter and the cold became a shadow of the nightmare of the fae and their Cauldron.

You’ve imagined death before; it felt like your skin was freezing over until you became blue and purple, and your mouth would fill with the soil that would grow a tree in the wake of your grave. There was peace in it.

Drowning became your new nightmare. Water invading your mouth and nose and eyes; you could no longer breathe. No matter how much you urged your mind to succumb to the inevitable, your body would fight against the hands that kept you under. Until the water became your new lifeblood and you were forever changed into what you were taught to despise. 

The nightmare would end the same. Beyond your blurred vision, bursts of chartreuse yellow would bubble out like whisps of burning vines. Then, you would finally wake—throat raw despite not screaming, skin frozen despite being under duvets and sheets, patches of peeling skin and thin cuts formed around your hands as strings of ivy slithered back into their depths. 

Your body and mind forever changed the moment you heave the breath of air stolen from you.

Your hands ached to be relieved; scratched at until your skin was broken and raw. 

It was a vicious feeling that flared more when you grew stressed. In help of relief, you periodically used the hand cream that Elain gave you as a Solstice gift that smelt overwhelmingly of lavender; paired with the gloves Azriel gave you after an aforementioned comment about how your hands were always, naturally, cold. 

But neither small comforts could ease the stress of a family dinner. 

You couldn’t tell which you despised the most. The act of pretending all was fine as you and your sisters still struggled in all manners with the new bodies you were in or the backhanded jabs Nesta threw towards Feyre. A very pregnant Feyre. 

It wasn’t anything new, having to watch the eldest and youngest battle with snide remarks. But there was a certain embarrassment and anxiety that rippled in your stomach when they did it in front of everyone. Especially at the first dinner Elain finally began properly picking at food again.

You attempted to focus on your quiet sister, easing soft words from her about mundane things like her gardens, encouraging small bites of the potato salad. 

Whilst feeling overwhelmed, Elain knew to be appreciative and smiled, murmuring a little, “Thank you,” before returning to silence again. 

You would’ve forgotten food yourself if it weren’t for a serving spoon appearing and piling on a few bits of meat and greens. Glancing up across the table, you’d catch the Shadowsinger placing bowls back down and returning to eating as if what he’d done was nothing worth reflecting on. 

And you didn’t say anything either.

Even when you were still human, the fire burning in a hearth always comforted you.

The smell of burning wood was always something you attributed to safety—when a fire was alive, you knew you would fall asleep warm. Or, perhaps, it was the fact it sated the unusual chill that always lingered under your skin, which only amplified after The Change. 

No matter the cause, you constantly found yourself hovering around the fireplace in the House of Wind’s sitting room. Leaning against the banister, or kneeling on the thick fur. It was a destimulate and a place for peaceful thoughts. 

You liked that the only sound that filled the room was crackling wood, but that didn’t mean you minded company either. 

That’s how your relationship with Azriel began. The silent presence you both offered was a new comfort you discovered, and when either of you were dealing with loud minds, you’d resort to small talk. 

Despite Azriel’s shadows and secrets, you weren’t inclined to fear him. Nor spook when he’d appear like a phantom on the wind, leaning on the other edge of the banister. 

A small smile from you, and Azriel would respond with softened eyes. 

“I want to thank you, for this evening,” you’d murmur towards him, appreciation evident. “I know, it’s perhaps not a lot, for you, but it is for me. I forget to eat when I get anxious.”

Azriel tilted his head, nodding once in understanding. “I do, too,” he’d agree, and his empathy made your heart ease a little. “I know it’s been hard for you too. All three of you are handling things differently. You seem to bear it more silently.”

You also knew Azriel’s words came from personal experience—two birds of a feather, suffering in silence despite the self-destructive results it provided.   

“A lot is happening at the moment. Seems the Mother doesn’t give rest to any,” you respond as you toy with your gloves, an action Azriel internally notes to himself. Gloves that he appeared to find unusual that you wore in every setting and weather condition.

Swallowing the wish to question you, Azriel nods his head in agreement. “Winter Solstice is right around the corner,” he decides to comment, moving onto a different topic, but not one any lighter. “Will you be… okay for attendance to the ball? You are not needed, and The Court of Nightmares isn’t any comforting place. Feyre will understand.”

You look away from Azriel, lips tightening. There was a kernel of annoyance that blossomed in your chest like a tightening vine of ivy around your ribs. You appreciated Azriel’s concern but couldn’t help that it came from a place of subconsciously believed weakness. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you shook your head. “Elain is going,” you reply as if trying to prove a point. “I will be okay. Besides, I wish to see things outside of Valeris, even if for only a night.”

“It doesn’t have to be at a place known for its nightmares,” Azriel says, but no longer speaks in a tone of rebuttal. “But I won’t take away your choice,” he adds, and you release the tension in your jaw. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a small smile, a sentiment Azriel reciprocates. 

Tilting his head, you watch as a tendril of a shadow rounds the lobe of Azriel’s ear and curls up to the peak of cartilage, before slinking away. The Shadowsinger furrows a brow, his glazed eyes meeting yours again. 

“I must go,” Azriel states softly, moving to rest a scarred palm against the pommel of his prized dagger. “If you need me, all you need to do is call,” he continues with the same line he uses before leaving your side. And to prove a point, another whisp of shadow glides towards you, twirling its cold mist into a loose piece of hair.

You shiver at the contact. “I know,” you nod, and with your repeated promise, Azriel disappears the same way he appeared.

You wondered how Mor remained so strong-willed when living in the Court of Nightmares. 

Winnowing outside the fortress that held the Winter Solstice ball, you noted the surroundings of darkness. Before coming to the Court of Night, this is what you had first envisioned. Rough cobblestones that climbed high, blossoms of nightshade and purple ivy, and terrifying contortions shaped into gargoyles in various fountains and pillars. 

Cassian, Mor and Azriel left first—but not before the Shadowsinger placed a comforting hand on the small of your back and whispered words about focusing on following Feyre’s steps and not making eye contact with any of the higher-born faeries.

As you walked through the hallways made of nightmares behind your High Lord and Lady, you picked at your black gloves—traded out from the midnight blue ones Azriel gifted you—to match your dress. 

This was the most exposing piece of clothing you’ve ever worn. The underlying fabric was sheer, with embroidered black threading and beading covering your intimate skin. Black took shape in the form of lifeless rose bushes, running up the hem of the skirt and sleeves. Like a tree that had lost all its leaves in autumn.

The room gasped when your family made its entrance. You were thankful the attention was levied onto Feyre; her swelling womb. 

Feyre and Rhys took to their thrones, whilst you and your two other sisters stood between Cassian and Azriel. You focused your eyes on one of the billowing curtains hanging over a decorated window, dyed and fractured glass in the shape of some war between fae and demon. Even when you felt the familiar lick of shadow at the base of your neck. 

Behind you, Feyre tilted her chin up, declaring to the assembled crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.”

A fae sprung towards the dias; a tall and drawn male, with honeyed brown eyes that reminded you of Mor. He bowed to your sister. “Allow me to extend my congratulations,” he says, in a low tone that feels all too insincere.   

Another joined him, and you took a long indrawn breath, back involuntarily straightening out. His hair was made of fire, left loose in silken drapes over a jacket of gold and emerald green. The male’s skin was light; dusted with freckles, like someone had palmed paprika and blew towards the bridge of his nose. An amber gaze met yours, and you quickly looked down again, as Azriel’s voice of warning echoed in your mind. 

Eris Vanserra. 

‘He was the most beautiful male I have ever seen.’ You felt mournful at your momentary fawning.

“Allow me to extend mine as well, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court,” Eris spoke, grin cultivated as much as his facade. “He shall be thrilled by this news.”

‘Mother… even his voice sounded like sin.’ You chewed the inside of your cheek, shoving the thoughts away again.

Rhys’ voice sounded behind you, drawing you out of your frantic thoughts. “I’m sure he will.”

There was that warning in his words that had an unmistakable chill flutter down your spine. Your stomach rolled, not used to the hidden machinations and threats that were so easily passed here. So this was where the Night Court got its reputation.

Music began playing after a command by Rhys, and you were sucked into watching the fae dance. It brought back the nostalgia of when you were human still—socialising and dancing with the ton until the evening was morning and Elain would fuss over blisters. 

You were taken out of your reverie when you felt Nesta leave your side, hand on the crook of the Autumn Court heir’s arm. Watching your eldest sister dance again softened the ache of longing for the past, despite your wishes to trade places. 

Nesta was like black smoke. Bending and weaving to the waves of the orchestra; body pliant to the male who leads her through the dance. It was a beautiful sight—an enviable sight. 

You felt Azriel stiffen when Cassian left his post. Watching on in both amusement and trepidation, you saw Cassian take Nesta from Eris halfway through the second dance. Thankfully, no blood spilling was threatened in the sudden transition. 

During Nesta’s fourth dance, which was led by Azriel, Eris returned to the dias with intention in his posture and calculated lust in his eyes. 

“All right,” Eris spoke towards Rhys, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You showed me what I can have, Rhysand. I’m intrigued enough to ask what you’d want in return.”

Rhys barely moved, remaining unbothered lounged on his throne. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that whatever you want, I’ll give it to you in exchange for her. As my bride.” Eris jerked his chin towards the box that contained a dagger. “I’d rather have her than that.”

You swallowed thickly; all previous unabashed thoughts melting away like fire on paper. Your hands burned, and you fisted them, hard enough to feel your nails through the thick gloves. You had control over your mouth, but none over the glare you levied onto him. 

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

Eris’ jaw tightens. “I have my reasons,” he drawls out, cocking his head before adding on. “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

Arrogant asshole. 

“Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?” Rhys asks, with a familiar undertone of condescension. 

Your throat tightened in flared irritation. Why was Rhys even letting this carry on—let alone speak words of consideration? 

Eris’s expression formed a scowl. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curled up into something mean. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Rhys only laughed. “I’ll consider it, and talk to Nesta. Keep the dagger, though. You might need it.”

Your shoulders loosened. For the first time, you were almost at ease with another threat falling from Rhys’ tongue.

You needed a drink.

Without much permission from your High Lord or Lady, you left your post at their throne’s dias for the refreshment table. Despite not being a part of a crowd you wished to socialise with, there was a certain wonder in just watching. 

You grew up with tales that spoke of fae-like creatures spawned from Hel, crawling out from blood-soaked soil with claws and fangs made to hunt and eat humans. The Court of Nightmares held individuals with cruel intentions such as that, but upon seeing them, you were made to confront how humanising they all were. 

Wicked, yes. But beings of feelings and fears.

Beings that you were now one of. It’s been one difficult thing you’ve had to come to terms with—becoming the thing you grew up terrified of. 

Ancient as they are, they certainly also have a taste for architecture. The inside of this ballroom was beautifully archaic. The building was tall; the ceiling overhead built into an enthralling mandala that opened to the night sky. Candles inside round glass containers that hung from above were fashioned to look like flaming constellations. 

The hall was large; a perfect and easy thing to get lost in. As well as slip out onto the wrap-around balcony for fresh air.

Placing down your empty wine flute, you ducked under a thick curtain and out into an area free from the company. Hewn City had an unmistakable winter chill that shivered down your skin, reaching almost uncomfortably in your limbs. But you found solace in being far from prying eyes. 

Leaning against a stone balustrade fashioned with more demonic sculptures, you took in the sights this city had to offer. It was far from the bright and bustling Valeris—the mountain this place was built on was lit with silvery faelights. Water streamed and bubbled out from the very workings of this castle, and all flooded back into this mountain city. Like arteries and capillaries to a heart. 

A small flow of movement behind you had your back straightening and goose flesh running down your body. You had yet to fully adjust to your new instincts and not jolt when they flared. 

Someone was behind you, and whoever it was, had something beneath your sternum burn until your body warmed. 

“The second Archeron sister,” a voice spoke, and a chuckle followed. A scowl adorned your mouth before you even turned to face the male. “Trust Rhysand to keep you all hidden away.”

Eris Vanserra stood just three feet away, hands tucked behind his back as he tilted a smirk in your direction, seemingly amused by the reaction he’s already garnered from you. Like a little sibling poking the eldest for attention. 

You were supposed to keep this male on your family’s side, but he made that wish difficult to uphold. “Or, perhaps, I was just hiding away from the unamicable company,” you easily retort. 

Your words surprised you the moment they left your mouth. Never had you so easily let your snarky commentary slip, especially towards someone you knew little of but passing stories. You were always so good, so trained, like Elain, like your mother moulded you to be. 

You worried for a moment about Eris’s retaliation, but his smile only sharpened, and fear was replaced with irritation. 

“I can see that,” he replies, eyeing you, before striding to lean against the balustrade beside you, much to your vexation. Eris moved with such arrogant confidence; it grated something deep within you. “And how do you fit within your family pack, I wonder? Feyre, the saviour. Elain, the court beauty,” he begins, pausing to lick his lips. “Nesta, the firey eldest.”

Your nose crinkles, not at all enjoying Eris’s open evaluation of you and your sisters. It felt all too degrading. “It’s not at all your concern,” you affirm as a muscle in your jaw twitches. 

“It shall be when you begin to call me brother,” Eris stares down his straight nose at you, tone now a mocking thing.

The thought felt… wrong. The thought of Nesta and Eris married felt like an infringement against all things natural. A distant, unfounded ache with no real explanation, had the warmth beneath your sternum shifting into an angry throb.

“As if that were ever to happen,” your seething words tumble out into a low growl. How this male managed to unweave all your softened masks in just one small interaction baffled you, but you shoved those frightening thoughts and redirected them to believe this was you protecting your sister’s honour.

By Eris’s twisting expression, you knew you perhaps said the wrong thing. Unearthing the anger he had hidden underneath his mask. 

Eris ground his teeth together. “And what makes you think that, sweetheart? It seemed your sister enjoyed herself.”

A new anger flooded your system—coursed so deeply your body began to tremble. The patronisation of this male flared something in your instincts so harshly you couldn’t reign them back. Action sprung before thought. 

It took a few moments to recognise the fluttering sensation against your right palm and realise how it was raised to Eris’s face. You didn’t have time to consider remorse. To consider what slapping the heir of the Autumn Court could do to the fragile allegiances of the Night Court.

“Speak of my sister like that again,” your voice was full of dangerous violence you had no idea you could manage. “And you’ll figure out where I fit in my family.”

Eris barely moved an inch at your impact; barely even a crack in his manner. But his amber eyes were split open by a fraction more in absolute, unadulterated shock. 

You fled the scene before Eris could respond. Before you could comprehend the severity of your actions and their consequences. But as your back now faced him, you missed something more terrifying.

The way the colour drained from Eris’s cheeks, one hand against the balustrade to stop himself from stumbling onto his knees, whilst the other gripped the fabric that rested above his heart. 

You wouldn’t dream that night. 

CHAPTER TWO

[multifictional]

A Court Of Burning Seasons || Introduction

— > eris vanserra x archeron!reader, elain archeron x lucien vanserra

• Introduction: get a glimpse into elain and y/n life and feelings (eris and lucien aren’t yet present, but they will soon appear, don’t worry!)

• Summary: [Y/N] Archeron always felt the pull of autumn, even as a human. The fallen leaves, the warm colours, the spicy sweets, even her birthday. For Elain, it was the sun and the way of feeding her gardens and flowers with its light. Together in the Night Court after being thrown into the Cauldron, they both feel out of place. But while Elain has her growing bond with Lucien, [y/n] remains an outsider. With her powers still silents even after years, she feels a longing she can't quite place. A mating bond with Eris Vanserra is the last thing she expects and also what she seemed to need. But nothing is ever easy as it seems in Prythian, especially not with Beron impeding presence and courts rivalries always finding a way of creating complications.

• Warnings: just some angst for now

• Word count: 764

Y/N Archeron didn’t care about greatness.

She never had.

All she ever wanted, the only wish she had in her once so humble life, was to belong. It was a desire she always carried quietly, in the silence she always refuged in. But it was also something that had never come true. Not in the human lands, where she had lived as a human, and much less in Prythian, as an High Fae.

She never had a home. And she never would. Not truly.

The cottage she had shared with her sisters and father had been the closest she’d ever come to it. Small, ruined, and cold as it was, it had protected them after they had lost everything. The grand mansion her father had been granted after Feyre’s absence… it had never felt like hers.

It had been filled with comfort and luxury, but not the kind she had always hoped for. It still wasn’t home.

And the Night Court? It felt more like a prison.

Everyone there seemed to have found their place, their role. Everyone except her.

And maybe that was the problem. She didn’t want a role. She didn’t want greatness, power, a role to fulfil or anything extraordinary.

All she wanted was something far simpler, deeper. To belong. To find her place.

And though she didn’t know it yet, the Cauldron granted her just that. Not out of kindness, its magic didn’t work that way, it didn’t just make gifts. It acted out of balance, a cruel sort of revenge. A retribution for what Nesta had taken from it. Y/n hadn’t been granted any special powers like her sisters. No visions, no death-defying strength. Her power was small, normal, unremarkable.

Ordinary.

But it was so much more than that.

It was a power that tied her to a court where an unexpected mating bond awaited her.

She had spent her whole life feeling like a shadow, her mask of silence always misguided as fear, fragility and weakness. Yet the Cauldron couldn’t be fooled, and it had given her nothing and everything at the same time.

It had given her the chance to belong, to unravel what had always been there. To become what she was always destined to be.

And soon enough, she would have to decide the path she was willing to take to understand what it really meant.

Across the Night Court, Elain Archeron was in a similar situation.

As a human, she had always known what it meant to belong. She belonged to the soft vibrant greens of her gardens. To the colours of the flowers she coxed into beautiful blooms. But the Cauldron ripped that belonging away from her.

For years, she had believed it was all gone. Her gardens. Her future. Her happiness, which she thought she would never find again. But slowly, as she forced herself to face this new reality, she began to realize the truth.

The lie she had been feeding herself.

She hadn’t lost happiness. She had never found it in the first place. And now, for the first time, she wanted more.

Despite all her efforts, Velaris wasn’t the place for her. Not the city of starlight, and not even the Court of Dreams. She didn’t belong to the coolness of the night, she belonged to the heat of the sun.

All she ever wanted was to have a choice.

The Cauldron, though, didn’t care about what she wanted. It had given her a new body that wasn’t hers, the immortality she didn’t ask for, and a power that felt more of a curse than a gift.

And it had given her something else too.

A mate.

Elain had never asked for the bond with Lucien. Didn’t want him. She had spent years pretending it didn’t exist, pretending she didn’t feel the pull of it, as strong as it was at every tug.

She had told herself she didn’t want him.

But no matter what she told herself, Lucien was there. Not only in her dreams, but in her visions too. And in the quiet moments where her thoughts drifted. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t deny the truth.

Not anymore.

She yearned for what he offered: the warmth of belonging.

So she made a choice. A choice that would change everything. A choice for herself.

She decided to give the bond - and him - a chance.

And that choice will change everything.

And in that choice she would find what she had been searching all along. Not to see, but to be seen.

Part 1

A.N: i take advantage to thank you all for the support under the blurb I posted. I didn’t expect that. I’m so inspired for this fic so I hope you will like it!! Let me know what you think :)

Also, if you want to be added in a taglist, feel free to ask!

Taglist: @wrenisrad

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 5

I Want Crazy

Azriel Eris x Reader

After a promotion to an emissary position by a meddling Tarquin, Y/N and Eris get much, much closer.

A/n: There will likely only be a couple more chapters of this fic. For those of you concerned by the previous chapter, please continue to trust the process. Our girl is intelligent.

Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: Language, brief mention of fertility struggles

Our first date, the seasons changed. It got washed away in a summer rain

He wasn’t what I expected, Eris Vanserra. Not that I ever fathomed what to expect or even considered it. In fact there was only a very short list of things I knew prior to the day we met:

-He was a High Lord.

-He’d been a secretive ally of the Night Court prior to his father’s demise.

-Azriel fucking hated him.

And after that day I knew everything I needed to:

-He was warm beyond the fire in his veins

-He was a just ruler

-He had a dry wit that sat well with my soul.

-I wanted to see him again.

After dancing that night, we ran back to Tarquin’s palace in the rain. It was the first time I’d been unable to contain my joy in far too long. I laughed, and skipped, and spun in circles the whole way back. Eris grumbled the entire way but I could see the amusement lit in his eyes. The next morning he met me for breakfast and found me again before he left for the Autumn Court.

He began finding reasons to visit the Summer Court more frequently and sought me out every time. It was no time before Eris became a close friend.

Tarquin - ever the cheeky, wonderful bastard - only gave me knowing smiles when he’d catch us walking the palace grounds. According to Cresseida, The High Lord of the Summer Court was quite the romantic and had a knack for playing matchmaker. I was inclined to agree considering that after a month of spotting Eris and I around the grounds, Tarquin made a proposition to me. I could still teach my classes but he needed a temporary emissary to the Autumn court as they negotiated border, trade, and tariff agreements. Given my recent closeness with the High Lord of Autumn and overall wonderful (debatable) disposition, he found me to be the perfect candidate. With that, I found myself on official court business in the Autumn Court.

Who cares if you’re all I think about?

I was nervous on the first visit to Autumn. I knew things were different under Eris’ reign but the stories of Beron’s cruelty within his own keep were enough to warrant a bit of caution.

My worries were quickly cast aside when Eris personally escorted me from the border and to his keep. The Autumn Court was stunning. The leaves on the trees were brighter than I’d ever seen. The hues ranging from gold to red absolutely stunning. I’d love to have Feyre one day paint it for me.

Smells of roasting chestnuts, hickory smoke, crisp leaves, apple cider, and autumn air filled my nose. On the way, Eris stopped by a small farm where the owner allowed us to pick what Eris called the finest Honeycrisp apples in all of Prythian. I’d never had that variety before and though I had nothing to compare them against, the apples had the perfect crunch and just the right ratio of tart and sweet. He paid the farmer handsomely for a bucket of them and several pie pumpkins for his kitchens.

The Autumn Keep was far from the drab stone castle that I’d pictured. Eris clearly went to great strides to ensure the ghost of Beron Vanserra had no hold here. The grand rooms were filled with maple accents, rugs and tapestries with hues greens, golds, oranges and reds. Fires roared in massive fireplaces and autumnal spices filled the air.

And despite the beauty of the keep. I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of the tall, handsome redhead walking alongside me.

Once I was settled for the stay, we did meet to discuss political matters which took countless hours, but I was rather impressed with the ease of our negotiations. He and Tarquin had similar visions for the economic future within their courts.

We enjoyed dinner together, indulged in autumnal wines, including a hot mulled wine that flushed my cheeks. Or so I told Eris that was the reason for the blush on my features, and certainly not the way way he’d refer to me as “my lady” or “little fox.”

We’d stayed up late, sitting by a bon fire outside beneath the Autumn Skies. There was music and dancing, spiked ciders, and caramel apples. I could see why Eris loves his court.

We, of course, kept respectful distance from eachother as not to spark any gossip of anything more than friendship between he and I. Yet somehow, hours later, we found ourselves in a private courtyard - a small fire burning as we lay back on a blanket together. I began to shiver as the evening chill grew cooler. As I went to bid Eris goodnight and head for the warmth within Castle Walls, he halted me.

“Come here” he spoke. His voice low.

I scooted a bit closer.

“Come closer, little fox. I won’t bite.”

He refrained from adding “unless you ask me to” but that was readable enough in his heavy lidded gaze.

So I laid beside him, my head nestled between his chest and shoulder as his heat warmed my body. I showed him various constellations that I’d learned of during my time in the Night Court and he did a terrible job of visualizing them. He tried though. He told me how he used to wish on shooting stars, how he still found himself occasionally wishing upon them. I teared up when he told me of the wishes he’d made back then for his mother and Lucien, for himself, to one day escape Beron’s cruelty. For a better life. A better Court.

When we saw a shooting star later, he made a wish and told me it was bad luck to tell someone else the wish.

And I, despite everything that had turned upside down in life, found myself struggling to ask for anything more than what I had in that moment.

When we finally said goodnight I realized his own suite was right next to the one he had set me up in.

I woke in a sweat sometime hours before dawn. Pain ripping through my chest. Azriel once again pulling on the fucking bond with no regard for the feelings of despair he was shoving to me. This time was worse than usual, the waves of grief continuing to grow stronger and stronger all the time. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t deserve this. This was a bed of his own making and yet I still had to suffer beyond what I’d already been through. Sleeping through it was futile and the room’s darkness began to suffocate me.

I padded from my room to a common area outside of the suites, sat before the fireplace and worked on breathing through it.

Though I tried my best to remain quiet, Eris apparently had a sharp sense of hearing as he wandered into the room, seating himself on the floor beside me. If I hadn’t been in such a sorry state, perhaps I would have noticed the low slung gray sweatpants and broad muscled chest of the half-naked High Lord- no, friend - beside me.

He took my hand. “Hey, fox, look at me.” I lifted my gaze to his. “You’ve got this. Breathe for me.” I took a shallow breath. “Can you breathe deeper for me, little one?” He placed a hand on my shoulder while the other remained on my hand. I took a deeper breath and let it out slowly.

“Good girl.”

Eris sat with me in silence on a plush couch once my breathing steadied. Still too worked up to fall back asleep, I nestled myself against Eris’ chest while his fingers ran through my hair in soothing, repetitive strokes.

It was hours later that I awoke, finding that I’d fallen asleep on him. I tried shifting away slowly but a sleeping Eris only held his arm around me tighter as I pulled. We slept like that a while longer.

The rest of the trip went by uneventfully. We discussed further trade options and Eris spent the evenings working with me on how to close off the bond to Azriel’s feelings. While I was already excellent at shutting down sending my feelings down the bond, cutting off his feelings was what I needed help with. By the end of the stay I could only feel his emotions slightly.

I expressed my gratitude to Eris who only waived off my thanks. “Anyone would have done it.” Yet he was the only one who tried. What I didn’t tell Eris was that as Azriel’s end of the bond silenced and the depths of my soul went from overflowing to filled with contentment, my thoughts began drifting to happier things, drifted to him.

Front porch and one more kiss. It doesn't make sense to anybody else.

The fifth month after I left, my grandparents held an outdoor feast for our family and friends in celebration of a holiday of one of the lesser Summer gods they worshipped.

It was far from a religious event. There was always wine, dancing, and lively conversation at these celebrations with none of the boring sermons that typically came with such events.

I invited Eris, and to my delight he came. My drunken sister made plenty of comments over how pretty of a pair of “friends” we made, with overemphasis on the word. My sweet, protective nephew took to Eris right away, deciding that after what Azriel put me through, anyone was better than him. He had no tolerance for cheating or sympathy for adulterers from the time he was old enough to understand what it meant and that his father had cheated on my sister during her pregnancy (real stand up guy) though my sister was so far out of his league that he’d have to reach the stars to find someone better. Obviously she’d left him immediately and she and my nephew were better off for it.

My family tried their best and failed miserably to act normal with the High Lord of the Autumn Court in their presence. Fortunately, Eris paid no mind and had won everyone over by the end of the night.

Despite his aversion to the sand, Eris accepted my invitation to camp on the beach so we could enjoy my favorite part of the night, the fireworks shooting off over the bay.

As the finale approached, I pouted.

“I hate when they end.”

Gesturing toward himself, Eris replied. “It’s a good thing you have a High Lord at your disposal to light up the night any time you wish.”

Before I could reprimand him for the crude comment, he began shooting small orbs of fire toward the water in a rainbow of colors.

My eyes sparkled watching the vibrant flares. Soon enough the orbs into butterflies of fire flying through the air, some circling around me. One brushed my cheek and there was no pain, just a gentle flutter.

“That’s… Just wow, that’s incredible, Eris!”

He gave a shrug of nonchalance in return.

“I bet you do that for all the ladies, don’t you?”

Eris looked me in the eyes, something unreadable in them.

“Only the ones I want to kiss.”

A moment passed before I realized that he was entirely serious.

And that I WANTED to kiss him.

So I did.

We kissed under the stars. It was a hard, passionate kiss, our shared breaths riddled with desperation, a profession of the unspoken words between us, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

And when we eventually pulled apart, I looked into his eyes with a smile, genuine, full of adoration, and Eris gently grasped the back of my head, pulling me into another searing kiss.

We shared many more before dawn.

You can’t undo a fall like this.

When Eris returned to the Autumn Court, I tried feeling any remorse for what we’d done. I was technically still a mated female, though I’d left and due to Azriel’s infidelity nobody expected me to honor the bond.

The guilt never came.

Eris had to travel so I wasn’t able to see him for the next couple weeks but we wrote back and forth often through enchanted notes. Curiosity or concern must have gotten the best of him because eventually he asked:

“Do you regret it?”

I knew exactly what he referred to.

“I regret many things, Eris. None of which pertain to you.”

I sent the letter to him with confidence. I did not regret a single thing about the night our lips collided on the beach.

“Thank the Mother, because I need to kiss you again.”

Heat radiated through me at his admission.

But then reality struck. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court. I was the - separated, yes, but still - the mate of the Night Court’s Spymaster.

“Eris, I love spending time with you and will never regret it. You’ve helped me heal in ways I will never be able to repay you for. But this… how can this work? It’s messy.”

I sent the letter. My own heart crushing at the words. I didn’t want this to end but I couldn’t risk it going further just for reality to come crashing down on us.

Some time passed, the unease in my gut growing when his response appeared.

“If I wanted easy, I’d have married the daughter of some Autumn Lord. Nothing about my past has been easy and despite what some may believe, nothing worth having has come easily to me. Every second spent with you is worth it. Do not, Y/N, doubt that for one single moment. And perhaps this is crazy, but I would not want it any other way.”

It was that moment that I knew I wanted, I needed Eris as more than a friend.

“Then let’s be crazy, Eris Vanserra.”

I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough"

The thing about immortality is that six months can bring more change than six decades or even centuries.

Six months ago I would have never dreamed that my mate would take the life we’d built over the years and tear it into shreds with those once sacred, beautiful scarred hands that I held reverently. The hands that placed the lovely mating band crafted from one of his own siphons on my finger after he’d made his vows, the hands that lovingly caressed my bare thighs through restless nights until sleep took me, hands that held me pressed to his chest and wiped away the tears of grief after yet another failed fertility cycle.

Those hands that held another and damned it all, the hands that came home and stroked my hair as pretty lies fell from his mouth, the hands that took my glass heart and dropped it.

I especially wouldn’t have dreamed that six months later I would be laying in the bed of the High Lord of the Autumn Court with his strong, warm hands holding me like this heart of mine that he’d forged anew was the most delicate, precious possession in his keep.

I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without your love"

We’d spent the night together making love. The kind of love making that shifts something intrinsic within a person, the type where no matter what happens, a piece of you is forever changed. It was more than just giving my body to him, it was a claiming of the soul.

We lay in bed all morning, his long fingers tracing along the arch of my bare back as he pressed soft kisses along my shoulder and neck. Between kisses, his low voice whispered quiet hopes and dreams for the future.

I was just about to speak those three words that I’d only ever spoken to one other male when a loud knock came on the chamber door.

“For fuck’s sake” Eris muttered before shouting “Come back later!”

“We apologize, High Lord but this is urgent.” a muffled male voice replied through the closed door.

Eris growled, shifting out of bed and throwing on his sweatpants not bothering with a shirt. I enjoyed the view.

“This better be worth my while, lads.” Eris hissed in a tone that conveyed “I’m very fucking inconvenienced right now but understand that you are doing your duty as my sentries.”

“Apologies again, High Lord, but we’ve….”

The male outside the door cleared his throat in attempt to communicate that the matter should be discussed privately.

“It’s fine.” Eris grumbled. “Just get on with it.”

“We, well, High Lord, we’ve apprehended the Shadowsinger. He was making an attempt to infiltrate the keep.”

———————————

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War

Summary: A warlord!Rhys x Tamlin's sister!Reader AU where Hybern won the War centuries ago, ravishing Prythian and leaving the splintered Courts as nothing more than pockets of travelling war bands. Based loosely on the vibes from War by Laura Thalassa.

Content Warnings: (Each chapter will be tagged accordingly for violence, drinking, and Eventual smut) Canon typical violence, Rhys leans heavily into morally gray, kidnapping.

Author's Note: Trying something new with a first person POV, let me know what you think :)

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“Don’t come back unless you’ve brought food.”

It’s been days since that order, the rumble of my stomach the only indicator of passing time. The changing forests, the dying grasslands, the marshes, it’s all been a disappointing blur. All my traps are empty and untouched, some frozen in place as winter approaches. My father used to tell me stories of the Courts, how they were ruled by High Lords with the power to keep perpetual seasons. That was before the War, before Hybern and his General Amarantha ruined everything with the Cauldron, all for some human slaves. Father had liked to talk about the “good ole days” every night around the fire; he could spin pretty tales for hours, but that’s all they are these days. Stories. And stories don’t keep your stomach full.

I trail the deer through a stinking muck of a bog, mud and slimy water seeping in through the holes in my boots. The sludge is bone chilling, my hands shaking around my bow; teeth chattering so loud I have to clamp my mouth shut to avoid making too much noise. I need this kill and I need it fast. 

The deer stops to eat a bit of moss and I take a few more careful steps forward to get a better vantage point, cautious of where the ground sinks deeper beneath the murky water. Slipping and twisting an ankle in this mud would be dangerous, but it’s not an injury that makes my steps cautious. There are plenty of kelpie around these parts, I feel their beady little eyes watching me under the cover of a quickly approaching fog. All I need is one misstep and those spindly, webbed hands will drag me under for a quick meal.

Better a kelpie than the Highway Men I’d managed to dodge getting this far out of my brother’s territory, I suppose, but I’d rather avoid both of them if possible.

Once I’m sure of my footing, I notch an arrow to my bow. This is not the ideal place to kill it, but the rumbling of my stomach might just be too damn loud to give me another chance if I wait for it to pass out of the bog. How many days has it been since my last meal? Four? Five?

I pull the arrow back, the weathered feathers brushing my hollow cheek. 

The deer’s head jerks up, ears turning to listen to something beyond the fog and I hold my breath. The ground beneath my boots begins to rumble and the deer bolts before I can take the shot, disappearing into the gloom. A loss to mourn later, because that rumbling can only mean one thing: Horses, and a lot of them, moving right in my direction. 

I slide my bow over my shoulder and run back the way I’d come, mud sucking at my every step, slowing my progress as I try to get back to the treeline at the edge of the bog. The wet land is covered in dead and living trees alike, some as old as time, still reaching towards the sun like the ruined hands of a corpse, some fighting its inevitable demise. It’s too cold these days for the living to still have leaves, so even if I wanted to stop and climb one, I’d have no place to hide. I might as well stand there and wave my arms and alert every horseman to my location.

Still, the branches are helpful for leverage, and I grab onto the low ones and haul myself along, hoping to find shelter higher up the basin’s edge, where the water has not claimed as much. There’s plenty of underbrush there to shield me. 

The first horse appears through the fog, dark as a shadow, it’s echoing whinny chilling in the previous silence. A hooded rider sits atop the giant animal, a giant sword sheathed between his massive shoulders. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hiss to no one as I crouch the best I can in the open air. 

There are many warbands in Prythian these days. Some are Hybern’s men. Some Amarantha’s. The rest are what remains of the Courts. Those of us with enough magic to prove useful have been known to swear fealty and garner protection from them, but that means you get the privilege of fighting and dying for those entitled pricks who think they are owed the land their ancestors once ruled. From this far, I can’t tell who’s colors they bear, but without the, usually oppressive presence, of my brother’s own men I’m not likely to have a safe encounter. Better to wait it out and let them pass.

The first rider doesn’t see me through the fog, a small blessing that I take full advantage of by inching forward. The treeline is so close. If I am lucky, if the Mother is still out there listening and looking out for me, I can hunker down and wait.

A second rider appears through the fog, faster than the first, racing along the bog’s edge until it makes it over the ledge of the basin and disappears. The cry of their horses sound like ghosts howling in the wind. A third and fourth rider follow. I can hear even more of them, the rumble of their caravan making the ground shake, but no more appear as the fog thickens. 

A shiver runs down my spine, but still, I press forward. I’ve dodged plenty of males like this in the past, I can do the same now. I just need to be smart. And lucky.

Neither of which I am, apparently. As soon as my boots touch more solid ground, another horse appears, this time, from within the safety of the treeline I’d been so desperate to get to. The rider atop this one is as large as the first, face completely obscured by a black hood with three stars perfectly poised over his forehead, the bottom two falling where his eyes should be. 

I freeze, mind reeling back to a time years ago, when those stars had come bursting through camp, only bloodshed and destruction behind them. My hands shake at my sides as I slide backwards into the muck, slipping, barely maintaining my balance as the midnight black horse rears, hooves pawing at the air. I’d heard that terrifying whiny before too, right before my father’s head rolled out of his tent. 

My stomach rolls, bile rising in the back of my throat. This can’t be happening to me! They promised to stay away.

The rider gets his horse under control, large, gloved hands yanking hard on the reins, deep voice barking orders in the language I know belongs to the mountain men in Illyria, but had never been permitted to learn myself.

My heart hammers in my chest as I get back on my feet, head whipping back and forth trying to find a way out.  

“What’s your business here?” The rider demands, voice deep, gruff, muffled by a scarf over the lower half of his face.

“My own,” I snarl, reaching for the hunting knife at my hip. This is no one’s claimed territory, save for maybe the kelpie I hear skimming the surface at my back, I have every right to hunt here as anyone. “Now let me pass and I’ll be on my way.”

The rider swings out of the saddle and the ground shakes as his boots touch the ground. A dark mist leaks from his shoulders, shadows swirling around the sword hilt peeking out from between his shoulders and… I’d been mistaken about his size, it wasn’t just his shoulders, it was a pair of wings. Wings that had been tucked tight while he was  riding but now stretch out behind him, the leathery membrane pitted and scarred from years of battle. If I’d had doubts about who this was before, I don't now. Though I’d only seen him in glimpses that night, Tamlin had talked enough about the rival warlord over the years for me to be able to put two and two together.

A lump forms in my throat. Rhysand is even taller up close, the top of my head barely coming up to his chin. “I have nothing of value.” I’m not wearing our colors, I’m not sure if they would have helped or hindered me here, but my best bet is to just play dumb.

From the incline of his head it looks like he’s eyeing my knife, but I can’t be certain. There is some kind of enchantment over his hood, obscuring his face from view. “What’s your name?” 

“No business of yours,” I retort, tightening my grip on the knife. 

“So hostile,” he purrs. “I mean no harm.”

“Says the male with the sword.”

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have.”

“I’m flattered,” I drawl. “How kind of you to deem me worth a modicum of decency as you block my exit.”

He takes a step forward and I take a step back, right to the edge of the water, where that damn creature hisses out a chuckle, knife poised and ready between us. He’s not wearing armor, a well placed blow could still kill him, I want him to think twice before moving any closer. Though, I suppose I must not look that imposing, considering our size difference and the sheer amount of muscle underneath that dark cloak. 

He sizes me up silently for a moment, hooded head intently fixed on the hand gripping the knife. Then, with speed enhanced even for High Fae, he’s reaching forward and grabbing my wrist as I stumble back and slam right into a tree.

It’s instinct: The punch I throw with my free hand, hitting him square in the throat, even as my heel comes down on the top of his foot. He grunts like it hurts, but doesn’t move, doesn’t let up on the grip he keeps on my wrist.

“Where’d you get this scar?” He drags a finger over the top of my hand, where I’ve got a scar shaped like an eight point star. 

“Get off me!” I shout as I try to wrench my hand free of his grip.

If his men hear, they don’t come running. There is no one here to save me--not that there has been anyone to save me in a long time anyway.

He’s wearing gloves, but with the hand not maintaining a vice on my wrist, he pushes the leather back enough to reveal a matching scar on the back of his own hand. 

All thought eddies from my mind. 

This can’t be real.

He takes the knife from my hand as if it was being held by a toddler, but much to my surprise, he slides it right back into its sheath at my hip. The move lets him lean in, large body hovering over mine. I still can’t see a glimpse of his face beneath the hood. 

“You’re my mate,” he says, voice a reverent whisper.

Mate. My heart hammers in my chest at the word, as if something beneath my skin is coming to life at the realization. The power that lies distant and untouched with me stirs, a large beast poking its head out of the den after a long hibernation. Having a mate is most women's dream--was my own, once upon a time, before the world went to hell--but not like this, not him. My world had gone to hell because of him. 

The Mother truly hates my guts.

“I’m not your anything,” I snarl as I get a hand on his broad chest and push. He’s nothing but solid muscle beneath my palm. When pushing gets me nowhere, I make a fist and hit him a good couple times. “Now let go of me, you brute!”

He chuckles, low and rich, as if this is all very amusing. “No. It’s not safe out here. You’re coming with me.”

I’d rather be eaten by the kelpie. “The hell I am!” But before I can find a way to fight him, as useless as my attempts have been thus far, he wraps a strong arm around my waist and all but tosses me into the saddle.

I reach for my hunting knife again, but a gloved hand hovers over my own, even as his other arm snakes around me to grab the reins. “Easy, mate,” he purrs in my ear. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Despite myself, that voice, so close to my ear, his body warm and solid behind me, a shiver runs down my spine. “You’re fucking kidnapping me, you bastard!” I snarl, because there’s no way I’m just going along with this. “And I’m not your mate! I don’t even believe in mates.”

“You will,” he assures as he kicks his horse into moving back into the fog.

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