#vassa's wardrobe

[briaberri]

Vassa the Fire Queen fantasy wardrobe: Cursed, Triumphant, Witty, Haunted, Just.

I appreciate that Elain's empathetic subconscious began seeking out this human before she even understood that she herself was a Seer. She referenced the queen with feathers of flame as one who was changed, "as I was." Elain will fight for Vassa's freedom, allied with Lucien, because they believe in the worth of agency, choice, and love.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Caged In (part 2)

Part 1

Day 2: Style

Summary: Lucien has some really amazing fashion sense, and his newly made friend is very interested in his wardrobe.

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A/n: because many of you were asking about a part 2, it gave me the idea to do the whole week in this series. I'll try my best to make a part for everyday now ❣️ this is not much, but I'm trying and simply having some fun 😉

Also, I don't think the fic really fits much into the prompt, but it's alright. Right? Anyways, I decided I wanted to see him in clothes that are not green or red, so...

So here is my second contribution to @lucienweekofficial 🫶

(I don't really like this, but anyways. I wrote this in 1‐2 hours, what am I even expecting. Maybe I'll like tomorrow's more?)

Enjoy!

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Y/n watched intently as Lucien and Jurian bickered over who would cut the wood for the fire and who would go into the market to get the items necessary for the night's dinner.

They had been at it for quite some time, and because she was bored, she had gotten herself a cup of tea and settled down to watch the two of them.

It had been one month since that night, since Lucien had helped her flee the night court, and she was surprised no one from the inner circle had arrived to search for her. Sure, she had received countless letters and notes from Rhys and Cassian, demanding to know where she was and that she return home.

She wouldn't do that anytime soon.

She had only left a note that said, I'm tired of your overprotective tendencies before she left.

Cassian had always been overprotective over her, since the moment he found her hiding in her mother's skirts and staring at him and the other males of the camp, just before they had pulled her mother away and slaughtered her.

After Cassian had been born, the males of the camp had taken him from his mother, ready to kill her. But before they could, she had sneaked away and ran. After days of running, she ran into a fae man, who gaslit her into believing they were in love and raped her, hence making her pregnant with Y/n.

Because Y/n's father was not an Illyrian, Y/n was only half Illyrian, and that meant she could make her wings vanish, just like Rhys.

After Nyx's birth, she and Cassian had visited an Illyrian camp due to some unrest having arisen. The men there were too pissed that a female was trying to command them, one of them even daring to get into her space and rant about how he would do unimaginable things to her and she would soon die.

And Cassian had taken him a little too seriously, confining Y/n to the river house hoping that she'll be safe.

But in the process, he had caged her in.

The sound of Jurian's cheers brought Y/n out of her thoughts, and she looked up from her cup of tea.

Jurian grinned as he flounced up to Y/n, ruffling her hair on the way in. She swatted him away and he chuckled.

"So? He's going to the market?"

Lucien grumbled out an affirmation, starting to walk away towards the forest nearby. Y/n contemplated staying or following Lucien. If she stayed, she'd die of boredom untill Vassa arrived. If she followed, she could get some entertainment by irritating Lucien.

Making her decision, she shoved her empty cup into Jurian's chest, who was on his way out. She kissed his cheek in apology, sprinting to catch up to Lucien.

"Hello again."

"Why are you following me–"

"The weather seems really good today, don't you think?"

He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing before he sighed. "I don't know."

She grinned, bumping his shoulder with her own. Or atleast she tried to, her shoulder barely reaching his.

He shook his head, entering the clearing where he would chop the firewood in. She trotted to a nearby tree with huge roots where she took a seat, watching him.

He was wearing one of his beautifully made tunics today, the first three buttons undone. It was black colored, an unusual color to see him in. But it suited him nonetheless, maybe even more than his normal colours.

His breeches were light grey, bordering on white. They hugged his legs perfectly, leaving very little to the imagination. The powerful muscles in his thighs rippled lightly as he stalked around the clearing, gathering wood to chop.

She simply watched him, taking note of the elegance and grace in his every step and movement.

Soon he had gathered the amount of wood he deemed fit, and he got ready to begin chopping them up into smaller bits. He pulled out a strip of leather from his pocket, and pulled his long hair back, tying it off in a neat knot at the base of his neck. He then proceeded to fold his sleeves up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing, the rings on his fingers glinting in the dying rays of the sun.

Y/n's mouth dried.

But she wasn't one to blame when a male like Lucien was doing things like that in front of her.

He lifted the axe, bending a little to chop into the wood. The necklaces he wore dangled in front of his chest, making him look all the more... delicious.

Delicious?!? What the hell?

She watched him, all the muscles in his body rippling. She wanted to go up to him, and pull his–

No. She didn't want anything. She couldn't want anything.

A small smirk formed on his lips, and Y/n knew she had been caught.

"You know, it's a little rude to stare, my lady."

She swallowed, trying to get her tongue off the roof of her mouth as he lifted the small axe, bringing it down on the wood again. There was something she had been wanting to ask him.

"You know, I was wondering if I could see your wardrobe."

He paused, axe suspended in the air as he half turned to her.

"What?"

"I said–"

"I heard what you said. My lady."

She flushed. "Oh."

After a few moments, he spoke again. "Why do you want to see my clothes?"

"Um... I wanted to... see if there was something I wanted to steal from your clothes."

He blinked. "Why... why would you want to do that?"

"Because I think you have really amazing clothes and... you have a good style."

He smirked. "Is that so?"

She groaned, throwing her hair back.

"Are you going to let me have a shirt of yours or not?"

"Why do you want one?" He asked, turning his focus back to chopping the wood.

"Because I want to wear something good for tonight because Vassa is taking me to dinner tonight."

Lucien's brows Rose, but he didn't stop. "And why is she taking you out?"

"Because the both of us are tired of you males and we both deserve a day off. You can babysit Jurian for one night, can you not?"

Lucien laughed, the sound sending the butterflies in Y/n's stomach into a panic.

"And you don't have a tunic you can wear outside?"

"I don't like mine. They are very simple, and Vassa will kill me if I wore something like that."

Lucien sighed. "I guess you will not leave me alone unless I let you have my shirts?"

"You might be right."

"Well then, you can take a look, when we get back."

Y/n squealed. "Thank you Lucien!"

He smiled.

And so began Y/n's harmless little crush on Lucien.

Little did she know it was not, in fact, just a harmless little crush.

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Part 3

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

[jsmelodies]

The Mystery of Lucien's Jackets

I’ve never written Elucien. Or omega verse. So really, this is an experience for everyone involved.

*****

When the first one goes missing, Lucien doesn’t think anything of it. He probably just misplaced it somewhere, and it’ll turn up sooner or later. Even though he rarely misplaces anything, keeping everything in an organized fashion, everyone loses something now and again.

So he goes on with his day.

But then the next day, another one disappears. And then another. It’s always the one he wore the day before, which makes no sense , because he doesn’t take them off until he gets to his bedroom anyway. And once they’re in his room, Lucien neatly hangs them up in his wardrobe.

It’s starting to make him go crazy. 

Feyre sees him pacing in the living room of the river house when she leaves for her art studio that morning, making no comment, and then again when she returns.

Apparently, seeing him like that twice is enough.

“Ok, Lucien. What is going on? You look like a caged animal.”

“My jackets keep disappearing. I came here with six of them, and now I’m down to three.”

“That’s odd,” Feyre says, her lips turning into a frown. “They’ve got to be around here somewhere. Hopefully we can find them before you leave.”

He agrees. It would be embarrassing to return to the mortal lands without half of his favorite jackets. Vassa and Jurian would tease him relentlessly, and he’d have to get fitted for new ones. 

The next day, another jacket is gone. Again, the one he wore the day before. Which is crazy, because he remembers with perfect clarity hanging it up on the hook by the door, determined not to lose another one. 

But when he returns to his room after lunch, the jacket, just like the others, is missing. 

This is getting out of hand. Someone has to be pulling some sort of prank on him. Cassian, probably. It’s definitely Cassian. 

The general’s been treating him more like a brother recently, playing small jokes on him whenever he comes to visit. Which is great, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. Any other prank he can handle, but not one that messes with his clothing. 

At dinner that night, he brings it up.

“I bet you think you’re really funny, don’t you?”

Cassian furrows his brows. “What?”

“I know stealing my jackets seems like a funny prank to you, but I’d really like them back, please.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassian asks. “That’s a terrible prank. A much better one would be to–”

Rhys clears his throat, cutting Cassian off. The two of them share a look before Cassian looks away shamefully.

“I think what Cassian was trying to say is that he doesn’t have them,” Rhys says.

“Well, then explain how four of my jackets have gone missing since I got here.”

“No one’s stealing your jackets, Lucien. That would be crazy,” Elain says from her spot at the table, a blush painting her cheeks. It’s the first time she’s spoken to him for his entire visit, and he’s a little surprised that she finally talks to him now.

“Four of them are missing– ”

“You should really be more careful with your belongings, then,” she says. “Don’t blame us because you lost them.”

The family hums their agreement as they return to their meal. And just like that, the conversation is over.

He can’t believe this. Do they really think he’s that careless?

Lucien watches Elain for the rest of dinner, suspicion lacing his expression. She answered his question quickly. A little bit too quickly, if you ask him. She keeps her eyes on her own plate, though, not piping into the conversation a second time, and pointedly not looking at him.

At the end of dinner, he still has no evidence to support anything, so Lucien decides to let it go.

That night he gets soap in his one good eye in the bathroom. It burns, and he can’t see, and Lucien just wants to get to his room so he can get it out and go to sleep. 

He grabs his clothing from the day and pulls his towel around his waist. Lucien goes by scent alone, blindly searching the hallway with his free hand until he finds the doorknob to the room that smells like him.

He shuts the door behind him, letting out a sigh, and walks to the mirror along the wall. 

As he gets the soap out of his eye, though, he realizes this isn’t his room. He knows this, because through the mirror, Lucien can see the bed of whoever does occupy it. Lucien makes his bed every morning, but here the blankets are thrown around haphazardly with flashes of color from what he assumes are pieces of clothing left behind.

Embarrassment floods through him. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder why the room smells like him, but he’s made a mistake, and he needs to leave before anyone realizes what he’s done.

He almost turns around to leave, until he sees it.

Is that his jacket?

He blinks a few more times, getting the last bit of soap out, and steps closer to the bed.

He picks up the jacket on the edge, the one he was wearing yesterday. His deep cobalt one. He frowns, then takes in the rest of the bed.

On the other side of the bed, right next to the pillow, is a jacket he hasn’t seen in almost three years. Not since…

Not since Elain came out of the Cauldron. He assumed she got rid of it since she never gave it back, but clearly she didn’t, because it’s sitting right there on the bed. 

Lucien brings the cobalt jacket to his nose. It still smells like him, though it’s faded from yesterday. A new scent springs forward, one of jasmine and honey that’s more fresh than his own. Elain . It’s her room that he accidentally stumbled into.

He looks at the bed again. And this time, he knows what it is. That golden thread in his chest tugs and tugs and tugs, wanting him to find his mate and drag her back to the perfect little nest that she built.

The nest that she likely started building the second he got here, filling it with his scent. Every single one of his missing jackets is here. She must be sneaking into his room to steal them when he’s not there. 

In addition to his jackets, it also looks like she stole a few of his shirts. Ones that he’s not particularly worried about, since he leaves them here when he goes back home anyway.

All of them are arranged meticulously, now that he thinks about it. At first he thought it disorganized, but upon further inspection, she was actually quite clever. She’s arranged them so there’s more of them by her pillow for when she sleeps, with others scattered around and buried into the bed to distribute his scent around.

He has to admit, it’s cute. Elain Archeron is an omega. His omega. Does she even know?

Oh, Elain. The poor thing probably made the nest without even knowing what she was doing. Probably couldn’t help herself. He’s a little sad that she isn’t here, and he can’t see her reaction to his discovery.

She’ll probably be embarrassed, given her reaction at dinner. He wants to see the red flush her face once more as she begrudgingly admits what his scent does to her.

What her alpha’s scent does to her.

He wants to see that flush as he makes her come again and again, on the nest she made for him .

He places the cobalt jacket back on the bed and takes the first one that she stole, intent on putting his scent back on it. He won’t be cruel, though, stealing this from her without giving something in return. He leaves the shirt he was wearing on the edge of the bed for her to arrange however she pleases. Something with his fresh scent on it, just for her.

Lucien smiles. Poor little omega. She has no idea what she’s started.

[darling-archeron]

Happy Holidays to @charliespringsleftconverse!! I had so much fun writing this fic for @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you better. You said you were having a bit of a rough year, and I hope this fic can help a tiny bit! Thank you for being so patient, I hope the wait will have been worth it. This fic will be divided into four chapters, with updates on Tuesdays!

Many months have passed since the end of the War, but not all wounds have healed. Repairs, both emotional and physical, are still underway. When Feyre finally finds a break in her schedule, she feels duty-bound to visit the one place she thought she’d never return to: her old village. With Rhys by her side, she takes a trip through old memories.

Rated T, 2.6k words | Masterlist | Fic Masterlist

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Feyre stood before her wardrobe, blankly staring at the rows of garments before her.

Today was…more difficult than she had expected.

Her options blurred before her. So many pieces, the simplest of them finer than anything she had worn in poverty as a human. A bolt of fabric from the finest could have fed her family for months, back then.

She was only picking out clothes. It shouldn’t have been difficult.

Cauldron, what was wrong with her? She thought she had moved past this long ago. She had never mourned her human life to the extent that her sisters had. She didn’t miss that small village and all the misery that lingered there.

However, that didn’t mean her heart would let her abandon it. She still wanted to help.

The task looming before her should have been nothing to everything she had faced in her twenty-two years.

Hesitantly, she pulled out a navy tunic and brown fleece-lined jacket. On any other day, they would have been fine.

She shoved it back in the wardrobe.

It didn’t feel fine today.

In the back of her mind, she registered Rhys entering the room, returning from the kitchen with two cups of tea. She heard the soft clink as he set both teacups down on one of the nightstands.

Then he came up behind her, snaking a gentle arm around her waist. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the cuff tattoo on his forearm that lovingly matched hers. She stood still as he brushed a loose hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. Even without the mental connection, he always seemed to have a sixth sense for when she was distressed.

“What are you thinking about, love?” He asked through the bond.

Feyre smiled a bit at that. He could have sifted through her thoughts straightaway if he wanted, but she appreciated how he asked instead.

“Just…nervous, I suppose. When we were in my village during the war, I felt like I didn’t really have the option not to go, with so many lives hanging in the balance. But now I do have a choice, and…it’s just overwhelming.”

Now that things were stable, and Velaris was back on its feet, Feyre had chiseled out a bit of time to visit the mortal lands. To help rebuild her old village and any surrounding ones that still needed help – for, despite all of Lucien’s work with Vassa and Jurian, and despite the many months that had passed since the war’s end, aid was still often slow to come to the slip of human territory south of the Spring Court.

Rhys pressed his thumb softly into her side, rubbing comforting circles over the sliver of bare skin while he thought for a moment. 

“Nobody would blame you if you never wanted to go back there again. You know that. But you do, because you care, and that’s the important part. And when we’re out there today, I want you to remember something.”

“What’s that?”

“No one can make you small, darling. You are more than the insults the worst of them can throw at you.”

“After I’ve faced so many real monsters and gone to war, this shouldn’t feel so scary. The worst things awaiting us there are a bunch of prejudiced assholes.”

“Well, this is why you’re going, isn’t it? To prove them wrong?”

“I’m going because it’s the right thing to do. Proving them wrong…that’ll be a bonus.”

“And Rhys?” she said, out loud this time.

“Yes?”

“No matter how much you might want to, you have to promise not to incinerate the first person who’s rude to me.”

Rhys’s easy smile receded into a thin line. “Who said anything about incinerating?”

“Sometimes I don’t have to be in your mind to know what you’re thinking. I know you have self control, when you’re willing to exercise it. In the name of diplomacy.”

Rhys leaned in a bit closer, breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “Then you should also know that you’re the thing that unravels my self control most quickly.”

“Oh?”

She felt her toes curl as Rhys pressed his lips to her neck.

“Maybe you should demonstrate exactly how that happens,” she murmured.

Amongst other things, Rhys’s little…interruption to her dressing had certainly made the early morning go by quicker, at least.

By the time they were done, the tea was cold, and it was a good thing she had never dressed, because she would have had to do it all over again.

In the end, she picked a sturdy pair of boots and her favorite set of fleece-lined leathers to guard her against early spring’s slight chill in the mortal land. Why had she felt the need to wear human attire when she wasn’t one? She was part of the Night Court, and proud of it. And the villagers could be as proud and pigheaded as they wanted, but she wouldn’t let it hinder her.

Faerie-human relations had gotten far enough that they wouldn’t be chased out of the village with pitchforks, but there was still work to be done. Enough that Feyre had decided not to openly advertise who she and Rhys were, though it would be obvious to anyone who thought about it for a few moments. So Rhys would hide his wings, and they both would keep a damper on the full might of their magic.

They had a quiet breakfast, only interrupted by the occasional comment.

“Mor will be winnowing back in tonight, so she’ll be able to join us,” Rhys mentioned in between bites of toast.

“I can’t wait to see her again, there’s so much to catch up on,” she mused with a smile. It seemed like ages since she had seen Mor, and even longer than that since the whole family had gotten together.

“What time is everyone coming over?”

“I told them around 9. Nothing too extravagant, just good food with our family.”

The long day ahead of them was certainly daunting, but tonight, their whole family would be together again, after months of someone always travelling. The thought of it fortified her for the day ahead. Every year, their little circle seemed to grow bigger and bigger, and her heart only fuller along with it.

After finishing breakfast, they were ready to depart just after sunrise. Part of Feyre yearned to enjoy the morning by flying, but she knew that would take them far too long, and with her lack of experience, she wouldn’t be able to keep up with Rhys over the distance.

So, winnowing it was. Standing in the foyer of the house, she linked her arm with his, and they were off, soaring through the dark fabric of the world. Rhys was only a vague shape next to her, and though she had winnowed with him countless times before, she held on tight.

All too quickly, they arrived. Rhys landed them just outside the driveway to the old Archeron estate on the edge of town. Last week, she had written to the village heads, letting them know the Night Court would be sending aid. Not because she expected some kind of special greeting, but more to give the villagers – many of whom were still wary of faeries – a heads up.

Walking into town would help with that, too. It would be much less startling than the pair of them materializing out of thin air.

Feyre paused for a long moment, taking in her once-familiar surroundings. There was a warmth to the air that hadn’t been present in the farther north Velaris. Behind them stood the ruins of their old manor. Nobody had bothered to salvage or attempt repairs on it; who would, when there was no one left to care about it?

She hadn’t been back to it since those initial meetings after the war had ended. It had been cleaned up just enough to make sure there were usable chairs and no rusty nails poking out of any exposed boards.

All the same, she felt a pulse of regret as she made out the trampled remains of the garden Elain had once loved so dearly.

“Shall we?” Rhys asked, gently breaking her chain of thought.

She nodded, giving him a tight smile.

It was strange to be back in her village, to say the least.

As they approached the town center, memories of the times she had been here before felt like flipping through the pages of a dusty, ancient book.

A young child in the largest mansion in the town, on a hill that overlooked the whole city.

A starving girl, traumatized from the memory of her mother’s deathbed and her father’s leg, broken before her.

A love-struck human woman, returning to the village to see her family’s return to favor.

A newly-made faerie, desperately trying to change the tide of a war.

In some ways, the village itself had changed as much as she had. So little remained of what she remembered. Like the Archeron manor, many of the wealthiest estates had their lands pillaged, ornamental walls razed to the ground..  

It had taken her far too long to come here. They could have done more good earlier on, but she couldn’t leave Velaris. Rhys, of course, never intended on stopping her as Tamlin once had, but he had tried to gently remind her that this wasn’t her responsibility.

But wasn’t it? She, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, had bargained with the Mortal Queens for their half of the book, and dragged anyone in range of her family’s home into this.

She had brought about the downfall of the Spring Court, she had left holes in the wall, she hadn’t nullified the Cauldron in time and allowed monsters from Prythian and Hybern alike to find their way in.

Hybern may have pillaged and burned, but she had helped open the door.

She hadn’t come sooner for two reasons:

The first was that repairs in the Night Court had to come first. The second was her own guilt. Helping here…it felt like a cheap way to make up for all the damage she had done, but she couldn’t think of another meaningful way to help.   

She was more grateful than she could express that she wasn’t alone in this endeavor. Rhys had a mountain of things to be working on, and yet he had taken the day to come with her.

On the main road, they passed a gaggle of teenagers who stared at them both like they had two heads, their whispers plenty loud to her fae ears.

“…from the Night Court…”

“They say they want to help…”

“I’ve heard they’ll rip the skin from your bones.”

“You think Penalope found a faerie like that when she crossed the wall?”

Was that…admiration she heard in that last remark? Her mate certainly was handsome.

She briefly considered doing something possessive like snaking an arm around him or letting the damper off her magic to twine shadows around him…but that probably wouldn’t help her case.

She had no problem with strangers ogling her mate. Not when he was so clearly hers.

Besides, they weren’t trying to chase her with pitchforks. That was something.

Still, as they walked on, she felt more self-conscious than she cared to admit. It shouldn’t have mattered. She had defied the odds, broken curses and worlds and then stitched them back together again, but part of her was still that lost child, ignoring the sneers of her fellow villagers as she trudged out into the barren forest.

It had been rare for anyone to stop her, to express concern that a child was taking on that dangerous work. She had been younger than these teenagers, who looked like children to her, were. And when she had become fae…

She chased the memories out of her head as they walked into the village proper. Today wasn’t a market day, and the streets were mostly quiet. Here, most things had been rebuilt or were in the process. Nearly everything had been made of wood and hadn’t stood a chance when Hybern lit their matches.  

“There aren’t any Children of the Blessed around,” Feyre murmured, noting the lack of their robes and jangling bracelets.

“Does that surprise you?”

“I suppose not. Hard to idolize us when you see up-close what faeries are capable of.”

Most of the noise came from the center of the town square, where four men were in the process of rebuilding the town pavilion.

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised that this was one of the last things being rebuilt. Obviously, people’s homes were much more vital, but the structure had rarely been used in her lifetime. For the common folk, it often seemed like there wasn’t much to celebrate.

Only one of the men, sawing a beam of wood, was facing their direction as they approached. He looked up suddenly, freezing as he took them in.

Fortifying herself, Feyre quickly bridged the last few paces between them, doing her best to look as nonthreatening as possible. The man still had a tight grip on his saw.

“We’ve come to help with repairs. Where can we be of the most use?” she asked, more confident than she felt.

The man’s ruddy face was vaguely familiar, likely someone she had crossed paths with during her years in the village. If he made out anything familiar in her features, he didn’t say.

He eyed the pair of them cautiously, taking in their inhuman features and the unfamiliar make of their clothes. She knew, because it was what she would have done, back in her village days.

“You’re the ones from the Night Court.”

Behind him, the other men had stopped their work, watching the exchange with tension coming off of them in waves . She didn’t need her daemati powers to know what they were thinking.

“Yes. My name is Feyre Archeron. This is my mate, Rhysand.”

Recognition clicked in his eyes at the mention of her last name.

“Yes…Remus said that there were faeries that wanted to help. With all due, I have to tell you that we have it handled.”

Feyre had been expecting this pushback – experienced it plenty of times in Velaris and the Spring Court.

“It seems like you could use any help you can get. You’ve made a lot of progress in town, but we passed by plenty of homes in our way in that are in disrepair. I know the continent hasn’t been sending the help you need.”

“Plenty of people in this village have had their lives and livelihood town apart by the fae. You expect them to welcome you in? My lady?” He tacked on at the last moment.

“I was once human. I understand their fear better than most,” she insisted.

The man paled slightly, and at first she thought it was because of her words. Then she realized that, at her side, Rhys had lifted the damper on his magic ever-so-slightly, a slightly threatening wave of shadows emanating off of him.

“Rhys!” she admonished down the bond. “You said you weren’t going to do that!”

“I said I wasn’t going to incinerate anyone, darling. Besides, I needed to let some magic out. You know how strenuous it is.”

“You won’t let me forget it. Poor, baby High Lord,” she scoffed.

Oblivious to their conversation, the man cleared his throat. “If you insist, there are some homes to the west that were hit hard. They could use help with repairs.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said, all politeness in his voice. “We’ll head there now.”

The man didn’t respond, instead simply turning back to bend over his sawhorse. It was a better reception than she had expected, honestly.

She turned to the winding, familiar path ahead of them, leading to the oldest part of the village.

“Ready?” she asked Rhys.

“Lead the way, darling.”

-

See you next week for chapter two!

taglist: @thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher  @ghostlyrose2  @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @highladysith @areyoudreamingof

[kingofsummer93]

Northern Lights in Our Skies

Summary:

Two years after the war with Hybern, a looming conflict once again threatens Prythian's fragile peace. With the safety of the human lands at risk, Elain jumps at the opportunity to act as emissary to a distant, mysterious realm.

That she will get to expand her horizons along the way is a bonus she'll gladly take.

That she'll have to do so while masquerading as Lucien Vanserra's wife, on the other hand, is something she'll need some getting used to.

Ao3 | Masterlist

Chapter 2

Lucien could feel the eyes of the assembled High Lords and their delegations on him as he was escorted to one of the plush couches arranged around the courtyard. He had to give Helion credit- for a male known for his extravagance, this gathering was downright demure. If one ignored the peacocks and flamingos prancing in the background, that is.

He was well aware what kind of message his arrival was sending. Everybody gathered would note the Spring Court sigil embroidered on his tunic, if the presence of Bron and Hart flanking him hadn’t been clear enough. He felt the cold chill of talons scraping at his consciousness even before he heard the voice inside his mind.

Nice entrance, Rhysand drawled. Those colors look good on you.

Lucien bit down on the urge to snort. You mean the colors of the court where you stationed me permanently? I’m so glad.

Even from across the space he saw Rhysand’s eyes flash in warning. Lucien ignored it, turning towards the other High Lords.

Honestly, though, had he expected that he’d show up in Night Court black, like the rest of them? Knowing Rhysand, Lucien had no doubt that he had. Arrogant, self-serving prick.

It was an effort to keep from staring at Elain, the source of that familiar tugging in his chest. She looked thoroughly wrong in her black gown, and more than a little uncomfortable. Lucien had no doubt that her wardrobe choices hadn’t been left in her hands.

There had been a moment, as he’d entered and their gazes had locked…But no- he couldn’t go down that path. Whenever he was around her he never failed to convince himself that he had glimpsed a brief flash of longing in her gaze, or felt a flash of some emotion through the bond. But then she would look away, leave the room, shrink away from him as she always did. It was all in his head, of course.

“Thank you for accommodating the meeting so I could attend,” Vassa was saying from her perch on the couch next to him.

“And thank you for agreeing to the meeting,” Lucien added.

Helion’s amber eyes were sharp and inquisitive, though his demeanor was relaxed- no trace of the swaggering persona he had put on Under the Mountain. Times were changing, he supposed. Now he just had to convince them to adapt even more with the times.

“I have to say,” Helion started, propping a sandaled foot on his knee, “I’m very curious why a human Queen and her general would have any interest in trade practices within the solar courts.”

It was Thesan who added, “Or why Night Court’s emissary and liaison to the Spring Court and human realm would be the one to call such a meeting.”

All eyes swiveled to Rhysand and Feyre, whose careful expressions revealed nothing.

“We are not here to discuss trade,” Lucien said simply. Carefully- he had to tread so carefully, or the meeting could go south in a matter of minutes.

“Well, I sure hope not,” Helion exclaimed. “I was hoping for something more exciting.”

Lucien clamped down on his irritation. Clamped down even more firmly on that foreign power that thrummed in his veins, mingling with his mother’s flame. It was normally easy enough to control, but here, in this city, it itched like something was trying to crawl its way out of his skin. Like that light knew it had come home.

Home. What a foreign, laughable concept for someone like him.

The first time that light had manifested he hadn’t known what it was. He’d asked Eris, and his older brother’s horror had been so uncharacteristic that he’d listened to his order to never let that power be seen.

He had listened to it even as the rumors inevitably reached his ears- of the male his mother had met at a ball, and waited for. Had listened to it even as he had met that male, newly crowned High Lord, Under the Mountain. The question that he’d been asking himself his entire centuries-long life had been answered with one look at that face.

The face belonging to the male who had, very probably, sired him. The male who currently peered at him shrewdly, a touch of condescension -or perhaps simply animosity- in his intelligent amber eyes.

Was it because he reminded the male of Beron? Lucien hoped so, and that in the process he reminded Helion of the horrors he had doomed his mother to, by abandoning her to that monster. It was what he deserved. Whether or not Helion knew that Beron was not his father was not something Lucien liked to consider. It was of no consequence, anyway. Just one more credential to add to his resume as exile and vagabond. Another Court he would never belong to.

Lucien cleared his throat. “As you’re all aware, the Spring Court has been…struggling to rebuild, after the war.” He was careful not to glance at Feyre as he said it, though every other head in the courtyard swiveled towards her. As if everyone was well aware of what had truly wrecked the Spring Court.

“And where is Tamlin?” Helion asked curiously, an asp’s smile curling on his lips. “Is he so busy that he couldn’t manage to fit this meeting into his schedule?”

“Or are you officially the new self-appointed High Lord of Spring now?” Thesan asked casually.

Lucien tensed as he noted the way Feyre and Rhysand looked at him sharply. Words meant in jest, Lucien knew- but double edged nonetheless. As all words were in these sorts of negotiations.

The self-appointed High Lord of Spring. It was an inside joke of sorts, dating back to the days when Thesan had been the High Lord’s son and his emissary to the seasonal courts. Thesan had been an equal then- as reluctant as Lucien was to climb his way to the crown, despite being qualified for it. Ironic that it had arrived on his head anyway.

“Tamlin is unwell,” Lucien said simply. “He sends his apologies.” A snort from Helion. Lucien ignored him, soldiering on before anyone could interrupt. “Autumn’s forces have been sniffing at the Spring Court borders for nearly a year now. We have secured intel that has led us to believe that Beron is at last poised to strike.”

A heavy silence, broken only by the squawking of the birds.

“And why come to the solar courts for aid,” Helion said with a frown, “and not the courts who share borders with Spring and Autumn?”

“Summer is still recovering from the war-“

“As we all are,” Thesan cut in, with a glance over his shoulder to his captain.

“Of course,” Rhysand said smoothly. “Nobody is insinuating otherwise. That doesn’t excuse standing back while a court threatens to overtake another for the first time since their inception.”

“And what good would come of aiding the Spring Court, if there is no High Lord there to lead it?” Helion asked, with deadly calmness. Dangerous. He was dangerous, this male that his mother had tangled with in one way or another. “Unless,” he continued, “as Thesan implies, another High Lord has indeed come to power in the Spring Court?”

Another silence, as everyone assembled, servants included, looked at him. Lucien could have sworn even the birds stopped in their tracks to look.

And then- a scrape of talons, but gentler than the first. A question.

Where is Tamlin? Feyre’s voice slipped into his mind.

His fist clenched in his lap. Off roaming his lands as a horned beast.

Tamlin’s presence-or absence- from the manor was as random as a roll of a dice, these days. He might have been embarrassed about it a few months ago, but at this point he was beyond caring.

“I have never wished or aspired to be High Lord. Of anywhere.” Lucien kept his gaze on the High Lord of Day, smirking as the slightest wince crossed those features that were so like his own.

“Then the Spring Court is left in a power vacuum,” Helion said simply. “What else did you expect? If Tamlin is in no state to govern his own people, then at some point someone was going to step in and do it. What happens after we push back Beron’s armies? We wait for someone else to swoop in again?”

“I don’t understand,” another voice joined the fray. It was Nesta, arms crossed over her chest, looking not the slightest bit intimidated to be speaking in front of the assembled High Lords. “Can’t someone just go to Autumn and tell Beron to back off?” She turned to him, those blue eyes that were so like Feyre’s narrowing slightly. “Isn’t that your family? Can’t you go and talk to them?”

“One does not simply walk in and out of Autumn,” Lucien responded through gritted teeth. “High Lords included.”

“But you did,” the viper continued.

Everybody visibly stiffened. Lucien saw Cassian’s eyes grow wide as he not-so-subtly shook his head at Nesta. A low buzzing started ringing in Lucien’s ears, the familiar, ancient grief that he wore like a cloak rising to the surface like a tidal wave.

“Are you under the impression that I walked out of Autumn because I felt like experiencing a new climate?” he demanded, unable to leash his temper.

His gaze slid to Elain, who was blinking at him in shock. How much did she know about his past? He’d never dared ask Feyre how much she’d shared of his history. Had never decided how much he wanted her to know.

Fuck it.

He turned back to Nesta, whose mouth was opening and closing, as if she was fighting the instinct to snap back at him. “I escaped from Autumn running for my life while three of my brothers chased me with the intention of killing me.” He paused, his next words catching in his throat. The low buzzing grew to a roar, his vision going red- not with anger but with blood. Her blood, so much blood, dripping onto the polished hardwood floors of his father’s throne room…

Those gentle talons were tapping at his mind again, at the same time as Vassa’s hand squeezed his knee. From behind him he felt Bron and Hart move in closer. He might not have a court to call home, but he did have friends, whatever motley crew they might be. Feeling them close rank around him dimmed the roaring in his ears, if only slightly.

“Just in case anyone here has forgotten why I left in the first place, let me remind you what kind of male Beron is.” He swallowed thickly, clenching his fists to hide his shaking fingers. “Let me remind you that my father murdered the female I loved for having the audacity to not be born a High Fae, while three of my brothers held me down so I could watch.”

A sharp, feminine gasp, followed by a lurching sensation in his chest. Like a sharp tug directly over his heart. He couldn’t help but look at her then, and he instantly wished he hadn’t said anything at all. Her face was ashen, a hand clapped over her mouth in horror.

So she hadn’t known, then. That answered that question.

“That is what Beron is capable of,” Lucien continued, his voice slightly unsteady. “That is who we’re dealing with. That is the sort of cruelty that we’ll be spreading if we do not band together and stop him.”

There was another beat of silence.

“The future of the Spring Court is not the only concern here,” Feyre stepped in. “Our sources informs us that Beron doesn’t plan on simply pushing south into Spring.”

“How does he plan to do it?” Thesan’s captain spoke for the first time, his handsome features sharp with calculation.

“He plans to take over the coastal human territories on the continent first,” Cassian replied, arms crossed, “before sacking the humans lands to the south, effectively caging in Spring and making it more difficult for aid to arrive.”

“The human territories on the continent are now ruled by queens who have no desire or use for an alliance with the fae,” Thesan mused. “Will they even be receptive to our help, should we offer it?”

“When they face down a fae armada you might find their tune will change rather quickly,” Vassa spat with venom. “The fae territories on the continent ignored your call during the war with Hybern, and it’s no secret they’ve been sniffing at their own borders. They will do nothing to stop an invading Autumn army. If anything, it might give them ideas of their own. No humans will be safe, and we will have achieved the exact opposite of what bringing down the wall was meant to signify. Who will be next? Bharat? And who will come to help them? We need to put an end to this before it starts or there will be no stopping it!”

The courtyard fell silent once more in the wake of Vassa’s impassioned speech. The voice that eventually broke the silence was not the one Lucien had expected.

“Bharat!” Elain’s head was cocked to the side in contemplation, as if she had just realized something.

“Bharat is a wealthy, fiercely independent human empire on the continent,” Vassa said, mistaking Elain’s expression for confusion.

“I know,” Elain snapped, waving her hand in frustration. Lucien felt Vassa tense next to him at the unusual show of emotion from his mate. “My father had ties to Bharat,” she continued. “He told us stories about it when we were little.”

“They have a large army,” Feyre said, brightening. “If help came from a neighboring human territory, there might not be any need to dispatch any of our forces. We could rally here, and ambush Beron’s armada upon his return.”

The wheels in Lucien’s head started spinning. He had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea, except-

“Except for the fact that Bharat has been hiding behind its city walls for the past five centuries,” Vassa said dismissively. “They don’t care about anyone but themselves. Even the queens have no influence there.”

“Perhaps we’ll need to be persuasive, then,” Lucien replied. “Make it clear to them that if the coastal lands fall, they’ll be next. And it might not be only one but multiple fae armies knocking on their doorstep.”

“Are you volunteering for the job?” Rhysand asked with a hint of a smile.

All heads swiveled to look at him. Prythian’s errand boy once more, Lucien thought. Still, the resentment was secondary to the call of adventure, that restlessness that had plagued him during all those idle years at the Spring Court. The urge to do something, go somewhere.

“I would be glad to go,” he started cautiously. “But I worry my reception might not be a warm one. Bharat used to be under fae control centuries ago, and no doubt they remain wary of them still. They might think we’re setting them up in a trap. Or they might refuse to meet with me entirely.”

“I could accompany you,” Jurian suggested.

“Somehow I think a man who was resuscitated from a single bone and eyeball would be even less warmly welcomed than a fae,” Vassa retorted drily.

Squabbling erupted from every corner of the courtyard. But then a voice broke through, speaking words that Lucien never would have expected to hear.

“What if I went with you?”

---

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Elain regretted them. Had she even meant to say that out loud?

Bharat. Just hearing the name of the distant territory filled her with a mixture of emotions. A dull grief, at the memories of her mother it brought forth, and a fresher kind at the thought of her father. And yet, neither were enough to dull the curiosity that seemed to sniff at the air like an animal woken up from a slumber.

Her father had spoken of sprawling, sand-swept palaces, city streets filled with vendors trading everything from intricately woven carpets, to spices, to all manners of jewels and finery. A wealthy, prosperous people cut off from the rest of the world by treacherous waters and a notoriously impregnable wall that was as much a fortress as it was a symbol of their independence.

Did those people know how easily that seemingly unbreakable wall would come crumbling down if a fae army decided to set its sight on the lush lands that lay inside?

Elain didn’t know how much help she would even be, given her own humanity had drowned in that cauldron two years previously. Her father had been successful, but would his name mean anything, or hold any clout?

Besides, there was another problem. A problem whose fiery, mismatched gaze bore into her, eyes both natural and magical wide with disbelief. Had she temporarily lost her mind? Perhaps she was getting heat stroke from a combination of her too-warm dress and the lingering heat of the day. Traveling to the continent with him? Her sisters would never allow it. And besides, did she truly think herself capable of doing such a thing, when two minutes in the same room with him felt unbearable?

Elain was suddenly all too aware of the bickering dying down as everyone turned to stare at her.

“What?” Nesta demanded, scoffing. “What are you talking about?”

Elain lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet Lucien’s shocked gaze. As their eyes met the bond squeezed in her chest, as it always did when she looked at him. This was why she could never look at him for too long- the magnetic pull that urged her towards him was that much more difficult to ignore when she acknowledged him.

Which was why she must have truly lost her mind, to suggest what she just had.

“Our father had ties to Bharat,” she started, clasping her hands together to hide her shaking fingers. She could work a roomful of human courtiers with little to no effort, but this was an entirely different situation. “He had connections, from the trades he made as a merchant. I’m not sure how much influence his name still holds, but-”

“You’re right,” Feyre cut in gently. Elain’s heart stuttered in shock. Had it been that easy to convince her sister? “They might not trust the fae, but our name might at least get our message in the right hands. I can give Lucien a signed letter.”

“No offense,” Jurian drawled, “But if Bharat has managed to not give two shits about the rest of the world for as long as they have, a signed letter isn’t going to change their minds.”

“Besides,” Elain said, before either of her sisters could retort, “a Made fae is not the same as a High Lady. I might come across as less…intimidating.” She chose her words carefully, watching as Feyre sat up slightly straighter at the compliment, however calculated it had been.

“You can’t be serious about this.” Nesta’s face was incredulous. “Elain, do you understand how dangerous-”

“She is not going,” Azriel said flatly. His voice was dangerously low, a tone she had overheard him use with others but never with her.

It should have made her nervous, but it only stoked her temper. She is not going. As if she wasn’t standing directly in front of him. Elain whirled on him.

“And why would that be your decision?” she demanded. “And besides, I thought you usually preferred to wait until I leave the room to declare that I shouldn’t do something?”

Azriel recoiled slightly, his usually carefully neutral facade betraying his surprise as he blinked at her. “There is a darkness to the trove that Elain shouldn’t be exposed to.”

Elain hadn’t meant to spy on them, that day- it was more that sometimes she forgot how keen her senses had become, now that she was fae. That, and the fact that nobody usually bothered to check whether she was around or not.

She had thought Azriel’s words chivalrous at first, endearing, even. But now she saw them for what they were- an overprotective urge, a tendency to smother her, the way her sisters did. Fragile, beautiful, gentle Elain should not be exposed to such things, or she might break. It was the same reason Azriel had never explained to her what being spymaster for Rhysand entailed, even though she had asked. No doubt he didn’t think she could handle that, either.

Elain felt a flicker of some emotion flowing into her veins from the golden cord in her chest. A burst of surprised delight or amusement. She turned back to Lucien, flushing as she realized he had not yet spoken. Her heart sank as she prepared herself for the pained, guarded expression she usually found on his face when he looked at her, but instead a half smile played on his lips, his eyes calculating.

“It might not be a bad idea,” he said carefully. “Not just because of your father’s connections, but also because…” he trailed off, his golden complexion growing pink.

“Because what?” Nesta spat.

“Because they’re mates.” Rhys’ voice was contemplative, devoid of his usual humor. “What better way to convince them of our desire to promote goodwill between humans and fae?”

Lucien’s flush deepened. His eyes caught hers again, and he winced, his gaze turning apologetic. There it is, she thought wryly.

“Then send me and Cassian!” Nesta said angrily.

Helion chuckled, smiling broadly as if he was very much enjoying the unfolding drama. “No offense, but I think if diplomacy is what we’re going for, Lucien is the better choice.”

“I agree,” Rhysand said simply.

Out of the corner of her eye Elain saw Azriel turn to his brother, his anger so palpable he was practically vibrating with it. “You cannot honestly be on board with this!”

“I think it would be a disrespect to Elain to assume that she doesn’t have her own set of social and diplomatic skills necessary to pull this off,” Rhys retorted, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

It was Elain’s turn to blink in surprise. She’d never heard her brother-in-law say anything like that about her before.

“And it would be a disrespect to me to assume I would ever let my mate come to harm,” Lucien snarled.

Territorial fae male bullshit, Elain thought with an eye-roll, even as some small part of her delighted in the reaction. She told herself it was simply relief at the fact that he hadn’t said no yet. Her heart sped up as she realized that she might very well be able to pull this off. She’d stress about the logistics later. Perhaps she’d even come to regret it, but for now she’d take the win.

“Elain,” Feyre said gently. “Are you sure about this? It’s going to be dangerous- regardless of who you’re with,” she added with a pointed glare in Lucien’s direction. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

“This isn’t a family matter,” Elain replied, meeting her sister’s concerned gaze. “It’s a political one that concerns our allies as well.”

Another flicker of amused delight. What was it that Lucien found so amusing, she wondered? Perhaps he simply thought the entire idea comical.

“This is all very well,” Thesan said, looking almost as amused as Helion, “but it’s not exactly a secret that you and Lucien aren’t…together.” The amusement fizzled, as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “It’s not exactly every day that three human sisters get Made into fae, and all three end up having fae mates. What happens if the stories have reached their shores? What good is our symbol of unity then? You won’t be taken seriously.”

Elain had no answer for that- and neither, judging from his silence, did Lucien.

Helion leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. “Then perhaps I need to host a wedding!”

Taglist: @elucienweekofficial @areyoudreaminof @separatist-apologist @tuzna-pesma-snova @labellefleur-sauvage @corcracrow @autumndreaming7 @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @vulpes-fennec @sunshinebingo @asnowfern @hallway5 @thelovelymadone @screaming-opossum

[iambutmortal]

To Tango With the Devil

Summary: For two years, Feyre’s been obsessed with the demon statue in the church. It haunts her dreams, even on the eve of her wedding. To bad the statue’s just as obsessed with her.

AKA the Feysand church demon smut I’ve been teasing since literally September

Written for @feysand-month (but really @unofficialfeysandmonth2022​). 

Pairing: Feysand

Word Count: 3.4k

Content Warning: Dubious Consent, Blasphemy, Bad Theology

Authors Note: Was this written for day six (obsession)? Maybe, but you can’t prove it. Also, I may be a theology major but I used exactly zero of that knowledge in writing this so I will not be responsible for any inaccuracies. Also also, this is fully inspired by Le Génie du Mal if you need something pretty to look at after reading.

Read on AO3

The statue arrived when Feyre was sixteen. The town had been preparing for at least a year, clearing a spot at the base of the Church’s pulpit for the marble sculpture while various Bishops came by to oversee progress. No one in the village was quite sure what it was supposed to be, even if everyone claimed to have some inside knowledge as to what the artist intended. Arguing about it after chores were done became something of a pastime.

Father Jurian was elusive, answering every question with no more an enigmatic smile before swiftly disappearing, unwilling to give even a hint.

So when the town saw the statue for the first time, there was chaos.

Feyre had been fascinated, staring at it with wide eyes for the entirety of that first service, not hearing a word Father Jurian said.

She knew the ladies would be incensed, horrified by the marble figure of a demon in the middle of the cathedral, but Feyre couldn’t help herself. She’d never seen a man unclothed, and here the statue was in its stone glory, carved muscles framed by great bat wings, covered only by a small piece of fabric, a golden crown clenched in his fist, the other hand running through his thick hair.

His face could’ve been that of an angel, should’ve then that of an angel. But then, weren’t all demons just fallen angels anyway?

And after Mass, as Feyre’s family filed past the statue one at a time, Feyre swore she felt his eyes on her, lingering long after Vassa had pulled her away to giggle about how shocking the whole affair was.

-

Over the next two years, Feyre thought of little else. She filled sketchbooks with images of the statue, of his hands, the chains wrapped around his ankles, those great wings with all their delicate bones running under the skin. Whenever Nesta caught her staring at it during service, she would hiss warnings, delivered with a kick under their skirts, that God would know of her lust, her obsession, her pridefulness at thinking she didn’t need to hear the word of the Lord.

The statue occupied her consciousness, even as Tamlin, the local Lord’s son, started to court her. He was far above her station, better than she could hope for as the daughter of a disgraced merchant, and she could barely pay attention to what he talked about every time he stopped by for a visit or took her on a walk around his sprawling gardens.

That never seemed to deter him, but Feyre couldn’t hide her shock when he got down on one knee only days after she turned eighteen and presented her with a massive emerald.

Feyre took it, because what else could she do.

And now her wedding was only hours away, the massive, poofy dress that made her look more like a decorated pastry than a bride shoved into her wardrobe, and she was dreaming of the cursed statue again.

Feyre woke in a cold sweat, a familiar ache between her legs. Before she could think about what she was doing, her hand was between her parted thighs, fingers rubbing at the clit already slick with her arousal. Images flashed through her mind, of the statue’s strong nose and plush lips, of dark hair spilling over his brow and tickling the skin of her lower belly.

Feyre’s first finger slipped past her entrance, teasing and stroking. And then she realized what she was doing, who she was thinking about. It was wrong, all of it was wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone but her future husband. Should be thinking about emerald eyes, not the violet ones the statue always seemed to have in her dreams.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as Feyre weighed her options. It was still dark out, no hint of the sun rising in the sky. She had plenty of time…

Feyre sighed as she slipped out of bed, shivering slightly at the cool night air. She tossed on the dressing gown she’d thrown across the back of her vanity chair earlier that night, tying it tightly around her.

She slid on slippers and then padded softly down the stairs, making sure to skip over the third step from the bottom that always squeaked. Feyre gave a silent prayer of thanks to their gardener for oiling the hinges of the door when it opened without a creek.

Their town was small, and it only took a few minutes to walk to the center, to the looming stone building that was her destination.

The inside of the Cathedral was pitch black, not even moonlight peeking through the stained glass windows. Feyre slid into one of the back rows, folding her fingers together and bowing her head low.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned—“ she started before trailing off. She ran through the list of sins in her head: sloth, to spend all her time in her own head instead of working; pride, to think that Tamlin would still want her, a sinner; and lust. So much lust it nearly consumed her.

“Go on, Feyre, darling, you have me intrigued.”

Feyre jumped, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make out who it was. She didn’t think it was Jurian, his voice was too low, the tone too rich, but maybe her mind was playing tricks on her in the dark.

“Father?” she asked, hating how uncertain she sounded. The church doors were open for people to use, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Even still, she rose to her feet, so she could run if she had to.

“Guess again,” called the man, nearly sing song. He was teasing her then.

Feyre didn’t answer, just clutched her hands tighter together. There were any number of unsavory men who could be lurking in the middle of the night, using the Cathedral as a place to sleep while they had nowhere else to go.

She racked her brain, trying desperately to think if any of them would know her name. Tamlin’s father had put a release in the paper announcing their upcoming marriage, all any of them had to do was see her walking with the Lord’s son. But in the dark, would anyone know it was her—

“Nothing?” the man asked.

And then Feyre heard the chain rattle as he took a step closer.

No, absolutely not. She had to still be dreaming, this was just a symptom of her anxious mind before her wedding. 

But then she saw those violet eyes approaching, practically glowing in the dark, brighter than the eyes of any human.

“Please,” Feyre whispered, although if she was asking to wake up or asking for the statue to release her from this hell, she didn’t know.

The statue, now man—or demon—just laughed, the sound skittering along her bones. “Do you want to repent?” he asked. “Because I know several ways you could.”

Feyre raised her chin, trying to appear defiant, even as she wondered if he could even see her in the dark.

As if the demon could read her thoughts, the candles that lined the cathedral flickered to life, casting the church in a warm glow.

Feyre nearly felt the breath knocked from her. She’d thought the statue was beautiful, a magnificent piece of art, but seeing it in person, a living breathing man, was something altogether different.

His chest was still barred, dark skin over planes of muscle rolling with every step he took towards her. White cloth draped low across his hips drew Feyre’s eyes down, to the dark strip of hair that led to what little was covered, and thick thighs. Great wings, black stretched over long bones so dark they absorbed the light, bobbed up and down.

And those violet eyes, shining at her from his perfect face.

“Who are you?” Feyre asked.

The demon cocked his head. “You don’t know? Didn’t listen to all of Father Jurian’s preachings? Or were you too busy looking at me.”

With a trembling hand, Feyre made the sign of the cross across her chest, cursing herself. With all the time she’d spent staring at the statue, she’d never bothered to learn which of the demons it was, had never gotten up the courage to ask. Was far too worried the town would ostracize her for asking too much about it, question if she was secretly a sinner.

The demon only laughed harder. “God doesn’t look out for sinners. And you’ve been mine for a while, just waiting and ready for me to take you down to Valaris.”

Fuck. Everyone knew which demon lived in Valaris. Rhysand, the cruelest of the seven who made up the first hierarchy.

“I thought lust was my sin,” Feyre said, taking a step back.

Rhysand followed her. “No, although Helion would love to claim you. But I’m sure your friend Vassa will be of some consolation.”

Feyre arched an eyebrow. She knew Vassa slipped out some nights, desperate to escape her much older husband, Koschei, but to rise to the level of summoning a higher demon…

“You don’t know?” Rhysand asked, pouting slightly. “And I thought the whole village knew her and Father Jurian were busy defiling the church at every moment they got, letting all of us,” Rhysand gestured at himself, his wings snapping to their full length, “unsavory creatures in.”

Feyre flushed at the idea of Vassa, her friend Vassa, doing something so sinful. But then, wasn’t she the one currently talking to a demon.

“But no,” Rhysand continued.  “You’re mine. And I know how you can repent for all your sins, Feyre darling.” 

Her sin of pride. Because that’s who Rhysand was, the demon of pride sent to punish all those who thought themselves too good, too close to God.

Feyre swallowed thickly. “How?”

“On your knees, darling.”

Feyre glared at him, but didn’t obey. She may have spent the past two years not listening to Jurian, but she knew enough to not blindly follow the orders of a demon. Better to stay standing and take whatever punishment Rhysand would dole out, hope that God could forgive her if she stayed loyal to him.

“He won’t ever forgive you,” Rhysand hissed. For the first time that night, his mask of calm broke, letting loose some of the anger that consumed him, had led to him being cast out from heaven. Black claws burst from the tips of his fingers, reaching out towards her.

Feyre flinched back. She whirled in place, aiming for the door of the Cathedral.

She didn’t make it a single step before she was transported, moved through space by whatever power Rhysand processed.

She landed on her knees, facing out over the pews. A glance behind her told her she was in front of the altar. Feyre tried to stand, to move, but invisible bonds held her in place, trapped in place, a sick mockery of prayer.

Rhysand strode towards her. Feyre loathed herself for it, but even now, she thought he was beautiful, the candles making his bare skin seem to glow.

“What do you want, Feyre?” he asked, stopping directly in front of her.

“I want to go home. I want to get married tomorrow,” Feyre growled through gritted teeth.

Rhysand quirked a brow. “To the Lord’s son?” He shook his head. “Feyre, you could do so much better than that. I could make you my queen, if only you asked.”

Feyre snarled. “I don’t want to be your queen. I want a normal, human life.”

Rhysand sighed, sweeping a hand across the altar, sending candles and glass crashing to the ground before reaching down to pick her up. He lifted her as if she was no more than a doll, weightless in his hands. Feyre squirmed in his grasp, desperate to free herself but Rhysand’s just fingers dug in deeper, no doubt leaving small circles of bruises she would find in the morning.

He set her down on the altar, the marble cold under her thighs, leaching through the thin nightgown.

Rhysand rested his hands on her knees. “If all you wanted was a normal life, I wouldn’t be here.” He wrenched her legs apart.

“I don’t want—“ Feyre begged, but he’d already ducked down, bunching her nightgown up around her hips and burying his head between her thighs.

The first lick had her hips bucking off the altar. Rhysand chuckled, even as he continued to run his tongue along her seam, teasing at her entrance.

Feyre couldn’t help the moans that escaped. It felt good, so much better than her hand ever had.

And it was so utterly wrong.

Almost without thought, Feyre reached down, threading her hands through Rhysand’s dark hair, the strands surprisingly thick and soft. She told herself it was to push him off, even as she pulled him closer, his nose just barely brushing the bundle of nerves at the top of her thighs.

The cry that ripped free of Feyre’s throat was loud enough to wake the whole town. It only seemed to spur Rhysand on, his mouth working with renewed vigor.

Feyre’s head lolled back, her breaths coming out in small gasps.

“That’s it, Feyre,” Rhysand said against her, sucking her clit into his mouth.

“Rhysand,” Feyre whimpered. She could feel her inner muscles fluttering, approaching the point of now return.

“Rhys,” the demon snarled, his wings flaring slightly. “Call me Rhys when you come.”

Feyre nodded. “Yes, please, Rhys, please.”

Rhysand responded, slipping one finger past her folds to stroke at that sensitive spot inside her, licking at her clit at the same time.

Feyre fell apart with a scream, the sound echoing off the high church rafters.

Rhysand rode her through it, resting his head against her lower stomach once she’d come down slightly from her high, the hair lightly brushing against the skin.

It was the dreams she’d been having for the past two years, except everything felt too real, too raw to be anything but true. 

“Do you know why you’re mine?” Rhysand asked after a long moment, rising slowly to his feet.

Feyre leaned back on her elbows and shook her head.

Rhysand’s talons were back, sharp, black points. He ran one down the front of her nightgown, splitting the fabric effortlessly. It fell away from her body, exposing her breasts and Feyre felt her nipples pebble in the cool night air.

“Because I can hear your thoughts,” Rhysand continued, casting an appreciative gaze over her body. “And I know what you think about when you look at me. What would it be like to be my wife? For me to get down on my knees like I just did? What would it take for me to call you mine?”

One of Rhysand’s hands drifted down to the fabric tied around his waist, and Feyre let out an involuntary whimper.

Rhysand smirked. “Seen, even now you’re so prideful you think you can impress a demon. Do you think I’m hard for you? Standing nice and tall?”

Feyre bit her lip, but nodded.

Rhysand’s laugh sent shivers skittering up her spine, reminding Feyre in a way those bat wings never could that he was much, much, more than a regular man.

The white cloth around his hips fell to the floor and Feyre felt her mouth go dry. She’d seen images of male parts before, in the anatomy drawings she occasionally convinced Isacc to sneak out of the boys school library, but nothing had prepared her for Rhysand in front of her.

She wasn’t sure how it was going to fit, the length far wider than the two fingers she usually used, late at night when she was sure the rest of the house was asleep.

“Not so confident now?” Rhysand taunted, taking a step closer.

Feyre just looked up at him with wide eyes.

Rhysand’s hand wrapped around her wrists, tugging them up over her head and pinning them to the altar. He used his other to run a stripe up her center, pulling back to admire the gleaming arousal that coated it.

“Clean this,” Rhysand said, holding his thumb against Feyre’s lips. She parted them, sucking his finger into her mouth, and ran her tongue along it.

Rhysand groaned slightly, the first time she’d seen a crack in his facade, any sign he enjoyed what they were doing.

He pulled his thumb free, wrapping it around his thick length and lining it up with her entrance.

“Rhys,” Feyre whimpered, and he slid in with a hard thrust. “Fuck–” Feyre screamed. Everything was too tight, bright pain dancing through her body as Rhysand stretched her too wide.

She didn’t get the full word out before Rhysand’s fingers were back on her clit, rubbing and stroking, quickly morphing the pain to pleasure.

He waited until she’d adjusted, her inner walls relaxing, before pulling out slightly and thrusting back in.

“This is your punishment,” he groaned, timing the words with every new thrust, “for being so prideful.”

Feyre nodded, even as she whined. The pain was gone, replaced with the longing to be closer, to have more. She hooked her ankles around his hips and tugged him into the cradle of her thighs.

Rhysand laughed. “Repeated after me, darling. Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

“Forgive me father for I have sinned,” she murmured, unsure if the words were even comprehensible, or if she was simply mumbling in her pleasure. She was overwhelmed, had never come close to a second orgasm so quickly before.

“I have been prideful and filled with lust,” Rhysand continued. “In the worst of ways.”

Feyre echoed his words.

“Because of this, cursed am I among all humans, and to hell I will go.”

“What?” Feyre breathed.

Above her, Rhysand froze, pulling his hand away from where it had continued its teasing.

He rested his forehead against hers, violet eyes boring into her. “Feyre, I want you. I want you so much it hurts, so much I go daily to Helion to ask for help. Stay with me and I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches hidden in secret places only those scorned by God know about.”

Feyre bit her lip. What did she have to leave behind? Your sisters, your father, Tamlin. How much did any of those mean to her anyway? How much did Tamlin love her as more than something to be won, a wife to be paraded around? And her sisters? She’d already resigned herself to never seeing them, spending her days trapped in the Lord’s house.

“Yes,” Feyre whispered. “Yes.” Louder this time. “I will go with you.”

Rhysand smiled down at her, a real smile this time, so beautiful it would have made the angels weep. How could God have got rid of you, no matter what your crime.

Rhysand picked back up, thrusting hard into her so hard she slid back on the altar, her back hitting the wooden cross behind it.

“Say it,” Rhysand said, “say it and be mine.”

“Because of my pride, I am cursed among all humans.”

Rhysand seemed to pick up the pace, his breath coming in rough pants. “Now say your vows.”

The words came out in a hideous whine, Feyre fighting the rising tide of her orgasm. “I, Feyre, take you, Rhys, to be my husband.”

“And I, Rhys, take you Feyre to be my wife. You are the air I breathe, you are what I live for. You are the first and you are the last, besides you there is no other.”

And then Rhys’ lips were on her, meeting in a clash of teeth and tongue. He kissed like a man starving, as if he could drown in her.

Feyre had never felt so on fire, as if she was going to burst out of her skin.

Then she did, coming so hard stars seemed to dance in her vision. Except the stars were real, bursting out from where her and Rhysands bodies joined.

Rhys gave her another smile, the one that made her heart stutter, and followed her, spilling into her with a grunt.

“Congratulations on being the first human to be cast out of heaven,” Rhysand said, raising her hand to kiss the back of her knuckles, “wife.”

-

The next morning, when Tamlin and his father headed to the church for the wedding, all they found was a giant crack in the marble floor and the engagement ring Tamlin had given Feyre resting neatly on top of it.

And if anyone thought they heard the statue laughing, well, that was all in their heads.

[areyoudreaminof]

Oh look, another WIP snippet

Elain set the blue and gold gown back into the wardrobe. She and Vassa had mixed the clipped waists and low necks of the Prythian style with the flowing skirts and sleeves that the Scythian tradition favored. The blue and gold would bring out Vassas coloring, and Elain was determined that her friend looked every bit as queenly and intimidating at this ball.

Vassa launched herself into the bed, flopping dramatically on her belly and stared at the patterned wallpaper blankly. “These people have no love for me. I’ll be lucky to get scraps.”, she mused sadly. Elain crawled onto the bed beside Vassa, throwing her arms around her body as she rested her head on her shoulder.

“All those fancy stallions and mares that pull the carriages come from your lands. The grain that fills their stores is harvested from your plains and steppes. Scythian trade has given them every necessity. So you need to remind them of that and show them that you’re a queen.” Elain murmured.

“A queen who got caught into a trap”, Vassa snorted, as she returned Elains embrace, “I’m trying to tell myself there is a purpose to all of this. That we won’t wake up one day and be at the lake. That all of this anxious misery will be worth something.” She whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“It will be.” Elain said fiercely. “I’ve seen it.”

[starryhiraeth]

Betrayal then home Pt3

Azriel x Y/N x ??????

(There might be spelling errors)

Pt1

Pt2

It had been years.YEARS since you left the night court and for years,nobody looked for you.

Of course,in the begging it stung.it stung like a bitch.

But time changes things

How? You ask???

Well…

1 month after Y/N moved in with the band of exiles

“I’m going to talk to her” declared Vassa

You’d been in your room for the last month,as you died a little everyday,just like the bond did.

The only time you went out was to put on your skates and go to the nearest frozen lake. Though once or twice you could’ve sworn you saw Lucien watching you glide and spin across the ice.

Not spying,not glaring,not judging,just…watching…

“Are you sure that’s the right ideas,we don’t want to force her out-” Lucien stared but Vassa cut him off

“No! Elain and Azriel are probably off in their sickly little haven while she is left in pain.I won’t let her let them win.”

“I agree” Jurian chimed in,a scowl came across his face when Elain and Azriel were mentioned

Though quite honestly,he pulls a face any time a member of the night court is mentioned

Vaasa marched up the stairs only to find an empty room.

“Y/N?” She called

She looked at you wardrobe to see you skates missing.

Jurian,Lucien and Vassa all went to the nearest lake and soon enough heard the rough yet soothing sound of the skates on the ice then a loud bang. All three of them rushed over to see what happened,all of them going into fighting mode,ready to kill whatever had got to you but when they got there all they found was you,on your ass,laughing to yourself

“I-uh…I fell out of a turn…” you went red with embarrassment as you shook the ice of your hands.

Lucien let out a breath and walked carefully across the ice to help you up. He’d been watching you for a while,he knew full well that you could easily get up on your own.

When he offered his hand,you smirked and took it.

Lucien then came crashing down next to you. You laughed your ass off as he looked you at you with a playful grin.

“I slipped” you got out through your giggles

“Liar” he said in a deep voice grinning

Soon enough Vassa fell down on top of you and you all called for Jurian to join in.after he refused,you convinced lucien to just tackle him. In the end you were all lying on ice,all freezing your asses of.

2 years later

Vassa read the instructions on the cook book as you licked the chocolatey batter off the whisk while sitting on the counter with your legs crossed. You were wearing a tank top and some sweats while your hair was in a plait down your back. Vassa wore something similar as she put the cake mixture in the oven. She grabbed a spoon and soon enough you both dug into the the left over mixture in the bowl. There was no doubt you and your best friend looked like absolute messes, with chocolate cake mixture over your hands and face.

Your sister.

Then a flash and a loud noise went off,you both froze as you looked over to the left,seeing Jurian and Lucien standing there holding a camera.

Well that’s gonna come back to haunt you both

3 Years later

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

“Jurian”

…

“JURAIN!”

“WHAT! WHAT DO YOU WANT”

You said there like a disobedient child,looking up and smirking.

You held your arms out

“No”

Over the years Jurian had grown protective over his little family,especially you,you were like the little sister who was more or less just a little ball of chaos but looked like you could never hurt a fly.

Wrong.you killed every bug you saw BUT ANYWAY-

“Hug”

“No”

“Hug”

“No”

“Hug”

“No”

“Hug or I’ll tell Vassa you like her”

“I don’t like her-”

“I’m not Stupid”

“…”

…

…

“NOW HUG”

In the end he did hug you but then he swore you to secrecy about vassa thing and also made you promise you would only refer to it as “the emotion”

Your brother.

5 Years later

Now lucien…lucien was different…

One night you couldn’t sleep and it was far to dangerous to leave and go ice skating on your own so you just sat there until there was a knock at your door

“Hey”

Lucien said gently

“Hey Lu”

“Come with me,I have to show you something”

You gave him a confused look but followed but before you could walk you the door

“Oh! And grab the skates”

When you started walking you noticed that lucien wore his own skates in red and none of it made sense until you arrived at the lake where he used to watch you.

Fairy lights adorned the trees,over the ice and around the woods,glowing crystals hung from the trees and in the background you heard soft hypnotic music that you couldn’t even tell whereabouts it was coming from.

A gorgeous smile graced your features

“D-do you like it”

Lucien asked

“I love it!” You responded,eyes on the beauty in front of you “bu-but why”

“Well” he said as he got closer “I realised it was the tenth anniversary of you being with us,being an exile like us and…well it’s been amazing, I thought it need celebrating”

“…it has been amazing,hasn’t it”

You stared at each other for what felt like years

“Okay! Now come on”

You pulled him onto the ice

“I-uh I-I don’t know how to do this”

He Panicked holding on to both your hands

“It’s okay,I’ve got you”

After a whole of him almost getting the hang of it you said “spin!”

“What?!”

“Try spinning”

He tried…he also fail miserably but it’s the thought that counts

He playfully glared “okay let’s see you do better then”

You shrugged and went off,flawlessly spinning on the spot before moving again doing the same,just in the air

When you landed,you skated back over to Lucien and look down at him “good enough for you”

He just looked “Always.”

After a few hours,you found yourselfs sitting on the ice,looking up at the stars and the twinkling fairy lights as your hands slowing inches together.

It was the first time you could look up at the night sky and not be plagued with memories from the night court. no. Now there was just Lucien.Lucien and you.

Looking over to him,your lips slowly moved closer,as they your lips joined,two broken mates,found themselves in each other.

Your lover.

Present (37 Years after joining the band of exiles)

“Dahlia?! Lia,come out it’s time to get ready”

Your 3 year old daughter shyly poked her head around from behind the curtain

“Hiya mama”

She muttered smiling

“Hiya baby”

She came close to you and put her hands up,you picked her up and she buried her head in your neck

“Do I have to go,I don’t like the parties”

They were actually balls and banquets but Dahlia or Lia,for short,was. Quite and sensitive kid,who would much rather going skating with her mummy and daddy.

“I know baby but it’ll only be a short time and you can stay with me and daddy the whole night”

At first you thought to leave her with a childminder but when you and Lucien first tried it,she cried and cried until you came home.The only people Lia was comfortable with were her mummy and daddy,auntie Vassa,uncle Juju and Silas,Vassa and Jurian’s son

Dahlia was gorgeous,you sat her down and put her long red curly hair into bunches/Pigtails.

Her tanned skin was almost replica to lucien but she had your eyes 100%.

She wore a little blue dress and you worse a black one.

Down stairs the party was raving,

Y/N and Lucien danced around the floor,looking at each other with pure adoration and love.

“Your look positively exquisite,my love”

“Well you don’t look to bad your self,handsome”

“MAMA!”

You saw Dahlia running towards you with a big smile on her face and her arms raised.

“Hi baby!”

“Hey princess”

You and Lucien said and you lifted her up only to find the night court hot on her trail, they stoped in front of you with a look of astonishment on their face.

“Well uh”

Rhys started

Vassa and Jurian came by your side with Silas in his fathers arms.

“well this is certainly a surprise” Rhys said

“What?” Vassa started “ that we have children? you didn’t think you were the only ones did you” she bitterly said

“No,no of course not, but I’ve heard it’s rather hard to get over your mate” he looked at you

Passive aggressive bastard

“Well clearly it’s not too hard” you sassed back looking at Elain and Azriel who were standing far apart

“Mm,tired” Dahlia yawned into your neck and held you tighter

“Excuse us” you said snippily 

Truth be told, things weren’t good in the night court,Elain and Azriel Have been fighting for a long time all these years you’d been healing they’ve only been getting worse.

“CAN YOU LEAVE ME ALONE FOR FIVE MINUTES ELAIN”

“YOU ALWAYS WANT FIVE MINUTES ALONE AND THEN TEN AND THEN TWENTY!YOU HATE BEING AROUND ME”

“BECAUSE YOUR NOT MY MATE”

“THEN WHY DONT YOU GO TO HER”

“BECAUSE I SCREWED HER OVER FOR YOU”

Azriel regretted it and Elain knew it.

But there was nothing they could do.

So they watched as their happiness slowly disintegrated leaving them with nothing but regret

Good, you thought 

They watched with jealousy as you and your family,left the ballroom,laughing and happy

At peace.

Vassa,the queen

Jurain,the king consort

Silas,the prince

Y/N,the second in command

Lucien,the emmissionary

Dahlia,the duchess

They were your family,

Vassa,Jurian and Silas all went back to their chambers and just as you were walking back to Dahlia’s room

“Mama i’wan sleep with you”

An adoring smile appeared on your face,she was your world.Her and Lucien.

“Okay baby”

Settling down,Little Dahlia sleeping in between you and lucien,his arms secured around the both of you,while your tried to fit over both of them.holding them close.

The last thing you could remember before sleep overtook you was Azriel,trying to pull on the bond.

And you happily let it go cold and you did it with a smile and with your husband and daughter in yours arms and a peaceful darkness over took you.

So! This is the end of the mini fic

PLEASE comm suggestions or requests

So Lucien Y/N Dahlia Vassa Jurian and Silas are happy while Elain and Azriel are stuck in a abusive and toxic relationship!😁😁

HAVE A LOVLEY DAY

And fr,thank you for all the support!!

Taglist-

@moonfawnx

@additi

@mulansaucey

@high-speed-r

@xxoverthinkerxx

@mrs-azriel

[theladyofbloodshed]

STEEL & FLAME - Part Eight

Just a short update but a little bit of fire there

It had been two days since Nesta had moved her scant belongings into a room in the manor house within the mortal lands. It had felt like longer. She felt on edge and uncomfortable in a new environment. With Jurian’s dark eyes constantly on her in common spaces, Nesta was uneasy. She did not trust him, not after what had happened with the King of Hybern. She had not yet seen Vassa, not truly. The winter nights meant she retired early on purpose before Vassa could shift from her fire-bird form. Nesta heard the three of them most evenings once she’d ignore Lucien’s knocking and pretended to be asleep. Their conversation was too muffled for Nesta to make out, but it was often punctuated with laughter. She'd not known friendship like that.

Lucien had been good to hide his disappointment when Nesta chose to stay in her room. He hadn’t passed a comment that Nesta had suddenly receded back into her shell at the change of environment. He was too good to ever pass a judgement on her out loud.

Out of politeness, Nesta did dine with the two males, barely speaking though. More often than not, Lucien seemed to brace himself each time Jurian opened his mouth, wary of what might pass the human’s lips.

Once she had relented to her room, Nesta’s shoulders would sag with relief. It was a nice room, really. One that she felt safe in. A little on the small side but spacious enough for her stacks of books and handful of dresses hanging in the white wood wardrobe. Sky blue paper was plastered on the walls and adorned with thin, silver stripes. Lucien had also installed a lock for her without needing to ask for one.

Had she made a mistake in coming to the mortal lands? Nesta could be hunted. Lucien would protect her, she knew that, but what did it mean for them? Was it an acceptance of “them” to move to the house? Surely, if it was, Lucien would have moved her into his own bedroom?

A light tap on the door dredged her from her pondering. Nesta sat straight-backed on the edge of the mattress. Dinner had only been half an hour ago; too early for her to feign sleep. Possibly, she could feign a headache. The door knocked again, a little more insistent this time. She asked for the caller to enter.

Lucien stood in the doorway, his white shirt was untucked and a couple of buttons were undone to expose the golden brown skin of his chest. Nesta gulped at the sight. He was disarmingly handsome. Long, red hair was tossed over one shoulder as he leant casually on the door frame.

‘You’ve become a ghost these last couple of days,’ he said gently. ‘Can I help you with anything?’

‘I am fine, thank you.’

Lucien took a step into the room then halted, glancing towards her in case she told him to stop. Nesta allowed him to enter her room. Such propriety seemed insignificant since their kisses on the couch in Velaris. The male settled beside her on the bed, the warmth of his body had her aching for a touch.

‘It’s freezing in… Sorry. My mistake,’ he said, eyes turning to the empty hearth. There was a stack of wood there that Nesta refused to touch. Even if she did want a fire, she had no idea how to light one anyway.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, flames burst to life. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You must have been so cold these last two nights?’

‘I did not want to burden you.’

Lucien tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The touch made her shudder. ‘I told you that you could never be a burden to me.’ He leaned forwards, gently kissing the small patch of exposed skin on her shoulder where her dress scooped. ‘Would you like to tell me what is going on?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said a little breathlessly as his lips pressed again a little higher up her neck.

‘Hmm,’ his lips remained on her skin. The vibration made Nesta tremble. ‘I mean that you will let me do this to you in private but won’t spend a moment in my company with others.’

Nesta jerked back from his touch. ‘I do not know them.’

Lucien tilted his head, a cocky smile spreading there. He knew exactly what a few touches of his lips did to her – and was proud of it. ‘And you will never know them by hiding away up here.’

They would not want to know Nesta.

‘It would mean a lot to me if you tried to engage with them, Nesta. Both Jurian and Vassa have been good to me these last few months. They know what you mean to me too,’ he explained, voice soft and encouraging as if trying to coax an animal out from its hiding spot. ‘Why don’t you try for an hour? After that I can provide you with an exit.’

‘What sort of an exit?’

‘I’ll spin a lie. You have a head ache or are suffering from ear ache from listening to Jurian.’ A broad hand settled on the bed beside her. She couldn’t help but imagine those hands running along her thighs. Lucien’s eyes suddenly went wide, sensing something. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘Nothing. My book. That I’d like to read it in bed tonight. That’s all.’

‘I thought you’d finished Sweet Magnolias?’

On instinct, his eyes flicked to the stack of books beside her bed, the golden one whirring as it scanned the titles embossed along the spines.

‘I have, but there are other books to read, Lucien.’

‘All as riveting as that one?’

‘Even more so.’

Lucien’s eyes were alight with something dangerous. ‘You will have to tell me all about it. I’m intrigued to learn.’

Against better judgement, Nesta took Lucien’s arm as he led them downstairs into the living area. She had insisted that talk of her father was a topic that was not to be touched. She wouldn’t be held accountable for her reaction if the subject was broached.

The chatter died down between the two humans when they entered the room. Nesta inhaled, regarding them both for a long moment. Vassa was sprawled out on a lurid pink couch against the far wall, her red hair spilling over the arm of the couch. Jurian sat at the other end with his bare feet stretching towards the blazing fire. Nesta’s eyes went to it at once then she breathed a sigh of relief: it was Lucien’s magic again, keeping the flames glowing there. She supposed it saved coin on firewood. The room was cosy; not enormous but filled with light and warmth.

‘Nesta Archeron,’ Vassa acknowledged.

‘Your majesty,’ murmured Nesta in return, curtseying slightly whilst still holding onto Lucien’s elbow.

Jurian snorted. ‘Don’t inflate her head any more than it needs to be.’

‘I am a queen, you know.’

Vassa dug her heel into Jurian’s thigh until the male gripped hold of her foot. ‘Last I heard, you needed a kingdom to be a queen. You no longer have one.’ He held the squirming foot, tickling it until Vassa thrashed and squealed. Jurian only relented when her other foot kicked him hard in the leg.

‘This is a daily occurrence,’ Lucien explained in a dry voice.

There was one seat left in the room; a brown leather armchair. She recognised one of Lucien’s notebooks on top of a pile of parchment on the small table beside it. His favoured seat, she supposed. Jurian tracked her movements, a smile spreading across his attractive face.

‘Vassa can move her feet so you can sit by me, Nesta. Or I’m sure Lucien wouldn’t mind if you sat in his lap.’

Lucien gave him a warning glare. The man grinned with savage delight, watching Nesta’s deliberation. It was turning into a stalemate. Vassa hadn’t moved her legs; she was waiting to be asked.

Lucien stepped forwards as if he was about to ask her to vacate so he could take the seat by Jurian when a sudden surge of foolishness barrelled into Nesta. She forced Lucien into the armchair and took Jurian’s suggestion. Nesta slid onto his lap, giving the human her harshest glare from the other side of the room. A hand reached around her waist, lightly tugging her back so she wasn’t sat so awkwardly like a plank of wood. With one easy swoop, Lucien had scooped up her legs and tossed them over the arm of the chair so she was cradled against him. It wasn’t a position she was used to – nor one she ever thought she’d display in public.

‘Looks cosy,’ Jurian said with a leering grin.

‘Indeed,’ agreed Vassa, her blue eyes shining.

Lucien laughed. ‘Ignore them. They don’t speak to anyone else. They don’t know how to behave around company.’

The conversation diverted course to easy topics between the three. Vassa and Jurian were at each other’s throats constantly. If they weren’t bickering about each other, they were bickering about a mutual acquaintance. Lucien laughed along, his voice a soothing tone easing Nesta out of her discomfort. She still could not believe she’d clambered into his lap to prove a point to Jurian, but it was enjoyable. The chatter swirled around her while Lucien’s fingers trailed up and down her back, drawing pictures and patterns lightly though the material. Occasionally, a question would be asked of her. She had offered little information except that she and Lucien had survived off toast for days before Jurian had saved them both with his culinary skills.

It was an odd sort of friendship between the three exiles but Nesta did not wonder how they had become fast friends. Sparks passed between the three of them, conversation was fast and high-spirited – and all three were extremely comfortable in each other’s presence as if they had always known each other.

‘How’s your head now?’ Lucien asked, stroking a warm hand across her forehead. The casual displays of intimacy were second nature to him and Nesta wanted to learn to appreciate them rather than shy away. ‘Do you still have a headache?’

‘A little, yes. Would you escort me to my room?’

As they departed, Jurian wolf-whistled after them. It was to be expected; he’d spent most of his life in war camps surrounded by other males – the other portion had been trapped inside Amarantha’s ring and nobody knew the extent of the horrors he’d been forced to witness. A lack of manners was not the end of the world, Nesta supposed.

***

Nesta had managed one evening without splintering which Lucien decided was the best outcome as any. He understood that her healing would come through little and frequent pushing. She needed to be able to retire and recover.

On reflection, Lucien could not decide if bringing Nesta to the mortal lands was a mistake: Jurian and Vassa were mortal so he’d thought she might relate better to them, but Jurian was older than Lucien and Vassa was a queen. Both had dominant personalities too – and both enjoyed egging the other on to the point of explosion. Would Nesta long for her mortality again? Or would she feel, away from the taverns and the vibrant buildings of Velaris, as if the house was nothing more than a prison?

At the door to her bedroom, Nesta stilled. When her hand released its grip on his arm, Lucien felt a coldness in its absence as if Nesta was always meant to be part of him.

‘I will not be cross with you, Nesta, if you should like to return to Velaris.’

‘Why would I want to go back there?’

‘You don’t seem comfortable. Your family is in Velaris. There’s little for you here.’

‘It will take me time, but I will try more. I know I am difficult and hard. I will try to be better.’

‘Stop,’ Lucien demanded, voice flaring with anger. He very much wanted to return to Velaris and see the place smoulder to ruin. All of them had taken delight in telling Nesta that she was wicked, argumentative, and unwelcoming. How often had they trodden on her to mould her into what they wanted? ‘You are perfect just as you are. Do not change yourself to fit another’s desire.’

Nesta’s stare was intense enough to brand his skin. Silver flames danced in her irises. Lucien could not read her, could not decide whether she was about to slam the door in his face or wallop him, so hard and searching her gaze was upon him.

Then her lips were crashing into his. Arms weaving around his neck. Body pushing against his.

And he was kissing his mate back. Every synapse in his body was crying out for Nesta’s touch.

They staggered across the threshold of her room, her soft lips exploring his mouth eagerly.

An excited noise slipped from her lips as Lucien pushed them against the wall. The flames in her eyes swirled like a storm cloud as she tugged him closer again so Lucien could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest. His hand dragged over her hip to rest around her waist.

He tilted Nesta’s face to grant better access to the soft skin of her neck. His lips trailed feather-light kisses across the pulse throbbing in her neck. A hand wove into his hair, firm enough to lure him back up to her mouth again, desperate to taste all of him.

Sparks ignited in his chest as Nesta’s lips parted slightly. She wanted this as much as he did. His tongue pressed between her lips. There was a moment of hesitation on Nesta’s part then she was following his motions.

He had to remember she was inexperienced, that he wouldn’t rush this moment, wouldn’t rush her into anything until she was ready. Nesta Archeron deserved to be thoroughly romanced.

His hand cradled Nesta’s cheek, slowing the pace of his kisses until they both agreed to stop. Breathless, they stood still pressed together against the wall. Their foreheads touched and he could feel Nesta’s heart pounding in her chest.

A dream. This female was a dream.

Nesta’s eyes fluttered open. Lucien could see himself reflected in her dilated pupils; saw the mass of scar tissue carved through half of his face. He tried to take a step back, but Nesta’s hand gripped to his upper arm, holding him there.

‘Everything I want is here, Lucien.’

He had to kiss her again. He’d crawl across broken glass for another touch.

The corners of her mouth tipped up as he gave her a chaste kiss. Lucien loved it when she smiled. It was so rare to see. More smiles would come. He would ensure his mate never felt anything but loved and happy and safe.

‘Would you like to go for a ride tomorrow?’

Nesta blinked several times then she whispered, ‘A ride?’

Heat scorched in her cheeks and it made Lucien want to press his mouth to hers again. ‘On a horse. What are those books teaching you? Your mind is constantly in the gutter, Nesta.’

‘Oh. I do not know how to ride.’

‘I would be glad to teach you.’

‘I’m sure you would,’ she purred.

‘More than you can imagine. It would bring me great pleasure to teach you how to ride.’

Her cheeks were flushed scarlet and Nesta was working hard to maintain her composure. She was failing miserably. Lust and passion pulsed down their bond – and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know that she could feel such things for him.

‘Since you have a headache, I shall not bother you any longer, my lady,’ he said, taking a step back. He would drive her wild with desire. This well-born lady would be begging him to be touched soon enough. Lucien caught her slender hand and kissed the top of it. ‘Until tomorrow.’

[helion-ism]

modern nesta

well, summer slipped us underneath her tongue, days and nights are perfumed with obsession, half of my wardrobe is on your bedroom floor, use our eyes, throw our hands overboard

I am your sweetheart psychopathic crush, drink up your movements, still I can't get enough, I overthink your punctuation use — not my fault, just a thing that my mind do

modern acotar: modern feyre | modern elain | modern lucien | modern cassian | modern gwyn | modern emerie | modern eris | modern mor | modern rhys | modern valkyries | modern vassa

modern tog: modern aelin | modern manon | modern dorian | modern elide | modern lysandra | modern lorcan | modern rowan

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyncien part 3

Idk if y’all will like this one as much. It’s kind of a filler but it took forever to write so I’m posting it anyways. I’ll tag people who have asked below.

Gwyn thought she might puke and it had nothing to do with Lucien's winnowing abilities. She never thought she would feel so nauseas especially after the blood rite. She supposes that the imminent fear of death had her more distracted from her typical anxieties. Now that she could focus on the fact that she was actually leaving Velaris, she felt sick. She grabbed onto Lucien harder and closed her eyes tightly. What felt like hours later, although it was truly only a minute or two, Lucien spoke.

"Welcome to the band of exiles." She opened her eyes to a surprisingly large castle. She was not sure what she expected, perhaps an abandoned cabin, but the building was spectacular and beautiful.

"Jurian and Vassa are excited to meet you." Lucien added as they continued to stand out front. It appeared that he would allow her to stand here for as long as she needed. She knew that if she demanded he take her right back he would. His words finally caught up with her brain that seemed to be running a mile a minute. Why would his closest friends be excited to meet her she thought. It made her anxious for the first time. Perhaps she mistook his friendly countenance for something less than it actually was. She would address it later. She began walking towards the door, mumbling under her breath.

"Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Lucien inserted much more enthusiasm than necessary into his tone. He grabbed her arm and laced it through his which had her feeling very grateful. Her knees were shaking as she walked and she knew he could tell. Gwyn felt the need to remind herself that he had a mate. She wondered if he would be desperate enough to make a move on her. A large, beautifully decorated foyer greeted them. Two very beautiful people stood in the middle of the white marble floor. Gwyn tightened her hold on Lucien when she saw the new male, stopping them mid-walk. She started her mind-stilling technique as the anxiety clawed at her chest and throat. She would eventually have to face men if she ever wanted to get her revenge. She could not allow a few measly physical reactions hold her back. She took one last deep breathe and then continued walking towards the couple. She spent less time analyzing the female, but from what she saw Gwyn knew she was beautiful. She also had red hair, however, Gwyn's hair was more of a copper/bronze red while Vassa had a deep maroon red. Gwyn kept her eye on Jurian though.

"You are making her nervous, standing there like two parents ready to scold their children." Lucien reprimanded his friends with a roll of his eyes. The female waved his comment off, completely ignoring him. Gwyn did not miss the look they shared, however.

"I am Vassa and this is Jurian." She gestured to the male next to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you." It unnerved Gwyn that the few interactions that she had with Lucien warranted Vassa knowing much about her. She did not think much on it as she continued to watch the beautiful male. He had hair cropped short to his head and a deep skin tone. His looks were not what had her distracted though. It was the weapons. Gwyn found it unnecessary for him to require weapons while meeting with her. Instead of exchanging pleasantries like socially integrated Fae would, she began her questioning.

"Why so many daggers?" She gave him a scathing look while cocking her head to the side. He would not manipulate her into believing anything but the truth and she wanted that to be conveyed in her facial expression. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as if he were surprised.

"I could ask you the same question." He threw back at her with a smirk. It only infuriated her more. He could not tell she had daggers on her. She was wearing a cloak over her priestess robes with silver majesty strapped to her thigh. There was no possible way he could see the outline through her clothes. She narrowed her eyes and waited for him to respond. The staring contest was only broken when Lucien cleared his throat and Vassa nudged him.

"Fine." Jurian conceded with a smile. "Vassa is woefully bad at handling anything sharp, so I have taken on the role of her protecter while soon-to-be high lord is out and about." Both Vassa and Lucien seemed annoyed by his explanation. The anxiety began to loosen in her chest though. He was not completely trusted, but in this moment he would not attack.

"Gwyn." Is all she managed for an introduction. It seemed good enough for Lucien because he began leading her off to the side of the room towards a grand staircase.

"I will be showing Gwyneth her room and then we can talk." He threw over his shoulder. She held onto his arm all the way up the long staircase and through an even longer hallway. She laughed internally at the size of the mansion considering only three people resided here. A thought occurred to her when they finally came to a stop at a door.

"How many people live here?" She finally let go of Lucien and took a step back.

"Just us three. And now you. Occasionally we have a guest or two, but I will give you ample warning before that time. This will be your bedroom here. Mine is right across the hall if you need anything. There is a lock on the inside, but if you would like I can show you how to set up some furniture to keep the door from opening at all." Lucien gave her a small smile. It made her soften towards him even more.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I appreciate all that you have done for me. Truly. I cannot say thank you enough." She gave him a short hug to convey her gratefulness. He returned it, hesitantly. His touch was feather light. As though he did not want to touch her and make her uncomfortable. She stepped back towards the door once more and began to walk inside.

"I will come get you before dinner. You have a full wardrobe to pick from in there if you would like to change. If there is anything you require, just ask." Gwyn nodded and then he was gone.

The first thing Gwyn noticed was that the satchel she packed earlier before leaving was sitting on the bed. She had been so nervous about everything else that she had not even realized it was missing. Gwyn continued to survey the room. It was beautiful. The decorations reminded her of the night court. Lucien really did pay attention to the smallest details. Gwyn truly believed Elain was an idiot for not giving Lucien a chance. The bedding was all black and the drapes twinkled with specks of a shiny material. It almost made them look like stars. The bed was unnecessarily large and so was the desk that was off to the side of the room. It had been such a mentally exhausting day that Gwyn decided a nap was needed. She locked her door and stripped off her cloak. She knew the lock would do nothing against winnowing, but as far as she knew only Lucien could do that. She placed her desk chair under the doorknob anyways. She fell onto the bed without even removing her priestess robes. She did remove her dagger and place it under her pillow for protection. A small smile graced her face as she thought of a certain spymaster who also slept with a dagger under his pillow.

Soft footsteps woke Gwyn from her sleep. She had no idea how long she had slept, but knew that dinner must be approaching if it had not already passed. A light knock on the door made her jump.

"Gwyn? Dinner is almost ready if you would like to join us downstairs." Lucien yelled through the door. Gwyn's racing heart began to slow as she realized where she was and who was speaking to her.

"One moment." She decided this dinner was not worth changing her clothes so she grabbed her dagger, putting it back in its sheath, and flattened her hair down with her hands. She did not want to keep Lucien waiting after all. The second she stepped out of the room, a sly smile crossed the male's face.

"What?" Gwyn demanded a tad self-consciously. She flattened her hair once more.

"Enjoyed a nap I see?" He was teasing, but that did nothing to stop her from shoving him.

"Oh shut up and show me the dining room." A real smile graced his face as he put his arm out for her to grab. She was half tempted to shove his arm away for his teasing. Instead, she rolled her eyes and held onto his arm anyways.

"Your wish is my command."

The castle was truly beautiful. Gwyn knew she could spend hours looking at the art pieces- some of them looked familiar. She would guess those were done by Feyre. The marble flooring and intricate ceilings were only part of the beauty. It has clearly been decorated. Perhaps Vassa and Lucien bonded over similar tastes in rugs. The thought made Gwyn giggle internally. The castle was so large that it took them about five minutes before they reached the dining hall. Gwyn took her place next to Lucien across from Jurian and Vassa who were already pleasantly discussing Vassa’s doomed fate. They quickly stopped talking once she sat down and turned the conversation to her.

"So I have been dying to know," Jurian begins "is Rhysand as much of a prick as he pretends to be?" Lucien sent him a glare which only had Jurian shrugging with an innocent expression upon his face. Gwyn sighed.

"Depends on who you are. He is kind to me, but only out of pity from what he witnessed at Sangravah. I have seen him be cruel to those he purposefully does not want to understand. I am not here as your spy though. That is as much from me as you will get about Rhysand." Gwyn truly felt a level of gratefulness to the high lord, however, he often squandered any other positive feelings she had of him by constantly looking at her as if he was seeing that day in Sangravah all over again. It did nothing to help her forget. Jurian gave a contemplative look before turning his attention to his plate. Vassa decided to try her hand at conversation.

"How are the Archeron sisters? I know the death of their father was hard on all of them." Vassa took a sip of wine. Gwyn did not want to discuss this either though. Speaking of Nesta made her miss her sisters.

"They are as well as could be expected." It was generic and had the fiery red head pursing her lips in displeasure. Gwyn did not quite care.

“Gwyn is a beautiful singer.” Lucien finally changed the subject to something that she did not mind engaging in. “We will need you to sing for us sometime.” Gwyn nodded in agreement. The conversation continued on with Lucien boasting about Gwyn, talking about her training as a Valkyrie and winning the blood rite. She started feeling uncomfortable with all the compliments he was sending her way. It reminded her of a conversation she needed to have with him. Right now was as good of a time as any she supposed.

"It was extremely generous of you to offer your help, but I feel I should inform you that I am not interested in anything other than your friendship." Gwyn interrupted Lucien mid-speech to clarify. He looked startled by her statement. Jurian choked on his wine and Vassa cackled like there would be no tomorrow. It made Gwyn feel as though she was on the outside of some joke they all knew.

"Excuse me?" Lucien, for once, looked genuinely surprised. It was as if he could not quite believe she would say that and needed her to repeat it just in case he heard her wrong. Maybe Gwyn misinterpreted some of his advances.

"I know our coupling seems inevitable," Gwyn explained further a bit shyly, not quite sure of herself anymore. "But I am not interested in any one that is not Azriel." Vassa's cackles slowed down to more of a chuckle and Jurian kept sending amused looks to Lucien.

"Gwyn, I am your grandfather." Lucien approached the topic slowly. "I assumed your mother talked about me, but, and I really hope this is the case, you did not know this?" His tone lifted up at the end in questioning.

Oh, Gwyn thought. She was not easily surprised, but this topped the cake. She tried to think back to anytime her mother mentioned her grandparents, but the instances were few and far between. Gwyn realized she did not even know their names. Suddenly, every compliment and favor from Lucien no longer appeared odd. He was complimenting and bragging about his only living granddaughter. This took much longer to process than Gwyn would like to admit. Unexpectedly, she felt an unwarranted amount of anger towards Lucien.

"And you waited until this very moment to tell me? What the hell Lucien? Or should I say grandpa?" Her tone was more hostile than it had been with anyone else. The sarcastic comment at the end had the red-haired male cringing. Jurian and Vassa started laughing once more.

"I know this is not great timing to interrupt, but I, for one, will be referring to you as grandpa from here on out." Jurian inserted. Vassa gave an amused smirk, but said nothing. It earned him a glare from Gwyn and Lucien though.

"I apologize, Gwyneth, for the delayed reveal. I thought you knew that's why I offered to help you, though. I assumed your mother had spoken of Jesminda and I. She was rather young when we had to surrender her, I suppose." Lucien looked so genuine that Gwyn's anger diminished as fast as it had appeared. Gwyn's family history had always been a mystery to her. She might finally get some answers.

"Jesminda is my grandmother?" Gwyn inquired. Her own mother had never given details. This adventure was beginning to answer many questions she had always had.

"Yes." Lucien said. Gwyn was trying to understand his expression and tone. She spent another minute watching him. Their other table mates had gone quiet as well. It did not take a genius to understand the moment. Jesminda had never been mentioned before to her from anyone and she was not here right now. She was dead that much was clear. Lucien cleared his throat and for a brief second Gwyn could see the emotion he was so desperately trying to hide, guilt.

"Why did you give my mother to Sangravah?" Gwyn realized it probably had something to do with Jesminda's death. She truly wanted more details. Lucien sighed heavily, probably understanding that there were many questions in store for him.

"Beron just ordered for Jesminda to be tortured and executed in front of me. I am certain if he had known of your mother, he would have had the same future in store for her. I had kept the child a secret from everyone except a brother, who helped me hide her after Jesminda's death." It did not escape Gwyn's attention that Lucien neither referred to Beron as his high lord nor as his father. Lucien ran a hand through his hair roughly. Her hair was clearly from him, but it was his one russet eye that had her pausing. An eye that suddenly reminded her so much of Catrin.

"Why did he kill her?" She asked softly. Gwyn realized she would never be able to deny Lucien anything. One look from his russet eye and Gwyn would give in simply because of its similarity to her dead twin.

"Because he's a spiteful old man." Vassa spit out. Clearly, she was just as enraged by the situation. It made Gwyn wonder if Vassa and Lucien had ever been together. Lucien rolled his eyes at the fiery female. He seemed to roll his eyes constantly while he was here.

"Because he could," Lucien added. "Your mother, who was about six at the time, was extremely unsafe even under my brother and I's protection. Beron would put your mate to shame with all the torture tactics he uses. I dropped her off on the doorstep of that church in the middle of the night. I always planned to go back and visit, but I was nervous and I knew she was safe there. I felt it was selfish to visit her since it only put her in more danger." Gwyn felt sad for everyone involved. Sad for Lucien who watched his love be tortured and executed in front of him only for him to have to turn around and surrender his daughter to a church. Sad for Jesminda who died that day. Sad for her mother who must have lived every day wondering where her parents went and why they abandoned her. Sad for Catrin who never got to meet her grandfather.

"I had a sister." Gwyn felt the need to mention. She was unaware of how much Lucien knew, but it suddenly felt important to her that he knew of Catrin.

"I know." He responded with a sad smile. "This family is well versed in tragedy." Gwyn had so many more questions. She had time to ask though. Her questions were making Lucien relive memories that were better left untouched. Perhaps he had endured enough for one night. She looked down at her full plate. She had been so distracted that she had not touched a thing. She began to devour her food as the rest of the table engaged in a debate about seasonings and which was the best.

"Have you and Vassa..." Gwyn trailed off, leaving the innuendo open when Lucien walked her back to her room after dinner.

"She wishes." He chuckled.

"Would you be with Elain if you could?"

"I would not jump into a mating ceremony but I would like the chance to get to know her. She has not given me the opportunity." He answered practically with his arms folded behind his back. Gwyn felt the need to assure him that knowing Elain would not make any of this easier.

"Trust me, it's better this way." She did not want to leave the conversation on such a sore point. As they approached her door, Gwyn jokingly shoved him. "So this would make Elain my step-grandmother?" Lucien was quiet before speaking. It was not the reaction she hoped for.

"Elain does not know. No one knows. And no one can know, even Azriel. At least until Beron is dead. Make no mistakes if Beron were to discover you, he would torture you simply to spite my mother." His lips pursued together in displeasure.

"Azriel is very good with secrets." She felt the need to remind Lucien. He is a Shadowsinger after all.

"Not with his high lord. If Rhysand knew, he would tell Beron if he had too. If Nyx or Feyre's life were on the line, he would do anything to save them. That includes selling you out. This is very important, Gwyneth. You cannot tell anyone- promise me." His stare was so intense that she could not look away. He grabbed her hands in a tight grip to make sure she understood how serious he was. Gwyneth had never purposely kept a secret from Azriel before. Hopefully, Beron would die sooner rather than later.

"I promise."

+++

Two weeks later

"What do you mean she’s gone?" Azriel was shocked to discover that Gwyn had left two weeks ago. He thought she had been avoiding training because of the kiss they shared- not because she was gone. He had been eating dinner with Nesta and Cassian when he finally had the courage to mention the priestess and where she had gone. Now he was mad that he had not asked sooner.

“She left with Lucien on some adventure. I am not really sure. Her note was unclear.” Nesta responded solemnly. The House dropped a piece of chocolate cake in front of her which made a small smile curve at the brash female’s lips. Azriel’s stomach dropped at the mention of Lucien. Gwyn did not know him well enough to go on an adventure with him. Gwyn would not leave her sisters here and she would definitely not choose Lucien to be the first person she left Velaris with. He was certain of that. He also knew Lucien to be a spiteful person. Perhaps he was tired of watching Azriel and Elain parade their relationship around him, making a fool of the one-eyed male. He could have taken Gwyn as retribution.

“He must have kidnapped her. Gwyn would never willingly leave the House of Wind with anyone- let alone Lucien.” Azriel knew this had to be true. Gwyn would never just up and leave. Guilt started gnawing at his chest as he realize he could have prevented her from being taken. If only his shadows would work properly around her, he could have prevented Lucien’s nefarious plans from being completed. His siphons started glowing the longer he though about it. He had to clench his hands around his silverware to keep from winnowing straight to the Band of Exiles and demanding his mate be given back. Nesta gave Azriel an odd look before speaking.

“She left a note that said she was willingly leaving with him and as much as he annoys the shit out of me, I don’t think he would hurt Gwyn.” A frown marred her face now, though. As if she had not considered that her sister could be in trouble. It only annoyed Az further.

“He could have made her write the note.” He reminded in a quiet, harsh voice. Gwyn and Lucien were not friends. She would have no reason to leave with him. Cassian was cautiously glancing between his mate and Azriel. He did not know what to say that would not piss off Az, so he was choosing to let Nesta handle the situation instead.

“She is not in danger.” Nesta declared after peeking at her wrist. There was no possible way for her to know whether Gwyn was safe or not. Even Azriel could not find out given how stubborn his shadows were being. He could always take a trip to the Band of Exiles, but he had to assume Lucien would not be stupid enough to take Gwyn there.

“You do not know that.” His wings flexed in anger. The siphons atop his hands were glowing dangerously bright now. He needed to get his emotions under control.

“Yes I do.” Nesta insisted with a roll of her eyes that annoyed Azriel to no ends. “My bracelet is not glowing. They glow when any of us is in trouble. It’s how I found her in the blood rite. It has not glowed since then either.”

“Hers could have fell off.” Gwyn would not have left after the kiss they shared. It was too important of a moment between them for her to have left immediately after.

“Gwyn and Lucien are friends, Az. You know if you want someone to blame for her leaving, maybe you should look inward.” It was a sharp jab that hurt more than the Shadowsinger would ever admit.

Suddenly though, he could see the hurt on Nesta’s face. It was there for only a second, but he saw it. Nesta was just as hurt by Gwyn’s departure as he was. He finally unclenched his hands from around his silverware- his fight giving out. Nesta was right. Lucien would never kidnap Gwyn especially if he thought it might upset Elain. Azriel chose this time to leave, however. He would not stoop to Nesta’s level and trade jab after jab. He headed to the training arena. It was hours later when slight footsteps could be heard making their way over to him. He was sitting at the edge, his exhaustion forcing him to take a break. Nesta took a seat next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I miss her too, Shadowsinger." He said nothing in return because there was nothing else he could say. "You are worse than I was with the mating bond." Nesta tried again with a joke this time to try and get Azriel talking. She knew he was not normally one to discuss his feelings though. He gave her a withering look at that comment. It was an ongoing joke within the inner circle that Nesta handled the mate situation particularly horrible.

“Shut up.” Was all he responded with and he only said it halfheartedly.

"I am just saying, if you ask me for advice I could save you some time and heartache." They both continued to look out at the Velaris skyline.

"And what precious advice would you bestow upon me?" The comment was dripping in sarcasm, but he decided to humor her.

"Anyone other than your mate will be a disappointment, especially to you. Just accept it and her and everything else will become background noise." She looked up at him for a second before setting her head back down. He was not one to seek out comfort through touch, but sitting here with Nesta made him feel a bit better. Maybe it was because they could both ruminate in their sadness at Gwyn’s departure.

"Ah so wise. I had not considered that." Again the sarcasm was heavy.

"Well if you have thought about it and have not done it then I would consider you an idiot. You do not strike me as an idiot, Az." She was frustrated now- throwing her arms up and crossing them over her chest. He chuckled lightly.

"I think I might be." He admitted. Everything was so confusing with Mor and Elain that he lost focus of what was truly important.

"Gwyn is the most compassionate and understanding person I know. If she can love me, she can love you too. Just be honest with her." Her voice was soft now in a way that it never was. She always seemed to push him even when it seemed the rest of his family refused. It was the thing he liked most about Nesta- she was never scared of him or his feelings.

"Thanks Nes." He settled his head on top of hers and they stayed like that for hours- reminiscing in all things Gwyn.

[flowerflamestars]

I’m really interested to see if neris will have any mundane moments. Like I LOVE the ride or die and kill everyone thing! But will we see little soft moments with them?

OOO this is such a lovely question!

Because the thing is- mundane moments are so important, right? and this story, by definition, cannot ooze them in the same way, that say, Nesta/Tarquin drowns in everyday softness.

BUT they’re there. The great ongoing crisis/love story/denial of Neris is in the intricate rituals: they’re ride or die, but they’re burying that in a murder plot. The murder plot that’s obscured/facilitated by their literal, actual marriage that they’re both pretending is political arrangement...but that they are both acting out their extreme, actually real investment in having a real, functioning partnership.

Nesta runs from the Night Court!! right into the worlds most cozy dinner party. Eris needs to establish this was a power move! So obviously the answer is to form a new royal house in both their names. 

They’re extremely soft with each other, but it’s so wrapped in other things you have to also make yourself notice. Because it’s not a love about finding whatever is goodness in one another, it’s about embracing all those things other people have told them are wrong. Fearful. Selfish. 

Small things are always important in a love story, but they’re really doing the work here. My personal favorite is the Tender (Horny) Wound-tending, but other greatest hits include: Eris finding Nesta a seamstress to make her an entire wardrobe of her choosing, basically any time Eris kisses her hand, Nesta’s rabid obsession with his mouth (it IS SOFT I SWEAR), Eris healing Em’s wings, Nesta breaking Vassa’s curse and Eris being like I owe you because that is my brother’s heart right there, Nesta painting an entire palace blue, Eris giving Nesta his grandmother’s crown.

They’re way too dramatic to not be demonstrative, but the real softness is this steady undertow. They watch each other. They follow each other’s lead. They genuinely, earnestly admire each other. 

[rayonfrozenwings]

A Courtly Visit

wc/ 1289

- part of renee celebrates 1K: writer prompts series

AO3 link here : AO3 Series link here : @rayonfrozenwings-fic has all my fics also that link back to my main account so they are easier to find. Or search reneewritesfanfic on my blog. :)

Started from a Writer Prompt. I have written the start of "a courtly visit" to the Winter Court where things are a little different to what we know. Emissaries are all gathered to make plans for the future now the wall has come down, and maybe a little courtly intrigue on the side and romances developing.

It is a Mor / Vassa Romance, but I am unsure if it will continue - So heads up about that before you get too hooked.

Prompt from laces-of-life on Tumblr as a part of My 1K Celebration. "Morrigan and Vassa. Just, anything. Fluffy or steamy or silly or interacting with our three favorite bat boys. They're my personal favorite completely uncannon otp that I dreamt up and they're perfect and now I'm silently screeching like a pterodactyl inside. （ノ○Д○）ノ＝＝＝┠" @laces-of-life 

So my lovely Pose I tried to start something and make this possible more than just an uncannon otp. Because apparently i'm crazy and need to see how characters might get to this point. So there is a teeny bit of bat boys at the start and the potential for more Mor x Vassa down the line if I keep writing - you know me I get distracted, but I do like this idea or Mor meeting so many people away from the inner circle. :) So this is like the meet-cute.

A Courtly Visit

The winter court was beautiful all year round, crystals dangling from trees like a perpetual winter solstice. Mor knew that when winter actually fell it was more beautiful and more dangerous than any other court. The white fluffy animals easily distracted fae from other dangers that lurked here. Her familiar escort, Azriel and Cassian were flying overhead and Rhysand riding in the carriage beside her. Mor had a whole new wardrobe commissioned for this trip and the trunks of shoes and dresses and jewels were attached to the back of the carriage, sometimes you had to travel the slow way to be more comfortable at the other end.

Stones hit the window and then a moment later it was covered in snow. “Do you think they will ever grow up?” Mor asked Rhys, he smiled and winnowed away. Swearing and Loud noises exploded from the air above the carriage. She looked to the ceiling and leaned back in her seat.

“Rhys don't be a dick! We were having fun” Cassian howled.

“Now i’m having fun!” he called back.

Mor couldn't see exactly what was going on but it seemed her escort slowly became quieter as if they were falling behind the carriage. Popping her head out of the window she could see the three illyrians having an impromptu snowball fight. Mor sat back and listened to the rolling of the wheels and the horses hooves. It wasn’t relaxing per say, but some time to herself was always appreciated.

She started planning things in her head for the weeks to come. Talks between the courts would be opening again and representatives from each arriving soon. Mor was to represent the night court and it’s interests, she couldn’t remember who each high lord had chosen as their delegates, but at least there would be a few familiar faces, she expected Cressida from summer, cousin to the High Lord Tarquin, and Lucien said he would also attend in one of his letters to Feyre. Although Tamlin had not officially asked him. No one knew who would arrive from spring - if anyone, and Lucien couldn’t abandon the people he had spent so much time with. Jurian and Vassa were to represent the Human lands on each continent, those who were south of the wall now looking to Jurian for support in understanding this new post-wall-world.

Oh what a tricky web would be woven, she should be alright - Mor was good at reading a room, years of practice at trying not to give too much away. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, the fur lined gown she had chosen not nearly as warm as it was an hour ago.

A snowball flew at the window again.

She called for the carriage to stop and jumped out, skirts getting in the way, she shouldn’t have tried to fit in. The winter court fashion had far too many layers. Viv had already told her it was unnecessary, that she could wear her night court clothes and they would have all the fires burning, but a good excuse to go shopping should never be wasted. Feyre and herself had found the most beautiful damask and silk fabrics in red that worked so well with her furs but right now, it was hindering her ability to reign in the boys and smash them into the ground. Mor bent down and picked up the snow, cupping it in her hand. Shaping it as she walked to the tree line, she scoped out where each boy was. With a step, the darkness engulfed her and swarmed around; she threw the ball before winnowing to her next victim.

“Ahhh Damn it Mor! That’s cheating! Even Rhys knows that’s cheating!” yelled Cassian from behind a tree as Mor re-appeared across the road. Azriel turned towards her in defeat, sensing her with his skill or his shadows, hands up he dropped the snowball.

“I concede,” he said, obviously hoping she would spare him from the new ball in her hands.

The corner of his lip tweaked and she threw her snowball hard at the tree behind her.

“Fuck! - Mor!” Rhysand said as he lost his balance and fell back into the snow bank behind the tree.

Azriel’s laughter carried across the quiet roadside where only the horses breathing seemed to remain.

“Mor, you never play fair, you can’t change the rules.” Cassian said as he walked up behind Azriel from where he himself was hit.

“I didn’t know the rules! Hurry up, I don’t need you three in my space at court, the sooner you drop me off the better.” She stalked back the the carriage, slamming the door behind her.

--

Court was everything Vassa expected and more. The whole place was full of evergreen and berries from trees, large candles for dramatic effect throughout the main hall. She had expected a very cold castle with little or no decoration like the other castles she had been in - before and after the war - But this one was full of ancient stones that whispered happy stories of times long gone and bright tapestries and drapery to enhance every corner.

Lucien was talking to Jurian and herself about how much of the High Lord’s belongings were hidden by Viviane and her troops and how they had managed to keep the heart of the Winter court safe from Amarantha. As well as they could anyway. Ever the courtier he excelled in this place. Vassa was always the wild queen, the one who should not be around the mortal queens' guests, it had almost been a blessing; being the firebird. But the wheel of life was turning for her once more, and while they found a way out of her curse she would attend court here in the heart of Prythian.

Laughter echoed down the hall and Jurian and Lucien quickly turned and went down another hallway leaving Vassa to see who was laughing. Mor appeared, her satin slippers peeping our from her dress as she walked down the hall. The beautiful red gown adorned with white collar and cuffs to draw attention to her elegant hands and neck. Vassa smiled and welcomed her, now understanding why the other two were quickly away. Court dynamics would be very strange indeed.

“Good evening Morrigan, I didn’t realise you would be joining us, I think Lucien has been keeping me in the dark.” Pointing at the night sky through the window, Vassa smiled at the fae next to Mor and then warmly embraced her, giving her shoulders a little squeeze.

“Interesting. I wonder who else he is keeping secret from you. Have any enemies?” her words silky in that manner that court attendance seemed to demand. She gave Vassa a friendly nudge and invited her to join her on her walk, “I am here as a night court representative, but I must admit I do not know everyone who will be attending.”

Vassa walked with her, still admiring the tapestries but also leaving lingering looks towards Mor herself. She was beautiful and graceful and could easily slit a man’s throat, a perfect sort of woman.

“That sounds like you'll have very busy days - you must join us for dinner one night. I am unable to attend court during the day due to my … other form… but the nights are the best time to talk anyway.” Vassa had fallen back into courtly graces fast than she thought was possible.

“I’d like that, though your companions and I are still testing the waters, maybe the first dinner could just be us?”

Vassa beamed, her eyes lighting up, “That would be wonderful, it is always nice to get another perspective.” and the ladies enjoyed their stroll into the night.

[feyreofthewildfire]

Wasteland - Nessian Fanfic

Hey lovelies!!

This is not an update to We’ll Go Together (woah), but a response to this post by @modernbookfae that got my wheels turning. Personally, when it comes to writing WGT I get most excited about writing from Nesta or Cassian’s point of view, so a Nessian centric story was not far behind that realization. 

Disclaimer: this fic got WAY out of hand. I'm a cat laser kind of writer, in which I don’t plot (at least not extensively) and instead word vomit all over a Google Doc. I somehow managed to shove one of my own OCs in here as well. I apologize for what you’re about to read.

Please enjoy anyway aha.

(Inspired by the song Wasteland by Against the Current) 

Candy coated lips You’re the sweetest kiss But a bad trip

Nesta burns.

Not with strength and fervor as she once had, but with passion and some sort of affection towards that damned overgrown bat. Her hands clench into fists as her chin threatens to fall, the parasitic and festering feelings that have been settling within her since she’d met the commander now the cause of her fall from grace.

Her heart is a fortress and he’s decided to lay siege—or she thought he had. Perhaps it had all been a game to him. He’d barreled through her defenses and instead of finding and cherishing her as she had desperately, fruitlessly hoped he would, he’d walked straight through the other side and left her there—heart wide open like a gaping wound, a ravaged wasteland of broken bits and pieces hidden behind walls erected even stronger than the ones before, giving the perfect illusion of constructed poise and grace.

It’s been two weeks and they have yet to speak. She’s retreated into the library, burying herself in books and characters that don’t exist, if only to rid herself of the reality she so feverishly despises, if only so that she doesn’t run into the blonde Third.

Nesta is almost ashamed of the way she avoids Morrigan—of the way she avoids everyone. But her dreams—no, her every waking moment, is haunted with the corpse of her father, with the sound of metal crunching through bone as she severs a sovereign’s neck, with the emptiness inside her where power once rumbled, with the sound of Cassian’s screams as Hybern destroys his wings.

It seems that every part of her is haunted.

Nesta knows that she is not needed in Velaris, not essential to the happenings. It’s only been a week since their return and she has yet to do anything. Elain no longer needs her, having found contentment in the garden she begins to grow behind the House. Feyre has become the queen of an empire, needing no one and nothing but her mate.

She supposes it could’ve been argued that Cassian needed her not so long ago, but she knows it’s not true anymore. He has his brothers and Mor.

So when Vassa asks her to leave with her to Scythia as Emissary after her curse had been broken, she leaves with the queen immediately, only remembering to send a letter to Rhysand at the last moment.

For the first time in a very long time, Nesta feels free.

She takes residence on the same ship as Vassa on the way back to the continent, though she’s given a wide berth when she deigns to go above deck during the day. She is not afraid to put her hair up, to show off the delicate points of her ears and the immortal beauty she’d been cursed with.  

When she truly feels alive is when the night comes.

Maybe it’s some remnant of her time spent in her youngest sister’s home or just the fact that it’s the only time she can speak to Vassa thanks to the queen’s busy schedule. The sound of waves over the sea calms her, the slight breeze caressing her face. Were it not for the scrutinizing stares, were it not for the mask she’s forced to wear, she’s certain she’d go above deck during the day.

Then they dock in Scythia and her fantasy, her adventure is over.

Nesta barely speaks within the walls of the Palais, all too aware of the wandering eyes and ears that poison every corridor and room of every castle she’s ever been. The joy she’d secretly found in the open sea is stifled in the dinners she’s forced to attend and small talk she’s forced to make.

Still, when she does change an opinion of an important advisor, she can’t help but feel important—she can’t help but feel needed. She is an emissary, after all. Her work is truly done in the homes of royalty, far away from the place she supposes she calls home now, if for no other reason than her sisters are there.

The only thing anchoring her back to that place is her sisters and the reports she sends to Rhysand. Letters come in every so often from all three, most commonly from Elain. The tales her sister weaves of the happenings in the House never fail to make Nesta smile, even if it’s only the smallest uptick of her lips. Elain is happy and cared for—more than what Nesta could’ve wished for not even two years ago.

Then she meets General Fionn.

He’s young, born of nobility and ancient traces of Autumn Court blood that gives him the smallest power over flame, carefully hidden away in fear of losing his position. His smiles are pretty and his words are smooth. It’s easy to banter with him, given the fact that he only laughs at her insults and poisonous words. It’s easy to find some sort of ally within him.

When she wakes up from a nightmare of Elain being tortured by Hybern, she asks him to train her.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply nodding and agreeing. They have to run it by Vassa and Rhysand first, but the Queen and High Lord seem oddly nonchalant about the message their training sessions will broadcast to the world.

In three weeks she’s worked up into swordplay, her movements graceful and violent—strong and swift, laced with the High Fae elegance that had seeped into her veins from the Cauldron. Her immortal strength gives her the ability to knock Fionn over with nothing more than a shove, and she has to remind herself to hold back so that she doesn’t kill him on accident. While it would be interesting, it would be a shame to lose a friend and create a diplomatic disaster.

They move from swords to every weapon imaginable in the next two weeks and, occasionally, when they’re alone, she helps him with what little Autumn Court lingers in his blood. She’s by no means a qualified teacher, but he becomes surprisingly proficient at wielding the small bit of fire in his veins under her guiding hand.

When she pushes him against the wall in the armory and kisses him, she tells herself it’s because she feels something for him.

Their training sessions become more playful after that. Nesta has already learned how to use every weapon under the sun with decent proficiency, and they just spend hours sword fighting and sparring to pass the time.

She’s not sure when she begins to wear her hair down, or when her smiles become polite rather than serpentine, only that she’s convinced herself that she’s found home in a pair of human arms and distracting pet names.

When she pins him to the ground for the thousandth time, she doesn’t realize a smile’s bloomed on her face until Fionn’s eyes widen, a certain kind of reverence filling the blue orbs framed by thick lashes

So she kisses him again, unknowingly superimposing hazel over blue.

Then one of the other queens invades Scythia and he’s torn away to the western border.

He gifts her his favorite dagger and kisses her twice before leaving, bestowing upon her promises and promises of what they’ll do together once he gets back.

They send letters as fast as they can. Nesta has learned how to send letters through whatever magic allows such things to teleport long distances, though has to wait the three days it takes for his letters to get back to her through horseback. Scythia has the finest cavalry on the continent, and the messengers are well-trained and ride well, also giving them the fastest communications on the continent.

The gaping hole in her heart left by the commander across an ocean has begun to heal over, the wasteland behind the walls beginning to return to what it was once again. Every letter that arrives from Fionn and Elain gives her strength, gives her what she needs to rebuild herself and perhaps one day be able to look Cassian and Mor in the eye without wanting to hide away.

Perhaps she can find love outside of the small world she’s always found herself trapped within—her small world where love was nothing but a myth, a far-fetched tale told to the daughters that would be sold off like cattle one day.

Then the neighboring queen attacks the camp in the night and slaughters every soldier.

She doesn’t receive a condolence letter, she’s by no means his family or next of kin, but she thinks that perhaps receiving one would’ve helped with the grief, with the pain.

She doesn’t know if she was in love with Fionn or maybe just who he resembled, but the agony that ripples through her is enough to make her swear off soldiers, any man who walks into battle arms open and swords wielded, ready to greet Death as the old friend it is.

She shoves the training clothing to the back of her wardrobe and shoves the swords and daggers into a miscellaneous drawer, reverting back to braided updos and serpentine twists of her lips. It’s safer this way, she tells herself.

The walls around her heart reinforce once again.

Not a week later she’s convinced the last advisor to her side, gaining the support of the Queen’s entire court as she was sent to do. The next day Rhysand is standing in the courtyard, ready to winnow her back to the Night Court.

If he has something to say, she’s glad that he doesn’t say it. She’s wished all her farewells and her belongings have been packed up, ready to be sent back the moment she arrives in Velaris.

It’s only been three months, she knows this, and yet the place she’s supposed to call home is utterly unfamiliar.

Her heart has become a wasteland once again, torn to pieces by the man she’d chosen to give it to. Her words are more biting than before, her eyes more often narrowed then not. Every rise and fall of her chest reminds her of Fionn, of the merry laugh that always fell from his lips and the crisp apples he tasted of.

Then Cassian finds her.

He’d been off in Scythia helping with the incoming war, showing solidarity in the alliance formed between Prythian and a kingdom on the continent. He’d been her replacement after her job had been done, forcing neither of them to see the other.

She hadn’t even known he’d been arriving back, or she would’ve locked herself in her bedroom rather than sit in the exposed library.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The words drip with sarcasm, with an anger barely reined in. His place leaning against a bookshelf seems casual enough, though the crossing of his arms and clench of his jaw tells another story.

Her eyes flicker up towards him, finding that he looks exactly the same as she’d last seen him. His hair is pulled back and his Siphons gleam in the low light, a sword strapped to his back that makes her sick to her stomach.

“Commander.” Her voice is void of any emotion, the words monotone. Her hands clench around the book she’d been reading, the only sign of her distress.

He nods to the dagger strapped to her waist. “You know how to use that?”

She tenses, all the insults she wants to throw at him falling away. “It’s not mine.” She dismisses, standing from her place on the armchair and swiftly beginning to walk away, book clutched against her chest.

His eyes narrow, arm shooting out to block her path. The intricate sewing of the leathers nearly makes her sway where she stands. “Whose is it then?” He bites back, none of the careful, begrudged concern she’d come to expect in his eyes. There’s nothing but sheer will and fire in them.

She almost throws up at her own analogy.

“That is none of your concern.” Her voice raises for the first time. She will not fall apart in front of this good-for-nothing bastard. He had treated her as nothing, and she will do the same. She no longer owes him anything. She had been willing to die for him—willing to leave behind Elain. She’d laid her own body over his, looked Death in the eye and blinked.

He had made a proclamation about regrets, about having more time and yet when it had been given to him he hadn’t used it. He’d avoided her and fallen back into old habits as if the war hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t been granted immortality and great power only to have the latter ripped away from her, as if he hadn’t had his wings shattered twice and expected death, gone running onto the battlefield arms wide open and a grin on his face.

“I heard some rumors about your time in Scythia,” He starts, unwilling to let her go, to leave her be. She doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. “I heard that you made friends with one of the generals there.”

Something inside her snaps.

“And why do you care?” The rise and fall of her chest quickens, “Why does it concern you? Why does my every move have to involve you, Cassian? I did my job. I followed every rule in the book and made a few of my own. Rhysand approved all my decisions. So why do you care?”

She’s not sure she’s ever said his name aloud, not without some insulting title following it. Her heel squeaks on the wooden flooring as she turns and struts away from him, careful to recollect the poise she’d lost in those moments.

A hand gently catches her wrist, the grip loose enough that she could rip herself away quite easily. But she doesn’t. She’s not sure why. A shaky breath falls from her lungs as she turns back to see Cassian once again, some sort of devastation laced in the strong planes of his face.

“I care about you, Nesta.” He answers her, an incredulity to his tone as if he can’t believe that she doesn’t already realize that little fact. “I care more about you than any of the shit that happens as a result of this war. I heard about what happened and I guess that was my shitty way of being concerned.”

She can only stare at him as if the answers to every question she’s ever asked lie in his features. There are so many things she wants to shout at him, so many things she wants to scream, and scream, and scream about. She wants to ask why he’d left her, why he’d avoided her and then sought her out once again like a child who’d had their forgotten toy taken away.

She’s so tired.

“I appreciate your concern, Commander.” The words are cold, formal, ones she’d spoken a million times in Scythia, usually followed by a contradicting retort.

But this is not a war room, and she does not owe the bastard anything. Not one single part of herself does she owe him.

When she walks away this time, he doesn’t stop her.

I Don’t Wanna Wake Up (Companion Fic)