#yes I do hybernate in summer what of it

[gillyweedgrl]

I’m back bitches! (said lovingly)

(or sarcastically, whichever you prefer)

[merwgue]

Why Feyre as High Lady Could Lead to the Night Court's Downfall (Or, How to Ruin a Court in 10 Easy Steps) comming from someone who is planning to study international relations and whos whole family is quite familiar with it:

Look, we all love Feyre. She's fierce, she's brave, and she can paint a mean flower. But let's be real: as High Lady of the Night Court, she's a Fucking diplomatic nightmare. If there were an award for "How to Piss Off Every High Lord and Their Neighboring Courts," she'd win it. Twice. Here's why Feyre's reign might just bring the Night Court crashing down faster than rhys can growl or cum to the image of his child

1. Explosive Temper and Poor Diplomacy Let’s talk about the High Lords meeting in A Court of Wings and Ruin. Remember that? Feyre’s blow-up at Beron wasn’t just a passionate defense—it was a major diplomatic fuck-up. Yes, Beron was being a total asshole, but diplomacy often means biting your tongue and playing the long game. Feyre's outburst could have easily cost them an alliance with the Autumn Court, potentially turning Beron into an outright enemy. With Hybern on the horizon, losing any potential allies could have been catastrophic. Instead of keeping things cool and trying to find common ground, she let her temper flare, risking everything Rhysand had worked for to keep the courts united. Feyre basically threw a damn match onto a pile of political dynamite.

2. Alienating Potential Allies Ah, the Summer Court fiasco. Remember when Feyre decided it was a good idea to steal from Tarquin? Not just any theft, but a "Hey, let's be friends—JK, I’m taking your most powerful magical artifact" kind of theft. Brilliant move. And then she had the nerve to act all shocked when Tarquin was pissed about it. "What do you mean you're mad I stole from you? We're supposed to be allies!" Gee, I wonder why Tarquin wasn’t thrilled about that little betrayal. It's like borrowing your friend's car and returning it on empty, with a dent in the side. And by "borrow," I mean grand theft auto. Feyre, maybe try not to screw over potential allies next time? Just a thought.

3. Emotional Decision-Making Feyre often lets her emotions drive her decisions. While being passionate isn't inherently bad, it becomes a problem when it overrides logic and strategy, especially in the high-stakes world of Prythian politics. The High Lords meeting is one instance, but it happens repeatedly. Her open hostility toward Tamlin, even if understandable on a personal level, didn't help the broader cause. By pushing him further away instead of seeking some form of truce, she risked driving him into Hybern's arms. A High Lady needs to think beyond personal grudges to what’s best for her people and her court, and Feyre struggles with that balance. You can't just say "screw it" and go off on people when the fate of your entire court is on the line.

4. Ignoring the Complexity of the Night Court And let's not forget the Night Court's lovely little secret: Hewn City. You know, that underground hellhole they basically keep under lock and key. Rhysand and Feyre are all "Oh, look at Velaris, it's so pretty and free!" Meanwhile, half their court is rotting in a glorified dungeon. And what's Feyre's big idea for dealing with Hewn City? Oh, right, pretend it doesn't exist. Smart. Because ignoring a potential uprising within your own court is definitely the way to keep things stable. It's like the French Revolution all over again—if the Night Court were France, then Feyre's approach is like Louis XVI ignoring the starving peasants while hosting extravagant parties. Eventually, ignoring the discontent and keeping people oppressed leads to revolution. Treating Hewn City like an inconvenient problem rather than addressing it is a recipe for disaster.

5. Undermining Rhysand’s Diplomacy Rhysand spent centuries mastering diplomacy—playing the long game, keeping everyone in check. And then comes Feyre, storming in like, "Oh, you spent centuries building these delicate alliances? Well, watch me fuck it up in five minutes." She's like that one friend who always says, "Hold my beer," right before doing something incredibly stupid. Rhys is trying to keep the court from crumbling, and Feyre's out there acting like diplomacy means "scream at the enemy until they go away." Newsflash: That’s not how this works. This isn't some street brawl where whoever yells the loudest wins. It's politics. You know, the art of not making enemies out of every living soul around you?

Conclusion Feyre's got the passion, the guts, and the fighting spirit of a warrior. But when it comes to actually leading a court? She’s like a bull in a china shop, if that bull also happened to have a grudge against every piece of porcelain in the room. Being High Lady isn’t about who's right in the heat of the moment; it's about playing the long game, keeping your people safe, and not, you know, burning bridges with every other court. If she keeps going down this path—alienating allies, ignoring the needs of half her own court, and letting emotions drive her decisions—the Night Court is in serious trouble. Feyre needs to understand that diplomacy isn’t about who can throw the best tantrum. It’s about avoiding a revolution and ensuring the stability of your people. Otherwise, the Night Court might fall not because of an external threat, but because its own leader is too busy screwing things up from the inside.

[readychilledwine]

Bound by Fate

Azrielx Archeron Oc

A/N- happy day 4 of my week celebrating over 100 new friends 💙 here is the winning poll piece with Azriel and our little Archeron OC, Kaylee. This mostly takes place pre-hybern and the Cauldron, but expect a turn at the end. This is a little bit of a Rollercoaster because I love the idea of Az and Kaylee going into her being made already kind of courting.

Summary - After her older sister returns home with 3 males in tow, Kaylee finds her life turn upside down by one of them. She is unknowingly drawn to the scarred male, and he to her.

Less fun Warnings - mentions of death and child loss (nothing graphic just in a healing house sense), mentions of SA, angst. Kidnapping

The fun warnings - smut, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, dom/sub dynamics (because what kind of Az fic doesn't pay into bdsm?), innocent oc, one use of impact play

Word count - around 3866

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

The first time Azriel came, Feyre and Kaylee held eye contact, communicating silently. Her older sister had brought 3 men, males, she corrected herself, into their home, and now, she sat next to the one who had pretty blue gems. She supposed he was pretty, too.

If you liked your partner to quite possibly be able to kill you with their bare teeth.

And Kaylee supposed, again, that she maybe did. She looked at him before looking at Feyre and then went back to poking at her food.

When she went to bed that night, locked in her room alone by Nesta's orders, Kaylee could have sworn she saw a shadow move before something cool danced in hair and laced between her fingers.

On his second visit, Azriel found himself looking for Kaylee. He had bought something for her at a jewelry shop, without any inkling as to why. He held the small box containing the pretty raw sapphire necklace as he entered her room at the estate.

He froze at the sight of her. Her long sandy blonde hair was damp, she was wrapped in a soft fluffy robe. She was sitting at her vanity, frozen as she stared back at him. "Aren't you supposed to be dropping a letter off to Nesta?" Her voice reminded him of summer rain. It had played in his mind constantly the past couple weeks.

"I did. I was hoping to see you." He smiled as a flush instantly hit her face, gracing her cheekbones. "Only if that is okay, though. Nesta and Elain do not know I snunk up here." Kaylee nodded. She motioned for him to join her in the room, and he sat on her bed. The smell of jasmine and vanilla hit him instantly. Expensive, a shadow whispered. "How is the healing house?"

Kaylee smiled as she turned to him, running an oil through her long beautiful hair. Soft, another shadow whispered. "It's been okay. Lots of kids this week with colds and allergies. Poor little things."

"Do you want kids someday?" The question was out before Azriel could stop himself. "Sorry I-"

"With the right person, yes." Kaylee answered without hesitation. "But only if Feyre likes them. Which I guess gives me my short lifetime to find someone." Azriel felt his heart deflate at the reminder. Human, a shadow whispered. She is just human.

Azriel stood as she turned back to the mirror, keeping the box behind his back and he approached her. "Hold your hair up for me, Kaylee." She watched him from the mirror but did as he asked. "I bought this for you. I thought I couldn't help but to think of it with your eyes when I saw it." She allowed him access to her neck without fear as she watched him. His hands were shaking from his nerves as he placed the delicate necklace on her and closed the latch.

He couldn't help himself as he reached behind her, positioning the stone so it sat perfectly centered above her breasts. "Beautiful," he whispered to her softly. "Absolutely beautiful."

On his third visit, Azriel wasn't even supposed to technically be there. He had been trying to get into the Mortal Queen's Castle. During his flight, he was struck with an arrow. It wasn't ash, wasn't laced with faebane, but he took advantage of the injury nonetheless, using it as an excuse to see Kaylee. He was currently sat on her vanity stool, shirtless, as she cleaned the wound. "I don't know much about fae healing. It looks like it's already closing, though."

Azriel chuckled. "It probably is. I just wanted an excuse to see you." He laughed again as her face flushed and she smacked him on the shoulder. "Can you blame a male for wanting a pretty girl to tend to his injuries?"

Kaylee shook her head smiling before moving to clean the barely there cut on his face. "You are a shameless flirt, Azriel."

"Only when it comes to you, honeybee." He adjusted the sapphire necklace, smiling slightly. "How are you?"

Kaylee shrugged. "Nesta and Cassian got into it today when he stopped by. The energy of the house has been off since then. It's just a heavy feeling?" She looked at him, hoping he understood what she meant and he nodded. "How are you?"

"I was shot with an arrow today, Kaylee. I too have had better days." She couldn't help but to laugh at the statement, her head falling into his shoulder. He'd do anything to hear her laugh, to see her smile. "I did get to see you. So that does make up for it." She pulled back slightly, her face near his. The cut was long gone, the wound in his side had closed and all that was left was a faint pink mark.

Az, a familiar purr came into his mind. Where are you?

Almost to the wall. I'll be home soon. Azriel locked Rhysand out, his hand absent-mindedly moving to Kaylee's face.

Neither of them know if he moved in, or if she did, but one second there was a breath of air between them, the next, there was nothing but his lips on hers. Moving together as he pulled her closer between his legs and her hands came to rest on his chest.

It felt like, for once, something good was in his pathway. Something whole and pure. He pulled away from her, instantly missing the taste of honey and green tea that lingered on her, and rested his forehead against hers. "I have to go, Rhys is calling for me."

Kaylee just nodded. "Was that your way of saying goodbye?" Azriel nodded. "We should always say goodbye like that then."

"Agreed."

Azriel's third visit was spent mapping out the house. He had not seen Kaylee since his last stop, but a small box sat heavy in his pocket waiting for the moment Nesta was done with him so he could see her.

"The last room is Kay's," the oldest sister glared at him. "She might be in there, so if she is, do not speak with her and leave her alone." Azriel nodded. "She's had a rough week."

Azriel opened the door, closing it behind him when he found the mortal who haunted his every waking moment curled in a ball on her bed. Crying. Lost someone. The shadow he had trailing her told him. Little one.

Azriel sat on her bed, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kaylee." She was instantly in his arms, crying harder as he held her against him. He adjusted slightly so she'd be in his lap, then pulled the box out and set it on her night stand. "It's okay, honeybee."

"It's not fair," and Azriel knew it wasn't. The shadow had finished filling him in. "He didn't even have a chance." He shushed her softly, pulling her in tighter. "It's just not fair."

"I know, Kaylee. I know. The loss of a babe is never fair, nor easy." They held each other in silence until her sobs became soft sniffles. Asleep. Likes to cuddle with the otter on the corner of the bed. We snuggle it every night. Azriel could have laughed at his shadows' confession. He laid Kaylee down, tucking her into the bed and handing her the otter. He watched as the shadow he had unknowingly lost to her weaved between her fingers and almost nestled into her. Ours, it whispered.

He kissed her lips gently and whispered a goodbye to her, leaving a quickly scribbled note with the box.

His fourth visit wasn't fun, nor did it allow him much time with her. He watched as Nesta fixed Kaylee's long soft waves, dissatisfied with the looks of her youngest sister.

They all had told the sisters how beautiful they looked, only for Nesta to back hand the compliment to Kaylee. "Had someone been home earlier, she'd look better."

There's nothing fucking wrong with her, Rhysand growled into the link he, Cassian, and Azriel were sharing. What is Nesta's fucking problem with her younger siblings?

From what my shadows caught, Kaylee did not get home until almost an hour ago. Something happened last night and she was pulled from bed.

That explains the medicine smell on her skin still. Cassian said softly. I think she looks fine. She looks extra glowy in that shade of blue, wouldn't you say, Azriel?

Ah yes, Rhysand said. With that clearly fae made jewelry. Admit you're courting her, Brother. We do not care..

Azriel slammed them out, moving to Kaylee as Nesta tried to force her younger sister to let her tie her hair up in braids. "Enough. She looks fine." He pulled Kaylee back to the wall by him and Cassian. They shared a silent look between them. He smiled as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, exposing the sapphire earrings he had purchased her.

Kaylee whispered quietly, "They're late." Cassian shrugged, trying to hide his annoyance. Kaylee jumped as a male suddenly appeared before her, guards and the queens winnowing in. Her hand had grabbed Azriel's, and he had protectively pulled the youngest sister behind him, almost handing her to Cassian with a growl. They did not get to kiss goodbye on that visit. An action Azriel would fly back soon to fix.

He had flown back a week later, sneaking into her room using the balcony door, and waited for her on her bed. He had not noticed her bathroom light was on. he was just anxiously waiting, mind in his own world. "Oh Gods! Azriel! You have to stop sneaking up on me." His gaze shot up and instantly widened.

Kaylee was standing there in her towel. Her long legs exposed to him, her upper chest exposed to him. "I-" he shut his mouth as quickly as he opened it and looked away.

"Is everything okay?" Kaylee moved closer to him until she was right in front of him. "Are you okay?"

He swallowed thickly, eyes locked on her toned thighs. "You are naked."

"Do fae not bathe naked? You all just leave your clothing on? Are you all ever naked?" He smirked at the question and bit at the bait she had tossed out.

"I'm naked when I bathe, Kaylee. I spend a lot of time naked actually." She hummed softly, tucking the end of her towel into itself. "Everything is fine, by the way. I just had a night off and thought I'd spend it seeing you." Kaylee nodded and smiled. "I figured we could maybe talk, or-" he trailed off, eyes on her legs again.

"Ooooor?" He shook his head. "Or what, Azriel?"

He swallowed again. "I will be honest. I forgot every idea I had once I realized you were naked."

Kaylee was debating something. Finally making her choice she dropped the towel, crawling into his lap, bare to him. "Does my nakedness bother you?" Azriel groaned, instantly switching their positions so she was below him.

He growled at her slightly parted lips before diving into them and kissing her deeply. His hands began to roam, going up from her waist to her breasts and squeezing the tender flesh. He devoured her moans, groaning in response as her legs fell wider apart to allow him more space. He moved his lips from hers, kissing down her neck, then biting into the pulse point softly.

Kaylee was responsive to him, to his every touch, lick, and kiss. He felt as if he were a sex God at how the littlest things he did seemed to be magic to her. "You are so beautiful. You know that?" He whispered into her ear before lightly biting it. She doesn't, the shadow said. She doesn't believe you. Azriel lifted her from the bed, pulling them in front of her full length floor mirror and stationed himself behind her. He continued kissing her neck and shoulders, hands playing with her nipples as she turned to hide her face in his neck.

Her skin was on fire with every touch of his hands, only to be instantly cooled by his shadows. "So fucking beautiful," Azriel groaned into her neck. "Look at yourself in the mirror and say you're beautiful."

His hands roamed lower and lower, finger tips leaving goosebumps in their wake as he continued to kiss her neck. "Az-"

"I gave you an order, little one," he bit harshly at her pulse point, soaking in her gasp and moan. "I expect you to follow it."

Kaylee's eyes rolled back as she moaned again. "Look in the mirror and say you are beautiful." Kaylee pulled back from him slightly, holding eye contact with him before realizing he was serious. "Do it or I stop. I will leave you here wet and alone, Kaylee. I only play with good girls."

She whimpered softly. His hand came up to grip her jaw, turning her face to look into the mirror. He had her spread out to him, his other large hand splayed on her lower stomach and public mound. "How can you see this beautiful body, those eyes, those legs, every fucking day and not realize how beautiful you are? Say. It."

Kaylee swallowed thickly as he watched her. "I'm beautiful," Azriel's hand on her chin moved to her throat, gripping gently. His other hand moved lower again, cupping her sex as he groaned at the feeling of her dripping for him.

"Again." He commanded.

"I'm beautiful," a single finger moved through her folds, gathering wetness.

"Again, honeybee."

"I'm beautiful." Azriel pushed his finger into her tight entrance, rewarding her obedience. "Fuck, Az." He slowly pulled it out, pushing it back in again. Watching her watch him.

"Look at how pretty you look right now with your cunt swallowing my finger." She blushed instantly at his words, moaning as he curled the digit into a spot she had never found before. "Such a pretty cunt, Kaylee." He slipped a second finger in, the stretch almost burning as Kaylee moaned. "Has anyone else played with you, beautiful? Or is this tight little hole all mine?" He knew immediately based on the blush and smirked. "Say red if you want to stop at any point, baby."

His fingers began moving inside of her as he continued to force her to watch. He was opening and closing them like scissors, curling them into that spot teasingly, pulling them out just to push them back in so slowly. "You smell so fucking divine, baby. I bet you taste like heaven." He growled in her ear as she tried to look at him. He ripped his fingers from her, smacking her soaked cunt lightly. He delighted in the squeal that left her throat followed by a whine. "Eyes stay on the mirror." He pushed his fingers back in, palm grazing the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. "Follow my rules and I will reward you, Kaylee. Break them and I will have to teach you some lessons. Am I understood?"

"Yes," she nodded as best she could with the hand still holding her throat.

"Yes sir," he corrected her.

"Yes sir." He nodded and began to pleasure her again, shadows moving in play with her peaked nipples. A heat Kaylee had rarely experienced in her self exploration began to build in her stomach. A coil was tightening and building quickly as she moaned more and more. Azriel was smirking watching her, feeling her walls fluttering around his fingers. "Az," she lost her thoughts as he put pressure on her clit again.

"I know, Kaylee. I can tell. Do you want to cum? Want to soak my hand like a good girl?" She began nodding eagerly. "Do you deserve to?"

"Yes sir." She answered instantly. A smile bloomed on his face. "Please?"

"Tell me why you deserve to cum."

"Because I was good, and I listened-" She moaned loudly as his fingers began constantly curling into that spot, his palm constantly running over her clit. "Sir. Please."

"Tell me one last time what I want to hear."

"I'm beautiful."

"Yes you are, baby. Cum for me." Kaylee finished stunningly. Her back arching slightly as her hips began to ride his hand. Her lips parted in a silent scream as that coil snapped. Azriel watched in bliss, eyes wide as hers squeezed shut and her cunt pulsed around his fingers, soaking them like he had predicted.

He slowed his movements, riding her high out gently as he whispered praise in her ear. He slowly removed his fingers from her but forced her to watch him in the mirror again. He put them in his mouth, the feral being inside of him growling at the taste of her pleasure and essence. He sucked and licked his fingers clean, maintaining eye contact with her. "Heaven." He confirmed before turning her in his arms. "You taste like heaven."

She fell asleep in his arms that night, his naked body pressed tight against hers. She had stopped before it went too far, wanting to wait to cross that line fully once they had looked into fae and human couplings more. Azriel had played with her hair before falling asleep as well.

He had relectantly drug himself out of her bed, only waking her to kiss her goodbye as the sun began to rise.

The next visit was silent and tense. "How long has she been missing?" Cassian asked softly. "When was she last seen?"

Elain shook her head. "She was at the healing house. They said a man came, asking for her specifically by name and claiming his son had fallen ill. Kaylee is known for her work with children. She hasn't been seen since."

Rhys rolled his eyes. "Right. We got that. How long ago was it?" Feyre was holding Azriel's hand tightly as the male tried to school his expression and breath.

"About two weeks ago." Nesta finally answered.

"Our sister has been gone for two weeks, and you haven't looked for her?"

"It wouldn't be the firs-" Cassian cut Nesta off with a single hand raised to her.

"I do not want to hear your excuses. Az?"

"I will find her." The shadow singer said softly. "She should have one shadow with her. If it hasn't come back to me-" His jaw tightened. The sentence didn't need to be finished as he and Rhys made eye contact and the high lord nodded. It was clear to all of the fae in the room. Kaylee was alive, but possibly in danger.

Somewhere in Hybern, Kaylee pulled her knees to her chest as she sat locked in a dark cell. Fae males were guarding her as she sniffled and cried for what felt like the 1000th time today.

She had been forced to bathe and dine with a king. One who whispered in her ear what he planned to do to her, to her sisters, before hurting her, using her, laughing while she cried and a human male watched.

Kaylee watched from the corner of her eye as the little shadow that followed her returned with more. One tried to approach the cell before falling still on the ground and regrouping to join the other ones.

She was losing hope. Hope that Rhys could hear her as she screamed for him mentally. Hope that Feyre would come save her. Losing hope that anyone could come save her. Kaylee fiddled with the chain of her necklace as she cried harder. Help me, she pleaded mentally to anyone listening. Someone please help me.

—---------

Kaylee didn't bother fighting the guards pulling her into the throne room. She knew the pathway well at this point. Nesta was struggling, Elain was crying. Kaylee just walked, numb to all of it. Nesta and Elain were stopped at a certain point while Kaylee was dragged to the King of Hybern and forced to sit at his feet.

Rhys growled loudly at the sight of her. "What did you do to her?! Kaylee! Honey, look at me!" She refused to look at Rhysand, wrapping her hand around the King's calf and playing the part of the good little toy he had forced her to become.

"You and Kaylee have something in common now dear Rhysand. You're both little pleasure whores." The king tilted her jaw, eyes sparkling with the lifelessness he found in Kaylee's. "The only difference is my toy had to be broken into submission while you handed yours away freely."

He dropped her jaw and Kaylee zoned out, waiting for what she knew was coming, almost begging for it. She blocked out Elain's screams. She blocked out the panic as Nesta stayed in too long. She blocked out the image of Cassian reaching for her older sister despite being nearly unconscious.

"Put my pet in. I want to see if she's worth breeding once she is fae." A soft growl snapped Kaylee back to reality. She knew it was Azriel. She knew he was dying. She almost fought as the Hybern guards gripped her arms, but it all went limp as one realized what she was about to do and back handed her. "Evidently there is some fight left in her. No matter, that can be fixed."

Kaylee allowed them to drag and lift her. She heard Feyre scream as Rhys held her back. But all Kaylee felt was water and cold and pain.

—--------

Azriel woke up in his own bed, squeezing his eyes shut before his hands shot to his chest. "You're fully healed," a tired voice came from the corner as Rhysand stood. "You've been asleep for 3 days."

"Cassian-" Azriel began coughing and Rhysand handed him water.

"Asleep in his room. He's been awake off and on. His wings will be fine. Just a slow healing process." Rhysand sat on the edge of Azriel's bed. "Feyre is in Spring acting as a spy. She is okay." Rhysand handed Azriel broth, hoping to help him build strength. "Nesta and Elain are awake. Traumatized, but awake and alive." He watched as Rhysand swallowed thickly. "Kaylee hasn't woken up yet. She shows no signs of waking up anytime soon. Madja and her team are monitoring her day and night. I am going into her mind every so often looking for changes."

"Take me to her." Rhysand sighed heavily at the request. "Rhys. Take me to Kaylee. Please."

The high lord nodded. "They all have powers now, Az. We can't tell what they all are, but be aware, Kaylee's body is strumming with her magic. I don't know why or what she is, but she's dangerous, Az."

Azriel nodded, moving to stand and walk with Rhys. "Did Cassian?"

"The bond snapped for him the second he saw her. We were correct. Just like I have a feeling we're about to be again." He opened the door to the room next to Azriel's.

The brothers entered the room quietly and Azriel released a soft sob. Kaylee was asleep, hair spread out on the pillow as she took deep breaths. Azriel knew what Rhysand meant immediately. Her power was intoxicating, all consuming. His eyes flicked to the birds and other animals watching from the ledge of her balcony. He shot Rhysand a questioning look, and the High Lord shrugged.

Azriel began to note the changes in her. Her ears had changed shape, her limbs slightly longer, cheekbones higher. He fixed her necklace, and removed her earrings gently. Azriel took her small hand in his, ignoring the strumming glittering bond that snapped the second he touched her.

Rhys paused as he studied the light of it. "Azriel, did you two?"

"Not to the full extent, no." His brother was stroking her head. "We played. That's it." Rhys nodded. Grabbing two chairs so they could sit with her.

He was in Kaylee's mind. She was dreaming about walking through the woods and countless animals and lesser fae. Her mind showed no signs of waking her anytime soon. "I have Amren looking into her dream symbolism and her sudden new furry and feathery friends, we have guesses, but-"

"All we can do is wait?" Azriel's voice was desperate as he kissed Kaylee's cold fingers.

"Correct. All we can do is wait."

[viajandopelomar]

Hi guys. I received an anonymous message in Portuguese and I answered it in Portuguese as well, but I want to bring it in English so that it reaches more people in the fandom.

Hello BR fan of acotar.I have to say this, Nyx will be lucky (favored by the script) if he becomes someone decent. Both parents are too irresponsible to raise a child, and especially that they both know they're going to war again, so why put a child in a pre-war moment, like imagine the traumas he'll have. If Feyre had died in childbirth and consequently Rysand, Nyx would have been trained as early as possible to take over the kingdom and would have missed out on a good part of his childhood... like Rysand knew the consequences and didn't say anything! The only way Nyx won't turn into a spoiled prince is if other people do the real motherhood and fatherhood with him, because these two don't have the responsibility for that.

I'll let you know that this became something about the night court as a whole while I was writing it .

Yesyes, I agree with everything. I believe that Nyx will be raised to be like his father, since he will need to uphold the whole image that Rhysand also upheld when he inherited from his father. And I don't mean as a "mask", but because that's the system of the Night Court. It's made to be that way and Rhysand has been taught to do everything he does, while claiming it's "for the good of Velaris". It's for the sake of the power of the Grain Lords, those who have come before and those who will come after him.As for their irresponsibility, Feyre was basically coerced into getting pregnant, right? In ACOFAS everything in her mind revolved around "Rhysand is 500 years old and doesn't have an heir.", and how he died and the night court had no one left (she herself assuming that her title is useless). Then she remembers again and again the appearance the carver showed her, and there's even that shopkeeper who lost her partner (who seemed too good, since supposedly partners go mad when they lose the other) and said that in 3 centuries, she hadn't conceived a baby. Everything around Feyre was screaming "Fairies don't get pregnant easily and your husband is half a millennium old!!!!!".

As for her deciding to get pregnant when the war wasn't completely over, she didn't know. Too dumb. You can tell she wasn't even aware of the details of the Illyrian revolt (if she knew anything at all). In ACOWAR, no one mentioned the consequences of the destroyed spring, the opening to summer, how she facilitated Hybern's entry and fucked everything up even more, how she ended up further disuniting the weakened Prythian front by attacking Beron and burning the lady of the fall as well (Azriel also attacked Eris, but that's beside the point at the moment). And to make matters worse, Spring borders human lands, so she opened the way for them to reach humans even faster 🫠. And she has no idea of ANY of this. So yes, she didn't know about the still standing armies of Cesere, Vallahan and Rask (Rask alone being almost the size of the night court ☠️). It seemed to me that she actually forgot about them until Rhysand sent Morrigan to Vallahan in ACOSF. Feyre has been oblivious to big picture information since ACOMAF, when Rhysand only provided information on the things she was supposed to do, like steal from Tarquin and both deal with it as if it were a normal day, after all. He even only told her she had powers after she left the spring. Everything benefits him, nothing for her. But it's all because she doesn't seek it, she only has what he gives her. Feyre doesn't question anything in the night court for someone who left the spring because she was kept in the dark👀. Rhysand knows what to give and say to make her believe that she's not in the same position as before, because he's been in her mind since that time and knows how to act without her feeling threatened, Tamlin wasn't daemati and couldn't even feel her emotions as a partner. She swapped the mansion for the city (in the mansion she went out on horseback and saw villages and saw more of the court than she ever did in the night court, it's worth noting).

Not to say that she doesn't do anything political, there is ONE MENTION in ACOFAS of her receiving letters from the Grain Lords, but we don't even know what it's about. She's so oblivious that she thinks Rhysand is PERFECT because he distributes winter items to people in need in the city (which he himself claims is perfect, and he IS THE SYSTEM), and because he meets citizens at weekly hearings. But these hearings are restricted to Velaris... and the people even ask for burned-out lights to be replaced, while Illyria just wants some recognition and thanks after all they've lost fighting for the people of the Grand Lord's wife. All they got was retaliation, more orphans and widows ☺️.

I think that if Feyre and Rhysand had died, Keir would have been chosen by magic. Apart from being the only man of high lineage, his blood ruled the north before Rhysand's, after all. He probably didn't take over when Rhysand died in the war because of a plot hole, or perhaps because Feyre held Rhysand by the noose (headcanon because it wasn't mentioned). The IC would probably try to raise Nyx in hiding and instill hatred in him so that he would take revenge against Keir, but Keir would never leave them alive. Feyre thinks they're so powerful and untouchable, to the point that she actually finds it absurd that Tamlin ignored them at the meeting. But they were hidden under Amarantha's rule. Even Amren, so they're definitely not as threatening as Feyre makes them out to be. She just idolizes them. And Grand Lords have the voice that makes people bow to them, so... Nyx could hardly do anything against Keir.

Nyx will be just like Rhysand, he has everything he wants, when he wants it. And if he doesn't he'll just pull the strings or let his power come out and put fear into them, unable to possess anyone's trust or even make negotiations. He'll oppress the hollowed-out city because "they're despicable", while all those people are the bedrock of the court. Everyone thought so until the attack on the shining city and Velaris became known. The excavated city probably supplies Velaris, because there's no way that city could do it on its own in the middle of nowhere, basically being a utopia with no one doing anything heavy (a pretty crap utopia because it has the blocks where Nesta lived). The excavated city governs itself and maintains the true power of the night court (they know everything about Prythian, the rumors and news reach there, so I believe that what happens there also reaches beyond the borders. Everyone knows that Feyre is shown half-naked to the court 🙂 ).

I think I've said too much, but that's it.

[velarisbeautyqueen]

A COURT OF SHADOWS AND DAYLIGHT Chapter One

Masterlist

warnings: swearing!

the room was tense, as if any movement too sudden would set everybody off. they had come to a cross roads in their fight against hybern. they needed allies, desperately. they decided to send a letter to each other high lord and their court, offering a peaceful talk on how they can work together to solve this issue. awaiting the responses on said letters has left every on edge.

how many allies did they have among the courts? day seemed like a safe bet, helion and rhys were familiar and friendly. though, it would prove a harder fight to win courts like autumn or summer to their side. a few months ago, summer would have been an easy ally, but after the whole blood rubies fiasco, rhys could only hope tarquin was sensible enough to look past their prior….. indiscretions.

“we barely stand a chance of surviving hybern’s armies on our own. If armies from vallahan, montesere, and rask joined them…” cassian sighed and drew a line across his tanned throat.

“are those three territories…. powerful?” feyre winced after the words had slipped from her mouth. it seemed a foolish question.

“yes,” azriel responded with no judgement in his hazel eyes. “vallahan has the numbers, montesere has the money, and rask… it is large enough to have both.”

“so we have no potential allies amongst the other overseas territories?”

rhys sighed heavily, leaning back in his armchair and pulled at a stray string on his cuff, “not one’s that would sail here to help.”

feyre’s stomach turned, “what of miryam and drakon? you fought for miryam and drakon centuries ago… perhaps it’s time to call in that debt.”

but rhys just shook his head, “we tried. azriel went to cretea.”

“it was abandoned, in ruin.” azriel added, shadows stirring behind him as they always did. “with no trace of what happened or where they went.”

“you think that hybern-”

“there was no sign of hybern, or of any harm,” mor cut in, her face taut.

“then you think they heard of hybern and ran?” feyre asked.

“the miryam and drakon i knew wouldn’t have run- not from this,” rhys responded.

the atmosphere of the room was suffocating. they were doomed. the army of hybern was a force rhysand had a feeling he nor anybody else in the room could even contemplate.

“there’s really nobody else?” feyre’s voice trembled slightly- betraying her dismay.

rhysand looked down at his hands for a moment, at a loss for what to do next.

“you know you can always call upon me, my sweet”

the words sent a shiver up his spine. his eyes darted to feyre, almost questioning if she had heard anything. her face showed no reaction, only contemplation at the challenge of gathering allies. a memory. that’s what the voice inside of his head had been. one he had not thought about in well over one hundred years.

“eowyn ” the high lord choked out. “we can call upon eowyn, and she will come.”

it was silent for a moment, but only a moment,

“i'm sorry, what the fuck is an eowyn?” cassian asked, eyebrows arching, “and how is it going to help us with hybern?”

"yeah rhys! i've never once heard you mention anybody or anything by the name of eowyn" mor chirped in from the right side of the room, wine glass in hand. azriel's eyes which usually lingered on the blonde, were downturned toward the ground.

eowyn…

the room was silent for another several beats, before rhysand jumped to his feet from his chair, pushing the still spinning seat away from his body. before he even knew were he was going, his feet carried him up, up, up the stairs into his office. he was frantic.

"rhys!" feyre called after her mate, her feet carrying her to follow after her mate.

throwing open the heavy oak door, not even cringing with it ricocheted off the wall behind it as he normally would, rhys pushed his way into the room. his eyes bounced around the room, alit with something almost fiery, trying desperately to remember where the last place he had seen that damned locket was. a vicious curse fell from his lips as he threw himself to his knees in front of his desk, his hands delving into the depths the drawers, he began rummaging through. pushing past the files of taxes, geneology, and other nonsense he could not be bothered with at the moment, he huffed in frustration.

several pairs of footsteps had come rushing up the stairs behind him but rhys did not slow his exploration for his audience. he needed to find that fucking locket. a snarl fell from his lips, quickly contorting his body to the other side, before promptly ripping into that drawer as well.

“where the fuck is it?!” he hissed, “don’t play these fucking games with me eowyn,”

"what the fuck is going on...?" cassian mummered to his fellow audiance, all gathered away from their manic high lord.

amren only smirked from where she had perched herself on the arm of a loveseat, "it seems our high lord has been hiding a few more secrets from us than we had anticipated." she did not look angry or upset, no... there was a hint of mischif gleaming in her ancient eyes. mor was frowning, as was feyre. what was rhys not telling them? how long had he been sitting on this secret 'eowyn.'

abandoning the search of the desk, rhys stood and almost threw himself towards the bookcase lining the back wall.

“maybe, if you tell us what you’re looking for…” feyre spoke up, glancing away from rhys for a moment to look for support among her family.

"it has to be around here somewhere..."rhys mumbled to himself, ignoring any help in searching for the missing item.

the high lady’s eyebrows pinched together, confusion flushing her features. why was he ignoring them all? even the spymaster azriel couldn't recall a time rhys had made mention of an 'eowyn.'

“ah-ha!!” rhys’ triumphant cry echoed through the room. held firmly in his grasp was a necklace. feyre and the others could only look on in confusion.

“and what is that going to do to help us-“ cassian was cut off by a harsh snarl falling from the lips of his high lord. the high lord cradled the delicate chain in his hands, fingers gently reaching out to stroke the runes engraved in the metal charm. 'Ueipie trtefraret yawi nlaki'

“wyn… i need you,” rhys’ voice sounded defeated, exhausted and feyre’s soul ached for the weight upon her mates shoulders. “i need you to come here and save my ass,” he mummered into close enough to the locket that his lips brushed the cold metal. “please, wyn. you know i wouldn’t ask if i wasn’t desperate,”

feyre couldn’t only watch as rhys hesitated for a moment, before tightening his hands on the locket before slipping it into his chest pocket. the confusion must have been written plain across her face, because when he turned to her- rhys only sighed.

“i first met eowyn when i was around sixteen,” he started. a deep sigh left his lungs as he looked around the state of his office. files and nick-nacks were not everywhere, clear evidence of his frantic search for the communication device. “my father and hers had been... friends a long time ago, im not too sure how they originally came into contact with each other, but they formed a bond, a connection..”

“her family came to visit us, here in velaris,” it was most unusual. most formal guests were greeted and stayed within the hewn city. “she was here for maybe… a month,”

“where were we?!” cassian butted in, demanding to know why he had no knowledge of the woman.

“at windhaven, remember when i came back home with my mother for the month of june that one year, you and az were alone in the cabin… if i recall you had tanwyn over quite a lot.”

cassian only nodded for rhys to continue on with his story.

"we... she and i grew close, and when her and her family left at the end of the month, we stayed in contact. i didn't see her again, until the first war with hybern. her father's armies came in defence of our side, my father was the one who called upon him. she came with him and..." rhys hesitated before going on, his eyes landing on feyre. his sweet, kind, caring mate. the second half of his soul.

"and we fell in love," a small smile graced his lips, recalling a time long, long ago. "we fell in love and i-i asked her to marry me. i thought it would be a smart political move, to bind our two people together. and she, i think she wanted to say yes, but..." he trailed off.

silence. a deadly silence filled the room. feyre's heart sputtered in her heart. her mate, had been so in love with this woman, he had proposed marriage to her? and he had never even spoken of her...?

rhys didn't speak again for a moment, throwing himself into his desk chair, with a deep sigh. "eowyn is elvish. princess of the elvish people, ruler of the oak ridge empire," he explained. elves? feyre's head spun, hand gripping onto mor's for moral support. "the elves take the mating bond seriously, more seriously than us. they will hardly ever marry if not to their mate, they wait hundreds of years, and do as they please in that time... i thought she loved me too, and i think she did in a way, but..."

"when the war ended, and her father and their men made to head back to Vynkar, their capital city, she decided she was going with them. but she told me that if i ever needed her, if i ever was in need of her help, all i had to to was speak into this necklace.. i was just- so full of rage at her after she left, i thought she took my heart with her.''

feyre could only gape at her mate. her hands hung limply by her sides. she was not angry, not truly beyond the possessive nature that threatened to claw this woman, eowyn's eyes out. rhys was much, much older than her, of course he had his share of romantic interests before her, but to imagine a world she found rhysand, and he was taken by another... her stomach clenched.

"i thought that until i met you, feyre darling. you are my whole heart, but now we need to call eowyn and beg for her aid. we will not stand a chance against hybern without her and her armies,"

feyre drew in a long, deep breath before nodding her head. she was the high lady, and she was stronger than letting an old flame upset her. "you're right, we will need her. if she commands the armies you're implying... she will be our greatest asset."

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺⌝❜❛⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

this is my first acotar fanfiction ever! comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

[lexluvswriting]

ꔫ L'autunno.

ꔫ Ch: 4 [last page] [next page]

-> Pairing: Eris x ballet dancer!fem!reader.

-> (CW): x fem!reader (she/her), slow-burn, rivals to lovers, tinkle of angst on occasion, fluff, non-specified identity Summer Court!reader, regarding canon ACOTAR time: after defeat of Hybern. things get get cheeky... teehee.

-> (TW): Allusions to domestic violence/abuse (L.O.A + Beron), eris has trauma flashbacks, sexual tension? maybe? someone read it and tell me pls. eris practically pining for reader but simultaneously pissing her off, reader x eris finally kiss, raahh!!

W/C: 3.5k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: UHM... guys... please ignore that i last posted in April or something... double degrees are not for the weak 😔✊OOH! ALSO: you two share a kiss- :O -and reader likes it >:D did I pull an all-nighter for this chapter, AND almost finish up to chapter six in one night? ... yes. do i also have an important exam in 5 hours? ... also yes. i couldn't help myself- I missed writing, okay?! anyway, pls pls pls, don't be afraid to comment & let me know what you liked, disliked or loved!!

You had both sat on the ledge of the ampitheatre, taking in the peaceful quiet, enjoying the nature that surrounded you both before you huffed softly at how ‘casual’ the setting was. A pretty patterned rug was laid out to be sat on, with porcelain cups, dishes, and all sorts of rich, fancy-fae delicacies: tea cakes of different shapes, flavours and colours; neatly cut sandwiches with different pastes, spices and fillings.

“Where’s your little throne?”

You nodded, not waiting for him before picking a sandwich to take a bite of- your stomach fluttering when you didn’t taste poison, but rather a delightful taste combination. He grinned slyly and clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment as he poured you and himself tea that smelt like bergamot and honey.

“Would have been too big for my servants to winnow, I’m afraid.”

His tone was airy and snobbish- as if he had read your mind, thus playing along to the tune of your harsh assumptions- so you rolled your eyes, food pushed into the side of your mouth to mumble out, “Figured you would have used some of them as footstools and makeshift seats instead.”

Eris huffed, before thinking over the weight of your snark which drew a chuckle that dissolved into a soft laugh of disbelief. You ignored the way the sound made your insides flutter- or perhaps that was just organ failure. He looked at you incredulously, shaking his auburn covered head as he filled your plate, then his.

“Is that what you truly think of me?”

You continued to chew, your face expressive enough to fill the silence, which made him chuckle more.

“I certainly have underestimated you, little swan,” You grumbled at the ‘feigned’ endearment, but it didn’t deter him, “You are not merely a pretty face at all. You also possess a delightful, deadly fire. Now, whether it makes you stupidly brave, or bravely stupid, I’m not sure. Even worse, I’m not sure if that intrigues me, or irritates me.” He hummed, and it seemed to stoke ‘said fire’ within you- your own pride being stroked, so you gave him a bemused half-smirk,

“Why not both?”

He raised an eyebrow at your rather coy tone, and you almost thought you liked that ‘slightly startled, slightly intrigued’ look he wore, before you remembered what he was- who he was- and looked away disinterestedly. But you knew him; or at least, knew he was trained in the arts of charming females as if it was as easy as breathing. Something in your gut told you he liked those that played ‘hard-to-get’ and the feelings that festered and stewed made you confused. Again, as if he was reading your mind, he answered accordingly:

“Almost sounds like you’re flirting with me, darling.” His serve. So the match starts.

A scoff, accompanied by a simple shake of your head. “Spare me. Just how exactly have you made it this far in life, lordling?” A simple hit back into his court.

“Is that admiration I hear?” A lazy return.

“You wish it was.” Shaking your head as you sipped the sweet, citrusy tea he poured. A back-hand swing with a bit of force.

“I do, actually. If it means you’ll stop being so shrewd.” Parried back wonderfully, much to your dismay.

“Is this how you usually find ladies to court? By acting like an arse.” You ask flatly, and he pauses. Victory.

You smirk, glancing down at the tea cup, before the silence goes on for too long. Your lips tug into a frown, but you don’t look up. Is he angry? Something tugs at your stomach, then your chest, and you finally look back up at him, only to catch him staring at you with an expression you didn’t recognise. You straightened- almost angry at yourself for feeling nervous. But you didn’t know him. Didn’t know his moods, his temperaments. Didn’t know what he did in his spare time.

The lordling seemed to sense your fidgeting and looked away; out towards the view of the sprawling Autumn colours that dotted the trees on the horizon.

“... So… what brought you to the Autumn Court?”

You blinked up at him, raising an eyebrow, before remembering you had told him you weren’t from here.

“Apparently, as a baby, I was dropped off at an orphanage near the place I live now, with some sort of Summer Court emblem and a scarf. However, I’ve got no ties, no leads to any family that I know of, and I haven’t sought them out either.” He watched you as you spoke, and before you could comment or add more, he beat you to it.

“How miserable.”

You flinched before stilling, blinking repeatedly at him. How… miserable?

Disbelief contorted your face as you looked at him like he had grown three heads. Did he just-?

Eris simply watched you, tilting his head slightly, his russet eyes meeting yours in a stare that wasn’t hostile; rather, it was him trying to figure you out like some sort of puzzle. However, his random response had caught you off guard, making you chuckle softly, before you covered your mouth quickly, only to hold your head in your hands as you began to genuinely laugh.

“Have I misspoke?”

You laughed more at his polite yet confused tone, shaking your head as you tried to control yourself, only to laugh more, which spurred a few chuckles from the male sitting across from you.

“Hold on- I only meant it in the sense that-”

“No, no!” You forced out as you gasped for air, trying to reign in your amusement as you watched him watch you again, with him seeming oddly… content with how you laughed at him.

“I… I get it. Honestly, Eris- Sorry… ‘Lord’ Eris-” He rolled his eyes, waving a hand as you continued,

“How in the Cauldron did you make it this far in life?” You chuckled again, while he flashed a strangely sweet, cheeky smile. It was almost endearing. Almost.

“Would you believe me if I said ‘through uncanny wit and dazzling charm?’” His dryness made you snicker, before a small smile grew on your face. He hummed as you did so, looking down at his hand while you caught yourself staring again; both of you sitting in the silence as you briefly self-reflected. Why was he being funny? Why could he make you laugh simply… simply by being himself?Why was it so easy to get lost in staring at him? You continued to watch him- not knowing how intensely your eyes twinkled, nor the way it made his blood heat in a way that surprised him. Yet, he caught you, finally.

“[Y/N] darling, if you keep staring at me like that, it might put ideas in my head.” He mused, and you jerked your head away instantly, hearing him snicker as you rolled your eyes.

“Why won’t you let yourself enjoy today, little swan?” He teased, but your response wasn’t as light.

“If I do, it will mean that I am as easy, and as useless as all the others that you manage to bewitch. I simply won’t let that happen.” You replied hollowly, a small part of you not even believing your own answer. Eris sucked his tooth, watching you with a nod as if you had said something truly confounding, before he clicked his tongue and stood up.

“Alright. Let’s walk.” Eris nodded at you, before offering a hand with a sly smile, waiting for you to move. You blinked up at him, raising an eyebrow before deciding to take his hand- unlike the carriage, where he practically lifted you like it was nothing- pulling yourself up.

What the hell would a walk do?

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“Tell me honestly, swan. Why do you dislike me- not my family- but me, so heavily?” Eris encouraged the dancer to speak freely as you both walked down the hill. He noticed the way your eyes avoided his, instead mapping out all the different shades of brown, orange and red leaves. He watched you shrug, and internally pulled at his hair. What had you so reserved?

He wanted to say something- taunt you, tease you, even trick you into speaking- but when you hesitated, looking at the ground for an answer that wouldn’t be so easily given, he shut up immediately. It was only when you tried to avoid the question that something triggered within him to reach for and grab your arm; grabbing gently, merely to pull you back to where he had stopped walking.

“Hey-” You had snapped, baring your teeth before pulling your arm away, the action making his heart race as you did so. How wonderful- when your eyes gleamed the way they did. Did you even know how beautiful you looked? When you looked at him like you wanted to throttle him? Or, what about when you had laughed so freely before, and his brain had completely blanked?

Eris sighed wistfully, determined to crack the nut that was your eccentric, explosive enigma of a mind. 

“When you do things like that- acting like you just have some claim on me- I don’t like it.So when you do it often, or other things I don’t like, it makes it easier to dislike you.” You spoke succinctly, and he couldn’t argue with that. At least you answered him. Yet Eris watched you anyway, hoping you’d continue. When he stayed silent, he realised his staring made you nervous as you wiped your hands on your dress, delicate hands grabbing at the fabric to fidget as you pushed yourself to answer his initial question.

He willed his expression to be neutral as you began to speak- the words spilling from your lip like a fast flowing river. But his restraint was in vain- before he knew it, he was absolutely entranced by your thoughts and ideas. The way you spoke about your studies- the passion, the assertiveness you carried as you listed the criticisms your ‘surrogate mother Ordelia’ had helped you draft in an assignment; an ‘unsent response’ to his father’s unfair increase of land tax, and the random raids or ‘removals’ that always seemed to happen towards the end of the day, targeting certain fae of non-native identities. He had to remind himself to meet with this fae. She sounded like quite the female.

You had told Eris about the families that were getting displaced- how people were terrified to leave their homes because of these new restrictions- and his brain spun like a spinning top. You dared compare Beron’s treatment to the tyrant of a female that had held Prythian hostage for almost fifty years prior, and his nostrils flared, but he stayed silent. Did you realise what you were saying? How brave, how brilliant- how possibly stupid it was? Being so bold saying these ideas so freely? He almost felt liberated from the confines of his own mind- where, for too long, he had been too afraid to dare bring light to these thoughts of his own.

Eris didn’t dare stop you, so you continued, even scolding Eris himself on his ‘petty blackmail’ of your ballet instructor- he decided there and then that he wanted you to criticise and chastise him like that all the time- advocating for the old studio, and the children who used it to escape poverty in their own villages, in their own homes. Unbeknownst to you, the heir seemed to fall more and more in love with every word you said. He figured it would probably be his demise if he were to compliment you on your ideas- you seemed to treat anything he said as a callous taunt, or cruel mockery. But the heir couldn’t help himself as he exhaled softly.

“Brilliant.”

He nodded, watching you intensely, before shaking his head with a scoff, looking away.

“Ballerinas are doing politics now,” And you’re somehow doing them in the way he had always dreamed of, “What a world we live in.” He would have happily sung your praises from the treetops. He was prepared to present your ideas- your works to his father and call him out on his tirade. So why was it that, when he looked back at you, you looked up at him with a mixture of hurt and disappointment?

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

“You weren’t listening to a single word, were you?” The disappointment in your voice was almost laughable. You felt bitterness coat your tongue like film as you observed the heir. There it was. That feigned incredulity, the false intrigue and interest. In his eyes, like so many other males, all you’d ever be recognised as was just a pretty little ballerina. A pretty female, with pretty eyes, hips for child-rearing, and a figure that was easy on the eyes.

“[Y/N]... You- you have just recited every single measure I have ever wanted to implement.” He had stopped walking to watch your disappointment manifest, and he shook his head again, reaching for you before hesitating as you whipped back to glare at him. Well… at least he listened to one thing.

“I don’t need your pity, lordling.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”

“Oh, boohoo!” You snapped, glaring up at the heir, “I know what you see in me- what your ‘expectations’ are. You want me to sit still and be pretty while I have to be subjected to this- this stupid ball with all these rich, ignorant nobles who-”

“Who couldn’t give a damn about the people who starve right outside their doors, right?” He finished your sentence- he cut you off, and you paused.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No, [Y/N]. I know what you’re thinking. I’ve thought the exact same- down to the letter, every damned day.” He grabbed you, and your eyes narrowed, ready to warn him off you when he interjected again.

“Just- listen.” He snapped, and your mouth shut, even as you glared daggers up at him, “Do you know how exhausting it is, having to carry the burdens of that bastard?” Your eyes widened.

Was this real? Where the Hell had this come from? You opened your mouth, but he put his hand over it,

“Just wait before you spit in my face, stubborn thing.” He hissed, before continuing,

“We are… The Vanserra family… it is not glorious, and- and luxurious, and absolutely ignorant.” He was hardly fluent, hesitating and restarting the sentence. It felt wrong, unnerving. This was not the pompous, cocky, ‘typical’ arrogant noble who had half of the Autumn Court’s female population vying for him. This wasn’t the smug, dominant asshole who had watched you dance, and snidely spoke to you in the hallway of your ballet studio.

No.

This was the male- the son- who had snarled at you in the carriage when you tried to slander the Lady of the Autumn Court. There- you saw it again- that vulnerability, that hollowness that hid behind his eyes every time he stood next to his father; whether it was during royal festivals or important ceremonies. The oldest Vanserra son had gone- gotten trapped in a memory; somewhere dark, somewhere hostile and hurtful. So you decided there and then, regardless of the dislike you held for him, that you’d  hold him and wait.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

Sounds of fists landing hits, a cacophony of muffled crashing and banging came from behind the closed door that Eris waited at tearfully- willing his child self to march in there and defend his mother, only to be completely stuck; paralysed by fear.

Warmth came from somewhere, somewhere distant, and there was the dull echo of a voice that made his chest tighten.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

You watched him grow distant, his eyes losing their usual gleam- not that you cared to notice, as you’d easily deny. Something made your hands move on their own, pulling his hand off your mouth so you could grab them in yours, watching him with emotions that made your stomach knot and shrivel.

“Eris?”

You called again, and he jerked- the abrupt movement making you flinch while the heir exhaled shakily. As he looked back down at you, he saw the way you held his hands, initiating contact. When he moved, you followed his gaze, unsure why you were still holding onto him. You did that, all of your own accord. You did it, yet you weren’t sure why.

Eris swallowed thickly- you even watched the way his throat bobbed, before his hands slowly, shakily cupped your face. Your eyes never left him; you didn’t move to push him away either. What had he seen? Where had he gone?

“[Y/N] [L/N].” Your heart jerked as he murmured your name- the timbre of his voice low, soul-wrenching as his russet irises bore into yours.

“I want you to meet my father. I want-... I want you to meet him, and tell him exactly what you told me.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head,

“No- Not on your life-”

“Please.”

Again, his lips had come close to yours, like they had in the carriage, and you felt yourself go deathly still.

“Eris?”

“Please, [Y/N].”

“Eris-”

“You’re brilliant.” The male breathed, his eyes scanning you quickly, almost anxiously, like he was afraid your attention would shift away from him. You were brilliant? He thought… he thought you were brilliant. You swallowed, eyes fluttering as you looked up at him, stare never breaking. Looking into his eyes, being so close, it felt like you were staring down at a body of water at the bottom of a cliff. Was it shallow? Were there hidden rocks- jagged, hungry for bones to shatter? Was this what leaps of faith were?

“You don’t… you don’t care.” You shook your head stubbornly, resisting the pull.

“You- You are the most brilliant fae I know-” His serve, again.

“You’ve barely known me!” A hard knockback from yourself; the ball was in his court.

“I’ve never known anyone with a mind like yours, [Y/N].” A powerful hit back into your court.

“No.” You barely hit it back in his court, so close to crumbling.

“[Y/N]-” He fumbled.

“I’m not going to make a fool of myself in front of your father, Eris. What power do I hold?” A harsh serve to start the match.

“The knowledge you carry- the way you see the world- the way you solve problems that noblemen in my father’s court have been stuck on for years-” Your eyes widened at his words- you fumbled the hit.

“Eris- No- No! It is not my responsibility to fix your father’s inadequacies!” You snapped, pushing away gently as you looked away, your mind racing. You needed to go. Your heart- your stomach- Hell, you were even feeling the slightest bit aroused! You needed to go- needed to get away to think-

His hands grabbed you again, cupping your face and tilting your head up ever-so-gently, as if he thought you were made of porcelain.

“[Y/N].” Your mind blanked when you heard the way he pleaded- pleaded!

Well… if he said your name like that…

“Eris-” Your hands reached up to his- whether to hold, or to push away, you weren’t sure yet. The Vanserra male barely gave you a chance to decide before he sealed the gap between your lips, his eyes shutting while yours widened in shock, before promptly shutting them tight. 

He was kissing you. Eris Vanserra was kissing you. He thought you were brilliant, he thought you were 

The kiss was… It was…

You didn’t even know. It certainly felt like he was holding back- like he was trying to be a gentleman, and a small part of you appreciated the attempt as you moved your lips against his ever-so-slightly. His tongue didn’t swipe for your lip hungrily; his teeth didn’t tug at your bottom lip; nor did his hands move from where they held your face. Your body felt like it was on fire- a primal, lonely part of your brain urging him to lead, to do something. But he pulled away after the ‘virginal’ kiss, breathing heavily, as if it pained him to pull away- to hold himself back.

You stared up at him dumbly, eyes glittering in the autumn sun as you both stared at each other in something of shock and awe. Why did it feel like your heart was caving in when he kissed you? Why did it feel like the stars had aligned when he pressed his lips against yours so gently- so out of character for him?

“What was that?” You muttered, still shell-shocked, while he turned away, almost as if he was unwell. He shook his head- ignoring your question.

“Eris?” You urged, pulling on his arm impatiently before he turned back to face you, his voice a low murmur.

“[Y/N]... I want you to meet my father.”

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: OH GOD. okay. OKAY, I DID IT. i did it! it's done! i have posted a chapter again!! (hopefully) i can get back to my usual posting schedule!! i have 3 more exams: 12/06, 13/06 & 15/06 so i will be a lil preoccupied for at least ten days <3 again, TYSM FOR READING IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR!! <3 <3 also!! the two Loki requests are also currently being drafted as we speak!! thanks for waiting so long everyone!!

[achaotichuman]

Hii!! Wolf's here! I'm happy you liked the little snippet! Then, once I'm done writing it, I'll send you the first chapter! ♥

Other than my story (thank you again for letting me ramble about it to you! ♥) I'm here because I saw the post you replied about Nyx getting Feyre's power or not, and I would say (If only SJM was consistent in her writing…) that he shouldn't at all gain anything from Feyre's, because her powers are what (at least it seemed so to me) keeps her alive: it's what brought her back from death and as a Fae.

She only has a drop of the powers of the courts and I don't think it's something she can really give away (voluntarily or involuntarily), and can I say that it seems that Nyx is like a copy and paste of Rhysand? Sjm says that the bonding happens for the perfect partner for reproduction (I hate it, really hate it, like do you hear whatttttt are you sayiiing) but it doesn't even make sense? Because Feyre was human, who can say if she would've ever become Fae (especially in the way she did) unless the cauldron saw in the future or he knew about it OR Rhysand lied and he wasn't mate with her since she was human, bc it wouldn't make sense.

No one of the actual existent mates/bonds make sense (no, scratch that, Lucien and Elain can make sense lol, but watch Sjm ruin them, I just know she will one way or another) like: why Nesta and Cassian? It would've have make more sense (with SJM logic) to pair her and Rhysand together, to make them mates.

Because Feyre was not made from the cauldron, she has no blessing from the Mother, she is bound to all courts and to none at the same time.

Her magic responds to her, because the ones who give it to her are alive and so her source of power is sustained.

New theory incoming: yes, she has a drop of each HL, but what if the drop still needs the source of it to actually function? Their powers where made a part of her to let her be reborn into a Fae and she's bound to them in a sense, and at the same time she isn't (like when in the Summer court she used the speckle of it to enter, but the book recognized she WASN'T the HL of Summer, so drown now kind of thing)

Not to count that a drop can still be extinguished because maybe it still needs to be sustained by its source, but it can't take more than what it was given.

Maybe it's the (one of the) reasons why Rhysand doesn't want Tamlin to actually die? Because if he dies the link will be broken, because the new HL wasn't the one to grant Feyre her life, so the "bargain/sacrifice" wouldn't sustain and she will lose the Spring powers?

What if the death of the other HL means her death too? OR what if killing them and absorbing their power leads to her total destruction? Because she would become all of the courts, feels everything of their suffering and joy and it would be too much to bear.

Mhm, it's food for the thought for sure, ahaha

Still, on the matter of Nyx: it would be bonkers if he did get something of the powers of the other courts because it wouldn't make any sense. Like, at all.

And I doubt he could then be considered as a real heir of the Night, if Rhysand would happen to die (lol) I doubt the magic would rush to him, when he's "contaminated" (he belongs to it, but also not, too many links to bear) by the other ones. Just some theories, ahaha

Sorry for the ranting! I hope you're having a good day and/or night! ♥

Hi Wolf!!!

OOOOOhhh I love the theories about Feyre's powers here!!

One theory I briefly explored was in a crackfic I wrote about if Feyre and Tamlin shapeshifted and Feyre impregnated Tamlin before she left for Night (lol) but obviously I made it way more complicated than it needed to be. And I wrote about Hybern 'absorbing' Feyre's magic, and this not just reverted her to human but reversed the healing the High lord's magic gave her, so she died once more.

I think it would be super cool to explore Feyre being magically soul bonded to each court, and without the magic of each High lord in particular she would die.

I think in theory what would make Nyx having Feyre's powers make sense is if Feyre being given the High lord's powers healed her body and a side effect from being healed from each Court was the gift of their magic, but even that doesnt really make much sense, its never really been explored cause I think SJM just doesnt think of it lol. But I like your idea more.

For Nyx, I am half certain he only exists in the story as 1- A plot device for Nesta, 2- Because SJM had a son and wanted to give Rhysand one as well. I think he is literally just meant to be another marketable aspect of the books as this is what SJM does a lot.

Her characters in ACOTAR are weirdly empty, with no real hobbies or interests, their personalities are cardboard cutouts of stereotypes for these kinds of men, and I truly think they like this so SJM can market them and profit. Which, whatever, it just means her characters are empty and people can project onto them easy.

Overall, SJM has little to no consistency in the ACOTAR series, there are many gaps and I highly doubt they will be filled by the story's end.

In any case, I am going to go with my personal favorite theory, Nyx gets Nesta's silver flames and becomes a witch.

Anyway, thank you for sharing the rant!! (Also I am still reeling from the fic summary, I cannot wait for the first chapter)

[jules-writes-stories]

Sad to see Heart of Gold finish 💛 it was such a good fluffy summer read. Just wondering with that complete and with JEL almost done being drafted, are you working on any other projects or planning on working on any projects in the future?

Omg yes! I’ve actually started drafting a story that everyone is going to hate. 😝 It’s the origin story of Amarantha. I want to try and get some of it done for SJM villain week, but I’m so excited about it. I’m reading Madeline Miller’s “Circe” right now and it’s making me think of Amarantha and how Jurian seduced and then crucified her sister… like… I dunno, that’s a bad ass (tragic, horrific, sadistic) villain origin story? It’s also so complex with how humans are enslaved, and seen as inferior?

I dislike how SJM polarizes places, families and even characters. Like: Clythia fell in love with Jurian, enough so to go against her beloved sister, her entire family and country, her army during a war. And then Jurian gets information from Clythia and after getting that info, proceeds to torture her brutally and crucifies her. But don’t worry. Everyone from Hybern was awful and evil and deserves whatever they get…?” I mean, Jurian is a great character in the series. Poor guy pays a big price. But I have a sister. And damn. I can’t imagine… like… probably gonna get hate mail for this… what would Feyre do, or Nesta, if someone did that to Elain? You know? I bet some of our most beloved heroes would turn villain over an act like that.

So that’s my next idea. It’s in the outline phase though. So I have no idea if it will be a one shot or multi-chapter. If multi, def not very long. I’m only writing pre-UTM. Thanks for asking!

Oh, I also have a CoN Azris idea that’s just a bunch of voice notes on my phone lol… but it’s an arranged marriage non-canon compliant one. And there’s a CoN fight club. I may bring Mithras back for that one… super early stages there.

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

[vulpes-fennec]

The Fae Equality Initiative (Ch. 9) 🌊

Summary: We return to our sexy High Lord of Summer TRYING HIS BEST to keep the ball rolling on fae equality.

Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, has sent ripples of shock throughout Prythian with his plans to eliminate discrimination against Lesser Fae. When the Night Court is invited to send a delegation to Summer Court, Elain Archeron can’t wait to show everybody what she’s capable of on her first official Inner Circle assignment. Little does she know that Tarquin has also recruited Lucien Vanserra’s assistance…

Read: Ch 1 | Ch 8 | AO3

Tarquin was being subjected to torture as he listened to the squabbling of Adriata’s public forum. What started as a way to solicit his citizens’ comments had devolved into frequent arguments and even brawls that his guard had to break up. Just because fists stopped flying, didn’t mean tension stopped simmering in the air.

“Can’t you see? Even if we amended the zoning laws in Adriata, the Fae will still be clustered in districts of extravagant wealth, middle class, and relative poverty.”

“Yes, but the point is that we aren’t preventing certain Fae from living in wealthy districts. If they have the means, they are free to move wherever they’d like.” 

“What will we do about the growing number of humans still in the court? My sister-in-law from Ibaria says the human refugee camp has morphed into a permanent settlement.”

“We don’t want any humans in the Summer Court! Think of all the horrible ash wood they’ll bring to protect themselves—our lives will be at risk!”

“Exactly, they are creatures with no sense of morality and hygiene. And they reproduce like rabbits! Our lands will be overrun in no time.”

“I want to make clear that I wholeheartedly oppose the idea of an integrated merchant fleet. What’s wrong with the tiered system from before?”

“Think of all the rapport that will be broken with newcomers! These ties have existed for centuries, and now we have to include the Lesser Fae in our trading voyages?”

“We are simply other merchants, not total newcomers. I don’t understand why these High Fae think so highly of themselves, when it was the bronze tier, the Lesser Fae fleet, that brought down more of Hybern’s armada during the war!” 

“Well, I’m a Lesser Fae and I don’t want to integrate with you pretentious bastards. Who’s with me?” 

The chiming of bells that indicated the meeting’s end was music to Tarquin’s ears. “Thank you everybody for coming out today.” Tarquin projected his voice through the hall amidst grumbles and murmurs. “If you have not had a chance to speak, we hope to hear from you next week.” 

Guilt warred with relief as he left the dais. Shouldn’t leaders listen to their people with patience, with undivided attention? I’m trying, I really am…but sometimes the things they say have me rolling my eyes.  

Things like the mental gymnastics they executed in order to defend questionable opinions. Or their blatant hypocrisy. Or when they asked about something that was easily discoverable in the public record. 

The public forum had been his brainchild when he returned from Under the Mountain. Amarantha’s tyrannical rule was a prime example of what not to do in court. Tarquin thought it would be an excellent opportunity to hear directly from his people, to make them feel heard. Unfortunately, he frequently left these meetings feeling exhausted and irritated. 

He needed to vent, but Varian was supervising training for the new recruits and today was Cresseida’s day off. I definitely need more friends, Tarquin thought dejectedly. If I wasn’t so gods-damned busy all the time, maybe I could make some. He’d lost 50 years of socializing being Under the Mountain, and now all his free time was sucked up by his ambitious plans for the Summer Court. 

So Tarquin ended up knocking on the door of Lucien’s room. 

“Tarquin!” The foxy male’s face broke into a wide grin. ”Do come in.” 

Tarquin felt a strange tickling sensation on his bare arms as he crossed the threshold, as if some magic had put out feelers to sense who entered the room. Strange. I don’t recall warding the delegation rooms in such a manner.

“Oh, I don’t need a drink,” he said quickly when Lucien began uncorking a bottle of wine.

“You look like you need one,” Lucien objected, pouring Tarquin a glass anyway. “Besides, I bought this in the harbor today. Good wine should be shared with friends.”

Tarquin had to admit Lucien was right when he took a sip of the tangy, slightly bitter wine. “Thank you, Lucien. Sometimes I forget when to relax.” 

Lucien settled on the armchair across from him. “I know the feeling,” he admitted. “Court never stops. If you’re not addressing urgent needs during working hours, you’re keeping tabs on gossip all the time. How was the public forum?” 

“Cauldron boil me.” Tarquin rubbed his brow. “Utter chaos. No productive conversations anymore. Questionable thinking left and right.” 

Lucien gazed at him with deep sympathies. “Sounds like a mess.” 

“It really is a mess. I was trying to emulate the Night and Day Courts, but it’s not working. You know, how Rhysand and Feyre have a public session for the city of Velaris, and Rhodes has these public gatherings for civic discussion?” 

Lucien nodded, in deep thought. “What if you have each district host its own public forum every week? And then have a monthly meeting convening the district community leaders for a more productive conversation?” the emissary suggested. “That way each citizen can still voice their concerns, but when it comes to city-wide issues, there aren’t as many voices shouting at each other.”

“Hmm. Has this idea been tried anywhere else?” Tarquin asked. “It certainly sounds much more manageable than the chaos we have now.” 

“Not in Prythian. But Queen Vassa had implemented something similar when she lived on the continent. It worked well for her.” Lucien shrugged.

“Alright then, I’ll give it a shot. Right—since you have such good ideas, Lucien, I was wondering if you’d be willing to pick up some contract work for us while you’re here.”

“What is it?” 

“Nothing too intrusive.” Tarquin proceeded to explain the idea for a permanent committee to assist with the transition, then oversight of his social mandates. And Lucien’s compensation, should he choose to accept. 

“Sounds manageable to me,” Lucien said with a teasing grin. “You’ve got some good ideas up your sleeve too. I’m in.” 

“It was technically Varian’s idea.” Tarquin bowed his head humbly. He took a sip of his wine, savoring the notes of pomegranate. “Anyways, I’ve been dying to know…how did you end up defeating Koschei? Wasn’t Queen Vassa bound with a blood curse?” 

He’d only heard of the death god in legend, and had quaked upon seeing the Bone Carver and the Weaver unleash hell in battle. I’d rather sit through public forum for the rest of my life than meet Koschei. 

A shadow of unease passed over Lucien’s face. “We were very lucky. I…Vassa was most familiar with Koschei, so we…we played a clever trick on him,” he said vaguely. “Jurian rightfully made the kill. To be honest, I’m not even sure myself how it happened.” 

Well, Lucien’s definitely not telling me the truth. Part of Tarquin was a bit hurt, but the other part was empathetic towards his friend. What’s done is done, and perhaps dealing with Koschei was more traumatic than he let on. I won’t press Lucien on it anymore. 

“Well, he’s gone now, thanks to you three.” Tarquin gave Lucien an easy grin to lighten the mood. “And are Queen Vassa and Jurian…?” The question hung in the air. 

Lucien grinned back, anxieties lifting. “Let’s just say the humans will be receiving a King Consort soon.” 

“It’s about time.” 

Lucien shook his head ruefully. “I’m glad the palace was renovated quickly after Vassa’s re-coronation, though. Mother knows how many times I’ve walked in on the two of them being grossly intimate with each other in that tiny manor house.” 

“Oh gods,” Tarquin groaned. “My condolences.” 

Lucien waved his hand aimlessly. “And what about you? Anyone special in your life?” 

“Not at all. Perhaps once this whole thing settles down, I’ll find time for a relationship.” 

Lucien shrugged. “Who says you need to be in a relationship to have some fun? According to some of the local press, you definitely have your fair share of swooning admirers in Adriata.” 

Tarquin sent a tiny flick of water across Lucien’s cheek. “As if I’m the one who’s such a ladies man,” he chuckled. “I’m still quite young. I don’t need to think about settling down for a while.” 

“Call me old and decrepit already, won’t you? Don’t you worry, Tarquin, we’ll find you someone perfect.” 

Tarquin wasn’t sure if it was the wine, but Lucien seemed chattier today. Snarkier—more like his old self. “And what about you, Lucien? How have things been—or not been—with Elain Archeron?” 

Lucien’s tanned face turned crimson as he explained the interactions from the last few days, from Elain acknowledging his presence to their frank conversation and library encounter. “Tarquin, what does it mean when a female asks if you’d like to eat lunch with her?” Lucien finished. 

Tarquin rolled his eyes. “Do you hear yourself? Asking me of all people for advice?” 

“I’m serious, Tarquin!” Lucien put his glass down and covered his face with a pillow. 

Tarquin sighed. “Well, I can’t speak for Elain, but if she sought your company, then you must not be entirely abhorrent,” he commented dryly. “What did you two eat?” 

“Sushi,” came Lucien’s muffled reply. “She said she liked it. But I may or may not have laughed at her when she took a mouthful of wasabi.” 

“You laughed at her? I thought you were supposed to be good with the ladies.” 

“I am!” Lucien sat up, his eyes flashing wildly. “I must have become rusty. And when it comes to Elain…well, she’s my mate. I’ve messed up enough, and I don’t even know how I truly feel about her.” 

“You’d think mating bonds would be easy. They snap, the two Fae fall for each other, they live happily ever after because the bond just greases the wheels and smooths out any incompatibility with its magic.”

“Do you feel that if you and Elain had gotten to know each other, without any mate business involved, a romance blossomed more easily?” 

Lucien hesitated. “But that’s the big question, isn’t it? I want to say yes, but I don’t know.” 

“I can pay special attention to any mated pairs at court. Understand how they chose each other. See how their relationships played out over the years,” Tarquin offered.

“Thank you,” Lucien replied, his cheeks still crimson. 

“Well, I would love to stay and chat for longer, but I should make my way down the hall and check in with the rest of the delegations,” Tarquin said, getting up. “Thank you for the wine.”

“Anytime.” Lucien got up to walk the High Lord to the door. “I’ll get started on research and outreach for the committee tomorrow.” 

Tarquin visited each of the delegations, reaching the Night Court delegation’s door last. Balthazar and Elain were nibbling on a pre-dinner plate of pastries and tea, enjoying the balmy evening air. They graciously invited him to join them. 

“I hope that you two have had a comfortable stay so far?” Tarquin asked. 

“Excellent,” Balthazar said. The Illyrian male, Balthazar, was not at all like Rhysand, Cassian, or Azriel. He was tall and lanky, with the awkward but well-meaning airs of an adolescent. “Adriata is beautiful and Varian showed me where the training court is.” 

Elain also seemed to have relaxed since her first day, which Tarquin was glad to see. “Yes, you’ve been a wonderful host,” she added. If the female had any feelings about the morning she’d spent with Lucien, she did not show it on her beautiful face. 

“What have you two been up to today?” Tarquin inquired casually. 

“I met with Sona and Jaime this morning. We were discussing the stereotypes the Fae have for each other. For example, Sona said that water wraiths have a bad reputation for being greedy and voracious creatures. And you know…Illyrians like me are thought of as bloodthirsty and war-mongering.”

Tarquin nodded. “I myself have certainly seen many animosities between the fire and water sprites of the Courts,” he agreed. “Between some hives, it’s friendly bickering. For others, it’s pretty vicious.”

“Exactly. And we weren’t sure how much things would change—or stay the same—moving forward,” Balthazar finished. 

“And what about you, Elain?” Tarquin asked pointedly. “What did you do today?” 

The corner of Elain’s mouth twitched, and her cheeks colored pink. Aha, Tarquin thought slyly. She must be recalling what she did with Lucien. A promising sign for him, if I ever did see one.

“I was doing some research in the Summer Palace’s libraries,” she demurred. “And…and I had lunch in the city.”

“Oh, really? What did you eat?” And who did you eat with, Tarquin wanted to ask, even though he already knew the answer. 

Elain’s mouth curved in a shy smile, making Tarquin feel even more satisfied. “I had sushi.” 

“Sushi? Is that raw fish?” Balthazar said with astonishment. “How was it?” 

“I liked it! You must try it, Balthazar. But do avoid eating the green paste—it made my nose burn horribly.” 

Tarquin chuckled. “I see you’ve discovered wasabi, Elain. I advise mixing small amounts of it with the other condiments in the future for a more pleasant experience.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t too bad. It just took me by surprise,” Elain assured him. The trio fell into easy conversation, soon after. Balthazar regaled them with harrowing tales of dodging beasts in the Illyrian mountains. Elain answered all of Tarquin’s questions about Velaris. And Tarquin gave them a run-down of Summer Court’s must-try delicacies, and where his favorite spots were in Adriata. 

“By the way, is there anything that we can do for you, Tarquin?” Balthazar asked. 

“Actually, if you, Sona, and Jaime are willing, I can set aside time during the central committee meeting this weekend for you to share your findings or lead a discussion?” 

Balthazar nodded. “Yes, of course. We can put something together for you to review the day prior?” 

“Thank you. Adriata is home to many different Fae species, so feel free to make use of all our resources.” 

“Tarquin, are there any…human-centered organizations in Adriata? I was thinking I could devote some time volunteering for them. Or perhaps, anything else you need assistance on?” Elain piped up, her expression one of strained yearning. Like she was trying to remind them that she was of use.

Humans? That’s right—Lucien said Queen Vassa wanted more fair and equal treatment of humans living in Prythian as well. 

Humans were winnowed temporarily into Adriata during the war, but many of their homes in the human lands had been completely destroyed. So they settled in the Summer Court, which had been challenging for humans and Fae alike. Tarquin had passed several emergency ordinances that protected them from being outright harmed, but living amongst the Fae could not be easy.

“We actually do have a charity that is dedicated to helping humans settle in Adriata,” he recalled. “It’s called Safe Harbor House. Would you be interested?” Elain nodded eagerly. “Alright then. I’ll have Cresseida take you tomorrow morning at 10.”

“Thank you, Tarquin!” Elain said eagerly, blatant relief on her face. 

She reminds me of when I first became High Lord…eager to prove myself and take on all sorts of tasks. Did Feyre and Rhysand not give her any Night Court assignments prior to this? Tarquin observed.

Tarquin bid Balthazar and Elain goodnight, for he had plenty of work to catch up on. But instead of cracking open the latest stack of reports, the High Lord of Summer mused over Lucien’s crimson face and Elain’s shy smile. 

I really shouldn’t pry, but there HAS GOT to be something there. The two of them managed to clear up past miscommunication, which is a good start. And Elain asked if Lucien would eat lunch with her. 

Even though Lucien says he doesn’t know how he feels about Elain, he’s clearly charmed by her. Elain was also noticeably flustered when she recalled the day’s events. But with Lucien hesitating to initiate anything with his mate…and with Elain still used to human customs of courtship…

He suddenly had an idea. Everything was coming together. Tarquin began penning a letter to the High Lady of Winter:

Dear Viviane, I have a strong suspicion that our friend Lucien may be making more progress with Elain than we’d previously thought. If you are returning to Adriata this weekend, I must ask you to join me in devising ways to set the mated pair up…this is my first idea…

Resources linked here!

Read: Ch 10

Notes: Ok but what's Tarquin's idea hmmm? Anyways, this is a LOT OF PLOT but I promise it's laying the groundwork for a reason. Things are going to start picking up next chapter!

[lostbetweenthepagesofthesebooks]

I got a Kindle for Christmas, ya'll, and I freakin loooove it. I read this one on the Kindle because I hadn't decided yet if I actually wanted to physical own this series. We're running out of room in bookshelf.

Overall: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Characters: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Plot: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

The people were right… the series really does pick up with this one. So does the… spiciness.. If that’s your thing. Spoiler ya’ll: it’s not my thing. But I managed.

We’re back in the Spring Court because Feyre has saved all the faeries from the curse and Amarantha, as well as her “love” (right…?). Well, Feyre is miserable. She’s clearly suffering from PTSD from her time Under the Mountain. And rightfully so. Tamlin is responding by… not responding. This is one of the points where people start to hate Tamlin. Feyre makes excuses for him because he went through a lot too. But honestly, people. From Feyre’s POV in the first book, he kind of just… sat there?... and watched everyone else suffer? Obviously we don’t fully know that, and Tamlin had to watch his “love” suffer, which can be a lot on a person. But really, Tamlin? 

ANYWAYS. Feyre is silently suffering. Rhys is nowhere to be found, despite the bargain him and Feyre made. We meet a character named Ianthe and she’s basically walking sex-appeal; we all insistently envision Natalie Dormer right? What’s it about her anyways? She’s certainly, well, interesting. Something major happens for Feyre…. She’s silently panicking, BEGGING for help… BAM. Finally. Rhys. Rhys calls in their bargain and whisks Feyre to the Night Court. Which just sounds so beautiful and peaceful. Feyre, even though she begged for help, is very resistant. Rhys is being his cocky little self, we’re seeing more of the bond being laid down between these two, while he’s attempting to teach Feyre how to read (finally, girl). We go back and forth between Spring, where Feyre is instantly back to her miserable, PTSD self. She’s basically not allowed to do anything, but to remain inside the house and roam the yard a bit. She’s certainly not allowed to tap into whatever potential magic she might have. To Night, where Feyre is still struggling with her PTSD, but at least she’s being encouraged to grapple with it, encouraged to explore, and encouraged to discover her new abilities. During this time we meet the oh-so-lovely Morrigan. 

Another major event occurs where Feyre finally snaps. She completely breaks, and Mor is there to whisk her away. For good. Time in the Night Court is very lovely. For once we start to see Feyre bloom as a whole person, and we get to see her start to tap into her Fae magic, including the magic she inherited from each Court. We meet our beloved crew: Amren, a different type of creature, somewhat cold/wicked, but we love her; Cassian/Cass, Rhys’s fun-loving, general; Azriel/Az, Rhy’s spy, also called the shadowsinger; and Mor, of course, who sounds like Athena from Greek mythology, a beautiful warrior. Until BOOM. Well actually… We first learn of the threat while Feyre is still in Spring Court. But yes. There’s another, bigger threat: Amarantha’s boss - The King of Hybern. But in Night Court we learn much more of this threat and what it means for our characters and Prythian. 

We learn that the King of Hybern is searching out an immensely powerful object, and the crew decides it’ll be quicker, and more important, for them to find an object that can be used with/against this object. Their object is split in two: one part in Human Realm, one part in Fae Realm (specifically, Summer Court). So we do return to the Human Realm, and we see Feyre’s sisters again. They have their prejudices, but it’s also their sister, so they… warm up. Elain is sweet Elain. Nesta is cold Nesta. Their new estate will be grounds for alliance, thus a neutral ground. We learn that there is essentially a gang of human Queens that are meant to rule the Human Realm; they have the one half of the object being sought.

We visit Summer Court, also very lovely. We meet Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer. His cousins Cresseida and Varian. Feyre gets more in touch with her gifts from Summer Court. And the crew manage to swindle away the half of the object they’ve been searching for and away from Summer before they are caught (was their hope, anyways). Eventually the human Queen’s are willing to meet with our crew, but at first refuse them the other half of what they need. Eventually the Queen’s, well really just one them, give them the other half. Something vital has to be given before this happens though.

There’s also some other side stuff happening in between, such as Amren working on decoding the objects, Az being a spymaster, and Feyre training. This stuff is actually pretty important to further the storyline, I’m just trying so hard to not have these reviews so intense. I’m a work in progress. During this time Feyre learns something vital between her and Rhys: they are mates. I won’t go too deep here, I think it’s enough said for here, but there’s some to learn from the book. Feyre also learns what the Dawn Court gave her when she learns of this. There’s also a bit of a tiff that occurs because of this, but… meh. Not really necessary here.

When Hybern invades our beautiful, bustling city of Velaris in the Night Court (successfully thwarted by our crew), they all decide they must act now. On our way to Hybern we go. Yes, dark and dreary and all that stuff. They find the other object, but they were right in thinking that Hybern got it first; and attempt to use their, now combined object. But this time our crew is thwarted. The King of Hybern anticipated this. It’s a big showdown. Turns out Tamlin, Lucien, and Ianthe sold our crew out, as well as Feyre’s sister because they are dragged in by the Queen’s, who have shown up now as well. There’s a back and forth. And spoiler: Nesta and Elain do get affected by the object Hybern has… and now are Made… aka Nesta and Elain have become High Fae. 

Feyre manages to work her own magic by using her gifts from Day Court, while playing the part of someone who has had their memory warped. Another, very small, spoiler: this is an ability that Rhys has, so this becomes a good weapon for Feyre to use against Tamlin, seeing has he truly believes that Rhys has completely brainwashed Feyre (hence, the sell out… yes. He did all of it… for love). It works. And Feyre returns. With Tamlin. To Spring Court.

Obviously our little crew is v confused. And they’re mad at Rhys for “letting this happen”. Rhys reveals that there’s no reason why Feyre, of her own accord, can’t be his spy…. As she is the High Lady of the Night Court. Yes, in a private ceremony Feyre and Rhys get married and have her made as High Lady (which is another thing that Tamlin said would never happen for Feyre).

So basically.. If you can stick through ACOTAR, I think you’ll be fairly happy with this book. This one is more fun imo, and more dramatic. I think we get to see more fantasy on display with this one, if that’s your thing because it is mine. We also get to discover more of the world SJM is giving us, which I also love. I will say, though, I don’t think you can DNF the series at this point. I’m sure you could if you couldn’t finish the book itself, but I feel like if you finish this one, you’re gonna want to read the next one. ACOTAR finished in a way that didn’t leave much, unless you read the ‘In the next book’ portion. ACOMAF ends in a cliff-hanger, so if you want to hang onto the ride, then yes, I totally recommend.

Read on beautiful people. 📖🤘

Now this spot is for when I want to get a little more into my thoughts and feelings about the book, with the addition that there will more than likely be major spoilers. I realized some of the other reviews I wasn’t getting quite what I needed/wanted. And I’m still trying to be mindful for people who haven’t read these books, but I also wanted to have space for those who have read these books and are looking for more opinions!

So from the top… Feyre back in Spring Court. Going through Feyre’s PTSD episodes… I felt these were a bit lack luster. I’m not trying to minimize anything, but I guess I wish her time Under the Mountain had went into more detail. Maybe even excruciating detail. Under The Mountain was definitely wild, but I also wanted to feel more of Feyre’s moments after each trial, and I really did not think we got that. Thus, I felt sad for Feyre, but it just didn’t quite hit. BUT what did hit was Tamlin just there and not offering any type of help when the person he “loves” is clearly suffering. There’s no way in hell he doesn’t hear/feel Feyre get up, nearly every night to puke her guts out; and girlfriend has to be thrashing in the bed during her nightmares. 

Up until this point… and basically for this whole book, honestly… I don’t hate Tamlin. (Even after ACOWAR, I don’t hate Tamlin). I don’t hate him because SJM clearly put no effort into his character because she had something else geared up. Which is actually unfortunate because I do think if she devoted more time to this guy, the story would’ve been even better. First book, we should’ve been DOWN for Tamlin… we should’ve fallen for the idea of Tamlin and Feyre. They had nothing. There was no yearning for these two. I never even believed they were in love with each other, or even just the idea of each other. I never bought it. This book, there’s still no trying. Maybe starting to make him out to be the bad guy, but it felt like a very weak attempt. Like even his freak out moment in the library, and then leaving Feyre locked up in the manor. This was a major eye roll to me, but I wasn’t like… “OH MY GOD HE’S THE WORST”. Not saying his action were okay, but I still kinda saw where he was coming from. 

I’d say the only time I was actually like “oh come on douche-canoe” is when Tamlin said Feyre wouldn’t be honing her powers. Dude?? She’s gonna be more powerful than you and you don’t think you should consider it? Is it an ego thing?? And then when he said there’s no such thing as a High Lady, but this too, was more like an eye-roll. This just felt like small-minded thinking, ignorance; this one didn’t come off as egotistical or patriarchal, at least to me, it just seemed like something he couldn’t really wrap his mind around. Again, though, plenty of missed opportunities here to make Tamlin either more complex, or truly paint him as our villain, or at least a guy to actually despise. 

I found the wedding day to be a little lame, until Rhys shows up. I just feel like SJM does not try with the Spring Court. She saved all her cards for Night, and it’s just disappointing. Rhys epic arrival… certainly sounds epic. It sounds like it’s written for a big TV or movie moment, though. I feel like I should add something about Ianthe, but she’s just kinda there. She’s for the plot to move along in this book. She’s definitely sus when we meet her in Spring, and we find out why. She does suck as a being, though. 

Night Court… oh so beautiful and lovely, like I said. But I honestly don’t have a preference. We really see the most of Night Court vs. any others. But honestly… all the courts sound lovely. We get snippets of all but I believe Day Court in the next book. Feyre describes them as all very beautiful courts, and all the AI and fanart certainly makes them out to be this way. So I really don’t have a preference here. But our main posse lives in Night, so I mean… we gotta favor Night Court, right?

We do get to go to Summer Court for a bit, which is fun to see. We don’t get too much of Summer Court’s abilities, we see it more so from Feyre’s side I feel like. There’s actually a lot to Prythian that SJM is offering, and I don’t think we’re going to see enough of it. Which makes me sad and disappointed. I get it. There’s enough series, and I get exhausted with series too at times. But I also get frustrated with being so intrigued with a world, but then realize we only get to have snippets. I’m also not finished with the series, so we shall see. 

I l o v e getting to see Feyre start to play with the other powers she inherited from the other courts in this book. They’re on minor display, but I think that works considering she’s just realizing they are there. This stuff is why I really like this series. I’m all about seeing fantasy on display. Hence why I was not here for the smut. If that’s ya’ll’s thing… so be it. It’s definitely here in this book. 

I also want to go off a little bit about Feyre’s tantrum of Rhys not mentioning the mate bond between them. I really did not get any of this. In her POV, she feels like she had been lied to, but I feel like with more than half a brain you realize this isn’t the case? Homeboy was scared. That’s kind of a big deal. Sure, he probably could’ve mentioned it sooner, but I also feel like there would never be a great time to bring that up? It feels daunting. “This is your mate.” Rhys still wanted Feyre to have her own choice… and we learn you can still have a choice in the mating bond, but the mentality of it, ya know? 

Also side note: I’m tired of people complaining about how Rhys is allowing Feyre her space to make her own decisions and people are like “UH YEAH THAT’S THE NORMAL THING TO DO AND HE’S ‘GIVING’ THIS TO HER? AND SHE’S JUST SO GRATEFUL THAT HE ALWAYS ‘ALLOWS’ HER CHOICE?!” ya’ll. be so fucking for real right now. 

As for the Hybern show-down. This was pretty fun and epic. Sisters getting thrown in the Cauldron was v dramatic. And we learn this is where Ianthe betrays Feyre, because she claims that she thought this was what Feyre wanted, for her sisters to be Fae with her. But this is also the point where I went ‘so this is a story where the main character literally gets it all… are we gonna have any true heartbreak?’ Elain, so far, I could without being Fae. Of course Nesta. What Nesta does when becoming High Fae. I. Am. Here. For. It. (I am also here for Nesta’s ‘transformation’ aka ACOSF). 

I didn’t hate the King of Hybern. He’s just all pride. This is fine. He’s a good antagonist, maybe even just an okay one. He’s just brutal is all. But the human Queen’s… them I hate. So SJM did good with that one. Feyre’s spell-breaking and then acting was actually pretty good, I was pleasantly surprised with this bit of the action. And then learning she was High Lady actually did make me a bit giddy.

So yes.. I do agree that it picks up in this one, but this one isn’t my favorite. It comes second to ACOWAR for now as I haven’t finished ACOSF.

[allmyhandsaretired]

In conversations which had not happened, or would not happen, and for which ten, twenty years would have to pass if they were to happen, but that happened anyway, I would tell them this:

I would tell them we spent most of the year apart, that it was indeed unfortunate but not tragic and that we were both always thinking of the other. I would tell them that I still came down to visit every few weeks and that we spent all of our time doing everything together until it was time to go back into the world for us both. But that we wouldn't really get to talk much in those small interims. I would tell them, however, that come summer we would both move back into mutual hybernation, that you came up here or I went down there and that from the moment we saw each other and could hear the other speak we'd talk for four months straight. Nonstop. That you'd write every night and that that was still talking. I'd tell them that there was nothing better than knowing I got to read what you wrote before anyone else did. Except maybe knowing you and learning of you through the page. I'd tell them that absolutely nothing of what I wrote mattered if you didn't read it. I'd tell them we'd speak until words grew tired and the days grew shorter, and that then you'd fly down or I'd drive up and that yes, sure, we did spend most of the year apart, that it was indeed unfortunate, but never tragic.

[songofthesibyl]

A lot of it is based on people somehow knowing what kind of High Lord he was for at least centuries, when all we know is what he was at the end of all that time—someone Lucien would decide to stay with, that his people support and would gladly go to their deaths for. Whose court was beautiful and thriving. There’s just this vague statement about “ambition” that is said in contrast to Rhys, who had a “vision” that has left his court in the same kind of stasis he started with. Rhys even looks down on Tamlin, perhaps only for him being impractical, for not being more cruel, for not observing rank. So yes, from ACOMAF on he is no longer a good leader—but that is a sum total of maybe a couple years out of centuries. He doesn’t do the Great Rite because he can’t stomach it one time (maybe two or three at this point, I forget the timeline), but presumably he did it every other time before that. The neglect Eris describes is solely from the time from ACOFAS onward, and nothing more. Azriel laments Tamlin needs to master his guilt and grief and “become what he once was.” If Tamlin had stepped down, say, after the study scene in ACOMAF, and left Lucien in charge to go to some kind of House of Healing (not one with Ianthe in charge…), would people have praised him? No, they would have called him selfish and self-indulgent, neglecting his people in a time of war with Hybern, and possibly the Night Court as well. He would have been seen as weak as a person, a “male,” and a High Lord. The result of that is seen now. Though he has moments of lucidity, he clearly is unwell, slowly killing himself by being in his beast form. It’s not a matter of not caring about his court, it’s a matter of being in crisis and having no support (Lucien simply can’t be solely responsible for his well-being, that’s part of the problem). Instead people are goading him, suicide-baiting, and telling him nothing he does will make a difference or ever make it better. And then claiming to care about what happens to the Spring Court as if that’s the height of altruism. No one cares at this point besides Summer and Lucien. And Tamlin doesn’t even care about himself—it goes far beyond being irresponsible or neglectful. It’s still only a couple of years, though.

Everytime I read something that says Tamlin wasn't a good High Lord I want to scream. Tamlin was absolutely a good High Lord until SJM decided she wanted to villanize him and made his character go haywire and then Feyre came and dragged his court and him through the mud for her vendetta. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

[rosanna-writer]

to make them love me and make it seem effortless (chapter 3)

Summary: When the High Lord of the Spring Court whisks her off to Prythian, it's exactly what Feyre Archeron wants. Her plan: let Tamlin romance her to break the curse and use her proximity to him to pass military secrets back to the mortals. And it works— until a certain other High Lord tries to steal documents she's after.

Pairing: Feysand

A/N: In this AU, Spring is cursed during the War, Feyre is born much earlier, and Hybern reins Amarantha in when she goes rogue.

Back to Rhys's POV for this chapter!

Third chapter is below, and you can also find it here (along with the rest) on AO3 :)

The infighting is delicious.

When I arrived at the battlefield tent designated for negotiations, Tamlin charged me. I winnowed away before he could lay a talon on me. Nevertheless, Hybern and Beron each grabbed an arm and held him back.

I give them a wide berth as we wait for the others to arrive, but I can hear some irritated whispers about "just a mortal girl" and "get your head on straight" and "don't make this any worse than it already is."

In fact, Tamlin makes it easy on me. The rest of his alliance is so concerned with reining him in that I don't actually have to answer any difficult questions about what Feyre is doing in the Night Court. It isn't long before the rest of the High Lords and the mortal queens arrive and the conversation turns to other matters.

I just wish Feyre was here to see it. But perhaps getting to tell her all the details of our enemies shooting themselves in the foot will be the next best thing.

The bond has been quiet since I left. I hope that means she's getting the rest she needs, but with how murky the connection is, I can't be sure.

Around mid-day, I feel a slight shift. It's almost too subtle to notice, but I think she's awake. I scribble a note for her.

Good morning, Feyre darling. Tamlin is seething but it hasn't come to blows. He's managed to keep your name out of his mouth. It's going well.

The note disappears into thin air, but no one thinks twice. Plenty of others at the table have sent similar notes back to their own advisors all morning.

It's quite a while before the note returns with Feyre's addition under my own. Her handwriting is the most hideous chicken scratch I've ever seen, hardly legible at all.

Good to hear.

I add my next message on the next line under it. Did you sleep well? There is talk about handling the sudden influx of mortal refugees fleeing the opposition. Thoughts?

It takes even longer for the paper to return again, so long that I get wrapped up in a discussion of a proposed change from Helion and almost forget that I sent it. But it comes back in that same scrawl.

Yes thanks. The mortal queens should help but won't. Not much use opening up Prythian's borders, they're too afraid of fae. Better to send supplies.

I had suspected the same, but it's good to have Feyre confirm my suspicions. Despite their posturing, the mortal queens have struck me as too self-involved to do the right thing and provide for the newly-freed mortals who will be flocking to their lands. As much as I'd rather not pick up their slack, there are much worse uses for Night Court resources than making sure vulnerable people are provided for.

I send back one more message thanking her and don't think much of it after that. There's a heated argument about redrawing the borders to transfer some of Autumn and Spring's territories to Summer, and the shouting takes my full attention.

But the paper comes back again, and when I see her addition, I nearly drop it in shock.

I never would have guessed my mate was an artist.

On the bottom margin, she's drawn a mountain range below a night sky. It's a remarkable level of detail for something so small, the shading just so. And above the highest peak, there are three stars. It's not just any mountain— it's Ramiel.

I fold the paper and pocket it to keep it safe. We break for lunch, but as much as I want to see Feyre again, there is work to be done.

I find Azriel in the tent we've designed as our headquarters, reading over what I assume are the most recent intelligence reports.

He looks up when he hears me enter. "Are you making any progress?" he says, not bothering with a greeting.

"Some but not as much as I'd like," I say. I'll give the full details later, when I can meet with the rest of the Inner Circle together at once.

"Feyre's father is alive and well. Their fortunes ‘just so happened’ to turn around after she left for the Spring Court," Azriel says.

"Tamlin's doing?"

"Seems like it."

"Is that her only family?"

Azriel hesitates, which tells me that the answer is going to be unpleasant. I brace myself for whatever bad news I'm going to have to relay to my mate.

"Her mother died years ago. She has two sisters who I've been unable to locate."

Even outside the Night Court, all the way in the mortal lands, Azriel can find anyone. Either they're in hiding, or someone else doesn't want them to be found. I don't know what that means.

Before I can answer, Cassian pushes open the tent flap and enters. "Your mate thinks like a general, Rhys," he says with a grin.

“The fact that you think that’s a compliment says more about you than it does about her, general, ” I say.

Cassian laughs. "I'm not wrong, though. She's all backbone."

The respect in his voice gives me a warm feeling. Maybe it's too much too soon, but I can picture Feyre slotting herself into my family, as if she's always belonged here.

"I don't disagree," I say. Cass and Az share a knowing look, and because I have no desire to get into a discussion regarding what transpired over breakfast, I change the subject. "Any new developments this morning?"

Cass shakes his head. "No, I've been in the healers’ tents all morning, trying to visit the wounded and get a sense of morale. Everyone is eager to go home."

"It's too early for me to give you a timeframe," I say. There's nothing I want more than to send my soldiers home, but the ceasefire is still so fragile. With all the yelling this morning, it seems possible, even likely, that fighting could break out again, and we can't be caught flat-footed. I'd like for my soldiers to be home by Starfall, but I don't know if that's realistic.

"Understood," Cassian says.

I nod, and then it occurs to me that Cassian probably has more time on his hands than he has in a while. "If Feyre is interested in training, would you be able to help with that?" I say.

"Do you even have to ask?" Cass says with a grin.

"You should get her a bow. I saw calluses on her fingertips, the kind you get when you shoot without a decent finger guard," Az says.

I think back to how rough her hand had felt when it brushed mine this morning. My mind had been elsewhere, and I hadn't considered what she’d been up to that made her hands like that. But now, I wonder why she spent so much time shooting without basic protective gear. It's one more entry on the growing list of questions to ask when I see her next.

"That's simple enough," I say, and I'm sure Cass is already devising ways to add moving targets to the training ring.

There is more negotiating to do, so I don't linger much longer. The rest of the afternoon devolves into petty squabbles, and it's evident that I'm not the only one at the table who hasn't slept. High Lords can be capricious on a good day, and everyone's patience is thin. We end without much progress.

I sent another note to Feyre, so she's waiting for me in the study when I winnow back to the Moonstone Palace. Her hair is damp, and she's changed into another set of Mor's clothes.

"You look exhausted," she says.

"Hello to you too," I say.

That cloying perfume from last night is gone, and I can properly smell her for the first time. It’s the same scent from my dreams. I wish I could bury my face in her hair and just inhale, but I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate that.

She tilts her head. "Did— Did you just sniff me?"

"You smell like yourself now."

She gives me a look that's equal parts puzzled and irritated. "Gods-damned fae and your noses."

I laugh and lean against the desk, feeling some of the stress of the day fade, just from being near her. Unfortunately, the day isn't over.

"We're meeting with the rest of the Inner Circle soon, but I have news for you," I say.

"You do?" she says and grimaces, as if the only kind of news she can imagine is the bad kind.

"Azriel confirmed your father is alive and well."

I'd expected relief at that, but the grimace stays in place. "Good."

"And your sisters are missing."

"I expected that."

I do my best to stay out of her mind, but I can still feel her disappointment through the bond. "I'll have Azriel keep looking."

"If they want to be found, they'll come to me." I don't say anything, just try to puzzle out what that means. Eventually she continues, "When I left for Spring, we knew it might put a target on their backs. Humans hate fae, plus there was a chance someone could use them to get to me, and then me to get to Tamlin. So they went into hiding, and it's probably for the best that they stay that way for now."

"They would be safe here." I can’t let it go unsaid, but I’m sure by now that she’s aware of this, too.

"I know. If this peace lasts, they'll find me."

I want to pull her close and tell her that I'll fix it for her, but I don't want to overwhelm her further. I feel completely ineffectual, just standing here.

"I'm sorry." It's not even close to sufficient.

"It happens. We weren't close. Can we change the subject?"

She’s staring straight ahead at a spot on the wall, not looking at me. There's a swirl of emotions on her end of the bond, too mixed to really name, but none of them positive. Whatever the story is with Feyre's family, it's complicated. I don't blame her for not wanting to share, at least not yet.

"Of course. Cassian has found himself with more time on his hands. Are you interested in training?"

She turns back to back to me. "Training?"

"To fight. Not that I think your knife skills are subpar after last night."

That, at least, gets her to crack the barest hint of a smile. "Yes. It might do me some good to get outside and hit something."

With an answer like that, Feyre really is going to fit in here. Cassian will be delighted. "Perfect. Azriel said you may be interested in a bow. Because of the calluses on your hands."

At the mention of the calluses, she flips her hands over and starts to pick at them. "The last few months are the longest I've gone without shooting since I first learned. It's how I kept my family fed," she says.

There's another story there, but after how she reacted to the news about her family, it's clear now isn't the time.

"Most Illyrian warriors train with a bow. It's a convenient weapon to shoot while airborne."

When we were younger, Cass and Az both out-shot me during every single target practice session. Something tells me Feyre is also a better shot than me, but I keep that to myself. Better to delay the inevitable ribbing and temporarily preserve my dignity.

"It will be good to get my hands on one again." Her fingers twitch as if she’s already curling them around a bowstring.

"Perfect. Next order of business—"

"How many orders of business do you have ?"

"Two more, and we'd get through them quickly if I wasn't so rudely interrupted—"

I'm cut off by a ball of scratch paper that Feyre flings at my head. I duck and mist it before it hits the wall.

"Prick," she mutters, but she's smiling again and I am, too.

"As I was saying," I say pointedly, "Tomorrow we're going to start teaching you to shield your mind."

Her brow furrows. "Can mortals even do that?"

"With extensive practice, yes. You need a more reliable way to keep me out of that lovely head of yours. I try my best, but the bond seems to amplify you, and you insist on thinking at full volume."

"Alright. And the last order of business?"

"We're debriefing with the rest of the Inner Circle and making a plan for negotiations tomorrow. We're meeting at the House of Wind, so I'll leave it up to you. Should we fly there or winnow?"

"Fly? But you don't—" I unfurl my wings, and my smile just grows wider at her shocked expression. "Why didn't you tell me you have wings?"

"You didn't ask," I say innocently.

"Most people don't have hidden..." She trails off and struggles to find the right word. Finally, she manages to splutter, “Appendages.”

"There's nothing I'd love more than showing you all my appendages, Feyre darling," I purr.

"Prick."

She's faster this time, or maybe with my wings outstretched I have more surface area, and another ball of scratch paper flies through the air and grazes my wingtip. It gets stuck on a talon, and I fling it back at her. She ducks before it even gets close to her.

"You didn't answer my question. Winnowing or flying?" It seems almost too good to be true that she didn't bolt after the flirting, so I half-expect her to reveal a crippling fear of heights because I'm due for a disappointment.

But she says, "Flying."

Once we're at the window, I hook one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders. She circles her arms around my neck, and the full force of her scent hits me again. I just drink it in for a moment, the feeling of her warm body pressed against my chest and her breath on my neck.

I push off into the air, and her entire body goes stiff. There's a sharp jolt of panic across the bond.

"It's alright, Feyre. I'll go slow," I say softly. I can't hover, but once we're at a proper altitude, I slow down.

If she wants to spend the entire flight with her face buried between my neck and shoulder, I can't say I mind. But there's so much I want to show her, and flying is the easiest way to do it. After a minute, she feels less rigid.

"Can you look down? I want you to see the city," I say.

She tips her head away from me and gives a small gasp of surprise. "It's beautiful."

"This is Velaris, City of Starlight."

"Is there a reason it's on all of your maps and none of Tamlin's?"

I take that to mean she's made full use of the library while I've been gone. Industrious of her, but I wish she'd gotten more rest. "Yes," I say, then explain how the city has been kept hidden for years.

She's quiet after that, and it's peaceful, perfect, just flying through the night air with my mate in my arms. Everything feels right in a way I never knew it could.

After a moment, she says, "That mountain over there, the one under three stars…"

"That's Ramiel," I say, "You might have seen it on the Night Court insignia."

"I haven't. When I was doodling today, I didn't think much of it. It just seemed like the right place for the stars to go. I had no idea it was a real place."

The enormity of that washes over us both. It's terrifying in some ways, how deep this bond goes, the power of it. If it weren't accompanied by the bone-deep, instinctive sense of trust, I think we both might have fallen apart today.

As we approach the House of Wind, Cass and Az catch up to us, bringing Mor and Amren with. The sight of them pulls me out of my thoughts and back to the task we have at hand: updating each other and making plans.

As I set Feyre down, Mor says, "Nice shoes, Feyre. Where'd you get them?"

The peal of laughter that gets from Feyre makes me think that wasn't a genuine question and there's context I'm missing. How the two of them have already managed to have an inside joke is beyond me. But I can't complain at the sight of one more puzzle piece sliding into place, even if the prospect of them joining forces is a little intimidating.

But there's no time to waste, so the six of us head straight to the war room. Mor and Amren give updates on how the rest of the Night Court is taking the news: similarly to Cassian's troops, they're relieved and eager to know when their loved ones will be home. There are no major updates from Cassian or Azriel since we talked earlier.

As I start to describe Tamlin's reaction this morning, I watch Feyre and don't try to hide it. There's nothing but cold fury on her side of the bond. Her face is blank, but her posture is tense.

I reach out with my mind. What's wrong?

He tried to hurt you.

I'd feel the same way in her position, but it's still a marvel that she would care this much. When I recount the rest of the day, she relaxes, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, at the news that the subject of her departure from Spring was dropped fairly quickly. Through the bond I feel her anger melt into something I can’t define until I realize it's a vicious sort of satisfaction.

We debate methods for giving Tamlin reassurance that Feyre is alive and unscathed, but none of us can think of one that will be sufficient proof without putting Feyre in harm's way. Feyre goes quiet throughout the whole discussion. I don't like it, but I don't feel anything concerning through the bond, so I stay out of her head. When we find that we're talking in circles, we agree to move onto the next item on the agenda.

I lay out the concerns that were raised regarding the incoming newly-freed mortals. And that's when Feyre finally cuts in.

"The mortal queens have enough poverty in their lands already. I would know," she says. "They don't care about their existing subjects, and humans would never relocate to Prythian."

"Not even if we carve out room? Have Tamlin, Hybern, and Beron give some of their territory to the mortals as reparations?" Mor says.

All eyes fall on Feyre, who seems to be considering it. "It could work," she says, "But they'd need more than land. Resources until they can stand on their own two feet, maybe some kind of protection. I think it would be delicate."

"It could stretch us thin. Could we manage that and take care of our own?" Amren says.

Feyre bristles, but it's a valid question. Ultimately, my first duty is to the Night Court. "Not alone, but with the other Courts, we could," I say.

"And I could be a bridge," Feyre says, before I even have a chance to ask if she would.

It seems like so much to put on her shoulders, especially when she's untested, but she wouldn't be alone. I can’t devote much time to foreign affairs when there is still so much rebuilding to do, but Mor and Amren are accomplished stateswomen in their own right. They could guide her even if I can't.

"Then I'll see if the rest of our alliance is open to the idea," I say.

We move on and tie up a few loose ends before we break. As the six of us walk back downstairs, the mood lightens. There are celebrations happening across the city tonight, and I'd be drinking and dancing with the rest of them if I wasn't so tired.

"You should go with them if you want," I tell Feyre.

"Not this time. I'm exhausted," she says.

The promise of a next time is so casual, but it means everything. She could stay here and be carefree for once in her life.

My friends don't badger either of us to come out with them, the way they would normally do if I insisted on staying home. As little rest as they've gotten, I think they can tell the past day has been taxing in additional ways for Feyre and me. They say their goodbyes and leave the two of us alone together on the balcony.

"I'm planning on staying here tonight, not the Moonstone Palace, if that's alright. Mor has another set of clothes here too, and Cassian will likely want to use the training ring here in the morning," I say.

"Does Mor stay wherever you do?" she asks.

"She doesn't like to be alone, but I don't think she'll be back tonight." I consider asking her about the shoes but it seems like something that's between the two of them. "Dinner?"

"I promise I won't try to slip you any food."

I think she means it as a joke, but I can't find it funny. Even with the bond, we still have no idea what we can and can't joke about. "Please don't."

I drag a chair out to the balcony along with my food, and Feyre follows suit. There's music drifting up from the celebrations below and more lights glowing than I've seen in a while.

Feyre stares down at it as she eats, a pensive expression on her face. I'm not sure what emotion it is I feel from the bond, but it's not warm or happy. "This is all so beautiful," she says, and I'm not sure what she means. "You're not going to hide the ugly parts of your court from me, are you? Not— Not like Tamlin did?"

"I love my court and my people, but it's far from perfect here. I wouldn't hide that from you, but it seems better to ease you into it," I say.

She pushes some of her food around with her fork. “Tamlin told me about mating bonds because he thought it might snap for him. But he didn’t mention the mating frenzy. He must have thought it would scare me.”

“He’s an idiot. You don’t scare easily,” I say. She keeps pushing the food around on her plate, so I add, “But no, I won’t do what he did. There’s only so much information we can take in at a time, and I don’t see a reason to frontload the worst parts.”

She fixes me with a penetrating look, and says, "Alright." I hope that means she's satisfied with the answer.

We both turn back to the food and go quiet. I'm too lost in thought to really taste anything, but at least for me, the silence feels companionable. After a day of heated meetings, it's like a balm.

I get up to grab wine and pour a second glass for her without thinking about it. When I sit back down, she accepts it with a quiet "thank you."

"I don't want to be in your head right now, but I'll give you a thought for a thought," I say, taking a sip.

"I'm wondering if this is as strange for you as it is for me, feeling this deep connection but not even knowing your favorite color."

"This is without a doubt the most bizarre experience of my life."

She smiles into her glass. "That makes me feel better."

"And for the record, it's dark blue, the color the sky turns as night falls. What's yours?"

"Violet."

"Why?" She shakes her head, and I catch sight of her cheeks flushing before she buries her face in her empty hand. "Feyre..." She just shakes her head again and doesn't look at me. I don't need the bond to know she's embarrassed. Now I'm dying to know, but there's no use in pushing her. "Fine. My turn then. I'm wondering what kind of person calls what you drew today a doodle. It was intricate."

Feyre looks up and shrugs. "It only took me a few minutes. I needed a break from reading."

"How much of an artist are you?"

"Not as much as I'd like. I like painting the best, but we didn't have much money for supplies, so I didn't always get the chance. But pencils are cheap, and charcoal is cheaper, so I'm better with those."

That settles it— I'm taking her to the Rainbow as soon as I get the chance. "The first dream I had of you was your hand painting flowers on a table."

And there it is again, the enormity of the bond between us. It seems we can't escape it, even when we're making idle chitchat. Feyre downs the rest of her wine.

We don't say much else, and I don't remember when the exhaustion finally claims me and I drift off in the chair. When I wake a couple hours later, she's not there. I panic for a half a second until I notice the blanket over my legs and realize she must have put it there.

[moodymelanist]

Where The Light Won't Find You

Nesta Archeron descends into the darkness.

What if Nesta went into the Court of Nightmares?

So... fully blaming @separatist-apologist for this one. Her evil!Elucien is so sexy that I had to get in on the fun (but for eventually evil!Nessian). No clue when I’ll keep updating this but I’m making myself post this now while I’m excited LOL

Read on AO3 here!

Chapter One

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Nesta

Nesta thought she’d been angry living with her father in that tiny hovel. She thought she’d been furious seeing him do nothing day after day, content to let them starve until Feyre went into the woods, but nothing compared to how livid she was at her youngest sister forcing her to submit. Yet again. Because somehow, little Feyre always knew best.

As she sat in Feyre’s ridiculously opulent living room, wallowing in just how out of place she was, she leveled a glare in her sister’s direction. Feyre was flanked by that arrogant husband of hers, who was clearly enjoying himself, along with Amren and Cassian. Elain was nowhere to be found, and neither was the Shadowsinger, but he at least had the excuse of likely being out on Court business. 

“I’m not moving to the House of Wind,” Nesta said flatly, her tone cold as ice. “I’m not a member of this court. You can’t do this.”

“It’s not up for debate,” Amren replied just as frostily. “You can either go to the House of Wind to train with Cassian in the mornings and work in the library in the afternoons...”

Nesta turned to her sister and completely ignored Amren, careful to keep her face blank even as she raged inside. She hadn’t spoken to Amren since their fight on the pleasure barge earlier that summer, and she had no intention of changing that now. “Or?”

“Or we can take you back to the human lands,” Feyre continued, shifting in her seat under the intensity of Nesta’s gaze. “It’s up to you.”

“Those are my only options?” Nesta almost snarled. Anyone with a brain could see that these weren’t true choices; she was just picking between two prisons. One a gilded cage and the other a guaranteed death sentence, especially if she was returned anywhere near their old village. She hadn’t heard about anything of note after the war with Hybern, but she hadn’t forgotten the grove of ash trees in Graysen’s estate.

“I— yes.” Feyre squared her shoulders and stopped her fidgeting long enough to stare Nesta down. “We discussed them, and we feel that’s the best we can offer you right now.”

“You have no right,” Nesta hissed, practically seeing red from how enraged she was. She was a grown woman – how dare Feyre and her new family act like they had any authority over her. “You dragged Elain and I into this mess. You are the reason I’m like this, why I’m stuck here in this wretched body—”

“Enough,” Rhysand snapped. Night-kissed power leaked from him and Nesta made sure her silver fire didn’t shake their precious mansion in response. As far as everyone knew, her powers had vanished with the Cauldron, and she wanted to keep things that way. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Be quiet, or you can leave,” Feyre told him sternly before Nesta could hiss something back. Feyre leveled her own fierce glare at her husband before turning back to Nesta. “I don’t care what you say, Nesta. You’re going up to the House and training, and that’s final.”

“How is Elain supposed to see me?” Nesta fired back. “How am I supposed to do anything without assistance?”

“You’re welcome to walk down the ten thousand steps,” Feyre suggested, even though everyone knew Nesta wasn’t physically able to do that. “Or someone can transport you, if they’re so inclined.”

“Elain can do neither of these things,” Nesta hissed. She didn’t miss how Feyre’s shoulders tightened just slightly at the mention of their sister – perhaps Elain wasn’t folding into Feyre’s little plan as easily as Feyre assumed she would. “How am I supposed to see her?”

Nesta hadn’t spoken to Elain much since last Solstice, but it certainly wasn’t for Elain’s lack of trying. Nesta just didn’t have the words to explain how heavily the darkness weighed on her, especially when Elain seemed to be thriving here in Velaris. She didn’t know how to talk about how when she wasn’t numb to everything, all she could feel was rage. 

Still, she would use every opportunity to try and wiggle her way out of yet another one of Feyre’s absurd demands. Elain would forgive her.

“You can work that out between yourselves,” Feyre answered smoothly. “But I’m sure Cassian would be happy to take you to see Elain.”

Nesta slid her gaze over to him, curling her lip as she looked him up and down. He hadn’t bothered to use that time he’d promised her on the battlefield, and she had no plans to ask him for it now. “I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

“Too bad, sweetheart,” Cassian replied mildly. His wings shifted behind him, betraying his true anxiety about the situation, and she held back from calling him out on it. “We’re training tomorrow whether you like it or not. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep.”

“I don’t recall asking for your guidance,” she snapped. It was almost painful to look at him, knowing he’d participated in planning this farce of an intervention, so she pursed her lips and dismissed his presence altogether. She turned her gaze back to Feyre, whose cheeks had turned slightly red in anger. So she could get upset on behalf of her new family, but not for Nesta. Never for Nesta. “I want to speak to you. Alone.”

“Fine.” Feyre waited until it was just her and Nesta before she spoke again. “You can’t insult your way out of this one, Nesta. No matter what you say, I’m done paying for this behavior.”

“You’re not paying for anything,” Nesta cruelly pointed out. She knew Feyre was right about not being able to insult her way out of this, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. “It���s your precious husband’s money.”

Feyre flinched slightly as the mark landed as intended. “It doesn’t matter whose money it is. You’re embarrassing us, and I won’t have it anymore. We won’t have it anymore.”

“I didn’t know my life was under your discretion,” Nesta replied flatly. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest as the walls continued to close in, but she wasn’t going to go quietly. “I didn’t know you could even feel embarrassment with all the money he throws around.”

“You spent five hundred gold marks last night, Nesta!” Feyre shouted, her eyes flashing. Nesta refused to be cowed; she’d seen Feyre get upset so many times over the years it barely even registered anymore. “Do you have any idea how much money that is? And how ridiculous it was to see what you spent it on? How humiliating it was for my family to see that?”

My family. Something Nesta clearly wasn’t a part of anymore. “You saving face isn’t my problem—”

“It is now,” Feyre retorted. “You’re going to train at Windhaven with Cassian, and you’re going to work in the library. You won’t be causing any more trouble.”

“I won’t go.”

“We packed up your things and sent them over to the House. Rhys spoke to the landlord, and your building is going to be torn down and rebuilt as a shelter for families displaced by the war.”

Nesta was so caught off guard she couldn’t hold back her power for a moment, gritting her teeth as she fought against the silver fire flowing through her veins. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s already done, Nesta,” Feyre told her. She took a deep breath and schooled her features into careful neutrality, something she’d clearly learned from Nesta, before continuing. “Are we finished having this pointless argument? Everyone is waiting.”

“I’m never speaking to you again,” Nesta vowed, her voice almost shaking with rage. How dare Feyre take away one of the only choices she’d ever made for herself, as if it were nothing? Like Nesta herself was nothing, just a doll to be moved from cage to cage as Feyre saw fit.

“That’s fine,” Feyre replied, shrugging before getting up off the couch. “Talk to whoever you’d like. It won’t change the reality of the situation.”

A few minutes later, Nesta found herself standing in the entry hall with Cassian and Feyre. She said nothing as they made idle conversation around her, confirming details of how they were getting to the House and which of Nesta’s things had been packed against her will. Her skin crawled at the thought of them forcing their way into her apartment, combing their fingers through her possessions, judging her for the way she’d decided to live. 

She wasn’t stupid – she knew she wasn’t living up to the standards everyone had set for her. Rhea had made her expectations for Nesta’s life very clear, and Feyre and Elain had heard her parrot their mother’s wishes for so long that they’d been appalled to see the kind of neighborhood she’d ended up in after the war. But it had been her decision, her choice about where to live, how to dress, what shops to frequent. It was supposed to be up to her to decide when she would see her so-called family; she hadn’t wanted to reveal any kind of weakness to them, so she’d kept herself as far removed as possible.

And now she couldn’t even have that.

Instead of contributing to the conversation, Nesta focused on keeping that raging power of hers under control. She might have been almost blinded with rage, but she didn’t want to explode and accidentally hurt anyone. It was bad enough that she hadn’t been able to keep herself under control during her argument with Feyre; she wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

Any hope of quieting her anger disappeared as Morrigan waltzed into the room, exchanging hugs with Cassian and Feyre before saying something to Nesta about wearing her leathers in Windhaven tomorrow.

Nesta just looked at her, an icy glare firmly in place; there was no need for a mask for that one. Morrigan gave her the fakest smile she’d ever seen before turning back to her friends – no, her family – to continue laughing and joking with them. 

Feyre eventually cleared her throat before walking over to Nesta. “Today you can focus on getting settled on the House and unpacking your things. Maybe get some rest?”

Nesta said nothing, not even looking in Feyre’s direction. She decided to focus her attention on the wall across from her; as children, being ignored bothered Feyre like nothing else. Perhaps it still held true.

Morrigan and Cassian continued poking fun at one another as Feyre shifted awkwardly on her feet. “Alright. We’ll talk soon.”

We won’t, Nesta thought as she continued to ignore Feyre. When Morrigan offered her elbows to her and Cassian, Nesta reached out and grabbed one, keeping her chin high even as she wanted to scream in frustration. She remained silent as Morrigan gave Cassian a look, which he thankfully didn’t return. He winked at Feyre instead before they disappeared, which somehow felt worse.

She intentionally tensed her body as Cassian grabbed her in mid-air. He sighed before flying them safely to the balcony below, and the second his feet were on the ground, she shoved her way out of his grip and made her way towards the door. It was cold out and she hadn’t brought her gloves, but she wasn’t going to admit she needed any extra warmth, lest Cassian get any ideas.

“You’ll be in your old room,” he called out to her retreating back. She didn’t stop walking, placing one hand on the door handle before turning to scowl at him. “My room’s a level above that.”

“Why would I need to know that?” she asked, pulling the thick door open with a grunt. Had the door gotten heavier, or had she gotten weaker? Probably the latter, she realized. She knew she’d gotten smaller and smaller as the months had passed by, but to struggle opening a door was a new low. 

That seemed to be a pattern for her these days.

“Maybe you’ll need someone to read you a bedtime story,” he teased while following her inside. He held the door open effortlessly and she scowled even further at him for showing off his strength. “I hope it’s one of those smutty books you like so much.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response as she walked towards the stairs, eager to get to her room and finally be alone. He followed her and easily matched her pace with his much longer legs as they walked downstairs. “I don’t remember asking for an escort.”

“I’m just making sure you make it there in one piece,” he replied easily. He didn’t seem too bothered by her attitude, which only made her bad mood even worse. “Az is two doors down from me, but he won’t be here much. It’ll mostly be only you and me.”

“Shame,” Nesta said coolly. Knowing it would get under his skin, she added, “At least he’s pretty to look at.”

Cassian laughed. “I’ll pass the message along, Nes.”

“Don’t call me that.” She leveled another cold glare at him as they arrived at the familiar door to her bedroom. “Excuse me.”

“You should eat something first,” he said, leaning against the closed door. “Get a hot meal in your stomach before training tomorrow.”

The thought of eating something knowing she would almost certainly throw it up made her nonexistent appetite even smaller. She didn’t have alcohol to block her nightmares out, and she certainly wasn’t going to warm Cassian’s bed to make herself too tired to dream. “I’m not training with you at that horrible place.”

“Like hell you aren’t,” he retorted. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t. I’m only trying to help you.”

“Right,” Nesta said, smiling in a way she knew unnerved him. She knew Feyre would never let them dump her in the human lands like garbage no matter how many times she threatened it, even though several members of her little family wouldn’t hesitate to. Morrigan and Rhysand would probably fight for the privilege. “You have quite the definition of help.”

Cassian studied her for a long moment before sighing and moving out of her way. “I’ll bring you something to eat later. I’m sure you’re tired.”

She didn’t say anything, instead fixing him with one of her flat looks that she knew made him uncomfortable. She really was tired, and she wanted to lie down more than anything, but she wasn’t going to show any weakness if she could avoid it. She had to stand her ground for as long as possible. 

“Mor or Rhys will winnow us up to Windhaven after breakfast tomorrow,” he added once he realized she wouldn’t be saying anything else. “Get some rest, alright?”

She gave him one last irritated glance before turning and retreating into her bedroom. It felt good to close the door in his stupid, sad face and finally be alone, where she didn’t have to keep up this exhausting façade. She was angry, yes – livid, actually – but putting on her cold mask without the help of a tall glass of wine was proving more difficult by the minute.

Between her indignation at her new circumstances, the strain of holding back her power, and the headache that had been building all afternoon, she’d never needed a drink more in her life. She knew that wasn’t an option and wouldn’t even bother asking the House for it; Feyre or Rhysand had undoubtedly warded against that to make her even more miserable. 

Nobody had a problem with Morrigan practically downing an entire bottle of wine with every meal, but let Nesta spend a few expensive nights in Velaris and suddenly it was unacceptable. The hypocrisy of it all made her want to throw something, but then Cassian would come running in, and she’d rather die than have to explain the source of her outburst to him. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Nesta slept fitfully during her first night in the House. There wasn’t much to do other than stew in her anger and promise to herself that she’d get her revenge, but that eventually burned itself out in favor of a full-body ache. 

She couldn’t drink to keep the nightmares away, and when she did manage to fall asleep, it wasn’t long before she was awake and running to the bathroom to throw up. The smell of a hearty dinner just outside of her door made it even worse, her stomach reacting poorly to the smell of it, and she was thankful Cassian hadn’t managed to bring it inside her room like he’d probably wanted to. 

Cassian either didn’t know or didn’t care that she could barely stand when she joined him for breakfast the next morning, but even as exhausted as she was, she refused to let him get the last word in. She hated wearing the tight, fitted leathers he favored so much, but being uncomfortable was more than worth getting a rise out of him. Even when she was a ghost of herself, it was far too easy to rile him up.

When they got to Windhaven, it was all she could do to walk over to a rock and sit down without keeling over, but Cassian and Morrigan seemed to think she was just being defiant for no reason. They would run back to little Feyre and her insufferable husband, to report on her progress – or lack of it – and Nesta would undoubtedly lose something else. She didn’t see how things could get any worse, though, so it was a risk she was willing to take. 

After wiping herself down using a bucket and an absolutely minuscule lunch, she managed to force herself down to the library for a few hours of meaningless work. In her experience, things had always worked out better when she kept up appearances, and she mindlessly shelved books while she thought of ideas for petty revenge. Nothing was satisfying enough for how she’d been wronged, but it was the best she could do, so she forced herself to be content until her mind could conjure up something more satisfying.

Dinner was a lonely affair, made even worse when she gave in and asked the House for a glass of wine only for her requests to be filled with water instead. She’d progressed from nausea and tremors to feeling like she was going to crawl out of her body from how badly she needed a drink. Her skin felt hot and feverish, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it downstairs to her bed without help. Not that she’d ever ask for help – she’d rather die before allowing anyone to see her at her weakest. 

She managed to choke down a couple bites of the food before pushing the plate away from her. It was pure torture getting back to her room, but at least the House provided her with a cool compress after she’d changed into a loose nightgown. She didn’t even have the energy to take her hair down, leaving most of the pins in as she laid down and focused on not dying.

Nesta’s days continued in much the same way. She barely slept from a combination of how ill she felt and the horrific memories she kept reliving, but she forced herself to keep going on half-cocked ideas of vengeance. Cassian forced her to eat breakfast in the mornings before they traveled to Illyria, and if he noticed how she had to force down every bite, he said nothing about it. Morrigan threw her dirty look after dirty look, sometimes paired with snarky comments, and it took every bit of awareness Nesta had not to loose her fire on the female. 

Nesta fought hard to stay upright and further embarrassed and infuriated Cassian in the process, ignoring every outstretched hand and motivating speech in favor of trying not to pass out. She could hardly stay on her feet during her hours in the library, but she never complained, not once. All the while, she felt close to death as her body purged whatever was left out of her system while struggling to maintain its grip on those silver flames coiled inside her.

After a week had passed, her overlords decided to grant her a day of rest. Cassian didn’t pound on her door threatening to drag her out of bed, and she was able to lounge in bed until nearly mid-morning. 

By the time Nesta made her way downstairs, the only sign of Cassian was a short note explaining that he’d left to handle something in Illyria. The break from physical training — or lack thereof ��� didn’t exempt her from her duties in the library, however, so she ate a few pieces of toast, freshened up, and eventually made her way downstairs. 

The other priestesses had long grown used to her silence, so she wasn’t bothered as she found her cart and began her familiar trek up and down the library’s halls. She was grateful for the lack of supervision; this was the one place she could practice the little bits of magic she’d picked up without anyone paying too close attention. She was terrified the House would alert someone what she was up to if she practiced there, and she wasn’t physically able to get to the much lesser-warded Velaris, so she made do with the time she had available. 

Nesta also wasn’t reckless enough to practice with her fire in the building, nervous that she’d lose control and manage to destroy priceless books in the process. She had to get the magic out somehow, though, so she’d done her own research on magical skills no one had bothered to tell her were important to learn. Instead of expelling a fiery blast like she really wanted to, she focused on what she’d read in one of the tomes last night about winnowing, squeezing her eyes shut while she visualized herself appearing in the next row of shelves. 

There was a muffled thump as the cart landed with her, but thankfully none of the books fell over. She had nothing else to practice her winnowing with, but she knew how imperative it was to be able to transport objects — and eventually living things — with her if she truly wanted to master the skill. She knew her true goal was to eventually leave Velaris, and perhaps bring Elain with her, but for now she was content with having her own method of transportation if she ever needed one. 

Besides, being able to escape at a moment’s notice was a pretty convenient trick to have up her sleeve. 

Nesta cleared her thoughts and bent down to inspect all the books on her cart for any damage, sighing in relief once she’d finished inspecting them. She meant to stand and keep returning books to their rightful place, but her fingers stilled as one of the titles on the bottom row of the nearest shelf caught her eye. 

She pulled it out, her eyebrows flicking up as she spied A History of the Hewn City written in emerald ink against an ink-black cover. Curious, she flipped through a few of the pages and realized she’d never seen anything like it, even though she’d heard many unpleasant tales about what the Court of Nightmares was like. She didn’t have time to read it as closely as she liked at the moment, but it was nothing to make the book disappear from her hands and take up residence inside her armoire instead. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Nesta had naively believed she couldn’t be more disgusted with the Inner Circle than she already was, but that was before she started reading into the histories. 

The authors were carefully neutral in their wording, but she’d long mastered the talent of reading between the lines. She wasn’t particularly surprised with how cruel and twisted things were for those unfortunate enough to be born inside the Hewn City, but for all their talk of being a Court of Dreamers, she couldn’t fathom how they allowed so much suffering under their watch. Surely Morrigan couldn’t have been the only person worth saving there. Surely Rhysand wanted to make sure no one suffered, especially not unnecessarily. 

Nesta wasn’t so arrogant as to automatically assume she would do a better job, but considering how Rhysand and Morrigan had done piss-poor jobs of managing the other half of their court, she supposed the bar wasn’t particularly high. They only seemed to bother with the Court of Nightmares when they wanted to rile Keir up — an idiotic idea, considering the Darksingers made up a not insignifant portion of Night’s armies — and things hadn’t changed in centuries. 

It was a dangerous idea, one that could get her killed, but she wasn’t afraid. She’d survived countless horrors already, had taken what she wanted from the Cauldron, even killed an ancient king; what challenge did Morrigan’s father present to her? 

Nesta wanted them to regret the moment they’d chosen to try and tame her like a dog. She wanted them to be afraid to even think her name, let alone utter it out loud. To not dare risk invoking her wrath the way they’d been terrified of Stryga or the Bone Carver or even Bryaxis. 

The Old Gods were all gone, anyway. It was high time for someone to take their place. 

Think of the looks on their faces, she thought once she’d turned out the lights. I wonder if they’ll try to teach me a lesson then. 

When Nesta finally slipped into unconsciousness, her dreams were filled with a crown of bones. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Once Nesta had settled on a way to make them pay, it was like a fire had been lit in her mind. She had somewhere to focus her energy other than simple bits of magic during her menial work in the library, and if Cassian noticed, he didn’t comment on it. 

Still, as motivated as she was toward her new goal, she knew she’d need help achieving it. She didn’t know the extent of her powers, too nervous to be caught testing their limits, and she didn’t remember the Hewn City well enough after just one visit to risk winnowing herself. She’d have to goad one of the Inner Circle members into taking her, and the only person she could think of fit for the task was difficult for Nesta especially to get a hold of. 

But just when Nesta wasn’t sure things would work out, she received a summons to the river house for a family breakfast. As irate as she was that Feyre didn’t think she’d meant it when she said she didn’t want to speak to her ever again, the more logical part of Nesta’s mind knew this was the best opening she could hope for. 

Morrigan wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to lord her perfect, golden self over Nesta. If only she knew what doors she was about to open for the eldest Archeron. 

Nesta kept her mental shields pulled as tightly around her mind as she could once Cassian set her down in front of the estate’s overly grand entry. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well, but considering he hadn’t cared when she’d been the one with dark circles under her eyes, she couldn’t find any sympathy for him within her. 

“Good morning,” Feyre greeted them at the door with a smile. It dimmed considerably when she realized Nesta wasn’t really looking at her, but she carried on anyway. “Come in, come in, you must be starving!”

As if on cue, Cassian’s stomach rumbled. He stepped around Nesta and slung an arm around Feyre’s shoulders in a half-hug, the pair moving into the house while forgetting Nesta standing outside in the entryway. Typical.

She shut the door behind her and slowly made her way to the dining room, following the sound of voices to find most of their group assembled. Amren was thankfully nowhere to be found, but Rhysand and Morrigan were chatting happily at one end of the table while Azriel piled food onto his plate on the other. 

Nesta didn’t bother to hide her scowl once she realized the seating arrangements would force her to sit next to Cassian. They expected that from her, so she would play up her discomfort at sitting next to the hulking bat, deepen her frowns and sharpen her insults the moment it was her turn to put on a show. 

All the better to sate the dark, twisted thing inside her that wanted blood. 

Breakfast thankfully passed quickly enough, Nesta managing to eat some oatmeal in addition to her toast. For once, Cassian kept his comments about her eating habits to himself, though she certainly felt his eyes on her as she added some sugar to her tiny portion. She didn’t bother to acknowledge anyone at the table, least of all him, only murmuring her thanks to Azriel as he poured her another glass of water. 

By the time the rest of the group had eaten their fill, Nesta was nearly vibrating out of her skin with the need to get away. Azriel left a few minutes early after one of his shadows whispered something in his ear, and Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian wandered off toward the outdoor patio, leaving Nesta and Morrigan alone for the first time in a long while. 

Nesta took a deep breath once she realized they were alone, smoothing her hands over the simple gray dress she’d chosen to wear today. It was still a little too loose around her frame, but that had been a calculated decision; if she looked too put-together, perhaps things wouldn’t play out the way she’d want them to. 

“You were quiet for once,” Morrigan commented as she conjured up a flute of wine sparkling with more bubbles than Nesta had ever seen before. “Have you learned your lesson about keeping your forked tongue between your teeth?”

Nesta clenched her hands into fists to avoid doing something she shouldn’t — drinking, using her power on Morrigan, getting up and walking away forever. “I don’t recall needing to learn any lessons, Morrigan.”

“Always so formal,” Morrigan replied with a snort. She tipped some orange juice into her flute and downed half the drink at once. “Mhmm. I would offer you some, but…”

“I prefer my drinks untouched,” Nesta responded, looking over Morrigan with thinly-veiled disdain. “I’m sure you understand.”

“And here I thought beggars couldn’t be choosers,” Morrigan said with a sharp smile. 

Nesta took a deep breath and forced herself not to rise to the bait. She needed Morrigan on this more than she needed to respond to the other female’s barb; this could just be another transgression on the list. 

“Amren said it would be better to throw me into the Court of Nightmares,” Nesta eventually said, her voice the perfect mix of accusatory and irate. Her feelings for Morrigan were no secret, and there was certainly no love lost in return; she was the best candidate for what Nesta needed done, so Nesta could only hope Morrigan’s disdain for her would be enough to set the wheels in motion. 

“We all heard,” Morrigan responded warily. She narrowed her brown eyes into slits, as if she expected Nesta to lash out at her over it. “What about it?”

“Do you still agree with that assessment?”

“I do.”

“So take me there and be done with it.”

Morrigan raised a golden eyebrow. “You want me to put you down there?”

“Better there than the human lands,” Nesta answered, keeping her voice flat and cold. All the better for Morrigan to make her own assumptions about Nesta’s motivations. “I’m done with this charade.”

“You’ll fit in perfectly,” Morrigan answered with a cold smile. She pushed back her chair and stood as she added, “In fact, I’ll take you down there right now.”

Read Chapter Two Here!

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[separatist-apologist]

Dressing For Revenge

I don't start shit but I can tell you how it ends. Don't get sad-get even.

Summary: When the end of the war with Hybern finds Lucien unexpectedly crowned High Lord, he realizes everyone he's ever cared about has been lying to him.

The new High Lord of Day Court vows revenge.

Elain Archeron is determined to see him get it

Evil Elucien AU

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | AO3

Married.

Mated was the important thing, but marriage was the condition to the entire affair. His little, once human wife demanded he marry her like a human male might. Lucien would have told her no, but Elain was clever. She’d asked while unfastening his pants, and had punctuated her question with the wet glide of her tongue until there was only one answer.

Yes. Anything you want. Yes. 

Though Lucien’s ceremony did serve one purpose, beyond pleasing the female so willing to get on her knees—rumor told him Rhysand was irate. Uninvited, which meant he couldn’t spin his little lies and play his little games, Lucien was free to hold court. To tell his own stories, embellished as they were. 

He knew just enough to be a thorn in Rhys’s side. Just enough to alarm the other four courts, who might wonder why Rhys was hoarding Cauldron-made females and trying (with some success) to marry them to his closest officers. Lucien had been delighted, telling Tarquin and Kallias the harrowing tale of how Elain had managed to escape while she stood wide-eyed and nervous at his side. 

“They’ll drag her back if they ever manage to get their hands on her,” Lucien added, sliding a possessive hand over Elain’s waist. She stepped closer, as if she needed his protection.

“If you see me there, know I did not want it,” she added, his theatrical little mate. Tarquin and Kallias exchanged a look, and Lucien wished he knew what they were thinking. If they believed any of it.

“Rhysand has requested a visit,” Kallias finally told Lucien, learning over the intimate table of food Elain had set up. “To discuss this, I assume.”

“He says you’ve kidnapped his High Lady’s sister,” Tarquin added, looking Elain over with his sharp gaze. Lucien couldn’t help but recline back in his chair so Elain could speak.

“I came of my own free will,” she insisted, unaware of how that simple sentence filled his cock with blood. She was going to come of her own free will later that evening when he put his face back between her legs. The wedding was tomorrow, and Lucien was tempted to say fuck it to his promise not to fuck her and do exactly that. 

He tempered his lust before Tarquin or Kallias were made aware.  Instead, Lucien sent Elain out with Cressida and Viviane to work a little magic—the sort that told the nobility of Prythian that his mate was, if nothing else, wild with lust. Rhysand and Feyre couldn’t be kept out of the other courts forever, and all Lucien truly had going for him were centuries of minding his own business. 

“I only want peace.” It was an endless refrain, the words falling easily from his lips each time someone suggested his marriage was merely a political ploy. Surely it could be both–he could be winding up Rhys and he could want her. 

Though, it was mainly a political ploy. The first move on his chess board. Azriel’s illegal trip into his court—and the result of his ruined shadows—were merely rival courts who didn’t trust each other. Lucien had a right to his mate, especially if she’d come of her own free will. 

Another male from another court trying to take her was a death sentence.

“He should be grateful he kept his life,” Thesan opined over a private luncheon. Lucien was all too happy to soak up the praise, to be considered merciful. As if he weren’t baiting Rhys into a vicious, violent response. 

It was Tamlin who Lucien was most interested in seeing. Spared an invasion by Lucien’s brother taking the throne, Tamlin fell into brutal moods seemingly at a whim. A diplomat in Tarquin’s court had informed Lucien that both Autumn and Summer kept the borderlands under control when Tamlin was tired of ruling and turned to the wild as a beast. 

Eris, it seemed, would eventually march into Spring and drag Tamlin out, depositing him back on the throne with a warning that next time he might not be so generous. Lucien might have laughed—if Eris kept Tamlin alive, it was only because it served his larger interests. Not one of them did anything out of goodness. 

Only greed. He, at least, could admit the sort of creature he was. 

Tamlin looked rough. He met Lucien in the Solarium, the golden sun filtering through the rounded dome crowning him High Lord. Nothing else about Tamlin’s appearance did, though. His once mighty friend had clearly seen better days. Lucien went to him, sandals clipping over the marble, to clap Tamlin on his shoulder. 

“You look well,” Tamlin said with a wan smile. Lucien could not repay the compliment without betraying himself for a liar. 

“I’m glad you made it,” Lucien said instead, leading Tamlin towards the grand hall. Let the other High Lords see that Tamlin had come, too. Everyone but Rhysand, who was too insane to be among polite company. Elain was doing a perfect job of smiling with wide-eyed sweetness as she recounted her hasty escape. 

Her fear she might be locked back up, should she stop being so vigilant. 

“Married, huh?” Tamlin asked, trying—and failing—to inject humor into his tone. “Never thought I’d see the day you settled down.”

Lucien kept the frost from his voice. Tamlin met him on the single worst day of his life. “I feel quite fortunate.”

“I’m sure. Stealing your bride right out from Rhysand’s nose. How I wish I could have helped.”

Their eyes met. Lucien said nothing, though he nodded. He tried to block that whole thing out. He and Tamlin weren’t friends, and they both knew why. He’d wanted to protect Feyre and, in the end, had thought the best way to do so was to follow her out of Spring. 

If he examined his actions too closely, he might fall apart. So Lucien shoved it all down deep, content to revel in his hatred. He certainly felt victorious, walking into that room. He was High Lord, wasn’t he? And his mate, who looked like the sweetest trophy, perched on the throne he'd built just at his side. She smiled when he entered, rising to greet him. The picture of a good, well-bred female. 

“They’ll kill you for this,” Tamlin offered before slipping into the crowd. It wasn’t lost on Lucien that Tamlin was the only one who came without a retinue. No friends, no sentries, nothing. Alone. 

Pity spiked in his chest. For just a splitting moment, Lucien wondered what it was all for. If he wasn’t better off closing his doors to all of them, mating Elain quietly, and just forgetting the rest of them. If he failed, did he risk ending up like Tamlin? 

Elain reached him, drawing some of his attention away from the future. He reached for her face, holding her cheek in the palm of his hand. “You look lovely,” he said, eyes raking over the off-shoulder golden gown she wore. 

“You look unsettled,” she said, her gaze sharpening ever so slightly. 

Lucien let her follow his gaze back to Tamlin, seated at one of the long tables by himself. He spoke to no one, goblet in hand, and no one dared to speak to him. 

“It was good to invite him,” she said, her tone sharper than he’d heard all day. Beneath her doe-eyed innocence was a female smart enough to rival every male in the room. “You should have invited Eris.”

“Fuck Eris,” was his automatic response. 

“What’s the alternative, Lucien? He aligns himself with Rhysand? You don’t have to like him.”

Be smart, was the unspoken request. Lucien was blinded in this way and he knew it. Eris had an arsenal of weapons at his disposal. None so potent as their mother, still housed and under Eris’s protection. 

“You don’t understand this,” Lucien snapped, sliding his hand over her hip to walk her up that dais. She went with him, altering her expression into one of love-sick devotion. He wished it was his normal court and a normal night so he could shove her to her knees and put his cock in the back of her throat. 

“Family is complicated, and giving Rhysand any allies at all would be a mistake. He’s too powerful as it is. Sideline people, Lucien. Put your own feelings aside if you want revenge or admit you intend to hold this fruitless grudge until you die.”

“Cauldron boil me, we’re not even married,” he grumbled, dropping into his throne like a spoiled prince. Elain took her own seat, covering his hand with her own. 

“I’ll entertain him if you can’t. Invite him to the ceremony. Remind him you two share blood…and who put that crown on his head.”Lucien ran a hand through his thick hair. “I should crown you High Lord while I’m at it.”Elain settled primly in her chair, her lips pressed into a satisfied line. She didn’t outwardly agree, but he knew inwardly his words pleased her. 

Lucien marinated in his thoughts for the rest of the day while Elain played hostess. He sent that letter—last minute, so Eris understood he was an afterthought. His mother could join, but the rest of his brothers could not. Eris could bring members of his personal guard so long as they were unexceptional, magically. And, because Lucien never missed an opportunity to be an asshole, required Eris bring Elain a gift given she would now be his sister. 

He didn’t visit Elain that night, though putting her on her knees might have settled the knot in his chest. Lucien wanted to be alone, wanted to stew in his thoughts without her trying to fix things. Or worse, reminding him of all the good reasons why allying with Eris—no matter how awful. As if she’d have ever done the same with Feyre. 

If Lucien was honest with himself, he would have admitted he was nervous for more than just Eris. Some not insignificant part of him expected Rhysand to burst in at any moment, laughing that he’d fallen for it. As Lucien carefully braided pieces of his hair, as he dressed himself, that was all he could think of. 

She wasn’t going to be waiting for him. She’d be gone, she would leave, she’d reject him like she’d been doing for years. Lucien was a mass of nerves when Arina and Ajax came for him, the pair cautiously pleased. 

“I have Tamlin sitting with the High Lord of Winter,” Arina began, eyes sliding to a stack of paper held in her delicate hands. “Viviane could talk to a wall.”

“Summer and Dawn are intermixed,” Ajax added, flanking Lucien’s other side as the pair strode down the hall. 

“Unity,” Arina all but teased, her green eyes filled with questions. Why is all this necessary?

Still, his advisors were smart enough not to ask what he was up to, and smarter still to figure it out without Lucien ever needing to share. 

“And Elain?” he asked, trying to remain utterly unaffected. Casual and aloof—and failing, if the amusement on Arina’s face was any indication.

“Ready when you are,” she said with an easy smile.

“Lord,” Ajax added, his words tight. “Autumn Court…where should we put them?”

The dungeon. The words were on the tip of his tongue as he rounded the corner. What would happen if he challenged his brother, besides? Brothers fought–and Vanserra’s were expected to kill each other, besides.

“Wow,” he said instead, eyes landing on Elain. She was waiting in the open atrium, looking towards the closed doors of the hall nervously. Color flushed over her cheeks when she whipped around to look at him. She wore a dress of white, trimmed in melted gold. Standing in pooling sunlight, she didn’t need the pretty circlet woven through her rich, golden brown curls. Lucien forgot he was standing between his two most trusted friends, rooted in place as he drank her in.

She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. His eyes traveled down the curve of her throat to the dipping vee of her dress. Her exposed collarbone and the pushing swell of her breasts were dusted with a shimmering powder that made it seem as if she glowed. The beaded white gown clung to the soft curves of her body, flaring to the ground gently. 

“Lord?”

“Put them anywhere,” Lucien dismissed. He didn’t care about his fucking brother anymore. He didn’t care about his planning, his plotting—anything but his mate. Standing under that golden dome, pearls in her ears, and a sunstone on her finger. 

“Hi,” she whispered as he came towards her. Lucien was suddenly afraid to touch her. He felt like that male standing before her moments after arriving in Velaris. Uncertain. Confused. 

Fascinated.

“You look…” he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. She waited, chin inclined, for him to finish what he was saying. He saw her defenses raised, her expectation he would not be kind. Was this who he was, then? It was clear she didn’t trust him.

Lucien didn’t want his mothers marriage reflected in his own. He reached for her face, sweeping his thumb over her cheek. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, forcing the words to soften in his mouth. He’d make the first move, then. She swallowed, her heart a jumping staccato between them. He wanted to kiss her and thought he might wreck the pretty, pink paint gracing her mouth. 

He’d have her later, he reminded himself. 

Lucien dropped his hand, offering it to her instead. “Are you ready?” he asked, thinking this wasn’t quite the way of things. He wasn’t supposed to walk her down—her father was.

He was dead. Who else was left? Instead of being gifted his bride, he’d walk at her side and mark them equals. True equals, he thought. Everything Elain had, she’d earned. Cauldron blessed by the mother herself. Not by High Lords and not by theft, but by virtue. Her very soul examined and found worthy. A Seer in a land that so rarely gifted that magic to begin with—and powerful enough she could shift the tide in wars, both with her prophecy and a blade in her hand. 

Two sentries pulled open the doors, silencing the chattering crowd. It was the first marriage between a Day Court High Lord and a consort in over eight hundred years–and though rival lords were rarely invited, Lucien had turned his own wedding into a political spectacle. 

Five powerful sets of eyes would watch Elain vow before all the gods to love him, honor him, and obey him of her own volition. 

And at the resulting dinner, they would discuss what was to be done when rival lords sent spies across their borders. Lucien wanted written policy and agreement. It was only a matter of time before another member of the inner circle came crawling into Day, and next time, Lucien intended to send their bloodied face back in a box. 

Then, and only then, would he eat whatever Elain had dreamt up, haul her up over his shoulder, and fuck her like he’d been dreaming of. Lucien was considering he could have everything he wanted. His mate. A family of his own choosing, of his own making. His political ambitions, unhindered by a High Lord too emotional to be logical or rational. 

Lucien was practically giddy, stepping into the hall. All eyes on the pair of them. He squeezed her hand, hoping to steady her. It was impossible not to notice that there was no one from Elain’s family there to represent or support her. Lucien hadn’t tried to get Nesta and some small part of him regretted that. There was no way Elain hadn’t realized that she was utterly isolated in Day with him.

Even Arina, smiling brightly at Elain, wasn’t a substitute for a sister. His eyes fell on his brother, seated in the middle of the room just behind Summer. Eris was glaring at him with icy eyes, his fury a living, writhing thing. It clicked for Lucien, staring down his brother. How he could give his wife her sister, how he could keep tabs on Rhysand, could have his mother without having to be too close to his brother.

Eris would understand. Would accept it, even. No one had ever loved Eris without strings. Why should Lucien? 

He refocused his attention on Elain. One thing at a time. To get what he wanted, he needed to be patient, and clever, and most of all, he needed to focus on the most important thing at any given moment. Cementing his mating bond in front of five High Lords was all that mattered. 

Lucien, standing atop a golden dias, in a room over her noble blooded faerie in the realm, turned to Elain with an easy, hopeful smile. None of it was feigned. He didn’t love her—though he hoped to. Lucien took a breath, took her hand.

And he began. 

Lucien didn’t think he’d ever truly recall any part of his wedding with absolute clarity. Elain was too beautiful, his heart too loud, to hear the words that were spoken between them. A tear slipped from her carefully made up eye, to which Elain brushed away quickly with a sheepish smile. He hoped her show of emotion was real. It certainly felt real when she tilted her chin for a kiss, one he accepted greedily.

Married.

But not mated. That was the lynchpin in Lucien’s plan. His wife had planned a spectacular party which would culminate in Elain offering him a piece of wedding cake. It gave Lucien an immense amount of free time to work the room, Elain at his side.

“Is that your mother?” she whispered when they entered the ballroom. His mother was seated at a table close to the throne he and Elain were walking towards. Lucien’s spine prickled at the sight of her. He had so many questions that he was too afraid to have answered. He didn’t look her in the eye, though he could see from the angling of her body that she was desperately trying to get his attention. His brother had his arm over his mothers chair, that same hateful stare burning against Lucien’s back. 

He led Elain up the steps, holding her hand as he went. She sat first, and then Lucien as he was still the Mother chosen High Lord. His mother, who he was still avoiding like a coward, had produced two High Lords. A feat, all things considered. Lucien could not think of one other instance in which such a thing had happened. 

And he was angry about it. 

“How long do we sit here?” Elain asked, trying again when it was clear Lucien was not going to answer about his mother.

“They dance first, and our courtiers present us with gifts,” he explained, leaning over the arm of his throne to brush a finger against her skin. Goosebumps erupted in the wake of his touch, thrilling him. 

“Are you going to talk to Eris?” she whispered. 

“Noticed him staring, did you?” Lucien’s mouth slipped into a tight smile. 

Elain’s attention was diverted when Arina, dressed in shimmering panels of gold, padded to the center of the room in her bare feet. She wasn’t alone—the other dancers had joined, their bodies slick with coil and dusted in gold. Lucien hadn’t seen one of their shows in a while—too often, he had Elain between his legs so everyone could see just how enthusiastic their new Lady was. 

“I didn’t know she danced,” Elain whispered. Loud drums from the back of the room punched out a hypnotic beat, joining the other musicians who made the very air feel like water. Elain wasn’t the only one transfixed—when he glanced at his brother, Eris’s mouth was half open, as if he’d never seen anything like Arina before.

Lucien settled back against his throne, smug as hell. Stuck up Autumn likely hadn’t. Eris likely ruled with the same prudish morals Beron once had. Lucien made a mental note to tell Arina to harass his brother a little, if only to get under Eris’s skin.

It didn’t last long. Eris was back to glaring at Lucien before Arina’s hips ever stopped swaying. He didn’t stop—not when courtiers and other High Lords began making a processional towards them. Jewels and fine fabric and spices were laid at Elain’s feet. All of it earned Lucien’s approval.

His brother brought his mother, making up the rear of the train. He dropped an ornate, gold box at Elain’s feet with little care while his mother very clearly did her best not to cry. 

“You look well,” she managed, her eyes glassy and hopeful. Eris looked as if he might pull the dagger hidden in his knee high books and cut Lucien’s throat.

“A ruby diadem from the trove. Surely you remember the one,” Eris said. Lucien’s lips curled off his teeth, a snarl slipping from him. His own Autumn crown had a twin for his wife—one he’d tried to give to Jesminda, before she died. He hadn’t considered that Eris might lay such a thing and Elain’s feet.

Elain slid her hand over his own, offering both Eris and his mother a sweet smile. She didn’t know.

She didn’t care, more likely. She rose, having settled him just enough to step off the raised platform to loop her arm through his mothers.

“Would you care for a drink?” Elain, the consummate hostess, asked. His mother nodded, offering Lucien one last pleading look. He ignored the guilt that flooded through him, drumming his fingers over the arm of his throne.

“What,” Eris began, not bothering to conceal his words, “the fuck are you doing over here? Play acting High Lord again?”

Lucien fucking hated Eris. “Does this look like play-acting?”

Eris sneered. “You look like a child in father's robes again.”

Lucien rose from his seat, his temper rising in his throat. A rip on the bond in his chest drew his eyes across the room where Elain stood, laughing at something his mother had said. Some silly childhood story no doubt, trying to win over his wife so he might speak with her. Elain was still paying attention. 

“This is a conciliatory gesture,” Lucien said through gritted teeth.

Eris barked out a laugh. “This is a show. Tell me what you want.”

”My wife wanted you here,” Lucien said dismissively, joining the throngs of well-wishers and revelers. 

“And you wanted, what, exactly?” Eris added, those shrewd eyes never leaving his face. “Another ally in your obvious vendetta against Rhysand and Feyre? You stole his Seer, you destroyed Azriel’s shadows…he’s going to hit you back, and hard, Lucien. You’re not the only one who can work a room.”

“He killed twenty younglings in Winter. Destroyed Spring after stealing their soon-to-be Lady, and in the resulting destruction, allowed a foreign army to sweep through Summer. Who do you imagine is particularly charmed by Rhysand and his child bride?”

Eris snorted. “The same people charmed by you and yours. You have the moral high ground for now,” Eris whispered, waiting for Lucien to reveal his hand. 

“I lost my eye while he was fucking that cunt,” Lucien snapped, grabbing Eris by his upper arm. He pushed his brother towards a pillar, lowering his voice. “You think anyone in Prythian likes Rhysand on anything but a technicality? His own territory is unstable, and none of them know it. He can’t keep the Illyrians in line and is still in our business, telling us how to run things.”

“So what’s your plan? Kill another High Lord in broad daylight and hope everyone hates him as much as Beron and you get to live happily ever after in your sandcastle?”

Lucien hated Eris. He waved a hand, dropping his grip on his brother. “Don’t worry about my plans. Enjoy the party. Make sure you tell Elain thank you for her hospitality.”He turned his back, walking towards her.

One.

Two. 

Three.

“Wait,” Eris called. Just like always, Eris wanted something too. Lucien turned, cocking his head. They were still brothers. Eris knew him just as well as Lucien knew Eris. “A trade.”He hadn’t expected that. “What could you possibly want?”

“The dancer,” Eris said, his words strangely breathless.

“Arina? What—don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” Lucien interrupted, surprised that the thing his brother wanted was a female. “In exchange for what?”

“Whatever ridiculous thing you wanted when you wrote that letter.”

They stared at each other. “Arina bites.”

An amused smile slid over his brother's cold, pale features. “My type.”

“Nesta Archeron. My wife wants to talk with her. And I want someone inside their court. Someone I can trust.”

Eris chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Nesta accepted her bond with Cassian. She won’t leave. She’s more likely to stage an ambush than she is to defect.”

“But you’ll try?”

Eris shrugged. “Your funeral. She’s toothless now. Just another declawed kitten for his court to play with.”

“And your deal with Rhysand?” Lucien prodded. Eris gritted his teeth.

“Abandon your plan. Whatever scheme you’ve cooked up, forget it. Put your female to bed and be grateful to have her.”

Lucien shook his head. “Yes or no, Eris.”

“Make nice with mother. She misses you. She loves you. We’re brothers—of course I’ll fucking help you. But fuck, Lucien…you’ll get yourself and Elain killed if you don’t back down.”

“Fine.”

Eris and Lucien stared each other down for a moment, their fingers twitching as if they ought to shake on it. 

“Arina goes if she wants,” Lucien dismissed, altering the terms before the magic settled. 

“She will.”

Eris turned, sweeping away before Lucien could offer any further questions. His brother would learn the hard way, just like so many other males, that she wasn’t about to run off to another court because a High Lord had taken an interest in her. Lucien had gotten what he wanted, and in return all he had to do was be nice to his mother.

He made his way to the pair, forcing a smile he didn’t quite feel. “Mother,” he said by way of greeting.

That glassy quality returned to her gaze. Please don’t cry. 

“Lucien,” she breathed.

“Feel free to stay as long as you like,” he said, snaking his hand around Elain’s waist. She brightened, mouthing told you as if Lucien couldn’t see the whole thing. Amera Vanserra nodded, tucking a piece of auburn hair behind her ear.

“I would like that.”

Lucien offered one more tense smile and then swept Elain towards the long table. “I’m starving,” he complained.

“Soon,” Elain agreed, lacing her fingers with his. 

Lucien shook his head, suddenly too raw for his liking. His careful walls were cracked and crumbling, and if he continued as he was, everyone would see the fragile beat of his heart just beneath. 

“I can’t wait,” he said, pulling her flush against him. Lucien reached for a chair, pulling them both into it. Those who happened to see chuckled, more curious than anything of the mated pair.

He was well aware everyone wanted to know if the stories were true. Lucien wanted to know, too. 

Elain reached over the table for a small meatball stuck on a toothpick. “I’ve arranged everything just so,” she said, teasing the piece of food just in front of his face. “Don’t spoil my fun.”

“I’ve had enough,” Lucien half growled, half pleaded. Their gazes held, and he knew she could feel his desperation. 

I can’t take another minute of their presence. 

His brother, sniffing after his friend and his mother floating about a palace he never knew she’d even seen, reminded Lucien of everything he’d lost. All the lies, the time wasted, the centuries of wishing, of wondering, of hoping. He couldn’t count the times he had cried into his pillow as a boy. Wondering why his father seemed to hate him more than his brother. Why he was singled out for every small thing, why he received no affection, no praise? 

No love. 

“Spoilsport,” she chided, but she put the food against his tongue all the same. They had an audience, people watching to see what would happen, Kallias knew, but the others were blissfully unaware. Lucien chewed, his eyes never leaving her face. He expected some vicious clanging in his chest, a bell tolling from the heavens above. 

Mine. She’s mine. 

It was his only thought. Lucien blinked, reaching a hand to cup her face. “Elain,” he breathed, as though he were saying it for the first time.

Her smile was genuine, creating dimples in her cheeks. How had he never noticed that before? Freckles dusted a constellation of stars over the bridge of her nose from where she’d been kissed by the sun. Her brown eyes were flecked with green and rimmed in gold.

“Look at you,” he whispered, drinking her in with new appreciation. “My Elain.”

She brushed her fingers over his lips, as if she, too, were seeing him for the very first time. He leaned forward, the tip of his nose brushing her own. There was a stillness to the moment, their breath mingled in the air between them.

And then a hand on his shoulder, jolting him back to reality. “Would you like privacy, my lord?” Ajax asked it with amusement, reminding Lucien he still had an audience. Lucien cleared his throat, looking up at the room. They were being watched by the amused High Lords and their courtiers—and ignored by his own. Day was far too used to the lurid displays he and Elain often put on to find any of this interesting. They danced and feasted, creating a clear disconnect between guests and residents.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Lucien declared, hoisting Elain up into his arms as he stood. She squealed in delight, cheeks flushed as she ran a hand over the bare swaths of his chest. “Stay the evening—stay the night.”

There were murmurings of appreciation and as Lucien stepped out into the hall, he motioned for Ajax to come with him.

“Make sure the High Lords know they’re welcome to return.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Lucien took off, groaning when Elain licked the side of his neck. “It all feels good,” she whispered, breath fanning against his skin. “Tastes good.”

“Don’t stop,” he asked, though the growing erection between his legs was making it practically impossible to walk. He nearly crashed into a pillar when her teeth nipped at the hollow of his neck, and just barely got them into his bedroom before he was ripping himself out of his ceremonial sandals and clothes. 

“It’s worse than they said it would be,” Elain panted, fumbling the buttons on the back of her gown. Lucien strode to tear it apart, too, but she slapped her palm to his bare stomach.

“Let me,” he growled.

“What if my daughter wants it someday?” she panted. He went still at the notion. Children. He didn’t know how to ask the question, to make her admit she wanted that future with him. Why couldn’t his political marriage have all those things? He’d need an heir, wouldn’t he?

He wanted an heir. 

While Lucien dreamt of the litter that might one day run through his halls, Elain managed to get off her dress. Her naked body was hardly anything new and yet the sight of her filled him with brand-new appreciation. Lucien went to her, pushing her against the bed as his mouth found hers. She tasted like spun sugar. He was addicted, her tongue immediately stroking against his own as her nails raked lightly against the back of his neck. He was already grinding himself against her, the head of his cock pressed into her thigh. 

“I need,” he panted into her mouth, “to be in you.”

Elain moaned, arching against his body. Her legs had fallen open, giving him unparalleled access to every inch of her. There was no rush, given they had an eternity together, and somehow Lucien felt as if he didn’t fuck her right then and there, he would die never having been given the chance. 

Lucien slotted himself against her, dazed to find her wet. Elain hadn’t stopped kissing him and he didn’t think she realized until he pushed himself into her. With a gasping breath, Elain broke away to try and look between their bodies.

“This is really happening,” she breathed, digging her nails into his shoulder. 

He hated himself. Halfway into her, Lucien froze. “Do you want me to stop?” He would—it would be hell, given how tightly she was gripping him, and he would. He’d stop, he’d get off her and walk away.

“No,” she said. One word was all it took to fill Lucien with immeasurable relief. He thrust the rest of his cock into her, holding himself for a moment while she wiggled, getting used to the size of him. Lucien was rather content to let himself get used to her—absurdly tight, dripping wet, and mind-numbingly tight. She’d been made for him. 

“My pretty mate,” Lucien whispered, teasing one of her peaked nipples with his fingers as he began his slow, measured thrusting. She arched her neck, eyes rolling into her head. “Is this what you like, Elain?”

She only whimpered. Lucien thrust a little harder, still toying with her nipples to draw more of those gasping moans. He was merely a creature of need—everything he did was to heighten their combined pleasure so he could have her again.

“What about this?” he asked, thrusting faster, letting himself get a little rough. He pinched and she moaned, meeting him thrust for thrust with her pretty, rolling hips. Pleasure skittered through him, building like an out-of-control fire. She was a match for the magic coursing a river through him.

Elain was a song, was bright, burning light that filled any room. She tightened around him, eyes fluttering open to look.

“Tell me how you like it,” he whispered, reaching for her jaw. He thumbed over her lips, delighted when her tongue darted from behind her teeth to tease at his skin. She sucked him into her mouth, teasing and rubbing like she so often did when it was his cock in her throat. Lucien could feel the combined sensations on his sensitive head, driving him half wild. 

Using his other hand, Lucien pressed his thumb to her slick clit, making tight circles over the little nub until Elain was bucking beneath him, just as wild as he felt. They were both out of control, the slap of skin combined with their breathy, pleading moans. He didn’t want it to end, and yet Lucien was desperate to finish. 

He’d wondered for so long what it would be like to have her. Mating bond or not, Lucien was certain he’d still have felt the same. Would have lost himself when he felt that first wave of her cunt pulsate around him, thrusting viciously—chasing the same pleasure she was drowning in. Lucien was loud enough that anyone nearby could hear him come. It was pure ecstasy losing himself in the softness of her, of pumping and pumping until he could feel his own emissions sliding out with each new drag of cock to make a mess of the sheets beneath them.

Lucien pulled her against him, arms tight around her body. 

“Was it what you thought?” she asked, stroking through his hair, lips against his cheek. 

Lucien pressed a messy kiss to her mouth, his need getting the best of him. His hips were already grinding into her again. 

“Ask me again in a week, Elain.”

[moon--mama]

I think you’re right about Bryce’s line coming from the Prison island. Evidence is spread across both series.

When I first read the quote below in CC2, I assumed they meant that Bryce’s line was from an island of Midgard. But I think the island they’re referring to is actually in Prythian, not the Avallen island.

CC2:

“Not your kind of Fae, of course—your breed dwelled in a lovely, verdant land, rich with magic. If it’s of any interest to you, your Starborn bloodline specifically hailed from a small isle a few miles from the mainland. And while the mainland had all manner of climes, the isle existed in beautiful, near-permanent twilight. But only a select few in the entirety of your world could shift from their humanoid forms to animal ones.”

Yes, the prison island is miles from the mainland.

ACOMAF:

“On an island in the heart of the Western Isles,” Rhysand said, staring up at the mammoth mountain.”

This makes me think that they are definitely talking about the night court. There is a dawn court, day court, and night court, so it would make sense that dusk’s court is nearby. The only argument I have against the existence of a dusk court is that it would unbalance the 7 kingdoms. Seven seems to be a “holy” number—unless that was brainwashed into common memory by the Asteri.

ACOTAR:

“Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night,” it mused, as if I hadn’t even answered. “The seven Courts of Prythian, each ruled by a High Lord, all of them deadly in their own way. They are not merely powerful—they are Power.”

The select few that can shapeshift in Prythian are the High Lords…the Fae Plus, if you will.

ACOTAR:

“What sort of powers do you have? Can you shape-shift like Tamlin?”

He sighed, looking skyward before he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus. “Trying to figure out my weaknesses so you can—” I glowered at him. “Fine. No, I can’t shape-shift. Only Tam can.”

ACOWAR:

“The face … it was those creatures that had been carved into the rock of the Court of Nightmares. That made up his throne. The throne not only a representation of his power … but of what lurked within. And with the wings …

Hybern soldiers began fleeing.

Helion beheld what happened and ran, too—but toward Rhys.

Shifting as well.

If Rhys was a flying terror crafted from shadows and cold moonlight, Helion was his daytime equivalent.

Gold feathers and shredding claws and feathered wings—

Together, my mate and the High Lord of Day unleashed themselves upon Hybern.”

One more loose end:

“According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them there was no longer.”

If Helion’s Pegasus are going to survive as a species, they need their homeland back. Think of the cycle of the solar calendar: night-dawn-day-dusk. Without the dusk court, Helion is the broken link in the cycle. It makes sense that his Pegasuses are unable to breed or sustain themselves. Plus…

“The seven pegasus pairs that remained”

That number seven appears again. Referring to the seven asteri, or the “holy” number? Maybe it’s meant to indicate that the Pegasus herd is fated to die out. But maybe it’s there to make us look closer and realize that this herd isn’t just some fluff filling the pages.

And…

“This one is a unicorn-pegasus.” She stroked the lilac mane. “Jelly Jubilee.”

We cannot forget that Bryce has an obsession with Pegasus. There’s no mention of real Pegasus in Midgard, but they definitely exist in Prythian. Hopefully Bryce will meet a real life Jelly Jubilee in CC3! Our girl deserves some joy and healing.

Bryce Quinlan's true home: A compilation of all the evidence.

[ACOTAR, CC and slight TOG spoilers!]

It seems that the consensus among fans is that Bryce will return back to Midgard at the end of CC3, and that most of the story will be wrapped up. On the contrary, I think it's just getting started, and instead believe that:

Bryce Quinlan's true home is Prythian. She will be the Starborn Queen, and ruler of the Dusk Court.

And not just Bryce. I think Hunt, Ruhn and everyone else will be joining her too... because (to put it bluntly).. Midgard is fucked.

Allow me to go through the evidence.

Bryce is repeatedly connected to dusk.

One of the first thing Hunt notices about Bryce is that her scent is of the "first stars at nightfall." Nightfall is another word for dusk. SJM often uses scent to foreshadow a character's home (ie. Rowan of TOG smelling like Terrasen, and Rhys smelling like Velaris).

Bryce has been obsessed with Pegasus dolls since book 1. It's then no coincidence that the Pegasus's in Prythian came from the Prison Island... where the Dusk Court (most likely) used to be. (And... think about that Pegasus doll that SJM included in the CC3 reveal video...)

Bryce often has her nails painted in "twilight" colours (another word for dusk), and even her damn nipples are described as "dusk pink" (lmfao).

"Dusk's Truth" seems to be of great importance, and I'm willing to bet that everything Danika did - from giving Bryce the Horn, to even her own death - was so that Bryce could escape Midgard and reach Prythian and the Dusk Court. Recall Baxian's words; that Danika was searching for a way into a new world - one without the Asteri.

The home of the Starborn fae isn't Midgard, it's Prythian - the Dusk Court. Bryce Quinlan is heir to the Starborn fae. She is Queen Theia's descendant.

Bryce is also connected to Prythian.

The star on Bryce's chest is a "beacon" for Prythian, and glows for people who also originate from the ACOTAR world (I don't think people understand how big a deal this is...). If Bryce returns to Midgard permanently, then she'll forever wear a star on her chest that glows for another world.

Bryce is the Horn. If you subscribe to the theory that the Horn is the 4th Dread Trove item, with the other 3 being in Prythian, then she is obviously needed there - especially when ACOSF hinted that all 4 items joined together allows for something big to happen...

The prophecy about the knife and the sword suggests that the ACOTAR and CC fae are going to be reunited. Bryce owns this prophetic sword - she has a big part to play (one that surely can't be fulfilled if Bryce just pops into Prythian for a quick visit, and then leaves again... and really, what would be the point of that?)

Foreshadowing that Bryce will be a queen.

It is repeatedly stated that Bryce bears the exact light of the Starborn Queen.

Bryce's name in Hunt's phone is 'Bryce Is a Queen.'

Hunt himself often remarks on Bryce's queenly demeanour:

And in CC2, Hunt again thinks to himself that the 'princess' title isn't enough for Bryce... that she is something more...

Then in the final CC2 chapters, we see Ruhn pleading with Bryce to become Queen:

To which Cormac agrees, and then says that the future of their people moving forward, all depends upon Bryce...

And most importantly, Ruhn's last words to Bryce: "Long live the Queen."

And now that I'm thinking about it, it is repeatedly stated that Hel's armies strike at Bryce's command. The entirety of Hel... await Bryce's orders. As if she too is their Queen. (It won't surprise me if the Dusk Court is strongly intertwined with Hel, there's SO much evidence... but that's for another post).

Other characters and their connection to Prythian.

Bryce isn't the only one with ties to Prythian. We also have:

Ruhn and Rhys looking identical.

The Asteri originating from Prythian, and making clear that their true goal is to go back there to get revenge (so the plot is likely to follow in this direction...)

The Princes of Hel are connected to Prythian: the Illyrian's and Hel's armies have the same wings, we have a "Lord Thanatos" in the Hewn City, the 7 layers of the library, that "cat presence" watching...

When Bryce is taken to the town house in Prythian, she remarks that the interior decorating is the same as Jesiba's and the Autumn King's - they are both likely from Prythian.

The Bone Carver drew three interlocking circles in the sand, which is the exact symbol of Parthos (and the symbol of Bryce's Archesian amulet). The Bone Carver's brother is Koschei (the upcoming ACOTAR antagonist) - he is also likely connected to Parthos.

The Under-King is described exactly like The Suriel (they're likely the same species). Bryce's star even glows for the Under-King, which tells us he is from Prythian.

Bryce's star also glows for Cormac and the Avallen fae; they're likely from Prythian also (and the Dusk Court). In fact, one of the first thing Bryce notices when she lands in Prythian, is that everyone is wearing the same clothes as the Avallen fae.

The Thunderbirds (and likely Hunt) were connected to "Dusk's Truth." (So, Bryce ending up in Prythian isn't just about the Bryce x Azriel theory...).

And this leads me to my most controversial opinion of all: although unbeknownst to readers, Crescent City is an ACOTAR spin-off series. That's not to say it can't stand on it's own, or that is has lesser value - but rather that almost all characters have ties back to the ACOTAR world - and this is surely not a coincidence.

I truly believe that SJM is planning a full multiverse crossover series between all 3 of her worlds, and CC was the series needed to bridge ACOTAR and TOG together. But, more on this later...

We don't want the characters staying in Midgard. They need to get out.

Midgard is entirely different to the ACOTAR and TOG worlds. The Asteri entered Midgard, absolutely obliterated everyone and everything, and then built their own world from the ground up. Every building, road, every inch of this world - was created and orchestrated by the Asteri. Their power and influence is absolute. Bryce realises this too:

We see the death camps in Kavalla... but I would argue that the whole of Midgard is one giant death camp. Any sense of freedom... is an illusion.

And because the Asteri control everything, they see everything, and know everything. I can't see how any of the CC characters will overthrow the Asteri in Midgard (I mean, they get close to Rigelus at the end of CC2, and Bryce has to world jump to escape, and Hunt and Ruhn are facing slavery, or worse. And yet we're to believe that SIX Asteri will be defeated in one book...?)

However, if this is all part of a larger scheme, where a multiverse book series in the works, and ACOTAR, TOG, and CC characters will rally together to defeat the Asteri (TOG Spoilers - as well as Orcus and Mantyx... they're still out there, don't forget), then maybe there's a chance.

And, let's not also forget that Bryce bargained away her resting place to the Under-King. If Bryce dies in Midgard... she's screwed. She has no chance of reincarnation, or eternal peace, or... whatever happens after death. But, if she dies in Prythian, it's a different story...

Midgard is doomed.

Following the final chapters of CC2, it is clear that Midgard is heading towards imminent destruction.

We know that Bryce has been thrown into another world. Ruhn is in the Asteri dungeons, his future uncertain. Cormac was killed. Do we really think the two fae kings; the Autumn King, and The Avallen King, are just going to sit back and accept this? Let the Asteri murder and torture their children?

We also know that the leader of the human rebels, Pippa Spetsos, was killed. I can't think of anything that would enrage the rebels more (and their mech suits, the synth - everything they've been brewing, feels like it's reaching its climax...)

Then we have Apollion mentioning that the 'Northern Rift' is groaning, and that he senses war approaching. (And for what it's worth, I'm not sure I trust Apollion...)

Lastly, we are still yet to see the consequences of Tharion's actions, and the River Queen's wrath. It is stated multiple times that the River Queen has the power to flood Lunathion if she wished, and I can't help but feel that is relevant.

The flooding of Midgard.

When reading CC1 and CC2, did you happen to notice the sheer amount of times it is raining?

SJM even makes a point to tell readers that there is record rainfall... (and thank you to @/highladyfeyre on TT for her theory on this!)

Then, in Throne of Glass, Aelin falls through the worlds, and sees the ACOTAR world and the Crescent City world. However, she also sees a world entirely covered in water.

Linking to this, in ACOSF, Merrill explains that all of the worlds are stacked on top of each other, even sharing the same space - but what separates them is TIME. Again going back to TOG where Aelin falls through the worlds, it says this; "She was falling. Falling and being thrown. The Wyrdgate sealed behind her, and yet she was not home. As it closed, ALL WORLDS OVERLAPPED. And she now fell through them."

If the worlds are separated by time, then it can be argued that Aelin wasn't looking at separate planets - she was looking at the same world, throughout differing time periods (more evidence for this here). Meaning, the world covered in water... is still yet to happen.

And following CC3, what is the final Crescent City book to be called...?

House of Many Waters.

The Multiverse series.

You might be thinking - what the hell is the point of Midgard flooding?

Well, the 'flooding of Midgard' is a key event in Norse Mythology, and signals the arrival of Ragnarok (a huge war across all of the worlds, that resulted in the end of life as they know it).

Another term for Ragnarok, is "Twilight of the Gods."

The same name as Sarah's WIP book series... one that she appeared to draft at the same time as Crescent City...

Twilight is another word for DUSK. It all just fits too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Thus, I wholeheartedly believe that CC3 and CC4, as well as the final ACOTAR books, are the precursors to SJM's endgame series - Twilight of the Gods. Where the ACOTAR, CC and TOG characters will unite for a universal war, in order to stop the end of the world.

"But SJM said ACOTAR and CC will be standalone!"

Firstly, with all due respect to SJM, her word in interviews is not always gospel. She is known to deceive fans in interviews; for example, in 2020, SJM said a multiverse crossover would never happen, and in her most recent interview, she revealed that she has actually been planning the crossover for years. I'm not suggesting SJM has malicious intent, if anything, it's the opposite - she does not want to spoil the books for us.

Secondly, SJM never confirmed that ACOTAR and CC are both entirely standalone reads (if they were, she'd never go forth with the crossover). Instead, she said that you don't need to read ACOTAR to understand CC3. That makes sense, and to me just means that she is going to include extra contextual information to help out those fans who are indeed standalone readers (which won't be hard, because Bryce will be learning everything about Prythian for the first time too).

But the most important point is this - the multiverse crossover changes everything, and 100% changes the ACOTAR world as well.

As proof of this, consider Rhys. He has been studying the universe intently for years now. He even built his own orrery - his own map of the universe. As of CC2, he has just met a girl from another world. This girl will almost certainly be telling him about the Asteri, and that their true goal is to go back to Prythian - Rhys's home - and exact revenge.

So, do you really think that Rhys will learn about the existence of other worlds, the existence of the Asteri (who actively want to hurt his loved ones), and then just.. forget about it in future books? Send Bryce back to Midgard alone, simply wishing her well, and then going back to his ordinary life? No.

Elain's book.

As even further proof of this, consider that Elain's story will be the centre of the next ACOTAR book.

In ACOSF, we are told that there are three prominent mountains in Prythian, known as the "three sister peaks." The mountain where 'Under the Mountain' took place (and where Amarantha held people captive), Ramiel, and the mountain of the Prison Island.

Feyre conquered the first mountain; when she defeated Amarantha.

Nesta conquered Ramiel.

Which leaves the third mountain, the Prison Island mountain, to the third sister... Elain.

And what is the Prison Island most likely to be....? The Dusk Court.

I'm willing to bet that Elain's story intertwines heavily with Crescent City also.

That all of this... is so much bigger than we can imagine.