#witch!tamlin

[achaotichuman]

Witchy Tamlin has my heart because I got into witch lore be ause of my friend 😭😭😭

YES! I have thought about witchy Tamlin before! I have a ton of headcanons for him!

Starting with the Spring Court. I imagine it has the deepest connections to the earth, utilizing its power in their magic such as being able to grow and nurture any and all plant life. Having an incredibly close relationship to the local fauna, being able to easily connect with animals even if they are dangerous to anyone else who might come across them.

Because of the Spring Courts deep connection to the life from the ground, it has magic that reflects the balance of life and death. Such as being able to bring life back from death, but also being able to suck it away.

Then enter the High lord's power. It is derived directly from this balance of life and death. It controls the regulation of magic roaming throughout the Spring Court. As death and life are as chaotic as tossing a dozen coins in the air and trying to guess which side each will land on, if Spring magic is left to its own devices, it will choke itself out, go into a state of chaos and wreak havoc on its own lands.

So, the High lord's power is in place to establish law that even the magic heeds to. However, the magic still has some control and therefore if its ruler is not strong enough, say the magic was supposed to originally go to one person but then they were killed so it had to choose another, this second option may not quite meet the mark and therefore will find it even more difficult to keep their sanity whilst also controlling the fluctuation of magic throughout the lands.

But if the High lord is strong enough, the magic will allow the High lord to have his own way with it. Basically, like a magical fight within yourself and if you come out victorious, the magic will heed your word.

Enter Tamlin. Out of all of his brothers he was the chosen one for the magic. Now, his brothers wouldn't have been anything to laugh at, both of them made his life a living hell growing up, so they would have been powerful, strong and fierce. Perfect candidates for such a chaotic magic, who else better to tame an ancient power such as either of two powerful warriors? Considering they were older than Tamlin they may have even fought in the war, meaning they would be renowned throughout Prythian for their strength and honor.

Then there's Tamlin. Tamlin who will always fight against the forces of evil. Tamlin who plays a fiddle, a well-known poor-man's instrument. Tamlin who ran to the War Bands the first chance he got simply avoid his family. Tamlin who attracted the attention of the most powerful High lord on record (would have been to-be-most powerful High lord back then). Tamlin who had no diplomacy experience and wanted to run away with the circus.

Tamlin who also welcomed refugees into his Court. Tamlin who would've fought on the side of humans if he had been old enough during the War. Tamlin who stood up against a sadistic Faery Queen who had harassed him constantly since he was a child.

Tamlin would have been viewed as a spare son. A shadow in the corner that needed no further attention than dogs out in the kennels, another piece of the furniture. And I believe that is what would draw the magic to him.

His is the balance. I imagine Tamlin would sneak out it the middle of the night following the whistling of the wind which sounds like the harmonious strings of a violin. Following dirt paths deep into the dark forests but never being afraid of the danger he may face.

Creatures look at him with reddened eyes through the trees. He goes deeper and deeper until there is no village nor town for miles and miles. He hears the wailing of a Banshee, the call of creatures long forgotten, the Suriel prophesying on the wind.

He walks and he walks, and his loneliness weighs in on him, because he is lonely. He is outcasted and forgotten from his own family, and he finds it difficult to make friends, so he begins to talk. He speaks to the trees around him, to the leaves fluttering in the breeze. To the grass underfoot, to the daffodils and the lilac and the roses and the wisteria. He talks until his throat is raw and he cannot no longer speak a word.

Then the world speaks back to him. On whistling winds and from the hollows of trunks. From the pollen carried on the wind, through the roots sticking out of the ground. He feels the earth vibrate underneath him as it talks back to its chosen one.

And Tamlin stands there, lost in the nature of his Court. Eyes closed, head tilted up towards the silver full moon, listening to the stories carried on the wind that no one has listened to for far too long.

He continues to come back, and the forest tells him everything. It tells him of wars, of people who had died and now lived within the earth. It tells him when beneath his feet there laid a soldier as he took his last breath. It tells him the tree he passed by there used to sit a maiden burned in that very spot. The Fae and humans have forgotten her, but the earth never will.

It begins to teach him, molding him into the ruler the earth truly needs. It teaches him kindness, it teaches him spells to cast, it teaches him curses he can utter to those that harm him. It teaches him all it knows.

When most think of a witch, they think of an old crone wearing all black with wide-brimmed pointed hat, stirring a bubbling cauldron.

Little do they know; the witch can have smooth skin, piercing green eyes and long golden curls. Little do they know the witch can be a boy who was chosen for his kindness and his bravery.

I also imagine he has a stone basement beneath Rosehall where he dries out herbs, has a small cauldron that he whisks up potions in and trials spells. I bet he sits there in the silence with the wind travelling down from the outside to talk to him, and he listens while he cuts up ingredients to make a purple bubbly drink.

I imagine he has maps he lays on out on the floor, using sand he creates imagery on the stone and once created puffs of smoke emerge and faces appear. I imagine he gave the wind a face that he saw through the smokey darkness, he smiled at this face, and the face smiled back.

I love witchy Tam so, so much, if you couldn't tell lol. Please tell me any and all of your head canons for him!

[copypastus]

A gift for @witch-and-her-witcher loosely based on her lovely tamsand fanfic 'Lay Me on the Cold Dark Earth'.

With a little bonus Eris, not loving what they got up to on his cape.

[lunarharp]

debris

[foxcort]

vampire!nesta and werewolf!tamlin but its late victorian/early edwardian era

"Shackles? In a wine cellar?" She stood at the threshold of an open cell door, a hint of amusement glinting in her eyes when she flicked them up to meet his. "Hardly a proper thing to reveal to a lady, your nighttime . . . activities."

"Ah." His mouth curved into a slow grin as he leaned against the iron bars, and when he spoke again his voice had gone rough. "But you're no lady, are you?"

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

Elain let out a sound like, "eep!"

It was only natural to be frightened of a faerie like him, human or not. Tamlin was enormous, like a Cassian without wings, with long hair like spun gold and a predator's gorgeous, arresting eyes framed with long, perfect lashes. Power rumbled under his skin like a distsnt storm, his footsteps shaking the earth. Elain shrank back like a startled deer, staring at the wolf for one long, incredulous moment before it was ripped to shreds.

Tamlin's brow furrowed, hand rubbing his chest where Elain had slammed her forehead into him. It was a slow, puzzled movement - and Elain was relieved to think that maybe he didn't recognize her. He didn't know who she was related to. But, he had to remember, didn't he? There was no way he wouldn't remember the moment that his lover decided to rip apart everything he'd ever held dear.

Elain waited for him to snarl, to show his sharp teeth, maybe to grab her with a clawed hand, maybe to bite her and leave her sprawled on the floor in a crimson pool.

Then, at last, Tamlin muttered, "Apologies," before awkwardly moving his bulky frame aside so that Elain could squeeze herself through the doorway.

"Th -" Elain remembered how to breathe. "Thank you."

He grunted in acknowledgement and she nearly lept out of her skin. This seemed to embarrass him; he noticed her startle and became gloomier for it. It was amazing, when Elain was the one who'd been given a real shock. This was the second time that he'd surprised her by not reacting in the ways she'd expected him to.

Or, she considered, in the ways that Feyre and Rhysand had always assured he would.

"Well," said Elain. "Good day to you."

Tamlin nodded. "You, too."

He was so odd, Elain thought, eyeing him as he stalked towards the staircase at the back of the room - to Nomi's office, she realized.

[astrababyy]

Tamlin and Nesta for the character bingo!

tamlin and nesta in order :DDD

[helmstone]

The Mayfair Witches — more Anne Rice for the BBC

The Mayfair Witches — more Anne Rice for the BBC

If you enjoyed the recent run of Interview with the Vampire on the BBC, you may want to know there’s more Anne Rice on the way — The Mayfair Witches. The eight-part series stars Alexandra Daddario, Jack Huston, Harry Hamlin and Tongayi Chirisa. Based on Anne Rice’s iconic trilogy, Lives of the Mayfair Witches, the series explores female empowerment and the mortal implications of our decisions.…

[toast-com]

Familiar (4-28-23)

Lucien watched the golden-furred werewolf curiously. When had Tamlin become a familiar? As he loped about in his werewolf form, following his nose, as he was wont to do, witches and other magic users were giving him curious looks. Werebeasts were rare, and werewolves all the rarer. The fact that one was a witch's familiar, meant said witch was powerful, very powerful indeed.

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Nothing big in this one. Memory loss?? Overprotectiveness?? Azriel losing it (but not that much just yet)??

a/n: Hi this is going to be a series :) thank you for reading <3

Part 2 ♡

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

As you blinked through the haziness, a dull throb echoed along the base of your skull. You sat up abruptly, feeling rocks and twigs digging into the backs of your legs, and winced as several shouts attacked your senses. You recognized none of them.

Gods, your head hurt. 

A few more blinks and the sun made an appearance, light assaulting your too-sensitive eyes. The leaves beneath your hands crunched and blew away in the balmy breeze, a few flecks of green still stuck to your palm as you brought it up to rub your head. 

“Don’t,” a feminine voice warned, and it was then that you pinpointed one of the shouts from earlier. But it was warmer now, calm. “Don’t touch your head, y/n. Azriel and Cas are getting help.”

You scrunched your face up but obeyed the command, taking steady breaths to try and manage the pain. The woman in front of you—blonde hair, brown eyes, a fierce expression—was like no one you had ever seen before. She was so incredibly beautiful you weren’t sure if you were actually awake. 

You took a pause. 

And then another. 

Who was the last person you had seen? 

“Where am I?” you asked instead, trying to appear sane. Your voice sounded unfamiliar. 

The woman’s expression pinched. “You’re in Spring Court. You remember that, don’t you? Rhysand sent us.” 

“Rhysand?” you repeated, the name foreign on your tongue. “Sent us for what?” 

“Well, we were supposed to be rallying Tamlin into re-fortifying his borders to win back the Summer Court’s good graces, but that beast is an idiot. Forging agreements with witches was quite possibly the worst move he could have made.” 

“Witches?” 

“I know, unbelievable,” the blonde ranted, sitting back on her heels beside you. “We came to help only to find out he had helped himself to the wicked. I knew he was distraught after Feyre, but to turn to this?” 

The pounding in your head was making it increasingly difficult to follow the tale the woman was spinning. Perhaps if you had more backstory, more information, you would understand what she was talking about. 

Desperate for that connection, you winced as you asked, “Um, not to offend, but… who are you?” 

Her aggravated expression crumpled into one of shock and concern. Her mouth parted, her brows came together at a point, and then she shifted, bringing her hands to your shoulders. When you flinched at the touch, the woman pulled her hands back, her fingers curling into her palms. “You don’t recognize me?” she asked, trepidation lining her tone. 

You shook your head, immediately regretting the action as pain shot up your neck. 

“Not at all?” she whispered. When your face remained blank, she pulled her hands into her lap. “Do you know who you are?” 

Another lapse in silence. 

“My Gods…” 

Darkness materialized nearby—swirling darkness. It reminded you of shadows and brought you a sense of peace for the first time since you opened your eyes. 

But then people started emerging from the darkness, taking up space in the vast forest, and that peace collapsed. Two large men with wings stomped against the twig-covered floor, causing a raucous disturbance as they began hurrying an older woman out from behind them. They both spoke in low, rushed tones and you wanted all the sound to stop. 

You ignored the woman’s directions from before and squeezed your head in your hands, your eyes snapping shut. It didn’t work, and you hadn’t expected it to, but Gods did your head hurt. It hurt and it was plagued by an impossible pressure that wouldn’t seem to let up.

“Mor, how long has she been awake?” one of the men asked. You felt him kneel beside you, felt him place rough, textured hands on your wrists in an attempt to pry your hands down. But he was gentle—so very gentle. 

“Azriel, she—” 

“Mor, if you could move aside. I need to look at her,” a much older voice chimed in. 

There was shuffling around you, new hands pressing to your face. You heard whispering that you couldn’t make out, and then the panic set in. 

You didn’t know these people. When you first woke up, the disorientation was focal; you were concerned about the pounding in your head and your whereabouts and that was it. But there were so many people here now, and you didn’t know any of them. 

You didn’t know who you were. Did they know who you were? They had to. 

“Majda, stop. You’re scaring her,” the man beside you, Azriel you’d heard him be called, practically hissed. 

Majda only hummed. “I am doing the job you brought me here to do. If I can’t work around a mating bond I will send you away, Shadowsinger.” 

Your breath came out in faster huffs, each one deeper than the last. You opened your eyes to try and gain some footing in the situation, still keeping your hands glued to your head. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and you saw the blonde woman, Mor, beside a much larger man. His shoulder-length hair was messy and windswept, and he sent you a bittersweet, sympathetic smile that you couldn’t replicate. He watched with furrowed brows as your eyes darted from him, to Mor, to the wide forest around you. 

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t take her home first,” the man standing by the trees grumbled. “She would be more comfortable there.”  

“We didn’t want to move her with a head injury,” Azriel growled. “Not one from a witch.” 

His voice sent your attention towards him. Azriel was on his knees beside you, holding your wrists with his thumb circling the back of your hand in delicate strokes. He was painfully beautiful and you were left to wonder, yet again, if you were truly awake. When your gazes met, something foreign pulled at your ribs and the pressure sent an unexpected scream past your lips. You hunched over in a panic, yanking yourself away from those beside you.

That wasn’t right. None of this felt right. 

The older woman, Majda, cursed, staring after you as you pushed yourself further and further away. Each movement sent a new ache aflame in your head, but that didn’t stop you because you needed to get away. Your feet kicked up dirt and rocks and your hands tore with the effort but this wasn’t right. 

Azriel reached you before you could hit the tree just inches from your back. He held your head in his own hands and locked you in his gaze, keeping you trapped in the yellows and browns and the flecks that joined them. He took exaggerated breaths, wings flared out to block out the sun, and then he began whispering. 

It took a moment for you to understand the words, your heavy breaths mostly drowning them out. 

Something swished in the distance. More whispering, more secrets. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

When Azriel’s voice finally came through, it was like a lifeline. 

“I’m here, my love. You’re safe. I know it hurts, I know.” 

It was odd, finding peace in a stranger. The shadows that seemed to dance around him swirled into shapes that framed your skin, and some of the panic felt foolish in their presence. They twisted and curved, somehow amplifying the cool tone of Azriel’s voice as he promised you things you had no capacity to understand. 

But he never stopped talking, not even when your gaze left his to follow his shadows instead. If anything, the action seemed to spur on the small beings more, and you wondered—for a brief moment—if he was controlling them. 

Something like amazement seeped into your panic as you whispered, “Who are you?” 

You didn’t know the man in front of you, that much was true, but he looked so… broken at your words. Something akin to pain clashed with his beautiful features as his jaw clenched to an unnatural degree. You were surprised that his teeth didn’t crack beneath the pressure. You wondered what else he could withstand—what atrocities he’d seen to make his eyes turn so dark when you spoke your words out loud. 

“No,” Azriel growled, chin hooking over his shoulder. His wings pulled back to reveal a new man, but this one looked slightly different from the others. No wings, different eyes. “You stay out of her head, Rhysand.” 

Rhysand. He was the one that had sent you here.

The concern on Rhysand’s face looked unnatural, like it didn’t belong there. “Az, it could help. Let me help her.” 

“You could make it worse. We have no idea what that witch did to her.” As Azriel spoke, shadows began to cover you more and more. Your sight became dim, your body camouflaged in darkness. 

“Looking in could be the only way to figure that out.” The next bout of silence was uncomfortable. The pounding in your head persisted, exacerbating to the point of tears along your waterline. “I know what you’re feeling, Azriel. I get it. But I want to help her, brother. You know I would never hurt her.” 

A twig snapped beneath a boot.

Azriel growled low in his chest. 

The pounding gave way to a sharp pain, and it made your senses lighter, less focused. 

You couldn't remember ever passing out before, but you thought it might feel like this. 

“Stay away from her.” 

“She doesn’t remember you, Azriel.” 

A choked breath. “Don’t touch my mate.” 

Darkness that surpassed the shadows finally granted you a reprieve from the pain. 

Maybe you'd wake up and this would all make sense.

Part 2 ♡

[serpentandlily]

The Crow's Poet - Azriel x Reader

The Crow’s Poet - Azriel x Reader

Summary: All of Azriel's attempts to get his mates attention are ignored and he realizes he was going to have to…resort to poetry, something he thought he’d never have to do.

Warnings: none 

a/n: based on this request!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered.

The masks he wears slips when the doors close.

“He wears masks? How odd.”

You chewed on your thumb, contemplating why that would be important information. 

He cries himself to sleep after he leaves the witch’s room.   

“But he was a monster before we were even trapped down here,” you whispered, thinking about your High Lord and the times he had deigned to visit Hewn City. 

He is a master of secrets. 

“If you say so,” you scoffed under your breath. Apparently a master of wearing masks. Maybe it was his own way of mocking Tamlin. 

“Y/n?” Yara, one of the other servants, called out as she opened the kitchen doors. “Who are you talking to?”

The second the door had swung open your two shadow crows had disappeared, leaving you alone in the corridor. Your cheeks turned red and you stood, rubbing the back of your neck.

“U-uh,” you stuttered. “Myself?”

She rolled her eyes before grabbing you by the sleeve and yanking you back inside the kitchen. “Do you have to be such a weirdo all the time?”

Embarrassment crawled through you at her words. But it wasn’t the first time you had been called weird, or strange, or off-putting. You were a freak in the eyes of many. 

Your entire life had been spent in a tiny room in your father’s home in Hewn City, shackled to the wall. Because you had been sheltered during your childhood, you had never developed any social skills like the other daughters of Lords.  

You didn’t grow up alongside your peers. The only thing you had in that room with you were the shadows. Shadows that began to take the form of crows.

At some point, they had started talking to you. And you had started talking back. But you were certain you had gone crazy—that you had lost your mind. So you kept it a secret to this day. 

Your father hardly let you out anyways, claiming that he needed to keep you pure for when he would offer you up to some Lord for marriage once you were of age. But that day never came because Amarantha had shown up and trapped you all under this mountain.

You were only sixteen when it happened but almost forty years had passed since then. So you had been a prisoner your whole life, essentially. At least down here you had some freedoms to roam about. 

Later that night, you found yourself growing more curious about your High Lord after what your shadows had told you. So you mustered up a cocoon of them and used them to slip through walls and doors until you found yourself in the corner of the High Lord’s chambers.

You hid in the shadows, waiting for his return. Mainly out of pure curiosity and boredom. There was only so many times you could play chess against your crows before you lost all interest in it.

The door swung open and the High Lord stalked in, muttering to himself as he did. He slammed the door shut behind him, making you jump a bit in the shadows. You watched as he undid his coat, tossing it onto the bed. His fingers found the buttons of his shirt and your face turned red.

You were ready to disappear in the shadows again, not wanting to watch him undress, when he paused suddenly and sniffed the air. You watched curiously as he twisted in place, examining each corner of his room. 

But he couldn’t see you. Not while you were the shadows, right?

Wrong.

His hand was around your throat before you could blink and he yanked you right out of the shadows. You choked in surprise, your eyes widening to full circles. He snarled at you, darkness beginning to drip off every inch of him. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Rhysand growled. “And what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

He loosened his grip on your throat enough for you to answer.

"N-No one. I'm no one," you squeaked out, grasping at his wrist with your hands.

Rhysand examined the shadows around you that began to form into the familiar crows. He raised an eyebrow. "A shadowsinger? But I thought...Interesting." 

Shadowsinger? You had never heard of the term before. 

"A shadow what?" you exclaimed. "I don't sing!"

Rhysand ignored your outburst, glaring at you. "Who sent you here to spy on me? Who are you working for?"

"No one," you gasped. "I'm not working f-for anyone. The shadows told me y-you, um, liked to wear masks and I thought that was a bit odd so I wanted to see for myself."

Rhysand looked at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. But his hand loosened a bit more so you kept talking, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "Speaking of, I-I, uh, don't see any masks in here. Where do y-you keep them?" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The masks?" you stammered. "Like I said...the shadows said you wear them and everything--"

"I don't—" Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He finally let you go and you slid down the wall, panting for air. 'What court are you from?" 

"Yours," you answered, before your eyes widened again. "Oh Gods, am I supposed to bow to you? How does this work? I've never—" 

"Stop. Just...stop," Rhys murmured. His face was stuck in thought. He stroked his jaw, staring down at you. "You're from the Court of Nightmares?"

You nodded in answer. 

"Another shadowsinger in my court and I was unaware. Why haven't I learned of you until now?"

"I don't sing!" you squabled. "No one knows about my shadows...except you now, I guess." 

A grin bloomed on Rhysand's face, one full of deadly intent as he studied your smaller form on the floor at his feet. "No one else knows about your shadows? Not even your family?”

You shook your head, staring up at him with wide eyes. You watched his eyes glaze over in deep thought before he chuckled to himself. That did truly alarm you and you rose cautiously.

“I think you and I are going to be good friends, little shadow. Very good friends."

And that was how you started working for Rhysand. The next ten years were spent with the High Lord, doing whatever he requested of you, which was usually spying on those under the mountain. The two of you developed an unlikely friendship with each other.

When Feyre came along and finally released you all, Rhys brought you home with him, offering you an official job in his court. Not wanting to return to your father, you were more than happy to accept. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Azriel had been relieved when his brother had finally returned to them after forty-nine years apart. Relieved and then intrigued as he spotted the small figure peeking out from behind Rhysand with her big doe eyes. Rhysand had brought a little pet home with him, apparently. A little shadow as he affectionately called her. 

He was taken aback by her once she had finally stepped out from behind Rhys. She was the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He hardly noticed the crow perched on her shoulder, so taken by her beauty. 

His shadows had danced along his shoulders at the sight of her and he didn’t quite know what to make of their behavior until Rhys finally introduced you to the family.

Another shadowsinger.

Someone just like him.

He couldn’t lie. A million emotions had rushed through him at that moment but the most prominent one was a sort of instant affinity towards you. His own shadows had swirled around your crows, like even they found comfort in knowing there was someone else in the world that was like them—like him. 

Later that night, as he watched you ascend up the stairs to your new room, you glanced over your shoulder at everyone one last time. Your eyes met his and the air was knocked out of his lungs like someone had landed a heavy blow to his sternum. 

The one thing he had been dreaming of, hoping for, came to life. The mating bond snapped into place, a long golden string tying you to him. But you hadn’t faltered a step, merely turned around and retired to your room. 

The bond hadn’t snapped for you, but that wasn’t alarming. It usually took a while for the female to feel it. In his panic, Azriel had dropped his mental shields and practically screamed his thoughts to Rhys about what had just happened.

Rhys was already planning on having Azriel give you lessons on your magic. It only made sense. He was over five hundred years old with more knowledge about his shadows than you at the young age of sixty-five. So he began his plans to push the two of you together.

For Azriel, it was like hitting two birds with one stone. He would train you on how to use your shadows more effectively and in turn, would also be spending time around you. Which would lead you to realizing the bond between you and him and hopefully, hopefully, you would be just as overjoyed about it as he was.

Azriel wasn’t conceited by any means, especially considering the nasty state of his hands, but he had gotten quite used to females and males falling at his feet for his attention. 

You, however, seemed entirely unmoved by his appearance. Every subtle hint he tried to drop was ignored or just not noticed by you. You didn’t notice him when he sat next to you at dinner, didn’t ogle him when he took off his shirt during training, didn’t admire his wings when he sunned them while you were outside in the gardens. 

Everything he did to try to capture your attention failed.

You were making him feel flustered—he was not used to having to put so much effort into chasing after others. Normally he was the one being chased. 

Leave it to the Mother to gift him with a mate who was so utterly unaffected by his presence. On one hand, he enjoyed it. You never seemed afraid of him, never looked at his hands with disgust or pity. But on the other hand, you never seemed to notice him the way he wanted you to. 

The war came and went, leaving him to realize he was going to have to change tactics with you. He was going to have to court you. He was going to have to…resort to poetry—something he never thought he’d have to do.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were reading a book in the River House’s main sitting room, waiting for dinner to start. It was another family dinner night and everyone who didn’t currently live at the River House would likely be coming sometime soon.

So when the door opened and closed, you didn’t bat an eye. Didn’t even turn around as you heard footsteps coming down the foyer to where you sat. Not until someone cleared their throat behind you.

You twisted around on the settee to see Azriel standing in the archway with a bundle of flowers in his hand. You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he needed. 

“Good evening, Y/n,” he said, his deep voice filling the space between you two. 

A bit of anxiety began to climb up your throat, a common feeling whenever someone approached you. You still were not used to socializing with others, still hadn’t quite gotten used to even having people other than Rhysand want to talk to you. 

“Hi,” you squeaked, closing your book shut a bit too hard. You winced at the noise.

He strided over to you, his wings tucked tight behind him like he was nervous. Even his shadows seemed to buzz around the air more frantically than normal. 

“I brought these for you,” he said, holding out the flowers to you. 

You blinked, looking between him and the flowers in confusion. What did he expect you to do with those? 

You hesitantly reached out and took them from him, smiling awkwardly. The flowers were beautiful, the petals a soft silver, almost glowing like the moon. 

“Oh, um, thank you?” You choked out the words, rising from the settee. You tucked your book against your chest like it would shield you from him.

He frowned a bit. “Do you…not like them?”

“N-no!” You stuttered. “No, I mean y-yes! Um, thank you. Again.”

“You're welcome,” he said with a tiny nod. Azriel’s lips twitched upwards, like you had just said something funny.

“I'm gonna go, um, do something with these.”

You brushed past Azriel before he could respond and scurried from the room, your heart pounding in your chest. The others still made you nervous but not quite like Azriel did. It was his presence alone that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“What the heck does he want me to do with these?” You hissed to your shadow crow who landed on your shoulder. 

Perhaps he wants you to plant them in the garden with the other flowers.

You smacked your head with your book. “Oh my gods, duh! Why didn’t I think of that?”

You still had thirty minutes until dinner so you made your way outside to the gardens. You peered around, looking for an empty spot of dirt, which was hard because of all the work Elain had done out here.

You finally spotted one and set your book down on the metal wire table outside. When the weather was nice enough, sometimes Feyre and Rhysand would host dinners out here, at this table.

You scuttled over to the edge of the stone path and knelt on the ground. You began digging a small hole, unsure of how deep you were supposed to go.

You were so concentrated on your efforts that you failed to notice the people who began to come out from the back door. 

You placed the stems of the flower in the hole, pushing some dirt around so they stood up straight.

“Y/n? What on earth are you doing?” Feyre exclaimed from behind you, causing you to jump in fright.

You looked over your shoulder to see nearly the entirety of the Inner Circle, all taking seats at the table behind you. 

You stood up, wiping your dirty hands on your skirt.

“Azriel wanted some flowers planted,” you shrugged, looking towards the male who was now staring at you with total bewilderment on his normally unreadable face. 

He blinked and then shook his head, his lips twitching into a small smile. 

“What?” Cassian blurted out.

You looked between everyone, not sure why they were so confused. Was it not normal to bring someone flowers to plant?

“He brought me some flowers,” you explained slowly, “to plant out here.”

Rhys reached out and ruffled the hair on the top of your head, fondly, as he held back his laughter. Several of them shared a look, lips pressing together like they were stopping themselves from laughing. All except Cassian who looked at Azriel and then tossed his head back, cackling with amusement. 

It was Mor who took pity on the shadowsinger. 

“That was very nice of you, Azriel,” she said, smoothly, kicking Cassian under the table. 

“Yeah,” Cassian said in between his struggles to stop laughing. “How nice of you, Az.”

Later that night, Nesta had pulled you aside to offer you a book. 

“Read this,” she had said. “I think it’ll help.”

She left the book in your hands with a wink.

You stayed up all night reading the book—blushing red at some of the words written on the pages. But when you got to the part where the male love interest brought the girl flowers, you were mortified. 

Azriel had given you those as a gift…to put in a vase, wherever you pleased. The girl had put them on her nightstand in the book.

But that didn’t make sense to you because Azriel was your friend. He wasn’t interested in you like that. But maybe, friends also brought friends flowers? The whole thing confused you and you went to bed that night utterly perplexed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Come on,” Azriel encouraged, his arms around your neck, pulling your back tight against his front. “I’ve taught you how to get out of this hold.”

You were currently having a one-on-one combat lesson with Azriel, something you two had been doing for awhile. He had suggested it to you after you started training with the Valkyries and you agreed, a part of you wanting to spend more time with him.

You liked Azriel and even though he made you feel a little more uncomfortable than the others, you had taken to him. It wasn’t that the feelings were bad, necessarily. It was just, he made you feel all tingly inside and that often made you flustered around him.

You grabbed a hold of his wrists like he had taught you, pulling them away from your neck as you got one leg behind his. You knew what he wanted you to do from here, but you wanted to surprise him for once. Wanted to catch him off guard. 

Your crows squawked their encouragement from the sidelines. 

“What are they telling you?” Azriel asked, suspiciously. His breath tickled the tip of your pointy ear, making your body shudder. You could’ve sworn his tensed in response.

“Nothing,” you chimed, innocently. 

And then you swept his legs out from under him, ducking out of his hold in his confusion and shoving him in the back so he fell face forward onto the mat. You pounced after him, landing with your knees around his hips, pressing your hands down on his shoulder blades between his wings so he couldn’t get up.

“Got you!”

Azriel’s body vibrated with his chuckle. “Oh, you think so?”

He bucked you off of him, causing you to squeal, as he turned himself over and flipped your positions, leaving you on your back under him. He smirked at you, some of his fluffy dark brown hair dangling down on his forehead, almost touching yours.

“Got you,” he drawled.

"No fair," you pouted, crossing your arms under him. 

Butterflies swarmed your stomach at the feeling of his body against yours. You sent a crow after him, pecking him on the back of the neck, to get him to move, unsure of how long you could handle that feeling without saying something stupid. 

He sat up on his haunches, batting it away with a glower at you. "What's not fair?" 

"You're not fair! You weigh the same as a horse," you grumbled. "I bet you eat rocks for breakfast, you big bat." 

He chuckled, standing up and reaching his gloved hand out to help you up. "I assure you, I do not eat rocks...not for breakfast, at least."

So he did eat rocks? How odd, you thought. But if chefs could make turnips taste good, maybe they could make rocks edible? Maybe like a rock soup or tiny pebble croutons. Did all Illyrians eat rocks?

Once you were up, Azriel began to smooth out your hair. The gesture felt intimate and you blushed a bright pink. He seemed to notice, judging by the slight smile on his face. You frowned at him. 

"Come on, don't be a sore loser," he teased, putting a hand on your lower back and guiding you towards the water station. "Our time today is up, anyways."

"How convenient for you," you murmured under your breath, causing him to laugh again. Your crows flew a lap around the training ring, as if the noise delighted them. It may have delighted you as well. 

His hand moved around your waist until it dipped down to grab your own hand. “Allow me to make it up to you?”

“How?” You glanced up at his towering figure.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he said, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Tonight.” 

“O-oh, okay,” you stammered out. 

He smiled, exposing the small dimple on the right side of his cheek that made him look more boyish than normal. Your heart fluttered in your chest. 

He pulled you closer to him and a second later, you were engulfed in shadows, only to reappear on the doorstep to the River House. 

“Good.” He dropped your hand finally and you clutched it to your chest. “I’ll come get you at seven.” 

You nodded, feeling a bit breathless and he dipped his head at you before disappearing into the shadows and leaving you and your pounding heart alone on the doorstep. 

Dinner that night felt like a dream. Azriel had shown up right on time, waiting for you in the foyer of the River House. He took you to a small restaurant on the side of the Sidra and you spent most of the night admiring the way he looked under the faelights.

Had he always been so beautiful? 

You couldn’t remember. 

After dinner, Azriel had taken you on a walk near the river. The moonlight reflected off the dark water, lighting the path. You stumbled upon a cool looking rock and eagerly picked it up, holding it out for him.

He raised an eyebrow at you, taking the rock from your hand.

“Your dessert,” you exclaimed, closing his fingers around the rock before stepping back.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed and you decided you liked the way he looked when he was confused. 

“Earlier, you said you didn't eat rocks for breakfast.” You rubbed at your arm. “So that must mean you eat them at some point of the day. So I thought, maybe you save them for dessert?”

By the time you were done talking, Azriel’s eyebrows were almost at his hairline. You were surprised when a barking laugh exploded out of him, your cheeks turning pink. You hesitantly smiled, not quite sure why he was laughing but loving the sound of it anyways. 

“I take it you, um, don’t eat rocks?” You smiled sheepishly. 

“That was a joke, Y/n,” he laughed, his hazel eyes shimmering gold and green. 

“Y-yeah, of course it was!” You tried to play it off but you couldn’t hide your embarrassment. 

He put the rock in his pocket as his laughter settled down. He placed both hands on the side of your head, kissing your forehead as he mumbled with affection, “What are we going to do with you?”

“Hopefully nothing bad,” you squeaked. 

Azriel shook his head again with a soft laugh, grabbing your hand and guiding you further down the path. “I can’t believe you really thought I ate rocks.”

“I-I didn’t!”

He only gave you a disbelieving look.

It had almost felt like a date…like the ones you read about in the books Nesta leant you. But you quickly drowned out those thoughts. Azriel was your friend. And he had taken you out tonight as a favor.

But by the time he returned you home, there was a new light inside of you. Like a song with a familiar melody that made every nerve inside of you sing to its tune.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Unfortunately, Azriel was sent on a mission not too long after the night you shared together but he had promised to write to you during the three weeks he would be gone. 

You found yourself quite eager to receive them. 

Little shadow, I’ve got something for you. Come to my office when you’re free. 

Rhys’s voice had you setting down the dagger you had been sharpening. You sent a crow to his office, curious to know what he had waiting for you. 

A letter, master.

You jumped up from your desk. It must be a letter from Azriel because you had no idea who else would be writing you. 

Tell your crows to mind their own business. They’ve ruined the surprise.

You laughed to yourself as you let your shadows cocoon you and take you to Rhys’s office. You stepped out of the shadows and Rhys raised an eyebrow at you.

“Eager?” He seemed amused. 

You scowled at him. “You have a letter for me?”

He nodded, picking up an envelope off his desk and holding it out for you to take. You grabbed it, recognizing the handwriting your name was written with on the front immediately. 

“Would you like to tell me why my Spymaster is sending me letters for you with his mission updates, little shadow?” 

Rhys’s violet eyes sparkled with stars as he waited for your reaction. Your face turned pink and you clutched the letter to your chest. “Mind your own business, Rhys,” you mocked him. 

He held up his hands with a grin that told you he already knew exactly why Azriel was sending you letters. You summoned your shadows to take you back to your room.

“Hey! Where are you going? You’re not going to let me read it too?” Rhys called out. 

“No!”

Rhys’s chuckled followed you the whole way back to your room.

You tore open the envelope once you were in privacy, unfolding the letter with shaky hands. 

Dear Y/n,

I find my days feel slower without the joy of your company. Even my shadows seem to miss their pesky crow companions. 

You blushed, feeling your crows swirl around your head as if they too were swooning. Your eyes rapidly read the rest of the letter as he mentioned tiny tidbits about the mission and how it was going, asking you if you were keeping up with your training and teasing you about settling your score with him once he returned.

A smile had bloomed on your face as you finished reading—your heart fluttering in your chest.

I will continue to write to you, little bird, and I can only hope that you write back to me as well. I dream of your voice but I suppose words will have to be enough until I can see you again. 

~ Your shadowsinger 

P.s I came across something in the marketplace today that reminded me of you and I cannot wait to give it to you once I return.

You didn’t think twice before sitting down at your desk and whipping out a piece of parchment and a pen. That smile lingered on your face the rest of the night. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Three weeks passed by slowly. You couldn’t count how many times you had re-read the letters Azriel had been sending you. You had even made a trip to the marketplace to find a nicely carved, wooden box to store them in. 

You were currently sitting on the railing of your balcony, a small shadow crow perched on your shoulder to keep you company. It was nighttime and the streets of Velaris were lit up with music, laughter and pretty faelights. 

You preferred to watch from here, rather than joining in, despite Mor’s attempts to drag you to Rita’s.

The beating of wings stole your attention from the streets and you narrowed your eyes as a flying figure came into view. Cobalt siphons shined under the moonlight and your eyes widened as you realized that figure was Azriel. 

Not only that, but he appeared to be heading straight towards your balcony as if he had known you’d be out here. You quickly hopped off the railing and stepped back a few paces to give him room to land. 

Azriel landed gracefully with a small thud in front of you, tucking his wings in. He looked positively lethal tonight, his elegant cheekbones sharp in the darkness, his hazel eyes glowing gold. Beautiful. He was beautiful. 

“Azriel,” you whispered in a questioning tone. “I didn’t know you were back from your mission.” 

“I just got back,” he said, his voice dark like the night sky. It sent a shiver down your spine. “I wanted to see you first, before I check in with Rhys.”

“O-oh,” you stammered, blushing bright pink. You rubbed at your arm, suddenly feeling exposed in just your nightgown. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. They are too.”

You gesture towards the crow sitting on your shoulder still. Azriel’s shadows swirled in tendrils towards it until it flew off, the shadows trailing behind it, like they were also catching up. 

You smiled at them as they disappeared in the night sky before turning your gaze back to Azriel. His eyes swept up your form, a muscle in his jaw clenching. When his eyes met yours again, there was a small heat in them that caused the butterflies in your stomach to go haywire. 

It was gone a second later and you wondered if you had imagined it. You cleared your throat. “How was the mission?”

“Good. Fine,” Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Though I’m happy to be back.”

You smiled up at him, shyly. Your voice was caught in your throat as you scrambled through your brain for something to say. But it seemed like Azriel didn’t mind your silence. 

He reached a hand out, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear before stroking your cheek with his knuckles. He was staring at you so intensely, as if you were the only thing that mattered to him in the moment. 

“I should go check in with Rhys,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to see your face, to make sure the one I see in my dreams is accurate.” 

Your chest warmed, your blush turned red. 

“I-is it?”

Your voice was a soft whisper in the gentle breeze. 

Azriel shook his head with a small smile. “No. Nothing can ever compare to seeing you in person.” 

His grabbed the hand dangling by your side. 

“Get some rest, little bird,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before disappearing in a swirl of shadows. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your skin tingly from his touch. Even long after you fell asleep. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stared at yourself in the mirror after slipping on the gown Rhysand had left for you. It was time to make a trip to the Court of Nightmares, to Hewn City—your old home. You hated these visits. They brought back terrible memories but like the rest of the court, you sucked it up for Rhys’s sake.

He had given you a silk, cobalt blue gown. It swept to the floor, flowing only slightly away from your body in an elegant sheath silhouette. Thin straps held up the form-fitting bodice with a slight cowl neckline. It was simple, but beautiful. 

A knock on your door pulled your attention away from your reflection. 

“One second,” you called out as you slipped on the heels you had picked out to wear with the dress before making your way to the door. You pulled it open to see Azriel standing there in his full leathers, all seven siphons gleaming in the light.

His eyes widened as they trailed over your form. You suddenly felt self-conscious. When he met your gaze again, he cleared his throat and you held the door open so he could step inside your room, trying to brush off that feeling.

“Did you need something?” You asked. 

His hands were in his pocket as he turned to face you. “I wanted to give you something before we leave for Hewn City. I mentioned it in my first letter.”

You nodded, remembering his written words clearly. Gods know how many times you had trailed your fingertips over that sentence with a stammering heart. 

“Okay,” you squeaked, suddenly feeling nervous. 

He gestured at you to turn around and you were once again facing yourself in the mirror. He stalked towards you like an angel from hell, his wings held out like every proud Illyrian male. 

He pulled a small black box from his pocket and took something out of it. With one hand, he brushed your hair to one shoulder. His fingertips grazed your bare skin, sending a small shiver through your body. 

Cold metal grazed your chest as he hung a necklace around your neck, letting it fall between your breasts as he clasped it from behind. 

Your eyes rounded as you looked at it. It was a beautiful necklace, a blood red heart encased in twisting gold plating. You brushed your fingers against it, admiring it as a piece of art. 

“It looks beautiful on you,” Azriel whispered, his breath brushing against your throat. “Just like I imagined.”

You swallowed, blushing. “It’s beautiful, Azriel. Thank you.”

His scarred fingers ran down your arm softly. “You are beautiful. Absolutely stunning, Y/n. I hope you know that.” 

Your lips parted, ready to say something but Rhys’s voice interrupted. 

Everyone to the foyer. It’s time to go.

You twisted in Azriel’s hold, staring up at him. He smiled down at you, his hazel eyes full of warmth. He grasped your hand in his. “Shall we?”

You could only nod, still at a loss for words. 

An hour later, you were resting against a pillar in Hewn City’s throne room, watching Eris twirl around with Nesta. That had been the goal tonight, to entice Eris into proposing a marriage alliance. Even though she was doing this as a favor for your rulers, you couldn’t help but admire the two dancers. Watching them was like watching a real-life fairytale from one of the romance books.

You wished someone would look at you the way Cassian stared at Nesta as she danced, wished someone would have interest in you, desire you. You didn’t use to want those things because none of it would’ve been your choice, but now? Well, you could dream.

Your mind drifted to Azriel and all the little ways he had been treating you lately. Something sparked in your chest at the thought of him. Some of his gestures did seem romantic in nature, but other times, you wondered if he just saw you the way Rhys did…a little shadow, young and inexperienced.

“Would you like to dance?”

You stood up straight, blinking as Azriel appeared in front of you. Heat crawled up your neck as you looked at the shadowsinger, trying to push away all the thoughts you just had about him. Your eyes darted from the dance floor to his pretty hazel eyes.

“Y-you want to dance?” You looked at him almost disbelieving. “With me?” 

“With only you,” he murmured, giving you a small smile. He held out his hand to you and you grappled with your pounding heart as you took it. The last song had just finished, the new strings starting up as he led you to the dance floor. 

He slid a hand around your waist, pulling you close as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. As usual, both of your shadows had departed, as if they were spending time on their own. Movement caught your eye and you looked up to see one of your crows perched on a railing, a small shadow tendril swishing around it.    

“We have an audience,” you whispered to Azriel, nodding your head towards the shadows. 

His lips twitched as he followed your gaze. It had been jarring for him at first, to be so exposed without his shadows every time he was around you. But now it was comforting, a break from the constant darkness around him. 

“Better put on a show,” he teased, twirling you around in his arms. 

You laughed, letting him lead you through the movements, staying on beat with every pluck of a string. You danced in silence, your eyes never straying from his hazel ones. The throne room blurred in your peripheral, making it feel like it was just you and Azriel in this room together. 

“Are you doing okay?” Azriel asked. “I know you don’t like coming here.”

“I’m fine,” you stammered. “It gets easier every time—seeing my family.” 

Azriel’s eyes hardened at the mention of your family. He knew the story of how you got your shadows. A story not much different than his. He hadn’t told you, but before tonight, he had made a little visit to your family’s home and threatened your father into staying away from you tonight. 

“If you want to leave, just say the word,” Azriel said. “I’ll deal with Rhys.” 

You smiled, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Promise.” 

Azriel nodded his head but his grip on your waist tightened. The pair of you did another circle around the room before he spoke again. “You know, I have you to thank for how fast I was able to complete that mission for Rhys.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“You,” he drawled, “Are a good motivator. I was counting down the seconds until I could return to you.” 

Your cheeks heated, those damn butterflies in your stomach returned. 

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” you squeaked, averting your eyes, shyly. 

Azriel chuckled to himself, endeared by your mannerisms. The song came to a close and he dropped his hand from your waist but didn’t let go of your other one. He pulled it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly. “Thank you for dancing with me, little bird.” 

You smiled back with a dip of the head. “I-I enjoyed it.” 

“Good,” Azriel grinned before his eyes glazed over for a second and he frowned. “Rhys needs me for something. I’ll come find you once I’m done.” 

“Okay,” you whispered. He reluctantly let your hand fall back to your side before pulling away, heading towards the High Lord. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, clutching a hand to your chest as you headed towards the back of the room again. 

You were halfway back to your pillar when you heard someone mention your name. You frozen behind a statue, peering through the gaps to see a group of three females standing together, gossiping. 

“I don’t know what he sees in her,” one of them mumbled. “Probably likes her because she’s a freak like him. Such a shame he’s a lesser fae.”

“I bet the High Lord told him to court her so he could keep both shadowsingers in his court to use,” another one laughed. “She’s so strange. I saw her talking to one of her crows earlier.”

“I think she’s pretty,” the third one whispered, shyly. “Even if she’s a little strange.” 

“A little?” the first one scoffed with a laugh. 

You rushed away, not wanting to hear anymore. You scurried out of the throne room and down the empty corridor, finding a small alcove to hide in. Tears lined your eyes as you thought on their words. You had thought maybe Azriel liked you, had wanted him to. But it was wishful thinking. No one would ever be interested in you that way. They were right. You were too strange, too off-putting. 

You wiped at your tears bitterly. 

“Y/n?” Azriel’s voice came from behind you. “What are you doing out here?” 

Of course, he would show up right now. While you were crying over him. You turned slowly, trying to blink away your tears. “I-I just needed a break from the crowd.” 

Azriel’s face dropped as he noticed the tear tracks on your cheeks. He took a step closer, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone do something to you?” 

You shook your head quickly. “No…No, nothing like that. I’m just…overwhelmed.” 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Azriel pleaded, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. 

“You’ll think I’m stupid,” you whispered. 

Azriel shook his head. “Never. I would never think you’re stupid, Y/n.”

You bit your lip, looking at the floor. Part of you wanted to tell him, to get a direct answer to your questions. But the other part of you was mortified at the thought of letting him know what you heard and how you felt about him. 

“Please,” he murmured again.

You let out a sigh. “I just…overheard some girls talking about me. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Who?” Azriel asked, his voice a touch darker.

You shrugged, looking back up at him. “I don’t know. Just some faeries who know me from here.” 

“What could they have possibly said to upset you?” 

It all came pouring out before you could stop it, the words spilling from your lips so quickly they almost slurred together. “They said I was strange and weird. But that doesn’t bother me. I hear it all the time. But…but they said the High Lord probably ordered you to ‘court’ me so I wouldn’t leave the Night Court. That there was no other reason you’d be interested in me—” 

“Stop,” Azriel cut you off, causing your lips to slam shut. “I don’t need to hear anymore, Y/n, because everything they said is complete bullshit. First off, Rhys would never give an order like that. You know him.”

You nodded along but the pit of your stomach still ached. 

“And I am interested in you. Not your shadows or your place in this court, I’m interested in you,” Azriel said. “I…I thought that might be obvious by now.” 

Your lips parted in surprise as you looked up at him with wide eyes. He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, at your expression.

“Y-you,” you stammered, “You are?” 

“Yes, Y/n, I am more than just interested in you,” Azriel said. “I am enamored by you. You are the one I seek out each time I enter a room. Every stolen glance, every brush of your fingers, every smile you gift me, is a treasure I hold in my heart. I am completely and utterly taken by you, Y/n. It pains me that you would doubt my affections for even a second.” 

You were speechless. He had taken the breath right from your lungs. Your heart was singing that melody again, the one it had sung that night he had taken you out for dinner. You stared up at him, into his hazel eyes that looked at you with reverence and warmth. His hand still cupped your face, his other pushed a piece of hair behind your ears with a gentle touch. 

“So…all those things you…all the stuff you did—” 

“Yes, Y/n, I have been trying to win your heart,” Azriel interjected for you. “The way you won mine since the moment I laid eyes on you. Not a day goes by where you are not on my mind. I am and have been bewitched by you. You have my heart and soul, little bird, if you’ll have it.” 

The melody playing in your soul struck its final chord, releasing a golden thread that snapped the minute you met Azriel’s eyes again. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding. Mate. Mate. Azriel was your mate. 

“Y-you,” you choked out, eyes rounded. “You’re my mate.”

Azriel’s eyes were hopeful as he nodded. “Yes and you are mine.” 

“You knew…this whole time?” 

He nodded again. “I did but I didn’t want to force you into something. I wanted you to find out on your own, after we had spent time together.” 

You swallowed audibly.

Mate.

Azriel was your mate. 

You weren’t even sure what to say. Your head was buzzing as your thoughts sped through your brain. The longer you stayed silent, the more the expression on Azriel’s face dropped until he looked uncertain. But you couldn’t shake yourself from your stupor.

“Will you have me?” Azriel asked, slowly. You could feel his insecurity down the bond and you knew you had to say something—anything to reassure him. 

“Yes,” you stammered. “Azriel, I… I have never felt this way about someone. I wasn’t sure I would ever. But you… I l-love you.”

You blurted out the last three words, turning bright red as you stumbled over your speech. His eyes widened.

You weren’t sure when you had fallen in love with him. Had it been that night you walked along the Sidra? Or maybe sometime during training? All you knew was what you felt for him, something that didn’t seem to have a name until this very moment. 

You let out a breath as a smile overtook Azriel’s face. He rested his forehead against yours with a deep breath. 

“I love you too, little bird,” he said. “You have my heart, my soul, my devotion until the end of everything.”

“And you have me,” you whispered.

Azriel pulled back to look at you, lifting your chin with a finger. 

“May I kiss you?”

Your heart stuttered.

“Y-yes.”

That was all he needed to hear. Azriel surged forward and kissed you hard with so much heat, so much craving that you stumbled back against the wall. His large hands fisted the silk fabric at your waist, pulling you against him before one hand rested on your hip while the other slid into your hair slowly.

All your thoughts ceased at that moment. All you could feel was Azriel’s hard body pressed against yours, so closely you swore you could feel his own heart beating against yours. And his lips were so warm, so soft against yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. Your cheeks were red, your lips swollen, and the mating bond sang it's pretty song in your chest as you gazed up at Azriel.

“We should get back,” he mumbled, though he looked like he was ready to take you right there in the middle of this corridor. “Before anyone notices us gone.”

He held his hand out to you with a smile. You took it, letting him pull you down the corridor, hand in hand, giggling like a schoolgirl the entire way back.  

The crow that had been watching this whole time, swooped away to follow after you two, a small tendril of shadow following close behind. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[moonpatroclus]

@witch-and-her-witcher and I wanted to commission some lighthearted pre-canon Lucien & Tamlin joking around. I just know that they got up to all sorts of shenanigans together before the books timeline starts.

or

The "your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” line, but make it tamcien

Art by b_astora (as always, we love her 🥰🫶🏻)

Please do not repost

[achaotichuman]

AU where feyre is the high lady of the night court b/c she was born into but b/c of society, she decided she would disguise as a male. All the guys are questioning their sexuality, all the women wanna be with her. Feyre is basically that guy and she actually fixes the problems in hewn city and illyria thru brute force or diplomacy.

My apologies anon for this taking so long, this was supposed to be a short and sweet little five-hundred-word one-shot and somehow it has turned into 16,400 words with a lot of plot and world-building. I don't know why I'm like this.

Yall just want me to genderbend every acotar character and I am living, breathing, existing for it. One actually good-at-ruling Masc!Feyre Archeron coming right up!

The black, jewelled crown of Night was heavy on her head. Crushing the careful hairstyle Elain had weaved it into. Elain didn't mourn the loss of her hardwork as she helped to tie up the laces of Feyre's corset. Nesta watched from the door, her silver eyes tracing her youngest sister's form. Feyre expected resentment, she expected outrage and anger from her eldest sibling. Nesta was the one who deserved the position of ruler. Between the three sisters, both Elain and Feyre had promised their allegiance to Nesta when she took the throne, to them it was never an if, never a question.

They were both planning to stand beside her when Nesta inevitably took the crown, when inevitably she faced discord and rage from the arrogant assholes that objectified and opposed any female in power. Feyre was prepared to stand by her sister wearing Illyrian armour and a sword in hand. Elain was prepared to stand by with her head held high and a courtier's tongue ready to smooth over the anger that would be faced.

But no, Feyre stood with the crown on her head and a midnight dress adorning her frame. Muscle pressed against the soft fabrics. She was too toned, too bulky for this beautiful, skin-tight silk. She had begged and pleaded since the day she was old enough to hold a weapon to join the Illyrian War Bands, to fight in the War. It was only through Elain's gentle coaxing that their father allowed her to go.

Through it she had fought, killed and fallen, gotten back up and swung her fists again. The males of the Hewn City called her a waste of a woman, and the Illyrians called her a witch. The females whispered and pointed, the Princes of the other High lords said she was only half a woman.

She wasn't made for this.

"You've studied, Feyre." Nesta said with that cold voice of hers. In Feyre's five hundred years of living, she hadn't ever heard Nesta speak with a warm tone. Yet somehow it had always been comforting.

"You've studied hard, you know this Court, you know the ins and outs." Nesta assured her, walking further into the room.

Feyre whipped around to face her sister, her dear sister, "Not as well as you! I don't have a courtier's face or tongue, I'm not cold or capable of being cruel like you! I'm not soft and I don't find it easy to lie or manipulate others like Elain! I'm fit for this."

"Leave the courtier tongues to us, Feyre." Elain said softly, "You focus on what you've always set out to do."

"And what is that?"

"Fight for what is right." Elain told her, smoothing a hand over Feyre's arm, "You've always fought for those in need, hell you were the one to convince father to fight for the human's right to freedom."

Feyre sucked in breath, feeling too constricted in this corset, "That was only because Baile helped." Baile the eldest Prince of Spring, now the High lord.

"There! You have an ally in Spring already!" Elain pointed out.

"See," Nesta replied smoothly, "You've already started to work for this position, even if you didn't know it."

"It should be you wearing this crown," Feyre whispered to Nesta.

"But it's not, the Mother chose you for a reason Feyre and..."

"And what?"

Nesta closed her eyes, "You can build the Night Court a better future than I can. Your ambitions and your motives are purer than I."

"Nesta no-"

"I fear if I take that crown I will be consumed by the power. I will stand beside you, always, but... as I am now, I will not take such a responsibility, such a high power when it has been granted to another."

"That's not true Nesta, give yourself more credit than that." Feyre said.

"Oh, I give myself credit. With the right words I am capable of bringing this entire continent under my own rule, but I do not know what I would do after that. What I would bring about. You however, do not wish for mighty amounts of power, you just want peace. You are patient, kind and honest."

"All terrible qualities for High lord of Night." Feyre said.

"High Lady," Elain corrected.

Feyre threw her hands up in the air, "Another problem, High Lady!"

Nesta shrugged, "So what? If I took the throne, I would be High lady."

"That is so much different."

"How?" Nesta pressed.

"Because Nesta, I would've been by your side! I have a foot in the Illyrian camps, and you have the Hewn City twisted around your finger! The second I take this crown; the Illyrians will revolt! At least as a warrior amongst them, they've learned not to care. If I, the one they call a waste of cunt and a witch, am the one ruling them, they will call for my head. And neither of you have the connections necessary to stop them. The Hewn City will for once in their lives, side with the Illyrians! At least with you Nesta the Hewn City will listen, however reluctantly. And I could command the Illyrians under your guidance."

Both her sister's were silent. They knew she was right. Feyre may have had the experience, she had taken the High lord's training alongside both Nesta and Elain. She had watched and learned, she may not wield a courtier's tongue as well as her sister's, but she knew how the politics worked and how to spin them to her advantage. They were equal in that department.

But Feyre didn't have the influence needed, she didn't have the command nor the loyalty of the people. They would call for her immediate execution, and while they were at it, there was a good chance Elain and Nesta would follow.

"I have an idea." Elain said.

"What's the idea?" Feyre said, all out of any of her own.

"You remember Tamlin right?" The middle sister asked.

"The shapeshifting witch? Didn't he run off with your mate?" Nesta asked.

Elain rolled her eyes, "He didn't run off. Lucien and I broke the mating bond all on our own and those two fell hard, it was inevitable."

"Isn't he Baile's youngest brother?" Feyre asked.

"Yep! Their father called him the beastly spare son at the first High lord meeting we attended, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Feyre remembered now. That 'beastly spare son' hadn't been in attendance for any of the High lord's meetings, Feyre met him briefly at the War Camps. Before he was kicked out for witchcraft.

"Didn't he try to access the shadow-side or something like that?" Feyre questioned, remembering the rumours that spread about.

"Tamlin was trained by his mother, she was a witch from the Middle. But he wasn't thrown out of the War Camps for witchcraft, he was just in love with another male." Elain murmured, knowing exactly what Feyre was thinking about.

"Those godforsaken bastards." Nesta grumbled.

Elain hummed her agreement, "He and Luce live on the border of Spring and Autumn-"

"Oh, it's Luce now." Nesta said.

Elain narrowed her eyes, "He is my friend, so yes, it is Luce. Anway, like mentioned earlier, Tamlin is a shapeshifter and a powerful one at that. He can shift not just himself but others."

"What are you insinuating?" Feyre asked.

"If you can't be High Lady for the risk of people rising up against you for what's between your legs, we have the magic to... change that."

***

It was Tamlin himself who opened the door when Elain knocked. The second Feyre saw him, every memory came bounding back. He looked healthier than when he had been in the War Camps, no longer was his skin pasty or littered with bruises from his father's abuse. The first day Feyre saw him he had been a scrawny little thing, then over the course of two years he grew into a more bulking frame.

Now, not having to use the War Camps as an escape from his household, he had grown into his natural frame. No longer did he have hulking muscle, nor was he too skinny. Tall with long, lithe limbs. Golden waves that weren't matted with blood or dirt flowed down his back, touching the ground, nearly dragging along it. Bright emerald eyes that weren't dulled with exhaustion. And a light tan on his freckled skin.

A Spring Faery through and through.

The little cottage they had found on the border of Spring and Autumn perfectly matched the essence of both Courts. Half of the building was covered with the colours of Autumn, then it melded into an ombre of reds and greens before it turned into Spring. The woody smell of smoke and the fresh smell of rain and pollen drifted together, pairing perfectly. Birds, deer and foxes could be spied wandering through the deep forests surrounding the cottage. Feyre had never seen a place so... peaceful.

Certainly not where she imagined a witch living. From the stories she had heard, she expected a dark, twisting house in the middle of a cursed woods or something along those lines.

Tamlin smiled brightly when he laid eyes on Elain, "Elain. What brings you to this part of the woods?"

Elain laughed, "I come bearing gifts!" The sister lifted a basket. Feyre had watched her pack dozens upon dozens of sweets and pastries, saying it was an offering. Tamlin may be her friend, but he still abided by the general rule of Fae and Witch. If you wanted a favour, you would need a sacrifice.

Tamlin's eyes flashed in the same way metal did when it reflected the sun, he kept that bright smile and happy expression, but Feyre knew he knew they wanted something.

"Why thank you." He said, taking the basket from Elain's hands, he turned and began to head inside, calling over his shoulder he said, "Please come in."

Feyre and Nesta looked at each other, wondering if it was a safe idea to enter under the roof of a true witch; they didn't get to ask as Elain walked in. Neatly taking off her boots and leaving them near the threshold. Nesta and Feyre quickly followed, neither shut the door, wanting an open escape should this turn ugly. Feyre herself didn't think Tamlin, the boy who had been so adamant that people, no matter who, all deserved rights and freedom, would trap or attempt to harm them.

Still, it had been a while since they last met.

They followed Elain and Tamlin. Turning a corner and entering what looked to be a kitchen, connecting to a sitting room. Tamlin placed the basket of baked goods on an isle in the centre of the kitchen, then spoke to Elain.

"It's been a good long while since I last saw you, how is everything?" Tamlin asked, even his voice was bright, bright in a way that reminded Feyre of the sun shining through a dark storm.

"Actually, things have taken a slight... turn." Elain said.

Again, his eyes flashed, he knew they were about to ask something. Tamlin discreetly lifted the top of the basket, his tongue darting over his bottom lip when he saw what laid in there. Neither Feyre nor Nesta were stupid, he was weighing up if the offering would be equal to the favour.

"That isn't any good, may I ask what has turned?" Tamlin asked, turning his eyes back to Elain.

"Tam..." Elain's eyes flicked back to Feyre, "Feyre has been chosen by the Cauldron for the crown of Night."

Just like that the slight mischief and excitement for whatever Elain was going to ask winked out, his eyes widened as he looked over at Feyre. The same recognition that had no doubt been in Feyre's eyes when she saw him flashed on his face. He too was no doubt thinking of the consequences of Feyre being in such a position of power.

"Oh fuck." Tamlin said, running a hand through his hair, "That is a problem."

"We've tried to establish peace where we can throughout the years, but with our father's rule, contempt for females is still extremely high."

"I don't doubt it." Tamlin murmured in a low voice. That was a voice Feyre recognised, she had heard Tamlin speak in the same low voice when he rebuked some males who were speaking of enslaving humans once again. It seemed some things never changed, and Tamlin's hatred of injustice was one of those.

"What do you need me to do Elain?" Tamlin asked.

Elain finally made her request outright, "I need you to shapeshift Feyre into the form of a male."

Tamlin lifted a finger then quickly opened up the basket, rifling through it. The three sisters blinked, looking at each other with confused expressions before Tamlin exclaimed, "Ahah!"

He lifted a mini lemon meringue tart from the basket. He turned to Elain and laughed at her confused expression, "Eye for an eye Elain, I was checking if you had these little things, just one of them would be worth a spell to keep Feyre in a male's form, Lucien loves the damn things."

"Where is Lucien?" Feyre asked. The Fox boy and her had been drinking buddies two centuries back, before Jesminda, the poor girl, was executed and Lucien ran from Autumn. Only to find Elain as his mate and then staying as far away from the Archeron sisters as he could, his trauma still raw the mating bond chafed it.

"Out with Helion for the day." Tamlin said, placing the tart carefully back into the basket.

"Helion-steal your man-Spellcleaver?" Elain smirked, "Watch out Tamlin, you might have competition."

Tamlin gagged, "Don't worry about that Elain, as of recent we have found Lucien may be of Day descent."

Elain went red immediately, "Oh- Oh!"

"Wait, Lucien may be a Spellcleaver?" Nesta asked.

Tamlin lifted his hands and shrugged, "Don't go spreading rumours it hasn't been confirmed yet. But since Beron kicked it and Andrea left Autumn for Day, she sent Lucien a letter, telling him it might be the case."

"Oh I remember that, Andrea's affair with Helion... That was the hot underground gossip a good four hundred years ago." Feyre said. Head tipping back as she thought back on the drama that had arisen from that particular affair.

"Was more than that now. How old's Lucien?" Nesta asked.

"Four hundred and eighty." Tamlin replied, taking the basket and moving it to sit beneath a hanging cabinet.

"Four hundred and eighty years now, wow we're getting old." Feyre whistled.

"When's he getting back?" Elain asked.

As if on cue, the door of the cottage opened, and assured footsteps could be heard.

"Darling! I got those herbs you wanted. Thesan also said for you to visit him. He found records of some spells he thought you might- Oh! Afternoon to all." Lucien turned the corner, holding a white linen bag Feyre assumed contained whatever herbs Tamlin had asked for.

"Afternoon to you too Luce." Elain smiled.

Lucien smiled back, walking further into the kitchen, he opened his mouth presumably to ask why the three Archeron sisters were gathered in his home. Then his eyes found the basket, Tamlin lifted a pastry from it and Lucien seemed to catch on.

The thought came to Feyre that this was most certainly not the first time Elain had asked favours from Tamlin. She mentally noted to ask her sister what else she had bargained for with the witch.

"Is there anything new with you three?" Lucien asked as he placed the bag of herbs beside the basket and stood beside Tamlin. Feyre watched as Lucien took Tamlin's hand in his, stepping slightly in front of him. Protective.

"We were just discussing that Feyre has been chosen by the High lord's magic." Nesta revealed.

Lucien's smile dropped, he quickly looked to Tamlin who gave a slight nod. The Fox dropped his head to whisper something in Tamlin's ear. Feyre longed for the two to openly discuss whatever it was they were speaking of.

Dark voices began to whisper in her head, shadows wrapped around her mind and slithered past her mental defences, reaching, searching, finding.

Found.

Tamlin's mind looked like spider's silk and vines. So easy to press against, so easy to draw back, like a curtain made of the most delicate of silks. It was nothing for Feyre to reach in and-

Something dragged her in. Claws wielding the sharpest of blades pulled her kicking and screaming into the darkness that lurked beyond that soft silk. Down and down, she went until Feyre could no longer hear her own mental voice, nor feel her body. Hands with knives for fingertips wrapped around her, pushing in and stinging her.

Then she was tossed from that place, thrown through the silk and back into her own body.

When Feyre could see through her own eyes again, she was on her knees on the floor, gasping her breath and tears of pain streamed down her face.

"Rule number one, Daemati, never go into the mind of a witch, it will not end well for you." Tamlin hissed in a voice so dark Feyre shivered.

When she looked up Tamlin's face was carefully blank, no true feeling in his eyes. Lucien's, however, was of fury and anger. He had pulled Tamlin closer and glared at Feyre. Funny, Feyre had been under the expression he would be the even-tempered one.

"Sorry, sorry I'm sorry." Feyre shook her head forcing herself to her feet, "I... I don't know what overcame me."

"Your magic will want to stretch its legs, but please, experiment on people who give you explicit permission to enter their minds. Or work on rats or something of the like." Tamlin told her.

Feyre nodded, eyes on the floor, "Of course, of course. I am... I am so sorry."

"Just be glad I am used to dealing with Daemati." Tamlin told her, he then turned to Elain, "I will honour your request, on one condition."

"What condition?"

Tamlin gestured to Feyre, "She keeps her magic on a tight leash and does not go wandering into people's minds."

Looking back and addressing Feyre directly again, he said, "If you wish to turn the tide of your Court and remake it so you don't have to appear as male, you cannot go into other's mind, not even if your magic begs and pleads with you too, and it will."

"How do you know that? You have never experienced the High Lord's magic." Nesta said, her eyes narrowed at Tamlin.

Tamlin sucked in a breath, it was tight, and his eyes widened just a fraction. Lucien gripped his hand tighter, in a tense voice, Tamlin said, "Just listen to me. Do you want me to accept your request or not?"

Nesta leaned back on her heels, her arms crossed, she slowly released a breath. Tamlin then spoke to Feyre again, "I will do as you ask, but I do request something of you."

"We've already given you an offering." Elain said, her voice slightly snappy.

"That was before your new High Lady decided to enter my mind."

"I've never experienced the pull of the magic; I didn't know what I was doing!" Feyre tried to plead.

"But you knew it was mind, I heard you thinking so loudly around the entrance of my mental walls. You knew you reaching out for me, and you went in. For that, you owe me, your sister's gifts will suffice for my giving you the form of a male. But I ask something of you as payment for intrusion."

Looking to Elain, Feyre tried to ask her sister with her eyes on what to do. Elain just bit her lip and looked to the floor; Feyre mentally slapped herself. One moment of weakness, now she owed a witch a favour.

"Fine, what is the request?"

"There is a fungus in the Hewn City, it grows on any life it can latch onto and sucks the nutrients from it, draining it until its host is nothing more than a hollow shell for it to reside. From what I've studied it only grows deep in the Hewn City. I want it. Bring me that fungus and I will consider the debt repaid."

When Feyre looked at Elain, her eyes were wide, and her face had gone pale. Nesta swallowed hard. Feyre knew that fungus, had heard of it but never seen it. True it occurred naturally deep within the caverns of the Hewn City, but it was strictly forbidden for any to gather it.

It latched onto any life, including people. Not to mention the spores were invisible, once inhaled it would suck the life from a person from the inside out.

Why would Tamlin want it?

Did Feyre even have a choice but to give it to him?

The glint in his green eyes said she had too. Lucien kept a carefully neutral expression but the confused look in his eyes when he heard Tamlin's request didn't escape Feyre's notice.

Feyre decided that it was just one fungus, and Tamlin had never been a malicious male. So, she finally nodded, "Okay, okay fine, we'll get you your fungus."

Tamlin's lips tilted up, "Good."

"First you shapeshift Feyre." Elain said.

Cocking an eyebrow up, Tamlin watched Elain out of the corner of his eye as he let go of Lucien's hand and approached Feyre. The natural urge to run as fast and as far away as she could when in the presence of such ancient power nearly overtook her. But Feyre forced her feet to be still as Tamlin laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"The changes I will make are not permanent, however you will not be capable of shifting back to your regular form on your own. You will require my assistance for that."

Feyre's heart was in her throat, "What is the price for shifting me back?"

Tamlin smiled and this time it was that genuine boyish grin, "More lemon meringue tarts."

"There's lemon méringue tarts here?!" Lucien exclaimed, hands immediately going to that basket Elain had brought. Elain laughed quietly under her breath and Tamlin chuckled.

Glancing around Feyre noted her sisters were far enough away that she could whisper without them hearing, so she craned her neck closer to Tamlin and asked, "Why be friends with her? Elain is your husband's mate."

Tamlin just shrugged, "Mates are a predetermined melding of two people, I don't blame those that are shackled against their will."

Emboldened by his causal reply Feyre asked, "Why do you want the fungus?"

A tingling feeling spread across her entire body, Feyre barely noticed it as she watched Tamlin's green eyes flash again, "Just get me the fungus, High Lord of Night."

High Lord?

Feyre looked down at her own body, and sure enough. She had shifted. Now more focused on how she felt, she noticed the changes and differences.

There were no longer an weights on her chest pressing against the fabric of her black shirt. Now her sides were more tightly constricted by the satin. Her shoulders were pulling her shirt taut, and the hems of her pants were riding up higher, now too short.

There was also a noticeable weight sitting in between her legs. When Feyre noticed that particular change, she, no he now, blushed furiously. Tamlin smirked, "This form can be... customised. I just shifted you based on the genes I found within your body already, this is exactly how you would look if you had been born male."

"I'm sorry, customise?" Feyre said, she nearly jumped at how much deeper her voice sounded.

Elain, Nesta and Lucien all snickered. Tamlin just gave him a sympathetic smile, "I get you some clothes that will fit your new body better."

With that Tamlin slipped away from the group. Elain and Nesta looked him up and down slowly, Elain tilted her head to the side and Nesta narrowed her eyes.

Nesta said, "You look like our grandfather."

Elain hid a smile behind the back of her hand, "You do, just better looking."

"Thanks." Feyre said deadpan.

Lucien leaned back against the counter behind him, placing his palms on the surface, "You are pleasing to the eye, that's good, beauty is power in the Courts. Though Tamlin certainly wouldn't make you ugly."

"Good to know, Lucien. I am hoping to a achieve a Court where looks are not what people seek in courtiers, lords and ladies." Feyre said with that same deadened voice.

Tamlin came back into the room, holding a white shirt and dark brown trousers. Feyre glared at them, "Whose clothes am I stealing?"

If they were Tamlin's Feyre might owe him something. He already owed this male a Fae-eating fungus, he didn't need to give up any more dangerous plants or herbs to him.

"Mine, but relax, I will take nothing for this."

"Why?" He asked, Tamlin tried to shove the clothing into Feyre's arms, but he refused to take them.

Tamlin rolled his eyes, the light shone through the window in the kitchen, making his eyes appear like green-tinted sea-glass, "I am a witch, not an asshole, just bring them back washed and not torn."

Feyre glanced over at Elain, who simply nodded. Tamlin sighed, "Take the damn clothes Feyre, you look ridiculous in the ones you're wearing."

Feyre glared at him again as he snatched the clothing from his hands, Tamlin jutted his head in the direction of a hallway leading away from the entrance to the house, "There's a bathroom before the staircase down that hallway."

The High lord of Night just gave a low grunt of acknowledgement before heading for the bathroom. As he turned down the hallway, he heard Elain saying, "I don't know how this will go."

Tamlin answered her, "Baile will be on your side."

"You hate Baile." Elain pointed out.

When Tamlin replied, a chill ran down Feyre's spine, "I really do."

***

A week passed, a week for Feyre to get used to the body he was in. Before he had to finally see his Court.

Feyre spun in the mirror, looking himself up and down, side to side. Trying to convince his mind that the reflection staring back at him was indeed his own. It was... difficult to say the least.

His hair was still long, spilling down his back. Elain had asked whether or not he wanted to cut it, Feyre refused. His hair was an important part of him, for a while, during the War, it had been the only thing he could control, and he chose to let it grow long. He braided it and had let that long hair billow in the wind once they won.

It wasn't like he needed to cut it to look more male-ish, Tamlin had done a good enough job with that. He looked every part the High Lord of Night.

A sharpened jaw, with narrow eyes. Broad shoulders and a muscled chest. Feyre had chiselled muscles along her abdomen to begin with, but now everything seemed sharper, bigger. Elain had turned his hair into a single braid that fell down his back. A suit of black and silver hugged her body, a black shirt underneath a fitting waistcoat. Black trousers and knee-high boots. A jacket matching his waist coat fell around his shoulders. And black gloves adorned his hands. Everything was decorated with whorls of silver that glowed in the moonlight.

A knock rapped at his door, Feyre took a deep breath, then he turned and headed for the door.

Upon opening it, he was faced with Nesta, who lifted her eyes to his. Feyre always had a bigger build than Nesta, but it was her that possessed the height in their family. But now... now Feyre towered over his eldest sister.

"It's time." Nesta said, her voice emotionless. Her eyes a silvery blaze.

Feyre nodded, "I know," He held back the urge to wince at the low, rumbling sound that escaped his throat.

Nesta drew in a breath, crossing her arms. She moved away from the threshold, allowing Feyre room to walk beside her. They accompanied each other through the hallways, heading for the entrance of the Palace. Prepared to winnow to the Hewn City, prepared to finally face his Court.

Feyre heard Elain's voice, speaking with someone in low hushed tones, before they turned the corner to see her, Nesta held out a hand, stopping Feyre in his tracks.

"I need you to promise me something, Fey." Nesta murmured.

Fey... He hadn't heard that nickname in centuries.

Now Nesta had all of Feyre's attention, he turned to face his sister fully, "Anything Star."

Nesta's own eyes widened just a fraction, just for the smallest of moments, when she heard the nickname Feyre had given her when they were children.

"And I need you to promise that..." Nesta looked down at her feet, for the first time in her life she looked... uncertain. Unsure.

Feyre took Nesta's hands in his own, "Tell me."

Nesta swallowed as she stared at her hands, conjoined with her sister, her, publicly, brother, "I need you to free our people, Fey."

Free them...

Feyre unconsciously loosed his grip on Nesta's hands. Noticing the slight change, Nesta ripped her hands away and balled them into fists at her side. Staring up at Feyre, at the crown on his head, with such a cold, icy gaze that Feyre was certain frost was appearing on the black jewels.

"Free my people, Feyre Archeron, give them the power over themselves that they can't on their own. With the way our own people live outside of Velaris we... we're a third of a fucking Court, Feyre. And the former High lord was a third of a fucking male for governing them like this."

Feyre was silent. Silent as his heartbeat began to race. Silent as his muscles tensed and his jaw clicked. Silent as Nesta took a step back. Silent as he realised darkness had begun to collect around his feet, around his hands and climbed over his shoulders.

Silent as he realised Nesta was afraid of him.

Silent as he near fell to one knee, head held low, near to the floor. Silent as he bowed to his sister, to her sister, to the female who had been by her side, and would be by his side.

Silent as he lifted his eyes to meet Nesta's. Nesta said nothing as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Finally, it was the Princess of the Night Court who broke the silence, "Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court."

Nesta then took her hands and lifted them to the back of her neck, she pulled a silver chain from where it had been hidden under the high neck of her black dress. Unfastening it, she pulled a necklace off her throat. It was beautifully polished, with one dark gem at the centre of the chain. When the light hit it in just the correct way, a streak of silver with a small spot of white in the middle of it appeared.

Nesta gently wrapped the necklace around Feyre, she clasped it and returned her hands to her youngest sister's shoulders. Youngest brother's shoulders.

"Raven Archeron, High Lord of the Night Court." Nesta said.

The name had been decided, the name of their grandfather, Elain thought it fitting given how alike him and Feyre appeared.

It also may put Kier in an early grave considering how hateful he had always been of the male. And Feyre found that thought amusing.

Finally, Feyre, no, Raven, lifted himself to his feet.

"It's going to take some getting used to." A voice said, Nesta and Feyre turned to see Elain leaning against the wall. She gestured to Feyre, "That name. Raven, very different from Feyre."

"It was your idea." Nesta pointed out.

"I know." Elain smiled prettily before turning and pressing herself against the wall to reveal a person that was behind her.

A female with soil brown eyes, long locks of golden blonde, plush red lips and a red dress with high slits and a low neckline showing off her cleavage was stood before them. She smiled and bowed low when her eyes met Feyre's.

"Raven Archeron, or shall I say Feyre Archeron? A pleasure to meet you." The beautiful female said, in a low seductive voice.

Feyre was about to insist this stranger simply call him Feyre, when Nesta cut in.

"High Lord shall suffice." Nesta drawled, when Feyre turned to see her, Nesta was jutting her nose in the air. Her eyes were cold and hard, yet a light flush of red was patchy across her cheeks and nose.

The female's smile widened into a grin, her brown eyes met Nesta's and Feyre felt the fiery spark of this stranger meeting Nesta's cold flames. Something exploded in their gaze and Feyre nearly took a step back.

"A pleasure to see you as well, Nesta Archeron."

"The pleasure is all yours and none of my own." Nesta snapped back, taking a slight step forward, crossing her arms.

Elain stepped near completely in between the two females, as if preventing them from reaching each other. The middle sister clapped her hands as she happily said, "Feyre, meet Morrigan, she is the Steward's daughter."

"Exiled daughter," Morrigan mumbled, then she grinned at Feyre once again when she caught sight of her confused eyes, "My father attempted to kill me when I refused the marriage, he tried to force me into. My would-have-been fiancé met me broken on the border, after he pretended to leave me for dead, he sent a sentry to collect me and take me into a hidden place within his Court. Once I was older and capable of defending myself, I made contact with an... old connection within your Court and returned to Night."

"Where have you been living since?"

Morrigan shrugged, "Many places, mostly Velaris, at times in Autumn, sometimes in Winter."

Elain spoke, "Morrigan is an incredibly courtier, Viviane Lady of the Winter Court is a close friend of hers, she has friends in Illyria, Vallahan and her ex-fiance is Eris Vanserra."

Feyre met Elain's eyes when she said Eris' name. When he looked back at Morrigan, he finally remembered her. The Morrigan, the promised fiance to the then heir to the Autumn Court, now the High lord of Autumn.

Feyre had been in the War Camps during the time of Morrigan. Nineteen when she was set to be in a marriage to a male, a boy, ten years younger than herself.

"Eris Vanserra was nine years old at the time of your engagement to him." Feyre stated.

Morrigan nodded, "His father is not what I would call the greatest example of what a father should be."

"Are any High Fae fathers?" Nesta huffed.

Morrigan gave her a half smile, "You're more dressed up than the last time I saw you Nesta."

Nesta tensed, she once again curled her hands into fists, until her knuckles were white, otherwise her face remained blank, "We are going to Feyre's formal coronation, we are all dressed up."

Nesta looked Morrigan up and down, "Though you wear the same dress you did when... I saw you last."

At those words Morrigan eyes darkened, her lips darted over her red lips, "I didn't wear this dress for long then, did I now? Though you were able to wear the dress you brought the entire... encounter. It was quite fun to look at when I-"

"Now! We must be heading for the Hewn City in less than five minutes!" Elain cut the conversation off.

Feyre quickly looked at Nesta, then Morrigan again, then back to Nesta. Nesta's face had gone considerably red. Morrigan was just grinning at the reaction.

What had happened between them? And why didn't Feyre know about it, yet Elain seemed to have some sort of a clue as to what was happening?

"Morrigan will be joining us, she has offered her services to our Court and tonight we shall put them to the test!" Elain said.

Morrigan met Feyre's eyes with a flirtatious spirit but cold cruelness seeping into the edges, "If that is alright with you, High Lord?"

Feyre looked at Elain, then at Nesta, then back at Morrigan.

Over the course of the week, Feyre had been trying to convince himself he was chosen for a reason, that he had the knowledge for this.

Yes, he had much to learn, but he had lived here all his life. Had been given the same chances Nesta had, no he didn't have her cruel coldness, but he had his heart, he had his honor, and he had the same knowledge she did.

So Feyre forced himself to take in a deep breath, facing Morrigan, "Your services will be tested, however I will have the final word on if you will be needed in the future. You will not answer to either of my sisters, you will come to me for any and all requests. Understood?"

Morrigan blinked, taken aback by Feyre's quick harsh words. Feyre watched as her brown eyes began to slide to Elain, looking to find confirmation with the middle sister, but Morrigan caught herself and looked back at Feyre. Keeping her eyes only on the High lord.

With a short bow, Morrigan said, "Yes my Lord."

"Good, then we must be off to the Hewn City, the time has come."

With no other words, Elain and Morrigan turned on their heels and headed for the entrance of the Palace, which was built into the side of the mountain. Half connected to the Hewn City, half connected to Velaris.

Nesta and Feyre began to follow the two, Nesta whispered to him, "Well done, Morrigan is pushy, don't let her shove you around."

Feyre nodded, then he asked, "Where do you know her from?"

Again Nesta' face went red, she quickly shook her head, "Forget it, we met at a bar and I learned of her former position after a few drinks."

Feyre didn't believe her, or at least didn't believe she was telling the full story. It didn't matter though, because they were heading into darkness. Into the hallways that would lead to the High lord's quarters in the Hewn City. From there they would winnow to the coronation party thrown in Feyre's honour.

"This is going to be difficult." Feyre said.

Nesta smiled a little, her thumb brushing the back of Feyre's hand, "It will."

***

The coronation ceremony went off without a hitch. Morrigan, Elain and Nesta went in first. Even from behind the closed doors, Feyre heard the hushed gasps and whispers at the appearance of the long-lost daughter of Keir. Morrigan was going to be a problem, Feyre already knew it, but he supposed he didn't have much of a choice but to at least trial her out. After all, his Court at the current moment was just her two sisters.

After Nesta and Elain took their places standing on either side of the throne and Morrigan joined the front row of the crowd, standing just an inch in front of everyone, Feyre walked through.

Raven walked through. He forced into his mind like he had forced referring to himself as 'he' into his mind.

It was Raven who stepped out into the crowds. Raven, whose darkness poured out in front of him, curling over his shoulders and around his hands.

His braid swung behind him, whipping like a vicious tail, the long trail of his floor-length black jacket dragged behind him across the sea of darkness. His cunning eyes grazed the crowd. Everyone was gathered here, everyone except the people of Velaris. Even Illyrians were mixed in amongst the High Fae of the Hewn City.

A female with unruly black curly hair and clipped Illyrian wings raised her hand in a wave, her dark skin making her stand out amongst the pale of the Hewn City.

Raven nearly waved back to her, but forced himself to face ahead, that female was Feyre's best friend, not Raven's, Feyre's partner, not Raven's.

Not for now at least.

He approached the throne and the Priestess standing before it. She had long black hair that reached down to the floor, her robes were of black and silver, a jewel of blue was hanging from the crown of her head. She held the formal crown of Night in her hands, tonight Raven would wear it upon his head, then come morning it would return to its place in a chest hidden deep in the Hewn City. Not to be touched until the next Heir was crowned.

It was Elain who walked over, removing the smaller crown from Raven's head. Then Raven went down on one knee. The Priestess lifted the crown and began her speech.

Was he to be on his knees the whole time? Nesta had said he would, he thought it would be easy, he had underestimated how long the speech would go on for.

Finally once she was finished, she placed the crown upon Raven's head. Raven lifted his eyes, lifted his body and turned to face the city before him.

He was met with terrified eyes, the trembling hands of children and women. The greedy look of hunger in the faces of the males.

The males of Illyria looked stoic and uncaring, but Raven spotted the younger males, who looked... exhausted, no doubt counting the days before they would be sent to their dooms in War, not given a choice on whether they wished to fight or not.

"They say we're brutes born to kill." Celvin had said, "I didn't want this, I don't want this.

"What would you do if given a choice?" Feyre asked.

He had slumped his shoulders, his wings dragging along the dirt, a dejected, saddened look in his eyes, "I would have painted."

Raven wouldn't allow this any longer.

Free my people, Nesta had said.

'Oh I will free them, I will free every last one of them.' Raven and Feyre thought.

The rest of the ceremony was nothing but formalities. Raven lounged in the black, sharp cut throne, gazing down at the people mingling amongst each other. The prejudices were plain to see, as the Illyrians snarled at the High Fae, and the High Fae sneered at the Illyrians. 

Kicking one leg over the other, Raven rested his head on his knuckles, trying to not appear as bored as he was. He had asked Nesta over and over to go and join his people in the celebrations, but was told to sit still and be quiet. 

Was this all his ancestors had done? Look pretty on the big, bad throne then disappear to dance the night away in Velaris? 

That would change. 

This would change. 

Starting tonight. 

Raven couldn’t even believe it, Feyre couldn’t believe it. How could he ever just sit idly on a throne? Sitting up here for the entire duration of a celebration with his people and not joining in on the celebrations? 

Raven would never do something like that. Feyre refused to ever be like that. Idle. 

So he stood. The coat he wore slipped off his shoulders and fell onto the throne behind him. Then he walked down into the crowd. 

Eyes went wide and mouths moved quickly in hushed whispers, but Raven ignored them. Feyre ignored them. He let the mask slip. Mentally he had tried to remain in character, Raven, Raven, Raven. 

Now, in the youth of the night, when many were too drunk to do any more than simply whisper and point. Feyre let the mask of Raven slip. 

She wished to turn back to her own body, the one she knew and felt comfortable in, but that wasn't possible. So she settled to stay in this body as she moved through the crowds, no real purpose in her stride. 

Then a hand slipped down her arm. Feyre turned and her breath was caught in her throat. 

A beautiful female smiled at her. Her hair was black as midnight, her skin glowing like the moon, her dress was long, barely touching the ground. Her sleeves covered her arms, her neck was almost entirely covered, but her dress was so tight around her frame that Feyre couldn't help but feel like it was a mockery of modesty. 

Her mouth was painted with shimmering black. She leaned in close and those plush lips were so close to her neck. Feyre could hardly breathe. 

“Greetings, my High Lord.” She said, and oh good Gods even her voice was filled with a soft seduction that drew Feyre closer. 

“Greetings, Lady.” Feyre forced her voice back into that of Raven’s. Forced her shoulders to loosen even when they wanted to remain tense. 

“I don’t suppose the newly crowned would care for a dance.” Her eyes twinkled like stars, she lifted a soft hand, Feyre was helpless but to take it. 

“Why I don’t think-”

“Lady Kathleen. A pleasure to see you once again.” Elain appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Feyre’s hand and reeling her back. 

Kathleen’s eyes simmered but she forced a smile as her back straightened, “Lady Elain Archeron, the pleasure is all mine.”

Elain laughed sweetly, but there was something strained in the sound, “I’m sure it is. I hate to interupt however, Lord Raven, there is an emergency that requires your immediate attention.”

“There is?-”

“Well we best be off, do take care Kathleen.” Elain said, before near dragging her sister away. 

“Elain what-”

Elain pulled Feyre close and whispered in a harsh voice, “You are now the High Lord, they think you to be male, that means that every Lady here that is looking for marriage is going to want to carry your children.”

“Elain!-” 

“I am stating it how it is. Don’t accept dances from random females. Keep to yourself, and keep yourself on the throne. There is a reason we place the Court so high above the rest.”

Feyre ripped her arm from Elain’s. The mask came back on and just like that Feyre, became Raven Archeron, “I have promised to free my people, if it starts with dancing among them, so be it.”

Elain’s eyes softened, “Fey I know you want to do the right thing, but we must do this slowly-”

“This is my Court, not a school, I do not have to treat my people like children that need lessons to be taught. Elain, all changes are to be implemented immediately from now on and you know what… it starts tonight.”

***

Months passed, months of terrible, terrible days and sleepless nights.

Feyre was currently in his study within Velaris, still in the form of a male, he didn’t wear a shirt, it felt nice to not be restricted to such modesty, no one had even batted an eye at his appearance, except Nesta who had nearly stumbled back. But ultimately she just nodded her approval. 

 Elain was sitting in a black velvet chair by the fire, helping by reading reports and checking the budget.

"Nearly eighty percent of taxes taken from the Hewn City and Illyria go to Velaris." The middle sister sneered with such disgust in her voice that Feyre nearly flinched.

"Eighty percent?" Feyre baulked.

All of that money... going to a city that didn't need even a third of that.

Elain nodded, "And get this, most of it just sits in that treasure hoard of ours. We have slums in our city Feyre, slums and yet we're taking eighty percent of our other cities’ money just to keep it to ourselves."

Elain threw the papers down onto the coffee table before her, "How has our Court survived this long."

At that moment Nesta walked in, "Many of the Lords in the Hewn City evade paying their taxes, they use the money they manage to stow away to keep the Court functioning, as for Illyria... Illyrians are capable of bearing children far quicker than that of High Fae. If it weren't for the fact they are so many they would've died out a long time ago."

"Fuck." Feyre mumbled, he knew of the hardships in Illyria, had faced them when he went there for training. Yet still, he had a warm bed and hot meals. Some of the boys and girls he had befriended they... he never saw them again.

Whilst he hoped everyday they simply went to other parts of Illyria. He knew in his head that they simply didn't make it. Couldn't make it through the freezing nights, nor the starvation.

"What do you wish to do first?" Nesta asked Feyre.

Feyre turned his eyes to the view of Velaris behind him. He saw the twinkling lights and the shine of the sun upon the city.

"Start with Illyria. Hire as many healers as needed, bring hot food and clean water, any children without shelter are to be brought to the Hewn City. Any females with clipped wings are to be given the choice to leave their homes or turn in the males who hurt them. And as for the Hewn City... open the borders."

"Feyre-"

"Open all the doors, all males, females, children should be given free access to Velaris and given the proper care needed. If any are found to be injured they are to receive health-care free of charge."

Feyre stood from his and walked to the window. Staring down at the blissful peace below.

All beautiful, it was all peaceful.

His mind went to Celvin, and his dream to paint. His head then turned to the wall opposite to him, where the beautiful landscape of the mountains of the Night Court was hung. A painting Feyre herself, himself, had made.

“And military training for males and females will be completely optional.” Feyre added. 

“What will be optional?” Morrigan asked as she flounced into the office. Over the course of the months Feyre had grown even more wary of her. She was too bright, and too easily turned cold and cruel. She was perfect for Night in every way, but only for the former way the Court was ruled. If Feyre wanted a Court that respected the ones that ruled it, were loyal out of their own will, and lived happily and in peace with one another, she couldn’t have people working for her that didn’t support that. 

Either Morrigan needed to change her tactics, or she needed to go. 

Nesta’s eyes widened a fraction when she saw the blonde, she unconsciously stepped closer to Feyre. And Feyre stepped closer to Nesta protectively. 

It was Elain who explained, “Feyre is implementing change within the Court, from now on the borders between the Hewn City, Illyria and Velaris will be completely open. More money is going to be put into Illyria and the Hewn City.”

Feyre went on, “The resources that were hoarded by my ancestors will all be put back into the people. And military training will become completely optional to both male and females. Elain are you writing this down?”

Elain smiled as she lifted a notebook and paper, “Been writing it down.”

Feyre gave his sister a grin. 

Morrigan, however, did not look so pleased, her eyes had gone wide and her pretty smile had dropped, “The borders are being opened?!”

Now Feyre scowled at her, in a low tone he said, “Yes they are, do you have a problem with that?”

Morrigan spluttered for a moment then she cleared her throat and met Feyre’s hard eyes with cold ones, “I have no problem with the final decision of my Court, however in my professional opinion-”

“Are suggesting my opinion is not professional?” Feyre asked, beginning to take steps forward towards Morrigan. 

“No! No my Lord, but you must understand,” Morrigan laughed as she spoke, it only served to piss Feyre off even more, “These borders have not been opened for well over five thousand years, to open them now, especially with the nature of the Hewn City and the Illyrians-”

“What nature, Morrigan?” Nesta seethed, crossing her arms. 

Morrigan’s eyes flashed an almost golden colour as she looked over at Nesta. Feyre stepped in between them, “No, you look at me, you respond to me, don’t look at her, don’t talk to her. Don’t. Go. Near. Her.”

Morrigan’s jaw dropped, then it snapped shut as finally anger came forward, “I see turning you male also gave you the self-entitled possessiveness of one of them.”

Feyre nearly lost his fucking mind. Then he took in a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm. 

Forcing herself to be calm. They weren’t in front of the Court right now, she didn’t have to put up the mask. 

Over the last few months, it had all been training, training, training, since five seconds ago this conversation had been one of diplomacy. 

Now it was about her sister and this godforsaken Morrigan. 

So Feyre allowed herself to slip away from the mask and approach Morrigan as an equal, as a bitch getting on her own and her sister’s nerves. 

“I am no possessive person, I am in a disguise. You know this very well. You know why I am doing this-”

“Because Illyria and the Hewn City would have you killed!” Morrigan shouted, “You have to do this because they are monsters-”

“You will do well not to refer to my people as monsters, Morrigan. I understand you came from there, I know very well the horrors my people go through, but I have the power to change that. I have the power to make for certain no more teenagers and little girls get tortured for not being virgins and end up being dumped on Autumn Court borders! I have the power to make for certain that no Illyrian boys end up dying from the freezing weather or lack of food! I have the power to make for certain that no Illyrian girls lose their wings just for the sex they were born with! And if you are against that then you are no better than your father!” 

At Feyre’s accusation angry tears welled up in Morrigan's eyes and Feyre knew she had gone too far. 

“You accuse me of being like my father,” She whispered in a low, angry tone. 

“No I do not, I apologise for my choice of wording. However, I do accuse you of condoning abuse within my Courts,” Feyre said, “Now either get on board with this or get out, I will not allow a near stranger to warp my thinking.” 

Looking back at Nesta, Feyre added, “Or bring mental strain to my eldest sister.”

Nesta sucked in a breath, Morrigan tried to find her eyes but Feyre took a step forward, forcing Morrigan back. 

“Leave, and once you have your act together, then come find me.” Feyre ordered. 

The voice that left her throat was not her own, it was her speech, her thoughts, but a power was in those words that sent Morrigan skirting back and out of the room. 

“You just used your High Lord’s power on her.” Elain said. 

“I did.” Feyre whispered, “Wow that’s powerful.”

Nesta stumbled back into Feyre’s desk, hands gripping the edge like her life depended on it. Feyre was in front of her in a moment, desperately trying to find a way to help. 

“There’s something between you and Morrigan isn’t there?” Feyre asked. 

Nesta swallowed hard, she scrunched her eyes closed and nodded, “She’s… she’s better when she’s not in Court, but when she is, she’s… almost destructive.”

“It’s what makes her the perfect courtier, she’s apathetic in the face of a Court. The Hewn City though she harbours resentment for.” Elain said. 

“I know.” Nesta whispered, “I just wish she was able to get past what happened to her and see how others are going through the same thing.”

“Are you and Morrigan…” 

“How much will you hate me if I say we are?” Nesta whispered. 

“Hate you?!” Feyre nearly snorted at the idea. She could never hate her sister. Not in a thousand years, not a million.

Nesta’s eyes turned cold and Feyre quickly added, “I could never hate you, Star. I love you. I just… I don't like Morrigan.”

“I know.” Nesta said, she straightened, letting go of the desk, “I can’t say I necessarily love her either, I just…”

“You don’t need to explain your feelings to me, Star. If you see something in her, try to find it, but know I will always be behind you. If she ever does something to you, I will-”

“Rip her throat out and feed her skin to the wolves?” Nesta asked deadpanned. 

“I was going to say something a little more painful, but that works too.” Feyre smiled. 

“You are more cruel than you think, Feyre Archeron.” Elain said, “Not a good quality.”

“Ah yes, kindness will always prevail.” Feyre moved away from Nesta, heading for the lounge beside Elain. Nesta followed and fell gracefully into a spot beside Feyre. 

“It does, and especially in this case, we are going to need a whole lot of kindness and patience when dealing with the Illyrians.” Elain stated, rifling through some paperwork. 

Feyre’s face suddenly went grave, “Get me Devlon. Immediately.”

***

The last time Feyre saw Devlon was a year ago now, six months before their father had succumbed to the brain trauma inflicted by the former High Lord of Spring when he attempted an assassination himself on the High Lord of Night, after his previous hired assassin was killed single-handedly by the Night Lord himself. 

They had torn each other to shreds, returned to their homes on their death-beds and died from various injuries. 

The months before that Feyre had returned to Velaris to help with various jobs and to explore her own hobbies in painting. The guilt now ate away at her, how was she hidden away in Velaris whilst her people suffered daily? 

His people, right now, in the face of Devlon, Feyre was Raven Archeron. The High Lord of the Night Court. 

He sat before Raven in his office in the Hewn City. Devlon, like many of the high ranking officers of Illyria, knew of Velaris. Still Raven did not take him in, not yet. 

Not yet. 

Devlon’s eyes had always been hard towards Feyre, always glaring, but as Raven, they were more downcast, more respectful. 

Raven to Devlon was his High lord, Feyre to Devlon was a waste of a pretty female. 

It fueled Raven’s anger that much more. 

Silence had encompassed them, whilst Raven examined every inch of Devlon. He knew the Illyrian was squirming under his High lord’s gaze, but was attempting to keep still. It was dark down here, with no sky to escape too, that would be taking a toll on him as well. 

“My High Lord, is there a particular reason you wished to meet with me today.” Devlon finally caved. 

“There is. You and your men have one week to gather the names of every female with her wings clipped, every boy and girl who has died from the conditions in Illyria, and every male or female who has been mistreated by their superiors.”

Devlon blinked, his mouth dropped open, he began to stutter, but Raven cut him off, “One week, I expect those papers to be dropped on this desk before the final second of your deadline. Else consider your title and power completely stripped from you.”

“Your Majesty, that is just not possible-”

“Oh it very well is,” Raven hissed. He then leaned forward, and in a far, far darker voice he murmured, “Unless you believe I will be angered at the results you gather.”

It was when Raven brushed the dark claws of his mind against Devlon’s mental shields that the Illyrian snapped. He stood up and leaned over the desk, beginning to shout, spitting on Raven’s face as he did, “You will not order such a thing from me! I have kept Illyria running for centuries! I have trained generation after generation! You have appeared out of nowhere and are going to ruin our country with your-”

Raven threw him back against the door so hard a wing bone was crushed under Devlon’s own wing. The Illyrian screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the onslaught of agony that ripped through him as Raven curled his hand into a tight fist. Darkness whipped around his wings, wrapping around the limbs and tearing. 

Blood sprayed from his back, Devlon writhed and screamed and cried, until he was covered in just red. 

Finally his body was just laying on the floor, twitching whilst small cries left his throat. 

Raven leaned back into his chair as he watched the male finally still as the life ebbed away from his eyes. 

A few seconds passed, and the doors tentatively opened. Morrigan could be seen through the crack, she shoved the door fiercely to push Devlon’s body out of the way. When she entered she stared down at the broken wings of the now dead Illyrian. 

Then she lifted her eyes to Raven. None of the sly intrigue was in them this time, just a blank nothingness. 

“What do you want, Morrigan?” Raven drawled. 

Morrigan put her hands behind her back. Raven’s eyes trailed up her body, today she wore a black dress, the same slits ran up her thighs, each pane of fabric loosely connected by silver chains. 

“I wish to ask for your blessing to court Nesta.” 

“No.” Feyre came through now, the face of Raven dropping. Feyre let the protectiveness she felt for her dear eldest sister shine through in her eyes. 

Morrigan didn’t react much, like she expected that to be the answer, but she did ask, “Is there any way I can earn your approval?”

Standing up from her chair, Feyre walked to stand before Morrigan. If she was in her regular female form Morrigan might have two inches on her, but as it was, in the form of a male, Feyre had enough height over Morrigan that the blonde had to look up to meet her eyes. 

“We can start with you learning the new ways of this Court. We can start with you accepting that there will be change implemented.”

Morrigan sucked in a breath but she nodded all the same. Keeping their eyes locked, Feyre said, “I see good in you Morrigan. Elain is right, you have the born skill of a courtier, but you, like many of the other courtiers, cannot see how this change will benefit the Night Court. You can only see how it will disrupt your peace.”

Morrigan, for once, didn’t try to defend herself, she cast her eyes down and took what Feyre gave her, “I think you will be a valuable asset to this Court, but you need to move past your own resentment. I think I know where to start with that.”

At that Morrigan lifted her eyes and scrunched her brow in confusion, “Start where?”

Feyre straightened her back and put the mask back on. In a blink it was Raven that glared down at Morrigan, “Morrigan, by order of your High Lord, schedule the execution of Keir.”

*** Keir’s execution was nothing to look twice at. The male knew what was happening the moment he saw his only daughter walk into his office with two guards beside her. Neither spoke a word. Feyre watched as the male was brought out in chains, wearing the finery of Night. There was no emotion on his face, he said nothing as he was brought deep into the Hewn City, as his head was placed on the butchering block. 

The only words he said were when the axe had been lifted, his eyes were cut into Feyre’s, into Raven’s. He spoke quickly, in a voice so quiet that without his daemati abilities, Raven would not have heard him. 

“Free them all.”

Then the axe went down. 

Keir’s eyes were open when his head rolled to the floor, his face looking up at Raven’s. 

At Feyre’s. 

Somehow, Feyre knew that Keir knew who she truly was. Somehow, she knew that in these final moments there hadn’t been judgement. 

Morrigan threw up. She vomited onto the stone floors until she was dry heaving and sobbing. It seemed even her father being her torturer wasn’t enough to tear away the deep childish love that a daughter had for a parent. 

Feyre wondered if Keir knew how much his daughter had secretly cared for him. 

Feyre didn’t look at Morrigan as a guard helped her to feet and led her out. The executor and the rest of the guards left, following Morrigan. Leaving Feyre alone with the dead body of Keir. 

Feyre told the cold stone, told the soul that may still be lingering in this place.

“I am going to remake this Court, so that no more boys end up like you.”

She could have sworn there was a deep answering hum of approval. 

Feyre left, and she didn’t look behind her. 

***

“Here they are.” Morrigan said as she snapped her fingers and piles upon piles upon piles of paper appeared, filling every conceivable surface in Feyre’s office. Filling the floor, near blocking the door. Piles reaching so high they almost completely blocked out the window. 

Feyre nearly threw up. She pressed herself back into her chair, beginning to breathe heavily. Her body began to shake. 

“No.” She whispered. 

Morrigan’s eyes were red, deep circles were underneath her eyes. Her skin was pasty, near grey. She had visibly lost weight. 

After Devlon and Keir’s executions. Morrigan took over in the Hewn City and helped Feyre organise parties in Illyria to gather the names of those lost to the climate. 

“I…” Morrigan looked as though she had been crying, she looked like she might start again. 

“All these people…” Feyre couldn’t breathe. It took all of her might and strength to lift a paper from the closest pile and read the names. 

“Dead, they’re all dead.” Feyre whispered. 

Morrigan said nothing. She said nothing as Feyre began to drag in shaking unstable breaths. She said nothing as the High lord stood up, nearly knocking over her desk, beginning to rifle through every paper, every name.

Feyre read them aloud. Read every single one aloud. The sun set and night took over, but Feyre read and read and read and didn’t allow Morrigan to leave. 

Once she finished, she and Morrigan were sprawled across a couch. Morrigan was staring at the ceiling with her head tipped back. And Feyre was clutching a piece of paper like her life depended on it. 

“We make this right.” Feyre whispered, “We can’t get back these lives, but we can prevent the list from getting longer.”

“How?” Morrigan whispered, her voice downcast and dejected. 

With anger seeping in, Feyre forced herself to her feet and with a deep breath, Raven came out to play. 

“Healers to Illyria now. Any children you find starving or without shelter are to be brought ot Velaris and given the proper emminties-” 

“There are thousands of Illyrians, Velaris is only so big-”

“We start construction tonight. Bring down the walls of the Hewn City. Build housing and provide temporary shelter for the time being. We are going to connect this Court forcibly.”

*** They experienced hiccups along the way. Mostly from judgement coming from the elders of the Hewn City, and Illyrians not wishing to let go of the ways they were stuck in. That was until their families were given proper facilities and access to fresh clean water and food without having to hunt, fight and kill for it. 

Feyre watched with her sisters as the walls of the Hewn City were brought down and for the first time in their life, Hewn City folk saw the night sky. Everyone agreed to do it at night so the harsh sun wouldn’t blind them. 

What wasn’t expected was how the people cheered. 

Then it was about building. Feyre sent males and females into that treasure trove, money was taken and given back to the people. The taxes of Illyria and the Hewn City were reduced by almost more than half. 

Then the biggest challenge came along, getting the people to work together. 

Hewn City people refused to work with Illyrians, Illyrians refused to work with any High Fae. And the people of Velaris refused to work with any outsiders. 

So Feyre called in… reinforcements. 

“Your dashing knight in shining armour has come to the rescue Feyre.” Baile announced as he waltzed into Feyre’s quarters in the Hewn City. 

Feyre was sprawled across a dark lounge by the fire, just out of sight from the door. 

“Feyre?” Baile asked, venturing further into the room. 

Then Feyre responded, not getting up, “Glad you could show up, Baile.”

Baile seemed to startle at the deep voice that responded, but before he could say a word, Feyre sat up. Looking over the back of the lounge at Baile. 

He looked near nothing like his youngest brother. Short brown hair and hazel eyes specked with gold, a broader stance and more blocky features. Baile looked like his father and Tamlin looked like his mother, Feyre mused. 

Baile’s eyes turned confused before he could question who he was speaking with, Feyre smiled and stood up to her full height. It was after Baile took a small step forward, observing Feyre carefully, that he noticed the tinge of magic on her. The magic that held her in this form. 

It was with no fanfare that he said, “You went to Tamlin.”

Feyre clenched her hands into fists behind her back, “I did.”

Baile seemed to glower at that, “You could have come-”

“It was Elain’s idea, and I trust her judgement.”

“You shouldn’t, not if her judgement involves making deals with witches.” Baile crossed his arms, gritting his teeth. 

Feyre leaned back on her heels, now regarding Baile with suspicion, “Why is it that you and Tamlin hate each other so?”

“None of your damn business, Feyre Archeron.”

“Raven Archeron in the face of the public.”

Then Baile’s eyes went wide, he looked Feyre up and down again, opening and closing his mouth before it curled into a grin, “So you’re the new High lord?”

“You see why I chose to go to the witch? Tamlin doesn’t really belong to one Court, and I didn’t need another High Lord, especially one who in the face of my people I am supposed to loathe, to be the one tampering with my body through magic.” Feyre fell back into the couch and Baile joined her. 

They met centuries ago, during the War. Feyre had been cornered and Baile came out of nowhere to help her. From then on they stuck together. Once the War’s conclusion came about, and relations between Night and Spring were more strained than ever, they began to only converse via letter. 

And Baile never really spoke of his brothers…

“Alright, what do you owe him?” Baile murmured, voice dripping with venom, wondering what his youngest brother had asked of his friend. 

“Elain gave him and Lucien some baked goods for the shapeshifting… however…”

“However, what?” Baile sat up straighter, now appearing concerned. 

Feyre scrubbed her face with her hands, “I… may have gone into his mind without permission and tried to see his thoughts.”

“Feyre!” 

“I know, I know it was stupid.” She stared into the flames flickering in the fireplace, resting her forearms on her thighs, “Him and Lucien were whispering to each other, my magic pleaded to just have one look and I caved.”

“What happened after?” With a glance at Baile, Feyre saw how his eyes were trained on her. Watching her face closely. 

“Some form of Tamlin’s magic dragged me into his mind, I had no escape, if it weren’t for him then tossing me back into my own head, I don’t believe I would have been capable of leaving.”

“Sweet Mother’s tits Feyre.” Baile pressed back against the lounge, running a hand through his thick hair. 

His mental walls looked like a spider’s web, I didn’t think that-”

“He would be strong enough to do something like that. Gods did your mother teach you nothing abotu witches?”

“No Baile, unlike yours, my mother was not a witch herself.” Feyre snapped. 

“Most of the warnings of such creatures are passed down through families. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Night always seen such beings as powerless in the face of their own magic.”

“Are you saying I’m cocky?”

“I’m saying your family is cocky.” Baile stood from the couch and walked over to Feyre’s desk, picking up one of the papers and beginning to read it. Feyre had half a mind to believe he was simply up and walking about to ease some of his own anxiety.

“What do you owe him?” Baile asked with resignation in his voice. 

Feyre then snapped in a breath and Baile looked right into her eyes, slowly repeating, “Feyre, what do you owe him?”

Feyre winced, “Do you remember that… Fae-eating fungus?”

Baile slammed his fists down onto her desk, “The one that killed nearly three hundred men in the span of eight days?! Yes I remember that one! Please don’t tell me-”

“He demanded it to repay the debt.” 

“Cruel Mother in Heaven and Cauldron on Earth, what the fuck Feyre Archeron?!” Baile gripped his hair, squeezing the strands until his knuckles turned white. 

Feyre finally stood, “It's not like he’s malicious! I don’t know why he wants it, but I mean, Lucien is a good person and Tamlin has never wanted to hurt others-”

“He is a witch Feyre-” 

“Is that your only reason for hating him?!”

Baile stood there dumbstruck, he blinked then shouted, “I would be against you giving any-fucking-body a Fae-eating fungus!”

“Okay! Okay! I get it! It was stupid! Still, how can you harbour so much hatred for your brother! What has he done to you that you don’t trust him so!”

Baile then held onto the edge of the desk like it was the only thing stopping him from losing control. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep, tense breath, then said, “Do you want me to help you or no?”

She did. She really needed him to help her. So Feyre threw her hands up in the air, turned around and fell back into the lounge, “Yeah… yeah I need your help.”

“Then we’ll focus on what I’m here for then.” Baile mumbled as he walked back over to the lounge. 

“We’re going back to that though.” Feyre promised. 

“Fine. Later.” Baile waved her off, “What do you need me for?”

“How can I get my people to work together?”

***

Baile was a lot more help than he looked. 

It took months. But Feyre expected it to take years so she supposed this was good. 

Baile helped her to organise training for the Illyrian girls that wished to participate. Brought in wood and other building supplies from Spring in return for Velaris silk and Hewn City herbs, plants that only grew in the damp, dark underground. 

With her father gone, Morrigan began to improve. From what Nesta had told her, the female’s mental health had been slowly spiralling for years, now with the memories she kept locked up released she began to make a slow, but sure, recovery. She reunited with her mother, step-mother and two younger half siblings. 

Some families from Illyria moved to Velaris. After buildings became available in Illyria and the economy began to pick up, plenty of Velaris citizens began to move out to the mountainous regions. 

The rivers running through Illyria were accessed and clean water quickly became freely available. Food was being shared equally. For the Illyrians in further villages, regular shipments of bread, flour, sugar, yeast, meats and spices were being sent out near daily, along with the onslaught of people moving into the further villages, the economy was blossoming. 

That didn’t mean the complaints weren’t regular. Villages Feyre hadn’t even heard of sent word. The Illyrian males still stuck in their ways were the most against the new changes, but Morrigan and Baile both worked together to create patrols of willing Illyrian females and males that did rounds all throughout Illyria, if a female was found with her wings freshly clipped the males of that household were arrested and brought before the court. 

Feyre didn’t need to fake her disgust and anger when she saw them. 

Eye for an eye was the punishment. Any male found guilty of clipping their daughter, sister, mother or wife’s wings were clipped and sent back to their villages disgraced and humiliated. 

Many females did not leave their households if they were given the choice. Many had children, or relatives they had to look after, but they were all put on a list to be checked up on regularly. 

Soon the decline of wing clippings and deaths too young was evident. If the decline continued by a decade from now, it would be almost non-existent. 

For the most part the Night Court was running more smoothly, more equally, and more fairly than ever before. 

It did mean that Feyre was working day and night. 

“Feyre go to bed!” Elain flicked the back of her head, jolting Feyre up, it appeared she had fallen asleep on her desk, drool had dried down the side of her mouth and the ink on the letter underneath her was smudged. 

“Alright! I will, I just need to-”

Elain was having none of it, the older female took Feyre by her arm and dragged her up. Elain was surprisingly strong, Feyre supposed that came with her constant gardening, hauling large bags around, wheelbarrows, constantly working under the sun and never asking for help. 

Still Feyre was stronger, she stopped in her tracks, Elain nearly fell back. She turned and glared at her younger sibling before attempting to pull her forward, “Come on Fey, you need rest.”

“I know, I just need to finish writing this letter.” Feyre insisted. 

Elain glanced over at the letter then back at Feyre, “You mean the letter that is smudged and covered in drool.”

Feyre gritted her teeth as she ripped her arm out of Elain’s grip and went back over to her chair. Elain put her hands on her hips and glared, the normally sweet sister incredibly frustrated at how the younger female was behaving. 

But Feyre ignored her and turned back to the letter. Most of the words didn’t make sense and she had forgotten who she was sending it too exactly. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Elain, so she simply plucked another paper from the pile in the open drawer beside her and set about attempting to rewrite what she had written before. 

“That’s it.” Elain said. Feyre furrowed her brow and finally looked up at her sister who was storming out of the office. 

“What are you doing?” Feyre called out. 

“Resorting to desperate measures!” Was Elain’s answer. 

Feyre sighed and shook her head, turning back to the letter in her hands. 

Not two minutes passed before there was a shout that made Feyre go wholly still. 

“Feyre Darren Archeron!” 

“Oh… shit.” Feyre said as the door to her study flung open with such force it slammed into the wall. 

Nesta stood in the threshold, hair in a silk bonnet, her nightgown practically falling off one-shoulder, red, sleepy eyes and dried drool staining the corners of her mouth. 

And she was pissed. 

Nesta Archeron didn’t need to say a word, only had to meet Feyre’s gaze with her cold, silver eyes. Feyre slunk away from her desk and headed for the door with her head down. 

“What have I said about staying up so late so many nights in a row?” Nesta hissed as they walked down the hallway. 

“I’m scared, Star.” Feyre whispered. 

Nesta just took her youngest sister’s hand in hers, “I know, so am I sometimes.”

Feyre huffed, “You’re never scared.”

Nesta just squeezed her hand. 

***

“Good morning… What is all this?” Feyre asked as she walked into the dining room. Nesta and Elain were… attempting to eat breakfast, though it was difficult due to the sheer amount of letters strewed across the table. 

Elain and Nesta ripped open each one, looking them over them scrucnhing them up and tossing them away, before Elain could toss another, Feyre grabbed it from her hands and unfurled it, “What is going on?!”

“Relax, Fey, you don’t want to read them.” Elain said as she sipped on her jasmine tea. 

Nesta hummed her agreement, as Feyre read over the letter now in her hand, her features reduced from anxious to annoyance. 

“A marriage proposal? Really?” Feyre scoffed, scrunching the letter up and tossing it in the same manner Elain and Nesta were. 

“However, what are the rest?” Feyre asked, pointing at the piles upon piles of piles. 

“What do you think, Raven Archeron?” Nesta asked, waving a letter above her head, “They’re all marriage propositions.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open, she stared at the letters, they had to be more than a few hundred here. All… all for households to marry her?

“These are all…”

“Snakes trying to wriggle their way into our family, yep!” Elain said, her voice deceptively sweet. 

“These… This many people want my hand?”

“Well they want you to take their daughter’s hands.” Nesta said, a sly smile on her face, “Flattered Feyre?”

More than flattered. Perhaps it was cocky for her to think such, but… many had thrown Feyre aside when she attempted to court, she was the bastard daughter, and the disgrace of the family. Whilst she wasn’t a true ‘bastard’ many regarded her as such anyway. How could a Princess of the Night Court wish to fight in the War. Want to fight for humans of all things?

To see so many wishing for her hand… It boosted her confidence. 

“We need to burn all of them.” Elain stated. Those words snapped Feyre’s attention to the present. 

“What?”

“Everyone here is wishing to slither into our home and disrupt what we’ve worked hard for. We cannot let them. We must ignore these propositions.” Elain stated, tossing yet another proposal over her shoulder. 

“Now, now hang on-” Feyre attempted to stop her normally sweet sister from destroying every single proposal of marriage, “Lets not be so hasty.”

“Disagreed, I believe we should make haste even more so.” Elain said. 

Feyre sighed, Nesta raised an eyebrow, “You aren’t actually considering any of these proposals are you, Fey?”

Feyre let out a lourd ‘hah’. Not in a thousand centuries. Marriage was something so far down on her list of things to do it may as well not exist in her mind, it was simply seeing how many people desired her that… stroked her ego a bit. 

So what?! She’s spent nearly five centuries dealing with every single one of her own people looking down and ridiculing her. Maybe she did want to read of the same people who bullied her near begging her hand in marriage. 

Feyre shook her head “I… These are the same people that made my life hell more times over than not. I… seeing them so desperate for a marital alliance with me is… satisfying.”

It sounded sadistic. God’s above, what was happening to her? How oculd she even think of such-.

Elain read, “Dear Raven Archeron, I give my household congratulations for your smooth transition to the place of High Lord. You may remember my name from the time you spent in the Hewn City with your dear sisters. We have passed each other a great many times and I do hope many more are in store. As of recent times my daughter River Haveen has come of martial age. She is a delightful young female with vigour and diplomacy in her very veins. She wishes to meet your acquaintance at your earliest convenience. We would be more than grateful to house you over supper, if it is not of any trouble. Sincerely, Lord Haveen of the Haveen household.”

The room was silent, then Elain said, “He was also the male who called you a waste of ‘good cunt’ at a meeting.”

More silence, a heartbeat, then another. 

Feyre nearly fell to her knees laughing. Nesta threw her head back and had to clutch her torso. Elain nearly doubled over. The three laughed until tears streamed from their eyes and their stomach’s hurt. 

Feyre gripped the side of the table to stabilise herself, once in control of her laughter once more she straightened and wiped the tears from the sides of her eyes. 

“Oh Good Gods.” Feyre half laughed. 

“He couldn’t even be discreet about his intentions.” Nesta noted, a bright smile on her face. 

Elain answered them both with a cheeky grin, she lifted another letter, “Who wants to read Lord Taren’s letter?”

Feyre quickly snatched it from Elain’s fingers and flopped down into the chair at the head of the table. Kicking her feet over the armrest, she opened the letter with a grin.

*** “Chin up, eyes forward, back straight, you are the High Lord. Even if you are trying to establish an equal rule, you are still their Lord. They still owe you respect.” Elain said as she braided Feyre’s hair, “Be kind, but keep conversations short until Starfall begins. Don’t go off with other females or males who try to take your hand. Offer the first dance to Nesta, then Baile as he is our guest, then me. Then you may frolick and fuck as much as you please. Oh! But do wait until at least half of the party is too drunk to care, so if you go off with someone stupid they won’t notice-”

“Yes! Yes okay, Elain, I know.” Feyre said, feeling her sister beginning to ramble. 

Elain sighed, smoothing Feyre’s shirt, “I know you know, I just…”

Elain cupped Feyre’s face, furrowing her brow as she looked up at her, “You’re all grown up now.”

Feyre grinned, “I am.”

Elain swallowed hard, “I… I haven’t always been a good sister to your, Feyre.”

Feyre was silent for a moment, before she murmured, “Not always.”

Not always at all. Some days when they were younger Elain would allow the children she befriended to bully the much younger Feyre for being so ‘tomboyish’. She would be silent and allow them to kick her until she was down, then hurt her some more, not just in words. 

“I was silent when I should’ve stood up for you. I’m… I’m so sorry Feyre.” Elain cast her eyes down. 

Feyre took her sister’s wrists in her hand, “Hey now, I get it. You were trying to fit in, we all were-”

“I was older, I should’ve-”

“We were both still children, even if you were older.”

Elain was quiet, then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Feyre whispered, “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t, I have done nothing to deserve it.” Elain said.

Feyre nearly laughed as she pulled her sister into a tight hug, “You have done everything in your power to help protect me since those days, between you and Star you both have done more for me than any other person in the world. I’m so happy you’re both going to be by my side tonight, I wouldn’t have this any other way.”

Elain hugged her back, wrapping her arms around Feyre’s waist and burying her face into her chest, barely able to hold back tears. 

Elain whispered, “I know Nesta finds it… difficult to express her feelings but I’m telling you Fey, she feels so guilty and she loves you so much-”

“I know Lainy, I know.” Feyre murmured, stroking her sister’s hair, “I know, Star shows me, I don’t need her to tell me how much she loves me and regrets being silent to know how she feels.”

Elain sobbed into Feyre’s chest, ruining her makeup but she didn’t care, “I’m so sorry, Fey.”

“I forgive you, Lainy, I love you.” Anybody else might find the nickname stupid or childish but Feyre loved it, she loved remembering the good times she had with her sister when she was younger, even if they were few. 

“And I forgive Star. I love you both and nothing either of you have done centuries ago will take away from that.” Feyre added. 

Elain took in a shaking breath, then she steeled her expression as she adjusted Feyre’s collar, “Don’t trust anyone with a moustache okay?”

Their father had a moustache. 

Feyre forced herself not to laugh, “Okay, Lainy.”

Elain took in a deep breath, tears nearly falling down her face, “And don’t take any drinks that stranger’s offer you!”

“Okay, Lainy.” Feyre was struggling more and more to control her laughter. 

Elain finally began to cry, “And don’t make bets or bargains you can’t win!”

“I won’t, Lainy, I won’t.” Feyre pulled a sobbing Elain back into her arms. 

Feyre stroked her sister’s hair and back, letting her cry. Holding onto her. Keeping her close. 

It was Morrigan who knocked on the door, saying it was time. Elain pulled away, looking up at Feyre like all she reemmbered was the scrawny little girl who could barely lift a rock over head. 

“You are a great High Lord.” Elain said. 

“I hope I will be.” Feyre replied tightly, looking out the window towards the Night Court. 

“No.” Elain’s hands in Feyre’s forced her sight to the middle sister, “You are a great High Lord, keep doing what you’re doing.”

Feyre nearly broke down crying, “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Now we best get going before Nesta and Morrigan beat us there.”

*** “Hello High Lord.” A girl with red curls and blue eyes smiled at her. Feyre nearly allowed her slender hands to lead her to the dance floor, to lead her to a private room where she’d pull up her skirts and let the High lord-.

“Evening.” Feyre forced her mind to focus on the present. Like Elain had said, she could take anyone to bed once Starfall had commenced and the people were too drunk to care who she fucked. 

A male then stopped her, he had short black hair and eyes like violet amethysts. He wrapped his arms around the High Lord of Night and mouthed for him to come closer. Feyre nearly fell for it, nearly followed the male into the private rooms not far from the ceremony. As the male kissed Feyre’s neck, Feyre felt herself, himself tonight, nearly fall to pieces. Then a female with long golden hair and golden eyes pressed against her back, caging her against the violet eyed male. 

“Come with us, High lord.” The female whispered seductively. 

Feyre nearly fell for it, then a male came out of nowhere. He was an Illyrian, larger than any Feyre had ever seen, with seven red siphons, he whispered hardly in the violet-eyed male’s ear, who rolled his eyes before waggling his fingers in a wave goodbye and strutting away. Feyre, no Raven tonight, found himself missing his presence. 

But the female didn’t leave, she began to grind against Raven’s ass. He nearly flipped her around just so he could feel his length pressing against her undoubtedly wet core, but his plans were ruined by. 

“High Lord! Starfall is about to commence!” Elain appeared and once again ruined his fun. 

Tonight, Raven was prepared, he turned to the female behind him and before Elain could drag him away he said, “I have to be off, my lovely, perhaps later tonight I’ll see you again?”

She seemed pleased with that answer, she smirked and whispered that they would in fact see each other tonight before slithering away. Elain grabbed his arm and pulled him towards where his Court was gathered. 

Elain hissed in his ear, “What did I say?!”

“But she-” Raven attempted to justify himself. Elain silenced him as they approached the balcony watching as the stars grew bright in the sky. 

Elain and Raven, Feyre, stood beside Nesta. 

The first star fell. 

And Starfall began. 

***

Raven did as Elain had told, he offered the first dance to Nesta, who accepted with a bow and a smile. Nesta had been the hardest to dance with, as her talent far outmatched that of Raven’s. Next was Baile, who didn’t visually react except for a dark blush that spread across his face. He was the least coordinated, but it served to make Raven feel better. Next was Elain, who matched Raven in talent and nearly challenged him to a duel with how competitive she became during the dance. Eventually Elain released his hands and Raven was allowed to slip back into Feyre. 

The night went on and females approached her. Many running their hands down her chest, over her biceps, feeling up her back. Feyre shooed most of them away, some she allowed to stay, to whisper in their ear and talk in dirty language that she wouldn’t dare use outside of this. 

She watched the Hewn City folk, how they were captivated by the star show. Feyre wished she had shown it to them earlier, as she watched how they cheered and clapped at almost every star something warmed her heart. It almost burned her up. How dare she enjoy this show for centuries but never share it with all her people?!

Males approached her, more specifically they approached Raven. Near all of them were discreet, trying to pull her away to dark corners where they wouldn’t be seen. All of them insisted they wouldn’t do this with any other male. 

Yet all of them tried to get on her. All of them tried to get her away to their households, trying to spend a night with the handsome High Lord of Night. 

Only one male got her away from the crowd. 

Feyre spotted him a mile away. Golden hair braided, wearing a suit of green. Tamlin caught her eye from where he was leaning against a marble pillar. Feyre didn’t offer the females and males nearly climbing on top of her an explanation as she slunk away to where Tamlin stood. 

When she was right before him, Tamlin simply jutted his head towards a private balcony, then he walked over to it, disappearing from the crowd and Feyre followed. 

Once they stood alone, Feyre watched as Tamlin clasped his hands behind his back. She copied the motion, waiting for him to speak first. 

When he didn’t speak, Feyre accepted her loss and asked, “I assume you’re here for the Fae-eating fungus?”

“I’m here to see how you’re doing.” Tamlin said, starting Feyre. The idea that this witch might care how her court was doing was more than absurd, still he continued, “the Night Court has been suppressed for years, I wanted to know how the new management was handling it.”

That choice of wording made Feyre straighten her back, “We are fine. The Night Court has flourished.”

“Good.” Was all Tamlun chose to say. 

After several minutes of intense silence, Feyre asked, “Why are you really here?”’

Tamlin sighed, “To see how the girl who opened her heart to those that didn’t have ‘pretty’ trauma is faring. Feyre you… you were the first person I had ever met that didn’t care that how I reacted to my trauma wasn’t the standard cute version and I… I wanted to know that girl was still there.”

There it was. 

Feyre smiled at the male, “She’s right here.”

Tamlin smiled back, it was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless, “I;m glad.

“Was there anything else?” 

“Actually yes.” Tamlin turned to face her fully, “That Fae-eating fungus-”

Feyre sighed, “Have it right here.”

Pulling a small linen bag from the pocket between realms, Free handed it to Tamlun. Who took it with intrigue in his eyes. 

“Please don’t use that to kill all of us.” Feyre near begged as Tamlin inspected it. 

“Now why would I do that?” Tamlin asked. 

“Because you're a witch?” Feyre said, with an eyebrow raised. 

Tamlin near sneered at that, “We are not as evil as the High Fae paint us to be.”

She figured that to be the case, considering how Baile acted vs how Tamlin acted, “Then what are you planning to do with that?”

Tamlin took in a deep breath, “If you really wish to know… Lucien has a friend in the Human Lands, who is dying from an incurable sickness. I swore I would find a cure and… from what I’ve researched this could very well be the cure.”

“A Fae-eating fungus could be the cure?”

Tamlin glared half-heartedly at her, “Mixed with other herbs and spells, yes it could be.

Feyre hummed, then she smiled, as small as it was. She rubbed Tamlin’s head who ripped himself away, again glaring but with that softness in his eyes, “What are you doing?!”

“You’re still the same. But… all grown up.” Feyre murmured, feeling like she was repeating what Elain had told her. 

Tamlin rolled his eyes, then put the bag in between the realms, “that's what happens when years pass.”

“I know you dimwit.” Feyre crossed her arms. 

“I;m sure you do.” Tamlin crossed his own arms, then looked out at the night sky. 

They seemed to stay there forever, then Feyre forced herself to ask, “What happens next?

A wave of magic shocked through the land. What looked like glowing golden light fell from the sky, heading down and down and down. Feyre and Tamlin watched, shocked. It gained speed, going too fast. Far too fast. 

Tamlin wrapped an arm around her arm, “It starts with slowing down her.”

Feyre didn’t know how Tamlin knew whatever that thing was, was a her. She didn’t ask questions either, Feyre simply sent out a wave of power to counteract the force of whatever or whoever was falling, to slow her down. 

Feyre could have sworn there was a glimmer of something grateful shinning back at her. 

Then the golden glow was gone. 

And all that was left was the Night Court. 

“You did it.” Tamlin said. 

“We all did.” Feyre murmured. 

[maybeiwasjustjade]

I’m sorry, but Feyre hypes the IC up so much as these badasses, when they’ve collectively defeated no one worth mentioning throughout the series is genuinely hilarious.

Tamlin killed Amarantha. Elain and Nesta killed Hybern. Nesta killed Bryallin.

Nesta was the one that fought death to bring Feyre back to life, simultaneously healing Nyx. Nesta was the one that helped Bryce with the Mask. Who found the Trove, and received Gwydion. With the rate this is going, Koschei will more than likely also be a non-IC kill.

I get it; Feyre’s young, but she’s also not that young. She acts more like a 15 year old YA heroine instead of an adult (but a young one) of 19 in Acotar. The IC are her family and she genuinely believes in their supposed badassery…except it falls flat because they ALL suck at their respective jobs. Rhysand can’t lead; Amren does squat. The Illyrians hate Cassian. Azriel is a spymaster that constantly gets caught by a not-so-ally. Mor doesn’t do her job as steward of the CoN. Well, it’s no wonder Feyre fits in so well—they’re all as qualified as she is!!!

And if this was all there is to Acotar then fine. But Nesta isn’t written like this. Or Lucien. Or Eris. Or even Tamlin. It’s just the IC, yet they’re the main characters.

It’s such a jarring shift from ToG, because at least there the fae and witches felt immortal to me. Gavriel, Lorchan, Fenrys, Rowan, Manon—it was obvious they weren’t young and inexperienced. But with Acotar, it’s like no matter how old they get they still have the maturity levels of a 15 year old. But most importantly, the trio of main characters in ToG were willing to go war for change.

Aelin, Dorian and Manon—they saw the broken world and decided to fuck shit up and fix it. It took time to change minds, yes, but it never stopped them from trying. To go to war, to die for that new world if they had to. But with Acotar, it’s repeatedly slammed in our faces that of course wing clipping still happens, of course Illyria is still a war-torn poverty ridden land, of course the CoN are depraved monsters, and no we can’t kill Keir yet because change takes time. It’s been fucking centuries and nothing to show for it.

Because while yes, it would take time, the IC has shown zero interest in actually doing their jobs. So duh nothing changes; they dream, and dream, but those dreams go nowhere because it’s like they think they could just dream enough for the stars to grant their wishes instead of actively working towards it. And it’s so frustrating because this narrative choice makes little sense except that the average reader doesn’t care.

[lunarharp]

adaptation of the scottish ballad myth "Tam Lin" into orufrey🌹

[prythianpages]

🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ imagines inspired by ABBA songs ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧

rainbow divider is by @cafekitsune! I really just wanted an excuse to make a little disco edit so I made this masterlist. There might be more songs added to this if I get new ideas/inspirations. If you have any suggestions for them or would like to talk about any one of them, feel free to send an ask my way ❤

angst= ♥️ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎

•¨•.¸¸♪ Lay All Your Love On Me | Cassian ♥️ ☁︎ ☪︎

summary: Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends don’t get jealous. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. But you did.

•¨•.¸¸♪ When I Kissed the Teacher | Cas's version ☁︎

summary: After weeks of shameless flirting and one drunken confession, you decide to finally own up to your feelings for Cassian.

•¨•.¸¸♪ I've Been Waiting For You | Azriel ☁︎

summary: After centuries of waiting, Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate. (this is kinda inspired by Alice & Jasper from twilight.)

•¨•.¸¸♪ Slipping Through My Fingers | Azriel ☁︎ ♥️

summary: it's your baby girl's first day of school and Azriel isn't ready to let her go. *this is based on my Az x Witch reader au but can be read as a stand alone.

•¨•.¸¸♪ When I Kissed The Teacher | Az's version ☁︎

summary: After crushing on Azriel for weeks, Nesta dares you to kiss him during Valkyrie training.

•¨•.¸¸♪ A Man After Midnight | Eris ☁︎ ♥️

summary: though engaged to Sawyer Vanserra, you feel utterly and completely alone with only the company of autumn winds, blowing outside your window. that is, until, Eris shows up. Your man after midnight.

•¨•.¸¸♪ 'Cause Somewhere in The Crowd There's You | Lucien ♥️

summary:When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

•¨•.¸¸♪ Shining Like the Sun | Lucien ☁︎

summary: Lucien walks in on you singing a familiar tune to your daughter.

[thrumugnyr]

A quick sketch of Tamlin and Nyx inspired by their appearance in @witch-and-her-witcher's fanfic A Court of Chaos and Darkness