#the vanserra brothers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

surielstea · 2 months ago

Text

Embers Entwined

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader was one of the most affected by Beron’s rule, after his death Eris was crowned High Lord and Reader became his personal servant by extension, what happens when she begins to recognize Eris for his kindness and not his cruelty?

Warnings: Beron being a right asshole as usual, and some kissing (*gasp* the scandal!)

A.Note: Sorry it’s been forever!! This one took me awhile but I’m pretty happy with it. Hope you guys enjoy too! Some Azriel smut coming out in a few days also! 💋💋

Word count: 7.9k

The ball was decadent, far grander than in previous years, though I supposed tonight warranted the excess. A special occasion, one that carried far more meaning than the usual frivolous gatherings meant only to remind the rich of their own wealth.

Tonight, the Autumn Court celebrated the coronation of Eris Vanserra. More importantly to me, we celebrated Beron's death.

I would never say such a thing aloud, never give voice to the hatred that simmered in my veins. But I knew I was not alone in my sentiments. Most despised that wretched male—just not enough to ever act against him. Beron had been cruel, but only to those within his grasp. His wife. His sons. His staff. Me, in particular—his personal courtier.

It had been my duty to obey him without question, to smile and nod and endure, no matter what vile thing he asked of me. The words he'd spoken to me, the way he'd toyed with me, broken me, forced me into submission—I would never find peace after him. I knew that.

I stood against the wall of the ballroom, my hands clasped in front of me, a pleasant, vacant smile painted on my lips. The same as always. My black dress marked me as staff, distinguishing me from the nobles twirling beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers. It wasn't an ugly dress—not physically—but the symbolism it carried made my stomach churn.

I was meant to be invisible. To stand for hours, heels biting into my feet, lips aching from feigned delight, waiting. Always waiting for the High Lord's command. That was my place.

But tonight, for the first time at an event like this, someone spoke to me. Not just someone. The newly crowned High Lord.

"Do you not wish to dance?"

His voice was smoother than I expected, rich and effortless, as though the words required no thought. When I turned my head, Eris Vanserra stood before me, resplendent in his deep forest green attire, gold-threaded embroidery glinting beneath the chandeliers. Rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he gestured vaguely toward the center of the ballroom.

I had known Eris Vanserra since I was a girl—back when my father served as Beron's personal courtier and I trained under him, shadowing his every move. In those early years, Eris and I spent countless hours in the kennels, where I had been sent to feed the hounds, and he had sought my company. Even then, I knew better than to refuse a Vanserra. But it hadn't felt like an order. Not when he spoke so passionately about his dogs, his amber eyes alight with something rare and unguarded.

I had listened, quietly captivated, as he ran his hands through thick fur, naming each hound like they were something precious, something his father could not tarnish. And though I rarely spoke, I knew he never minded.

But time had a way of reshaping things. Our duties grew heavier, our paths diverged, and whatever thread had once tied us together frayed beneath the weight of expectation. I often wondered if he remembered—the girl who once sat beside him in the straw-covered kennels, listening in rapt silence as he spoke of things he loved. Or if I had faded into nothing more than a ghost of his childhood, long forgotten.

I snapped back to the present when I realized my hesitation, startled by his presence, by his question. By him.

I glanced at him only briefly before averting my gaze. I had long since learned better than to expect kindness from the Vanserras, Eris or not. "I'm working, my lord," I answered smoothly, forcing the usual mask into place. "Besides, the late Lord Beron was always particular about the servantry enjoying themselves at these sorts of things."

A flicker of something crossed Eris's face at my words. Perhaps it was amusement, perhaps something else. I wasn't certain. Then, he did something I never would have expected. He extended his hand to me, palm up. A silent command. I stared at it, my heart stuttering.

Was this a trick? A test? Was he waiting for me to disobey so he could remind me of my place? "Well," he mused, tilting his head, "I'm not Beron, am I?"

I swallowed thickly, but I did not take his hand. His amber eyes gleamed as he studied me, something unreadable lurking beneath their molten depths. "You were my father's personal courtier, yes?"

"Correct, my lord."

"And now that he's gone, you're mine." A statement, not a question.

I nodded.

"And you're required to do as I say."

Another nod.

"Then take my hand." His voice was softer now, quieter. "Dance with me." My breath caught in my throat. I hesitated. Was he attempting to humiliate me?

I had seen what his brothers were capable of, how they had reveled in Beron's cruelty, how they had wielded it against others for their own entertainment. I had heard the stories about Eris—his ruthlessness, his ambition, his callous disregard for those beneath him. I had no reason to believe he was any different.

Yet something about the way he stood there, hand still outstretched, gaze unwavering, made my stomach tighten. He wasn't forcing me. He wasn't demanding. He was patient. I hated him for that. For making me doubt my own certainty.

But in the end, I had no choice. With a deep inhale, I placed my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine—warm, steady. Not gripping. But I knew better than to believe in illusions.

Eris Vanserra was his father's son. And I would never trust him.

The moment my hand settled in his, a hush seemed to fall over the space around us—not total silence, but a ripple in the atmosphere, a shift in attention that pressed against my skin like a physical thing.

They were watching. The nobles, the courtiers, the sycophants who had spent years learning to fear and obey Beron, and by extension, his eldest son. They watched, likely waiting for me to make a mistake, waiting to see what game Eris Vanserra was playing.

I was waiting, too. But if this was some cruel trick, he did not let it show.

Eris led me toward the dance floor with unhurried ease, his grip firm but not forceful. A reminder, perhaps, that I was following him willingly. I didn't know what unsettled me more—that he had given me a real choice, or that, despite knowing better, a part of me wanted to believe he truly meant no harm.

The moment we stepped onto the floor, the nearest dancers shifted subtly away, giving us space without making it obvious. No one wanted to be caught in the High Lord's wake, in whatever he was planning.

He turned to face me, releasing my hand only to settle one warm palm against my waist, the other clasping mine once more. I stiffened beneath his touch, the weight of it burning even through the fabric of my dress.

"Relax," he murmured, amusement curling through his tone. "It's a dance, not an execution."

I forced my muscles to remain neutral, my expression placid, though I could still feel the weight of a hundred gazes searing into me. "That remains to be seen."

His lips curved slightly. "If I wanted to make a spectacle of you, I'd have chosen something far more dramatic." He guided me into movement, a slow, fluid step that I had no choice but to follow. "But I much prefer this."

I nearly scoffed, but reeled in my tone, replacing it with a polite one. "Dancing?"

His gaze flickered down to mine, something unreadable within it. "Yes," he admitted, voice quieter now. "It's one of the few things I enjoy."

I arched a brow at him, skepticism bleeding into my tone. "Truly?"

"Truly." A small pause, then, "My mother taught me."

His hold on my waist remained steady, his movements effortless as he guided me through the waltz. "She used to say that knowing how to dance was just as important as knowing how to wield a blade. Both would assist me on a battle field."

I couldn't stop the flicker of surprise at his admission. Not because I doubted his mother's wisdom—if anything, I had always pitied the Lady of Autumn, the horrors she must have endured under Beron's rule—but because I had not expected Eris to share something so personal.

And yet, before I could decide how to respond, he added, "It was the one thing Beron couldn't take from me."

I swallowed, focusing on my movements, on the way his body angled just to keep me steady, to keep the dance seamless.

He was watching me closely, I could feel it. I hated that I could feel it.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice quieter than before, as if the words might shatter between us.

His lips twitched, though there was something different in his expression now. A quiet sort of challenge. "Because you're expecting me to be my father."

I stiffened.

"I'm not," he continued, tone smooth, unwavering. "And I think you already know that."

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing down the retort that sat at the edge of my tongue. I wanted to deny it.

Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I had no reason to believe him, that I had no reason to trust him. That, after what I had endured, I had no space left in me for blind hope. But I couldn't. Because, for the first time, I allowed myself to see him—not the heir of Beron Vanserra, not the male who had stood by and done nothing while his father ruled with malice, but the High Lord before me now.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous, cunning, and far too quick-witted for his own good. But he was not his father. And as much as I hated it, as much as it made something twist deep in my chest—

He was also undeniably beautiful.

His russet hair gleamed beneath the chandelier light, his sharp, angular features like something carved from fine marble. And those eyes—deep amber, filled with fire and calculation, but not cruelty. Never cruelty. It unnerved me.

I averted my gaze, the pressure in my throat tightening. "I don't know anything."

His fingers flexed slightly against my waist, the only indication that he had caught the tremor in my voice.

"You will," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. A promise.

I did not know whether it was a comfort or a threat. But I did know one thing—

The game, whatever it was, had only just begun.

As the waltz came to an end, Eris's grip on me loosened, but he did not immediately step away. His amber eyes remained locked onto mine, searching, calculating—always calculating.

I did not look away. I refused to.

Even as my heart pounded against my ribs, even as my throat tightened with the weight of memories that clawed at the back of my mind, I held his gaze.

He exhaled softly, something almost amused flickering in his expression before he lifted my hand, his touch lingering just enough to send a sharp jolt of awareness through me.

Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent heat curling in my gut, Eris pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

A calculated move. A display of power.

And yet—his lips were warm. Gentle.

He let my hand slip from his grasp, stepping back with an air of ease, as though he had not just sent my already-frazzled mind into chaos.

"Thank you for the dance," he murmured, voice like silk and embers.

I said nothing. Because I couldn't. I simply bowed my head and turned away, ignoring the stares, the whispers that followed me as I slipped back into the shadows of the ballroom.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous. And not for the reasons I had always believed.

I had not been able to get him out of my head.

I hated it.

No matter how much I tried to shove the thoughts away—to remind myself of the horrors I had endured under Beron, of the way his sons had stood idly by for years, of the haunting whispers that surrounded Eris himself—I couldn't stop replaying that moment in my mind.

The warmth of his touch. The softness of his voice. The way he had looked at me, not with hatred, not with indifference, but with something else entirely.

It was a trick. Had to be. And yet, I found myself watching him more than I should have.

Every time he called for something, every time I had to be in his presence, I bowed low, just as I had always done for Beron. I kept my voice neutral, my head down, my routine unchanged.

As if nothing had changed at all. As if I had not danced with him. As if his hands had not burned against my skin. As if I had not spent the past few days wondering, against all reason, if perhaps he was not as evil as I had once believed.

I would not let myself believe it. Not when I had learned, time and time again, that kindness was a dangerous illusion.

So when one of the guards found me in the halls, stopping me with a clipped, "The High Lord is requesting you," a cold dread curled in my stomach.

Requesting me. Not a general summons for any courtiers. Not a task that could have been handled by anyone else. Me.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Memories crashed through me—memories of Beron's summons, of being called for with no warning, no explanation. Of standing before him, knowing what was coming but never being able to predict just how bad it would be.

My hands clenched at my sides. I swallowed hard, pushing down the panic, shoving it deep beneath layers of practiced control.

This was not Beron. I knew that. And yet, my body did not.

With carefully measured steps, I made my way to Eris's study, every inch of me wound tight.

My mind whispered warnings, my heart pounded against my ribs. I forced my hands to remain steady as I knocked once, then pushed the heavy wooden door open.

And there he was—seated behind a grand desk, amber eyes lifting to meet mine the second I entered.

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn.

And the male who, for reasons I could not begin to understand, had called for me.

I braced myself, preparing for whatever awaited me next. And prayed that I was not about to be proven a fool.

The door shut behind me with a soft thud, the sound too final, too reminiscent of a past I wanted to claw away from.

I stayed near the entrance, hands clasped in front of me, chin dipped ever so slightly—not meek, but neutral. Just as I had been trained to be.

Eris sat at his desk, one elbow braced on the armrest of his chair, fingers resting against his temple as he watched me. Not impatient. Not cruel. Just watching. Then, with that signature tilt of his head, he asked, "What's your name?"

I blinked. "My name?"

He arched a golden brow, the flickering candlelight making the sharp angles of his face seem all the more severe.

"I'd like to know who to call for to keep my company, so yes, your name."

Company. Was this a game? A test?

I studied him, searching for the trap, but found nothing except expectation.

I told him my name carefully, waiting for the moment his expression would shift, for him to sneer or mock or twist the knowledge into something mean.

But he only smiled slightly, a soft curve of his lips that felt almost out of place on a face like his.

Before I could think better of it, before I could convince myself to stay silent, I blurted, "Have you been lonely, my lord?"

Eris's head tilted further, amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

I stiffened immediately. "Forgive me for asking. That was incredibly impolite. I'm so—"

"I have." He cut me off smoothly, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

I swallowed.

"I imagined being High Lord would be quite different," he mused, gaze flickering to the stacks of papers on his desk, the glowing hearth, the empty room around us. "Nevertheless, here we are." He nodded as if conceding something to himself.

My lips parted slightly, but I had nothing to say to that. Nothing that wouldn't cross a line I was still hesitant to even approach.

Instead, I dropped into another practiced bow. "Will that be all, my lord?"

His eyes snapped back to me, something unreadable stirring behind them.

"Eris," he corrected.

I hesitated.

"I am not my father," he said, voice quiet but edged with finality, as if he were daring me to argue. "Nor do I wish to become him. So please, call me Eris."

I nodded slowly. "...Well then, Lord Eris."

"Just Eris, my dear," he corrected again, leaning back slightly. "Like friends."

I didn't know what startled me more—that he wanted me to call him by his name, or that he had referred to me as a friend.

Still, I tried to ignore the warmth curling in my stomach as I forced myself to say, "Eris."

His lips twitched, something satisfied gleaming in his gaze. "Good girl."

The praise sent something unfamiliar down my spine, not in the way it had whenever Beron complimented me... this was different.

"Now come, get comfortable." He gestured toward the plush green chairs adjacent to his desk.

I stared at him. "You want me to sit?"

"Stand, lean, lay, I don't care." He waved a lazy hand. "Just relax."

"My lord—Eris," I corrected, still trying to wrap my mind around the strangeness of this entire interaction. "I don't get paid to... relax."

He smirked. "No, you get paid to follow my orders. And I am ordering you to get comfortable."

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to decipher the true meaning behind all of this.

But I saw no malice in his expression. No cruel intent. Just anticipation.

I swallowed and, slowly, I did as he said. I sat stiffly, hands clasped in my lap, my back straight as if Beron himself was still lurking behind me, waiting to scold me for stepping out of line.

Eris, however, did not acknowledge my rigid posture. He only let out a pleased hum, as if my mere presence was enough to meet whatever unspoken standard he had set for this moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he returned his focus to the parchment before him.

The only sounds in the room were the quiet scratching of his quill and the faint crackling of the candlelight.

I should have been grateful for the silence. It was better than savage words, better than commands meant to humiliate me. But instead, an odd tension settled in my chest, as if I were waiting for the real reason he'd called me here to be revealed.

Minutes passed. Then—

"You're staring," Eris murmured without looking up.

I blinked, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I am not."

His lips curved slightly, and he flipped to another parchment. "You are."

"I was merely looking in your direction." It was wrong of me to talk back, but something about him let my tongue a little looser, he didn't seem displeased by it in the slightest.

He hummed, unconvinced, dipping his quill back into ink. "And why, pray tell, were you looking in my direction?"

I hesitated. "...I was thinking."

Amber eyes flicked up from the page. "Dangerous habit."

That small smirk still played on his lips, but something about it was softer than usual, teasing rather than taunting.

I frowned, not ready for this interaction to feel comfortable, for me to feel comfortable. "I don't find it particularly dangerous."

"That's because you've never played with fire." He twirled the quill between his fingers before dragging the tip across the parchment again. "Not the kind that burns."

I scoffed. "You forget who I served before you."

He paused at that, glancing at me fully and my heart rate spiked. Too far, I'd gone too far, just a few words and the walls I built were crumbling before my very eyes.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression, but it was gone before I could place it. Instead, he dipped his head slightly, understanding the point. "Then I imagine you know better than most that fire, when wielded incorrectly, only ever destroys."

I stiffened, his words striking something deep within me.

Is that what I was? A thing destroyed? Is that what he saw when looking at me, or himself?

Eris exhaled, shifting his focus back to his work. "For what it's worth," he murmured, quieter now, "I don't intend to wield it incorrectly."

I studied him carefully, as I had done many times before, searching for the game, for the cruel edge I knew so well from his father.

But there was no trick. Only a High Lord—no, a male—focused on his work, offering me something I had never once been granted in Beron's court.

Peace.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look away, to ignore the unfamiliar warmth creeping into my bones.

Minutes passed again in silence, but this time, it didn't feel quite so heavy.

"I was serious, you know," Eris mused, not bothering to look up as he broke the quiet.

I frowned. "About what?"

"Keeping my company." He flipped to another document, signing something at the bottom. "I'd prefer your presence over my advisors any day. They're old and dull. You, at least, have some spirit."

I scoffed. "I think you are confusing obedience for spirit."

"Oh no, my dear." His lips curved in a knowing smirk. "You and I both know you're anything but obedient."

I bristled, opening my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "It's alright. I find it... refreshing."

I wasn't sure what unsettled me more—the implication, or the way my stomach twisted at his words. Beron preferred all the servantry to have a fiery spirit, which makes it more fun to break, but he never really could stomp my flames out, and now Eris was sparking the embers. It was dangerous, so dangerous.

Silence fell between us once more.

For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it. That I would sit there, a piece of furniture in this room while he worked, just as I had been in Beron's court.

But then, without looking away from his parchment, Eris murmured, "Tell me something, Fawn."

The way he said that nickname—so deliberate, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue—sent something sharp down my spine.

"Tell you what?" I asked carefully.

He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled in thought. "Something real."

I hesitated. "That's vague."

"Intentionally so." He arched a brow. "Consider it a challenge."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he only waited, watching me with that same expectant look, as if he truly wanted to hear something about me.

I exhaled. "I don't like the cold."

His lips twitched. "A courtier of Autumn who doesn't like the cold? Shocking, really." His voice was sarcastic, but something in his eyes told me he knew what I meant.

I shrugged, explaining anyway. "It reminds me of your father." The words left me before I could stop them, before I could think better of them.

Eris didn't flinch, but something in his expression shifted. "I hate the cold, too," he admitted after a beat.

I blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

He returned his attention to the paper in front of him, but his next words were soft, almost contemplative.

"It's why I keep the fire going."

And despite everything I had come to know about Eris Vanserra—despite everything I feared—those words stayed with me long after I left his study that night.

It became routine.

Every evening, after the day's duties were done, I was summoned to Eris's study. At first, I had thought it was some kind of test, some trick to lull me into a false sense of security before he reminded me of my place. But the days passed, and the cruel words never came. The taunts never sharpened into something harsher.

Instead, I found myself sitting across from him as he worked, the fire crackling between us, filling the silence in ways neither of us felt the need to.

And I was learning things.

Not just about him—but about myself.

I learned that despite being raised under Beron's thumb, Eris did not rule with a hand of iron. He listened—to his advisors, to the reports of the court, to me, even. And when I spoke, he truly listened, as if my words meant something.

More recently I learned that he was—Gods help me—attractive.

That fact had been easy enough to ignore when I hated him, when I thought he was just another Beron in the making. But the more time I spent with him, the more I noticed things I shouldn't—like the sharp angles of his face, the golden hue of his eyes, the way his hands moved across parchment with effortless precision.

It was incredibly inappropriate.

He was a High Lord, for the Gods' sake. I was a mere servant. A courtier, yes, but still beneath him in every sense of the word.

But there were moments—subtle, fleeting—where I felt that he didn't see it that way.

Like when he'd catch me staring and smirk, as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone. Like when his fingers would brush against mine as he handed me a book, a touch so brief it might have been an accident, but my traitorous body knew better. Like when he said my name—not the way Beron used to, as if I were an object, a thing that existed for his whims, but as if I were someone worth hearing.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. And yet, I kept returning to his study, night after night, drawn to him in ways I did not understand.

I was comfortable around him now. Too comfortable. And I wasn't sure if that terrified me or eased me more.

The fire crackled behind him, casting golden light over the room as I sat at his desk, scanning over the trade agreements he had asked me to review. Eris stood in front of the hearth, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the flames with a contemplative expression.

"They're bleeding the smaller villages dry," I murmured, flipping to the next page. "The tariffs are nearly double what they should be."

Eris hummed in response, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "And what do you suggest, fawn?" His voice was rich, edged with amusement.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, biting back a smile at the teasing lilt in his tone. "Lowering them would be a start."

He took a slow sip of whiskey, then turned, his gaze burning even hotter than the fire behind him. "Very well. Lower them."

I blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He smirked, as if amused by my surprise. "You have a sharp mind. It would be a waste not to use it."

A compliment. A genuine one.

I busied myself with the documents, ignoring the warmth that curled in my stomach. But before I could shift to the next matter, I felt it—him.

The space between us disappeared in a breath. Eris leaned over my shoulder, one hand bracing against the desk as he peered down at the papers with me.

His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, his scent—smoke, cedar, spice—curling around me, intoxicating. I stiffened, my fingers tightening around the quill.

"See?" His voice was softer now, smooth like velvet. "That wasn't so hard."

I swallowed, forcing my focus back to the parchment. "I assume the next set of reports won't be as easy."

His chuckle was low, deep. "Unfortunately, no."

We worked through the rest of it together, his proximity never wavering, his breath occasionally ghosting against my cheek as he murmured his thoughts. It should have been unbearable. It was unbearable. And yet, I didn't pull away.

Not even when he poured me a glass of whiskey.

I had refused at first, telling him I was technically working but he had simply raised an eyebrow and said, "I won't tell the high lord if you don't."

It burned going down, leaving warmth in its wake, emboldening me just enough to loosen the tight grip I always held on myself.

Perhaps that was why, when we finally leaned back in our chairs, the tension of duty momentarily relieved, I dared to meet his gaze with something close to ease.

"You're a better High Lord than I expected," I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty.

He turned his glass between his fingers, watching me over the rim. "High praise, coming from you."

I rolled my eyes, but the smallest of smiles played at my lips. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he quipped, grinning.

I shook my head, but I wasn't fast enough to hide the way my lips twitched in amusement.

Eris noticed. Of course, he did. And he leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "Careful, fawn. Keep looking at me like that, and I'll think you actually enjoy my company."

I should have ignored the remark. Should have cut the moment short, should have reminded myself that this was Eris, that I was his courtier and nothing more.

But the whiskey hummed in my blood, and I found myself tilting my chin up slightly, arching a brow.

"Who said I don't?"

His gaze darkened, a flicker of something wicked dancing in those golden eyes.

The air between us tightened, the tension shifting into something heavier, something dangerous.

And for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to run from it.

The room was suffocating with heat—not just from the fire, but from him. From the way he looked at me, like he could see through every carefully placed wall I had built around myself.

I should have left. Should have bowed my head, murmured a polite good night, and returned to the servantry quarters where I belonged.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stayed, rooted in place, watching the way Eris's eyes flickered between my lips and my eyes. The tension stretched unbearably tight, wound so thin that one more word, one more breath, would surely snap it.

And then it did.

One moment, we were speaking, our words slow and softened by whiskey. The next—I was in his arms, and his mouth was on mine.

It was a collision, a wildfire consuming everything in its path.

His lips were searing, his hands gripping my waist as if he couldn't bear to let go, pulling me flush against him. I gasped into the kiss, and he took full advantage, deepening it, his tongue sweeping over mine in a way that made my knees threaten to buckle.

He groaned, low and guttural, and something inside me snapped.

I met his fervor with my own, fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the silk of it between my fingertips as he backed me into the desk. The papers we had worked so hard on crumpled beneath us, utterly forgotten.

He exhaled a quiet curse against my lips as his hands gripped my hips tighter, and I—I didn't stop him. I arched into him, into the warmth, the danger of it.

And then—it happened.

A tether snapped into place.

Invisible, undeniable, unyielding.

My entire body locked up as a force stronger than anything I had ever known latched onto my very soul. The bond—a mating bond—solidified between us like molten steel cooling into iron, a force so absolute it stole the air from my lungs.

No, no, no.

I stumbled back so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, my hand flying to my lips as if I could erase what had just happened.

Eris reached for me, eyes wide, something dangerously close to awe written across his sharp features. "Wait—"

But I didn't.

I turned and ran.

I ignored the way his voice followed me, calling my name, ignored the way my heart thundered in my chest, the way my mind screamed at me that this was impossible, that it couldn't be real, that it shouldn't be real.

Because if it was—if it was real—then it meant I was bound to him. To him.

Not just the male who had been slipping under my skin, infiltrating the cold emptiness I had built to protect myself. But Beron's son. Beron's heir. A Vanserra. A High Lord.

By the time I reached the servantry quarters, my breaths were ragged, my hands shaking as I shoved my door closed behind me, locking it with trembling fingers.

I pressed my back against the wood, squeezing my eyes shut.

This couldn't be happening. It was a mistake. A trick. A cruel, cruel joke.

I was nothing.

A courtier, a servant.

I did not get to have mates.

And certainly not him.

I curled onto my cot, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress as if I could anchor myself back to reality. I forced my breathing to slow, willed myself to forget the feeling of his lips, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the way his hands had fit so perfectly against my waist.

I did not sleep that night.

I had been avoiding him.

Days had passed, and I hadn't stepped foot in his study again. I hadn't so much as looked in his direction, even as the court whispered about me, about us, about the undeniable scent of a bond snapping into place.

They all knew.

I could feel their stares, the pity in some, the amusement in others. I knew what they thought—that it was only a matter of time before I bent, before I folded myself into the neat little role fate had carved out for me at Eris's side.

I refused.

I stayed tucked away, keeping to my duties, bowing as I always had when in his presence, keeping my head low, silent. I had done it for years under Beron. I could do it again.

Or at least, I thought I could.

The bond had other plans.

It had been clawing at me, a sick, twisting thing in my chest, gnawing at my ribs every time I kept my distance. The more I ignored it, the worse it became, a restless, aching pressure that built until my hands trembled with the need to do something—run to him, scream, sob. I didn't know which.

I was too caught up in my own mind, too focused on fighting the invisible thread tethering me to him, that I didn't notice the male approaching me until it was too late.

"You've been rather elusive, haven't you?"

I turned sharply, expecting him, expecting Eris—

But it wasn't him.

It was Kyden.

My stomach twisted.

Kyden Vanserra had always taken the most after Beron compared to the rest of his brothers, cruel for the sake of cruelty, sneering down at those he deemed beneath him. Which unfortunately included me.

His smirk was slow, predatory. "I almost mistook you for one of the nobility, standing there all stiff and proper. But then I remembered—you're just a servant, aren't you?"

I forced my body not to react, not to let the memories claw their way up my throat. He had that same look in his tawny eyes that Beron always had on one of the particularly hard days.

Kyden stepped closer, voice a lazy drawl. "And yet, despite your lowly position, you managed to ensnare a High Lord." His lips curled, eyes gleaming with something dark. "Or rather, the bond did. Funny, isn't it? How fate makes fools of us all."

I kept my chin high, my hands at my sides. I would not cower.

He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear. "You reek of him."

I flinched. Kyden chuckled. "It's amusing, really. Eris, of all people, shackled to someone like you." His gaze flickered over me, assessing, and I knew that look—I had seen it before, a lifetime ago, picking apart my worth, deciding how best to use me.

"What do you think he'll do?" Kyden mused. "Surely, you don't believe he'll actually keep you. A High Lord's mate should be powerful, worthy." He tutted. "You are neither."

The words hit their mark, sinking into my skin like tiny blades, because deep down I knew he was right. This is why I've been avoiding Eris, avoiding having that confrontation that will only result in rejection and sorrow.

"I wonder," he continued, tilting his head, "how long it will take before he grows bored of you. Before he realizes you're nothing more than the same little courtier Beron used to—"

A deep, guttural snarl split the air.

And then Kyden was no longer in my space, no longer crowding me like a looming shadow.

Eris had him by the collar, dragging him back, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl beside his brother's throat.

"Say another word," Eris hissed, voice like fire crackling over dry wood, "and I will tear out your fucking tongue."

Kyden, to his credit, did not flinch. He only grinned. "Touched a nerve, did I?"

Eris's fingers tightened, the flames in the nearby sconces flaring wildly.

"Walk away, Kyden," Eris said, voice quieter now, deadlier. "I raised you better than this."

A beat of silence. Then Kyden huffed a laugh, shoving Eris off him with a roll of his shoulders.

"As you wish, brother." He turned to me, and there was something smug in his eyes, something knowing. "See you around, little courtier."

And then he was gone.

Eris exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before turning to me.

"Are you—"

I shook my head, stepping back. "Don't."

His jaw tensed.

I couldn't do this. Not here. Not now.

The hallway was silent except for the distant clatter of pots and the hushed murmurs of servants slipping past us, their eyes darting away the moment they caught sight of Eris. I could still feel the ghost of Kyden's words slithering over my skin, the way he had looked at me, spoken to me. But more than that—I could feel the weight of Eris's gaze, burning into me as if he were unraveling every thought in my head.

I didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to feel the way I did when he looked at me.

His amber eyes flickered with something unreadable, something heavy and tense. He hadn't moved since Kyden left, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was still fighting the urge to chase his brother down and finish what he started.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. We stood nearly a yard away from each other in the servants' passages, the house was so vast that to get from place to place quicker in the manor there were secret paths to take. It was odd for the High Lord to even know about them.

I swallowed hard, then whispered, "Why are you here?"

Eris blinked, as if startled by the question. And then, with the ghost of a smirk, he drawled, "It's my house, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know what I mean."

More silence.

His smirk faded.

"I was looking for you," he admitted finally.

I stared at him, heart hammering against my ribs. "You could've called for me."

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer. "Would you have come?"

I said nothing.

He huffed a bitter laugh. "That's what I thought."

I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. "It's my job, Eris," I whispered.

His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach for me, wanted to touch me—but he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, looking more defeated than I'd ever imagined a Vanserra could.

"Can we go somewhere more private?" I asked, my voice quieter now, because we were standing a distance apart with maids and cooks scuttling silently past us, pretending they weren't listening, pretending they couldn't see the invisible string between us.

Eris studied me for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he turned on his heel, leading the way.

I followed.

The room he brought me to was small, tucked away in one of the unused wings of the estate. A study, maybe, or a reading room—the kind of place someone could go to disappear.

He shut the door behind me, and then we were alone.

Eris exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Are you alright?"

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I don't know."

His jaw tightened. "Kyden—"

"I don't want to talk about Kyden."

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Then talk to me about something else."

I let out a breath. "About what, Eris?"

He stepped closer, slow and careful, as if I were something fragile. "About why you've been avoiding me."

I scoffed. "You know why."

"I want to hear you say it."

I met his gaze, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. "Because this—" I gestured between us. "—isn't supposed to happen. Because you're a High Lord, and I'm a servant, and this bond—" I swallowed hard. "It's cruel."

Eris's expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched again, and I wondered if he even realized he kept doing that—kept stopping himself from touching me. "You think the Mother is cruel?"

I hesitated. "I think fate is."

Eris exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Do you hate it that much?"

I didn't answer.

Did I?

Hate was easy. Hate was something I understood, something I could hold onto. Hate had kept me alive under Beron's rule, had hardened me, protected me.

But this? This tether between us, this thing that hummed in my chest, that made my body ache to close the distance between us—

I didn't have a name for it. And that scared me more than anything.

Eris watched me carefully, as if searching for something in my expression. He let out another sigh and retreated, taking a seat on the small leather couch adjacent to the popping fireplace. I watched him silently, still standing by the door.

"I never wanted this either," he admitted, voice softer now. "I spent years ensuring I would never be bound to someone who could be used against me. And yet..." His lips quirked into something bitter. "Yet here we are."

My throat felt tight. "Do you hate it?"

His amber eyes burned. "No."

The breath I took was unsteady.

"You never answered?" he looked up at me.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Shook my head. "I don't know."

Eris nodded once, as if that answer was enough.

Silence stretched between us again.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You don't have to accept it," he said. "Not now. Not ever, if that's what you choose." He met my gaze, something like resignation flickering in his eyes. "But I won't apologize for it."

He wanted to keep it? Wanted me to accept it?

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

He tilted his head, considering me. "So what now?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "That's twice now."

I scowled. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "I suppose I should be grateful I got anything out of you at all."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no bite to it.

Eris studied me again, quieter this time. "I meant what I said," he murmured. "I was looking for you."

I looked away. "I know."

Silence settled between us again, but it was different now. Less suffocating.

More dangerous.

Because I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending I didn't want him to find me. I approached his side quietly and sat.

The leather couch was cool against my skin as I sank into it beside him, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. The bond thrummed like a second heartbeat, relentless and inescapable.

The son of the man I loathed most in this world was the one I was expected to love beyond reason.

Fate was a sick, twisted thing.

I sighed, tired of thinking, tired of fighting, tired of everything. Slowly, hesitantly, I tilted my head, letting it rest against his shoulder. His body stiffened for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, exhaling a breath I might've imagined.

It was enough for now.

"I'm High Lord," he said after a beat.

"Painfully aware," I murmured.

"Meaning—there are rules of the Autumn Court that I can... simply get rid of."

I huffed a soft, tired laugh. "You're a lord, not a king."

"Mm, true," he mused, tilting his head back against the couch, "but if Rhysand can bend the rules to marry his mate, so can I."

I hesitated. "His court is much more pliable. Autumn is notorious for its... old-fashioned ways."

"Well, the Autumn Court has a new High Lord." His voice was steady, sure. "Let's just hope I'm changing it for the better."

I smiled faintly, my eyes fluttering shut. "You are, 'Ris."

The name slipped out before I could think better of it, before I could remind myself that familiarity with him was dangerous.

His body went still beneath me.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he looked down at me, amber eyes burning with something I couldn't name.

We stared at each other for a long moment, really seeing each other.

And then, quietly, almost reverently, he murmured, "I'm going to kiss you now."

I nodded.

And then he did.

His lips pressed against mine, slow and deep, as if we had all the time in the world. As if the bond wasn't something to be feared but something to be savored. His hand lifted to my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone before sliding into my hair, tilting my face up, pressing deeper.

I sighed into him, gripping the front of his tunic as the bond pulsed between us, as the warmth of his body and the scent of campfire and rainy mornings wrapped around me like something familiar, something I could fall into.

It should have scared me.

But all I could do was kiss him back.

Eris pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. My heart pounded, my thoughts a chaotic mess, but the bond hummed in quiet contentment—as if it had known all along that this was inevitable.

His fingers stayed tangled in my hair, his other hand still cupping my jaw, holding me there, keeping me grounded. "We'll figure this out," he murmured, voice low, steady. Sure.

I let out a slow breath, my hands still fisted in his tunic. "You make it sound so simple."

"It doesn't have to be complicated."

I swallowed hard, my mind already spinning with the realities of what this meant, what it could mean. But as I looked at him, at the quiet determination in his gaze, at the warmth that had nothing to do with the firelight flickering around us, I found myself wanting—just for a moment—to believe him.

So I nodded, just barely.

His lips brushed my temple, lingering there for a heartbeat before he leaned back, his hand finally slipping from my hair. "One step at a time, my dear."

I exhaled, my pulse still thrumming in my throat, and echoed, "One step at a time."

And maybe, just maybe, we'd find our way through this. Together.

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achaotichuman · 9 months ago

Text

Naked Poetry

Okay so, this is not finished at all. *But* I am a baby smut writer and this is some of the best I've ever written in my opinion and it is just rotting in my docs. So I'm posting it to see if anyone likes it!

Summary

The Seasonal Courts are gathering for an annual meeting. With tensions growing between the Courts, they aim to settle what they can and allow the magic to return to harmony as it was before the Curse of Amarantha.

But after so long away, the magic of each Court is writhing for its sister. From Spring's weakened magic, the power of the Seasons is demanding rejuvenation.

Magic comes with a price, and this is theirs.

Title from Naked Poetry by SKYLAR would recommend listening to whilst reading.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut.

Explicit NSFW

You make me feel, like someone I was before

You make me feel, like the lady I adore

Routine meeting. Kallias watched the line of trees outside the carriage turn into a haze of orange and red as the carriage sped through at unnatural speeds. He remained motionless, perfectly poised even alone, eyes closed, head held high and hands folded into his lap.

At normal times, Viviane would accompany him on these meetings, unfortunately her sister had a bout of sickness and Viviane wished to remain by her side. The thought of his mate with her shimmering gaze and banner of hair brought a smile to his face, that he quickly squashed, they were on Beron Vanserra’s territory. He would gravitate to any weakness he smelled, like a shark searching the ocean for blood.

The Seasonal Courts met every century or so, to discuss the magic of the land. As tight or tense as connections could be, they orbited each other. Like stars whirling around each other, they depended on the magic of the other lands.

It was a week-long trip. The first few days they would discuss the state of their Courts and how this affected the others, before discussing resolutions, and the last days would delve deep into the magic of each individual Court. Often on the last day there were plenty of eye-wateringly boring speeches from historians and scholars about the carefully crafted magic systems they all had at their feet. A lecture in disguise, a snap at the High lords to not kill each other.

Kallias supposed it was necessary.

Particularly for the Vanserra’s.

They had never been able to keep their hands to themselves.

You make me feel, like my feet don’t touch the floor

Brush me down, oh, down in designer

Bit of charm with his one class liners

“Don’t sweat it Tam, you’ll be fine.” Lucien said, adjusting his collar and jacket. The perfectly pristine emissary shot him a cocky grin and a wink, “We’re just in a room with some arrogant males that need a swift kick in the ass to not just hop around alliances.”

“You mean we’re in a room with Kallias, Tarquin and a male that needs a swift kick in the ass to not just hop around alliances.” Tamlin replied with an eyeroll.

Lucien sighed wistfully, “Wish I had been there, heard you dragged him out by his neck to get Autumn to fight in the War on Prythian’s side.”

Tamlin swallowed when he remembered that day. He had been in bloodied armour, stained red with the blood of Hybern’s soldiers. He had thrown the doors of the Forest House throne room wide open. Eyes blazing, tongue lashing behind his sharp teeth, claws bursting through his knuckles so quickly they drew blood which dripped to the ground in time with the fast beating of his heart.

Tamlin had roared for Beron to get off his ass and fucking help. Beron had nearly refused as he drew fire to his hands.

Tamlin then snuffed the oxygen from the fire and they had gone out. Beron’s eyes had been wide, but not with fear. He drew more fire which Tamlin put out again.

The blond had stormed up to the throne. All but throwing off the guards who tried to stop him.

He had stood above Beron Vanserra. The male held up his large hand between them and sparked a flame.

Tamlin had shown his fangs as he snuffed it out again.

Beron had tilted his head, then smiled like a predator.

“Eris, get my armies ready, we’re going to War.” Beron had said.

Tamlin had looked over his shoulder to see a wide-eyed Eris standing in the threshold. He had drawn in a breath before murmuring a respectful “Yes, my Lord.”

Then he quickly ran off to prepare.

Beron had risen to his feet. Standing near pressed against the High lord of Spring, that grin only widening.

Tamlin had nearly faltered in his breath. Beron was taller, but they were the same in build. The Autumn Lord had taken the younger’s chin in between his fingers, leaned down and whispered, “You would’ve been wasted on her, once you’re done with the hero act come find me. I’ll show you how the High lord of Autumn plays.”

Tamlin had shivered, but not from fear. Never from fear.

“Hey! Tamlin!” Lucien snapped his fingers in Tamlin’s face, the blond was thrown from his memories, he lifted an eyebrow as he looked at Lucien.

The carriage bumped and jostled, but Lucien still remained somehow unaffected. Perfect, from his falling hair to his pressed suit.

The Fox leaned back in his seat and grinned, “Went to Tamlin world did you?”

“I-I- Tamlin world?!” Tamlin stammered.

Lucien cackled as he flicked Tamlin’s nose, “Yeah, Tamlin world.” His voice changed to a much higher, mocking version, “Oh I remembered something nostalgic, so I had to retreat to my little Tamlin world where it’s all meadows and deer; and I lie under willow trees, listening to the wind through the grass-”

Tamlin lightly smacked him on the side of his head, Lucien laughed so hard his face turned red.

Tamlin had flushed a splotchy shade of pink, he told Lucien to stop being an idiot, to focus.

They were here for the meeting of the seasonal Courts. Tamlin couldn’t say he was looking forward to seeing Beron again, to seeing any of them again. His Court had finally returned to a state he could call somewhat working.

He finally understood why many of his sentries had turned and left without a word.

Feyre had assaulted them through her mind. Violated and twisted their memories, they’re very minds she turned into her playthings against her will. The disgust he had felt never ended. Tamlin had half a mind to storm Night and demand a reckoning upon them all. For ever daring to harm his sentries, his friends, in such a vile way.

He had found some healers from Day that specialised in undoing such horrible scars to the mind. So far a few had returned to their senses, still they were wary, untrustful, of him, and rightfully so. At least it was of their own accord. None of them though, still loved or cared for the cursebreaker. All of them spat her name like it was a drugged drink.

Tamlin crossed his arms as his gaze followed the never-ending winding roads of Autumn. He looked over to Lucien who watched the scenery as well, a soft longing in his eyes. The longing of a child wishing to return home, yet he smiled like he knew it never could be.

Lucien had come back to Spring one day, and Tamlin had fallen to his knees begging for forgiveness. That night they talked more than Tamlin had ever spoken to anyone in his life. Words were softly hummed and screamed, tears were shed and wiped away, snarling frowns were as much a presence as were soft, happy smiles.

It wasn’t perfect, nor had he made up for it, maybe he never would. But it was a start, and Tamlin felt like he had his friend back.

Maybe it was another apology itself, but Tamlin reached out his hand and took Lucien’s in his own. Quickly looking out the other window as he felt Lucien’s gaze snap to his own.

Tamlin stared at the orange, the red, and the yellow. He felt the piercing gaze of his friend.

Then he felt a slight tightening in his hand as Lucien returned to gesture. When Tamlin glanced over, Lucien was once again looking out the window. ‘

Tamlin looked back at the treelines, and a smile adorned his face.

He curled his fingers around Lucien’s, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. Lucien returned to soft treatment.

Then it came into view. The Forest House loomed above them. Entrenched in dark branches and Autumn dry leaves that swayed in the wind like hands dragging along the brick of the House. Wood and stone were the materials of choice. But there was an elegant touch with the large pillars that supported the ceiling. The polished, refined wood lavished the House in elegance.

Tamlin remembered how his feet had thundered against the tiles of the Forest House. He felt the same shiver of power that rippled over him as they passed the tightly furled wards. Lucien gripped his hand tighter, Tamlin stroked the back of his palm.

The carriage began to walk around the large fountain in the centre of the gravel path to the looming oak doors.

“Ready?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien finally met his eyes and grinned, “Born ready.”

***

Eris slicked back a fallen hair. The short red pushed back, he adjusted his shirt, then fitted his waistcoat on, before shrugging his long jacket over his shoulders and smoothing it over. He pulled several ruby encrusted gold rings over his long pale fingers.

“How do I look brother?” Eris asked, eyes still locked in on his own reflection as he peered at himself.

“Like a polished gold ring with a raw diamond for its gem.” Silas responded.

Eris’ smile turned to a cruel grin, “That’s what I’m going for.”

He turned around, jacket snapping behind him. Silas too was dressed for the occasion, fiery eyes piercing, lithe body wrapped in layers of gold and red.

Eris’ palette of choice was swirling gold and red on black. He looked gilded, carved by Gods and decorated in the finest of robes.

The second eldest Vanserra fell into step with his brother. Both faces falling into the haughty looks of Autumn naturally. Their veins lighting up with fire, turning their eyes a deep shade of burning amber that resembled liquid flame.

Like heartbeats in sync with their own, as the two approached the meeting room, the two missing brothers joined the lineup. Brom, the third-eldest, fell to his left. Albus, the second-youngest, stood tall and proud beside Silas.

The doors opened, the three younger brothers took a slight step back so Eris took the lead. A perfected song and dance that reverberated through their very bones. Like the siblings shared an incarnate rhythm that thundered in their chests. Their very breath hung on each other.

Blood pounded through their heads, hands and legs. Holding them like leashes on dogs, holding the power behind their very step in a tight grip so as to not allow the four to descend into mindless chaos.

Magic and flame and darkness, it writhed between the offspring of Autumn like a wild, untamable wildfire. A part they played so well it was no longer a part, another way of life, a comfort as caring as a shark in a frenzy but as familiar as their mother’s arms.

The dance nearly faltered as power that did not join the song writhed from one side of the room. Eris’ eyes found Lucien’s before he gazed upon anyone else.

For a second, for one precious, treasured second, Lucien’s remaining eye lit up with the fire of Autumn. Eris saw it, his blood beginning to boil as his body begged and screamed and cried to fall into step with his brothers. To complete the lineup by joining Brom’s side.

Lucien looked away before Eris could let out his breath.

Eris then faced the rest of them.

Beron sat at the head of the table. Eyes lazily falling upon Eris and the rest of his breed. For a second, the same happened, his eyes flashed with amber, power responding to power. Eris turned his eyes to Beron’s right, where Kallias’ tight, tense, near glare rested on Eris. Eris just smirked back at the pretty white-haired male. Kallias loosened a breath like it was pain just looking at the Autumn Heir.

Then Eris looked over at the golden male beside Lucien. Tamlin didn’t even look at Eris, rather his emerald eyes gazed at a painting across from him. His posture slack, expression and shoulders loose. Tamlin played the part of the eased, uncaring Lord well. But it wouldn’t work here. The fire the male kept under his skin would be drawn out in response to the burning flames surrounding him. Like fire licking at the wood burying it, stoked to immeasurable temperatures by wild flames surrounding it.

“Eris,” Beron drawled, gesturing to the end of the table and the chairs around it. The brothers waited behind him as Eris took the first chair, exactly opposite of Beron. Then on cue, they stalked with their heads in a slight bow to their own chairs. Kallias sat right beside Albus who paid the Winter Lord no mind. An empty chair separated Lucien and Brom.

“Tarquin is not present,” Kallias noted.

“Tarquin will not be present for these next two days,” Beron notified him. Lips curling in disgust, baring white teeth as the Autumn Lord thought on the young Lord of Summer. Waving his hand in dismissal, “Something about his mother dying.”

Tamlin snapped in a breath, eyes quickly flicked to him as the male’s mask cracked ever so slightly. From where he was, Eris saw Lucien’s hand quickly flick out to Tamlin’s.

Rumours had spread of the Spring Lord finding comfortable company in the arms of the Summer Lord. Rumours had spread that this… company had taken a turn for the sexual. Eris supposed this confirmed nothing, but it was a more than interesting reaction.

“We will begin the meeting without Summer.” Beron said, with a flick of his hand, scrolls filled with the delicate information of the magic of the Seasonal Courts appeared, laid across the table, “Let the meeting of the Seasonal Courts begin.”

Eye to eye, he couldn’t last a minute

But I stole his soul just to watch him finish

The sun had set by the time the meeting came to a close. Kallias felt like yawning, but he stopped himself. His fingers twirled a pencil in his hand and his white eyes flicked up to the male across from him. Tamlin’s eyes were lost on the page he was holding, eyes flicking over the words with a deep concentration Kallias lost half an hour ago.

Beron was reading over something to the room. The Vanserra brothers present down the table nodded along. All jotting down the odd note, this was just the first day, just an outline of what needed to be covered. Lucien and Tamlin continued to work with each other like they were connected by invisible strings. One picked up a paper, one put one down, one jotted down a note before passing the pen to the other. They read scrolls before passing them along.

It was intriguing to see just how well they worked. How they seemed to not just thrive together, but depended on each other to work properly at all.

Beron’s eyes trailed across the room, then they landed on Tamlin. The amber pressing into the pale skin of the Spring Lord. Tamlin didn’t notice the blazing gaze on him as he was too caught in the paperwork at his fingertips. But Lucien looked up, if Kallias wasn’t mistaken, his lips nearly pulled back into a snarl.

Beron saw the twitch in his face. Kallias almost leaned closer. To see the flaming amber, matching that of his son’s. Power thrummed through the room. Kallias shifted, his own magic flaring at it. An automatic response.

Tamlin now lifted his eyes as he too felt the sudden shift in energy. The brothers all glanced around as power began to throb, like a heartbeat beginning to quicken its pace until its pounding was all you could feel in your body.

Beron’s eyes swirled like fire in a pool. He dragged that burning gaze to Kallias, and Kallias swallowed hard. Blue frost began to creep over his skin, delicate as spiderwebs, but reaching its roots deep into his flesh like a mushroom spreading its spores.

“I suppose that brings day one to a close.” Beron murmured. Breaking the spell of power that had washed over the High lords.

Eris cleared his throat from the other end of the table. Tamlin looked over towards him, as Lucien dragged his eyes to Kallias. The Winter Lord leaned back in his chair, regarding the emissary with little emotion. Lucien seemed to peer behind the cold mask, as if he were drawing a curtain back ever so slightly to gaze upon what was behind it.

Kallias shut him out with a hardening of his face before he raised himself from the table, overlooking the Lords gathered, “I assume we have been provided with quarters, Beron?”

Beron raised an eyebrow, eyes turning from burning amber to a mellow hazel, he gestured to the door and as if on cue, a maid walked through, “You shall be escorted, Lord Kallias.”

Kallias nodded tightly, as he did, Tamlin and Lucien stood from their seats, Tamlin murmured his thanks to Beron for hosting, then the three followed the maid from the meeting room. Leaving Beron Vanserra with his four dangerous sons.

As the meeting doors shut, their silence grew thicker. The three followed the High Fae maid through the winding hallways and dowing curling staircases.

Lucien’s posture slackened ever so slightly, his gaze tipping from one spot to the other, walking with leisure. Kallias supposed this place had once been his home, so he knew the halls like the back of his hand.

The Fox leaned in and whispered something into his High lord’s ear. Tamlin stifled a laugh by biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Magic seemed to crackle and pop in the air as the Winter Lord watched with fascination as those sharp teeth dug into the plush, rosy flesh.

Tamlin whispered something back, as he did, Lucien’s face began to flush red, then his eyes…

Kallias straightened his back as Lucien’s eyes flicked to him, just for a moment. A second held in the air, dangling between them like fire reaching out from the borders of Autumn and lingering on the cold snow. Those eyes held the same burning flame that had been there in the meeting room earlier.

Lucien quickly snapped his gaze back to Tamlin and whispered something in a low voice. Kallias found himself straining to listen, frost again creeping up his hands, now at his elbows, covering his forearms in spidering blue.

Tamlin laughed and Kallias ever so quickly glanced to see the Spring Lord’s face was now red as Lucien’s.

They finally made it to a hallway, Kallias spotted two doors, the maid first led Lucien and Tamlin to the first room. They both thanked her as she opened the door, then they looked over at Kallias. Tamlin smiled kindly and said, “Pleasure to meet with you once more, Kallias.”

The way he murmured his name, in a soft, respectful tone. A stark difference to the near child-like way he had been whispering with Lucien earlier. Kallias felt a shiver run down his spine, he straightened once again and bowed his head ever so slightly, “The pleasure was all mine Lord Spring, and Lord Lucien.”

“Please, Kallias,” Lucien said, with a daring smirk, “It’s Tamlin and Lucien.”

Kallias’ eyes nearly went wide, he looked quickly to Tamlin, expecting swift correction on the Lord’s part, for Lucien daring to speak for the High lord.

Instead Tamlin just grinned and turned into the room. Lucien right behind him.

When the door shut, Kallias felt the click echoing through the halls in his very bones.

He must’ve been staring at the door, for the maid had to clap her hands for the Winter Lord to remember he was being escorted somewhere. Quickly he moved towards his room. Right beside Tamlin and Lucien’s.

When he walked past the threshold of his room. All he could think about was the idea of Tamlin and Lucien shrugging off those suffocating jackets and tunics. Maybe their shirts sticking ever so slightly to their too hot skin. Long, lithe fingers moving to the buttons before unclipping each buckle one by one. Eventually sliding the fabric off their chests and shoulders-

Kallias smacked the side of his head, quickly shaking off the thoughts and replacing them by turning to a large dark oak drawer set with a platter of cheese and fruits, a glass with a bottle of red.

The Winter Lord poured himself a glass before finding a large, plush chair by the crackling fire. After drinking half the glass in two gulps, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Smiling as he pulled on the mating bond and felt the joy of his mate.

Now he’s putty in my hands, hedonistic

Graffitied down with my lipstick

“I mean Viviane didn’t choose wrong is all I’m saying.” Lucien laughed as he shrugged off his jacket. He looked over his shoulder to see Tamlin blushing from Lucien’s earlier comments still. He smirked, but the anxiety no doubt coursing through him was still present.

“How can someone look so powerful but…” Tamlin cursed, snapping his finger, he mumbled something in his native tongue before asking, “What’s the word?”

“Pretty?” Lucien lifted an eyebrow.

“No… uh, ethereal!” Tamlin said, a quick victory snap of his fingers before a dreamy look cast over his eyes, “Ethereal.”

Lucien shrugged, “Same same.”

“No, pretty is Albus Vanserra.” Tamlin smirked, “Your brother is very pretty-”

Lucien threw a pillow at him, Tamlin laughed as he let it flop to the ground before taking off his own jacket and beginning to unclasp his waistcoat. Lucien followed suit, peeling away the layers of his form-fitting wear. Until he was bare to the night’s air, warmed by the fireplace.

Lucien and Tamlin flopped onto the bed, kicking off their boots and turning over to stare at the ceiling.

As the silence weighed in, the night’s crushing quiet blanketed them in the events of the day. Lucien finally broached the subject he had been distracting Tamlin from with less than innocent comments about Kallias and playful teasing.

“Tarquin’s mother-”

“He didn’t tell me.” Tamlin whispered in a small voice.

Lucien quickly took Tamlin’s hand in his own. Tarquin and Tamlin had been developing their friendship over the past months. What started as a potential alliance between Courts had turned into a friendship, and if what Tamlin had said was true, they were beginning to broach into something more than just friends.

Lucien felt a stab of writhing jealousy everytime he watched Tamlin give Tarquin those big bright eyes, but he ignored it in favour of being happy seeing his friend happy.

“I know we aren’t… together but I-... is it stupid that I want him to tell me when things like this are happening to him? I mean I-I’ve met his mother and she’s such a lovely person, I don’t want to be blind-sided when I hear of this kind of thing. Least of all I want to hear it from Beron.”

Lucien felt shimmering rage at the mere mention of his name.

The eyes of amber and liquid fire were reflected in Lucien’s own as Beron turned his gaze on Tamlin. Not looking at his face, but rather the milky skin of his neck. Burning gaze branding a mark on each freckle, mapping him like a good view from the window.

Lucien had caught the eyes of his father and nearly snarled. Nearly growled. He had to swallow the sound as magic writhed under his skin, ready to burst through every pore until he turned into power itself.

Tamlin hadn’t noticed the silent battle that occurred, if one could call it that. Lucien felt like he was losing that battle. Like a soldier with their armour dinged and bloody before a King lounging untouched on his throne. Regarding him with nothing but an amused grin before his eyes turned back to the one Lucien tried to protect.

Nothing could be done to stop the magic that erupted in that room. Capturing everyone in the spell of power. Brom near him had twitched, eyes moving quickly over everyone. Albus had glared right at Lucien as if he were to blame for the sudden eruption. And Eris had tensed and looked to Silas who quickly scanned the three High lords.

Lucien had looked up to see Kallias breathing harshly through his nose. Near shivering from the magic that called directly for his own.

This meeting was more than a meeting.

Lucien hadn’t ever been to one, but he felt it. The need for restoration of magic. Each High lord’s power beckoned for its sister Court. Like a siren lounging lazily on a sun-baked rock and hollering for men on ships to join her in the water.

Lucien felt like an outsider, at the same time he had writhed at it, as fire leapt in his veins. Boiling him from the inside out. He knew the others felt the same.

“What do I do?” Tamlin asked, breaking Lucien from his spell.

Lucien squeezed his hand, “Maybe he’s still shocked, Tam. It could’ve happened recently and he had to give the reason to Beron to explain his absence.”

Tamlin released a breath, then turned his head on the pillow to face Lucien, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“I’m just worried about him. I… I don’t want him to be facing this alone.” Tamlin whispered into the space between them.

Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his and squeezed, “He’s lucky to have you.”

Tamlin scoffed, Lucien just squeezed his hand again. Tamlin smiled at him, then looked down at his collarbone, “I don’t know about that.”

Lucien leaned forward until his forehead was pressing against Tamlin’s, “I know that, more than you think.”

Tamlin playfully shoved him away, but Lucien didn’t miss the way the High lord’s face burned red, “Sap.”

They laughed then fell into the routine of undressing and redressing for bed. Washing up, showering, possibly getting distracted with a game of tossing cheese across the room and seeing if the other could catch it in their mouths.

Eventually they were drawing the curtains and snuffing out the Faelights, with only the embers of the fire to light the room they wrapped themselves in the duvet. Tamlin shivered before huddling closer to Lucien. Lucien, despite usually running hot himself, pulled Tamlin in close. Holding him tightly, until rain and roses was all he could smell. His face was buried in blond curls that he could barely see in the dark. Calloused hands twisted in the back of his silk shirt. The tip of his nose burying in the crook of Lucien’s neck.

They pushed and writhed against each other as they settled themselves. It was all Lucien could do to not lose himself to the scents, the hands, the hair, the lips pressing against the exposed skin just beneath the bones of his neck.

Tamlin settled himself with a leg thrown over Lucien’s hip, pulling him closer in a half asleep daze. The blond murmured in a sleep-ridden voice, “I’m so glad you’re with me again.”

“Me too, Tam.” Lucien whispered into the night, “Me too.”

***

Eris didn’t know how to feel as he recovered from the onslaught of magic that had just assaulted his body. He turned to his other brothers who had been thrown from their own rhythms. Looking to the eldest for answers. Eris had none to give.

Beron watched them. Eyes still blazing with amber. Swirling like wine in a glass. He tracked each of them. The brothers held their breath. Preparing for anything that might be thrown to them. A punishment, screaming, yelling, rage and anger.

Yet the High lord just leaned back into his chair, his lips curling into something that was too wicked and cruel to be a smile, but not at all what they expected. The Vanserra brothers all shared a quick glance, their eyes no longer burning with the heart of Autumn. Rather they kept their eyes low, their heads bowed respectfully.

The next words out of Beron’s mouth were ones no one could predict, “Well done, boys. You may depart.”

Albus’ eyes widened by a fraction, he looked towards Eris, cocking his head in Beron’s direction, as if saying, ‘Is he being serious?”

Eris adjusted himself in his seat, “Father, is there anything else to discuss before we depart?”

Beron planted both forearms onto the table, eyes glazing over them. Wicked grin growing, “Perhaps there is but one thing.”

The brother’s strained to listen, the slight pause making them curl their toes in anxiety. Eris’s skin pricked under the heavy, judging gaze of his father.

Beron appeared to consider his next words before he tilted his head, a cat toying with its food, “After a second consideration, you will find out later tonight. All of you, return to your quarters.”

A breath was held, gazes were met, heads were lowered in a bow. Eris rose to his feet, followed silently by his brothers. The burning gazes returned. Power rippled through the Forest House as the High lord’s power drummed through it’s chosen High lord, and reached out to the next generation.

Eris shivered, he couldn’t help it, but he bowed his head with a murmured thanks to the High lord. Turning on his heels he strode for the door, arms tense at his sides. All magic felt useless in the stifling air. Like he was breathing in ash, desperate for oxygen.

He heard the footsteps of his brothers. They should sound like a single heartbeat falling into one, instead their steps faltered. The dull thuds sounding like metal clashing to the ground for Eris. Weakness. Easy to spot, easy to prey on.

They walked to their quarter in the Forest House. Close to each other. And close to the guests now in the House.

“That was…” Albus started.

Eris shook his head, teeth grinding, “Leave it, Albus.”

The Autumn Heir looked ahead, but he could feel the eyes of his brothers, all glancing at each other. Determining their next move.

“Did anyone else feel that… power?” Silas asked. He asked the group, but Eris knew the question was directed at him. Solely at him. They had all felt the glimmer of power.

Eris had thought it was a fear tactic from Beron. But when he had looked at Beron, then Tamlin and Kallias…

There was no fear, only a strange curiosity, as their magic responded to one another.

“I fear…” Brom said, in a low, resounding voice, “That this meeting is more than just discussing the magic.”

Eris stopped, his brothers breaked instantly.

Whipping around, the Heir’s eyes glowed with a deep amber, fire swirling in honey, “What does that mean, Brom?”

Brom didn’t falter, not for a second. He lifted his head ever so slightly, “Spring is still recovering. Amarantha threw the magic off when she enslaved us. The power of the Seasonal Courts I fear will…”

“Spit it out, brother.” Eris advanced forward. Brom was taller, much taller, but Eris still managed to glared down at him.

“I fear it will demand regeneration.”

Eris blinked, for once, taken by surprise. It lasted mere seconds. Fire returning to his eyes, he took hold of his brother’s chin.

“What does that mean?”

“The magic will want to interact with its sister magic to regenerate itself. Call it magic fertilisation.” Brom shrugged, holding eye contact with his eldest brother.

Albus put a hand on his hips, head falling to the side, “What does magical fertilisation entail?”

“Well little brother, you know of Calanmai, do you not?” Brom pulled away from Eris’ burning hand, rolling his head over his shoulders to smirk at the second-youngest Vanserra.

Albus scrunched up his nose, thinking back on the sex rite and what it meant. The fertilisation of magic in the Spring Court.

Then horror washed over the group. Lapping at their edges like the sea licking the shoreline. It curled low in the pits of their stomachs as the wide, orange eyes all fell on Brom’s face.

No one said a word as the implications of what Brom had said sunk in. Brom just shrugged.

“We’d best sleep. Perhaps, if we’re lucky, I’m incredibly incorrect.”

“And if you’re not.” Silas murmured in a tight, tense voice.

“Then we are going to need that rest.”

Red shade on his neck, artistic

A bit of class, but I kept it cryptic

For round two, a bit of juice and biscuits

With a french tongue, called him the cunni-linguist

It started at three in the morning.

A flush spread up his skin, slowly but surely overtaking him. Tamlin groaned into the hard thing his face was pressed against. When he blinked his bleary eyes open, his hands began to regain their feeling. He arched his back, curving his spine as he drew in a breath.

Settling against the weight in front of him, he realised what his arms were wrapped around was in fact a person. And his face was pressed against a chest. A very, very hot chest.

He stilled, body freezing, unable to process anything until Lucien took a shuddering breath. Skin heating. Getting hotter and hotter underneath Tamlin’s arms.

Tamlin went to pull away, to get his hands, his chest, his leg which was slung over Lucien’s waist off, of the Fire lord. But he couldn’t move. Not even his unfaithful tongue would pick up from its place behind his teeth.

Lucien moaned, it was a soft, gentle sound that would’ve been lost to night if there was even the slightest of sounds. But there was not, and Tamlin found himself drowning in the breathy whimper that followed.

All blood began to rush. Veins expanding, heart pounding, a ringing in his ears drowned out anything else.

Then Lucien was too hot. His skin scalding, beads of sweat dripping from his face and down his neck. Spilling across the fabric beneath them. There was heat and heat and heat.

Burning, burning, burning. He was burning, everything was throbbing, and he couldn’t fucking move. Like something was chaining him there against his will. Like something wouldn’t allow him to leave this moment. To cool down.

Nothing, like ropes had been tied around them. Tamlin closed his eyes, breaths beginning to come out in quick, rough pants as the burning spread through his body. Boiling his blood from the inside out.

“Fuck.” Lucien murmured under his breath, still locked in whatever dream had affected him this way.

Then something thick and hard pressed against Tamlin’s thigh and the whole world zeroed into the feeling.

Finally Tamlin could move. He sat up with a gasp, throat screaming for water. Ears ringing. Vision blurry and muscles slow and sore. His arms, head, legs all throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Lucien gasped into the pillow beneath him. Quickly getting up on his elbows. With a snap the fire was lit and Tamlin was staring down at Lucien, with Lucien staring up at him. Sweat still dripped from his neck, falling in clear pearls underneath his sleep shirt. Eyes wide-blown, his chest heaved as he stared at Tamlin, who didn’t feel like he looked much better. A strand of blond hair stuck to the side of his face. There was a sticky feeling all over his body. His knees shook underneath him.

And. Everything. Was. Fucking. Burning.

His skin heated to immeasurable temperatures. Body pulsating. His fingers twitched. And nothing could put off the fever overtaking him.

Tamlin shuffled back away from Lucien. And Lucien quickly darted up. As if forced forward by an invisible string. Tamlin nearly reeled back but managed to keep himself right, only a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

Lucien was panting. Sweat dripping like blood onto the bed.

“Fuck.” He croaked hoarsely. And Tamlin’s eyes, the traitors eyes, they travelled below the heaving expanse of his chest.

He nearly snapped into a too sharp breath again. Lucien’s bulge pressed against dark red silk. Dribbles of precum already soaking the fabric. As quickly as Tamlin’s eyes snapped back up, Lucien still noticed the quick dart of his eyes.

Lucien swayed, face too pale, body quivering with the intensity of his hard-on, “Tam, fuck I…”

“You need water.” Tamlin said suddenly.

Lucien blinked, then he licked his dry lips, coating the soft flesh in a soft shine. Tamlin pressed his thighs together.

“Yeah.” Lucien conceded.

Tamlin didn’t waste another precious moment, gathering the shreds of his strength. Tamlin slipped away from the comfort of the bed. His thighs sticking together from sweat collected between them. He swallowed hard.

“I’ll be right back.” Tamlin told Lucien, then with a quick glance over his shoulder, he fled from the room.

The door clicked shut behind him. And Tamlin felt stuck in his skin. Like he was moving in the haze of a dream, he could barely see the world around him as it swirled like wine in a glass. The floor was miles away and his head was turning blurry.

He felt drunk, but not the pleasurable kind. The kind when you woke up in the morning with your head caught between the dazed world of not being able to think but bordering on the headache sure to come.

He hadn’t realised he was running until he tripped over his own feet and collapsed to the ground.

Tamlin cried out as his knees hit stone, cold and rough. Then he slipped even further and fell down what in hindsight were stairs.

He dug his fingertips into the wall beside him, fingers giving way to blood. He still fell, until he eventually hit flat ground again. He fell flat down on his back. Staring up at a swirling ceiling.

Even with the pain in his legs, back and pounding on his fingertips, it only served to disorient his mind even further, now the pounding of his body focused on one spot. Right between his legs, his cock pounded. Precum already dripping from the tip.

Tamlin moaned, breathing was hard, like there was a weight on his chest, something strangling his heart and forcing all blood to remain directed to his groin. Making him light-headed and thinking so hard.

“I was hoping you would be the first to find here.” A wicked voice crooned from the room. Wrapping Tamlin in a haze of undeniable pleasure.

He whined.

Then shot up as he realised he was not alone.

Around him was just swirling darkness. So thick he could taste the cold on his tongue. Pain, sharp and undeniable, shot up from the space between his legs and Tamlin swallowed a sob at the unattended hardness.

A snap reverberated through the room, through his bones like fiddle strings being plucked. A soft light spilled into his vision.

A torch had been lit. Tamlin looked around and realised where he was.

Some kind of a dungeon. Chains, swords and other very sharp and polished weapons hung from the walls. It looked unused, as not a stain marred the floors.

Tamlin could still barely see past the swirls of his vision. Then that deliciously powerful voice, deep and certain, resounded again, “Look here, Spring.”

Green irises followed the voice, until they landed on the source.

The swirling stilled as Beron Vanserra came into his vision, he smirked from a throne-like chair in the centre of the room, it was made with soft red velvet, the dark wood carved with intricate details.

Tamlin let out a small shriek when he saw that the High lord of Autumn wore not a stitch of clothing.

Beron’s smirk grew, he placed an elbow on the armrest of the chair, while supporting his head in his hand.

Tamlin looked back, trying to find the exit, but the second his eyes came off the High lord his vision went blurry once again. He tried to get to his feet but he fell back down to the floor, sprawling across the hard, cruel stone. His cock throbbed again and Tamlin swallowed a whimper, tears springing from the corners of his eyes from sheer need.

“The seasonal magic demands rejuvenation, Spring. You would know that.” Beron spoke. His voice the only clear thing in Tamlin’s head.

When Tamlin focused on the High lord, everything began to still. Rejuvenation?

The Spring Lord slowly pulled himself to sit up, knees bent around him, hand reaching out on the stone. His eyes found Beron again, the Autumn Lord laughed, a dark, low sound that caused Tamlin’s whole body to shake.

Beron relaxed back into the throne, his abs tightening as he moved. Tamlin watched the wide expanse of chest lift and fall under his breathing. Breathing that was tightly controlled, but not even Beron could hide the slight shudder.

And when Tamlin looked lower, curse him for ever looking lower, he saw Beron hard and dripping.

An involuntary sound nearly left his throat. Tamlin had to bite his tongue until it bled in his mouth.

Beron snapped his fingers and Tamlin snapped his gaze up to find the High lord glaring ever so slightly. Tamlin wanted to reach a hand between his legs and finally relieve some of the pressure building up but his hands felt like they were chained to the floor.

“Stay with me, Spring.” Beron said in a slow voice.

Tamlin’s whole body trembled again, twitching against his will.

“Rejuvenation of the magic. Our power is calling, demanding, for its sister.” He leaned back, eyes amused as he watched Tamlin writhe on the floor as his dazed mind tried to make sense of his words.

“You can leave, and writhe with your own want and need for the rest of the week.” Beron said the words painfully slowly, “Or you can stay, and find pleasure unparalleled.”

What?

Tamlin’s toes curled as another wave of throbbing overtook him. His eyes nearly rolled back and he tried to put a hand on his dick, but they refused to listen, like they heeded another master now.

Pleasure unparalleled.

Any pleasure right now sounded better than the pain crying out from his body.

“I…” The rest of his words were lost to the agonising buildup in his core. Threatening to overflow into intense pain.

Beron snapped his fingers once more, and like a deer being spooked, Tamlin’s eyes shot back up to him. Every fibre of his being zeroed into the sound.

“Pick, Spring. Pleasure or agony.” Beron lounged back into the throne and smirked like he already knew the answer.

He did. By the throne, the lack of clothing, the pristine dungeon, this was planned. Carefully calculated. Tamlin was prey caught in a trap, a trap of spiralling pleasure that wound tightly in his belly until the burning was melting his insides.

He needed relief. Fuck, he needed pleasure.

He needed that long, hard cock sitting in between Beron’s legs.

Tamlin tried to move his tongue to speak, but even moving was near impossible. Everything swirled and spiralled and he felt like he was going to faint.

“Gods.” Beron murmured, “Stay with me Spring.”

Tamlin swayed, breathing now harsh, hoarse pants, but he looked back up at Beron. Eyes wide and wanting, continuously flicking down to the cock bobbing under Beron’s slight movements. Hoping he wouldn’t have to speak for Beron to know what he meant.

It seemed the High lord of Autumn already knew how this night would play out.

He grinned, it was full of that fiery wickedness that Tamlin had grown to hate, to loathe.

Beron lifted a finger in a beckoning motion, “Come here, Spring.”

The burning started again. An intense all over flush that made his skin bright red. Tamlin wanted, needed, to rip his clothes off, feel the cool air on his skin. But for a moment in time, all his thoughts went to the throne before him. The feet resting on the ground.

Tamlin crawled to Beron. Unable to do anything else.

The stone scraped his skin, the bleeding from his fingertips had not stopped, red stained the floor underneath him. His skin throbbed and burned. He felt like screaming from the sheer need to release at least a drop of the pent up energy only growing in him.

Far too soon, or not soon enough, Tamlin was kneeling before Beron. He stared at the cock now stationed before him, hands falling atop the soft, pale skin of his thighs. Refusing to look up, refusing to meet the eyes of the male that had just made him crawl.

He had crawled for Beron fucking Vanserra.

If the burning before had been pleasure, it began to wash out, replaced by shame and guilt.

Lucien was still in their room.

Lucien who had been burning.

And hard as a rock.

His eyes widened a touch as realisation dawned over him.

Lucien too had felt the effects of the seasonal magic, the need for regeneration, for rejuvenation.

“Look at me.”

Tamlin felt his body begin to shake again, as everything begged him to look up. To do as told. As ordered. Like he was something that could be ordered about.

“Spring.” Beron’s voice was low and cruel. Demeaning.

Tamlin growled, a low raspy sound.

It only earned him Beron grabbing his chin between his fingers and forcing his head up. Tamlin’s memory snapped back to the day of the War, when he had ordered Beron bring his armies out, when those same rough fingers had grabbed his skin.

“Obey, when I give you an order.” Beron murmured. His voice was like a caressing hand after a slap to the face, a soothing ice to the fire. Something disgustingly caring after brutality.

Burning. He was burning and he thought it would never end. This was how he went, with a throbbing cock and his blood boiling his body until it fell off his bones.

Beron’s hand dragged down his chin, then wrapped around the long column of throat. Tamlin breathed in deeply. Lungs dragging in air. Animalistic instinct shot through the pit of his gut, telling him to run, to get away from the danger, the predator with its hand around his neck.

Like he truly was prey caught in a cage.

The Spring Lord wanted to demand Beron release him, just to get some control, just to be able to say he fought back.

But he could say nothing, for that by hand released his neck. It was like honey torn from starving bees, Tamlin gasped for air and found his body begging for that hand to return.

The Autumn Lord fisted Tamlin’s long curls in his hand, pulling so roughly Tamlin’s scalp burned like the rest of him, he hissed in pain, but the sound was short-lived, as Beron shoved his cock down the younger’s throat, making Tamlin gag around the shaft.

The Spring Lord panicked for a moment, eyes going wide and lungs tightening as all the breath left them, they squeezed with the need for more. His throat tightened, and he gagged again. Beron shoved him down deeper, Tamlin sobbed.

“Breathe through your nose.” Beron ordered.

His body was burning, lungs screaming for air, squeezing in his chest. Whilst his mind begged for some kind of control over the situation, hating the vulnerability in the hands of a male so cruel.

But he heeded the command. Forcing himself to take shallow breaths until his breathing evened out as much as it could. Beron held him in place, waiting just a moment whilst he got his bearings.

Tamlin lifted glistening green eyes to the male and saw wicked eyes grinning down at him. Beron, without warning, fucked up into his mouth, shoving Tamlin down further until his nose brushed the hair at the base of his dick.

The Spring Lord nearly gagged again, but he forced his throat to relax, as the Autumn Lord began to fuck into his mouth, pulling his head up and down in time with his thrusts.

The burning was pooling, leaving his arms and chest and centering around the coil in his belly. Until it was no longer an unfamiliar feeling. Rather, one he knew well from hundreds of Calamnais. Although he had never felt this way whilst pliable under the heavy gaze and rough hands of a male, certainly not a male like Beron.

Slowly, like lazy waves drifting along the shoreline, uncertainty gave way to pleasure. It edged his vision, and made his mind fuzzy. Slowly his thinking descended into a spiral of nothing but the stone his knees dug into, the burning in his core, and the cock in his mouth.

Tamlin moaned, head starting to bob without Beron’s guiding hand, falling into the rhythm and the obscene sounds of his throat being fucked.

“Yes that’s it.” Beron groaned, “Move your head like that, well done.”

Tamlin whined, a high sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. Sucking hard, his cheeks hollowed out, sliding up and down, silky skin thrusting slowly in and out of his throat. Waves of heat washed over him again and again, barrelling through his body as the coil in his belly got tighter and tighter. He grasped Beron’s thighs, desperate for something to keep him connected to the world around him.

“Good boy,” The male above him hissed lowly as his head tipped back, hand tightening in his hair. Tamlin groaned as his eyes rolled back, hips underneath him jutted up, suddenly thrusting into his mouth once more. Pushing his head down, Beron kept him from moving, the head of his cock in the back of his throat. Tamlin gagged, but managed to keep himself composed; or as much as he could in the face of what was happening.

Beron’s thrusts picked up, rocking inside him quicker and quicker, before his body tensed. Muscles going rigid, the cold, cruel High lord’s breaths, normal level with each intentional movement, had turned ragged. The magic flooding his senses cried out at each desperate pant.

Then, Beron readjusted his fingers in Tamlin’s hair, and roughly yanked him off his cock. The High lord of Spring, reduced to something like a rutting, desperate slut whined, voice gone strangely high-pitched.

Tightening his grip, Beron murmured in that harshly aroused, commanding voice, “Swallow everything.”

His eyes had gone blurry once more, he couldn’t focus on a single thing around him. One of his hands seemed to move on its own, moved by an apparition. Grasping the hard, throbbing cock before him, jerking it quickly, the slide made easier by the spit that had drooled down it. He whimpered again, heart pounding in its cage.

Then stinging pain splintered across his face, as the sound of a hard slap to the side of his face echoed in the otherwise empty dungeon.

“Do you understand me?” Beron hissed, his fingers gently tracing the red print he left across pale skin.

“Yes,” Tamlin gasped out, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Beron’s smile was feline as he forced Tamlin back down onto his dick. As if possessed by Calanmai magic, Tamlin’s entire mind went utterly blank as he sucked with twice the enthusiasm as before. The heat was transcending, like burning up in a furnace. Everything was getting tighter and tighter, his whole body shaking. Zeroing in on one end.

A delicious groan left Beron as his head tipped back once more, fucking up into Tamlin’s mouth as he sucked, those hands suddenly pulling his hair again as the Autumn Lord came down his throat.

Tamlin obediently swallowed, the hot salty come in his mouth dripping down his lips as he slowly pulled off Beron’s softening cock. Tongue darting out, his tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salt-sweet liquid, before trailing his lips down, sucking up the excess.

Beron swallowed hard, “Good boy.”

Tamlin’s eyes fell closed as his head rested on the Lord’s knee as Beron’s hand petted his hair softly. Touching him with the tenderness of a lover. It caused something inside him to purr in content, but his own arousal could not be put far from mind.

24 notes · View notes