#the original vandaddy

[readychilledwine]

Reblogging as I write part two for @sjmvillainweek 🥰

A Debt Paid in Full

Summary - Your father shouldn't have sent his prettiest daughter after refusing to pay his Tithe

Warnings - this is unhinged and kind of dark, virgin reader, younger female/older male, manipulation, smut, beron is... surprisingly giving and slightly charming but arrogant. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding Kink, beron

A/N - You all asked for it. Please don't ask for more. I feel dirty 🤣

The Whore Home Masterlist

“Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?” Being circled by the High Lord of Autumn had to have been the scariest thing you had ever experienced. “Is that why Daddy sent you? Does he think a nice pair of tits will buy him time to pay his tithe?”

“No, my lord,” yes, you thought instantly. “He is just busy over looking the land and farms. He apologizes for sending a female in his place, but you know how we are when it comes to business.”

Beron seemed to smile as he studied you again. “I imagine you already know you are only useful for certain,” he paused, looking over your frame again, a true smile forming at what he saw, “activities.”

“My father taught me my place, yes.”

“How old are you?”

“302, my lord.”

“And unmarried?” He tisked slightly. “And unpresented to the court as an available female?” He circled you again, a new dangerous light gleaming in those eyes. “Why?”

You took a deep breath. “My mother needed me home to help with my younger siblings, and now that they no longer require me, I am a spinster per our standards, my lord. I am not a viable option for marriage.”

“But you are for fucking. Or for a second wife. A pretty little toy to keep around when someone's lady refused to come warm their bed.”

“Ah, a second choice. How very desirable. I will stay unwed. Be the village witch.” The statement was out before you could stop it. Beron paused midwalk, looking at you with those dark eyes and his brows raised. “I apologize.”

“You are lucky you are very, very beautiful.” A hand went to your light red hair. “Your spring court mother did you quite the favor. Her fair blonde hair mixed with red. You are a unique treasure.”

An odd feeling set into your stomach at his constant compliments, at his hand twirling your hair, his body so close to yours you could feel the fire that ran within him.

The Autumn Lord was by no means an ugly male. He had produced 7 beautiful sons, each one resembling him but with their mother's eyes and hair. He was fit, body lined and cut with muscle you could make out under his fine tailored clothing. 

“I believe you and I could reach a compromise, y/n. Regarding your father's discretion.” The sinking feeling of what he meant hit you as a hand trailed your lower back. “Your father knows I collect beautiful things, and you, little fox, are a beautiful thing.”

“Are you attempting to seduce me, my lord?”

“Is it an attempt when I can smell it clearly is working?” Beron walked you back to the wall, a hand resting on your hip and the other going behind your head to protect you from impact. “Is this what females dream of? A fae lord to whisk them away from their troubles, shower them in luxurious gifts and clothing?”

“I just dreamed of being taken away. The rest did not matter.” Beron smirked at the words, something that should have made your skin recoil but instead caused heat to settle between your legs. 

“Let's make a bargain, little fox. You stay with me, be my little second wife, and your family never pays a tithe again.”

Your eyes widened at the offer. It was a sacrifice you could make. What was your life in exchange for the safety of your family with your father's choice to ignore the tithe collection. Beron was handsome, the Forest House was beautiful, but he was cruel. “I want to be treated well.”

Beron hummed. “You will be, if you stay in line. Keep that pretty mouth in check. I was kind today. I will not always tolerate your attitude, though.”

The hand resting on your hip began to trail to the curve of your ass, the hand previously resting behind your head now, allowing him to lean into you and cage you into his body and the wall. “How soon?”

“Tonight. I have never been known to be a male with patience when I want something.”

“Why marriage? Why not just my maidenhood?” The question seemed to spark something in him, eyes growing darker and the scent of arousal being to consume every breath. 

“Why would I allow something so pretty to slip between my fingers? Especially when I didn't know I would be the one to ruin her? Yes or no. My tolerance for your questions is wearing thin and I can easily just drop you off as I have my eldest arrest your father.” 

What was your life, in exchange for the safety of theirs? “Yes.” 

That one word was all it took for him to pounce. Lips finding yours and dominating a heated kiss. He winnowed you from the room, taking you to what must have been his personal suite and walked you back to the bed. His hands roamed everywhere before picking you up and placing you on the softest bed you had ever dreamed of. “How attached to your dress are you?” The kisses moved to your jawline as he awaited his answer. 

“I'm not.”

“Good. I will give you a thousand more.”He burned every thread from your body, groaning at the newly exposed skin, so soft and untouched. Untested and unexplored. “I think your father knew I'd be weak for you. Your younger sisters had been presented to my court and married off, yet here you are. Hidden away because you were his most precious gem.” 

All you could do was whimper as soft thumbs ran over your nipples. Pinching them lightly. His lips ran to your neck, feeling like a trail of fire as they did. Every inch of you became so sensitive that you broke out in goosebumps. He stopped at a spot that made your back arch, sucking the skin there until you were sure you would bruise before continuing his path down. 

When he finally reached your breasts, he stopped temporarily, scooting you up the pillows a bit more before removing his crown and placing it on head. “Be a good pet and hold this for me.” You couldn't help but to laugh, but that quickly turned into another moan. “So responsive.” The praise quickly shot to your core just as a hand did, running along your soaked folds with an arrogant laugh. 

Every kiss, every lick, every gentle touch on your core had you mewling for him, back arching as you whined. When one finger pushed in and curled up, hitting a spot in you that you would have never found before immediately pulling it back out . “And such pretty noises.” You couldn't help but grip the sheets, praying to any God who would listen as his kisses continued lower until he settled between your legs. 

“Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.” Beron was oddly gentle, kissing your thigh. You could have died when he first licked at your core, growling as he did and nudging that precious bundle of nerves. 

“Beron,” you whispered almost in warning, fingers gripping the sheets tighter. 

“Ssh, relax.” He continued to motion again, setting your nerves a light and making you cry out at the foreign feeling. He continues then, slow methodical licks. Watching from lust filled hooded eyes as your back arched, as your mouth fell open, as your nails dug so deeply into his mattress your knuckles turned white. 

When his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking light as his tongue pressed into it, you saw stars. Then his fingers, his damned fingers pushed back inside of you, stretching you out and preparing you for him. It was all too much, yet not enough. He used his free hand to pin your hips down, leaving you with no escape from his mouth. 

Your stomach started to feel tight, and your mind became hazy, core clenching at the now two fingers pushing in and out, scissoring and dancing on the sensitive spot you have only read about in novels. You went barreling over the edge quickly, feeling him smirk on your core as you screamed for him. He pulled his mouth away, keeping his fingers deep inside of you, working you open for him. 

You had not even noticed him remove his clothing using magic, but he was bare before you. Scars littered his muscled chest and shoulders. They danced along his back and ribs. They were a reminder of his cruelty born in a place of hatred for his own father, his own upbringing. But for some reason, now of that matter, as he kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “Give me one more, y/n. Cum on my fingers before you get my cock.” 

He increased his rhythm, holding your head up to keep that golden crown resting on your head. His experience was quick to bring you over the edge again, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he did. 

He also kept your eyes on him as he used your slick to lubricate his cock, kept your eyes on him as he centered himself. And he kept your eyes on him as he pushed in, watching your mouth fall open again as the burn from being so full took over. Watching in sadistic glee as you whined and moaned. He barely gave you time to adjust, letting go of the back of your head in favor of pounding into you over and over. 

Now you truly could have died. You could have died with a smile growing on your face as he pulled out before forcing you to take all of him back in, making the pain quickly turn into a burning need as the scent of sex and sweat filled the air. He moved your legs, placing one over each shoulder and fucking so deep into you that you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. “So tight, pet.” His voice was breathy as his head fell back in pleasure. “Such a perfect cunt.” 

His thrusts became harder as he watched your face, trying to figure out what you liked. And a sudden gasp shifting to a wail of pleasure told him exactly what it was. Over and over, he hit that spot inside of you, the one he had found earlier with his fingers. His eyes almost seemed to roll as you grew tighter, clenching and twitching around him, swallowing him whole.

“Perhaps I should breed you as well. Make sure this pretty pussy stays mine.” Your body responded before you verbally could, gripping him higher and thighs beginning to shake. “You like that, don't you? Like the idea of being used, being bred. Fuck you're perfect. So fucking perfect.” His fingers found your clit again, massaging the swollen bundle of nerves as he buried himself into you. 

Completion found you again, ripping you so deep into pleasure as you milked his cock that you couldn't help but to fall into a silent scream. Beron fell over after you, heat passing through the room as he did and intensifying everything. He allowed your legs to fall from his shoulders. Catching himself on his forearms above you, he sat and watched as you came down from the high. He studied you like a new toy, plotting and planning what he would do to you. “Yes,” he spoke more to himself than you. “You will be quite fun to keep.”

Beron Smut Taglist:

@secret-third-thing

[littlest-w01f]

Flames And Darkness

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Original Female Character

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

In the world of boundaries and expectations, a spirit powered by the magic of Night found her way to blur the lines a map of her world had given. To learn everything the world had to offer.

In the dark, their eyes met, and a forbidden path lay before them. A path The Cauldron and The Mother themselves had woven for them to walk on together

Content Table:

Moodboard

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen (coming soon)

(all characters belong to SJM, the writer of the ACOTAR series, except for Rheana, my original character)

(any images/gifs used in the series do not belong to me until stated otherwise)

[azrielsshadows42]

A Court of Scales and Fire IX

Chapter 8 Character Moodboards Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

(I promise this is relevant to the story, but if anyone didn't know, snakes can taste air)

Warnings: Swearing, fluff

Bold = Draconic

Italics = Thoughts

Both = Mind speak

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: This chapter is a bit shorter than usual cause it's a filler chapter, but I still like it.

I woke up to the sensation of slobber coating my face. Three of my hounds; Mascarpone, Ghost and Acorn had climbed onto my bed to wake me up. It was annoying and unsanitary, but efficient, if it wasn't for them, I would never be awake on time.

Sunlight shone inside the room when another hound; Pheonix, opened the curtains. I lifted myself from the king-sized bed, adorned with many pillows and an extra blanket draped over the edge. Not that I'd ever needed it with the 'Fire' in my veins.

I prepared myself for the day, letting my body carry me through the mundane tasks while the rest of me caught up. Despite being incredibly punctual, early mornings were not my favourite.

Once clean and dressed I took a few bites of the small breakfast set out for me. Pheonix and Acorn had left to join the others in the kennel, but the other two stayed, following me around dutifully. As well as holding out hope for me to drop something in my zombie like state.

Pulling myself together, I had Ghost get Cheddar, then left to meet Y/n in the courtyard. All traces of sleep gone, like they'd never been there.

I pushed open the doors and the first thing I saw was a lovely sight indeed. The six guards I'd assigned to Y/n had doubled. The dragon was growling menacingly at them all, or at least trying to. It wasn't nearly as scary when it was sitting on Y/n's shoulder like that.

What was truly amusing was the way Y/n desperately tried to dissuade the beast while simultaneously tamping down her own annoyance. She understood perfectly well why I had placed so many guards on her, and surprisingly, it seemed she wasn't going to attempt persuading me otherwise. But that didn't mean she was happy about it.

All the sentries stood slightly straighter as I approached. I nodded once, dismissing them and they all marched to continue their duties elsewhere. Y/n glanced questioningly at me, but did not comment.

We remained in the courtyard amongst the topiaries lining the walls, all perfect spheres. Y/n waited for me to break the silence, but I said nothing, just let her stew in her thoughts.

There were a few instances where I thought she might say something, her lips parting or hand twitching up, though she had decided better of it each time.

Mascarpone's ears turned towards the direction of the pathway to my right. The pattering of paws soon reached us, Ghost, led by Cheddar trotted to my side. I could see the question in her eyes, she wanted to ask so badly what their names are. She knew Cheddar, and she knew one was named Mascarpone, but to find out what she wanted, she'd have to speak to me, and it seemed that was off the table.

Still no words came from my mouth, just a vague hand gesture to follow me while I made my way into the woods. We walked further and further in until eventually we reached the abandoned campsite.

No words had been exchanged between us since yesterday, I could tell the quiet was getting to her. I pulled a piece of clothing from my pocket, ripping it in two, I handed half to her.

"I interrogated the prisoner yesterday, he wouldn't talk, not about anything useful. This cloth is from the shirt he was wearing, you and your beast will go East, I will go West, we will rendezvous here in two and a half hours, if neither has found anything, we'll search North together."

Y/n's eyes scanned me, distrust shining in their depths, she was asking why I was willing to let her search alone, after I'd specifically said I'd be keeping a closer eye on her then before.

"Consider it a test of faith"

Her muscles let go of some tension, but she looked about as calm as a bird who knew that it was being hunted. Still, she said nothing, nodding tersely to my instructions, and the underlying warning. She passed the cloth up to her dragon to smell, it recoiled at the stench, then glided down to the ground.

They began their journey East, the dragon slowly increasing its size until Y/n's head was level with its branch like horns. She walked tensely, as if waiting for me to lodge a knife in her back. That was the point, let her mind do all the torture for me, let her think up all the bad things that could happen. She would drive herself up the wall with paranoia and I wouldn't have to lift a finger.

I thought it would give me satisfaction, knowing she won't try anything, but something inside me cracked. She was scared not just of me, but specifically what I could do to her, what she believed I would do if provoked.

It was in that moment I regretted my order, the silence I had forced her to endure, but it had been said and done, I couldn't change that now.

I turned my back on her, calling to my dogs. They ran up to me without hesitation, the only beings who didn't fear me and never would. It was both comforting and made me feel more alone than ever.

Y/n's Pov

I knew I deserved Eris's mistrust and caution. It's why I didn't say anything about the guards or the silent treatment, but this? This sudden show of boundless faith was worse. I knew Eris had been forced to acclimate to the court life; the tricks, the power struggle, the lying through your teeth with a smile on your face, but most importantly, the schemes.

That's what this felt like. A scheme. He wasn't going to be in that clearing at the agreed time, or maybe he would, with deadly back up. Maybe he wasn't searching at all, but planning an ambush. Perhaps he'd gotten the help of Azriel, Eris by no means liked the shadowsinger, but he probably hates me more. I always got the feeling Azriel disliked me, I wouldn't put it past him to plan an ambush or assassination. I'd like to think that Cassian would object, but then again, Azriel didn't need his permission nor his approval.

Hey, nothing bad is going to happen, not while I'm here. I won't let it. Everest brushed against my side reassuringly. Her eyes shone with determination and care. Through all my life, Ev had been my rock. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, and there are very few lines I wouldn't cross to protect him. But we had a complicated history, we'd resolved it, but that didn't make it go away. Besides, Ethari was growing up now, he had delved into his studies, and I am so proud of him and everything he's achieved, but it also feels like he's slipping away.

A wave of guilt and sadness washed over me. I was already on day eleven, Ethari was expecting me back in at most ten days, one of which would be used for travel. So I pretty much have nine days to find these guys before I make Ethari worry needlessly, and with how things are going, it's gonna take more than that.

I tried, I really tried to believe Everest's words, but I was losing hope, something about this mission gave me a bad feeling, like it wouldn't end well. The sensation made me sick to my stomach, I'd never wanted to run, run far away from everything as much as I did now.

Everest's tail wrapped gently around my leg, pulling me from my spiralling thoughts.

Why don't you release NightShade, they'll track from the ground and we'll try our luck in the air. I considered her offer and I'd been about to decline, but she interrupted before I could even begin. Come on, you need it, it'll get you out of your head.

She was right, of course. It would bring me out of my self-inflicted torture. I loved flying as much as Everest did. Something about the thin air got my blood pumping, the adrenaline rush a welcome relief. It was so freeing, so exhilarating, so perfect. Like nothing could touch you.

Ok, you're right. I knelt down, the tingling sensation of tattoos coming to life glided up my spine down my arms. They sprawled out in front of us, I handed them the cloth, letting them taste it. I tied a small strip around their heads, in the corner of my eye, I could see Everest growing till her head was towering well over mine.

I mounted her, and with one powerful pump of her wings, we were airborne, soaring over treetops. The ocean of yellows to reds was beautiful and comforting, reminding me of cosy nights with hot chocolate.

Everest dutifully scanned the treetops for any abnormalities, letting me enjoy the flight. After about ten minutes I started paying attention to the landscape, concentrating on any magic fields or signatures left by the Penitent opals.

We searched tirelessly with no luck, and returned to the ground near the meeting point when there was just over five minutes before Eris was supposed to show up. We sat down in the clearing; piles of leaves surrounded us like thick carpets. NightShade were making their way back while we waited.

We heard the crunching of footsteps over rotting fauna, my body tensed but I didn't move from my position against the tree, trying to keep a facade of indifference. I knew it was Eris and his hounds, the tell-tale sound of sniffing a dead giveaway.

Eris emerged from the trees looking peeved, his three hounds following with their ears down and their tails low.

"Any luck?" I ask casually, but there was the smallest hint of caution that I hoped he didn't hear. He abdicated to ignore my question, instead choosing to walk North with nothing but a terse 'Let's go' said in my general direction.

I followed without word; it did not seem like the time to push him.

---Time skip---

We had spent three hours scouring North and still came up empty handed. We had switched directions, Eris searching East while Ev and I searched West for another three hours. We combed through all four borders, asked around searched high and low for any scrap we could find, but it had all proven to be a fruitless endeavour.

There were only so many hours in a day, and our strength had waned long ago. My body ached and Everests eyes drooped, even the dogs panted, trying to cool down on the damp earth. Somehow Eris was not affected by any of this, he seemed to be fuming, no fatigue in sight.

Eris's breathing grew deeper until finally he snapped. Fire burst out from all around him, the flames licking the ground, singing the leaves and all left over evidence from the campsite, not that it was much help anyway.

I was surprised when the hounds didn't flinch, they must be used to it. Eris stood in the middle of the scorch marks he'd created, his shoulders rising and falling with every inhale, like that in itself, was a mission.

"Feel better?" I asked, genuinely curious.

His breathing slowed, once he'd calmed down, he walked over to a tree and sat down with a sigh mirroring what I'd done. He brought his knees up, resting his arms atop them and hung his head in defeat.

"I don't understand. They couldn't've just up and left, certainly not without leaving some kind of trace." There was no anger, just hollow numbness.

"We'll find them"

"How can you be so sure?" Eris lifted his head, finally meeting my eyes with his warm amber ones.

"Because no one goes through this much trouble for contraband that they plan to do nothing with. They're laying low now cause they know we're onto them, but they have to resurface at some point, and when they do, we'll be ready"

He nodded solemnly, lowering his head once again.

---Eris's Pov---

I hated optimists. Their bullshit view of 'always looking on the bright side' just left you open for bigger disappointment. But her reasoning wasn't false hope, it was logic. Y/n was right, they'd have to surface at some point.

"Perhaps, but how many people are going to get hurt while we sit around and find out."

"None. No one is going to get hurt because of that cause that is not what we're doing. We have tried our best to find them yesterday, today, and we'll do it all again tomorrow. If someone gets hurt, it's not our fault, it's the aggressor. You can't save everyone, it's impossible, you're setting yourself up for failure if you try. The best we can do, the best anyone can do, is mitigate the damage"

Once again, she was right, it was a hard reality to swallow, but that didn't make it any less true. No matter how strong and capable someone is, how hard they try, no one can save everyone.

I had no comeback, so we just stewed there in the quiet, but the tension between us seemed to have lifted. I was grateful for that. We sat on opposite sides of the clearing, the sun slowly drifting down he sky, casting light shadows over us.

The dragon lay in the little bit of sun left; wings spread out on either side. Cheddar approached confidently, without a second thought she flopped onto her side, back against the beast's neck. It opened one eye, glancing at her.

I held my breath, my pulse quickening in worry, but nothing happened. It just closed its eyes again and Cheddar snuggled in closer for warmth.

It wasn't cold for me, but I could see the goose bumps on Y/n's skin rise. She was looking at the two hounds in front of us like I was mere moments ago, a shiver ran down her spine, but her gaze remained fixed on them.

It was then that Ghost and Mascarpone got up, I thought they were going to join Cheddar, but instead they trotted over to Y/n. She smiled brightly at them, scratching them behind the ears. They licked her hands, and their tails beat the ground.

"Hello lovelies" She cooed.

Y/n played with them quietly while the other two snoozed. Her eyes lifted to mine, and genuine joy shined in them. My heart stopped when her gaze softened. She looked truly ethereal in this light, like she belonged here, I wanted nothing more than for her to never leave.

But she would. We would find these fae, and she would leave. I would be alone. Again.

"What are their names?" I smiled down at the grass when she finally asked that question.

I gestured to each one as I introduced them. "You've already met Cheddar, she's the oldest, my first smoke hound. The albino is Ghost and that's his partner, Mascarpone." Her lips turned up at that. Cauldrons her smile is beautiful.

"I wasn't aware smoke hounds could be albino."

"Every living thing can have the albino gene, even plants, it's just rarer in some beings than others"

"I'm going to assume that with smoke hounds already being so rare, an albino is almost unheard of." I nodded in response.

"So how does one come across an albino smoke hound? I suppose it's not hard for you, as long as one is born you could offer an insane amount of money." Again, I nodded. She wasn't wrong.

"True, but it wasn't me who bought Ghost, it was my mother. She got him as a parting gift for me when she went to live with Helion in day. I'd been fascinated with genetic abnormalities when I was younger, the albino gene being one of my favourites."

There was no explanation I could come up with as to why I'd just told her that, and even less of an idea as to why I didn't regret it.

"What about the dragon?" She blinked at me.

"What?"

"Surely the dragon has a name as well?"

"I- Yes, she does, her name's Everest. I'm surprised you asked, I thought you'd just call her 'Lizard' the entire time"

I shrugged. Technically I'd only asked to change the subject, but I had been genuinely curious.

"Is there a reason or meaning behind the name?"

She turned her head right, looking to where her home would be with a reverent expression, like she was remembering a fond memory.

"There is. I found her over three centuries ago in the forest I live in. Everything there is huge there, the bugs, the trees, the animals, I stumbled upon her when she was wounded. She had shrunk herself down to go unnoticed, but her smallness made her stand out to me more."

"I'd brought her home with the intent of healing her and then letting her go, you know, catch and release situation. She was pretty banged up and I needed to call her something for the eleven plus days she'd be there. We live in an evergreen forest and her scales matched, so I called her Everest. If I had known that she would bond with me and that her scales could change colour I would have put more thought into the name, but I didn't, and Everest just kinda stuck so we kept it."

"What do you mean 'bond' you?"

"There's an ancient practice between fae and dragons, it's kind of like the mate bond, except that the dragon chooses, and you automatically learn Draconic, a language only dragons and their bonded can understand"

"Are there more dragons?" I was unsure why, but I'd never considered the possibility of there being more dragons.

"Well, I've never met any, but Everest is younger than me, and she had to have come from somewhere. Plus, if there's one that's managed to stay hidden all these years, is it really so far-fetched to think that there could be more?"

I stopped to consider this. It was the third time tonight she'd done this, made me think about the possibilities, got me out of my head by... pulling me in deeper to a different part, one not so dark.

A full-body shiver racked through her, and I finally decided to it was time to leave. The hounds followed instinctually, she also got up and Everest joined her.

It seemed that after the short rest, Ghost and Mascarpone were ready to play again. They began jumping around chasing each other. They'd somehow even managed to get Cheddar, and the dragon involved as well.

We could have winnowed, but there was a silent agreement between us that walking would be more pleasant. I guided us on the scenic route, projecting warmth around Y/n to extend our time together.

The moon was high in the sky by the time we returned. The hounds had finally expended their energy and slept in the crevices of Everest's back between her spine and wings.

I took Y/n to the kennel where she insisted she must say goodnight to every dog. We retired to our rooms, and I couldn't help but have one of the kitchen workers bring some food to Y/n. After all, neither of us had eaten since breakfast.

Despite the late hour, morning could not come fast enough. Something had shifted between us that evening, and I couldn't wait to learn more about her. Y/n.

My little witch.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @imma-too-many-fandoms @littlefantasylover @kitsunetori

Chapter 10 (coming soon... ish, hopefully. Exams are starting so probably gonna be a while)

Btw, that thing about plants having the potential to be albino is completely true, it's just highly unlikely and if it does happen, they usually die because they have no chlorophyll (The green pigment that is responsible for photosynthesis).

Comment if you wanna be added to the taglist!

[artethyst]

because I annoyingly made THIS as my secondary blog, I realised I never interact with you all (apologies) so…here is a poll : P

[readychilledwine]

Oooooo @secret-third-thing

like fire (hellfire)

high lords aren't born, they're made

[a-court-of-valkyries]

Eris when Rhysand offered him Nesta's Made weapon: "I'd rather have her [Nesta] than that."

Cassian to Nesta when Nesta bruised his ego by insulting Rhysand: laughs at her falling down the stairs and says "Everybody hates you"

Guess who Nesta ended up with😊😊😡😡

[readychilledwine]

Till Death Do Us Part

SJM Villains Week - Day One - Origin Story

"Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness cast upon them?" -Wicked the Musical

Summary - Beron had known love once in his life, and even that was ripped from him

Warnings- This fic has some heavy topics. A whole species of fae is hunted for their wings until extinction. While it is not done in great detail, if that will potentially trigger you, please consider skipping this.

Other warnings- reader Death, spousal abuse, domestic, and child abuse inferred, loss of a spouse, death of a mate, in summary, just not my normal happy love story. Edited and formated on my cellphone, long story, if you see errors, you definitely didn't 👀

A/n - Happy @sjmvillainweek day one. I was sent a request about Beron losing the love of his life being his villain Origin story. I bounced between doing this as a mini series or as a one shot, but landed on the one shot due to mini series that end with reader Death not being a personal favorite of mine, plus, writing reader's death after writing 3 parts of her and Beron falling in love was rough. If you all want it, though, let me know I guess? Today is very out of my box, as you all will see with my Maeve fic queued for later, so to those of you who frequently write reader/oc deaths, I truly admire you. This was hard.

🪽Peep the Wings of Prythian headcanons Here 🪽

🗡Villains Week Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

The stake set in the middle of the grounds was the seal on the impact of Beron's actions. 100 years, 100 happy years of keeping her safe, and now he was locked in his own room, trapped as her execution was set up. 

He should have known better, should have hid her better. Her kind was already rare and in the last 100 years, she was finally the last one. One last trophy to hunt and he had led his father right to her. 

Lifeless wings hung high on his wall, still fresh with the scent of her blood.  The luster they carried was fading, the vibrant burnt orange now a muted tone of its former glory. 

Beron put his head in his hands, the faebane chains around his wrists clanging with laughter as he did. He forced his mind back to a happier time. 

Fire Festival had you running around the small market near where the Leaf Folk lived. Mother needed flour. Father needed wine. Your sisters wanted candy. The first of October was special to you all. To your whole race. It was the start of a 31 day process where the females of your race were courted, married, and the hopes of young offspring came. .

Fire Festival was for lovers. It was for passion. It would be your first year to partake, and while you knew it took some females 3 attempts to meet their match, your wings couldn't help but flutter in hope you would meet yours this year. 

As you day dreamed, supplies in a basket, you were blind to the male watching you. An outsider that had vendors closing their doors and windows with customer's inside, mamas rushing their children into their homes.

A voice cleared behind you, pulling you from your daze, “My lady.” It was instant, that snap of the mating bond tugging and tying you two together into a cursed string. ..

The dark-haired male put his hand to his heart, blindly stepping closer to you. Dark hair sat on top of his head, styled and brushed into perfection despite the evidence he had arrived on horseback. His slender face was handsome. Sharper cheekbones, full lips, a nose reminding you of a hawk beak. His clothing was high end, hugging his body as if he was poured into the material. “Beron,” he spoke to you, ripping you from your study of his figure.

“Y/n,” you whispered back, wings moving slightly to be out of sight.

“I have no interest in those,” he motioned towards them. “Only in the rumors of elder flowers in this area.”

You blinked at him, the olive branch you were about to offer him was dangerous, “I can show you if you vow to never speak of this place.”

Beron fought against his father as he was pulled to the temple. He knew the female he was being forced to marry was nice enough, beautiful, wealthy. He was forced to stand at the altar, a knife held to his little sister's back as he did. Aurelia entered either her normal grace, her own face solemn as the fae stood and she was escorted to him by her own proud father. 

Her dress reminded him of a princess from tales of old. Far too large, puffy, and in a shade of white that did not compliment her porcelain skin and hair like fire. 

They were both silent as they took their vows and the count down to your execution began. 2 hours. 2 hours he'd be forced to spend drinking and all that did was encourage more memories of you.

The pull of the bond became too much the following October, and the letters written on oak leaves could no longer be enough for either of you.

You were taking a huge risk, using the first feast and bonfires to sneak to his hunting cabin just a few miles away from the hidden edge village you'd spent your life in.

Beron was waiting on the porch, eyes coming alive as he heard the sound of your leaf-like wings crinkling as you flew over to him. ..

He caught you quickly, arms going around your waist, pulling your head to his chest. .

The first hug of many.

The first night filled with laughter and stolen kisses that'd come with the next 99 years.

He carried your one bag, frowning at your lack of possessions.

"Is this all you have, my love?”

”All I need,” Your tone was confused. “Did you expect more?”

He had. He had expected more than just the 7 dresses he pulled out. More than the one necklace he had given you. More than one more pair of leather shoes.

Beron glanced at you, chocolate eyes slightly sad, “I'm going to give you the world.”

Beron and Aurelia watched in silence as people drank and danced. “You said you were running,” he whispered under his breath to her. “You said you were leaving to prevent this.”

Aurelia looked at him, her whiskey colored eyes narrowing, “Do you think I didn't try to get him to come grab me? Do you think I sat and did nothing despite our deal?”

He rolled his own eyes, “Careful with your tone, wife,” the word felt like ash. 

“Am I your wife? Or is she locked in the fox holes waiting to be the final show for our wedding? Who else has their marriage start with the burning of their husband's who-”

The slap that came before she could finish that sentence made the room fall into silence. Another beginning. Another drastic change. Beron knew Aurelia had sold out the location he kept you in. Her father had been the one to drag you in, bleeding and crying, dress torn. 

Beron's father motioned for the night to continue like nothing had happened, as if he was beaming with pride at his son striking his wife. 

“Just because he didn't want you after you willingly handed him your cunt, doesn't mean I didn't want y/n. I hope you enjoy both of us being as miserable as you clearly are.” 

She sat wordlessly next to him, holding her cheek. She'd been warning of the heavy hands the Vanserra males carried, but Beron had never been aggressive. He'd always been kind to her. But she knew she was you and clearly Aurelia had gotten herself into dangerous territory. 

Beron watched the clock as it ticked an hour. An hour to day dreamed about you.

The wedding of the Leaf Folk were not performed in a temple, an odd thing for Beron as he stood under the oldest apple tree in the groove. Its twisted trunk and tangled branches were almost menacing as you followed his eye. 

You took his hands, whispering in the old tongue and making the tree light up with runes and stories of lovers wed under its branches. You were the last of your kind. The village somehow found and pillaged in one night. The groove of apples around you both was struggling, dying off slowly as its caretakers became a lost memory. “What do we do now?”

"We close our eyes and feel. We will know if the land blesses our union,” you smiled as you answered, closing your eyes. Fireflies began to fill the area, a slight breeze carrying the sounds of gentle music. You both opened your eyes to the deer to the fireflies.

“What the hell,” he paused. “What is this?”

"Approval from the Mother. She has blessed and signed off on our union,” Your hand went to the new rune in the tree, eyes watering as you followed the curves and slopes. “We're married.”

Beron was forced to stand, shackled again as guards made him and Aurelia walk to where he'd be forced to watch you burn. His family and Aurelia's father too spots near them, the other High fae in attendance whispering as they also took places. Public execution in Autumn was a favorite pastime for the rich high fae. They loved watching the poor, the criminals, the low fae burn or be gifts to the trees, consumed root by root. 

His father had known that wasn't an option with you. Had he given you to the trees, the trees would free you. No true crime was committed, and on top of that, your kind was so closely linked to the trees, your life forces depending on each other. 

Beron had tried to warn his father what killing you would do, how his family would lose control of the trees and the forest, how that was a magic given to his family by the Leaf Folks elders hundreds of years ago. A promise not to hunt them, yet every Nobel here had a pair of those wings on their walls. Fresh ones. 

Beron pulled against his chains as he heard you fighting and screaming in the tongue of your people. He watched as you spit on the male dragging you, watched as you spit on his father. 

You had, in many ways, made Beron's life easier. You had killed two of his brothers during your capture, making him the clear heir. You had stabbed his father with something rumors from the healers say wasn't closing, festering in his skin and muscles like an infection. The look of pride as you looked down from your nose towards his father made Beron smirk. You'd die a warrior. Die with not an ounce of fear but instead a river of rage. 

His wife. His powerful fearless wife.

That sneer didn't change as you were tied to the stake. It didn't change as your so-called charges were read. It didn't change as you waited to be given the ability to speak one last time. 

“The last of your kind, yet you won't beg for your life?”

“No,” you answered his father plainly. 

The High Lord seemed surprised as he spoke again, “So you will curse my son to a life of madness?”

“I've cursed your son and court to so much more than that already,” you glared

It was then that Beron noticed the runes carved into your body in captivity. He held his breath as he read each one. As he read the fate your death would seal for this court and for him.

You had been lied to, told he gave away your location, that he handed you away willingly in exchange for the bride sitting next to him. All lies he would never be able to change.

It looked as if you were praying, but Beron knew the signs of Leaf Folk magic now. He knew what was happening as the wind picked up and lightning struck as your pyre was lit. 

Beron shot out of bed, shaking his head as the nightmare replaying her death was fresh in his mind. He still blamed himself, still blamed Aurelia. 700 years later and he wasn't over her. 

But how could he have been? Her curse was a plague on Autumn. A deep rot that settled into the remaining signs of her village first. Then that grove he had married her in. Then the surrounding forest and villages. It was choking off life in his court. Illness, famine, and death followed in its path.

Her curse had not just taken the forest, though, it had taken him. The lifeless mating bond was doubled by what she had down. Beron lost all sense of emotion and Humanity once she was gone. He lost himself. That much was clear by the scars littering his wife and children. By what he had done to Lucien. 

He had no one to blame but himself.

He knew she was forbidden. A female considered low fae with wings like the rustling leaves of this very court, but Beron couldn't stop himself. He couldn't resist the feel of her soft skin, her scent of spun sugar and apples, her soft hair. Her eyes were his favorite thing, so light and bright. Full of life. 

As he held his chest in bed, his sleeping wife was next to him. It was those eyes that haunted him. Those last words whispered before an execution.

“A plague on your houses, a plague on your court, until a son brave enough to kill for what's right comes forth.”

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[littlest-w01f]

Chapter One

Series Masterlist

CW: Angst

50 years, 50 long years... Well, 50 years, 3 months and 1 day if anyone was counting, which she was.

Every day was the same for the past years, Velaris was dark, the darkness didn't come from the night, but from sorrow. Everyone felt an absence of their beloved High Lord. They all mourned him, feeling the last of his power when they tried to leave Velaris and were met with a forcefield that had glamoured their city, making it invisible to Amarantha's magic, adding another layer of protection to the City of Starlight just like their previous High Lords had.

Rheana stood at the edge of Velaris like she had every day since her brother was taken from her, her wings out and stretched for flight. She waited for the feeling of her brother's magic to spike, but it never did. After her initial panic, she destroyed the shield he had created to alter it with just a simple thought, creating her own glamour to hide her city so their Inner Circle could go in and out as they pleased. She and her sister, Morrigan, had taken to rule over Night Court. Mor took over The Court of Nightmares, those few who were spared the so-called High Queen's wrath, Rheana was sure it was to just throw it in her father's face of how powerful she was now, nearly untouchable, while she ruled over Velaris and kept the Illyrians from revolting in the absence of a power keeping them in line.

When her mind started screaming at her, Rheana flew to Illyria, sometimes she would spar with any Illyrian male who thought he could best her or she would teach the girls who would watch her beat up a male larger than her, despite Devlon's wishes for the young females to stay in the house and help their mothers. She found peace in teaching the girls to fight, she saw something of herself in the hoard of teenage females that she taught. All of it was a good distraction for half the century that made her want to peel her skin off, the hollow of her heart had only increased as the days went by.

If physical aggression couldn't calm her mind, she would lock herself in the library of the House of Winds, greeting Clotho curtly and sitting on a soft couch, reading books till her eyes crossed and she couldn't see straight. She had managed to study everything in the giant library twice and talked to some of the priestesses who worked there. One of them had suggested she talk to the female who helped them with their trauma but she had denied it, thinking how could her trauma compare to any of theirs.

Her mind snapped back to her body when she felt a playful shove of Illyrian wings. "Hey Rhe, I got you some food."

She turned to meet Cassian's eyes, her eyes softened seeing her friend. "Cassian..." She shoved him back with her wings, a greeting of 'hello' that they had since they were children.

Cassian and Azriel, her oldest friends, were the only were who made sure she ate and was hydrated. Azriel himself threatened to shove some proper nutrition she needed down her throat if she wouldn't eat willingly. While Amren rolled her eyes at their motherhen antics, claiming Rheana wouldn't die of some unhealthy choices.

"Rhe, you there...?" Cassian waved his large hand in front of her face, making her snap out of another trance, she went in and out of the maze in her mind a lot after losing Rhysand.

"Yeah, yeah..." She nodded, made her wings disappear and sat down next to him on the grass, taking the basket he'd gotten her. "I've just been thinking."

"The usual?" Cassian sitting next to her, wrapping a wing around her. She nodded back, chewing on some meat he'd brought her. The usual, Rhysand, the Illyrians, Rhysand's safety, the priestesses in the library, and Rhysand being dead.

"It's been 50 years... he's dead..." She swallowed hard, "Amarantha hasn't died, if she had he would've been here 3 months ago."

Cassian leaned into her as she forced food down her throat, he and Azriel had been the only ones who kept her from breaking down about her brother's life at any and each moment. "I'm sorry, something must have been going on-"

"I hate not knowing what's happening to my own brother!" She exclaimed and cut him off, Cassian let her get up and pace around. "We don't know nothing of what's happening Under the Mountain, what she has planned, who..." She inhaled deeply, her siphons glowing purple, "Who all she might have killed until it's always too late! There is word in the wind that my brother killed two dozen Winter Court children. He would never. Not children." Her voice broke slightly, not wanting to think of the fact that whatever was happening to him Under the Mountain might have... No, she would not think that.

Cassian stood up after her, stroking her back to calm her, "Rhysand must have thought of something, and besides, you would feel it." He pointed to her chest over her heart, "Right here... Even if you can't feel his magic, you would just know, if there was evil in your blood or if he was dead."

She knew what he meant, whatever was in their bloodline was a lot different than they had ever seen, it was a different type of fibre that connected their blood. Connected them on another lever. Powerful children of a powerful man. The only blood family either of them had left alive.

When he pressed his fingers over Rheana's heart again, she gasped, and she felt a sharp rush of power. It wasn't her power. It was his power. She looked up at her giant of a friend with a wide smile. Her violet eyes were suddenly full of life. Velaris also felt it, as little the power was, of its High Lord's return.

"Rheana... What's wrong?" Cassian asked before correcting, "What's so right?"

"He... He's." She gasped again. "We need to get to the House of Winds."

She flew before Cassian registered her words, her wings spread wide as she leaned forward to fly faster. She saw a pale figure standing in the House, she felt it in her, and her insides sang his name. Her brother. Her family.

Rhysand... Rhysand is safe... Rhysand is alive...

She stood next to him too fast, and the two eyes met, beings made from the same thread of fabric, they each took a step closer to each other, there were no words said, but everything that needed to be said was heard.

Both of them were glad that the other was there. Alive. Just an arm's reach from each other. Safe, safe, safe. The power in their blood sang.

He looked like a ghost, and she would have thought he was one, she had dreamt of this moment so long she wondered if this was just another dream. But he was not a ghost, not as a smile appeared on his lips, he took another step towards her, Mor appeared behind them a worried look on the female's face as he fell into Rheana's arms, and Rheana noticed the lack of muscles on him, noticed how pale he was.

"She's real, Rhea... My mate is real. She's my mate." Rhysand whispered before passing out in his sister's arms.

It was silent since Rhysand had returned, he had only said one sentence to Rheana before he passed out. She had decided against bringing their entire Inner Circle to see him at once, given that he hadn't woken up.

She had almost cried when she was able to lift him up like he weighed nothing, had she been able to lift him under any other circumstance, she would've teased the hell out of him. But there was nothing funny about how much weight Rhysand had lost in his captivity, nothing joyous about Rhysand being so thin that she could nearly see his bones in some places. It spooked Rheana that whatever went down Under the Mountain turned him into nothing more than a pale, thin, tired creature after fifty years of it. Her brother, the High Lord, was so weak it cracked her to pieces.

Rheana tucked her brother in his bed at the townhouse in the clothes he'd worn when he had winnowed back at the House of Winds, she set the messy hair that had now fallen over his face back, they had grown a lot since the last time she'd seen him, she despised the physical changes she saw, not liking that thought of equally scaring mental changes. She watched him, taking a seat next to his bed, he looked so tired and tensed in his state, and she kept her breathing quiet, feeling that he might be disturbed by any light movement.

The bargain tattoo on the right hand's pinky finger hummed against her skin, the word 'Alltaf' written in cursive, surrounded by swirls of starlight. An old fae language. She looked at his hand to see the matching tattoo in the same place but the word 'Aeternum'. Their oldest bargain. Her eyes followed his hand to the thinness of his arms. She'd only ever felt the way she did looking at him once, felt so melancholy, she couldn't help her mind wandering to escape from her body. To that one awful day. The awful memory.

Rheana was sitting moodily in the House of Winds, her father had put wards up in the house so that she couldn't leave the place even by the 10,000 stairs. Her father and brother had gone after the Spring Court royalty that had taken the lives of her sister and mother. Her mother and sister's final words were still ringing in her ear, their deaths should have been her revenge to take too, but Rhysand had not taken her side and watched as her father locked her in the house.

It had been a few days since that loss, she could feel the hollow darkness in her father's eyes that stayed long after he'd screamed so loud she wondered how it hadn't deafened her and her brother. The sound was so gut-wrenching their hearts broke the same every day just remembering it. When her father had scented the Spring royals in the air, he had vowed to kill them all. The loss of his mate was felt by everyone in the court. A male as powerful as her father, with the loss of his mate and a child, was just a chemical waiting to give off a deadly reaction.

After she was brought back home, Madja was instantly by her side, a new healer back then, she had helped bathe Rheana and put a tight bandage on her. As days passed, Madja tried every salve, but the giant gashes the High Lord of Spring had given her would only scar, never heal. Her scars of shame, she would call it while trying to look at the wounds in a mirror. Three large, perfectly symmetrical claw cuts on her back, half-healed forever.

She'd fought trying to join them in their murder spree but that had ended with her father locking her up. She waited for them, and as the minutes passed by she grew worried.

Had they been ambushed? She wondered. No... Her father was more powerful than the High Lord of Spring. She reminded herself

After half an hour of worrying, the shield her father had put up fell, which meant either that he wanted her to come to them or... she would not think of the other reason.

She felt Rhysand winnow in the House of Winds before he did, he carried a newfound power with him when he landed in front of her. She looked at him, seeing her brother covered in blood and guts of the Spring heirs. There he stood, not just her brother, but the High Lord of the Night Court. The two siblings wordlessly rushed to each other and melted in a tight hug, falling to the floor, Rheana not caring about how foul Rhysand smelled, or that her clothes were getting dirty as they both silently cried in each other's hold. Only knowing one thing, that the other was safe and they were to keep it that way.

"Wake up, brother." She whispered to a sleeping Rhysand, she had refused to finish eating the food that Cassian had brought back for her, she would only eat after her brother was up, and she would eat her meal without her brother, which was a week ago.

It had been a week since he had returned and he had not moved an inch, she could feel his heart beating low, there had been a cut on his chest that had bloodied his shirt making her rip it off and call Madja instantly, seeing the cuts and bruises, bile rising in her throat seeing some whip lashes, to be marked by some lashes, she couldn't fathom what he was hit with, or how frequently. Madja had put bandages on his cut, and a salve on the lashes, some of them in his skin while some were still fresh enough to look red. Everyone had come to visit him one by one after, while she had not moved much at all from her spot, she'd only done so to put another top on him and cover him with a blanket, so that he would not get cold. Or to cut his hair back to his usual hairstyle.

She also noticed a new inking at his hands, making her wonder who he had bargained with and what he had given away.

He thinned every day, he grew more pale than when he had arrived each day of that dreadful week and she feared her brother might not wake up. Her hunger didn't matter, she hadn't had a bite of food or a sip of water, and she'd starved for way longer than that anyway. Azriel had decided against being true to his words and let her be with her brother while he visited, not forcing her to neither eat nor drink.

"Please wake up, Rhysie... Please, I need you." She gripped his hands, a tear falling from her eyes. As she said those words, the tattoos on both their little fingers began to glow. Their bargain began to glow, as if energising at the contact and the words.

"I need my brother. I need him." She said more to their bargain now. It was as if the tattoo and their bargain itself gave Rhysand most of his colouring and muscles back. Gave him his health back.

His heart picked up a faster and steadier pace, and the High Lord of the Night Court woke up with a startled gasp.

{Taglist: @anuttellaa }

[littlefireling]

Omg I love his hairrr!!

happy mabon from feyre and lucien 🌙🌾🎃🍁

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Ten

Series Masterlist

Cw: Necromancy, torture, slight mention of sa

The dinner had a rather abrupt ending to it after Rhysand mentioned visiting the Bone Carver with Feyre, the Death God was nothing new to Rheana, having read all his tales, but she'd never met him, visited The Prison all but twice to lock up traitors.

She had seen him in passing though, when the curiosity got better of her and she made her way down the prison, in the form of a young female with bright firey hair, light bronze skin, violet eyes, and large Illyrian wings, sitting in the cell, playing with bones. The female looked eerily similar to her, at the same time, she carried a stranger's face.

Rheana took a step closer to the cell, her heart pounding in her chest as she calmed herself down. She could feel the energy radiating off the girl, making her feel both uneasy and strangely drawn towards her at the same time.

But she knew better than to converse with the Carver, so she had left, even still, the thoughts of why he had shown up as that female haunted her, all because it was a question she didn't know the answer to.

The new morning she saw outside on her balcony in the townhouse, a piece of parchment in front of her, an ink pot and the fancy quill she preferred beside her, with some chamomile tea in her hands.

As Rheana sipped her chamomile tea, her mind wandered back to the Bone Carver, and the peculiar sight of him appearing as a young female, it had been years since then, centuries even. She picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell, changing her thoughts from the Bone Carver to Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer her brother had asked her to write to.

Rheana, despite the view people had for her Court, was very nicely received among the royal families of other Courts, she spoke in the language people wanted to hear, and read people so well that she knew what they expected without breaking into their minds.

So, the words flew freely, asking Tarquin for a visit to Summer, for herself, Rhysand, Feyre and Amren, spinning a tale of wanting to mend Court relations, after Amarantha had destroyed Prythian, she did feel a visit to other Courts would be important, especially after she had killed Tarquin's mother, an old friend of hers, along with his father for the Summer Court trying to rebel against her.

Rheana knowing full well how persuasive she could be when writing letters, hoped that this one would have the desired effect. Kallos took the chance to jump in her lap in the form of a little kitten she kept them as, purring like one too, but their skin was as scale-like as it had been when she met them. She finished writing her letter, dipping the quill again to sign her name elegantly before placing everything neatly aside, she hovered her hand over the parchment, using her magic to dry the ink.

She held the paper, and folded it thrice before summoning an envelope, setting the letter inside, and sealing it with hot wax and her court's emblem, using the quill she made three stars on the bottom of the envelope with Night Blooms under the stars, her own personal mark for Tarquin to know who it came from.

With the letter sealed and marked, Rheana stood up and walked over to the balcony, gazing out at the city below. She felt a sense of anticipation building within her, wondering what response she might receive from Tarquin. She closed her eyes, letting the warm breeze caress her face, and whispered a silent prayer to the stars, hoping that her efforts would not be in vain.

Kallos appeared on the windowsill and with a wave of Rheana's hand, they turned into a raven, a deep black coat that still had its scaley texture, bigger than most birds, Take this for me. She said in their mind.

Kallos mindlessly picked the letter with their beak and nodded, for you, They then took flight, and Rheana cast a glamour on them to keep them invisible to anyone who looked to the sky.

Rheana watched intently as Kallos took flight, carrying her letter towards its destination. A pang of worry briefly crossed her heart but she quickly banished it, trusting in the strength of her words and her bond with Kallos, they would get the message to Tarquin. She returned to her seat, pouring herself another cup of chamomile tea, she pulled a book from her shelf, settling back comfortably with the intention to pass the time by losing herself in someone else's fantastical world until news arrived.

Rhysand and Feyre returned earlier than Rheana had expected, sensing how upset Feyre was, and told her enough of the fact that they hadn't visited The Prison.

Feyre had said nothing but locked herself in her room, and Rhysand had simply asked Rheana not to try to make her come out, giving her space.

Rheana nodded understandingly, sympathizing with Feyre’s pain. "Of course," she murmured softly, casting a glance towards the door of Feyre’s room. "Give her time." She advised gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Rhysand’s arm. "And you should give yourself some time too. It must be difficult to see your mate hurt."

Rheana could tell from the set of Rhysand's shoulders and the distant look in his eyes that he was indeed struggling too. His emotions were so closely tied to Feyre's, that it was hard for him to remain unaffected when she suffered. Rheana moved away from him slightly, stepping over to the fireplace to stir the embers and add more wood, the crackling flames providing a comforting sound.

Rheana left Rhysand with himself and some of the calming tea she had been drinking, and made her way up the House of Winds, if she had been in a hurry, she would've flown, but for now, she had the time to walk up the spiral staircase to the top.

10,000 stairs may seem daunting to many, but for Rheana, it was a familiar trek, one she often undertook when seeking solitude or clarity. As she climbed, the air grew cooler, the scent of saltwater and seafoam wafting in through the open windows that lined the staircase. By the time she reached the top, her legs were pleasantly tired, and her mind felt refreshed.

She had the House of Winds to herself, Cassian had gone to Illyria to see how the training for the males was going, she herself would be leaving soon to train her females, as she did every morning and afternoon, but she also had business to care for before that with Azriel, who waited for her.

Her thoughts went to the library in the House of Winds, on the new Priestess that had joined them almost a few days ago, when her temple was infiltrated by Hybern soldiers, the soldiers that Azriel had ripped apart with his Siphons and the general that he had beaten till his death.

After a few moments of peace, she took flight into the caves of the mountain the House of Winds was built on, as she stepped past a spell of glamour, the dungeons formed in front of her, muffled cries coming from deep inside, the place was dark, Rheana was sure many bats lived in the cracks and crevices in the caves, which might also be why Azriel always came with a new batch of captured insets every time he visited.

"Azriel?" Rheana called out when she felt a few shadows shifting around her, she knew every knock and cranny of this place, having worked alongside Azriel to contain her power and rage before she found much more suitable ways to manage herself.

She felt the shadows move behind her and she sensed Azriel, who simply moved past her when he knew she felt him, "How nice of you to join me, Rhea, this will be like old times."

Azriel led her to a cell, where a dead body lay, the body of the Hybern general, the only physical thing left of the people who attacked Sangravah, Rhysand had been quite pissed that Azriel had left no one standing to interrogate but after what he had told the siblings, Rhysand hadn't been that mad, and besides, Rheana could make it work.

"Ah, so this is him?" Rheana tutted, her clothes transforming, leather replacing cotton, armour, and Siphons on display, the look of death in her eyes, the male's face was bruised and battered, frozen in a look of terror from when Azriel had unleashed himself upon him, "Doesn't seem too intimidating."

"He looks like someone who picks fights with people who can't fight back." Azriel growled and Rheana rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

"Hey, why don't I do this alone? You take care of anything else..." Rheana sighed softly, "Perhaps see over the Illyrian females, while I'm busy."

Azriel left with a huff, he'd clearly wanted to see the male suffer, but they needed information more than sadistic pleasure. The second Azriel winnowed away, Rheana exhaled, the room filled with darkness, she looked at the male, tied up to a chair with chains, body slagging in it, covered in cuts and bruises, some received way after he was dead.

Rheana weaved her hand through the dead general's hair, with a sharp inhale, her eyes turned completely black, her skin going paler than the moon as she let go of her darkness and daemati powers, weaving them both together to take control of the dead mind of the general, bringing his body back to life with a gasp of harsh breath the body took, it's eyes dark just like Rheana's were.

The general blinked open his eyes, groaning in pain, staring blankly ahead as though trying to focus on something just beyond reach. Rheana stood before him, her form barely visible amidst the darkness, that swirled around her. She wasn't the dainty princess her father had wanted his daughters to be, clad in warrior leathers, muscles tense from power, biceps flexing from her grip in his hair, nails digging right into his skull, wings flared wide, dark purple Siphons gleaming in the darkness, in front of the general stood The Lady of Darkness, the witch of the dark the Illyrians feared, and the dead general had the right mind to look frightened. She leaned down closer to the male, her voice a low whisper against the silence of the dungeon.

"Speak," She commanded firmly, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "What were you doing in the Sangravah temple? What did you take?"

The general's lips parted, but no words came out at first. He tried to struggle against the restraints holding him in place, but they held firm. Fear shone brightly in his eyes, a stark contrast to the darkness of Rheana's own gaze. But still, he remained silent. Rheana frowned, her grip tightening even more. A curl of her hand sent another surge of energy coursing through the general, forcing him to obey.

"I… I was following orders!" He finally managed to stammer out, voice almost hypnotized, fear making his voice tremble. "We were tasked with finding and retrieving something specific."

"The feet of the Cauldron, that's what missing, there would be no need for it if you didn't have the Cauldron hidden with you." Rheana's eyes shone dark like a starless cold night sky, "Does your king have it?"

The general nodded, his mind in her hands, quite literally, fear etched across his face as he struggled to keep his composure. "Yes… Yes, he does! It's hidden somewhere safe. No one knows its location except for the king and those closest to him!"

"Like you," Rheana smirked like darkness and death herself, her hold on his mind tightening, "So, where?"

The general grimaced, pain shooting through his head as he fought against the compulsion Rheana exerted upon him. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for some kind of escape, but there was none, because he was dead, nothing about him quite alive. "I… I don't know exactly! Only that it is far from here, somewhere secluded and well-guarded," He confessed, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Fine, guard it in your mind, you only can for so long." Rheana hummed, her voice dangerously sweet, "And the young female you assaulted? Was that an order too? Or do you just liked having power over a defenseless female?"

The general paled further, his mind recoiling at the mention of the assault. "It wasn't an order! We… I acted on my own, without permission. I just couldn't resist her, she was so beautiful and helpless… And that bitch hid the children! It was an easy way to punish her..." He trailed off. "Please, forgive me, I swear it won't happen again!"

"Oh no it won't. Because you suffered and died, and I brought your mind back to torture you again," Rheana smiled, "But her? She suffered, and she will heal."

The general shuddered, his entire being trembling under the weight of Rheana's command. His eyes closed tight as tears began to stream down his cheeks, Rheana was sure the male had wet himself too, there was always that downside of bringing a mind back with magic, it jolted up some other functions too. "Please… Please don't hurt me anymore," he begged, voice cracking.

"Well, if you're lying to be general, you'll wish your body was obliterated like the rest of your soldiers," Rheana cooed as if talking to an infant, "Because I will be back, and that would hurt so much more."

Rheana withdrew her hand from his head, her fingers and palm soiled in blood as the male went limp again, looking more dead than he was before.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Six

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

The room was silent, as a young Fae sat in front of her empty wall, an empty wall where the map of Prythian was painted, the Night Court, her home, covered in marks and strings, the places she'd been in, covered in those markers.

Rheana held a book in her hands, a book with green and gold binding, open on her lap. Her brother had made a new friend, Tamlin of Spring, and she might have bombarded him with questions about his court, wanting to know everything about his lands.

The male had simply sneaked her a book of his court history, which she had read in a few hours. From the book she wrote down what she learnt about the Spring Court, the book was thick enough to need multiple bindings, and a gentle hand to keep it together.

She'd been meaning to ask Tamlin to let her visit Spring but how Cassian and Azriel had reacted to the male, his family might not react well to her either.

Rheana sighed, looking at the map of her world, her father never let her go anywhere, he always either took her elder brother or her younger sister, Rheana was too wild of a daughter, in his words.

She had given up trying to get her father to like her after she'd begged her mother to take her with her and Rhysand to one of the Illyrian camps.

Windhaven was exciting for her, a new place she wanted to know everything about, her own people she wanted to know a lot about.

Even if her father didn't care for them, he had threatened them to let her train, not because it was what he wanted for her, but because they would threaten his authority if he couldn't make them train her, if their misogyny was more powerful than a High Lord's order.

And Rheana had suffered hardships for it, having to prove herself over and over again to the males who would never think them equal.

She had been beaten up and gotten back up again, every day was a new opponent, and right now, it was knowledge.

"So, you can grow flowers by your magic right?" Rheana asked, sitting beside Tamlin, the book he had given her in her hand, she didn't miss how much taller she was than him, although it fed her ego, he too would one day hit puberty and skyrocket in height, just how Rhysand had, just how Azriel and Cassian had. The males were training and she had stopped just for a moment, covering in sweat, her leathers sticking to her

Tamlin turned to her, flinching slightly at her wide endless violet eyes, he frowned, flashing his beast-like eyes at her, but she smiled in fascination at him changing parts of his body, changing back to green after a moment, "Well yes, that is Spring magic."

"Nice..." Rheana nodded along, eyes on a few dandelions growing along the field they were in, "Could you multiply them, then?"

Tamlin pressed his palm on the ground, "Sure," his body hummed with magic as the dandelions multiplied in the soil. Rheana smiled, she could feel his magic in the ground from her bare feet that were in contact with the ground.

Rheana was fascinated, "That's so amazing..." She whispered in awe, seeing another form of magic work.

"Rheana, you're next!" A voice called, Rheana and Tamlin looked up, an Illyrian male was in the rink, and Rheana got up.

"Are you sure you can take him, Rhea?" Tamlin whispered, Rheana knew it was just concern, not him being condescending, since the male in question was almost twice as big as both of them combined.

Rheana was fast in adjusting her clothes, turning to Tamlin with a smile, "Well, you don't really grow if you pick fights you know you can win, do you?"

As she reached the rink, Cassian and Azriel were cheering for her, she extended her wings out, bigger than what most had, as many females did, and her eyes landed on a young female behind the rink, she was working on dishes, she smiled at the female her age, but frowned instantly when she didn't earn a smile back.

For a moment her eyes were black after she turned to focus on the Illyrian male, taking the male by surprise, with a gasp and a surge of power her eyes returned to normal. The Illyrians whispering about her.

Strega oscura, the Illyrian called her, "Dark witch". Rheana stood in Windhaven, hair braided tightly, in training leathers, the war camp still looked the same after five centuries, just minor changes that would go amiss at first glance, the first of which was the ban on wing clipping, and then the laws that allowed females to take over family businesses, among many other things that Rhysand and Rheana had done to make the lives of females better in all of Illyria.

Till now things were moving slowly, the males didn't wish to train the females so Reana had taken it upon herself to do so, some families still believed in clipping their females, and Rheana wished to make it stop.

She smiled at a young child, and the young female smiled back wide, putting the clothes away as she rushed for Rheana. The half-Illyrian was soon surrounded by the females she trained.

"You're back," Elira smiled, one of her oldest friends, the mother of the female she looked at, "Drita always misses you."

"I already come at the crack of dawn, do I need to show up earlier for you, huh, little warrior?" Rheana smiled at the female who was smiling and looking up at her.

Drita, the female barely ten nodded, almost jumping up and down, "Look, I can punch properly now!" Rheana chuckled as Drita dragged her to one of the training dummies, she watched the child stand in the proper stance.

"Kness bend, weight between both legs," Rheana almost laughed, watching Driti repeat what she had taught, landing a perfect punch on the dummy.

Rheana smiled applauding the female's punch, "Good, that's the first thing down now." There was pride in her tone that made some other young females jump to prove their punches worth her praise.

Rheana walked in a circle, correcting any missed steps that happened, "Give me 60," She said to those who landed a perfect hit.

Rheana watched them work, she could feel Devlon's glare on her too, but there was nothing he could say to stop her, her word was more powerful than his.

"Again!" She ordered one of the females who misstepped, "Watch your back leg."

"And you old females don't think I forgot about you." Rheana turned to the females she'd been training for decades, "Pair up," The females stood in lines in front of her, "Enter the rink one by one, Elira is the judge."

"Wait what?" Elira turned to look at Rheana in surprise.

Rheana nodded, "Yes, you, my brother has called me for a meeting today, so we don't have as many hours today, I want to focus on the faelings. You females are doing plently good on your own, if you have doubts clear them with me." Rheana smiled at her friend, the female she had befriended while she was young and learning, the first person she had ever taughed, the one who showered her that she could teach others too.

"fiftey-eight, fiftey... fiftey-nine, SIXTEY!" It had then them quite long for one of the females to finish with their punches, they would mess up at times and Rheana would tell them to restart court.

"We did it, miss Rhea..." One of her younger students raised a tumb up in her direction, breathing heavy. Rheana laughed at some of them leaning against the dummies that were punching.

"Good. Rest up then we move to legs." Even if they whined about how she was torturing them, Rheana knew the young Illyrian females liked it, especially when their male counterparts were being taught the same.

Rheana stood in the House of Winds balcony of her room, looking down at Velaris, eyes on the star-like lights of the city of Starlight. She was wearing a pair of comfortable leggings and a simple top, hair open, waving slightly from the tight coils they had been in earlier, she had just returned from Windhaven and Ironcroft, and Kallos stalked around her room, rubbing against her leg.

The wall in her room still had the map of Prythian on it, and in five centuries, she had filled it in pretty well, and visited most places in the world, the only ones that remained spotless were Spring and Autumn.

She had marked the Spring palace on her map when she had brought Feyre from there, despite how she felt for their High Lord, visiting the Court for the first time. Spring was a beautiful place, just like she'd been imagining it to be.

The Night Court's relations with Autumn were horrible at best, Rhysand rarely did business with them, and Rheana didn't mind not going to that place, none of her family could stand Beron nor Eris for how they had left her sister to die until Azriel found her while he was spying on them.

Azriel stepped through the shadows of her room, making her turn on her heel and pin him against the wall, her violet eyes completely black, darkness seeping from her skin, his shadows melting into her darkness, "You shouldn't try to sneak up on me, Azriel."

"One day, I'll manage to," Azriel choked out with a laugh, rubbing a hand over his throat when she let him go. He smiled, "I'm here to bring you to dinner."

"Rhys is coming," Rheana nodded, Rhysand had slipped into her mind to tell her of it, "He's bringing Feyre."

Azriel nodded to the door, walking in front of her, "So, how are things in the camps?"

"It's wonderful, the females are really learning fast." She gave him a smile, going down the floors to the main halls, "And I love teaching them."

"I heard from Cassian you're giving the males a hell of a time." Azriel smirked, "I would love to see you put them on the ground over and over again."

"Well, you could always join." Rheana offered, "I'm sure they would love a few more nice males around."

They reached down just in time for Feyre to walk in beside Rhysand, the three of them could feel Feyre's discomfort when Cassian decided to break the tension, "Come on, Feyre. We don't bite. Unless you ask us to."

Rheana barely covered her chuckle when Rhysand retorted, "The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer." But Azriel didn't feel the need to cover the snorting.

"Welcome to the House, Feyre." Rheana smiled, hoping to soothe her.

"Rheana," Feyre walked to her, and behind her, Rhysand smiled watching them, "Oh, thank god, I know someone here."

Rheana gave Feyre a comforting look as Feyre stood by her side, moving to hug her half way. Rheana accepted the hug, arms around the Cursebreaker's shoulders as she wrapped hers around Rheana's waist, standing with little distance between them. Thank you for saving me, Feyre opened her mind to say.

"It's good to see you up, Feyre." Rheana pulled away from the hug, "Also, it's nice to have another female around. Mor and I were nearly done with these males."

Rhysand and Cassian started to talk over each other, while Azriel just rolled his eyes at her comment

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

[littlest-w01f]

Prologue

Series Masterlist

CW: None

Breath, breath

The words rang in her head, and the voices in her head were panicked. Her mentor's voice was the loudest.

Breath in, breath out, in, out, in...

She cried out but she couldn't hear her own voice, she'd never felt more helpless than she did banging her entire body against the magical forcefield her brother had created. Her chest tightened in pain, trying to manage her breathing.

Her brother, High Lord of the Night Court, now at the clutches of the witch who fancied herself High Queen.

Calm... Stay calm... still your mind, novice.

"Rhea..." A voice called out. She knew the voice, she knew whose scared fingers held her as she cried, her cry and panic powerful enough to shake the mountains to their core. She pressed her face into his chest, the blue siphons on the back of his hands glowed as if sopping him to break down as well.

"He's..." A sob escaped her lips, her bright violet eyes dulled in pain and sorrow. "I can't feel him, Az... I can't."

With the pain in her mind and heart, her body followed, her joints ached in a way they hadn't in centuries, and the muscles of her back cramped. The giant scars of shame on her back began to pain again, and her shame of not being enough to save her family rose to the surface. Her wings begging to be summoned, more of a reminder that she failed to save those of her mother and sister.

The hands around her held her tighter as both the bodies slid down leaning against the barrier around Velaris, she tried one last time to bang her fist against the powerful glamour to hide the city, the purple siphon sitting at the back of her hand glowed and cracked slightly from the pure power she used, the boundary not budging to let her out.

Her powers couldn't sense his, he was dead for all anyone knew. The power in her roared helplessly, unless in the heat of the moment as if everything she had ever learned in her life flew out of her head and only her teenage Illyrian aggression remained.

"My family... All of them are gone, he's gone"

She went limp against the male who held her, stroking the back of her head to calm her down, leaving a gentle kiss on her temple.

"They're all... gone, Az..."

Darkness clouded her vision as he gathered her in his arms to fly her back home. "We'll get him back, Rhea, Rhys would not go down without a fight powerful enough to shake the entire world."

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Seven

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

Rheana never really felt underdressed around her family, and she didn't while Rhysand and Feyre stood impeccably dressed, as she was in a simple shirt and loose pants, hair open and falling over her shoulders.

Cassian studied them both, hair shifting with the movement. "So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too. I mean, Rhea over here is dressed for sleep, which she would have been getting if it wasn't for this dinner." He winked at Feyre as she skittered to stand between Rheana and Rhysand, then gave Rheana a smug look.

Rheana flipped Cassian off without sparing him a glance, instead watching Feyre as she looked between the Illyrians.

Rhysand noticed her staring between them too, "This is Azriel, my spymaster."

"Welcome," Azriel offered, with his scared hand, waiting for her to take it.

Feyre's eyes stayed on his siphons, going to Cassian's hand, seeing his as well before she took Azriel's hand to shake. She then stepped back to Rhysand's side, her curiosity clear, "You’re brothers?"

"Brothers in the sense that all bastards are brothers of a sort." Rhysand states.

Rheana clarifies, "By choice, over blood."

Feyre nodded turning to Cassian. "And—you?" She asked him.

Cassian shrugged, wings tighter behind him. "I command Rhys’s armies."

"Cassian also excels at pissing everyone off. Especially amongst our friends. So, as a friend of Rhysand… Good luck." Rheana laughed as Azriel spoke.

Cassian nudged Azriel out of the way, Azriel’s wings flaring slightly as he balanced himself. "How the hell did you make that bone ladder in the Middengard Wyrm’s lair when you look like your own bones can snap at any moment?"

Rheana looked at her intrigued, she'd wanted to ask that herself but Cassian was faster in putting his nose where it didn't belong.

"How the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?" Feyre retorted and Rheana almost fell with how loud her laugh was at Feyre's sudden boldness.

Feyre almost cracked a smile at the scene in front of her, Rheana bent forward, Cassian with his head tipped back, while Azriel was the only one who kept his composure and gave a quirk of his brow.

Mor suddenly winnowed in, wearing her signature chiffon gown, "If Cassian and Rheana are howling, I hope it means Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth." Azriel watched Rheana and Cassian balance each other and stand straight once again.

"I don’t know why I ever forget you two are related," Cassian said to Mor, looking between her and Rhysand, who was busy rolling his eyes. "You two and your clothes."

Rheana gasped as Cassian lifted her up in the air, messing up her hair as she struggled in his grasp, "This one, though, is all ours."

"Oh, fuck you," Rheana kicked his knee, making him let go of her waist with a cheeky smile, bumping his wings into hers and Azriel finally caved into a smile at their regular antics.

Mor flipped her hair over her shoulder, "I wanted to impress Feyre.

You could have at least bothered to comb your hair." She gave Feyre a wink.

"Unlike some people," Cassian said, standing in a fighting stance, "I have better things to do with my time than sit in front of the mirror for hours."

"Please, Feyre's already impressed by us," Rheana teased the Made female, "Aren't you?"

"We have company," Azriel softly warned, taking the attention off them, wings flaring.

Rheana's eyes went black again, following his senses, someone was there, something, watching.

Rheana and Azriel were snapped out of their trance by Mor who nudged them both. "Relax... no fighting tonight. We promised Rhys."

Rheana sighed, nodding at Feyre, who looked spooked seeing her and Azriel focusing out, "I'll be back in a minute... You drink and get comfortable."

Mor sighed as Rheana winnowed to investigate the interruption. "Don't worry, you'll get used to us." She smiles, looping her arms with Feyre's.

Rheana stalked the halls of the House of Winds, the darkness in the halls rising and falling with her heartbeat, it felt too clear, someone was watching, but Rheana couldn't sense who.

The wind whistled through the cracks, adding to the haunting ambience. But there was something else, a faint smell of flowers wafting through the air. It seemed familiar yet foreign simultaneously, Night Blooms, Rheana knew simply from the scent, flowers that grew only under starlight, slept in the morning and at night covered the ground in its powerful aroma.

Rheana followed the lingering fragrance of Night Blooms, her senses heightened by the magic coursing through her veins, eyes scanning every place for where Azriel's shadows had gone. She navigated the winding corridors with practised ease, her footsteps silent against the cold stone floor.

Her darkness checked the tapestries depicting the stars in their nightly dance, the moon was full and brightly showed in them. As she descended, the air grew colder. Her hands, wrapped around the hilt of her sword, glowed dark as she walked.

She searched corners, but no one was around. Rheana sensed unease, something she hadn't in a long time, and she froze, coming face-to-face with nothing in particular. Nothing but her memories.

"Where do you think you are sneaking off to!?" Her father's voice boomed.

Rheana froze, a bag of clothes and leather in hand, the nine-year-old, thinking of an excuse fast said, "Hang out with my friends."

"Which friends?" Her father demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

Rheana tried regulating her breathing, catching the scent of Night Blooms in the air, "My... My friends..." She mentally kicked herself, hating how badly she lied.

"Which friends, Rheana?" Her father's tone was nearly threatening.

Rheana feels the heat creeping up her neck and onto her face, betraying her anxiety. Her heart beats like a drum against her ribcage, causing her hands to shake slightly as she holds onto the bag containing clothes and leather. The scents around her make her feel uneasy, adding another layer of discomfort to her already tense situation. "I'm off to see mama..."

Her father hummed, "Any other excuse you want to try?" No emotion on his face.

Her father hummed, his expression remaining unreadable as he watched her squirm under his gaze. He knew that she was lying.

"If you're going to lie," He began, his voice low and steady, "At least have the decency to come up with something believable." His words dripped with disapproval, yet there was no anger or frustration behind them. Just a calm, almost detached curiosity.

"Sorry Da..." Rheana frowned, cringing when she felt him attack her mental shield, trying to keep them up from his daemati attack.

Rheana's frown deepened as she felt the familiar prickling sensation at the back of her skull, the telltale sign of her father attempting to breach her mental defences. It wasn't an actual pain, but rather an uncomfortable itchiness that seemed to crawl across her brain, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed, there was nothing gentle about it, about her father.

She clenched her fists tightly, nails digging into her palms in an attempt to distract herself from the unpleasant sensation. Rheana hated this part. Hated the way he would push and prod at her mind, testing its strength.

But Rheana also understood why he did it. It was about breaking her down, but also it was about building her up stronger. Making sure she could handle whatever came her way. And for that, she supposed, she should be grateful. Even though it still didn't stop her from hating every second of it.

Rheana wrapped her hand around the ring she had looped around her neck, sighing softly, she didn't quite understand why she missed her father, feeling closer to him after his death then when he was alive.

The ring she wore on her neck was a constant reminder of the male who had shaped her into the female she is today. A person who could stand toe-to-toe with any daemati, her mind too strong for even Rhysand to not be able to command her shields down, she had grown to disobey direct orders from her father, giving her the ability to not lose herself to almost any High Lord's authority, hold her own, and walk away unscathed.

Someone who had inherited his stubbornness, his determination, and his unyielding willpower, along with his magic to make darkness itself bend to her will, creating a connection between dark creatures and her alike. As she wrapped her fingers around the cool metal, she couldn't help but wonder if he would still find fault in everything she did. Or if he would be proud of the female she had become despite him. Someone she had become just to spite the male who was her father.

She was snapped out of her memory completely when Azriel's shadows came to sit on her shoulders, twirling with her darkness, as she sensed her surroundings, she felt the watchful eyes of the wall gone, the wall where her father's portrait used to hang.

Rheana slowly walked back to the setup dining table, "No one warming your bed right now, Cassian? It must be so hard to be an Illyrian and have no thoughts in your head save for those about your favorite part." She heard Amren's voice.

"You know I’m always happy to tangle in the sheets with you, Amren," Cassian's voice echoed, clearly teasing, "I know how much you enjoy Illyrian-"

Rheana hit him upside the head, earning a laugh from Amren, "Dick" She snorted. Moving to sit on an empty chair between Azriel and Cassian, snapping her fingers to fill her cabernet wine glass to the brim with the rich red liquid. Rheana picked up the glass, drinking deep, herring her mental shield down for Rhysand when she felt him

What was it? He asked

Nothing. She responded, Literally nothing.

Rhysand sighed, It doesn't make sense... With that, he slipped from her mind.

"Miryam," Rhysand spoke up, and Rheana's head shot up at the name, "and Drakon are doing well, as far as I’ve heard. And what, exactly, is interesting?"

Amren tilted her head, looking at Feyre "Only once before was a human Made into an immortal. Interesting that it should happen again right as all the ancient players have returned. But Miryam was gifted long life— not a new body. And you, girl…" She sniffed again, scenting Feyre as Rheana watched. Whatever Amren felt, everyone on the table felt it too, "Your very blood, your veins, your bones were Made. A mortal soul in an immortal body."

"I’m hungry," Mor interrupted, nudging Feyre, and with a snap, summoning piles of food, simple, suited for a family gathering.

"Amren and Rhys can talk all night and bore us to tears, so don’t bother waiting for them to dig in." She picked up her fork, her focus on Feyre. “I asked Rhys if I could take you to dinner, just the two of us, and he said you wouldn’t want to. But honestly— would you rather spend time with these ancient bores, or me?”

"We're exactly the same age!" Rheana scoffed, throwing a bread bun at her, rolling her eyes when Amren waved her hand and the bread disintegrated into silver dust

“Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk,” Mor said, and gave a glare at Rhysand and Cassian, who had opened their mouth to protest too. “Can’t we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?”

Feyre watched Mor and Rheana, then Amren, her mind running deciphering the dynamics between the Inner Circle.

Rheana rolled her eyes playfully and began filling her plate with food, Azriel too joined in picking his fork up.

Feyre followed after everyone, unable to stop as her eyes went wide at the taste, moaning softly at the wine, and Mor didn't let her react to realising that they had all seen her, clinking their glasses together, “Don’t let these old busybodies boss you around.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.” Cassian and Rheana said together, both monotone, before Cassian reached for Amren's plate, taking her food before pushing it to Azriel.

"I keep telling him to ask before he does that." Azriel scooped food onto his plate, and Rheana swiped a few slices of cucumber off the plate.

Amren made the plate in Azriel's hand disappear with a flick of a finger, "If you haven’t been able to train him after all these centuries, boy, I don’t think you’ll make any progress now." She set the silverware properly in front of her, rolling her eyes.

Feyre spoke up, her curiosity clear, "You don’t—eat?"

Amren nearly sneered, her teeth displayed, "Not this sort of food."

"Cauldron boil me," Mor groaned, drinking most of her wine. "Can we not?"

"Remind me to have family dinners more often." Rhysand chuckled at the gentle chaos they were. A little silence fell over them all.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Eight

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

A nice normal family dinner. How lovely. Rheana sighed softly, smiling hearing Rhysand laugh in her head.

Rhysand subtly tilted his wine glass in her direction, Well, I have missed the bickering.

Rheana reached forward, filling her plate with food, then sat back down, across from Rhysand, There was... Nothing there.

You're too protective... Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head.

Rheana simply shrugged, Someone has to be.

"They’re called Siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle." Their attend was taken by Azriel, who was showing his siphons to Feyre, watching as Feyre looked between Azriel and Cassian, the two males who wore them at the table.

Rhysand turned to Feyre, setting down his utensils, "The power of stronger Illyrians tends toward 'incinerate now, ask questions later.' They have little magical gifts beyond that, the killing power."

"The gift of a violent, warmongering people," Amren added. Azriel nodded, shadows wreathing his neck, his wrists. Rheana sighed, she couldn't disagree, she had seen the males at their worst first-hand.

Cassian and Azriel shared glances at Amren's words, and Rhysand knew the looks between the Illyrians in the room pretty well. Rhysand explained the Siphons to Feyre as Rheana focused on every word he said.

"Siphons provide acuracy to focus power." Rheana provided, setting down her glass of wine, she held her palm face up, and winnowed her Siphon floating, such a deep purple it would've looked black if it wasn't for her darkness curling around it.

"Doesn’t hurt that they also look damn good." Cassian smirked, admiring his own red Siphon.

"Illyrians..." Amren muttered, looking between them both

Cassian bared his teeth in her direction in pure feral amusement, taking a drink of his wine.

Feyre turned to Rheana, curiosity in her eyes, "How... How are you not wearing your Siphon like... Like Lord Cassian an-"

Cassian broke into a laugh so hard he spewed his wine all over Mor, making her jump up and start cleaning herself. Azriel grinned wide, arms crossed over his chest as Rheana covered her face with her hands to laugh behind it. Feeling bad about the way Feyre blushed in embarrassment.

"Cassian," Rhysand speaks up, "Is not a lord. Though I’m sure he appreciates you thinking he is." Rheana nodded, knowing Cassian would not let it go for a while.

"While we’re on the subject, neither is Azriel. Nor Amren. Mor, believe it or not, is the only pure-blooded, titled person in this room." Rhysand confirms.

"Rhys and I are half-Illyrians. Bastards just the same in the eyes of thoroughbred High Fae." Rheana rolled her eyes, "Even if Rhys is High Lord and that would make me the court's Princess as the brothers and sisters of an heir or High Lord are called."

“So you... You three aren’t High Fae?” Feyre asks, looking between the Illyrians

Cassian finally stopped laughing, "Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it." Cassian pulled his hair back, "And we’re not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We’re just... Illyrians. Considered expendable aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst."

"Which is most of the time," Azriel adds.

Rheana sighs softly, "Well, we're trying to do better..."

"I didn’t see you Under the Mountain," Feyre asked, looking at the Inner Circle.

"Because none of us were." Mor said, and a little quiet fell over them all, Rhysand's expression cold.

"Amarantha didn’t know they existed. And when someone tried to tell her, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so." He whispered nonchalantly, not caring about the people he had hurt when they had tried to betray him.

"You truly kept this city, and all these people, hidden from her for fifty years?" Feyre asked, looking from person to person, noting their expression.

"We will continue to keep this city and these people hidden from our enemies for a great many more." Amren spoke, her cold voice and everyone else's emotionless face didn't hide how much losing Rhysand had hurt.

Mor's voice was raw, as she spoke "There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these borders. Or of the cost."

Rheana swallowed, losing her appetite as she pushed her plate forward, "Trust us, Feyre, Velaris does not take the grace given to our people by us keeping them hidden lightly."

"How did you meet?" Feyre asked Azriel and Rheana smiled, noting how she had gotten so comfortable with Azriel despite his rather distant nature.

"Well, let me tell you Feyre, as someone who watched them like a hawk growing up," Rheana leaned forward, with mischief in her eyes.

"Please... You are only two years younger than me, sister," Rhysand rolled his eyes, but his distant hard look melted away, "You were right in the middle of us."

Cassian chuckled, nodding his head in Rheana's direction as if wanting her to tell their story, "We all hated each other at first."

The Windhaven war camp was nothing like Rheana would've imagined, well, it was brutal from the looks of it, as the 6-year-old melted into her mother's dark skirts, watching her brother dressed in fighting gear, she could sense his fear, as he looked in the grounds where many folks were already sparing, brutal and bloody.

"Don't die..." Rheana whispered softly, watching a male slightly older than her brother approach him, the male wore scraps that barely covered him, while Rhysand was dressed head to toe in fine fighting leather.

Rhysand sighed as their mother held Rheana, pulling her away as he whispered, "I'll try not to."

It had taken precisely half an hour, that Rhysand had managed to stumble back to their mother's house at the edge of the camp, he was covered in black and blue bruising, bleeding from his wounds, skin split open, his leather missing, shirt gone, pants slightly ripped.

"Rhys!" Rheana rushed to her brother, eyes wide, scared for his safety. She reached for him, pulling him to sit, "Mama! Mama Rhys is hurt!"

"Dalia," There was an older male at the door in an instant, calling for their mother. "We need to talk."

Dalia had been rushing to her children the second Rheana called for her, eyes narrowing when they came across Devlon, who held a whip in his hands, "Devlon... What do you want?"

Rheana glared at Devlon, the male nearly 90, seeing the whip she stood in front of her brother, watching her mother and the male, who stood outside their house, not stupid enough to enter without consent, scared of facing the wrath of the High Lord.

"Your son picked a fight without permission," Devlon turned to stare at Rhysand over Rheana, "Three lashes for punishment."

"No!" Rheana stood in front of Rhysand, who could barely move, parts of him swelling, "That... That Illyrian came to him!"

"Well, I did fight..." Rhysand got up, towering over Rheana and looked at their mother, who looked at him with sadness, "I accept the punishment."

"Good..." Devlon's smile made Rheana's skin crawl, "Come now."

But their mother walked to the door, "He will when I want." She gave the male a smile, the way Rheana and Rhysand had never seen her smile before as she shut the door at his face.

Rheana's mother looked at her with soft eyes, "Draw a bath for your brother, he will have to go for his punishment. As will the one he fought with."

Rheana ran to the bath, slowly filling the bath with cold water, her thoughts on the brutality her brother would be facing the years he would be here. Her mother had tried to explain it to her, how he would be expected to be strong, and since her and her brother were what people called half-breeds, he would be expected to prove himself ten times over.

Not that she understood it, or her young brain couldn't have, on why he needed fists when he had his magic that he had been working on, that they both had been.

She thought of Rhysand's split lips and bruises, knowing he gave what he got really well, a part of her wanted to demand he take her to the male who beat him to a pulp so she could land a few punches on him herself. But for now, all she wanted was to heal her brother from his injuries, hurting people came later.

And it had come, weeks later when in the dead of the night Rhysand had dragged in the male, whose name was Cassian and Rheana launched at him, successfully scratching his face before Rhysand and their mother could get her off him. "You did it!" She yelled, having her mouth covered by her mother so she wouldn't wake anyone as Cassian healed from her scratches.

"Wow..." Cassian simply whispered, looking at the little girl, less than half his size managed to scratch him like a cat, "She's good." He commented.

"There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold." Dalia states clearly, holding her daughter still, her brow raised at Cassian, waiting for his choice.

Rheana had calmed down as Cassian whispered, "I've never had a hot bath before..." His eyes fight to show vulnerability.

After sending Cassian off to bathe, Rhysand had pulled out some of his own clothes for him to wear after he dried himself, Rheana watched her brother, helping the poor boy, 'bastard' the people around the camp had called him, that is why he stayed on the grounds, in a shabby little tent with the only clothes to wear that he won in battle.

Rheana stood outside the bathing chamber, her hands tucked behind her back as Cassian exited the room, wearing her brother's clothes, "Mama said I need to say sorry..."

Cassian snorted softly, "And are you going to?"

"Nah," She shook her head, "You hurt my brother, I really wanted to scratch you."

"Well, take my word for it, you were pretty good," He comments, his tone genuine, "Try a punch next time." He walks past her, to the room her mother had given him.

Rheana listened attentively, as Rhysand told Feyre the story of their parents, what once felt like the greatest love story to her, but only now she had realised how wrong they were for each other.

"The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her." Rhysand drank down some wine, washing away the bitter taste the story left for him too.

"Misted?" Feyre asked.

Rhysand floated a lemon wedge, above the table much to Cassian's amusement. With a flick of his finger, it turned to a citrus-scented mist, Feyre's eyes going wide, both with horror and fascination.

"Through the blood-rain," Rhysand continued with the rest of the story, "Our mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. Our father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her, what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get our father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him."

"A real prize, your father," Mor grumbled and Rheana couldn't help but snort.

Rheana joined in, "Well, after Rhys became High Lord, he banned wing clipping instantly, and I make sure these Illyrian males follow the laws." And the look in her endless violet eyes told Feyre that she did not take her job lightly. She was the fear in the hearts of Illyrians who would dare raise a hand on their females. Not a single person in the room needed convincing she was as ruthless as they come when she needed to be. Her eyes met Azriel's, because maybe that's why the two had felt an instant connection, beings cut from the same cloth.

"Our father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other. Our father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. Our mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time, but

never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased, and Rheana was born with them, She wanted us to know her people’s culture." Rhysand stated, looking at Rheana with a look that told her he had been reminiscing their childhood just like she had.

"She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws," Mor swirled her wine, and Rheana knew it to be true, had her father had more control over their upbringing, she wondered if she would've seen Cassian and Azriel not as her closest friends but the same bastards High Fae saw, even their own people.

"And you chose to do this...?" Feyre asked Rheana, "Training at the camps..."

"Yeah," Rheana nodded, "My father said I couldn't and well... I've not been big on rule following, so I joined in. And even if my father didn't exactly want me training like the men, he was't going to have 'brutes' deny anyone of his blood anything."

Rhysand then talked about his power and inability to wield a Siphon when Feyre asked, "But you can do it, carry Siphons?" Her question was directed towards Rheana, "Shouldn't you be the same when it comes to power? At least back then?"

"I couldn't back then," Rheana clarifies, "I couldn't until I joined this group of elite female warriors, from all across Prythian where I was taught to stablise my power, to not lose control of it."

"Oh yeah she did that a lot," Cassian laughed softly, "Her eyes would go all black and her skin lost colour... Now she just does it for show."

Rheana rolled her eyes at the male, flipping him off and making him laugh harder, because she did do it just for show now, she liked the fear that coursed through the veins of people who saw her like that then, and she still did.

"There is a group of female warriors?" Feyre asked, leaning on the table, and giving Rheana all her attention

Rheana sighed softly, giving Feyre a smile, "Well, there was... We were called the Valkyries, they had existed long before any one us," She looked at Amren, "Well, maybe not Amren, and they were a force to be reconned with, my mentor, Mithra, who was from the Day Court, the current High Lord's sister, taught me most of what I know."

Feyre's eyes were wide with fascination, "What happened to them?"

Said fascination was cut short as Rheana replied with a clipped tone, "The War."

"So were you three friends after that." Feyre asked, changing the topic instantly.

"No—Cauldron no," Rhysand said. "We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies."

Rheana sighed softly, "Ma could be ruthless when she wanted to be."

Cassian then talked of Azriel, and Rheana remembered it like it was yesterday, despite their age difference, Azriel and Rheana had started their training together, "Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. But Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together."

"Because they were always seprated," Rheana added, "And we were stronger because in some way, we were bonded."

"Do you have any gifts?" Feyre asked him, motioning to the trio of other Illyrians. "Like them?"

Cassian declines, not without making a few comments about his bastard nature, which Rhysand nearly jumped to defend before he denied, he had no powers except killing and a raging temper, "Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and half-breeds. We were stronger, faster, like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight."

As the females surrounding them crinkled their noses and scoffed, Azriel rolled his eyes, "What are you scoffing about? You were way worse than us."

Rheana groaned softly, "Well, excuse me, a lady has needs."

"Mother forbid a female do anything, right?" Mor added in. And both of them were sure that Feyre nearly cracked a smile.

Cassian simply shrugged. "Rhys and Rhea’s power grew every day—and everyone, even the camplords, knew they could mist everyone if they felt like it. And the two of us … we weren’t far behind." He tapped his Siphon with a finger. "A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from."

"Then the War came," Azriel began, and Rheana slowly started to drown them out, not wanting to hear more of the story, "And their father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years."

"Our father," Rhysand said, swirling his wine, "Saw that his son, and his daughter had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied themselves with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned."

Rheana looked away, the memory of the last order her father had given her still in her head, locked her up, she hated him for it, but she could never stop. He had let her friends die, and the feeling of rushing to read the death roll for her brother's name, her friends', before even her mother and sister got their hands on it was something she could only mask, cause it never left.

"That is a story for another time," Rhys said, sharp enough to pause Cassian.

Rheana looked back at the table, reaching for a bottle of wine, and completely pouring it into her glass, "This is going to be quite the long dinner..."

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Nine

Series Masterlist

Cw: Injuries, mentions of Sangravah incident and Gwyn

The day was as dark as ever for the Night Court, their High Lord had fallen. Rheana and Rhysand stood in the Court of Nightmares, walking side by side as the people of the Court parted for them, whispers of confusion were loud as Mor followed behind them.

There were a few insults thrown around when Azriel and Cassian walked following them, wings flared, all seven Siphons on display.

Rheana sighed, curling into her brother, her head on his shoulder, the siblings held each other as they looked at the shrine set for their father. There had been nothing like this for their mother, no mourning, no people who talked behind their backs shedding tears.

Feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders, Rheana and Rhysand quietly took turns staring at the empty throne that once belonged to their father, the High Lord of the Night Court.

The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the soft sounds of grieving from those gathered around them. They could feel the palpable tension in the air, the fear, the uncertainty, the loss, but none more so than the two siblings standing before the shrine. Their faces were stoic, holding back the floodgates of emotions that threatened to break free.

Rhysand made his way to the throne in long strides, Rheana followed behind him. As Rhysand took his place on the throne, Rheana stood on his right. Rhysand gazed out upon the sea of faces before him, his piercing emerald eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of dissent or rebellion. He knew that many of these individuals had once sworn allegiance to their father, and now found themselves faced with the prospect of pledging their loyalty to his half breed son instead.

Rheana stood tall beside him, her slender fingers gripping the hilt of her dagger tightly as she watched the crowd with a keen eye. She could sense the unease in the air, the whispered conversations and furtive glances exchanged between strangers and acquaintances alike. It was clear that not everyone present was willing to accept Rhysand's claim to the throne without a fight. Half breeds, they whispered, about the High Lord and his sister.

A low murmur rippled through the assembly as Azriel and Cassian stepped forward, their imposing figures casting long shadows across the ground beneath their feet.

"Silence!" Rhysand's voice carried the same tone of a High Lord his father had, silencing any and all whispers about their friends.

His voice echoed throughout the court, cutting through the murmurs like a blade through butter. The sudden silence was almost deafening, save for the distant echo of his command. Every eye turned towards him, some filled with curiosity, others with defiance, and still more with resignation.

"We stand at a crossroads," he continued, his voice steady despite the turmoil churning within him. "Our father is gone. His reign has ended, and a new era begins."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before turning to his father's circle adding, "As the new High Lord of the Night Court, I expect your unwavering loyalty. If you cannot handle a half breed as your High Lord, you may leave you position."

"Because Rheana is my right hand female," He looked at the Kier, their uncle his father took assistance from, and the Court of Nightmares was smart enough to not start murmuring again, "The Made Fae, Amren, will be my second in command, who isn't here because she finds these types of gathering... Boring, my cousin, Morrigan," He said to almost to mock Kier, "My third."

Rhysand nodded to his Illyrian, "Cassian will be the general to my armies, and Azriel my spymaster."

His gaze swept over the gathering, lingering on each face as if daring anyone to challenge his authority. The threat hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the power he now wielded. Some of the courtiers paled at his words, their hands instinctively reaching for weapons that weren't there. Others squared their shoulders, a mixture of pride and resentment etched onto their faces.

Rheana shifted slightly beside him, her own eyes narrowed as she scanned the crowd. She could see the hesitation, the uncertainty, but also the flickers of determination that refused to be extinguished. These were the souls who had served under their father, and while they might grumble, they would not abandon ship without a fight.

One by one, all his father's circle left the diaz, moving to stand with the rest of the crowd, with a simple wave Rhysand motioned Azriel and Cassian to stand by his left as Mor joined Rheana.

The quiet was pin drop, as with a single look from Rhysand, the Court of Nightmares fell to their knees.

Rheana listened Feyre talk of her childhood, of how she had cared for her family since she was barely 14, teaching herself to hunt so she could keep her family fed after the money and food ran out

"You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?" Cassian asked curiously.

When Feyre shook her head, Rheana leaned forward, "Good for you, then, because you’ve just found yourself two teachers."

"Yep," Cassian leaned in too, "No teacher better than me and Rhea."

"You don’t think it sends a bad message if people see me learning to fight—using weapons?" Feyre asked hesitantly, but once the question was out her own realisation was visible.

"Let me tell you two things. As someone who has perhaps been in your shoes before." Mor spoke up, her eyes dark "One, you have left the Spring Court."

"If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either." Mor layed her palm flat on the table, "Two, I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So you’ll understand me, Feyre, when I say that I know what you feel, and I know what they tried to do to you, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with a reputation." Mor leaned back, gentle again. "You do what you love, what you need."

"I meant what I said when we saved you, Feyre," Rheana offered with a smile, "You're free now. We'd teach you anything you want to learn."

"I’ll think about it." Feyre told Cassian and Rheana had a pleasant smile on her face.

Feyre then turned to Rhysand, "I accept your offer—to work with you. To earn my keep. And help with Hybern in whatever way I can."

"Good," Rhysand said simply, and Rheana sat straighter, more focused. "Because we start tomorrow."

"Where? And what?" Feyre sputtered looking at him.

"Because the King of Hybern is indeed about to launch a war, and he wants to resurrect Jurian to do it." Rhysand set his hands on the table, and Rheana rolled her eyes.

"Bullshit," Cassian nearly spat. "There’s no way to do that."

"Well, I wouldn't be so sure," Rheana motioned to Feyre, a human brought back Fae from death.

"Why would the king want to resurrect Jurian? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself." Mor groaned, taking a swig of her wine.

Rheana snorted softly, "Besides, he's human... Why would he help Hybern of all people..."

"That’s what I want to find out," Rhysand stated. "And how the king plans to do it."

"Word will have reached him about Feyre’s Making." Amren added to Rheana, "He knows it’s possible for the dead to be remade."

"All seven High Lords would have to agree to that," Mor spoke instantly. "There’s not a chance it happens. He’ll take another route."

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she faced Rhys. "All the slaughtering—the massacres at temples. You think it’s tied to this?"

"I know it’s tied to this. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain. But Azriel confirmed that they’d raided the memorial in Sangravah three days ago. They’re looking for something—or found it." Rhysand's head tilted in Azriel's direction, who nodded in confirmation. Mor looked at Azriel in surprise who simply shrugged, he hadn't told anyone of Sangravah, except for Rheana and Rhysand.

Rheana sat on an examination table in front of Madja, her wings spiralled wide as she examined her, there were a few scratches in her wings, little parts of tissue missing in her leathery Illyrian wings.

"These will be more than enough..." Madja held up her wing tissues, she along with some Illyrian doctors had figured out how to fix the clipped wings of Illyrian females, and how to make the tissues and cells generate faster.

With deft fingers, Madja carefully began to apply the special bonding gel to Rheana's wings, ensuring each delicate membrane was thoroughly coated. The Illyrian healer worked swiftly yet meticulously, her focus unwavering as she prepared for the intricate process ahead.

Feeling the cool gel against her sensitive skin, Rheana couldn't help but shiver slightly, her eyes fluttering shut as she tried to ignore the discomfort. She knew this was necessary, however, that these treatments would ensure the full recovery and eventual return to the skies of every clipped female. It was a sign of hope for their future.

The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of Madja working and the occasional sounds of Rheana's wings adjusting to their new position.

"Madja this is too cold for a normal Illyrian..." Rheana groaned in a little discomfort, "It can be more comfortable... We need to fix way more broken wings than little kitty scratches."

Madja for a moment looked at the scars on Rheana's back, three long jagged craw marks, black and cauterised, "You should've let me heal that, Rhea..."

"No." Rheana said instantly, a cold tone in her voice at the mentions of the scars, the scars the High Lord of Spring had given her, "I don't care about that... It's past now."

Madja nodded solemnly, understanding the pain those scars represented. She gently placed a comforting hand on Rheana's shoulder, trying to soothe her friend without breaking the fragile truce between them.

"Of course, Rheana," Madja replied softly. "Let's focus on healing your wings first. I have some herbal salves that might provide better comfort during the treatment process."

Rheana managed a small nod, her gaze still distant as memories of her brutal encounter lingered. But as Madja produced a sweet-smelling blend of soothing herbs, Rheana's attention refocused on the present. She inhaled deeply, letting the calming scent wash over her.

With renewed determination, Madja resumed her work, carefully applying the warmed salve to Rheana's wings before covering them with specially designed casts to facilitate growth and regeneration. "Is this warm enough? I can add it to the blend."

"Yes..." Rheana couldn't stop the sigh of contentment that left her, "This is much better, but-"

"-make sure it doesn't compromise the healing salve," Madja smiled, "I'm the healer here, remember?"

Madja continued to apply the combination of warming salve and cooling bonding gel. She worked efficiently, alternating between the two to maintain a comfortable temperature on Rheana's sensitive wings. As they grew accustomed to the feeling, Rheana began to relax further, allowing herself to become lost in the massage and the comforting sensations.

After carefully wrapping each section of the wings with specialized materials designed to stimulate cell division and promote healing, Madja finally stood back, admiring her handiwork. Her eyes met Rheana's with a look of both satisfaction and concern. She checked Rheana's face carefully for signs of distress, ensuring her patient remained stable through the process.

"A young female named Elira is the first to get her wings healed, see if she'd comfortable with this mix." Rheana simply stated, "She'll let you know who's next."

The moment was disrupted by Azriel winnowing in, his cloak in his arms, Rheana's eyes went wide, there was a female covered by his cloak, "She needs help! Get her help." He growled as Madja sprung into action, Rheana watched Azriel's shadows rush after the female as she got up from the table.

Madja quickly moved to assist, ushering Rheana aside so she could access the injured female. "Bring her here!" Madja called out to Azriel, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. She gestured to the examination table, ready to begin treating the newcomer's wounds as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Rheana watched anxiously as Azriel carefully removed the cloak from the woman, revealing her battered form. Dark bruises marred her pale skin, and a crimson stain spread across her abdomen, indicating a severe injury. Rheana felt a surge of protectiveness toward this stranger, her nose cringing at the realization of what had happened to her, disgust on her features.

As Madja began assessing the injuries, Rheana approached cautiously, not wanting to interfere but needing to offer what support she could.

Rheana watched the female whimper in pain as Madja removed her shredded clothes, she turned to Azriel, she wanted to ask what exactly had happened but she instead slipped into the female's mind, Gwyneth, Gwyneth She held her mind, removing her pain and sending the female to sleep.

"Madja will take care of her." Rheana turned to Azriel, "You walk with me. Tell me everything."

"Sangravah, Hybern..." Azriel growled, eyes still on the female on the bed where a couple healers surround her. "Those males." The shadows on his shoulders were agitated as Rheana gently coaxed him out.

"She's save with Madja." Rheana comforted him. hand around his shoulders, her darkness calming his.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Twelve

Series Masterlist

Cw: Survivor's guilt, self harm

The sun was shining as Rheana sat in the house of winds, with Seraphim over her lap. Its blade gleamed like liquid silver under the sun's glow. With a soft cloth, Rheana carefully wiped away at it, her fingers tracing the intricate engravings that adorned the weapon's hilt. As Rheana carefully cared for the blade of Seraphim, she smiled, remembering how she had written how to take care for weapons long ago, the warm sunlight streaming through the windows of the House of Winds danced across her face, casting a gentle glow upon her tanned features.

Those captivating, soulful depths of her deep violet eyes seemed lost in thought as she worked, her slender fingers moving deftly along the razor-sharp edge of her trusted companion. The rhythmic clinking of steel against stone filled the air as Rheana meticulously sharpened Seraphim's blade. Her focus was unwavering, each stroke deliberate and precise.

Manually grinding down the edges of her sword using whetstone. Starting off with coarser grit stones then gradually move on to finer ones until she achieved the desired sharpness. Letting gravity help her through it.

Rheana continued her meticulous work, her gaze never leaving the blade. Each careful stroke brought forth a slight hiss of metal meeting stone, the sound harmonizing with the rhythm of her heart. The cool touch of the whetstone against her skin contrasted sharply with the warmth of the sun on her back.

In times like these, she truly missed her Valkyrie companions, days of being a Blade and Valkyrie, of honing her own darkness, turning it into Seraphim, it was all so many centuries ago, yet seemed like yesterday.

Memories flooded back to Rheana as she continued polishing Seraphim's gleaming surface, the thunderous roar of battle, the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, the intoxicating scent of blood and sweat mingling in the air. She recalled the fierce camaraderie among her fellow Valkyries, their unbreakable bonds forged in the crucible of combat.

Rheana's mind wandered to Tanwyn, her closest friend and confidante, with whom she had shared countless adventures and secrets. They had stood side by side, blades drawn, facing down the most formidable foes. Rheana gazed out the window at the serene landscape, she couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for those bygone days of glory and sisterhood.

She forced herself to think of the tasks at hand, Kallos had returned from delivering her letter to Tarquin, thought they came back without a reply, Rhysand had taken Feyre to the Weaver, she hoped Feyre would not suffer the full wrath of Stryga. When she realised that their mother had given up the ring to her, Rheana had tried to get it back, only to barely escape with her life. She had been young and stupid back then, but she was sure if she were to go against her again, she might have better odds, since now she was equal parts a cocky Illyrian and a cocky Valkyrie.

Rheana's lips curled into a wry smile at the memory of her younger self, brash and impulsive, eager to prove herself. But life had taught her the value of patience, strategy, and measured action. Now, as she tended to Seraphim, her thoughts turned to the present predicament. Rheana set aside the whetstone and examined Seraphim's edge critically.

And the Dark sword glowed, as if happy. Seraphim hummed softly, its dark metal pulsing with otherworldly energy as it responded to Rheana's attention. The blade seemed almost sentient, craving the bond between wielder and weapon. In the House of Winds, the atmosphere grew charged, as if the very air vibrated with the sword's power.

Rheana felt an inexplicable thrill course through her veins, a primal connection to the weapon that transcended mere craftsmanship. It was as if Seraphim yearned for the chaos of battle, the clash of steel, the heat of spilt blood, just like the very darkness in her that she used to forge it. The desire for destruction simmered beneath its gleaming surface, waiting to be unleashed once more.

"There there," Rheana tutted at the weapon of mass destruction as if it were a docile pet. The sword's thrumming subsided slightly, though the dark aura surrounding it remained palpable. Rheana could sense its eagerness, the hunger for violence and mayhem that dwelled within its core. It was a reflection of her own nature, the shadowy aspects she kept leashed, lest they consume her entirely.

She soon got distracted by Cassian and Amren bickering, Amren looked in the right mind to kill Cassian, he for sure had made another joke about her height.

Amren shot Cassian a venomous glare, her petite frame quivering with indignation. "How dare you!" she seethed, her voice low and deadly. "I'll have you know, I could snap you in half like a twig."

Cassian held up his hands in mock surrender, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. "Easy there, little one. I was merely jesting." He chuckled, clearly amused by Amren's ire.

Rheana rolled her eyes, exasperated by their antics. "For the love of Mother, can you two keep it civil?"

Rheana watched the exchange between Amren and Cassian with a mixture of amusement and unease. Amren's fury was palpable, her petite frame practically vibrating with rage as she hurled insults at the smirking male. Cassian, ever the provocateur, seemed to revel in riling up the ancient female, his eyes sparkling with mischief even as Amren threatened him with all manner of creative tortures.

As the argument reached a fever pitch, Cassian reached for his knife at his thigh in an attempt to intimidate Amren, who looked raging at his attempt, Rheana intervened, her voice cutting through the verbal sparring like a blade. "Enough." The single word carried the weight of command, honed by centuries of leadership. Both Amren and Cassian fell silent, turning to face her with varying degrees of contrition and defiance.

Rheana fixed them with a stern look, her violet eyes flashing with annoyance. She paused then, "I smell... meat," Her nose crinkled, "Not the good kind."

Just then Rhysand and Feyre landed on the floor, Rheana gaped at the state Feyre was in, covered in greasy meat, fats and hair, clearly from the weaver's chimney.

"You smell like barbecue," Amren cringed, her nose crinkling.

Feyre's clothes were stained with grease and ash, her hair matted with soot. The scent of charred flesh hung heavily around her, a pungent reminder of the ordeal she'd endured.

Rhysand, meanwhile, appeared relatively pristine compared to his mate, though there was a certain smug satisfaction in his demeanour. He took in the scene with a casual air, his violet eyes twinkling with amusement. "I see our little adventure was successful," he remarked, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Rheana exchanged a glance with Rhysand, concern etched into her features. "What happened?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

"You kill her?" Cassian asked at the same time. A little more smug.

"No," Rhysand was the one to answer, "But given how much the Weaver was screaming, I’m dying to know what Feyre darling did."

Before Rheana could ask Feyre if she was alright, she threw up all over the floor. Feyre retched violently, expelling the contents of her stomach onto the polished floorboards. The acrid stench of bile and partially digested meat filled the room, causing Cassian to swear at the sight

Rheana rushed to Feyre's side, supporting her as she continued to heave. "Easy there," she murmured, her brow furrowed with concern. "Take your time. Breathe."

Feyre coughed and spat, wiping her mouth with the leather on her shoulder. When she finally straightened, her face was pale and streaked with tears, but there was a fierce determination burning in her eyes. "I'm fine," she rasped, her voice hoarse. "It's done."

With a wave of her hand, Amren cleaned both the bile and Feyre, as Rheana winnowed a glass of cold water for her to sip on. The water was a welcome relief, soothing Feyre's parched throat and helping to settle her queasy stomach. She nodded gratefully towards Amren, who had effortlessly banished the mess from the floor. Despite her efforts to appear strong, Feyre's body trembled with exhaustion, each breath she drew seeming to come with effort.

Meanwhile, Rhysand leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His violet eyes roamed over Feyre with an unreadable expression, though a hint of pride flickered within their depths.

"She… detected me somehow," Feyre managed to say, as Rhysand led her to the large black table. "And locked the doors and windows. So I had to climb out through the chimney. I got stuck," Cassian's brows rose at the words, "and when she tried to climb up, I threw a brick at her face."

Rheana snorted, "I would've paid to see that."

Amren glared at Rhysand "And where were you?"

"Waiting, far enough away that she couldn’t detect me." Rhysand said simply.

Feyre was snarling at him, "I could have used some help."

"You survived," he shrugged, and Rheana knew that had Feyre needed help, he would've gone against the Weaver himself, damn the consequences, she felt that through their bond, those tattooed letters on their respective hands. "And found a way to help yourself."

"That’s what this was also about," Feyre spat again. "Not just this stupid ring," She reached into her pocket, slamming the ring she had been carrying all along down on the table, "Or my abilities, but if I can master my panic."

Rheana froze seeing her mother's mating ring, the one around her neck, her father's, seemed to hum at the closeness, those rings were each other's other halves, just like their parents had been to each other.

"What creature is that?" Feyre whispered unceremoniously the next afternoon as Rheana opened the door to her room to let Feyre in, Mor already sitting on her bed, Feyre's eyes on Kallos, the beast sat on a plush chair, licking their scaly paws.

"Don't ask," Rheana said simply, "They are more easily pissed off than Amren." She added as a warning.

Kallos turned their reptilian head, fixing Feyre with a piercing stare from eyes that glinted like polished obsidian. For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of scales and fur as the creature shifted their position, muscles rippling beneath their dark hide. Then, in a display of feline-like grace, Kallos unfolded themself from the chair and padded silently over to Feyre, its tail swishing lazily behind it.

Rheana watched closely, ready to intervene if necessary, Kallos hissed softly, ears flattening against their skull as Feyre's gaze settled upon them. The creature's body glittered under the sunlight filtering through the window, a dangerous mix of hues that promised pain and death to those foolish enough to cross them.

Kallos's hiss was low and menacing, yet there was something almost curious about it as if the creature was intrigued rather than wanting to threaten Feyre. Slowly, they approached, their movements deliberate and unhurried. They stopped mere inches away from Feyre, their gaze never leaving hers.

Despite herself, Feyre found herself reaching out tentatively, her fingers hovering just above Kallos's scaly head. "They're beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely audible but the fae heard her loud and clear.

"They can sense your power," Rheana provided with a smile, "Well, we all can, but for them, it's more prominent. And with that complement, I think you earned petting privleges."

Kallos, on instinct, pressed their head in Feyre's hand, making the female smile. The creature seemed to enjoy the attention, closing their eyes and letting out a low purr. Feyre stroked their head gently, careful not to pull too hard on the scaled ears. She marvelled at the intricate patterns on Kallos's skin, the myriad shades of black that shimmered beneath her touch.

The gesture was unexpected, even to Feyre, but she didn't hesitate to respond. Her fingertips traced the contours of Kallos's head, feeling the rough texture of scales beneath her touch. It was an odd sensation, foreign and fascinating all at once.

A purr rumbled from Kallos's chest, vibrations travelling up Feyre's arm and into her shoulder. The sound was deep and resonant, filling the room with a low thrumming noise that seemed to vibrate on the very edges of perception.

"Wait... Is that a map of Prythian?" Feyre asked abruptly, looking at one of the walls, "What are the markers?"

"Just the places I've been." Rheana offered with a gentle smile, "You can travel too, after all of this is over, Rhys could take you."

"What does one wear, exactly, in the human lands?" Mor asked, digging through Rheana's closet.

"Layers," Feyre said, not trying to show her disappointment when Kallos retreated away from her. "They… Cover everything up. The décolletage might be a little daring depending on the event, but... Everything else gets hidden beneath skirts and petticoats and nonsense."

Rheana wrinkled her nose, pulling out a simple linen tunic and breeches. "Sounds dreadful. How do they move? Or breathe?" She tossed the garments aside, rummaging deeper into the closet.

"Sounds like the women are used to not having to run—or fight. I don’t remember it being that way five hundred years ago." Mor added,

"Even with the wall, the threat of faeries remained, so… Surely practical clothes would have been necessary to run, to fight any that crept through. I wonder what changed." Feyre showed them the clothes she had chosen from her closet, a rather simple top and pants.

"I suppose," Feyre mused aloud, holding up the garments for inspection, "that the threat has lessened with time, or perhaps people became complacent. Either way, I imagine it made fashion more about status and appearance than functionality."

Mor rolled her eyes, tossing another outfit onto the pile. "And then there’s the fact that most of the nobility have no intention of ever lifting a finger to defend themselves. Why bother with practicality when you’ve got a court full of soldiers to protect you?"

"True. It’s easier to rely on others when you’re surrounded by wealth and privilege." Rheana nodded thoughtfully, studying the outfits Feyre had selected. "Hey, that'll look so good on you." Rheana paused, noting the way Feyre held surprise in her eyes at the simple compliment she gave her.

"Nowadays, most women wed, bear children, and then plan their children’s marriages. Some of the poor might work in the fields, and a rare few are mercenaries or hired soldiers, but… the wealthier they are, the more restricted their freedoms and roles become. You’d think that money would buy you the ability to do whatever you pleased." Feyre voiced, stepping behind the dressing screen in Rheana's room, while the female used magic to switch her clothes

"Some of the High Fae," Mor spoke up, and Rheana watched her tell the story she had lived through, of Mor's childhood, of her being treated like a prized mare, "are the same."

"The rest of the story is long, and awful, and I’ll tell you some other time. I came in here to say I’m not going with you—to the mortal realm." Mor said after she was done, Rheana placed a hand on her sister's shoulder in silent comfort.

"Because of how they treat women?" Feyre asked, emerging from behind the screen.

"When the queens come, I will be there. I wish to see if I recognize any of my long-dead friends in their faces. But… I don’t think I would be able to… behave with any others." Mor spoke, standing up to slip away, to Hewn City, Rheana knew it.

"Cassian helped Rhys and I get Mor out. Before either had the real rank, Rhys and I getting caught would have been very little punishment, but for Cassian risked everything to make sure Mor stayed out of that court." Rheana spoke as she adjusted her leathers, "And he laughs about it, but he believes he’s a low-born bastard, not worthy of everything he's achieved, I swear, sometimes I want to shake some sense into him but he won't hear any of it," Rheana sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "It's infuriating, really. Cassian and Azriel are two of the most loyal, honourable beings I've ever known, and yet they refuse to see how truly exceptional they are."

"I’d like my sisters to meet you and Mor…" Feyre said as she slipped on some bangles, matching with her earrings and diadem, "I want them to hear your story. And know that there is a special strength… A special strength in enduring dark trials and hardships… And still remaining warm, and kind. Still willing to trust—and reach out."

Rheana smiled, "Well, most people wouldn't believe that, but that means more to me than you could possibly know."

"I’m sorry if I was not as welcoming to you as you were to me when I arrived at the Night Court." Feyre said hesitantly as they made their way out. "I was… I’m trying to learn how to adjust."

"No one here blames you if you're a little rough around the edges, you've been through so much, with Under the Mountain, Tamlin, and quite literally dying." Rheana said softly, wrapping an arm around her, "Besides, there have been moments I've been worse, so I don't judge, but I do appreciate you for appologising."

Rheana was clinging to Rhysand, her back was bloodied, three deep black claw marks on her back, she whimpered and winced at every breath. Tears were streaming down her face as she looked at the mutilated, deceased bodies of her mother and little sister, she could sense her father's rage through the land itself.

Rhysand cradled Rheana close, his hands gentle despite the fierce anger burning within him. He gazed down at the ravaged landscape, the once lush forest now scarred and blackened. The acrid stench of smoke and char hung heavy in the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood.

Rheana was lightheaded, passing out in her brother's arms, not knowing for how long she was passed out, when she woke up, she looked around where she was, in her room, she couldn't remember a thing, until the searing pain in her back was made evident, then the feeling of dread coiled in her stomach, she sobbed as memories flooded back - the attack, the agony, the horror of losing her family. She felt Rhysand's strong arms wrap around her again, his warmth and solid presence grounding her even as despair threatened to consume her.

"It's alright, sister," he murmured, stroking her hair soothingly. "I'm here. We're safe now. You're safe."

But safety felt like a distant dream, a cruel mockery when grief and guilt gnawed at her insides. Rheana pulled away from Rhysand, as sobs wracked her body, each ragged breath a painful reminder of what she'd lost. She only sensed Cassian and Azriel in the room with her when she tried and failed to catch her breath.

"I should have protected them," She choked out, her voice raw with anguish. "I failed them. Failed as a daughter, as a sister… I am a failour."

"Rhea..." Azriel approached her gently, cautious of the darkness that swallowed his friend whole, he had been crying too, of course he was, he and Cassian had lost their mother figures when Rheana and Rhysand lost their mother, their friend when they did their sister, "It's not your fault."

Rheana gripped her hair hard enough to break the strands, "I failed. I couldn't save them." She could feel her dark blood trail down her back, she knew it would never heal, a constant reminder of how big of a failure she was, "What's even the point!?" She screamed, "Of being Carynthian? Of being the first female Illyrian to be considered a warrior, what with other females look up to when I couldn't even keep mine safe! Who will trust me to help stop clipping when I couldn't de a thing to stop my mother and sister's!"

Cassian stepped closer, his expression sombre, his hand reaching out tentatively to touch Rheana's shoulder but she flinched away. Rhysand was struggling, tears down his eyes as he saw his sister in the emotionally vulnerable state she was in, he didn't even know where their father was, though he didn't blame him, he had just lost his mate, he couldn't even imagine how big of a lose that felt, but he needed to help his sister.

"Shhh… It’s not your fault, Rhea," Rhysand soothed her from where he stood, knowing she needed a little distance, his own chest heaving with suppressed emotion. His heart ached for his sister.

"We will make the bastards who did this pay," He vowed fiercely, his eyes blazing with determination. "And you, my fierce and wonderful sister, will not let this define you. You are a survivor. You are strong. And you will honor your family by living, by thriving."

Rhysand's heart shattered seeing Rheana in such immense pain, his brave, brilliant sister reduced to this broken shell. He knelt before her, taking her tear-stained face in his hands.

Rheana got up again, she now held a knife in her hands, Rhysand swore, knowing she pulled it from him, he watched in fright as Rheana tore at her leathers from the knife, "Rhea-" He tried to use his powers to try to hold her mind to calm her, but all he found was darkness, nothing but empty darkness inside her mind.

"I don't deserve it!" Rheana tore at her top, till she was bare-chested, swirls of ink in her skin, marking her Illyrian heritage, Azriel was quick to move, but not quick enough as Rheana brought down the knife over the tattoo that marked her as Carynthian and winner of the Blood Rite. "I don't deserve any title." Azriel snatched the knife away before she could land another strike at herself.

The brothers exchanged a glance, fear etching lines into their faces. Cassian's heart pounded against his ribcage as he watched Azriel wrestle the knife from Rheana's grasp, the sound of steel scraping against flesh making him wince. But even as Azriel struggled to restrain her, the knife continued to glint dangerously, its edge wet with Rheana's blood.

"Rhea, stop!" Rhysand pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, you need to come back to us. To me." He reached out, trying to grab her wrist, but she jerked away, her movements frenzied and unpredictable.

Azriel held onto her firmly, his grip unyielding, holding her close to him, while Cassian moved to stand guard, ready to intervene at the slightest provocation.

"I don't deserve to keep my wings..." Rheana gasped heavily, "I couldn't save theirs."

"You listen to me," Rhysand said fiercely, his eyes blazing with intensity. "This is NOT your fault. You are the strongest person I know, Rhea. What happened… It's a tragedy, a nightmare no one should ever endure. But you survived. And you WILL get through this."

He brushed away her tears with his thumbs, his touch feather-light. "Our mother and sister loved you more than anything. They would want you to live, to fight, to honor their memory by being the incredible female you are. Don't let this break you, Rhea. Please. We need you. I need you."

Rheana stared at Rhysand, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit or pity. But there was only love and sincerity shining back at her, reflected in the depths of his irises. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she slowly relaxed in Azriel's grip, the tension leaving her body.

Cassian sat down next to her too, his arm a comfort around her waist as he rested her head on her neck, holding her, Rhysand stitched her clothes back up with his magic, smiling when her tattoo healed itself, the marker wasn't something easily lost, holding her to him, the four of them huddled together

The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle or soft murmur of reassurance. Yet even amidst the sorrow, there was a palpable sense of unity, of strength drawn from their shared bond and the knowledge that they faced this tragedy together.

As exhaustion began to claim Rheana, her eyelids growing heavy, Rhysand scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed. He settled beside her, pulling her close, his heart aching with every shuddering breath she took.

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