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c-e-d-dreamer · 7 months ago

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Top Shelf Love: Prologue

A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU. For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.

The city that never sleeps indeed.

The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.

“Nesta! You finally made it!”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.

So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.

“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.

“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.

“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.

“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.

Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.

Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.

But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.

“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”

“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”

It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”

“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”

“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”

“At least they make the playoffs.”

Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”

“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”

“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.

“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”

“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.

“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.

“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”

Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.

“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.

Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.

“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.

“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.

“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”

“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”

Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”

“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.

“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”

“Emerie and Gwyn did.”

Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.

It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’

Cassian Valdarez.

Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.

Nesta had done a lot of staring.

Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.

“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.

“And what?”

“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”

Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”

“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”

“Feyre, don’t you think—”

“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”

Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.

Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.

“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.

Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.

He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.

“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”

“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”

“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”

Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.

The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.

Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?

“You know what they say. No time like the present.”

“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”

Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”

Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”

“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”

Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”

“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”

“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.

“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”

Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.

She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.

Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.

She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.

“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.

Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”

Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.

“Wait. Where are the keys?”

“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”

Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.

And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #hockey cassian #top shelf love #my fic

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 years ago

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Begged & Borrowed Time (ix, ao3)

(Chapter nine: Cassian goes below the wall to surprise Nesta with a visit, but it only ends in bloodshed. Literally.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

It had been a week.

Seven full days since Cassian had felt Nesta’s hand slip in with his own, her fingers brushing against his knuckles. Since he’d kissed that hand wreathed in mist— and kissed it twice, like he was starving and a single kiss wasn’t enough, wasn’t anywhere near enough to calm the erratic beating of his heart.

Seven days— and as the sun set over Velaris, turning the sky a beautiful, blushing pink, Cassian made up his mind. With the moon overhead just a pale shadow, barely there in the rose-petal sky, he looked out over the city he’d fought for so long to protect and felt certainty in his bones, thrumming in his blood as he decided— he was going beneath the wall tomorrow.

Because it had been seven days since he’d made his way back to Velaris, shielding the memory of Nesta’s touch like a candle flame in a breeze, and every night since, he’d lain in his bed at the House of Wind and let that fire consume him— let it burn and burn and burn until he was nought but ashes, desperate to be set alight again.

And as he stood in the House of Wind dining room, looking down to the sprawling city below him, he felt the heat still building in his chest, what had once been embers now a roaring, raging inferno. His siphons pulsed in answer, as if they, too, could feel it. The draw to her, that insatiable pulling. That insistent, ravenous tug that had him desperate - so achingly, achingly desperate - to kiss her hand again.

To kiss more than her hand.

The fire in his chest blazed, as it had done since the moment he’d left her on that road bathed in fog, and even though he’d hardly been idle the last seven days… Gods, there wasn’t a thing he could do, a place he could go, where she wasn’t dominating his every thought, stealing his every breath even though a wall and thousands of miles lay between them.

So— yes, he was going below the wall tomorrow, and there wasn’t a soul in this city that could stop him.

And even though, ostensibly, he was going to check for a reply to either of the letters they’d sent to the queens… quietly, silently, he hoped and he prayed that when he arrived at the Archeron manor tomorrow, the Mother would take pity on him and align his visit up with one of Nesta’s. Have her visiting her sister at the exact moment he knocked on their door. He prayed he’d find her there, that she’d let him walk her along that distant, isolated little road one more time.

With his mind solidly and pleasantly made up, Cassian let out a soft hum, sliding his hands into his pockets. As the setting sun streamed through the wide windows of the House, Cassian let a trembling optimism take him over, let himself hope, as the golden glow danced over the table set for two.

Only two— because four days after Cassian’s parting from Nesta, an invitation had arrived from the Summer Court, written in gold ink and good faith. An invitation that was to make thieves and liars out of Cassian’s High Lord and Nesta’s sister both. Chasing one half of the Book of Breathings, Rhys had taken Feyre - and, to Cassian’s chagrin, Amren - over the Summer border, and since Azriel was still on the continent chasing the second half… Mor had been left in charge of Velaris, and Cassian left with nothing and nobody to stop him crossing the wall tomorrow.

And right on cue, as if his thoughts had summoned her, Mor’s footsteps sounded in the hallway. As the light died away, Cassian caught the scent of her perfume a heartbeat before she opened the door, heard her soft humming a breath before she turned the handle.

“Hello,” she said brightly, pushing the dining room door open on silent hinges as the table for two became suddenly weighed down with food and wine. As the only two members of the Inner Circle left in Velaris, the House was, apparently, spoiling them— laying out a veritable feast for their dinner every night without fail, and tonight was no exception. Cassian caught sight of a bottle of red wine, stoppered with cork and sealed with thick wax, and raised an eyebrow as he lifted it by the neck.

“Rhys will be furious,” he commented lightly, eyes glinting as he raised the bottle of one of Rhys’ rarer, more expensive vintages. Plucked from the depths of his wine cellar, no doubt— right from one of the shelves lining the back wall, the bottles so rarely touched, so preciously hoarded.

Mor pulled out a chair and lifted her empty glass for Cassian to fill, a smirk cutting across her face as Cassian sank into a chair of his own and reached for the corkscrew.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He felt an answering smile on his own lips as he cut through the wax and worked the cork free, but as it came loose with a pop that echoed in the hush of the House, he looked over at Mor and felt that smile stumble, felt it drop a little as—

When are you going to talk about how you tease Mor to hide whatever it is you feel for her?

Feyre’s words - five days old, now - echoed in his mind, came back to him as he filled Mor’s glass.

When are you going to talk about how you sent that note to Tamlin, Cassian had asked— days ago, before the invitation had arrived from Summer, when he and Feyre had been training and he’d found himself suddenly needing to ask, needing to know, just how much of Feyre’s heart Rhys had monopolised. How much she was willing to leave behind for him.

As though the heart of one Archeron sister might reflect another— as though Feyre’s leaving Tamlin behind might somehow be relevant.

Stupid, really.

He hadn’t thought it through. Had been too lost in Feyre’s damned sister to think it through, and then Feyre had… snapped. Snapped and asked him about Mor, as though she thought she were hitting a nerve, and all he could do was hold up his palms and let the Cursebreaker hit him over and over and over again, until all of her anger, all of her grief and pain, had leeched away, leaving nothing behind but her tears and his bruised palms.

And as Feyre’s fists had connected with his hand, all Cassian had been able to think was— It’s not Mor. And it hasn’t been for a long time.

But— he couldn’t tell Feyre that, could he? What should he have said, as Feyre pummelled her fists into his outstretched hand?

I kissed the back of your sister’s hand the other day Feyre, and I haven’t thought of anything else since. I tease Mor not because she’s the one that I want, but because she’s the opposite, and the moment I met your sister… I think I found whatever it was that I had hoped, once, to find in Mor. What I wanted to find in her when I was seventeen.

As Cassian cut into the chicken that had materialised on his plate, he cast a wry glance across to the table to Mor, to her golden hair and beautiful face. Gods— if Feyre hadn’t managed to land a punch before, she would after that, wouldn’t she? Cassian had only laughed and said it was old news, because how could he explain to her that what she thought she saw when he looked at Mor wasn’t longing or unrequited love— it was Cassian trying desperately to get a handle on how it was Nesta that had taken root inside his mind.

As Mor raised a toast to something Cassian didn’t hear, he thought of Feyre, how she’d punched his palm until his hand turned numb.

She’d needed it, and as Rhys had shrouded her in darkness, Cassian had slipped away to Azriel and watched as his brother tilted Feyre’s face up to the sun, the tracks left by her tears glistening on her cheeks in the morning light. Cassian had turned away, the moment almost too intimate to witness.

Because he’d had a conversation with Rhys, too.

When you get back, we’ll talk, Rhys had said, and when Cassian returned from Velaris that day, still feeling the weight of Nesta’s fingers against his palm, still feeling the warmth of her against his lips, he’d found his brother sitting on the roof-top patio of the town house, cradling a whiskey like it was a lifeline.

Tell me, Cassian had said, and as Rhys sighed beneath a sky scattered with stars… He did.

As Mor spoke animatedly, her face alight with laughter, Cassian felt like he was still on that roof. That he’d never really left— that Rhys was still telling him how Feyre was the light to his darkness, how under the mountain, he’d risked everything to save her, screaming her name as her bones snapped. Cassian had listened in silence then, but when Rhys was done, when Cassian returned to the House of Wind, he knew that if it were Nesta…

He’d have died screaming Nesta’s name the way Rhys almost died screaming Feyre’s, and as the food and the wine diminished now, he found himself utterly unable to carry on pretending— to keep acting as though there were nowhere else he’d rather be, as though there weren’t another soul - another heart - battling for residency within his chest.

So as Mor finished her food and picked up her wine, Cassian placed his own empty glass down on the table and sat back in his chair, letting his wings stretch around the mahogany as he adjusted his shoulders.

As casually as he could manage, he said, “I’m going below the wall tomorrow.”

“What?” Mor asked, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown as she tilted her head. “Why?”

Her golden hair fell over her shoulder as she studied him in silence, as though trying to find the answer to her question on his face. He kept his expression blank, his shoulders even and his posture easy as she roved over him with those searching eyes, and it was a long, long moment before she drew back and settled against the carved back of her own chair, cradling her wine glass in her palm.

Whatever she saw, whatever she gleaned from the look in his eyes, all she said was, “Az is going next week. On his way back from the continent.”

Cassian only shrugged.

“If the human queens have sent a reply, we can’t afford to leave their letter sitting there for a week until Az picks it up,” he pointed out, feeling the solid logic of his argument even as he recognised it for what it was— an excuse.

And despite that logic, Mor frowned still. As though she saw it for what it was, too.

“I doubt it, Cass,” she said warily, dragging a finger idly around the rim of her glass, making it sing. The humming was the only thing that broke the silence between them, and as Cassian shrugged again, irreverent and easy, he plucked up the bottle from the centre of the table and poured himself another glass of Rhys’ rare wine.

“What’s the harm in checking?”

“Rhys has already written to Feyre’s sister,” Mor pointed out, tipping her glass forward as she fixed him with her stare. “Elain isn’t expecting us until next week.”

“So?”

“So you’ll be turning up unannounced to the home of a woman engaged to a fae hunter,” Mor said incredulously. She set her glass down on the table, looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes as she shook her head. “What if her fiancé is there?”

“You know, there’s this little thing called a glamour—”

Mor cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Cassian asked, giving her a rakish grin as he plucked up his own wine from the table, swilling the dark red liquid as he did. He lifted it up towards her as though it were a toast, tilting his head as he said, languidly, “Don’t you think I can handle myself below the wall?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think any trip below the wall is dangerous. You know they have ash arrows down there, Cass.”

“They can only hit me if they can see me,” he shrugged. “And they can’t.”

Mor only glared in answer, taking up her wine once again and drinking deeply, crimson staining her lips as she lowered her glass. Cassian sighed and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing. There’s nothing for me to do here— nothing in Windhaven either, not with Rhys in Summer and Azriel on the continent. How can I plan a war when I don’t know what Azriel’s found out? How can I craft contingency plans when I don’t know what Rhys will be bringing back from Summer?” Another shake of his head, and Mor dropped her gaze to her lap as the truth of his words settled. Cassian swallowed as he murmured, “I can go to the mortal lands, just in case the gods have decided to give us a break and send us some luck. If there’s a letter, we’ll have it tomorrow.”

Silence.

A beat of silence echoed, and then Mor dragged her finger round the rim of her glass again, the only sound between them the gentle, musical hum the movement elicited. Cassian fixed her with his most open, honest stare, and when she met his eye… She sighed, but whether it was in acquiescence or apprehension, he couldn’t tell.

He only raised one eyebrow, tilted his head and said, again, with a finality that brooked absolutely no argument, “As soon as day breaks tomorrow, I’m going below the wall.”

***

I’d kill him in a heartbeat.

Nesta listened to the soft rasp of her sewing needle as it passed through fabric— tried and failed to focus on the whisper of the thread pulling taut, the cloak draped over her lap, and the new lining she was stitching to the inside. Tried— but with every tug, every rasp, she felt as though part of her remained on that road from seven days ago, blanketed in a fog so dense she’d almost forgotten the world beyond existed.

She looked down at the panels of the old dress she had cut into strips, the new lining she was binding to her cloak, and though she tried to focus only on her stitches, on the sharp end of her needle, she heard his voice in her mind, saw the soft smile as he knocked his shoulder into hers.

Witch— she remembered the way his wing had extended behind her, spanning her shoulders in a gesture that was almost protective, even as he called her a witch and she called him a brute.

And his kiss—

Nesta felt the phantom touch of that kiss even now, still burning on the back of her hand even though seven full days had come and gone.

She could almost convince herself that, should she look down at her skin, she’d see some imprint left there. Some marker where his lips had brushed her knuckles— because that simple little touch had marked her soul, left an incision on her heart, and it was ludicrous - really, truly ludicrous - that there should be no physical sign of it. No tangible reminder of the way his fingers had touched hers, the way he had kissed the back of her hand, the chasteness of it undercut by the look in his eyes— filled with yearning and longing and want.

Nesta’s hand had been kissed oh, so many times over the years. At balls and society gatherings— where eligible young men would take her hand and kiss her fingers as a gesture of good will, of greeting or farewell. But never - never - had she still been thinking about a single one of those kisses a week later.

Never.

She didn’t know how, but somehow the politest of gestures, the most innocent of touches, had been transformed— there was nothing polite, nothing innocent, about the way Cassian had kissed her hand, and there had been nothing polite or innocent about the way Nesta’s blood had heated the moment his lips brushed her skin, either.

And gods save her, as Nesta sat in the parlour of the Mandray house, sewing an old dress into her even-older cloak, she wanted to let him kiss her again.

Her thread hissed as she pulled it through the wool, her needle shining as it broke through and met the sunlight on the other side. As her needle plunged through the cloak again and again - a steady, numbing monotony - she thought of her old dress and her thin cloak. How the new lining would only keep her a fraction warmer on freezing winter roads, and how there were other ways of keeping warm. Better ways.

Those curious red stones Cassian wore at his shoulders and his hands and his chest and his knees… Nesta thought of how they let off a kernel of heat, like coals right off a fire. She thought, too, of how he’d stopped the wind. Some kind of shield he’d conjured, making him master of the elements on that misty, wooded road from her father’s estate. By his side, the wind didn’t bite her. The cold didn’t touch her. He was warmth and shelter, and as she drew her thread tighter and tighter and tighter… Nesta wished she could cast aside the cloak altogether, and rely only on his heat forever.

A silly little fantasy, really, but as she sat in the silence Nesta let herself be lost in it. Just for a moment— for one fleeting heartbeat, she let herself be carried away.

By the window, Adara hissed.

A sharp sound, pained and bitter, that pulled Nesta from her reverie as she looked up to her mother in law, seated by the window and stitching her husband’s shirts. Blood bloomed on her fingertip, staining the white cotton crimson as she scowled at the needle that had pricked her, and Nesta wondered whether she, too, had been lost in a fantasy.

If she, too, had been thinking of someone other than the man who put a ring on her finger. Thinking of lands far away, rooms so far removed from this parlour that they might as well have belonged to another world entirely.

Setting aside both shirt and needle, Adara reached for a scrap of cotton discarded in the sewing basket, wrapping it around her finger to staunch the bleeding. When Nesta asked if she was alright, she only nodded, and glared once more at the shirt she’d set down.

Nesta wondered why she even bothered.

Why she made shirts and stitched buttons, shedding her own blood to keep the clothes on her husband’s back, when all he gave her in return was bruises. Quietly, viciously, Nesta hoped Adara had left the stitches loose. Hoped the shirt would tear, split at the seams when the bastard was in the woods, out in the cold.

She might have lingered longer on that thought— the idea of her father-in-law and his sons, shivering in the snow when their seams gave way. Might have let it bring her some small degree of comfort, let it curve her lips into an unforgiving smile— but before she could, the door to the parlour was opened, letting in a bitter draught as Nesta’s own husband stomped his way inside, his boots heavy on the wooden floor.

Adara looked up at his entrance, still clasping a roll of cotton around her bleeding finger, but her son didn’t even seem to notice his mother and her small injury by the window. The woman smiled, but Nesta could have sworn it was a smile filled with more grief than love— with a sadness that Nesta suspected came from years and years of watching Tomas grow into a man exactly like his father.

Tomas only came to stand before Nesta, grey light silhouetting his folded arms and the tension in his shoulders. The cut of his clenched jaw and the flat look in his eyes made her want to sigh, the emptiness inside her growing so vast it suddenly threatened to swallow her whole, and the only thing - the only thing - that kept her from drowning, from dipping beneath the surface of that void and letting it consume her, was the way her hand still burned, the ghost of Cassian’s kiss still lingering on her fingers.

“Elain wasn’t at the estate,” Tomas announced bluntly, as if that should mean something— as if he thought he’d figured something out, found something to be vindicated by. His eyes dropped to the cloak in Nesta’s lap, the needle in her hand, as he looked at her and glared.

“Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he pressed, his voice low and drawn out, as though he were speaking to a child— speaking to someone too stupid to understand. “Elain wasn’t at the estate when you visited.”

Nesta wanted to say, And it’s taken you a week to figure that out, has it?

Wanted to roll her eyes and say, in a voice thick with sarcasm, How clever you are, Tomas. What excellent instincts you must have, to catch me in a lie seven days too late.

She only huffed instead.

“If you’re here to accuse me of something, speak plainly.” She plucked up her needle and her cloak again, picking up her stitching exactly where she’d left it when Adara had pricked her finger. “I’m in no mood for riddles.”

His eyes flashed— irritation burning behind the blue she’d once thought pretty in the sunlight. His lip curled too, as if he hadn’t really expected her to speak. As if it was an affront to him, somehow, that she dared to respond when he spat at her.

“Greysen has just been,” Tomas said tightly, dropping his arms only to clench his fists at his sides, as though the grim sense of justice he’d had, that sense of retribution, had evaporated, replaced only by irritation and anger. “He wants to buy firewood in bulk for his father’s manor. I asked him how the wedding planning was going, and he mentioned that he’d spent all day last week with your sister choosing flowers and other pretty little frivolities.”

He practically spat the last bit— the words venomous, sharp on his tongue. As though it were the greatest crime in the world for Elain to want flowers at her wedding.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as her fingers tightened on her needle, the urge to plunge the needle through his neck growing more potent with every sneer that crossed his face.

“So— where were you? Because your sister wasn’t even at your father’s estate when you visited.”

He folded his arms back over his chest, and Nesta set her sewing to the side, placing her needle atop her cloak before she really did put it through his neck. Unbidden, she thought of how Cassian had offered to kill him.

I’d kill him in a heartbeat, he’d said. A promise— a vow, whispered to her in the fog.

Maybe one day she’d take him up on it.

“Elain wasn’t at the estate,” Nesta answered flatly, barely blinking as she met her husband’s eye. “Mrs Laurent told me she was with Greysen when I arrived, but since it was cold and the fog was gathering, she let me inside for a while to wait for her.”

Not a lie.

Not technically.

Mrs Laurent had told Nesta that Elain was out. No matter that Nesta had known already— that Elain had written ahead and asked Nesta to show up at the estate. She’d burned that note the moment she’d read it, and every word she spoke now was true— in the strictest sense, at least.

She refused to think of Cassian, waiting for her on her father’s lawn.

Refused to think of how, when he kissed her hand in farewell, his touch had been almost reverent.

Practically devout as his lips brushed her knuckles.

She refused to think of how his eyes had met hers the second time he lowered his mouth to her hand— wouldn’t think of how he’d looked up at her from beneath thick eyelashes and looked as though he wanted that moment to last forever.

Even now, sitting in the parlour and lying to her husband’s face, Nesta felt her heart stumble, and had to drag her mind away from that moment on the road.

She let it be swallowed by the fog— let it be forgotten as Tomas stared down at her, the look in his eyes so drastically, drastically different from the look that had been in Cassian’s.

But Nesta didn’t look away.

Didn’t balk as her husband scanned her face, searching for something— some evidence of a lie. She only blinked mildly, blandly, and waited for him to realise that it was a wasted effort. That there was nothing he could say that would get her to confess the truth of what had happened seven days ago— what words had been spoken in her father’s sitting room, what glances - what touches - had been exchanged on that road.

Nothing in the world would convince her to give that up— and so she kept her secrets, tucked them in her chest, as though they were precious to her.

Eventually, Tomas huffed.

He sighed so heavily that the sound bounced off the empty stone hearth, and with one last look - one last, dissatisfied twist of his mouth - he turned for the door, not bothering to glance to his mother, to offer her a word of farewell. His steps as heavy and as obnoxiously loud on the floorboards as they had been when he arrived, Nesta’s husband almost stormed from the parlour, only pausing when he reached the door.

His fingers on the handle, Tomas stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“I need a new axe head,” he tossed, as though it were an afterthought. “If you’re going into the village today, pick me up a new one.”

Nesta didn’t deign to respond, and when Tomas left, slamming the door behind him, she looked up— looked across to her mother-in-law.

Adara had turned back to her stitching, but her mouth was turned downwards, almost mournful, and when, briefly, she looked up… Nesta could have sworn there were tears lining her eyes.

***

Elain was alone.

Cassian fought against the disappointment that settled in his gut, ignored the sinking in his heart, as he looked through the ground floor window and found Elain sitting in the morning room, on a satin sofa he couldn’t even begin to guess the value of… alone.

In her hands was an embroidery hoop, a delicate little square of fabric stretched taut between its rings, and he almost stood and marvelled as Elain picked out pretty little patterns with her needle and thread. A handkerchief, Cassian supposed, taking in the lace edges— the most ordinary of things made beautiful by her stitching.

He might have wondered at it, at that innate, human, desire to make even the ordinary beautiful— had he not recognised the patterned carpet and the polished table.

Elain sat alone in the morning room, and as Cassian raised a fist to tap on the glass, he could think only of the last time - the only time - he’d been in that room. When, left alone, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by wealth, Cassian had gotten his first glimpse of the real Nesta. The Attor’s attack had been a blessing in disguise— not only had it proven to Rhys that Feyre was being hunted, it had given Cassian that moment where Nesta let her mask drop, the moment where she had asked him for his name.

And as he looked through the glass, still picturing her standing before that window, back straight and shoulders back… he could have almost convinced himself that she was there. That she was real, not just a mirage conjured by his aching heart.

But Elain was alone, and the disappointment that coursed through him in her absence was visceral, so potent that he could barely feel anything else. He’d let himself believe, on the way down here, that he’d glance through that window and find her taking tea with her sister, and with the sight of Elain alone burning even when he closed his eyes…

Cassian sighed, and let it go.

Dropping his glamour, he tapped gently on the window, inhaling deeply and letting the crisp, cold air steal away some of his dismay.

Elain startled, and Cassian lifted a finger to his lips as she looked towards the windows. Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly - after all, she is an Archeron, he thought wryly - and then she was moving, setting aside her embroidery and making her way to the sash windows, a vision in pink chiffon as her slippered feet carried her almost silently to where he waited.

Her mouth fell open in surprise as she opened the window, lifting it up and leaning over the sill, brushing the flowers in the box outside as she came close enough to whisper.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, her voice light and lilting even if it was whispered.

Cassian swore he heard a hint of entertainment in her tone, a touch of bemusement, and as she tilted her head, he couldn’t help but find Nesta in the sweep of her jaw. In her cheekbones and the glint in her eye. Elain might have Feyre’s hair, but so much of her was so remarkably Nesta, too, and as he looked at the middle Archeron, Cassian was reminded all over again of the sister he’d really wanted to see today.

The sister he’d flown miles and miles for, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d be here when he turned up.

Cassian only offered Elain a grin, cheeky and lopsided as he said, “I was just passing.”

Elain let out a soft, musical laugh as Cassian looked over her shoulder. When he was satisfied that Mrs Laurent wasn’t about to come bursting through the door, that none of the household staff were about to come and check on the voices drifting from the morning room, he added, “I came to see if there was any reply to our letter yet. I’m sorry for not sending word ahead.”

“There’s been nothing,” Elain said with a shake of her head. Her curled hair fell over her shoulder in a golden-brown curtain, and her eyebrows drew together in a frown as her lip twisted. “Should we have heard something by now? They will have received the first letter at least, surely?”

Her voice was uncertain, almost worried, and Cassian smiled softly as he shook his head.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “Perhaps not. I only came on the off chance.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “It’s a long way to travel for an off chance.”

Cassian gave her some non-comital sound, something nonchalant and irreverent as that light, breezy smile bloomed on his face. Elain’s eyes turned curious, turned searching as she tilted her head, pressing her lips together as though fighting a smile of her own. He could have sworn there was a spark there, in the eyes the exact same shade as Feyre’s— a spark of recognition as she noted the expression that flickered across his face.

“There was a note that said to expect one of you next week,” Elain said lightly, but that spark still burned in her eyes, and there was something in her gaze, something that said she saw through his excuse as easily as Mor had.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Az,” he said mildly. “He’s going to drop by next week.”

Elain hummed, resting her forearms on the painted windowsill.

Suddenly, Cassian wondered at her— the woman soon to be a fae hunter’s wife, smiling at him over her flower boxes, when her fiancé would have her put an ash bolt through his heart.

Was there something in their blood, he wondered, something that made these Archeron sisters a marvel all their own?

“I should…” he began, pushing away from the window, from the flowers in their neat little box on that painted sill. “I should be going, then.”

Elain gave him a small nod as her lips parted into an easy smile, but as her fingers curled around the window, ready to slide it shut, Cassian couldn’t help it— he couldn’t leave without knowing, and he found himself speaking before he could think, before he could stop himself.

“Will Nesta be visiting today?”

Such an idle question— innocent and casual, but his heart thumped in his chest, battering against his ribs, and in that moment Cassian could have sworn Elain could hear it. Could hear the way it had started to pound the moment he’d spoken Nesta’s name, and the question wasn’t idle at all— it was vital to him, pivotal.

And as Elain looked at him curiously, he wondered whether she’d noticed.

“No,” she said, shaking her head as those eyes drifted to the siphon at his chest, glimmering in the sunlight. “It’s a market day today.”

She shrugged, and Cassian thought she’d leave it there. That she’d close that window and go right back to her embroidery, but after a moment of silence, she added, far too casually, “I imagine she’ll be in the village for most of the day.”

He almost let himself believe that Elain was telling him directly, deliberately where he could find her sister. Like she really hadn’t bought the excuse about the letter.

And whatever she’d seen on his face when he’d spoken Nesta’s name… Whatever it was that had flickered in his eyes, what had set his siphons gleaming…

Elain had noticed it, and as Cassian cleared his throat, thanking her as though he had been asking out of pure curiosity alone, he didn’t miss the way she bit her lip to mask her smile, or how her eyes were glimmering with laughter.

He only cursed lightly under his breath as he wove his glamour anew— and headed right for the market in the village square.

***

The cobbles were uneven beneath his boots as he walked, invisible, through the village Nesta called home.

Through the village Feyre had once called home, too.

The scent of fresh bread hung thick in the air as he passed a bakery, the scent of ale as he passed a tavern. The village was all wooden buildings and thatched roofs, thick glass windows and hobnailed doors, and as Cassian wandered, searching for the main square, he wondered which of these shops were Nesta’s favourites. Which ones she visited regularly, which shopkeepers knew her name.

He passed the blacksmith— and paused, finding himself fixated on the anvil and the hammer. His attention snagged on a sword in the fire, on another on the anvil being beaten into shape by a man wearing a leather apron. There were blacksmiths in Illyria, of course— and it astounded Cassian that the process was the same. That the fire was the same, and the anvil, and the hammer, and the steel at the end. All of it the same and yet…

Cassian had marvelled at Elain stitching flowers on her handkerchief, and as he watched the blacksmith curl the molten steel into a sword’s hilt, he marvelled all over again at mortals and their capacity for creation. Aided by no magic, no immortal strength or endless decades of life in which to perfect their craft… life beneath the wall bred resilience, and Cassian wanted to laugh as he watched the blacksmith’s hammer come down upon the blade, sparks flying as it was beaten into shape.

What had she done to him?

What had she done, to have him watching blacksmiths and noble women embroidering and admiring it? Seeing their similarities as much as their differences?

Cassian shook his head as he moved on from the smithy, wondering where he’d find her as he made his way down a gently sloping hill. Gone was the pretence that he was here for anything but Nesta, that he was wandering these streets searching for anything but her storm-grey eyes, her furious glare, the smile she seemed to save for him alone— that barely-there, hidden smile.

He walked until he found the market square, a wide space filled with wooden tables and carts. There was smoke in the air and the sound of coins exchanging hands, and Cassian could smell spices and leather, salt and fresh fruit. There were tables laden with dyed wools and silks, others holding shining silverware and brass. Wealthy merchants had solid tables displaying their wares, and the poorest…

The poorest laid out their stock on rugs on the ground, and as Cassian walked slowly past a man selling carved wooden fruit bowls, he remembered the tale Feyre had told about her father. Had he laid out his carvings like this too, once? On a sheet in a market square?

Cassian might have taken pity on the man and bought one of those bowls if he weren’t glamoured. Might have dropped a coin into his upturned hat regardless, if he’d been carrying anything but Night Court currency.

But he moved on, past a stall selling ale and fine wine. Past another selling pretty little coloured glass trinkets, wind-catchers that danced in the breeze, with bells and chimes that sang, and it was there, with the light reflecting off of stained glass, a spectrum in his eyes, that at last, Cassian found her.

Across the square, so far away and yet so, so tantalisingly close— Nesta stood at a stall selling candles, a woven basket over her arm, a brown-paper parcel in her hands.

He almost called out to her. Almost shouted her name.

He wanted to see the sun drifting across her face, wanted to see the spectrum of colour from that stall filled with glass reflected in her eyes— a prism caught in blue-grey, a sight so beautiful that just the thought of it had his steps quickening. But as Nesta veered away, empty handed, from that stall selling candles, Cassian couldn’t catch up, not as she headed for one of the bricks-and-mortar shops lining one side of the square.

As she opened the door to the apothecary, setting a small bronze bell ringing in her wake, Cassian cut through the crowds as quickly as he could given the bulk of his wings—but it wasn’t enough, and the door closed after her with Cassian still several feet behind. Left on the pavement outside, looking through panes of warped glass as Nesta was swallowed by the tall shelves inside, he waited.

Impatiently, tapping his foot and folding his arms, he waited until the next patron opened the door to the apothecary, allowing Cassian to tuck his wings in tight and slip in, unnoticed.

And once inside…

Once inside, Cassian stopped dead in the doorway.

The ceiling was a mass of stars.

Wooden slats painted black lined the ceiling, with constellations picked out in shimmering gold paint. Illuminated by gas lamps casting a softly golden glow, Cassian looked up at that ceiling of stars and smiled, because it felt like home, somehow. A little piece of the Night Court, all the way down here, below the wall.

He recognised some of those stars.

Long ago, he had learned to navigate by them, and now… Cassian felt something inside him stutter as he realised that even though the wall and thousands of miles separated them…

He and Nesta still looked up at the same sky. Still saw the same stars.

And as he passed beneath familiar constellations, the boards beneath his feet creaking, he realised that, though they might pray to different gods, when the sun set and the sky darkened… They looked up to the same heavens. Saw the same bursts of light in the sky, despite it all.

And as he passed by copper tubs filled with salts - for aching, for sleep, for pains - it was the most potent balm he’d ever known, soothing something inside him he hadn’t known had been rubbed raw.

Through the labyrinthine shelves and alleys constructed of wood and glass bottles, Cassian searched— and found Nesta, at last, in a nook at the back of the shop, hidden by tall shelves filled with tonic bottles. His senses were drowning in aniseed and honey, almost overwhelmed by the scent of mustard seed and wax polish, but beneath it all… Beneath it, he could smell Nesta. He scented lavender as he heard the beating of her heart, following the sound of it through the forest of shelves— the rhythm so familiar to him now that he would know it anywhere.

His own heart fell in time as he came close enough to press his lips against her ear and whisper, “There you are, princess.”

Nesta almost dropped the bottle of tincture she held in her hands, her fingers turning slack as she inhaled sharply, turning around with wide eyes that had Cassian grinning as his hand darted out, folding her fingers back around the bottle before she could let it fall.

Shock and surprise warred with irritation and indignation as fury danced across her face, and it was the single most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen. Worth the hours spent flying from Velaris, worth the seven days he’d spent agonising over the memory of her.

“Are you insane?” Nesta hissed, hauling him closer and pushing him further into that shadowed little alcove.

His wings brushed the edges of the shelves on either side, and Cassian suppressed a shiver as the membrane scratched against the wood, but it didn’t matter, because Nesta was standing beneath a ceiling filed with stars, her attention entirely, solely, fixed upon him.

“Don’t act like you’re not pleased to see me,” he drawled, letting his grin widen as her scowl deepened.

Tartly, she drew away, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he countered, tsking as that barely-there smile, that Nesta smile, pulled at the corner of her lips.

“I’m an exquisite liar,” she insisted, and though Cassian was about to agree— about to tell her she was exquisite, he only shrugged instead, and leaned closer, satisfaction burning in his veins as she shivered.

Had she been thinking of nothing but that kiss for the past week, too?

His gaze dropped to her hand, still wrapped around that bottle. Had she been thinking of his lips on her skin the way he had? Given the way she shivered, Cassian dared to think that the answer was yes.

“I don’t believe you,” he added, his voice low. He hummed as Nesta huffed again, and with another glare that could bring even the fiercest to their knees, Nesta slammed the bottle of tonic onto the nearest shelf and picked up the basket she’d placed by her feet.

“What if someone sees you?”

“I’m glamoured,” he shrugged.

Nesta shook her head, but as she looked around and found absolutely nobody in the vicinity, some of the tension leaked out of her. Her breathing steadied, and though her heart continued to pound, Cassian could tell, instinctively, that it wasn’t racing in panic or fear. It was racing because his was racing too, beating out a rhythm in his chest.

For a breath, there was silence. Nothing but a quiet hush as Nesta looked up at him, blinking slowly as irritation melted away, and something went tight between them as her eyes locked with his— a kind of breathless wonder, as though, in that shadowy little alcove crowned with painted stars, neither of them were entirely certain this was real.

Cassian reached out, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek as he breathed, so softly that his words were but the gentlest, quietest touch, “Hello, Nes.”

Nesta let out a breath of a laugh, one that huffed with surprise - delighted surprise, he thought - as she hit him in the shoulder with the flat of her palm. She turned and walked away, heading for the front of the shop and the door with the little bronze bell, but she’d only taken a handful of steps before she turned.

Before she looked over her shoulder and offered him a tentative smile, the words leaving her in a gentle whisper as she said,

“Hello, Cassian.”

***

Outside, Nesta headed down a narrow alleyway, leading to the other side of the village. It was quiet and deserted, nobody but the weather-worn bricks bearing witness as Cassian followed her down that tight, winding path. There was a new lining to her cloak, he noticed, and though her basket looked heavy, there was colour in her cheeks— a light blush that he dared to hope he’d put there.

Still, she carried that brown paper parcel. A curious shape— large and flat and curved at one end, Cassian frowned as he watched her carry it.

“Let me,” he said, extending a hand as his steps fell in with hers. He nodded to the parcel and the basket as Nesta raised an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t think I can handle it myself?” she asked archly.

Cassian rolled his eyes, even as her stubbornness made his blood heat. “I think you’ve been carrying those around all day, and might like a break. They look heavy.”

She shrugged, and for a moment he thought that was the end of it, but then Nesta turned and handed both over without a word. Satisfied, Cassian gave her a winning smile as he turned the brown paper parcel in hand.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it sweetheart?”

She hissed, and Cassian only grinned wider, studying the parcel in his grip. It felt like steel, felt heavy, and he was about to ask when—

“Axe head,” Nesta explained. “Tomas chipped his last one.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “So tell him to get a new one himself.”

It had a solid weight to it, even though it came with no handle, and Cassian rather thought Nesta should have told her husband to piss off and carry a new one home himself if he needed one so badly. She looked like she might share the sentiment, but she shook her head.

“Gives me a chance to get away from the house,” she shrugged, and though her posture remained casual, her words were quiet. As though it were an admission it pained her to make.

Cassian felt his heart break. Felt it ache in the wake of her vulnerability, in the honesty she only ever seemed to deem him worthy of. He scowled down at the axe head and wished he could curse it somehow— wished he were one of the fae from human stories, fearsome and brutal and possessed of a cruel magic.

Maybe he’d turn Nesta’s husband into a toad.

Maybe he’d throw him to the creature that lived at the bottom of the House of Wind.

Feeling the weight of the axe in one hand and the basket in the other, Cassian pushed aside all thoughts of murdering her husband and said, instead, “Let me walk you home.”

He expected her to refuse him outright. To tell him she didn’t need an overgrown pigeon dogging her steps— but Nesta only blinked mildly, and huffed gently as she looked at the axe and the basket in Cassian’s hands.

“Will you take no for an answer?”

He grinned. “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she answered, rolling her eyes. That smile pulled at her lips again, the one she was trying to desperately hard to hide, and gods save him…

Cassian would go to the end of the world for that gentle, barely-there smile.

But Nesta only nodded to the road ahead and said, “It’s that way.”

And as Cassian took the first step along that dusty, rocky road, he heard her mutter something about being plagued by a a ridiculous bat. He grinned again, turning to face her and finding the sunlight drifting across her face, exactly the way he’d dreamed of in the market square.

“Witch,” he shot back, and this time… This time Nesta gave him a smile to rival his own.

***

The road grew more uneven underfoot, little more than a dirt track winding through the trees and Cassian knew, without needing her to say it, that Nesta was almost home. His hand tightened around the handle of her woven basket, as if reluctant to let go. Reluctant to say goodbye just yet.

In the distance, Cassian could see buildings.

With broken roof tiles and crumbling chimneys, he glimpsed a modest house nestled amongst the trees. It might have been considered nice once, with its small courtyard and two storeys— with its handful of windows and stone paving. Not anymore, but he took it all in nevertheless, noting the details of the place Nesta called home these days.

Or perhaps not— perhaps not the place she called home, given the way she stopped in the centre of the road and turned, holding her hand out for the basket and the brown-wrapped parcel, still several yards from that old, dilapidated house.

“You can go now.”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m glamoured, sweetheart. I’ll cary these right to your front door.”

Nesta’s heart kicked as she shook her head sharply, and this wasn’t how it had raced in the apothecary. This was different, with tension creeping into her shoulders and unease in her eyes, and as Cassian looked ahead, to where there was no gate barring the entrance - only two tall posts where a gate must have once stood - he felt her anxiety climbing as though it were his own. Her eyes darted over the road before them, over the small, squat building set apart from the main house, only a few feet past those gate-less posts.

A stable, given the scent of hay, but it was in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the place, possessed of a faded aura of gentility— a vanished nobility that had, apparently, dried up generations ago.

“Please,” Nesta said, her hands darting out and closing over the handle of her basket. She pulled, hard enough that he let it go, his eyebrows rising in surprise as that single word left her lips, heavy with something like desperation.

He kept hold of the axe.

“Nesta—”

“Just go, Cassian.” She shook her head, her eyes flitting between him, his face and his wings, and the house ahead— the courtyard and the front door. “Before someone sees you.”

“I told you, I’m glamoured.”

“And I can see through it,” Nesta hissed, her hand closing around the axe head he still carried. “How do you know nobody else can?”

“I’ve never met anybody who can see through a glamour,” he countered flatly, pulling the axe back as it yielded an inch into her grip. Quietly, he added, “Only you.”

She shook her head sharply. Her heartbeat kicked again, and suddenly she was yanking the axe from his grip, too quickly for him to adjust his grip, to move his palm away from the sharp edge. There was a tear as the sharp end cut through the brown paper, and as she pulled—

He felt the burn as the skin of his palm split open beneath the steel edge, the sharp kiss of the axe against his skin. He hissed as his blood welled, and suddenly it was spilling over his fingers and between his knuckles, from a cut so deep that were he human, he might well have been bleeding out already. Crimson stained his skin - stained hers - as it coated his hand, the axe, Nesta.

And through the pain, he heard Nesta gasp. Heard her heartbeat stumble and stutter and shake as she watched the blood spill from the wound she’d inflicted, and since he could feel it healing already, he mustered his best smile— his most cocksure, lazy grin.

As he cradled his bleeding palm in his other hand, he gave her a wink that had her huffing in incredulity and said, “If you wanted me to leave princess, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to maim me.”

***

Nesta almost dropped the axe altogether.

“I did ask you,” she bit out, her voice far less steady than she’d have liked.

She watched as the gash on his palm turned a vivid, violent red, and as she lunged forward, almost desperate to reach him, to see for herself that the wound wasn’t fatal, she almost dropped the damned axe that had cut him in the first place. Collecting her senses, she dumped it into the basket— likely squashing the bread she’d bartered twenty minutes for, risking shattering the eggs she’d only bought four of, because she couldn’t afford six.

But it didn’t matter— she didn’t think of it, not as Cassian’s blood welled on his hand, spilling into the hollow by his thumb. Guilt ran through her, and everything Nesta had been terrified of a moment ago - Tomas exiting the house, finding her on the road and, at best, talking ostensibly to herself, or at worst, seeing through Cassian’s glamour - faded, replaced by a sickness that spread like fire through her veins, leaving her unable to care about anything but that wound, unable to think of anything but his blood, his pain— the horror of it, and the way her own blood seemed to keen as each drop of his fell.

So much blood— flowing ruby-red from the slice on his palm, over the heel of his hand and to his wrist. Too much blood— the aching pulse in her own chest driving her almost to madness as she watched him grin, watched him wink at her as though it were nothing.

With fingers that were damn near trembling, Nesta reached for him, uncaring as his blood stained her hands. He let her take his bloodied hand in hers, let her examine the wound she’d dealt him.

Deep— so, so deep.

“I’ll stitch it,” she said quickly, wincing as she took in the ruined flesh of his palm.

“I’ll be fine, Nesta.”

“No, I should—”

“It’s healing already,” Cassian insisted, his far voice far softer, far gentler than it ought to have been. She’d just sliced his hand open with an axe, after all. He only tilted his head and gave her the kind of wicked, mischievous grin she ought to ignore. “Are you worried about me, princess?”

Nesta forced herself to snort as she let go of his hand.

“I’m only worrying about how I’ll bury your body should you drop down dead.” She gave him her sternest glare, but even as she watched, the flow of blood began to slow, and her racing heart slowed with it. He smirked, as if he could hear it. Perhaps he could, and it made her scowl all the more. “It would take me hours to dig your grave, especially with those ridiculous wings of yours.”

Cassian grinned still, like he’d forgotten he was still bleeding. It was slowing, yes— but crimson still seeped between his fingers.

Nesta shook her head sharply and, with one last glance at the wound, she grabbed hold of the arm that remained uninjured and pulled him forwards, her fingers curling in the leather of his sleeve as she pulled him through the empty stone pillars that had once housed a gate. She didn’t look back to see if there was a trail of blood left behind them, she only hauled him to the stable and pulled him inside, leaving the door ajar.

There were salves and bandages in there, set aside on a little wooden rack by the door. A small box filled with tincture and bandages, salves and needles for stitching. Housed with the horse brushes and leather polish, Nesta quickly found the small first aid kit, inhaling deeply to settle her breathing. The scent of hay mixed with the leather and cinnamon scent of him, and as her breath trembled in her throat, Nesta let it settle her. Let the sound of his steady breathing soothe the edge in her that had grown sharp and cutting the moment she’d watched his blood spill.

“Sit,” she said firmly, nodding to a three-legged stool sitting by the door. Briefly, Nesta wondered if it would even take his weight, but even though it creaked as Cassian lowered himself down, it seemed to hold. Nesta let out another breath, gathering a small jar and filling her hands with gauze and linen.

“Really, Nes, it’s—”

“You’re bleeding on my floor,” Nesta interrupted sharply, even though it wasn’t floor— not her stable, not her home.

Dropping to one knee, Nesta held out her hand expectantly. Cassian raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless, with a kind of exaggerated, sarcastic obedience, he placed his bloody hand in hers, palm facing the ceiling.

“It will heal before you know it,” he said as she cleared away the blood with a ball of rolled-up linen.

“It’s still an open wound,” Nesta pointed out archly, taking a fresh piece of linen when the first was stained crimson. “And I’m not having you bleeding all over the place.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have sliced my hand open on a blade, sweetheart.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so irritating,” she shot back, scowling as he laughed.

The sound of his laughter made something insider her feel lighter— the deep, rich sound of it reverberating through her own chest. When his blood was cleared, she reached for the small jar, blinking flatly as she unscrewed the lid.

It was her own concoction— salt and honey, to fight infection, and since he was being so damned infuriating, Nesta didn’t bother to warn him as she spread a thick layer of the salve over the still-bleeding cut. He hissed as the wound stung, but Nesta only raised a brow and gave him a look that said, what? Can’t handle a little antiseptic?

He scowled right back as though he’d heard her.

Nesta laid the salve on thick, and then laid a fresh piece of linen atop. Taking up the gauze, she began to wrap it around his palm, again and again and again, until it was wrapped tight, the bandage crisp and clean.

“Where did you learn this?” Cassian asked as she turned his hand over and tied a knot in the gauze, just beneath his shining red stone.

She shrugged. “My husband is a woodcutter.” Cassian frowned, and shrugged as if to say so?, but the movement jostled his hand, and Nesta scowled at him in silent admonishment. “Sometimes he gets splinters. Sometimes they get infected. That’s why there’s a first aid kit in here.”

Cassian scoffed. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have cared.”

Nesta let out a breath of laugh, ironic as she shook her head. “No,” she agreed, her fingers still lingering on the knot she’d tied, even though there was no need— even though she could have pulled away moments ago. “But it seemed a little counter-productive. To marry Tomas to save my sisters, only to have him die on me a week after the wedding. So a few days after we married, when he got a splinter so deep he almost called for a physician, I made sure there were supplies in here, and in the kitchen of the house too.” She shrugged and added, sardonically and not at all earnestly, “Mama always taught me that it was my duty as a wife to take care of my husband.”

Cassian snorted, then. “Bullshit.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, looking up at him from where she still kneeled by his side— the warrior perched on a stool far too small for him, the tips of his wings brushing the flagged stone of the stable floor as he kept his hand in hers.

Then, after a moment, he added quietly, “Your sister doesn’t seem to share your ideas about a woman’s place in the world.”

“Feyre wasn’t raised by my mother,” Nesta shrugged. “Mama never had the chance to get to her.”

She dropped her eyes to the bandages she’d wound around his hand, to the knot she’d tied off with a little bow— the bow her fingers still tugged at even now, as though she were hesitant to pull away, even though the job was done. When he remained silent, the air between them growing thick and taut, she looked up at him, finding his hazel eyes fixed on her, his beautiful face open in way she’d never expected from a creature from above the wall.

“I was raised all along to know that my worth lies only what I can offer a man,” she continued, her eyes caught up with his, her chest rising as the cadence of his breathing aligned entirely with hers.

He shook his head. “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Nesta tilted her head. “Then why did I have to marry Tomas to escape starvation in the first place?” She looked down at the bandages on his hand, at the bow she’d tied. “He only wants me for what I can give him.”

Cassian’s eyes darkened when she looked up at him next, and beneath her fingers, that red stone began to pulse.

“He’s a fool,” he said lowly, a touch of bitterness creeping into his tone, one that made her shiver.

Cassian’s bandaged hand twisted beneath her, her fingers brushing the gauze she’d just wrapped around the wound she’d given him. His fingers curled beneath hers as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her wedding band, his eyes drifting closed for a heartbeat as he felt the metal cold beneath his touch. Nesta felt it burn, felt the coolness of the ring stark against the heat of his skin, of his fingers beneath hers and his thumb dragging along the silver.

She should have pulled away.

Should have done so minutes ago, but his touch was something she didn’t want to be without, something she didn’t want to give up— not when she’d given up so much already. She looked into his eyes and knew he was all too aware that he should have pulled away by now, too. But he let his touch linger a little longer, his eyes dropping to where they were connected— such a simple touch, practically chaste in its innocence, and yet…

Nesta knew they should have pulled away by now— though neither of them wanted to.

He swallowed as he raised his gaze from their entwined hands and met her eyes. “I swear to you,” he whispered. “Anything you need, anything you want of me, all you have to do is ask. Name it and its yours.”

“What you could possibly give me?” Nesta asked, but her voice wasn’t as sharp as she’d intended. Wasn’t as cutting as she’d tried to make it— it was wry and bittersweet, as though she knew what she wanted was something she couldn’t take.

“Your husband’s head on a platter,” Cassian suggested with a shrug. “His brother’s, if you want. His father I’d do without you asking, but I’d kill him too.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles the way he’d done that day on the road— like he was a knight in a fairytale, swearing his allegiance.

“Anything you want,” he swore.

And she supposed it was a fairytale— of some kind, at least. The fae warrior, bleeding in her stable, stitched back together by her hand— the kind of romantic, wistful tales she read about in books she bought second-hand from the market.

And there must have been something in it, something in the way his blood had spilled and she’d cleaned it away. Some transformation, some transubstantiation, where suddenly Nesta found herself longing to ask for all of those things she shouldn’t. She wanted to let him make such pretty promises, wanted to let him kiss her hand as though she were the most precious thing in the world. She wanted to let him do it all, let him give her everything, but when she opened her mouth… There were no words.

Nothing she knew how to say, knew how to ask for.

All she had was, “What are you, my knight in shining armour? Plucked from the pages of a book?”

The lips she so desperately wanted to feel against her skin curved, a slight smile blooming on his face as he tilted his head. “If you want me to be,” he shrugged. “Do you like to read?”

Nesta hummed. “It’s the only escape I have, these days.”

His palm - the one she hadn’t sliced open - lifted, came to rest against her cheek. His thumb traced her cheekbone, his touch light and searching and yet searing her right to the bone. She leaned into it, that touch, letting her eyes drift closed.

And then— a shout from outside, bringing that beautiful, trembling moment crashing down, shattering it before she’d had a chance to savour it.

“Nesta.”

Her husband’s voice, calling across the courtyard, barking something about the stable door being left open, and if she was in there, to check the water trough for the single horse housed at the back of the ancient stone building. His voice broke whatever spell had been woven, cracked whatever peace she’d just found in Cassian’s hands, and suddenly Nesta was drawing away, his one hand dropping from her cheek, the other pulling free of her fingers.

His eyes darkened as she let go of his touch, as she lurched to her feet.

“I need to go,” she whispered.

Cassian blinked, and though he remained silent, she could have sworn she saw pain flicker in his eyes— the kind of pain that had been absent even when he’d been bleeding on the road. But Nesta ignored it, refused to linger on how her chest was aching, how a wrongness suddenly settled in her bones, urging her to turn back— to turn to him as though he were the sun, and she’d just fallen out of orbit.

Glancing to the door, Nesta took up her basket - damned axe head and all - and straightened her cloak. But before she left, she allowed herself one last look at him— the powerful warrior still seated on that tiny stool, the man who had been so utterly, utterly at her mercy, looking at her as though he wanted nothing more than to beg her to stay.

And she hoped he didn’t, because if he did—

Gods save her, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to say no.

So as she neared the door, Nesta paused. For just the briefest of moments, she paused. Turned to look at him over her shoulder and said, even though it hurt, “You can’t give me what I want, Cassian.”

She tried not to sound mournful or longing, but it crept into her tone anyway. She tried to ignore how every single nerve in her body was begging her, pleading with her, to turn back, to let him take her away. Far, far away.

Instead, she didn’t wait for an answer before she stole out of that stable altogether, and when she found Tomas standing in the courtyard, as the sight of him made her recoil, she ignored the pulling in her chest— ignored whatever it was that was tugging her back towards that stable, as though she’d left her entire world behind.

And though she heard the stable door open again behind her, the creaking hinges and the scrape of wood on a stone floor, she didn’t look back.

Didn’t turn, not even when she heard the sound of wings, a breath of wind brushing her cheek as she heard the sound of him leaving.

And only when the sound of wings had faded away entirely did Nesta finally glance behind— finding the skies above entirely empty.

Tagging:

@hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian

(Also... the apothecary is based on a real one in Yorkshire, one with a starry ceiling that I actually posted about here! It's also the far right picture in the little mood board at the top too, because why not.)

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

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starbcrnsx · 5 months ago

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He wanted nothing more than to have Rhy's gifts right then and there. To be able to slip into Nesta's mind and figure out what was going on within it's magical depths. He wanted nothing more than to know everything she was keeping hidden within her walls. Nothing more than to know what was weighing heavily upon her in this very moment. He wished to wrap her up within his arms and never let her go. He wished to show her how much she meant to him but knew deep down that he simply couldn't right then and there.

"No I never gave up on her," pausing he shook his head and stared down at her with reassurance in his gaze, "I never gave up on you." He didn't know why it felt like a small weight came off his shoulders with those simple words but it was true. He never gave up on her. No matter what in the end he was always there for her. Always held her when she needed someone. Always offered her that hand when no one else would or when everyone else seemed to have given up. He would always be there no matter what. Even if it mean that his last breath was for her he would be there until the bitter end with no questions asked. She was everything to him and yes the thought frightened him but it was exciting all the same. She had become his world without him even realizing it until the last moment when it slammed into him. Until he had been on the verge of losing her so many times.

"Hey," his voice was soft as he paused for a moment, he had taken a step closer to her. He hated to see that fear and the worry dance through her gaze. He hated the uncertainty lingering there. He didn't want her to face all of this alone and he would still be with her every step of the way and he didn't care how long it took he would help her and keep reaching his hand out. "You'll get there, in time you'll get there but if you rush yourself it could cause more harm to you than good." Letting out a small sigh he nodded, his hands automatically reaching to rest against her hips for a moment as they stood chest to chest. "That time will come for you to remember and I will still be waiting here for you when you do remember it all. Nothing has chased me away yet Nesta and this wont either, I will be right by your side facing it all if that is what you wish," he offered with a soft and tender voice. Seeing the watery eyes he reached a hand up and cupped her cheek softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek bone as he moved to press his forehead against hers. "Nesta, it will be okay." It was all he could say.

"Me? Your lord? No my Lady Death, I will never be your Lord or ever try to have power over you. I am but your humble servant and I will fulfill every wish your heart desires, for I am always at your command. I have walked beside death in all stages of my life and to finally have Death as my faithful companion and never leaving my side? You honour me my lady," his voice held emotion as he kept her close his breathing steady as he remained within her grasp. His hand moved from her cheek to cup the back of her head as it finally took home upon his chest, his heart beating rapidly as he felt nothing but contentment with having his beautifully vicious creature where she was meant to be. "Even if you were to walk away and turn from me I will remain at your side and follow you through the dark," glancing down at her he gave her a half smile and chuckled softly, "not even death could stop me from taking your hand and following you wherever you wished."

The walls are closing in, Nesta was sure of this. An enclave to keep her from bursting at the seams. To allow the fire to control every aspect of her being. Her eyes flit from Cassian to the room they are surrounded in. Though they were the only ones, somehow it feels too crowded. She needed air and the fact this conversation was tilting her world off its axis. The earth no longer revolves around the sun. He's within the center and now everything rotates around him. Running her hands over her face to jostle herself out of this cognizance.

" Yes because you never gave up on her. " she finally agrees. Realizations weren't easily swayed now that they are blatantly present. Memories are fading but she can still taste them on her lips. But that's not the only thing she can savor on her tongue. A kiss that she briefly remembers on a rocky hillside. There was no need to give him those details. Not yet, at least. Nevertheless, Nesta's lips tingle at the sensation of familiarity. How she hovered over Cassian's intact body and breathed a sigh of relief. When she pressed her mouth to his, there was no battle waging against the other. It was like the sunshine breaking the stormy clouds that bore down on her every day of her life. Comparable to the pines that kissed the snowflakes as they fell to earth. Clinging and pure. He was her beginning and her end. She didn't know why that wasn't a frightening thought. Or why she couldn't fear him at all.

Cassian spoke in fantasies, words that felt too sweet to linger. Another life where she felt wanted and not stuck in an endless loop of the mundane. Could his wings fly her so far to freedom? Nesta's eyes dance on those majestic appendages that ascend through her mind as well as the skies above. Imagining them taking her far, far away. And she would soar with him so very willingly. For once, maybe she could trust her heart. Her mind is still racing against her - against him. She still needed him, even on this island. " I want to remember, Cassian. " she listened to every word from his mouth and she wanted to desperately grab hold. " I want to remember Elain and Feyre. I - " she inhales to gather thoughts, " Something is tormenting me. Yelling at me to remember something so incredibly disastrous. " Though there's warmth and affection when she looks up at him. Moving closer to him so her chest is pressed against his. In this life he spoke of, they were a beautiful disaster. " I want to remember you. Us. " she choked out the last admission, her tears springing to her and she resented them.

Yes, they were both fools. He may not agree but she will do it for the both of them. Wordlessly, her hands reach up and her fingers trace his jawline. Truly in awe at the man underneath her fingertips. He was making the air around her even thinner. " You are certain that I am this Lady Death? Are you not my Lord? " she whispers, assurance rushes through her that she has certainly gotten on her knees for this male before. A pink tinge colors her cheeks, she is hesitant to allow her thoughts to stray too far. His words keep her pacified and she cannot flee. Her heart racing now, he loves her? He admitted it so easily that her eyes had widened. " I believe you, you know. " her touch now placates as it tangles into his darkened tresses. Intuition calls to her that he needs comfort. Nesta can inspect every aspect of him but she sees no deception staring back at her. " I hate that I believe you. I hate that I can't walk away. " she finally rests her head on his chest, " Because walking away means that I am turning away from you. Cassian, " she pulls away slightly so their eyes lock, " If I walk out of this building, will you promise to hold my hand? "

#( it fits for a bastard born brute | cassian )#( cassian ft nesta )

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acourtofbookishdreams · 4 years ago

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Azriel ~ Irresistable*

Azriel x Reader

* = NSFW. EXPLICIT CONTENT.

Summary: Whilst training with Azriel, you make one too many ‘innocent’ mistakes and his resolve wavers with each one until he can’t take it anymore.

Warning: NSFW, forbidden romance, teasing, shitty writing with no sense, out of character azriel, piece of crap - posting anyway aha

Word Count: 2539

"You need to tighten your core" Azriel instructs, voice soft and unjudgemental but aggravating nonetheless.

"I am tightening" I grit from between my teeth, working with all my waning strength on moving along the balance beam.

Azriel and I had been training only for a couple of weeks now after I'd finally decided I wanted to learn how to defend myself or at least be able to hold my own until I could get to safety. However, my insipid mortal reflexes and strength was making it insanely difficult to learn anything.

Considering my being the remaining mortal sister of the Archerons after thankfully being on a short trip to see a friend at the time my other sisters had been kidnapped and turned, it seemed like an even better idea. Especially to my overprotective older sisters. Sometimes, being the only human around definitely sucked and others, like when my sisters got roped into Fae bullshit...it definitely didn't.

It did really suck I wouldn't find a mate, though. That sounded incredibly...convenient.

"You may think you're engaging your core but you're not" Azriel says, moving slightly closer, his shadows surrounding him in the soft dawn light.

"You know what, if this is so easy then-ah!" I squeal as I fall off the beam, stumbling slightly and gripping the beams surface to keep from slipping as my feet land hard on the floor, ground shock reverberating up my legs, "Ugh, this sucks!"

Azriel chuckles softly, "You'll get it."

"It doesn't feel like it" I grumble

Azriel comes up behind me, placing one large hand across my stomach, pushing against it softly, "You need to act as if you're sucking in your stomach, belly button to spine."

I do exactly that, my stomach concaving in, forcing his hand to slip from my stomach and back to his side and Azriel laughs - a big, joyful chuckle, the loudest I'd ever heard from him.

"Was that a laugh?" I smirk, quirking one eyebrow

"I do laugh, you know."

"Not often...and not around me."

"Focus. We're not here to discuss my social habits. Now, I meant internally. It may sound strange but visualise it in your mind and then pull your stomach in and hold it. You'll feel it."

My smirk slips and I nod, focusing. I do as he instructs and though he is right, it does feel strange, I definitely feel it in my stomach, an odd and uncomfortable tightening sensation as if my stomach was benching a weight.

"Ow" I pout, releasing my stomach, "I don't like that"

"You'll get used to it" Azriel smiles, "Now, come on, back up on the beam and try again"

"Will you catch me if I fall?" I tease, my smirk returning. Though he may be over 200 years older than me, strictly off limits because of his being a completely different and dangerous race from me and completely emotionally unavailable, it didn't mean I couldn't flirt.

"Of course" Azriel responds, tone all business. I roll my eyes slightly as I hop back up onto the beam, one foot in front of the other.

Squeezing my eyes slightly against the pressure, I perform my weird suck-in thing to engage my core, taking a tentative step forward...and finding it suddenly way easier. Gaining confidence, I take another step forward, and then another, each one coming faster and faster until...

"I did it!" I giggle, reaching the opposite end of the beam and jumping off, "I actually did it."

"Well done" Azriel commends, his ice-hewn face slightly broken by a small smile, "Next beam"

"Already?" I gulp, looking over my shoulder. The next beam was higher up then the first, the top of it reaching my chest. I turn back to him, gesturing to the lower one, "Can't I just do this one again?"

Azriel says nothing and I sigh, moving over to the other beam and grabbing a couple step blocks to get up to the beam. Heaving myself up and onto the beam, I wobble softly and a small, startled squeak escapes my lips before I regain my balance.

"You really will catch me, right?" I ask nervously. Again, no response omits from his lips, just a short nod of which I couldn't tell was either actually in answer to my question or instruction to get a move on.

"Okay" I breathe, closing my eyes and stilling my body completely, performing the process of engaging my core slowly, each muscle at a time until I felt so tightly wound even a sharp shove couldn't knock me from my feet.

I take a step forward...then another...and then I slip.

My foot hits the side of the beam wrong and in an effort to stay up, I attempt to pull it back on rather than letting it go and placing it behind my other foot, bending at the knees as I was taught to do and had done many times on the lower beam. I scream and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I tip backward, flailing my arms out as my back heads for the ground.

As if in slow motion, I turn my body as I fall, instinctively positioning to catch my fall with my hands - a rookie mistake. A pair of strong hands encircles my waist as I turn and without thinking I grab onto him, securing my body to his in every way possible to stop my fall. I grunt as one of my feet lands hard on the floor, ground shock again erupting through...one of my feet?

I open my eyes and find myself in the strangest position...Azriel's face was before me, his arm hooked underneath the crook of my right knee, holding the one leg up whilst the other was placed upon the floor as normal, my hips pressed against his.

"You really did fall in the most difficult way possible" Azriel says, voice deep and gravelly...as if straining.

It's then I notice Azriel's stance is crooked, his weight tipped to one side slightly as if weighed down...I gasp and almost send myself flying again as I realise what exactly I'd done in my attempt to escape a painful landing.

My knee was grazing his right wing, my left arm tightly wrapped around his neck with my elbow brushing the inside of his left wing and my right hand was placed entirely on the soft membrane of the inside of his right wing, my fingers splayed across the shimmering surface and pressing lightly onto it, the way one would place their hand on a surface to maintain balance.

Points of contact everywhere with Azriel's wings...Azriel's sensitive wings.

"Oh my...I'm so sorry" I gasp, pulling my leg out of his grasp and removing my arm from his neck, my hand from his wing, until I was standing before him. Closer than I'd ever been before, his eyes boring into mine.

"You couldn't have just fallen backward?" Azriel says, his voice still rough and strained, "I would've caught you."

"I know, I-" I stammer, "I didn't think, I just acted on instinct. I don't know what I was thinking. Are your wings okay?"

"They're fine" Azriel frowns softly, "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Feyre's told me before to be careful of your wings, to make sure I keep away from them because they're really sensitive...are they not?" I redirect as his confused frown deepens.

"They are but not in the way you seem to think" Azriel explains, "It doesn't cause me pain, which by the look on your face, I assume is what you think."

"It's not painful?" I breathe a sigh of relief, "Oh thank the forgotten gods...but if it's not a painful sensitivity, why do you seem so tense? Well, tenser."

"While it's not painful, it is still sensitive. The sensation is hard to explain but it just provokes a different...reaction."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too hard to explain. How about I show you the approximation of what it feels like to a non-winged being and then you tell me the reaction you have."

I nod, a little nervous about the slight gleam in Azriel's eyes, a knowing one...

Leaning forward, Azriel breathes softly into the shell of my ear, lips trailing sensually along the outer edge as his large hand ghosts down my spine in soft, light movements, his fingers barely touching the skin but sending shivers all the way through my body. My eyes go heavy lidded and instinctively, I grip his bicep to hold myself steady, neck tipping back slightly to expose more of my neck as his breath gusts over the sensitive skin, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back to keep me from falling on my ass. A small noise escapes from my throat.

In a lighting fast move, Azriel pulls me to rights and releases me completely, stepping a good few paces back. Breathing heavily, my eyes open and meet his and I imagine our expressions to be almost exact. Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, chests rising and falling so agonisingly slowly as we attempt to keep our breathing even and failing completely.

"Woah" I breathe, "I definitely get it now."

"You can't do that, Y/N, damn it!" Azriel growls and I straighten further, lust filled haze vanishing.

"Do what?" I gape

"Make me-" Azriel says and then stops himself, "Never mind. Today's session is over"

He turns on his heel to leave but I run after him, meaning to grab his shoulder...and accidentally gracing the back of his wing again.

Damn it, dumbass.

Azriel releases a frustrated growl and whirls on me, pushing me back into a nearby wall, his hands on my waist, eyes staring into mine.

"That"

I was still confused. This was the only time I'd ever touched his wings...

Seeing my confused expression, Azriel presses closer, his body pressed to mine, something hard pressing into my-

Oh.

"I...I wasn't aware I" I stumble over my words, "I wasn't aware it was something I'd done more than once."

"That's a lie and you know it" Azriel huffs, "Stop feigning innocence."

"I'm not feigning anything!" I protest. I truly hadn't meant to turn him on. Now or any other time. Feyre and Nesta and Elain had all made it clear I shouldn't get into it with Azriel...Gods, even Rhys had told me to keep away!, "Why does it even matter? We're both adults, we can just move on from-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Azriel growls, "That I've wanted you every moment from when I first saw you, that Feyre and Rhys gave me this lecture about duty and responsibility and the different race bullshit and ordered me to stay away from you. The only reason I was allowed to train you is because I swore it'd be training and nothing more!"

"I'm...I don't know what to say to you except that I didn't know anything about any of that."

"I swear you're my own personal hell on Earth." Azriel sighs, shaking his head, eyes hard and cold as flint.

"Wow, thanks" I scoff sarcastically, offended, "I wasn't doing anything intentionally."

"That may be even worse" Azriel concedes, "Knowing that anything you did wasn't intentional means if you truly tried to make a move...I would fall at your feet and beg you for just a second of your time. For one moment between-I shouldn't be entertaining this idea."

No, please go on.

"It doesn't help that I can smell you every time you enter a room. It's like you specifically-"

"Wow, so now I smell?" I huff, "Perfect."

"Not that kind of smell. I can smell it on you now."

It?

Well, sure, I was sweaty but I'd just been working out. Although I'd cooled a bit now, with all the slow and steady lust-filled contact we'd had-

Oh...again.

I remember Nesta telling me once to be careful with any time I spent...with myself because the males could smell...

Could smell arousal.

"Oh" I say aloud this time, "That."

"I could swear you would touch yourself before each training session just to drive me insane with what I can't have-damn it, stop it!"

"Well I can't really help my body's reactions when you talk like that" I defend, that warm and tight feeling in my stomach building, eyelids fighting not to fall.

"Try" Azriel suggests weakly.

"If the past few weeks of my unintentional seducing you wasn't proof enough, I clearly can't do that."

"What has been with you recently? You're aroused all the time."

"I don't know" I blush, "I just...have been. Besides, it's not like I have someone I can go to here to...relieve myself of the frustration so I'm all I've got."

Azriel's jaw clenches, eyes ablaze with a hungry fire.

"Why can't we...I mean, why am I so forbidden to you?"

"Feyre and Rhys say...well, I don't know. It doesn't matter about their reasons, their my High Lord and Lady. If they order me to do something, I obey."

"Is that something you can't fight?" I ask, eyes trailing up and down his body, "Like a magical side effect stops you?"

"No, it's an honour thing-" Azriel stops short, recognising my intention, "Okay, I know you're doing this on purpose now"

"So what?" I whisper, "It's not like I'll tell them anything...and there's no one out here to witness for at least a few hours."

"Hours?" Azriel chuckles, "What makes you think you can handle that?"

Cocky now, huh?

"I'm almost certain I probably can't...but I'm more than willing to try."

Azriel's erection grows larger, pressing insistently upon my upper thigh, "Y/N...I can't"

"Yes you can" I say, "Something tells me you're just as good at getting in your own way as Feyre and Rhys are. I'm more than capable of making my own decisions and I would be lying if I said this isn't one of the fantasies I've used to help me out when I'm alone."

The sound of Azriel's teeth grinding against each other makes me smile. I don't know where this sudden confidence came from - perhaps from knowing how badly he also wants this. Maybe it was fate's way of making something that was always supposed to happen, happen. By removing my nervousness and forcing Azriel to think his way out of his own mental purgatories.

Azriel, still fighting his own mental battle, pants softly and I lean forward, trailing a long line up his neck and along his jawline with my tongue. My hand drifts up, reaching for the tender inside of his wing-

"Don't. Do. That" Azriel grits out, hand gripping my wrist and pushing it back against the wall, up above my head, the other arm quickly following, "Don't start something you can't finish."

"Who said I wasn't planning to finish?" I smirk

"Gods, you'll be the death of me" Azriel sighs, leaning closer to me. I could already tell the battle was lost, he was just clinging to the last scraps of will he had left.

"What was that you said earlier? That you would 'fall at my feet and beg for just one moment between...' What were you going to say?" I tease

"Shut the fuck up" Azriel growls, his lips pressing to mine.

Masterlist

#azriel imagine #azriel acotar #azriel blurb #azriel x reader #azriel imagines #azriel blurbs #azriel one shot #azriel one shots #azriel x reader smut #azriel smut

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years ago

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If you’re still taking prompts:

“Keeping a secret from your best friend is difficult... but when that secret is that you're madly in love with her, it's downright impossible. At least that's what Cassian thought, until he was a little tipsy and sharing a sleeping bag with said best friend. (College, modern AU)”

With smut please?🧎🏾‍♀️🙏🏽👀🥺

Oh hey bestie! So I think maybe you had like after a college party in mind for this but I went a… different way. Also it’s only smut-adjacent because I think good smut requires a Drabble of its own I think I’m sorry. Hope you enjoy!!!

Camping.

Nesta had two weeks between the end of her internship and the beginning of her last year of college, and somehow, she let herself get dragged along on her sister’s annual camping trip.

Their whole friend group was weird and twisted around like Ivy vines with who was closest to who, who was related to who, who was dating who, who had slept with who’s father (looking at you MOR!), and Nesta tended to avoid the big group things.

But this was only Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and the real reason she was there… Cassian. Fucking Cassian dragging her off into the woods.

Nesta loved her sisters. She did. She wouldn’t spend time with them and pretend she didn’t hate their boyfriends if she didn’t love them. (Pretending not to hate Rhys and Lucien, for Nesta, pretty much required the energy of a full time job.)

She loved her sisters. But she was there for Cassian. Because she liked Cassian. Genuinely and entirely liked him. Nesta Archeron liked another human being. They’d been best friends since eighth grade when he tried to ask her out on the swing set and she elbowed him in the jaw.

Saying yes to that middle school date would’ve been the worst mistake of her life. Because then she’d have had this short drama filled relationship with Cassian and she wouldn’t have gotten to keep him. And she really loved that she got to keep him. Even if sometimes she wished he’d been her first kiss instead of Tomas.

Anyway, when he said he was going on this camping trip Nesta realized she had to go too. Because there was no way she was spending her free time somewhere that he wasn’t. He was her person. The person she wanted to spend her free time with.

“Pathetic,” Cassian grinned, plucking the pack right off of her back as if it weighed no more than a purse. As if she hadn’t been struggling under its weight for the past 4 kilometres.

“I agreed to camping. I didn’t realize a 7 hour hike was involved to get to the damn place.”

“Two hours at most, sweetheart.” Nesta scowled, pretending, as she always did, to hate his little endearments. “And all of the best spots require a hike. Otherwise they’re overcrowded.”

“Maybe overcrowded is a good thing. Maybe overcrowded means loud and safe instead of offering ourselves up to be a bear buffet.”

“I’ll protect you from any bears, I promise, Nes.”

Nesta glared. “You’re going to fight off a bear if it tries to eat me?”

“Of course I am,” Cassian nodded. “These muscles aren’t just for show.”

Nesta laughed. “How sad I’m going to lose my best friend on this trip. Don’t worry I’ll come up with something nice for the tombstone. “Here lies Cassian. Tried to fight a bear so his muscles would have a purpose.”

“I take it back, you can get eaten by the bear.”

“I’m going to shove you in front of the bear.”

Their water break had landed then both a few hundred feet behind Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel, so Cassian kept hold of her backpack as they moved, teasing her that he was still faster with two packs than she was with none.

When they arrived at the little clearing Nesta had to admit it was beautiful. Serene. A big patch of grass surrounded by trees with a stunning view over the mountains from a clearing just a few feet away.

“Worth the hike?” Cassian asked as he set up their tent. That was the deal. If Nesta was going to camp then he had to do all of the work. Because she didn’t know how to do it. Also he had to share his tent with her because seriously? Why would she own a tent? She wasn’t a damn mountain man.

“It is really pretty.”

“I told you you’d like camping, Nesta!” Feyre called out from over fifty feet away where Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta all banded together to force her and Rhys to put their tent. Far away from the other two. Nesta was so not sleeping on the ground AND listening to her little sister have sex all night.

“Cassian?” Consciousness pulled lightly through Cassian’s sleepy mind. “Cass? CASS!” He shot bolt upright, body instinctively turning to Nesta, looking her over, checking her for injuries or any other thing that might have her yelling his name into the pitch black tent.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Cassian laughed. It was probably 3am and she’d just woken him up, and still he was laughing. Man he had it bad.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He made a show of flipping around to face her even though he couldn’t really see her.

“I’m freezing.”

As his eyes adjusted, Cassian looked her over with a frown. She was bundled up in her sleeping bag, wearing his sweater… which he hadn’t given her, but he had discarded in between them before he went to sleep so that was fair game he guessed. It was far from the first time in over a decade of friendship that she’d stolen his sweater, but man… it still did something to him.

“Your sleeping bag isn’t made for below freezing temperatures, is it?”

Nesta stared at him. Blinked. “No. Why would it have to be? It’s August!”

“It’s colder up in the mountains,” Cassian explained. “Especially over night.”

“Great. I’ve been brought into the mountains to freeze to death and now Eris is going to win the gold medal for our year.”

Cassian laughed, “Well I can’t allow that. The horror.” This was probably a bad idea. No it was definitely a bad idea, but the words couldn’t be stopped from leaving his mouth once they popped into his mind. “Come share mine.”

Cassian half unzipped his sleeping bag and made a show of shuffling himself over.

“You’re too big.” She said.

“Thanks I work out,” Nesta glared at his cocky smirk. “Come on Nes, it’s this or letting Eris win the gold medal.”

Nesta huffed, but unzipped her sleeping bag and crawled over to his, her legs were cool as they tangled with his in the tight sleeping bag. Cassian pulled her in, one arm wrapping instinctively around her shoulders to pull her against his chest, before he zipped the sleeping bag up again after her.

This had been such a bad idea. But what could he do? Let her freeze?

Cassian told Nesta everything, so it was already difficult enough to be keeping a secret from his best friend... but when that secret was that he had been madly in love with her since middle school, the situation became impossible. And pulling her perfect body tight up against his and wrapping her in his arms, hands moving up and down her shoulders quickly to try and warm her up, was not helping the situation.

“Thanks,” Nesta murmured sleepily. “I’m already a lot more comfortable.”

Me too, Cassian thought but would never say.

“Hey Cass?” Nesta’s voice was teasing. “What do we do if you wake up with morning wood?”

Cassian chuckled into her hair, a little bit drunk on the familiar scent of rosehips and iron will.

“Then I guess we’ll finally have sex.” He deadpanned.

Nesta’s jaw dropped. Ok. Bad joke. “I’m not having sex with you for the first time in a tent Cassian!”

Now Cassian’s jaw dropped. That was her issue with his suggestion? “I… Nesta I was joking. But… the tent is the problem? The only problem?”

“Grow a pair!” Nesta batted at him with her hand, an impressive feat considering she was all but pinned between him and the sleeping bag. “I thought this was you finally making a move.”

Cassian stared down at her. It was pitch black, but even with just the shadowy outlines of her features, he could see her exact expression in his mind.

“I wouldn’t use you freezing as a ploy to make a move, Nesta.”

“And why not?” She humphed, “it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“It’s… coercive.”

“Do I look coerced to you, Cassian?” Nesta ran her foot up his bare calf and Cassian shuddered.

“I can’t have sex with you if you’re looking for a friends with benefits, Nes.” Nesta paused her movements. “I… fuck, our friendship means so much to me and I’m so afraid to fuck it up. And if we start having sex I won’t be able to handle it being just sex and you’ll start to resent me so we just… shouldn’t go there.”

Nesta’s arms wrapped around him now, struggling to span the full width of his chest. “And if it wasn’t just sex?”

“Please don’t fuck with me about this,” he whispered. Low and Ernest in a way he almost never was.

“What?”

“Dont joke about this if you’re playing around or I don’t… you have to know, Nes. You have to know how completely in love with you I am.”

“Yeah,” Nesta tucked her head under his chin. “I know. I’ve just been waiting for you to make a move.”

It was dark. Cassian could barely see her. But there, with his arms around his best friend in the world, sharing a sleeping bag to keep her warm, Cassian nudged her out of his chest and found her lips in the pitch black.

Why had he kept this secret for so long? Everything in the world was better when he was kissing his best friend.

#nessian #drabbles open #nesta archeron #acosf #nessian fanfiction #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar #feysand

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bloodycassian · 3 years ago

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A FEAST - Azriel x readder. Prompt - Reader is injured and knocked out for days. Cassian gets him to finally leave your side for one meal and Nyx brings a guest with him...

"The Dragons Song is the best one, hands down." Nesta argued, hacking through the brush. "That one is full of the same scenes every time." You judged, pushing a branch out of the way. The jungle was a mess of twists and turns to work through, but thankfully one of the fishermen on the dock had sold you a compass at a descent price. "A little more right for a few more miles and we'll be there." You steered her on course. "At least it dosent say 'honeydew' every scene." She made a fake gagging noise and you laughed. The sound was muffled in the crowded forest. She hacked her way through the brush, one vine at a time. Until you finally reached the clearing. It was hot in the direct sun, a few degrees different than what the shade of the forest had been. You paced the perimiter, meeting her at the other side. "You mean Cassian dosen't like honeydew?" You wiggled your eyebrows at her. "Az does?" She challenged, earning a laugh from you. "The ones that you like are predictable beyond measure." You countered, earning a quick smile before your attention snapped across the meadow. To a giant hog serpent with venomous tusks that gleamed with their clear liquid. You swore and you and Nesta both drew swords at the same time. + Nesta ended the hog, but not before it had the chance for those razor sharp tusks to marr your legs with deep wounds. The venom stung, flowing into your bloodstream and paralyzing you slowly. You gasped at the sheer blinding pain it brought. "Nes-" You choked out between sobs. "Tell Az... Tell Az I love him." You smiled to her, putting a hand on her cheek. "No, no way. You're gonna tell him yourself. Stay awake. We're on the way." She reached deep to that bond to Cassian, and a flare of alertness greeted her. Then, a thrill of fire. "On the way. Rhys will be there in a few. Are you okay?" "Fine, she's delirious. She needs a healer and a detox for the venom." She thought back, sighing when she felt Rhys' presence. "Wheres Az?" You managed out of your chattering teeth. You were losing the fight against the venom quickly. It would have you under in a few minutes if Rhys didn't hurry to a healer. He placed a hand on you and darkness surrounded. "Cassian will-" He started to Nesta, "I know, get her safe." She rushed, urging him to winnow you already. When Cassian saw the amount of blood spilled, he cursed. "Most of it was the beast." Nesta cleaned her sword on an overgrown leaf that jutted down into the meadow. Her hands shook when she sheathed it. "Nes." He stopped her when she turned. "Nes..." He repeated, giving her a long look. She tried to hide her face, the terror there. "Lets go." He pulled her to his side and took off, holding her close to him. He said nothing about the tears that flowed to his shoulder. He just gripped her tighter. + Azriel had nearly broken the door when he stormed in. And he hadn't left your side since. Nesta stayed when she could, letting Azriel relax enough to sleep now and again. He trusted her to wake him if anything changed in your status. When he woke, he heard his brother's voice first. Quiet an hurried in tone, him and Nesta argued by the door. "He wont leave. You've already tried, just leave him alone." Nesta was scolding. Cassian gripped her hands, then whipped his head over to his brother when he saw him stretching on the bench. "Hey Az-" Cassian smiled, bounding over to his brother like a puppy. "You remmeber Madja saying it may take up to a week, right? How about you come to dinner up at the house with us." "I dont want to miss if she-" "Come on, Nyx will be there. Mor's coming back from the continent tonight too." Cassian tempted, poking at the old flame Azriel carried for the female. She was still incredible, and one of Azriels best friends, but he no longer felt that flame towards her. You had come along and crushed it with a bat of your eyelashes and a few quick witted insults at Cas. Nesta started pulling him away, giving you an apologetic smile. "It would be nice for you to be there is all he means." She began pushing him out the door, despite his protests. "Think about it! She wouldn't want you to be mourning while she's alive!" Cassian shouted, earning a smack from Nesta. Azriel smiled despite the dark nature of the situation. He pulled a chair up beside your resting body. It had been three days. How would he know if you were awake or not? He tugged on that dark link you shared together, and came up with the same unresponsiveness as before. He sighed, but took your hand anyway, falling asleep again to the sound of your soft breathing. + He decided to stay for just an hour. He would spare his family that much. He kissed you goodbye and tried his best to ignore the guilt he felt for leaving you behind. But Cassian was right. He knew that when you woke up you'd be upset about him not going. So he put on his brave face and flew up to the house of wind, to the joy of everyone. They clapped upon his arrival, making his cheeks burn. Mor gave him a hug and promised to catch up. But she hovered around a fae you hadn't met yet. A female that she watched with wide sparkling eyes. Azriel's chest bloomed with pride at the sight of them being so close, so full of life for each other. He looked away from the two, and sent his shadows out to Rhys. And found what he was seeking. He darted over to the end of the table where the high lord and lady sat across from each other. The head table was empty, and filthy. "That's a small monster if I've ever seen one." He bent and scooped Nyx up from under the table. He wriggled and laughed. "No monster Azzy." Nyx babbled, pulling on his uncle's hair. "No pulling hair!" Rhys scolded, making Nyx laugh even more. Feyre sighed. "You're just having fun. How about we go for a fly down to-" "Don't say it, Az." Rhy's tone went from scolding to pleading. Even though the baby couldn't fly yet, it was one of his favorite things to do. He could see how Rhys' son would be skilled at flying with just the way he angled his head when accompanying. Az poked at Nyx's belly and they fought like that for a few moments, Nyx eventually winnowing away with the joy only a child could have. Azriel froze, looking to the high lord and lady for comfort. Having a baby disappear in your arms was strange, even for Fae babies. "When'd he start doing that?" "Four days ago." Feyre sighed. She looked utterly exhausted. "We've been having to take turns staying up with him." Rhys held her hand across the table, they shared a sweet look together then they both whipped their heads to Nyx in unison. "Dont-" Feyre warned, giving her son a stern look as he pulled at the tablecloth. Amren gave the boy a look of discouragement as well when he looked around for someone to be laughing with him. He stopped after those silver eyes met his. Nesta gave Az a smile from across the room where she and Cassian welcomed the toddoling boy. "Let's start training, Nyxie. Come on, show me what you got." Cassian got on his knees to the floor and the two began wrestling together. Azriel took a seat beside Rhys, picking at the crackers and cheese platter before him. "When were we planning on going back to the Island?" Rhys asked, voice low. Cassian rolled with Nyx on the ground, making Nesta laugh when the boy pulled at Cas' hair. "I'm not going until my mate is healed. Maybe you should send them, see how much trouble they can get in." Az asked, trying to keep the hinting out of his voice. He wanted to go take care of it on his own. The mission on the Island was not complete and he didn't want to risk anyone again. He'd rather do it and make sure it was a finished job. He couldn't bare to see you be hurt over a fellow Valkyrie getting hurt either. "You know they would kill each other.... or themselves trying to protect the other." Feyre smiled despite herself. She knew it was the truth. Her sister being happy for once was a joy like no other. "Mom and Dad need to eat, Az you too." Cassian ordered. He bounced the boy on his legs, making him pretend fly. Azriel picked at the plate that appeared before him. The warm meat and stew looked incredible, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. The guilt was the only thing that weighed in his stomach. "I should go check on-" He began to say, folding his napkin back on the table. "How is she?" Cassian interrupted from the floor. Nesta was playing with Nyx now, rattling a toy around for him. Azriel kept his calm mask on, trying to fight the urge to check on you. The black haired boy looked to her with upset eyes. "Auntie?" He said, voice a bit whiny. "Auntie is napping, she'll be back in a little while." Nes assured. Azriel's heart squeezed at the love Nyx showed. Then, the boy was gone. The parents were digging into their plates. It was likely the only meal they'd shared together in the four days of taking turns watching Nyx. "Rhys-" Az began, terror sweeping his gut. Nyx was no where in sight. Nesta and Cassian both shot to their feet when they didn't spot him. Then, the plates in front of Azriel clattered and shot food everywhere. Mor and her date yelped and fled their chairs, mor pushing the other female behind her. Azriel's shadows coiled, siphons glared ready to fight. And Rhys didnt move as he observed the waking fae before him. The tug on Azriel's bond went taut. "Auntie here!" Nyx celebrated, patting your chest. You groaned and cracked open your eyes to see Azriel's shadows swirling about you. "Are you okay?!" Azriel gripped your shoulders, his warm hands seeping into your thin shirt. The sweats you wore were now stained with whatever food had been on the table. Rhys put down his fork slowly. "I wasn't expecting to be this kind of snack Az..." You said softly. Rhy's cheeks went red. Mor laughed first, her date looked to her with bewilderment and worry. Cassian rushed over and picked Nyx up from your stomach. "I think there's a fork in my back." You said, voice gruff. A hysterical laugh bubbled from Azriel, then the rest of them were cracking up. "Nyx... Thanks." Azriel breathed, and the boy began clapping. + Once you were back on your feet and Madja had given you the go ahead to take it easy, you asked Azriel to go on a walk with you. The stretch of your legs was sore, but the good kind of sore that left you feeling better and better with each step. The cool wind from the Sidra whipped around you. He wrapped a wing around both of you as you reached the apex of a bridge. "I owe that baby everything." He laughed, squeezing your hand tighter. The city was quiet, only soft music coming from the Rainbow and the calm trickle of the Sidra sounding out. "Nyx the Valkyrie deliverer." You laughed together, leaning against the railing on the bridge. The streetlights above cast a wonderful color over you, illuminating you both in a silvery shade that matched the moonlight. "I love you." You said, resting your head against his shoulder. It had been a long night, and who knew how long of sleeping... but you were tired. "Love you." He nudged you away so he could hook his finger under your chin and angle you up to kiss him. You wrapped your arms around him and compiled, letting the bond hum through you like a song.

#azriel x reader #acotar fic #azriel #perfect-peach-bouquet

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cauldron-be-damned · 3 years ago

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Bro like STOP trying to tell me that gw*n and azriel look good together or that their vibes mesh. They DON'T. Every fanart I see of them looks wrong. It's all very contrived. Their personalities don't mesh either. You KNOW he's an introvert, he's not just quiet and aloof bc of trauma or whatever. Introverts get their energy from spending time alone and having quiet time to recharge. He likes the quiet and his shadows are there to keep him company in the quiet, right? (Az and his shadows are definitely endgame.)

I can say that as a very strong fellow introvert, I'm not super comfortable in a group of lots of people either. Even people that I know well! Especially not being in a room with the rest of the IC, who are rowdy AF and have no trouble filling the silence without Az needing to weigh in. He clearly prefers to be one-on-one. You get a LOT more of his personality in ACOWAR (Feyre's POV), ACOFAS (Rhys's POV), and ACOSF (Cass's POV) when you're seeing him one-on-one with each of them. And he certainly has a personality and a sense of humor, it's just subtle and dry.

This is nothing against extroverts of course, but I think gw*n is an extrovert. Now it's hard to say bc she's only made an appearance in ACOSF and we've had way more books to get to know Az (not to mention we've encountered Elain and her also-subtle, quiet presence in literally all the books so far). But her vibe is much more forward and assertive and social-butterfly, at least to me. She seems to be more extroverted and outgoing. At a party she's not gonna sit in a corner bathed in shadows. I really do like her character, especially as a friend to Nesta. She seems like a very loyal person and she's funny and determined. And it's not that Az isn't exciting. But I feel like she'd be better suited to someone who could party with her, who would challenge her, who makes friends everywhere they go, like her. She seems like the life of a party, honestly. And that's great. But as someone who relates more to Az and honestly Elain more than any other character, Gw*n would not be my go-to romantic choice (not bc she's a female, I'm bi and fiery redheads are HOT.) Why? Because long-term, I would someone who can be my quiet companion. I just don't see that in her. An awesome friend to hang out with, someone who won't let you pull punches? Sure.

There is something to be said for a companionate love where you and the other person can sit in complete silence doing nothing or doing your own thing and enjoy the shit out of it. That's what it's like being an introvert married to another introvert. I personally love that my husband and I can feel like we're spending quality time together while not actively filling the silence or socializing. We also don't feel the need to be around other people all the time.

I'm basically making a case for Elriel here because just look at Elain!! A kindred spirit! She loves her quiet afternoons in the sunny garden just doing her own thing. Yall see how Az went out there to sit with her while she was doing that? Do ya think there was a ton of convo going on? Does he know shit about gardening? Most likely not. But he was SUNNING HIS WINGS. Illyrians are taught to protect their wings at all costs, and they only open them up when not flying if they're comfortable around the person they're with (and/or if they are peacocking, which you know he absolutely was.)

And who was the first person to offer to take her out to the garden in the first place?? 👀

This isn't even a question of whether Az likes Elain. It's been very clearly confirmed in the bonus chapter and by LITERALLY EVERY INTERACTION BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM. The question I guess is who is endgame for Az...

In a companionate love there is still passion. But when you're an introvert you need a lover AND a friend who can sit in silence with you and not make you feel like you have to do any emotional work. You need someone who wants to leave the party early with you so you can go home and snuggle on the couch and watch your couple-show. And then have some great sex afterward!

Maybe I'm missing something that gw*nriels are seeing, but I feel like they are blatantly ignoring all the things SJM has been very obviously trying to tell us about elriel. I don't understand the connection. Don't even get me started on how beautiful Elriel's whole "light meets the darkness" aesthetic is.

ALSO sjm loves the light-meets-dark thing. Remember in chapter 56 of ACOMAF when Feyre was glowing and Rhys went all king-of-darkness and the 2 blended together? It's yin and yang, people.

#elain x azriel #elriel #elain #elain acotar #elain acosf #acosf bonus chapter #elriel supremacy #elriel endgame

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demonlovesangel · 4 years ago

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Elucien VS Elriel throughout the books

Brace yourselves because this is going to be a LONG post but I'm going to do it because people seem to disregard Elain's feelings at all times, especially regarding how she reacts around both Lucien and Azriel. So here we go!

And by the way I'm only going to count actual interactions to make it fair, and the most important ones because if not I would be here all day.

Acomaf

Elucien

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him-

But Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder.

At Lucien- whose face she had finally taken in.

Elriel

Elain said, "It's all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare but Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

In Acomaf we can see the start of both relationships, but they start with a real difference. Elain and Azriel get along from the very beginning, whereas with Lucien she cringes away because he's one of the reasons she was turned and she doesn't know him, even if she did realize he's her mate.

With Azriel though they talk about his flying, how beautiful it is, she smiles and asks him directly every time. Their interactions come naturally.

Acowar

Elucien

For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "Lucien," she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. "From my sister's stories. Her friend."

"Yes."

But Elain blinked slowly. "You were in Hybern."

"Yes." It was all he could say.

"You betrayed us."

He wished she'd shoved him out of the window behind her. "It- it was a mistake."

Her eyes went frank and cold. "I was to be married in a few days."

She looked away- towards the windows. "I can hear your heart," she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

"When I sleep," she murmured, "I can her your heart beating through the stone." She angled her head, as if the city held some answer. "Can you hear mine?"

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, "No, lady. I cannot."

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. "No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really." A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. "He did. He saw me. He will not now."

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. "It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib."

Lucien exposed his palms to her. "I'm sorry."

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded as she shook her head...

But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow the movement hiding the gleam of his eye- the longing and sadness.

And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go... He did not glance back at Elain.

Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs- as if she'd speak to him. Stop him.

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you-"

"Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... Yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

Lucien shrugged. "First- here. To help. Then..." Another glance at Elain. "Who knows?"

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, "You could come to Velaris."

Elriel

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breath of his shoulder. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

"I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his finger as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now- unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," He said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek...

Elain weighed my words... And slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

(...)

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

What is funny to me here, is how the relationship between Elain and Lucien seems forced but at the same time they kind of try. She directly says to him he betrayed them, continued to ignore him and eventually she did try to get close (in her own way) but apparently decided against it. And at the end even Feyre has to nudge Elain to say something to Lucien, which she did.

Elain's relationship with Az starts off from him putting her down on the town house's foyer, and her never balking away from him. Like literally never, in all their interactions she takes his arm, his hands, looks at him unblinkingly, and even kisses his cheek. Ends up accepting Truth-Teller too, and locking eyes with Azriel. The sweetest girl is not afraid of the most frightening illyrian male... Considering how Elain is, that says a lot.

You can look at this in many ways, but no one can deny that by this book, Az and Elain have a mutual understanding and chemistry.

Acofas

Elucien

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. "Both of you."

Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

My sister rose to her feet. "I should get refreshments."

Lucien rose as well. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm-"

But she was already out of the room.

Elriel

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

(...)

But I strode to my seat- nestled between Amren and Mor- in time to see Elain say to Azriel, "Hello."

(...)

But Azriel only took Elain's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Elain's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them...

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

(...)

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Honestly, for me, this is by far the most telling book even if it is a novella.

The interaction between Lucien and Elain was so forced. She didn't want to be there, he was kind of uncomfortable too and he even says he can't stand being in the same room as her. Afterwards Elain clearly shows no interest in him and even leaves the room. And Elain says to Feyre that he's not entitled to her affections of attentions, we really need to pay attention to her!

With Azriel though... Wow, their interactions just kept on growing and growing. Elain is clearly affected when she looks at him, her throat bobs, she gets all shy (in a good way), smiles at him too, and even gifts him the headache powder because she was paying attention to him throughout the previous months. That clearly says how much she's been noticing Azriel. Not to mention she explains all her gardening plans and they stay talking after everyone went to bed.

I honestly think it's really cute and that's how a relationship should develop.

Acosf

Elucien

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of the newfound boldness to be seen.

Elriel

"I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall," Elain admitted. "She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

By this point it's just painfully obvious. Both Lucien and Elain are uncomfortable with each other even if Lucien still does try (but I still think it's because of the mating bond, not because he likes her). He even says in a previous chapter that he's not always in Velaris to see his mate and looks uncomfortable saying that.

With Azriel we can see something has happened or is happening. Small glances, Elain getting shy but smiling at him, him smiling at her and her looking away? That charged look? Elain's breath caught slightly? There's definitely something going on there and we know what it is from Az's PoV. By that point they have been looking at each other, smiling and brushing hands, not to mention Elain started every single interaction in that PoV. She wanted to kiss him, and gifted him another funny and thoughtful gift yet again because she notices him.

I didn't put every single one of the interactions, just the ones that said a lot from Elain's reactions because that's the point of this post, to show how she clearly acts around the two males. And I didn't put the PoV because it's a bonus chapter even when it clarifies Elain's feelings.

With Lucien it's forced, she cringes away, doesn't know what to do, and in the end she's just uncomfortable and clearly doesn't want anything regarding their situation.

With Azriel it started off naturally, they developed a friendship with mutual understanding and respect, and it evolved into something else. The interest in each other was always there. Clearly both of them don't know what to do with this because the feelings are strong and have been there for a long time (at the very least a year because of the last Winter Solstice). From the PoV we know it's not easy, even if both of them like each other (Elain has a mate whether she likes it or not). By this point, because of all the external influences, they can't be together, but I think that's what going to play off in her book, choice.

We need to take into account Elain's reactions and choices. Elain's book is most probably the next one, she's going to be the main character as Feyre and Nesta were. What she wants or needs is what matters, not what everyone else thinks. And from all her scenes we can gather that she's going to fight to make everyone change their mind regarding what she wants to do, who she wants to be.

As you would with a female friend, be supportive of her journey and choices and don't bring her down because it's not what you would have chosen for yourself. Everyone deserves the world, and everyone needs to follow their own path and make their own choices.

#elain #elain archeron #Azriel #elain and azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #Lucien #lucien vanserra #Acotar 5

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sjmsstuff · 4 years ago

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Light and Dark

Chapter 2

A/N: hey gang, it’s chapter 2! This is not really canon compliant but if you squint real hard it is. I wrote this at 2 am and edited it during French class so I have no idea what state it’s in, please enjoy x

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Warnings: Swearing (duh, it’s me), minorly nsfw but like not really, references to sexual and child abuse (not so much this chapter but probably later)

The silence pressed in the second she disappeared.

He was such an idiot.

She had been wearing his necklace though. Cauldron, how could he even call it his necklace, she didn’t know it was from him. Azriel wasn’t even entirely sure why he had given it to her but seeing it in his pile of solstice presents… that led to thoughts of Elain and after the fiasco at solstice he’d tried his best to forget about her.

Too often however, his mind meandered back to thoughts of her face, her mouth. Usually those thoughts came barging into his head late at night, when company fell asleep and his shadows disapated. Recently however those thoughts had changed.

Since solstice that mousy brown hair had taken on hues of red. Turquoise eyes closed in the throes of pleasure and a slimmer body writhed beneath him.

He was so unbelievably fucked. Or maybe the issue was that he wasn’t getting fucked.

He should Rhys’s advice and find company at a pleasure house. He must really hate himself, to lust firstly after Mor, who had shown no interest in him in 200 years. Then Elain, who was mated, and now Gwyneth, with her history she probably wouldn’t want a male to look at her for too long.

Which made him some massive creep to think of her like that. Azriel really did try not to. But when she appeared unannounced, like last night, he couldn’t help but think…

No, he wouldn’t go down that road. Not until he was fully sure she wanted it.

Azriel had beeen so surprised when a shadow curled around his ear in the stormy night and whispered of a nymph girl climbing the stairs. He was out of his seat and down the steps faster than he could consider any potential consequences.

And there she had been, standing in the hallway, looking like she might want to turn right around and march back down, but a shadow flicked against his ear, singing softly and he spoke her name.

He wanted to reach out to her, his shadows took that as a cue and tried to reach out themselves before he pulled them back. Something about her was affecting them, drawing them in. Or maybe she was affecting him like that.

That was a dangerous thought.

She had stood silent, lithe frame backlit by the torches behind her and said,

“Would you like some company?”

Her voice was a melody. His shadows purred in answer.

The worlds axis must have shifted, he could probably look outside to find the stormy sky had turned as blue as her eyes he was taking too long to answer and she was looking at him oddly, perhaps noting the shadows flying around his shoulders.

They were so excitable in her presence, he couldn’t control them and that was extremely concerning. Az doesn’t like what he can’t control.

All worry was chased from his mind as he climbed the stairs and another topic was thrust into his brain.

Gwyn from the back was almost as glorious as she was from the front.

Gods what he wouldn’t do to grip those hips and grind that perfect little ass on his-

No.

He stopped himself, looking away before his control could be tested further. She said it herself, she was here for conversation and Mother damn him he would talk to her casually.

Gwyn was not going to be a repeat of Mor or Elain. He was not going to lust after another female that wanted nothing to do with him, and pine away until his demise.

Gwyn was going to mean more than that. He would keep her at arms length, so that he may keep her as a friend.

And he was making a fool of himself. She asked his favourite colour and the only colour left in the world was that of her eyes.

And he laughed, for the first time in weeks, stress melting from his weary bones after just minutes with this fabulous creature.

And he told her things he had never told anyone, that was dangerous.

He was a spymaster, mother damn him. A spymaster wasn’t much good if he told a female all his secrets after a few pretty smiles.

But gods, her smiles were pretty. He wondered how pretty her mouth would-

No. None of that.

He needed her out of here so he could collect pieces of his sanity before he spilled any other important secrets.

As she walked back towards the library however, he almost called her back. An unruly shadow seemed to take that as an opportunity to reach for her, but Az whipped it back.

Dangerous indeed.

And yet, that night he slept without dreams. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Well truthfully, he could, it was a time when his hands were unscarred.

Cassian was back the next morning. Ever his cheerful self since the mating ceremony almost a month ago. He had been unbearable for a week afterwards. Azriel had had to vacate the house of wind and call a halt to lessons as Cass had almost taken his head off and Nesta had growled at Emerie the first time she tried to enter the house.

Not to mention the scents and sounds emanating from different rooms. Azriel was happy for his brother, truly. Even if it did make him green with envy and blue with melancholy.

The following week, the happy couple were back training but Cass was so distracted Az managed to beat him into the dirt on no less than three occasions. Azriel waited another week before moving back into the House, still half considering Rhys’s offer to fumegate it.

He had kept occupied by tracking Koschei, or rather attempting to track him. The King had proven hard to pin down, a source of growing frustration to Azriel. He despised having to bring bad news to his High Lord, and now that Rhys had Nyx to worry about he hated it even more.

But Rhys maintained that they had faced threats before and triumphed but the failure still weighed heavy on Az that morning in the training ring.

He tried his hardest not to look at Gwyn. He couldn’t help it sometimes, her hair caught the light when she twirled under Emerie’s punch.

It looked like a flame come to life in the early morning sunlight and he challenged any living male not to loose breath.

It was with a warriors assessment that he allowed his gaze to rove over her slight body. He was admiring her form and positioning, definitely not imagining her in different positions. That would be both unsavoury and unprofessional. Which is why he hated himself for doing it.

Gwyn hardly noticed him, barely glancing in his direction and he had the strangest urge to pick a fight with Cassian in attempt to garner her attention.

That wasn’t good.

The warrior in question was flirting with his mate while she squatted, arching her back in a way that was unnecessary and counterproductive but Cassian didn’t call her up on it, he seemed too busy enjoying the show. Nesta however corrected herself and continued on while his lovesick brother pretended he hadn’t been leering at his mate.

Gwyn too had spotted the encounter laughed, a tinkling sound that lightened something dark in Azriels chest. She looked around to see if anyone else had caught what she had, and that’s when it happened. Her eyes met his and the world shifted again. He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed in the wake off her own. One thought consumed him as he turned back to his own priestesses and guided them through the next set. He was so unbelievably fucked.

Tagging: @bookstantrash @perseusannabeth @champanheandluxxury @princessofmerchants @princessofmerchants-reads @azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @lovelywordsandwine @thron3ofbooks @velaaaris @illyrian-valkyrie

Chapter 3

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for my writing or this fic x

#sjmsstuff writes #light and dark #light and dark ch 2 #acosf spoiler #acosf #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel

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duskandstarlight · 4 years ago

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Embers & Light (Chapter 26)

Notes: Enjoy! And let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...

Chapter 26 Nesta

Solstice approached with terrifying speed. Somehow, Azriel managed to carve out time in what Nesta imagined to be a busy schedule to oversee her training when she was in Windhaven. Nesta did not know if that was simply because Rhysand did not want to hold true to his promise to train her himself, or if the Shadowsinger was doing them all a favour by keeping the two of them separate for a little longer.

Nesta could not say that she was disappointed. Whilst there had been a slight shift in the air between them, Nesta was not deluded enough to think that her sister’s arrogant mate had found it in himself to let go of the grudge he so obviously held against her. From the moment they had met in the Human Realm, Nesta had sensed his disdain and simmering anger towards her. Had dissected what he thought was a flawless exterior as something too careful, too polite. It had not quite been as if he was treading on eggshells, but as if he was having to use all of his power to reign in his own temper.

Yet, to Elain... that resentment and hatred had faded into acceptance and forgiveness over time. The same could not be said for he and Nesta. Even though it had been she who had fought and sacrificed her life in the war. Even though she had saved Cassian from the Cauldron’s blast. And even though it had been she who had killed the King, tracked the Cauldron and acted as Emissary, Feyre’s mate had been unable to hide the anger that Nesta had allowed her sister to provide for them when they were young.

So, Nesta had made it worse, testing the waters of that night eternal power to see how far she could go until he snapped completely. If their High Lord wasn’t going to bother to try and see the effort Nesta had made, then she would make life hell for him when she started to drown. She spent his coffers, banished her sisters and wrapped her words in thorns of steel. For some, it was not unlike the work of a petulant child desperate for a reaction. For Nesta, it was a method of slow, numbing destruction until she became nothing but a husk. It had been far more dangerous and much deadlier then any of them had imagined, and now Nesta was out of the other side, she understood why Cassian had look so ravaged when he had searched her face and assaulted her with words that should have been like spears to the heart but never hit home.

Even so, Rhys’s hatred of Nesta was a punishment she believed was deserved. Nesta knew that. And she would not take job offerings which were given out of loving duty and obligation to one’s mate. Nesta would only work for a court she did not view as hers if it was because she had worth and use. If she was needed rather than an irritant one wanted to banish.

This time had been different. The Illyrian cause was greater than the shattered pride Nesta would endure by assisting someone she did not want to be around. And Nesta had vowed to step out of the past and into the present. Had decided she would try with her sisters and start to rebuild who she wanted to be. Nesta did not want to be someone who selfishly stood on the sidelines whilst others suffered. It was true that she had been a victim and made others a victim of her trauma, but she was done weighing up old grievances and her many errors. She would bite her tongue and step forward into the present. And if that meant learning to be civil then Nesta would do it for the females and for Cassian, who she could not bear to make life harder for.

To think that Nesta might cause him to ache made it hard to breathe. So, should the situation demand it, Nesta had decided she would rise above it. She was strong. She was resilient. She was powerful.

She would protect and heal.

Nesta supposed her goals were the same as the rest of the Inner Circle, after all.

When it came to mastering her ability to read others emotions, Nesta found the power now came to her as easy as breathing. With the acceptance of her magic - the understanding that it was part of who she was and who she wanted to be - Nesta found it far easier to lower her walls.

Identifying and concentrating on one target was where she had difficulty, but in the end, even Azriel gave more and more praise in that solemn, cold way of his rather than constructive criticism.

“It’s all down to practice now,” the Shadowsinger had told Nesta after their last training session, as they walked through the camp back to the bungalow. “You know how to do it. It’s just a matter of tuning out the unwanted emotions of others and focussing on those that matter.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Nesta had replied, biting back a grimace. Sometimes she found the background ‘noise’ so overwhelming she wanted to vomit.

“It’s nothing you can’t master,” Azriel replied dismissively, in the way that Nesta had learnt to be a compliment. “As long as you hold on to something as a tether - something to ground you that will always pull you back and stop you from becoming overwhelmed - you will be fine.”

Nesta had glanced sideways at the Shadowsinger as they stepped up to the backdoor of the bungalow. Azriel often stayed for dinner after their training sessions, and Nesta found that she did not mind him joining she and Cassian’s shared space, mainly because it gave her the opportunity to witness the brothers relationship up close.

Whilst Cassian and Azriel might not have been related by blood, their interactions were bound in a way that melded them by flesh and bone regardless. And to Nesta’s surprise, she found that in a smaller group the Shadowsinger was not so quiet. He had a dry wit about him that often had Nesta biting back a smirk, especially as it was usually directed at Cassian, who would either gape in surprise or let out an unabashed bark of laughter that was so lovely it made Nesta want to both stare and look away.

“Do you have a tether?” Nesta asked Azriel curiously as she held her palm to the door. It was a blunt question that she only dared ask because she had no doubt that Azriel would swiftly cut her down if he did not want to answer.

“Of course,” Azriel replied as they stepped into the kitchen.

Cassian was by the sink, the sleeves of his tunic pushed up to his elbows as he washed some grains under the tap. He dared to wink at her as she entered, but he didn’t offer any other formal greeting.

Her blood heated and she ducked down to untie the laces on her boots.

“What is it?” She demanded.

Ariel had already made quick work of his boots, but he flung his wings out of the door to rid them of melted snowflakes. “What’s yours?” he had countered in that chilled way of his, knowing that she would not dare tell him. Would not tell anyone.

So, she had merely snorted in response, quickly disappearing in search of a hot shower before either of them could guess what she was thinking, dare her mask slip and render her readable.

On Solstice morning, Nesta found herself naturally rising with the dawn, even though Cassian had told her that it was the one day of the year that Illyrian’s did not train. Crawling out of bed to open the curtains, Nesta had sat in the window seat to stare out at the ethereal, low mists that shrouded the mountain pass and horizon in moving fog. Not for the first time, she wished she were already halfway up the mountainside; a part of the natural scenery rather than separated by glass, so she could see unhindered, the dusky streaks of colour painted across the sky and the yellow strip of light that signalled the sun was ready to start the day.

Nesta was first to breakfast. Cassian had been in Velaris the evening before and Nesta had not been awake to see him arrive back in Windhaven. He smelt distinctly of stale alcohol as he joined her in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of low slung pants and nothing else but wild hair and endless tan skin licked with ink that made her skin itch.

Sleepily, Cassian batted Nesta away from the stove as if she were an irritating fly, but she only hissed at him with such malice that he barked a hoarse laugh. When she thumped a mug of coffee by his side moments later, she did it with much more force than she usually mustered so early in the morning, and she caught his features soften for a fraction of a second, before he made himself busy at the stove.

They ate eggs and smoked salmon on toasted rye in relative silence, and Nesta watched Cassian proceed to eat two ginormous portions with a mixture of disgust and awe.

When Nesta loftily gave in to the temptation and asked Cassian whether he had considered saving himself for the Solstice feast, he had just snorted and told her that he was stretching his stomach. After that, Nesta was certain that he ate a third portion just to spite her, but even she couldn’t help but slide another piece of smoked salmon onto her plate, much to her chagrin when Cassian’s eyes glinted triumphant.

It was an hour later when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Nesta was in the process of pinning her hair with the golden leaf pin Elain had sent her all those weeks ago, and she answered the door with one hand whilst the other held her hair in place.

“Are you ready?” Cassian asked as soon as the door opened.

For once, he was not leaning against the doorframe, but standing upright in a wide stance which highlighted just how broad and tell he was.

There was a look of impatience on his face, but Nesta paid it no heed and took a moment to survey how different he looked from usual. Today’s festivities had turned him out in dark pants and a shirt, the collar of which sat just below ink which whorled up the right side of his neck, stopping a few inches below his ear. The clothing made him appear the most human Nesta had ever seen him, if it had not been for the apex of his huge wings which he was holding high behind him.

As if they sensed her attention, his wings flexed in a movement that usually told Nesta that Cassian was either uncomfortable or nervous. They spread wide enough for Nesta to notice how magnificently they shone, as if they had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned for the occasion. Even Cassian’s hair gleamed, as if he had run a brush through it before it had scraped it back into a loose bun.

He looked unforgivably, heart-stoppingly handsome, not that Nesta would ever admit it out loud.

Ignoring the unusually apprehensive expression on his face, Nesta frowned and secured the pin at the back of her head. “Am I late?”

She had thought she had given herself plenty of time to get ready, but her half coronet had taken longer than usual. It appeared that three months of only wearing a simple plait had her out of practice. At least she had worn a loose braid overnight, which meant that her hair already hung in soft waves down her back. She knew that the Night Court dressed up on Solstice, and Nesta liked Lorrian and Frawley enough that she did not want to offend them.

Nesta had stayed with them twice since the kerit attack at Windhaven, where she had spent her days learning the art of the bow with Lorrian and practicing her healing powers with Frawley.

And the bow… Nesta loved it. It felt right in her hands, the way her muscles strained and trembled as she pulled back the string. Cassian and Lorrian had her working hard on her upper arm strength to the point that they felt constantly sore, but she did not care. Lorrian and Frawley had even taught her how to fly on Caerleon, with Lorrian insisting that when she was more able, they could practice shooting a moving target. Nesta had the sneaking suspicion that both of them had quickly realised that she hungered for the skies, but she did not mind that they had read her so easily. Being on the back of Caerleon, her fingers buried deep in the mane at his neck, was the most liberated Nesta had ever felt, to the point that she had laughed when the manticore had sent her into a nose dive and the wind had howled so fast around them that Nesta and Caer had become a part of the element rather than separate from it.

When Nesta had not been training with Lorrian, Frawley was teaching her how to harness her healing power. The witch had Nesta look inwards to her two strands of her magic, until Nesta could pick them apart with ease, summoning either silver or white at her palms. When she had mastered that, Frawley had plucked flower after flower from the forest floor, had them wither in her open palm and ordered Nesta to bring them back to life.

It wasn’t so much bringing things back from the brink of death that Nesta struggled with, rather it was knowing when to stop. The key, Frawley had told Nesta, was to constantly observe the patient as she healed. To understand what injuries were fresh and required immediate life-saving attention and what was old enough to be left well alone. The former always shone with a pressing light when Nesta’s magic passed over it, whereas the latter took on a dull, shadowy quality. There was also the matter that Nesta’s power reserves could swell to unprecedented levels, of which the bottom was determined by the energy she had sequestered.

The solution, Frawley had told Nesta, was to know what her reserves felt like, so that when her magic started to give out Nesta would know to stop.

That had been easier said than done, and it had taken Nesta hours to reach into herself and travel down, down, down to scrape the bottom of her own power.

“You will know when you reach it,” Frawley had only told Nesta with an infuriatingly mysterious air that had Nesta wanting to snarl.

But she had. It tasted like the last, bitter dregs of tea and metallic blood. It felt wrong and life threatening, enough for Nesta to pull away so sharply that Frawley had patted a shaking Nesta on the shoulder and passed her a steaming mug of energising tea.

But what Nesta hadn’t told Frawley was that she didn’t just sense white and silver when she looked within herself, but something else. Something hidden behind a veiled curtain which she couldn’t quite touch. A terrified part of Nesta wondered if it was the chunk of the Cauldron she had taken. The piece of inky black which sung of darkness and terror. Nesta had not found the words to ask Frawley about it. Was too scared about what it meant. That perhaps there was something rotting inside of her that would taint her soul and those around her.

It sung to her, the veil. It whispered reverently when she brushed against it. Her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

She had stayed well away from it, after that, but sometimes she heard it whisper softly, the sensation like her power turning over in her veins.

Like now, as Cassian stared at her rather than reply, his hazel eyes darkening as his pupils widened and pressed against his irises.

Nesta tried and failed not to feel self-conscious. She smoothed down her midnight blue dress and walked past him, her back straight.

“You’ll need to shield my hair,” Nesta clipped, as she headed to the hooks by the door and slipped on her coat.

When she turned, Cassian was still staring at her with something that Nesta almost wished was longing.

She wanted to bite her lip, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. “Aren’t we going to be late?” she clipped.

Slowly, Cassian blinked. Then, his gaze dropped to her feet. “Are you going to wear those shoes?”

Nesta scowled. “Yes.”

“They’re not practical for flying.”

“I’m not flying, I’m being carried. And is it not custom to dress nicely for Solstice?”

She stiffened as those sharp eyes dragged over her body with such intensity Nesta felt as if her skin were entirely bare.

“It is custom,” Cassian agreed eventually, his voice so impossibly low she felt it rumble through her bones. Even as there was a bite to his words that suggested he was holding something back.

Perhaps how she had not bothered the year prior.

Nesta nodded as if to indicate that the matter was settled and wound a scarf around her neck. “Don’t set me down in any mud or snow and I won’t find it in myself to set you on fire.”

A derisive snort but no jab or jest as he opened the front door. Cassian stepped onto the concrete step just beyond the threshold and with a flare of his siphons, light-weight armour clicked into place scale by scale over his dark clothes, the action like a ripple of water.

He held out his hand to her. Nesta glared at him but squeezed onto the step beside him. His hands wrapped around her, gathering her to his impossibly warm body and the steady, reliable beating of his heart. He smelt wonderful — of woodland and bracing blue sky which sung Illyria. Begrudgingly, Nesta held on to him, absorbing herself even more in his scent as he shot them into the sky.

They travelled in silence for a long while, Cassian unnervingly quiet. Usually it was he who struck up conversation and Nesta found it disconcerting to be yearning to speak with him rather than the other way around.

She twisted her head up to look at him: the dark eyebrows that always made his hazel eyes stand out so brilliantly; the tan, freshly shaved face which took the ruggedness out of his features; the ebony hair pulled back into a casual bun that she had come to favour on him.

To his credit, Cassian had listened to her about her own hair, casting a shield that was void of the gentle breeze he usually allowed to filter through. Instead, Nesta was warm, the

gentle pulse of his siphons indicating that he was expelling his magic to alter the temperature for them both.

“You look clean,” Nesta observed, when she knew she had studied him for too long. He was deliberately not acknowledging her blatant staring. “Is this your first and only bath this year?”

Cassian snickered. “Very good, sweetheart. It’s good to see that the festivities haven’t smoothed over your sharp edges.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” Nesta remarked drily, watching the craggy terrain; the snow capped mountains and the stretch of pine ahead of them. “Consider it a Solstice present.”

A laugh then, soft and throaty. More like himself. “You’ll have to save that fire for the lords tomorrow, sweetheart. It is no way to speak to your beloved.”

Sharply, Nesta craned her neck up to find him smiling down at her. It was a wicked smile that Nesta suspected he had willed into existence solely to stoke her fire.

“What,” she spat. Demanded.

Cassian’s canines flashed. “Consider me your Solstice present. I’d have wrapped myself in a bow, but we were in a rush.”

Nesta glared at him with such ferocity she imagined him burning into cinders. “And when were you planning to tell me that I have to pretend that we’re...” She trailed off, suddenly at a loss to carry on.

“Dating? Courting? Fucking?” Cassian said the last word with a grin that turned feral.

Nesta snarled at him with such savagery that Cassian choked on a laugh. His hazel eyes flared amber.

“If you start smoking I’ll have to drop you,” he warned, as silver sparked from her fingertips. “And I planned on telling you now,” he admitted. There was no apology in his voice, if anything it only carried amusement and a faint layer of… something else. “I thought it best to tell you when we were suspended in midair for my safety.”

“Insufferable,” Nesta muttered under her breath, irritated that she could not let go of him and cross her arms over her chest. “Not only am I to be stuck in a room full of Illyrians, but I have to pretend to be bedding the most irritating of them all.”

“Feel free to boast about my technique to those assholes at any point,” Cassian snickered wryly, but then his playfulness dropped at his next words. Nesta suspected he’d glanced down and seen her solemn expression, “Think of it as an unpleasant few hours for the sake of finding out more information.”

“Who do you usually take?”

A beat of silence followed her demand. Then, “Nobody.”

A disbelieving frown pinched between her eyebrows. “Ever? Not even your friends?”

She craned her neck to look up at him.

“It’s partners only,” Cassian explained, but he was looking ahead of them with an intensity that told Nesta he was deliberately not meeting her eye. “I very rarely have one and never one who I think could hold their own amongst the vultures.”

Some tension bled out of Nesta. She would have thought that Mor might have accompanied him at some point. Those lines were so blurred Nesta had no idea what to make of them other than that she hated it. Would never not hate it.

The amusement had faded from Cassian’s features and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He suddenly seemed angry and Nesta didn’t know whether it was her reaction or another memory. And perhaps her reaction to pretending to court had wounded him, especially given their turbulent past. Sometimes Nesta did not know where they stood with the other. The bond strung between them made everything so complicated, so much more difficult than other narratives. To understand what was fact and fiction. Lust and love.

The thought of pretending they were together, even for two days made it difficult to breathe. It was another twist in their storyline - another complicated strand, which warped what was honest and true.

“Don’t worry, Illyrians aren’t big on public displays of affection,” Cassian assured her, breaking her out of her worrisome thoughts. His dark eyes found hers again, and they looked a little sad, as he admitted, “The males here don’t cherish females the way they should.”

It took everything in Nesta to suppress the shiver that wanted to crash over her body and remain silent. They were tiptoeing around today, using banter and sharp words to cover up what had happened last year. How she had dismissed him so brutally… so effectively. How she had heard the water splash and ripple as he threw her gift in the river. How he had followed her anyway until she lit a light in her apartment, his wings a steady beat as she sunk to the rickety, splintered floorboards utterly numb.

It was not Cassian’s cruel words from that evening that haunted her — not even hers did — but it was oddly the vulnerability in his expression as he finally let her leave that repeatedly churned in the forefront of her mind. That made her think that perhaps Cassian had been genuine. That he wasn’t embarrassed of her, even if his actions — the way he ignored her when his friends were around — insinuated that he did. That he truly had wanted her, enough to swallow his pride and follow her. To continue to flirt and fight for her, even now.

But when Nesta remembered how he had laughed as he held up the satin undershorts from Mor, red slid over her vision.

Cassian seemed to sense that displeasure, remaining silent for the duration of the journey.

Caer trotted out to meet them as soon as they landed outside Lorrian and Frawley’s, his tufted tail dancing in the shape of a question mark. Smoke billowed from the crooked chimney of the cottage and the smells that wafted towards them on the soft breeze were so divine Nesta’s stomach grumbled.

Frawley met them at the open stable door, and to Nesta’s surprise, she bent to place a swift kiss on each of Nesta’s cheeks. She was wearing another dark dress the colour of smoke, the underskirts laced with a misty tulle that shimmered beautifully in the light.

“Happy Solstice, Nesta,” Frawley said brusquely. “We’re being thrown to the wolves tomorrow so we’ll have to make today a pleasant one.”

Cassian’s laugh was low in Nesta’s ear. “If past experience is anything to go by, I’d predict that Nesta will be the wolf and they the sheep,” he corrected, as they both stepped into the warmth of the cottage.

Lorrian appeared behind Frawley as he stepped into the hallway from the living room. His chuckle was deep and delighted. “I’m looking forward to witnessing that.”

Frawley’s grin was terrifying as she levelled her gaze with Nesta’s. “Surely they do not still think you’re a witch after the kerit attack?”

“No,” Nesta said slowly, thinking of Devlon’s begrudging acceptance of her. How the Illyrians no longer looked as if they might spit at her. At the distance the males gave her, as if she were finally a threat rather than a pawn in their game. “They don’t know what I am.”

“That probably terrifies them more,” Cassian told Nesta with a devilish grin as they followed Lorrian and Frawley into the living room.

Like the rest of the house, fresh greenery had been wound into garlands around the room. Beautifully arranged teardrop swags hung beneath the faelights on the white-washed walls: bundles of pine, cones, holly and its ruby berries, ivy and honeysuckle vines.

“Mulled wine,” Frawley told Nesta, thrusting a large mug into her hand. “I’ve magicked it to remove the alcohol. It practically tastes the same. Lorrian likes it, anyway.”

“It’s the closest I’ve had to the real thing,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin as he finally moved forward to greet her. He bent to kiss both of her cheeks in an air of heat laced with sandalwood, the close cut of his stubble rough against her skin. “You look beautiful, as usual,” he told her.

Nesta’s snort was a soft dismissal, but she was secretly pleased. The dress she was wearing had hung off her months ago. She’d still had Mas take it in a little, but she saw her outfit as a symbolic triumph, having finally gained back the majority of the weight she had lost so dangerously after months and months of denying herself sustenance.

“Come,” Frawley beckoned to Nesta, “I’ve put your armchair close to the fire. You’re as bad as Caerleon. Sometimes I think he’d sit on top of the hearth if he could.”

Nesta’s lips twitched but she didn’t comment. It was true that now Nesta could light fires of her own, she could enjoy sitting by the hearth without fearing that it might send her into a downward spiral. Not that Frawley hadn’t taken care of that herself the two times she had visited, and as expected, the fire was already silently eating the glowing wood that had been stacked into the grate.

At the mention of his name, Caerleon padded towards Nesta just as she took a seat in the armchair and pressed his large head into Nesta’s lap. Burying her fingers into the beast’s soft, shaggy mane with her spare hand, Nesta huffed a laugh as the manticore let out a low whine in greeting.

“How do you usually celebrate Solstice, Nesta?” Lorrian asked conversationally, as he seated himself in the twin armchair opposite her and stretched out his long legs.

Nesta didn’t have to glance at Cassian from where he had settled on the low-back couch to know that his expression had turned tight. She felt the trepidation in her stomach. The more and more she dropped her emotional guard, the more keenly she felt him, even through the shield of fire he had resurrected around himself.

“Solstice isn't celebrated in the Human Realm,” Nesta replied in a way that she hoped came across as unaffected.

“Of course it isn’t,” Frawley interjected, glaring at her husband with an intensity Nesta was glad she was not on the receiving end of.

“Well, the good thing about Solstice is the food,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin. “If you need a motivation to start celebrating it.”

Nesta harrumphed in the back of her throat. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Speaking of food...” Cassian started hopefully.

Frawley rolled her eyes but dumped a plate of pastries unceremoniously into the warrior’s lap. “Lorrian made these solely to tide you over until dinner.” She tutted as Cassian began to tuck in with gusto. “I’ve never witnessed anybody eat so much and I live with an Illyrian. Did you train this morning?”

“No,” Cassian said around a mouthful of pie. His voice was incredulous — offended, even. “It’s Solstice, witch, or have you forgotten in your old age?”

“I would not put it past you to train three hundred and sixty-five days of the year,” Frawley snapped in retort, “for fear that one day off would have those muscles of yours shrinking.”

When Frawley’s ice blue eye rested on Nesta, it was not sparking with anger but amusement, even as her face remained impassive. She and Cassian often bantered like this; with Frawley seemingly infuriated and Cassian prodding insults. “Am I wrong, Nesta?”

Nesta did not try to fight the slight curve of her lips, she was too amused by Cassian’s mouth which had gone slack. Thankfully, it wasn’t full of food. “No, he preens and puffs like a rooster.”

Lorrian threw his head back and laughed. Frawley snorted with delight. Grinning, Cassian stood to offer Nesta a mince pie with twinkling eyes.

Surprised, Nesta cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

What she had said wasn’t true. Cassian’s physique was all to do with being a cut above the rest. He trained with an intensity that sung of a determination to prove that he was worthy. He allowed his body to become battered and bloody, his knuckles bruised and his hands calloused. He wore scars as if they were armour… as if they were akin to the black tattoos that licked up his body. Symbols of luck and glory and proof that he would endure, above all else.

So much of Cassian was worn on the surface if you chose to look.

And she certainly wasn’t complaining about his figure. Even if just staring at the corded muscles of his body made her fill with a liquid heat that both embarrassed and thrilled her… She had wondered on more than one occasion what it might feel like to straddle the vast width of him… to allow her fingernails to bite into his sizeable shoulders as she sank down onto him. The way he’d groan, the sound guttural in the depths of his throat. She had dreamt about it more times than she’d like to admit. She knew what it felt like to have his phantom lips bruise her skin and his teeth scrape at her pulse point. Knew what it felt like for that relentless drive to hound her blood, each throb of her veins pulling her towards him.

But if her blood was desire, her mind was logic and she knew why she felt like that. Why he felt like it too, sometimes.

So she kept her ribcage close around her heart. It was a shield rendered with gaps but it worked just fine if she fortified it with ice.

Those glowing amber eyes did not leave hers as she took a sweet pastry dusted with sugar from the plate. For a terrified moment, Nesta thought that he knew what she had been thinking, but then he turned to Frawley and said with such casualness it took her a moment for the words to sink in, “Not all of us can look as effortlessly devastating as Nesta.”

Cassian didn’t look at her for a while, after that.

The day was not like the previous Solstice: full of gifts and banter that she was not a part of. Nesta did not spend her time shying away in the corner for fear that the fire would make her power finally roar.

There was food. Lots of variety without being excessive. Roast meat, potatoes and steamed vegetables. Battered savoury pudding, gravy and pigs in blankets. Nesta ate more than she usually would, each dish so delicious she could not help what she piled onto her plate until she was practically bursting at the seams.

Afterwards, Nesta helped Frawley to carry the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Lorrian had done the majority of the cooking and Frawley had woefully admitted that meant it was her job to clean up. Nesta had risen without thinking and in a blink of an eye she had her hands submerged in water and bubbles.

Frawley was telling Nesta that it was she and Lorrian’s anniversary the day before Solstice. That they had decided to become chroi on that day many years ago, and had the magic seal their intents a few hours later.

Despite Frawley’s fierce edges, the witch softened when she spoke of her husband in a way that told Nesta that the love ran deep. Not that Nesta couldn’t see that plainly before her whenever the two were in a room. They had a way of moving together that was completely at ease: respectful and kind and pure and accepting.

It made Nesta hungry for the love she had read about in her books. But she knew better than to believe she was deserving of it.

“How did you know Lorrian was the one?” Nesta asked curiously, as Frawley detailed how they had decided to intertwine their lives the same day in front of the other witches.

Taking a plate from Nesta, Frawley began to dry it with a seriousness that told Nesta that she was thinking hard. “I’ve lived a long life,” Frawley said eventually. “After a while, night and day become repetitive. Boring. I didn’t realise I’d fallen into a rut until I met Lorrian. He made me feel alive again.” She shrugged, the action unlike Frawley as she pinned Nesta with both her eyes. “And Caer liked him. Caer has always been an extension of me in some ways, so I knew that Lorrian was right. We fit like two puzzle pieces. We didn’t try to change who we were for the other, but our love made us happier, more content, even in the face of great challenges.”

Nesta wondered if Frawley was referring to their lost witchlings as well as Lorrian’s arm. She could not imagine losing something so precious. The thought made her heart ache with such intensity she wanted to run away for a moment, before she reminded herself that emotion was part of life. It was better than being numb.

Nesta wanted to see the world in colour, not in black and white. Training with Azriel had taught her that.

“It must be nice,” Nesta observed after a moment, “to know you both chose one another. That you had a choice.”

Both eyes swivelled to rest on Nesta’s face. The effect was alarming. Nesta was used to them moving independently rather than together. “Everyone has a choice in love, Nesta.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but then Lorrian and Cassian entered the kitchen laden with more dirty dishes. Lorrian mentioned a dessert he needed to take out of the larder and Frawley turned to help him.

Whilst Nesta’s stomach was full in a way that was uncomfortable, her ears perked up at the thought of something sweet, as if it would cut through her savoury food coma.

“I have something I’d like to show you,” Cassian said into Nesta’s ear, as Frawley batted away her husband with a tea towel. He was trying to take the pudding she was carrying from her. “Will you come with me?”

Nesta cast a look at Lorrian and Frawley, but they were still both fussing over the Christmas pudding to notice them. So she nodded and followed him out the back door and into the crisp night air. Already a layer of frost dusted the greenery on the forest floor and pine needles, but Cassian quickly cast a bubble of warmth around them. It had not snowed, a rarity for this time of year Cassian had told her earlier, especially in Illyria which was usually deep in blankets of snow by now.

Gesturing to the outbuilding to the left of the cottage, Cassian walked ahead of her, his large wings bobbing behind him as he moved. They flared slightly as he slid open the huge wooden door, before quickly tucking themselves back in, no doubt to protect them from the bitter cold wind which was doing its best to cut through his shield.

It took Nesta’s eyes a fraction of a second to adjust to the darkness, her Fae eyes gifting her with far better sight than her human body ever had.

She stared around the barn — the bails of hay, the wooden rafters…

She twisted to look up at Cassian, a frown on her face. “What am I looking at?

“There," Cassian said with a jut of his chin. Nesta followed the direction he had pointed in and then her eyes went wide.

There, on a makeshift bed of hay was a manticore. It was not like Caer. There was no orange mane, only beautiful sandy fur and a handsome, elegant head, large ears and huge, almond eyes. Her leathery wings were smaller than Caer’s but in proportion to her body and tucked in tight.

Her amber eyes glowed in the dark, that regal head cocking as her gaze clicked into place with Nesta’s. That one look had Nesta’s heart thumping in her chest. It was not from fear, but utter awe.

“Do you know the associations surrounding manticores?” Cassian asked. His voice was low in her ear. Intimate.

Frowning, Nesta dragged her eyes away from the manticore with regret. “They are an apex predator known to devour their prey whole,” Nesta said, reciting what she had been told since she was young. “They are vicious and deadly and cannot be overcome by man.”

But even as she said the words, Nesta knew them not to be true, because she knew Caer. Knew his empathetic heart and the way he had comforted her when she was sad. “Obviously, that’s another human myth that holds no truth,” she finished with a lift to her chin, daring him to laugh.

But Cassian did not mock her, he only nodded. “Yes. Manticores are ruthless creatures and because of their ability to kill with such ease they have been labelled as bringing strife and suffering to the world. But that is not true. Manticores are rare and hard to come by because they are born from the blood of true sacrifice.”

Nesta wondered what Frawley had done to earn Caer’s loyalty. For him to serve her above all others. From what Cassian had told her, Caerleon had been with Frawley for so long even history could not pinpoint an exact date.

“Rhys found this manticore in the spot where you healed Mas.”

A long, long silence. “Frawley took her back to The Steppes to raise her. Manticores grow incredibly quickly, as you can see, but are incredibly vulnerable when they are young, largely because their wings are not fully developed. Fae and humans alike also have a nasty habit of trying to kill young manticores as it is when they are at their weakest. They try to damage their tails so they cannot take life from range and injure their wings so they never develop.

The thought made Nesta’s stomach roll. To harm something so beautiful and pure.

“Sala is only two weeks but she has already taken adult form. Only a fool would try to take her down now.”

“If manticores are so deadly, why isn’t she trying to kill us?” Nesta breathed, her gaze again connecting with the beast’s.

“Because we believe that she is yours, if you want her.”

“She’s mine?” Nesta asked sharply, too surprised to arrange her expression into one of indifference. “How do you know?”

At the words, the manticore raised her beautiful, beautiful head. Golden eyes settled on Nesta as leathery wings unfurled from the beast’s back — stretching — as if she had woken from a long sleep. She rose until she was on her haunches and then her four huge paws.

The beast padded towards them, her hips slinking, her head low and assessing. Yet none of it was threatening. Instead, Nesta only felt a rush of calm as the manticore moved towards them. She stopped in front of Nesta, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth of her breath on her skin, could see that close up the shimmer of gold in Sala’s eyes, the dotted muzzle and the long, pointed incisors.

And then, the beast hopped up onto her haunches, her impossibly large paws coming to rest on Nesta’s shoulders. Despite the enormity of the animal, Nesta remained grounded without having to brace herself. Mesmerising gold filled her vision. It was an ancient, omniscient stare that sung of wisdom and knowledge, of years lived and lived and lived.

And then Nesta saw herself: a reflection of silver-grey; of elegantly pointed ears; of pale skin and pink lips; as if she had become a part of the beast, their lives entangled. Bowing her large head, the manticore closed the distance between them and rubbed her forehead against Nesta’s.

The action was gentle — a familial caress — and when the beast was done, she kept her head against Nesta’s, the gesture solicitous and binding. They breathed together, their chests moving at the same time, and Nesta revelled in the softness of Sala’s fur and the affection that laced the movement. The implication behind it.

“A manticore chooses an owner it deems worthy. Someone pure of heart.”

Cassian’s voice was a low rumble as Sala dropped to all fours. When Nesta twisted around to look at him she found him leaning against the barn, as if he had stepped away to give she and Sala space. His smile was crooked and so beautiful Nesta wanted to touch it; to trace the lines of his mouth where it curved upwards. But most of all, to draw the lines that creased around his eyes that softened the wildness of his features.

“The tuft of her tail is made of silver fire, which is also a giveaway,” Cassian mused, his hazel eyes glowing with what Nesta dissected as amusement. Had she been staring at him a little too long? “Manticores take on elements of their partner.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed Sala’s tail, but now she could see the trail of silver flame as the tip flicked slowly from side to side in the dark.

The ice that protected everything creaked and cracked at the sight.

Nesta let it. She wanted to refute it — to tell Cassian that he was wrong and Sala wasn’t hers — but the moment Sala had rested her heads on hers, she knew that they were bound together. The manticore made her blood sing, as if their paths were irrevocably entangled in such a beautiful way that Nesta daren’t question it. It was a similar feeling she had encountered when Cassian had delivered the letter in the Human Realm; that compelling pull of destiny.

After the war, Nesta had thought they were done. That she and Cassian had made history and were now travelling on parallel paths of a forked road. But now she was not so sure. She had not been sure for a while now.

“And what if I were of bad intention?” Nesta asked, smoothing her palm over the manticore’s head. The fur was as soft as the finest silk; the touch so divine that Nesta wanted to bury her face in the beast’s ruff and breathe her in again.

A frown worried itself onto Cassian’s expression. Nesta pushed it to the periphery, keeping her attention focussed on Sala.

Nesta had thought revenge would be sweet. Thought that killing the King would have rendered her new and swept away all of the regrets and the pain of the past, but it had only set a deep fear within her. What if her palms only sung death and destruction? What if she was evil and cruel and a thorn in the side of everyone she met? What if she was bloodthirsty and she would not stop until she had quenched that thirst?

But when she had dropped to her knees in front of Mas, Nesta had felt a different hum of power; a magic that had been pushed down and quieted but was wholly good. And as Nesta had forged herself anew, she realised that her magic had presented her with a choice. She could be death if she wished. She could cause destruction and wreak havoc but she could also protect and heal. And whilst Nesta had decided who she was, the knowledge that she had the ability to take away life as she pleased still terrified her. The kerits were different. They were not Fae or human. They did not look like her, did not think like her, did not have conscious thought. Their heads did not tumble right, and whilst life disappeared from the depth of their eyes, it was not akin to the way her father’s eyes had faded, his very being sputtering out until there was only vacant emptiness.

Nesta did not want to take life. Not unless she had to.

She was not a killer.

Scar-flecked fingers tilted her chin and urged her to look upwards. Nesta had not heard him move, but she registered his warmth and saw his earnest expression as she stared up into Cassian’s tan face.

“You are not of bad intention,” Cassian said, as if he somehow could sense her self-deprecating thoughts. His voice had dropped; the tone soft, like a brush stroking tenderly against a canvas.

“What would happen?” Nesta insisted. She needed to know. Needed to understand as surely as she needed to understand that she would wake tomorrow and he would still be there; her steady presence.

“Then Sala would disappear into the ether, as it were. An allegiance can be changed, after all. Manticores are highly intelligent creatures.”

Nesta did not know what to say. Yet, whilst she had no words, she knew with a fierce conviction that she would not allow herself to lose Sala. This beast… she was a gift. Sala was the first true blessing that Nesta had been granted in a life that had only been bleak and cruel.

Sala was hers just as she would be the beast’s. A companion in the grey of her life. Another flicker of light in the dark.

“I thought she would give you more freedom around the camps.”

Nesta blinked. Cassian had dropped his hand but remained close to her. His warmth seeped through her clothing, the sensation welcome in the shadows of the barn. Sometimes Nesta felt as if his warmth was directed solely to heat her limbs.

“I know you must feel limited in where you can go,” Cassian elaborated, stretching his wings slightly. He kept the one closest to her outstretched; a barrier against the cold.

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian’s cheeks stained a faint pink and he looked away. “I can’t imagine being in Windhaven and not being able to fly,” he confessed. “Sala can carry you about if you want to taste the wind. She can also fight alongside you should you ever need it, both on ground and in the skies.” Another crooked smile as those dark eyes rested back on her, as if he were making himself do it. It nearly knocked the breath from her lungs, the vulnerability in his expression. “She’s not a steed, but perhaps she will become a close second.”

Nesta didn’t know what to do with her body. She felt self-conscious beyond belief, thrown completely by the repeated offering — of freedom. Cassian knew of her growing love of flying. He had truly listened when she confessed that the air rushing around her made her feel alive. That she hungered for it — desperate to gobble up the adrenaline that for the short time, made her feel awake. The rush was akin to an orgasm; the sensation of hot, silky skin sliding against hers as the wave crested and shattered on the shore. Better in some ways. Healthier. More attainable.

Even though words flashed through her mind, Nesta only asked, “Sala?”

Cassian’s lips turned up at the corners as if he were accessing a memory. “It means fire in Illyrian. A temporary name should you wish to call her something else. Although she is rather attached to it, as you can see.”

Indeed, the manticore’s round honey-coloured ears had pricked forward at the sound of her name. She tilted her head slightly at Cassian, as if she were waiting for him to give her a command.

Nesta bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears.

“But where will she stay?”

It seemed a stupid question to ask, but the words blurted forth anyway.

Cassian shrugged but the gesture appeared relieved. Had he thought she would turn Sala away? He must have asked Frawley to keep the manticore secret so he could show her the beast himself. “She can come into the bungalow if she likes. Manticores are needy creatures who bond fast to their chosen companion. She’ll like to exercise and hunt, but she’ll always want to come home to you. It is in her instincts to protect and serve.”

Silence fell. Nesta brushed her knuckles across the beast’s muzzle, just as she’d seen Frawley do with Caer. Sala’s purr was loud and she dropped to the ground as if she were in heaven, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs out.

Nesta mouth widened into an unstoppable smile at the sight — of the open display of trust and affection which Nesta found so difficult — and squatted down beside the manticore to ruffle her ears.

“Do you like her?”

Cassian’s words caught her, reminding her that he was watching her. His eyes were soft and wide when she twisted to look up at him. The faint ghost of a smile was still hovering on her lips.

“Yes,” she said, in a way that she hoped didn’t come out stiffly. “Very much.” Then she frowned. “What if I’m made to go back to Velaris.”

It was a possibility Nesta couldn’t cast from her mind. Even though Feyre had insisted Nesta could leave Illyria should she want to, Nesta could not help but fear that some event would call her back to their City of Starlight before she chose it herself. That her involvement in court matters would demand her presence.

Cassian’s expression hardened, showing a hint of the warrior she had been privy to earlier. “I promise you don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”

“But what if—"

“I don’t care if it’s demanded of you, Nesta. You never have to go back if you don’t want to.”

The way Cassian spoke was short and dark… and troubled. He truly meant it.

Another creak reverberated in Nesta’s ears as ice tumbled from a glacier. Cassian’s words had reminded her of what she needed to do — what Nesta had known for a while but did not want to admit. It was another path that had been cleared of vines and brambles, but remained laced with thorns. It was not an easy route, but it was what she had chosen. “I do want to go back.”

Everything stilled. The air went taut around them and Cassian’s angry expression shifted into something else entirely.

Nesta watched him open and close his mouth, the movement small but enough to indicate that she had stunned him. Eventually he said, “Ok.”

Another long, long pause. She watched him swallow, the column of his throat moving up and then down as he looked away. “We can move you back, if that’s what you want.”

Arrows formed between her brows as she frowned. Did he think…?

Stupid bat.

“I have no intention of moving back there permanently,” she clipped. “I have things I need to take care of. I’ll go back with you. You said you were going for New Year’s Eve.”

Again, Cassian’s lips parted. “You want to visit?” he asked with a disbelieving frown. “I’m going for a few days. I’ll return New Year’s Day.”

Dread twisted inside of her but Nesta did not let it show. Determination won out. She would not stray from her path. Her intention was bigger then her fear to return back to Velaris, to undoubtedly have to face member’s of the Inner Circle in their home — their territory. Where she had been broken and lost and so numb she could not remember the year that had slid by in a roll of bare flesh and the burn of alcohol.

“Yes, for a visit,” she confirmed. Then, she added, “As long as I don’t have to stay in that wretched new house.”

Cassian looked away from her. “Your apartment is still there.”

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Nesta thought of that cold and dirty apartment with its four locks on the door. She had never felt safe there. And it was not a place for her now. A different Nesta had lived there … and Nesta was not that Fae any longer.

“Where will you stay?” she asked.

“I usually stay with Rhys and Feyre or at the House of Wind.”

“Why don’t you have your own place.”

Cassian laugh was rough and throaty and it made the hairs on her arm stand on end. “Why, would you want to stay there?”

Nesta scowled, even as she asked, “How insufferable would you be if I said yes.”

“Very insufferable,” Cassian assured her, his eyes twinkling.

“No, then,” Nesta replied … and Cassian laughed. The sound was bright and so, so delighted that she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips.

“Shall I send word ahead that you’re coming?”

Nesta shrugged. “If you like.”

A pause.

“Elain will be pleased.”

“Yes,” Nesta said tightly. Already she was starting to backtrack, the thought of heading back to Velaris too much. But then she thought about her purpose and the courage it gave her made her stand that little bit taller. Stiffer… but taller.

“How about this,” Cassian offered, as if he sensed her trepidation. “We won’t send word ahead until the night before. Then you have the night to sleep on it. If you decide you don’t want to go back, nobody is any the wiser and it means you won’t overthink things.” His expression was carefully neutral. “You could even have Sala come to meet you,” he added. “The journey would help to strengthen her wings.”

Armour. He was offering her armour amongst her fire.

Nesta loosed a slow breath and played with Sala’s soft ears. “Ok.”

Then she looked up at him, those stormy eyes suddenly clearing to blue as a small smile crept onto her face — she was still in too much disbelief to control it. “She’s really for me?”

Cassian reached a hand downwards. It hesitated in midair, but when she did not move away his thumb brushed the dimple in her cheek with such reverence something inside of her glowed hot.

“She’s all yours,” Cassian assured her, his expression so soft he looked as young as her. “We can bring her inside now if you like. We’ll have to watch Caer, he’s taken a shine to her.”

Nesta woke the next morning in the small bedroom she had been allocated at the cottage with Sala spread out on the bed beside her. The manticore’s body was deliciously warm and Nesta raised a hand to scratch behind the animal’s ears.

Already the beast was Nesta’s steadfast companion.

Sala let out a deep rumbling purr that continued to vibrate as she knocked her head gently against Nesta’s in greeting, and Nesta allowed herself a moment to rest her forehead against Sala’s, holding her close and breathing her in.

The night of festivities had bled into the early hours, and Nesta had only dragged herself to bed when her eyelids had become so heavy she could barely keep them open.

Blearily, Nesta dragged herself to join her friends for breakfast before heading back upstairs to get ready to fly to Ironcrest. She was just finishing weaving her hair into a coronet, when a knock sounded at the door.

Cassian was wearing elaborate leathers that she had not seen before. He had scraped half of his hair back into a top knot tied tightly with leather and red cloth. The rest hung to his shoulders in gleaming ebony, as if he had deigned to run a brush through his hair yet again.

Nesta considered making a comment about how he had brushed his hair two days in a row but stopped herself at the last minute. There was a tense set to his shoulders that she had not expected to see given yesterday’s festivities. She doubted it was because he was hungover. Nesta had noticed that he had not gorged himself on wine like he had the year prior, only enjoying a few glasses over the course of the day, as if he knew he needed his wits about him for the luncheon. And, she imagined, so as not to drink excessively around her. Not that she hungered for a drink, any longer. She hadn’t for a long time.

The solidity to Cassian’s frame was the sort that he used to wear when she first arrived in Velaris. It was a stance prepared for barbed words and insults, even as he feigned casual joviality. A stance ready for a fight he did not want to participate in.

Perhaps he was worried about today… That was a possibility. She had heard him tell Rhys ‘no’ when he asked them to stay the night at Ironcrest. There had been no contemplation, just fierce, adamant refusal…

Nesta had a feeling it had nothing to do with his safety but her own. And even though Nesta had her silver flames and her beginner’s training in combat, she was still the female who craved four locks on a door before she could go to sleep. The bungalow was different, it had a magical protection that Nesta had cause to doubt, but in a camp where the General and their High Lord were out of favour…

Even as her power moved restlessly beneath her skin, Nesta hoped she and Cassian were sharing a room. She would gladly pretend to be seen as a couple if it meant she would not sleep alone in a strange place. Just the thought of it made her fire want to roar, even as the thought of sleeping beside him made her want to self-combust.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cassian bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears with a large hand. “Ready to go?”

Nesta’s eyes snagged on the chain dangling from his other hand and her magic gushed through her veins as if it were a flood.

“What’s that?” Nesta asked with a scowl.

For a moment, Nesta actually thought Cassian was going to turn on his heel and leave. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but in the end, he only stepped so close to her she almost had to take a step back to steady herself.

Sala came to sit by Nesta’s side. The manticore stared up at them with her beautiful, almond eyes that shone gold as Cassian thrust a hand out. “Here.”

Nesta stared at the silver chain that dangled from his fist and the pendant that hung from it. It was so odd to see an impossibly broad warrior holding something so delicate that Nesta wanted to laugh — the first time the sound wanted to desperately bubble out of her in his presence— but she knew to do so would be a fatal move; a wound that could not be healed. So she swallowed down the sensation and tilted her head to study the necklace instead.

She hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating in her chest.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Cassian swiftly changed tactic, steering her around so her back was to him. The movement was abrupt and uncontrolled, designed to stop her speaking and laced with something that Nesta thought she detected as panic.

The firm touch of his hands on her skin made everything hiss, like steam as water hit a hot pan on the stove. And once she had her back to him and the room stopped spinning, everything slowed. Hyper-aware, Nesta felt the movement of air against the arch of her neck; felt the way her body betrayed her and covered her in goosebumps as his calloused fingers brushed her neck. The pleasure at being touched coursed through her and she stiffened, suppressing the shiver that wanted to sweep her away.

She hadn’t been touched intimately in months. Hadn’t been touched tenderly ever and she found she craved for it.

The comprehension made her both sad and angry: a double-edged sword plunged into the gut.

“What do you think—” she started to snap, but she broke off as a light weight nestled on her sternum, a few inches below her clavicle.

For a moment, the stone was cool, but then it pulsed against her skin, as if it were a heart and it had been kicked into life for the first time. The pendant was a colour Nesta had never seen before - not quite gold and not quite silver. Understated but undoubtedly beautiful.

Nesta snapped her gaze up to Cassian as all seven siphons on his ornate armour glowed softly.

He was staring at her with apprehension… and he looked strangely vulnerable, as if he were ready to take a step back. As if he were about to take a hit.

Despite that, Nesta couldn’t help to stamp out the intimacy of the moment, even as her mind chanted for more. His head was bowed slightly towards her and she was so consumed by his scent that too much derision flooded her voice, “You’re giving me jewellery? I’m touched.”

“Very good,” Cassian snickered. His wary expression was suddenly replaced with determination, the shadows shifting on his dark, untameable features.

“I know you don’t usually wear jewellery,” Cassian said with forced lightness, “but I thought you might make an exception. The stone is made of pyrite. Pyrite is revered in Illyria for its protective properties—it’s very rare. It provides a level of protection over the wearer.”

Nesta fingered the beautiful pendant, the stone which was still warm against her skin. It reminded her of safety: of being curled up by a silent fire with a storm raging outside; of a hot meal settling in a stomach carved out hollow from weeks of barely having enough to survive.

She should accept the necklace and get him to leave, Nesta knew that, but her curiosity had been piqued even as something warned her to remain quiet, “When did you have time to hunt down a rare protective charm?”

A muscle feathered in Cassian’s jaw. Suddenly he was not looking at her again but past her, as if something had captivated his attention on the wall. “A while ago.”

And somehow she knew from those three words exactly what this was: the Solstice gift he had tried to give her.

All the fight bled out of her, because somehow Nesta knew that he had found this for her so she would feel safe. So when she closed the door to her apartment at night with the four locks or walked home well after dark in an inebriated state, that it would offer her protection. That even though she had rejected him and he knew that she was fucking male after male, that no harm would come to her.

At the time she would have been furious at the gift — at the audacity that he thought he should protect her. But that wasn’t it at all. It was because deep down, despite all her sharp words and his confusing actions, he had cared. And whilst post-war Nesta would have been so blinded by rage and numbing grief that she would have been unable to see the gift for what it was… the Nesta here and now - the female who was slowly emerging out of the dark - felt as if dawn was peeking on the horizon.

A lump formed in her throat. Had Cassian dived into the Sidra to retrieve it? When she had been so cruel to him and he so cruel to her? When she had lashed out because he would not listen. Because he had ignored her and flirted with Mor in front of her face as she felt discarded in the corner.

“It will provide you with an added layer of security during our trip,” Cassian told her.

Even now, Nesta did not want to discuss what they had been. What they could have been. So she said, “You think I need it today?”

“I think that I don’t trust Illyrian males, especially Illyrian males from Ironcrest. I think that you are stronger and more powerful than any of them, but I would rather die than have something happen to you on the off-chance that they got closer than you’d like or if they teamed up on you.” His words were a low vigorous rumble that shook her bones.

Then he hesitated. “And Illyrian males give a piece of jewellery to females they are promised to — it’s a symbolic gesture. For the sake of today’s pretence, it would be good if you wore it.”

A long, long silence where Nesta could feel Cassian’s pulse thumping against the skin of his neck. For one true beat, their eyes locked. His eyes were so dark and intense that Nesta couldn’t bare it.

She was thankful when they shifted slightly to stare right past her rather than tunnel far inside of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded, unable to voice what she wanted to say. There was too much churning around in her mind, so she stared down at the teardrop pendant that glimmered against her pale skin.

“Good,” Cassian said, moving away from her with such abruptness it was almost military with intent. “Put it on and come downstairs.”

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775

#embersandlightfic #embers and light #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #acofas #nessian #nessianfic #nessianangst #nesta x cassian #cassian #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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theladyofdeath · 4 years ago

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The Ranch {8}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty x @tacmc

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

A/N: We love that you guys have been loving this so much! Please continue to let us know what you’re thinking. We loved writing this fic, and your love means the world to us.

The Ranch Masterlist

Cassian didn’t see or hear from Nesta for the rest of the day. He saw her in the main house around dinner time, but decided he would let her cook in peace. He didn’t know what kind of demons had reared their ugly heads at her today, but whatever had happened between Nesta and Tomas Motherfucking Mandray had screwed with her so badly that he barely recognized the woman he found in the paint department today.

He remembered Nesta from high school, had known that she had dated Tomas then. But, he didn’t know much. At least, not about Nesta. As for Tomas, however, he and Cassian went way back, and none of their interactions had ever been pleasant. Tomas had always been a self-absorbed little bitch. He hated Tomas.

And he had hated him even more when he walked into the paint aisle and saw how fucking terrified Nesta had been.

Yet, he wasn’t going to push her to talk about it. She would come to him when she was ready. Maybe. Hopefully. Either way, Cassian had convinced himself that it was none of his business.

Even if he really, really wanted it to be his business.

As night approached, Cassian made sure all the horses were ready for bed, and all the cattle were where they were meant to be. He whistled for Beau to follow him into the cabin and, the good pup he was, Beau obeyed. Once inside, he slumped into the recliner and checked his phone.

There was a text from Rhys that read, Being engaged is fucking awesome. It ended with three flame emojis. Cassian found the text as a whole repulsive and unnecessary.

There was a text from Azriel, too, that read, Drinks on Friday? Elain is working all night.

Cassian dismissed it, making a mental note to reply in the morning.

Then, he had one last text.

From Nesta.

Thanks for today. Sorry I spaced out.

He read the text once, twice, three times before finding the nerve to reply. Anytime, he wrote. He wanted to write something else, anything else, wanted to add a fucking speech at the end of the one-worded text, but he decided against it.

He pressed send.

It wasn’t two minutes later that he got a reply. You should be sleeping. You’ll have to wake up early to get on the stables, won’t you?

Cassian chuckled to himself. Maybe. But you have to be up early to do your makeup before you finish the landscaping, he replied.

Her reply wasn’t as quick this time, the dancing dots disappearing every so often. But when his phone finally vibrated while he was brushing his teeth, he laughed out loud.

Don’t act like it takes me more time to do my hair than it takes you to do yours. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those man buns are a little TOO perfect sometimes.

He replied with no hesitation. Glad to know you’re looking at my man buns.

He swore that he could feel her eyes roll from across the property. Goodnight, Sexy Ranch Hand.

Goodnight, beautiful.

He sent the text, hoping it would bring her a little bit of joy, a little bit of comfort, but then, when she didn’t reply, he grew nervous.

He felt he was walking a fine line with Nesta, ever since she scolded him for being his boss.

His hesitation didn’t last too long, though, because his phone vibrated the minute he climbed into his bed. The text was short, but it gave him comfort.

A smiley face emoji greeted him as Beau climbed up on the bed beside him.

He slept good that night, smiling stupidly to himself as he snuggled up next to Beau. And when morning came, he felt completely refreshed.

He was up and getting dressed with a cup of coffee at four, and as sunrise approached, Cassian grabbed a bag by the door and he and Beau were walking out into the cool, muggy summer morning. It wouldn’t be long until the sun was beating down, drenching him in sweat.

Instead of heading toward the stables, Cassian went across the grass and the gravel driveway, and up the steps of the tiny, modern house that sat there.

He pounded on the door and Beau stayed in the yard, chasing his tail.

No answer.

He pounded his fist on the wood once more.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Cassian kept knocking, and didn’t stop. He pounded repeatedly on the door for at least thirty seconds when the door was thrown open, and Nesta stood there, looking like she wanted to set him on fire.

“What the hell?” She asked, voice raspy, hair a mess, body wrapped in a crocheted blanket.

“Rise and shine,” Cassian grinned. “Go on. Get dressed.”

Her eyes narrowed as she flipped on the porch light. Cassian lit up as she groaned from the brightness of it.

“You wanted to learn how things are done around here,” Cassian laughed. “Well, I start at sunrise, ever day.”

Nesta rubbed her eyes and snorted. “Unless you’re hungover.”

Cassian grinned. “Fair enough. Alright, go on, get dressed, I’ll wait.”

Nesta sighed but didn’t protest as she took a step back.

“Oh,” Cassian said, before she could close the door on him. “Here.”

He held out the bag.

She blinked. “What is that?”

“I kept telling you,” he said, shaking the bag until she took it. “You own a ranch. You need a pair of boots.”

“You...bought me boots?”

Cassian shrugged as she took the bag and shoved his hands into his pockets. “With your sisters’ help. Consider it your welcome home gift.”

Nesta was speechless as she slowly went back into her little house.

She didn’t bother closing the door, so Cassian stepped inside as she went back into her bedroom.

He looked around, although there wasn’t much inside. He noticed Elain’s old furniture, that he had helped move in upon Nesta’s arrival.

“Hopefully they fit,” Cassian said as he went to the little fridge in the kitchen and looked at the pictures that covered it. “I may have snuck a glance at your sneakers the other day when you weren’t looking to check for size.”

Nesta’s quiet laughter flooded through the hall. “Creep.”

Cassian grinned to himself as he studied a picture of the girls when they were young, smiling with their mother. Cassian had never met her. She died years before Isaac had hired him.

Nesta came out a minute later, and even in the dim lamplight, Cassian was breathless.

Her hair was pulled back in a high point tail. She wore jeans, a tank top, and an old flannel shirt, which remained open.

And her boots, which fit nicely.

“Okay, stop staring,” Nesta muttered. “I realize you’ve never seen me in boots and it’s shocking.”

Cassian cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded. “They look nice.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and her boots thumped toward the front door. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, let’s do this.”

Cassian allowed himself to watch her walk out the door and down the steps before he followed her out.

————

“Harder.”

Cassian grunted.

“Harder.”

He groaned, but did as he was told.

“Harder!”

Cassian was out of breath, but he said, “This is as hard as it gets, I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, but still managed to roll her eyes. “I want you to try harder.”

He grunted and said, “Okay, okay, put it down. Stop pushing.”

They both moved away from the enormous roll of hay they’d been trying to roll through the south pasture. It had rained overnight, nearly doubling the weight of the hay and Cassian had suspected he needed a little more muscle than what Nesta had to offer.

“I’ll have to call Rhys,” Cassian said, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. Nesta was folded at the waist, her hands braced on her knees.

“No, we can-.” She stopped to breathe. “We can do it. We got this”

He chuckled, “Nes, that hay weighs over 5 times your weight. We absolutely do not got this.”

Her lips tightened as she sized up the roll of hay. “We-.”

“Nesta,” Cassian breathed, laughing quietly. “It’s not a big deal. Your ability to move a roll of hay doesn’t dictate your ability to run a ranch. Well, own it, I run it.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth. “You’re incredibly annoying.”

“I know,” he grinned, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, once more. Nesta’s eyes lingered a little bit too long on his abdomen, just above the waistband of his jeans, which were hanging loosely on his hips. He didn’t seem to notice as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Rhys. “Rhys will be over soon, I’m sure, he has the day off. Unless your sister kept him up all night.”

Nesta scrunched her nose. “No need to reference my sister’s sex life.”

Cassian’s grin widened as he put his phone back into his pocket. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Nesta stilled, and her hesitation made him howl.

“I meant on a horse, Nesta,” he said, unable to control his laughter. “Calm down.”

“Asshole,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were red, both from the sun they’d been in all day and the blush now tipping her ears as well. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I don’t have a horse. I’m okay.”

Cassian had an eyebrow raised. “You actually have eight.”

“I have-.” Nesta paused. “Oh. You’re right.”

But not Phoenix.

“Hey.” Cassian’s voice was soft and she looked up, not expecting him to be so close. His hazel eyes were the color of the forest floor. As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “You’ll never be able to replace him, Nes. You’ll never get back that bond with him. But that doesn’t mean you can’t build another bond with another horse.”

He was right, of course, but she hadn’t been on a horse in nearly a decade. The thought alone terrified her. Yes, she was beginning not to mind being back in Velaris, had even started enjoying herself while working on the B&B, but to ride again? She wasn’t sure if she was ready for such a huge step.

And it was.

A massive step.

Yet, Cassian’s eyes were so full of hope, and the way they watched her, so softly, Nesta couldn’t say no.

Didn’t want to say no.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Fine.”

Cassian slowly shook his head. “I need to hear you say it with a little more enthusiasm.”

Nesta pursed her lips and shoved him in the shoulder, which only made his cocky ass grin return.

“Come on,” she said, heading in the direction of the dilapidated stalls the horses stayed in. She walked about twenty feet before she realized he wasn’t walking with her. “What?”

Cassian chuckled. “You really were tired this morning, weren’t you?”

Nesta blinked. “You banged on my door at, like, three in the morning. Of course I was tired.”

“Okay, first of all, it was four thirty,” he said, laughing. “Second, follow me.”

Nesta wasn’t sure exactly how she’d missed it. He was right, she must have been half asleep to miss the framework nestled back into the trees between their two houses.

But this was not the basic stable and tack room she’d described to him.

No, this building was going to be massive.

“There are going to be sixteen stalls,” Cassian said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “The tack room is going to be on that side,” he indicated to the right. “And the lodge, will be to the left.”

“The lodge?” Nesta asked, turning to look at him. “Figured it might be nice to have a little getaway out here. If you don’t like it, I can scrap it from the plans, make this a second tack room or storage area.”

But Nesta wasn’t listening, she’d turned back to the massive framework of beams in front of her.

She breathed, “Cassian, it’s perfect.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s going to take me a while to finish-.”

“Tell me what you need and it’s yours.” There was no hesitation to her words. “We can even hire someone to help, if you want.”

Cassian chuckled, softly. “That’s okay. I got it. If I need help, I’ll ask Rhys and Az. They’ll be more than happy to help when they can.”

“I can’t believe you…” Nesta shook her head, and looked at him. “Put so much thought into it.”

He shrugged. “You asked for updated stables. I just did what I’m told.”

“You really do love this place, don’t you?” Nesta asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, meeting her gaze. “I had a bad reputation, from a lot of stupid shit I did when I was younger. Your dad really took a chance on hiring me, but I’m grateful every day that he did. He gave me a sense of purpose, when I thought I didn’t have one.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, and did not back down from his gaze as she said, “I’m grateful, too. That you’re here. I’d be completely lost without you.”

Cassian’s eyes softened, and she thought he was going to say something sweet, but then he said, “Yeah...all the other ranchers in this town aren’t as sexy as me, so, you really did luck out.”

“Oh, cauldron boil me,” Nesta groaned and Cassian put his arm around her shoulder and steered her towards the house, towards the shed where the saddles and other tack was kept.

“Ahhh, I didn’t want it to get too sappy.” He said, grinning down at her. “But now, we’re gonna see if you’re really worth your salt on this ranch.” He stopped in front of the shed and unlocked the padlock.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Nesta asked, not so subtly watching the way his back muscles moved under the blue t-shirt he wore.

He turned and Nesta cleared her throat and looked at him. He had a lead rope in his hand.

“Time to go catch you a horse, Nesta Archeron.”

——————

As the sun was setting, Nesta and Cassian walked back from the pasture, laughing.

“I had no idea that you were the one that released the dissection frogs!” Nesta said, locking the gate behind them. “Was it in protest of animal cruelty or something?”

Cassian thought for a second. “No, but if I had gotten caught, that probably would have been a better excuse than the one I would have gone with.”

Nesta chuckled. “Which was?”

He smirked and said, “Because I got bored.”

Nesta froze and watched him walk the rest of the way to the shed. “You let over four hundred frogs loose because you were bored?”

He put the ropes back in their place and locked the shed up. “Yup.” The grin on his face told her he, indeed, was proud of himself. And she was grinning, too.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you want to come have dinner with me?”

Cassian’s eyebrows raised. “Tonight?”

“Tonight, tomorrow night, whenever.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as a casual offer, and not that asking had filled her stomach with butterflies as strongly as it had when she had her first kiss. “We can meet for dinner in the main house every night. There’s no need for us to both cook.”

His smile returned, but it was softer. “I’d like that.”

They headed back around the front of the house, Cassian rattling off his favorite foods, most of which consisted of red meat and starches. When they came around the corner, Nesta froze.

Cassian’s words trailed off as he stopped beside her. A little black truck had pulled up, old and rusty. But the girl that came out of that little, rusty truck was stunning.

Nesta looked over at Cassian, to see if he recognized the young woman.

And, oh, he definitely did.

“Emerie,” he said, uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come by to say hello,” she crooned, grin wide. Then, she seemed to notice Nesta for the first time. “Oh. Who are you?”

Nesta blinked, then realized she was being spoken to. “I own this property.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes growing wide with recognition. “Your Isaac’s oldest? Wow.” She looked Nesta up and down, and the gesture had Nesta seeing red. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Emerie.”

“I’ve heard,” Nesta muttered.

Cassian was fiddling with the hem of his shirt when he said, “You know, we’re a little busy, Em, why don’t you come back later?”

“Later works,” she said, sliding her hands in her back pockets. “I was going to see if you wanted to have dinner, too, but it seems like you’re...taken care of.”

Cassian cleared his throat and said, “Nesta and I were just-.”

“Just finishing up for the day,” Nesta interrupted. She turned to Cassian and the warm, playful nature he’d seen emerging earlier had gone cold. “Thanks for showing me the ropes. I really appreciate it.” She began up the porch steps and Cassian reached for her hand. He gently gripped her fingers.

“Nesta, wait, let me explain. It’s-,” he dragged his hand down his face, the callouses catching on his stubble. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“I fell for that once before,” she whispered, her fingers tightening in his. “I won’t fall for it again.”

A look of confusion crossed Cassian's face, but his hand dropped. Emerie had gotten the hint, had gotten back up into her truck and was backing out.

“Are you jealous?” He asked, and it was almost anger that replaced the spark in his hazel eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not jealous,” Nesta snapped. “But it’s really inappropriate-“

“If you say that word one more time, Nesta, I swear on the fucking cauldron-.” Cassian’s words faded away and he raked his fingers through his long, tangled hair. “Must I remind you that you didn’t want me?”

There it was.

The words hung between them as complete silence consumed them, Emerie’s old truck driving away the only thing to be heard.

Nesta stared down at him, hurt written plainly across her face.

Hurt.

He had expected her to be jealous of Emerie, but he didn’t expect to see pain roiling in the depths of her eyes.

“Nesta, I-.”

She cut him off. “Did you lie to me?”

He blinked up at her, the sunset making her hair glow. “What?”

“That night, I asked you point blank if you had a girlfriend,” Nesta said, voice wavering. “You said no.”

“No,” Cassian said, eyes growing hard. “I have never lied to you, Nesta, I’m not a fucking liar. Emerie’s just a friend. She comes by every now and then. I haven’t seen her in months. She only comes by when she wants something.”

“Sex?” Nesta asked, before she could stop the word from tumbling out of her mouth.

Cassian shook his head, ignoring the short question altogether. “It doesn’t fucking matter. But, I’ve never lied to you. And, if you think I would lie to you….fuck.”

She could see the anger brewing inside of him, could see the frustration, but Nesta didn’t care, because she was pissed. And yet, she had no reason to be. He was right. She had turned him down. She had no right to care.

She was hurt, though.

And that hurt grew when she saw the hurt, saw the anguish, in his own eyes.

“I didn’t lie,” he repeated, looking away from her, out toward the pastures. “I’m a lot of things, Nesta, but I’m not a liar.”

She knew he wasn’t, knew it in every fiber of her being.

She hadn’t even been back in Velaris for a month, had just started to open up to the complicated man in front of her. Day and night, he always found a way to creep into her thoughts, into her dreams. But she couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, couldn’t afford to get tangled up with the man she couldn’t get off of her mind, no matter what she may want.

Not when her father's dream was on the line.

So Nesta closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that has silently started slipping down her cheeks.

She turned her back to him, and hurried up the stairs of the main house.

Cassian was calling her name, but she forced herself to keep walking, to open the door, enter the house, shut herself inside.

She leaned against the slab of wood, stayed their as her eyes filled with tears, even as Cassian knocked on the other side.

“Nesta,” he said, voice calm, quiet, broken. “Hey, open up, come on.” He knocked again.

Nesta didn’t move.

She stayed there, leaning against the door, listening to him knock, listening to him beg.

But no matter what he said, Nesta didn’t open the door.

#theranchnessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fanfic #au #nessian #shara collab #sharacollab

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valntinemorgenstern · 4 years ago

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An Ocean of Darkness; an elriel one-shot

Summary: *Set post-ACOSF / post B&M extra* *ACOSF SPOILERS*

Azriel meditates on Nyx's birth and tries to settle with himself what his new future will look like. He encounters Elain in the grounds outside the House of Wind. Angsting and sexual tension proceed.

There was something almost wrong about this feeling. Swaddled in the finest cloth, nestled in his arms, the little body was surprisingly weighty; compact. Hot. Its head was barely as wide as his fist. Its scent, sweet as honeysuckle at twilight, billowed around him as it breathed, the motion barely perceptible through the swaddling. Only if he peered close: there. A flutter against the fabric, delicate as a bee’s wings.

Azriel knew it should not have been like this. But the sight of Nyx sleeping, so effortlessly perfect, unleashed something ravenous inside him. Dark as a moonless night; seeping. It spread with the consistency of newly-spilled of blood. Tangible, like seeing an old acquaintance outlined in the doorway.

His shadows began to rise around him.

Where did this feeling come from? Why was he slipping, just at the sight of an infant? It was as if his foot had slid over ice-smooth rock, where he had expected to feel a foothold. And now he fell. And fell, and fell, it seemed, in every direction.

Everything about this was hard to accept. This improbable creature, only two years ago, could never have existed. The fact that in some long-distant eon of time, he himself would have resembled this miniature thing. This thing so fragile, despite the tips of its wings poking out above the blankets. This thing that knew nothing but the everlasting worship of everyone in their Inner Circle. Mor had held onto him for hours; Azriel had only wrestled her into relinquishing her prize by reminding her that her presence was needed elsewhere.

In that long-distant eon of time, had he, too, shut his eyes so? Slept with such trust, in a stranger’s arms? His cheeks, were they as apple-round, as faintly blushed? His nose as tiny? Surely even he, as a babe, would have been set into the cradle of someone’s arms like this, however briefly. Would they have seen his skin as Nyx’s was? Dusky and glowing. Whole, silk-thin. Unruined.

Azriel brought a fingertip up to his forehead, tracing a reverent line across his skin. The intensity of that softness astonished him. It was like a sun-warmed rose petal, rubbed between your fingers. He had forgotten that this was what children were like: their bodies so foreign, so killingly soft. No wonder this had been beaten out of him.

A scrap of a memory danced before him. A whirling hem of a dress; a hand, thrown backwards. Elegant, and pale. Faint lines of dirt circling the fingernails.

His gaze lifted, as if to follow it.

Instead, his eyes collided with Rhys’, who, it appeared, had been staring at him.

There was no time to tuck away his thoughts. They were breaking the surface even as Azriel straightened, and he knew how gasping-loud they would be. All this time, and I thought it would just be us, together. And now, I am the one alone. The next followed, swimming on its tail, but of course, it would always be this way. This is the way it was always supposed to be. It was always going to be. In the end, there would only ever be him. Azriel would always be there, really, chained on the floor of that dungeon. Head cast back in the stale darkness, seeing only the faint light of his breath on the chilly air.

His brother’s expression was twisted into a wellspring of deep sorrow. For him.

Rhys stepped forwards. “I’m sorry.”

It was like some snag in time: already, the resemblance between father and son was so strong. This was just a vision of what the boy in his arms would be in so many years.

Get out of my head. It surprised him, the anger. Like someone had rushed him by mistake and he stumbled, casting around for who had done it.

“I’ll take him.” Rhys said, coming closer, arms extended.

Azriel glanced down at Nyx, suddenly unable to remember why he had petitioned Mor to hold him in the first place. What did he want with this child, so loved? What did he want with the memories and the feelings he invoked so slickly, so powerfully?

As his arms were relieved of the burden, he considered that he must be the only person in all of Prythian who was not interested in handling the babe. Once the news of Nyx’s existence became widespread — and it was already leaking, fast, his sources informed him — the child would be hunted for the rest of his existence.

Then he was in the air, feeling the wind whip about his wings, whirling up and up. It just this side of dusk, the sky quietly darkening, the horizon splayed plum-purples and blues. Rhys and Cassian, both, now had their mates and their homes, but this was Azriel’s only real home. The empty sky. The smell of the air, turning into night. The soothing cold. Breathing so deep as to let the chill infuse his skin, down to his bones, over and over, as if he could bottle this precious sensation, so that it would be always with him.

Azriel let himself circle, flying aimlessly, until the night stretched itself over the heavens in its full glory. He had seen so many courts, visited so many places — probably even more than Rhysand. But no other could compare to the fabulous majesty of the night court sky, this high, this late. Velvet-black, all-encompassing but for the light of the stars that glittered like drops of crystal inlaid into a seabed of darkness. And just like an ocean, it seemed to move, to breathe a life of its own. A darkness that you could reach into, and it would reach back.

When eventually he returned to the House of Wind, he lingered outside, unwilling to step across the threshold. For there was only his solitary bed, and sleep, mocking him. Taunting him.

From the smell of vacancy about the place, he could tell that Cassian and Nesta were not inside. For once.

Some thrill that felt oddly like freedom curled around him. Or was it rebellion? But how long had he been playing this game with her now? Waiting. Loitering in the grounds. Just on the off-chance. It was never an off-chance.

The rush that coursed through him when he spotted her — curled up on the ground, near a rose bush, her hair like a shadow-splashed coin — was so heady it dizzied him.

She glided to her feet. “Why are you here, Azriel?”

Something inside him seized, at the sound of his name, spoken on her lovely, melodious voice.

She walked forwards. “Why? Why are you here?” This time, the edge in her tone had given way to something else. A pleading.

If he reached out his hand, he thought, he could have had her body, so much more petite than her sisters’, flush against him. And then everything in the world would have melted away apart from the shape and the feel of her. The too-exquisite cloud of her scent that floated around him.

He remembered Rhys’ words. You are to stay away from her.

How terribly he had managed so far. Every day he was only sliding further downhill. And enjoying it so deliciously.

He was about to say, I thought we had an understanding. But of course, there was no understanding. No words about this had passed between them. It was something that was forming, half-knowing, between them both. And neither had the will to stop themselves. What if I lingered here? What if I went down this corridor? What if I allowed myself to look too long? What if I were to drive myself half-mad, searching for an excuse to touch you? “I…could not bare the thought of going to my bed.”

It was like someone else had said the words. He almost checked himself, as if to see that he were actually still master of his own body.

A small nod. And then, suddenly, with no warning, she stepped up, her hand covering the side of his face. “It has been this way for you too long, has it not?” Her thumb was stroking, backwards and forwards, across his cheekbone.

Immediately, he felt his shadows sing, his body begin to thrum with something keener than mere pleasure. Yes. Yes. He had caressed her neck just so, at Solstice. When they had nearly kissed.

The memory swirled in her eyes, too.

Stay away from her.

This feeling, this touch of hers. He could live in it. Eat from it, drink from it. Survive in it. This wildness. He would submit himself to anything for it.

“I have something for you.” A moment later, there was coldness were her hand had been, and she had drawn out something from the pocket of her skirts, holding it aloft.

“What is it?” The liquid inside was some purple-brown, shimmering fluid.

“It will help you sleep.”

“Ah.” He understood. “And I mustn’t take too much, I assume?”

She frowned. “It will not steal consciousness away. It will ease the unquiet inside you, that is all.”

How do you know? He stared into those doe-brown eyes, so large, considering all the different things he could say, and do. In his mind, he laid out the options, and weighed them up. The only one drawing him was the version of events where he dove down into the crook of her neck, and breathed in, open-mouthed, frantic, pulling in her scent; letting his teeth and tongue cover every single scrap of skin he could find. Instead, he said, “We need to stop this.”

“Stop what?”

“This. You know.”

A determined shake of her head. “I have made my choice.” He shook his head, trying to dispel the hazy image of Lucien; playing unsuccessfully with the idea of introducing more space between them.

“It is more than that.”

“Rhysand?” A noise of contempt left her.

He stared. Had she heard the entire conversation he’d had with him, in his office? It was possible. But then, there were other things. “How did you know?”

“Does it not occur to you…What if Rhysand were in your position? Can you imagine him obeying some order to stay away from my sister? No. Never.” She pushed closer, defiant. Heat radiated from her. The effort of not touching her was like sinking underwater, allowing himself to drown. Stopping himself from the urge to throw up his arms and gasp for breath. “I care nothing for his orders.”

This girl, who seemed so pure and innocent; who had been holed away for so long. And yet she seemed to have a more accurate grasp of the High Lord’s character than some who had known him years. “How do you know — all this?”

She made a light shrug. “My power rises in me, still. I see, hear, feel — odd things. But I keep seeing you. Your arm under your head, sheets back. You don’t even shut the curtains, now. You do not even try to close your eyes.”

She had been seeing…him? In his bed?

Before he had time to worry what else she had seen of him, she had grabbed one of his hands, thrusting the vial into his palm. By instinct, his fingers shut around the glass, clasping, too, the edge of her fingers. And then she was ducking her head, pressing a warm, firm kiss to the grotesque half-flayed skin that coated his knuckles. “Please.” Her beautiful eyes implored him. “For my sake.”

#my fanfiction #i have not written a fic in so long #and this one is angsty as hell #coming back to my roots #elriel #azriel #elain archeron #acosf

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gwynrielendgame · 4 years ago

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Sad nessian part 2

This is a real tear-jerker. I even started crying while writing it.

Amara was scared that much she could admit. She had been waiting for her uncle Rhys to rescue her for weeks now because there was no rescuing herself. Koschei thought of everything. She had been bound and gagged with fae bane, her eyes were covered at all time, so she would not become familiar with her surroundings, and she had been stripped of her clothes to ensure that all her weapons had been disposed of. Normally, she would be able to break out of chains even with fae bane, but it was obvious that Koschei had prepared for that. She was forced to drink water laced with fae bane. It kept her weak enough that even her brain felt too foggy to think much less come up with an escape plan. She had zero concept of how much time has passed, but she hoped it had been enough time by now that her mother and father had managed to convince her uncle Rhys to tell them where she was supposed to be. She groaned internally. She did not even want to think about the amount of "we told you so's" she would be getting from her parents once she was rescued. Footsteps echoed through the dungeon. At least she had imagined she was in a dungeon. For all she knew she could be in her very own bedroom.

Suddenly, her blindfold was ripped off. It did not make much difference though considering the room was pitch black. A face appeared before her, Koschei. For as long as she lived, and she had a feeling that was not going to be much longer, she would remember those eyes. They were pitch black, depthless pools that appeared to look right into her soul.

Fuck.

She could not remember the details of her capture. How she got here or who brought her here. Perhaps fae bane impeded memory as well as strength and immortality. She did not want to show fear, but she had been so broken down that there was no other emotion to feel. Amara, suddenly,remembered overhearing that her own mother had been as strong as Koschei at one point. Her mother, who fussed over Amara her entire life. Her mother, who cried along with Amara the first time she skinned her knee. Her mother, who had become so flustered while making Amara’s tenth birthday cake because she mixed the sugar up with the salt and the cake tasted disgusting. She pictured Koschei that way too. With a baking apron wrapped around his waist and flour caked on his face. It had her laughing hysterically. Koschei watched her with cautious eyes. He seemed to think she was delusional and perhaps she was. She was not quite as scared now though. Even in the end, her mother was with her.

“Show time.” Koschei smiled mercilessly at the battered female. He detached her chains from the wall only to begin pulling her with them. She had not done any sort of physical exercise in so long that she found she could not walk. She wanted to pick up her feet and follow koschei, but she physically could not. He continued to drag her to wherever he wanted. Once again she was lost to her memories. This time of her father.

“Daddy!” A young Amara pranced toward her father. He had been gone for so long, overseeing the Illyrian camps, that the second he stepped through the door at the house of wind, she threw herself at him.

“Princess.” He responded back, wrapping her in a hug. She was so excited that she began to fly- her wings flapping involuntarily. It caused her father to laugh a big hearty laugh. “Oh how I have missed you. Tell me everything.” He carried his daughter to the living room and sat on the couch.

“Well, mother showed me some new Valkyrie techniques with aunt Gwyn and aunt Emerie, I have read three different books, Nyx keeps hiding my bows, oh and I decided that next time you go, I’m going with you.” Amara rambled on. She was a talkative child. Even though it was just the three of them, the house was never quiet.

“I must say that I completely agree. I cannot continue going on these trips without at least one of my favorite girls tagging along.” He sent her a playful smile as Nesta popped into the room.

“You are home!” She exclaimed, rushing over to plant a kiss on Cassian’s lips.

“Ewwww!” Amara jumped off her father’s lap. Her parents only laughed at her disgust of their affection. Secretly, Amara loved how much her parents loved each other. It made her dream for a love as deep as theirs.

It only occurred to Amara now that she would never experience a love like theirs. She did not want to die. She had so much left to experience, so much left she wanted to do. Finally, Amara realized they had stopped moving. She lifted her head to check her surroundings and she was immediately filled with relief. She was laying on a dais in what appeared to be a throne room. Her parents, the high lord and lady, and the rest of the night court inner circle were standing less than one hundred feet from her. Clearly here to save her. Tears of happiness fell from her eyes as she tried to crawl to them. Only the looks of horror on their faces had Amara remembering who brought her here. Koschei. He was speaking, but she had not been paying attention. She glanced back at her parents faces. Her mother’s was set in the hardest glare Amara had ever witnessed while her father’s was completely devastated.

“-believe I found one of your spies. You may want her returned.” Amara only caught the end of what he was saying. She tried so hard to focus, but the ingested fae bane had been poisoning her for so long that she could not. She felt the tip of a sword at the back of her neck. The threat of her death enough to keep everyone in place.

“What do you want in return?” She heard her uncle Rhysand ask. Amara found her mother’s gaze already completely focused on her. There was such sorrow there, such grief. She wished upon a thousand stars to hear her mother say “I told you so” because she knew that everything would be alright once she heard those words. Her parents would only utter it when they knew her life would not be in any danger. She wished to hear it now.

“I do not believe I was asking you.” Koschei’s voice was lined with such arrogance, Amara knew her Uncle would be seeing red. She watched as Koschei’s gaze fell upon her mother. She started to feel sick. This would not be good. The concerned look faded from Nesta’s face to be replaced by a harsh glare as she turned to stare the death lord down. “I know you can retrieve it. I want the dread trove. The crown, mask, and harp. All three or you can watch your daughter lose her head. And do not even consider using it against me. I am immune to the crown same as you.”

No. It was the only thought resounding through Amara’s head.

“Fine.” Her mother snapped. Koschei was clearly expecting more resistance from her based on his stunned look.

“No.” The tortured female could barely get the small word out of her throat. It grated so harshly that she knew she could not repeat it. Her mother could not give that male so much power. He would be indestructible. Her life was not worth that. Before Nesta could summon the trove, Rhysand’s sword was drawn and the tip was leading directly into Cassian’s throat. The general’s eyes widened with betrayal.

“Nesta. I am sorry. But I cannot allow you to do this. Bring the dead trove and lose your mate.”

Amara could only watch in horror as chaos unfolded. Gwyn held her dagger to Rhysand’s throat which forced Feyre to draw her weapon and point it at the red-head. Azriel, in defense of his mate, placed his dagger at the high lady’s throat. Mor and Emerie only watched in horror as the family turned on each other. Amara watched her parents have a silent conversation. They were weighing the odds. There was no pain like that of the death of a mate. Nesta did not know if she would be able to escape with her daughter given the pain she would experience. Amara could not witness this in her last moments. Could not witness her family betray one another over her life. Inevitably, she knew her mother would deliver the dread trove to the murderous psychopath. She could see it on her father’s face. How he was telling his mate to do it. To save their only daughter. Amara could not let this happen. Would not let the entire world descend into chaos just to save herself. With the last bit of strength she had left, she quickly turned her head and shoved the knife that had been at the back of her neck through her throat. Everything after that was a blur. She remembered her mother holding her to her chest. She remembered seeing her father lift his sword. The last thing she saw was her mother’s blue-grey eyes.

A scream so savage ripped through Nesta’s throat as everyone’s weapons dropped. She launched herself towards her daughter’s body. Praying to the Cauldron and the Mother to not let her die. She did not even register Koschei’s eyes widening as if he had never planned to let the female die. Nesta faintly heard her mate rising to his feet and launching himself at the death lord, his siphons burning brightly. Nesta grabbed her daughter and held her to her chest so tightly, she could have broken a bone. She began whimpering.

“I give it back. I give it all back. I give it back.” Like a mantra, Nesta repeated it over and over again. “Please, take it. I do not want it. Save my daughter. I will do anything, give anything.” Nothing was happening and the more time that passed, the angrier the cauldron-Made female became.

“I GIVE IT BACK.” She started screaming while shaking her daughter’s body. “I GIVE IT BACK. Wake up, Amara. Please.” The sobs that ripped through her throat would live in everyone’s memory for eternity, even Koschei’s.

It was only her mate’s cry of pain that could pry her from her dead daughter. Nesta’s eyes began to glow. It appeared everyone was about to find out exactly how much power she had left. Emerie was unconscious, after a hit to the temple from the butt of the male’s sword, being pulled away by Mor. Gwyn was holding her side, clearly injured. Azriel was next to her in two strides before winnowing away. Feyre and Rhysand were just standing there watching as Nesta’s family was being torn to shreds. She would never forgive them. For as long as she lived, she would despise them. She finally looked towards Cassian. Koschei was about to deliver the final blow to his head. Nesta launched herself at him with all her power. Energy burst out of her so strongly that the entire castle started to shake, the surrounding lake even started to shake, but that was as far as it reached. She could no longer move mountains and realms, but she would not need to. She knocked Koschei’s sword out of his hand with Ataraxia. The male flinched at the power exuding from the sword and the female. He had never planned to fight her that much was clear. She swung her Made sword and barely nicked his arm. It was enough though. He fell to his knees as his power began to leak out of him slowly. Nesta used this distraction to her advantage. She gathered her power once more, planning to unMake him in the same way she did Briallyn all those years ago. Unfortunately, he recovered fast enough to dodge her and grab his sword on the way.

Cassian was stumbling to his feet, determined to help his mate while his high lord and lady continued to stand frozen in the same spot. He hoped that a stray swing from a sword found its way into one of their heads. He reminded himself to thank Gwyn and Emerie if he found himself alive at the end of all this. Nesta was a force to be reckon with that was clear. As Cassian finally found himself on stable feet, he saw Nesta on her knees with the death lord hovering above her. Before Cassian could throw himself between them, Azriel had winnowed back. Gwyn’s Made dagger slicing through Koschei’s thigh. Azriel stepped in to fight the male while Nesta caught her breathe. Her anger was insatiable, driving her harder than any other emotion. Her body still needed oxygen though, and a second to catch up. Cassian went to his mate.

“You okay?” He placed a hand under her armpit to help lift her up. They shared a meaningful look before turning to the male that ruined their life, planning on ending this once and for all. They stopped short when they noticed Azriel on his knees with a sword to his throat.

“I will ask only once more. Give me the trove.” He was breathless as he made his command. Nesta’s sudden smile had him feeling nervous. The crown appeared on top of her head. She guessed that a cut from her Made sword would make him more susceptible to the crown.

“Drop the sword.” She commanded. He did as told albeit begrudgingly. Nesta lifted Ataraxia, made eye contact with his soulless eyes, and brought it down so harshly that his head fell from his neck with only one swing. Only a second later and his body turned to ash.

It was quiet as everyone took a breathe. Azriel lay on the ground, Mor just winnowed back from wherever she took Emerie, and Feyre and Rhysand were both still standing in the middle of the floor like idiots. The short reprieve Nesta’s anger gave her from her grief was over. She stumbled back to her daughter and fell on top of her in a sobbing heap. She did not know how she would survive without her daughter. She did not know how her and Cassian would raise their unborn child so soon after losing Amara. She sobbed and sobbed. It was the only sound in the room until Cassian picked up his sword. This sound, his sword grating on the floor, broke whatever stupor the high lord and lady were in. Cassian strode to Rhysand with only one objective in mind- revenge. The males made eye contact. Cassian’s glare was the harshest it had ever been while Rhysand was trying to convey his shame through his stare alone. Rhysand fell to his knees as if to accept his punishment. Before Cassian could get any closer, his mate’s grieving voice called out to him.

“Cas-“ his name broke off in a sob. He stopped only to turn around and rush towards his family. He finally held his daughter in his arms for the first time in three months except she was dead. He felt as though it did not count this way. He hugged his child and his mate to his chest. A howl ripped through his body. The sound was so devastating and so unlike anything anyone had ever heard from him before. Mor was the first to try to break the silence.

“Nesta, Cassia-“ before his name could even fully pass her lips, they were gone. Nesta winnowed them away. No one was quite sure when she learned how to do that. Feyre fell into a heap beside her mate. Azriel and Mor knew that their high lord and lady would never forgive themselves. And they never should.

“Where are the children?” Rhysand abruptly remembered Nesta’s promise to him, panic filling him. Feyre’s silent tears turned into a sob. Mor winnowed away and just as quickly as she disappeared, she reappeared with Nyx, Velaris, and Amren.

“What’s wrong? Why do you all look like someone just died?” Nyx tried to joke.

“You have to stop using that joke.” Velaris responded with an eye roll. “The answer is always ‘because someone did die’, you asshole.” The siblings continued to banter back and forth.

A sigh of relief left his body. He deserved to lose Nyx. He deserved to lose his own life. That did not mean he was ungrateful for the mercy Nesta bestowed upon him. Amren watched the mates with narrowed eyes.

“What the hell happened?”

#nesta acheron #cassian #nessian #nesta stan #acotar #acosf #mates #feyre archeron #azriel #gwyneth berdara #emerie

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