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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Au acosf - chapter 29

high lord meeting time!!! (Tw: mention of r/ape)

@sv0430 @mis-lil-red @confusedfandomslut @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @a-court-of-valkyries @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury

With trepidation, they prepared as best they could for whatever meeting Nesta had called. When Cassian had blustered back to Velaris from the Spring Court, his wings were not the only part of him that was aching.

He had achieved what he’d set out to do: to evolve Nesta’s fear into anger. He had not anticipated the wound she would cause him though. He had provoked her so he shouldn’t have been so surprised by how she’d attacked. I prefer their sons. The only male worse than Beron Vanserra was his slimy firstborn.

Rhys and Feyre were about to head to bed when Cassian had returned to Velaris. His high lord spoke into his mind asking if all was well as he’d not expected to see him streaking across the sky that night. All Cassian could muster was a sorry that he’d been unable to find the reason behind the meeting.

He’d slumped on the edge of his empty bed, disappointment soaking through every sinew. He had never asked for his conception. He had no say in how he came to be in the world. He’d fought and fought for his court, risen through the ranks to become something he could be proud of. And Nesta, ignited by his own insecurities, had reflected it back.

Nobody passed comment, except one. It was Amren who had seethed that he’d been sent to do one simple thing and had managed to fail. She was only bitter because Rhys had tasked her with staying behind to guard the city rather than unleash her on the high lords. Such was their distrust of Eris, they did not discount the idea that he might have aligned solely with Keir to take Velaris. Amren’s insults bounced off his already bruised ego. They had no clue what the meeting was and no way to prepare thanks to his failing. He didn’t need her to rub it in that he was a failure.

Feyre gave him a knowing look as she rubbed against his shoulder the morning of the meeting. She’d fought enough battles with Nesta to know one who’d lost against her. Still, Cassian had wanted to race back to the Spring Court to protect her. Now he knew that Briallyn was amassing her power, every moment where he could not guard Nesta was one that he panicked. He had been counting down the hours until the meeting where he could finally see her again, be certain she was well, even if she tore him to shreds in the process.

The three females dressed in black gowns; Feyre with a crown to match Rhys’. Rhys was immaculately dressed in a tailored jacket and pants, so black it swallowed the light. He and Azriel wore their armour - no better than brutish fighters, he imagined Eris would sneer. The cobalt siphons of Azriel’s were pulsing softly like a heartbeat as he promised to join them later once he and Lucien had finished with whatever Rhys had tasked them with. For all the years that Cassian had done it for him, he needed Az as a buffer against Nesta. She might not attack him if he had Azriel as a shield; she liked that male. As if sensing his nerves, Az clicked his tongue.

‘Tell her I said hello.’

Once they had winnowed, Mor kept a firm grip on his arm as they strode up the white stone steps of the palace. Peregryns awaited them at the top. They had arrived exactly on time - which seemed to be almost late. Slightly ahead, the white haired heads of the Winter Court delegate passed through the doorway but no other courts could be easily spotted, likely they had already descended upon the court.

A servant showed them to their rooms on the fourth floor. A gathering area was at the centre with three rooms connected to it. A large balcony looked out towards the shimmering landscape. It was glamoured to disguise what truly lay beyond. Cassian had seen it once, centuries earlier; it was all lush countryside woven with sparkling rivers and villages carved with red roofs that soaked up all the sun.

‘Only three rooms?’ Mor said with her hands on her hips.

‘Last to arrive,’ Rhys shrugged. ‘You and Elain will be sharing I suppose.’

‘We’ll have to,’ she pouted.

Cassian’s bed was large enough for his wings to fit comfortably - but not for anything else. Not that Nesta would come to his bed here - or anywhere else for that matter.

Staying in another court over night always made them jittery. He couldn’t help but think of Velaris when he was away from it, wonder if it was safe. They had been so close to losing it once, but Rhys’ sacrifice had protected them from Amarantha. The thought of Amren left in charge of it churned his gut enough.

They had enough time to settle themselves. Feyre’s own nerves had begun to fray by the way she fretted and readjusted the coasters on the table for no other reason than to keep her hands busy. Rhys, casual as ever, lounged near the balcony, letting the sun absorb into his dark suit.

Mor ran a hand through her glossy, blonde hair. ‘You don’t think she’s announcing an engagement to Eris?’

Cassian stilled at Mor’s words. Rhys loosed a soft chuckle.

‘I hardly think they’d gather all the courts for that.’

‘They both live for drama,’ she said, slipping her heeled shoes back on.

‘Be nice.’ The urge to growl had been difficult to fight back but he had managed not to lose his temper entirely with Mor. ‘Eris is an unwanted ally, but Nesta is a sister,’ Cassian gestured to Feyre and Elain, ‘if you can’t be civil to her, don’t speak to her.’

The shock etched onto Mor’s features already made guilt squirm in his stomach. But Nesta had spoken true enough when she’d said he was embarrassed about her around Mor. It wasn’t embarrassment of Nesta, it was that he knew the females never saw eye to eye. But one was his mate and one was his friend - so he had to decide who needed his support more. If he could not defend Nesta in private, it was no good wanting her love in public.

‘I think we ought to go,’ Elain murmured, wringing her hands, also apprehensive to face her sister again. In all the months that Nesta had been gone, Elain had only mentioned her a handful of times. Nesta’s absence had become something they had all grown used to – except for him. Her absence was an aching wound that demanded to be felt.

When they entered the large meeting room, Nesta only flickered her gaze at them briefly then turned back to her conversation with Beron. While their talk was quiet, there was no fear on her part as she engaged the high lord.

Behind him, Cassian felt his high lady tense. On Nesta’s other side sat the high lord of the Spring Court. What miracle had Nesta conjured? The pair both wore clothes of the same forest green though they lacked any decoration or opulence. It was a typical Nesta style; but Cassian had never realised the similarities with the high lord either. He was never one for extravagance. It suited them both to dress plainly, without jewels. They looked better that way. Neither needed to show off to command attention. Nesta’s gold-brown hair was braided into her usual coronet and Tamlin’s golden hair streaked down his back. Since his depression where he spent so long in his beast form, it was easy to forget the size of Tamlin; plenty of times he had gone toe to toe with Cassian when things were different between their courts and held his own. Nesta seemed dwarfed by him – and he had to wonder if that’s how they appeared when they were together, Cassian’s massive frame and wings drowning Nesta.

Nesta’s rage might have been better than her lack of response to them as they pulled up seats beside the Day Court. Helion gave a hearty wave – with a wink to Mor – as they settled. When Nesta’s conversation with Beron began to subside, she quipped a line to Eris that had the male raising his eyebrows with a feral grin. His father rolled his eyes, but even the corner of his mouth quirked up at whatever Nesta had said. To the Night Court, however, she was blind. As was Tamlin. Cassian supposed that was the best reaction; Rhys kept a steady, supportive hand on Feyre’s own, but she’d bitten her nails to the quick that morning.

Thesan’s silken voice broke across the quiet chatter. ‘Shall we begin?’

The high lord’s rich eyes rested upon Nesta, giving her the floor. If there were any nerves behind the female’s façade, she did not show a hint of them as she nodded in acceptance.

‘Firstly, thank you to the Dawn Court for hosting us,’ she said, making eye contact with those assembled around the large table. ‘It is much appreciated. We have gathered the Courts to discuss the development of a fund that may support folk whose lives have been uprooted by the war against Hybern.’

‘Spring and Summer Court have suffered the greatest level of damage,’ Tamlin added, with a nod towards Tarquin.

Nesta had managed to bring the high lord who she despised back from the edge, had managed to hone him back into the blade he had always been. It took a warrior’s eyes to notice that Nesta had weighed up her options and allied herself with the least serpentine; her forearm gently touched Tamlin’s, leaving as much space as she could from Beron. Out of the two sins, Tamlin was the lesser threat.

‘Remind me, who here aligned themselves with Hybern’?’ Kallias’ voice was sheathed with ice as he stared down Tamlin.

‘And my court suffered greatly for it.’

‘For your mistake.’

‘Yes,’ Nesta said, touching Tamlin’s hand briefly in a measured attempt to stop the talons from emerging, ‘and I suffered as a result of that mistake, as did my sister, Elain.’ Elain shifted with discomfort at the attention that was directed her way. ‘We were innocent and we suffered. But we have the built the bridge of forgiveness. To never forgive a sin, to take vengeance for our suffering will blind the world.’

Cauldron, she was dangerous. Cassian could not stop his heart from thumping as he watched that clever, silver-tongued female play the room; her subtle touches and kind smiles to Tamlin were political statements that not only were they allies – but he was her shield. And he was back to full potency, a fact Beron seemed to shrink from.

‘Perhaps if he had been an adequate ruler who did not allow his temper tantrums to run riot, his court would not be in such disarray.’ Rhys picked an imaginary piece of thread from his sleeve.

Beside Nesta, Tamlin snarled. Mor’s hand on his thigh beneath the table stopped Cassian from leaping across to the pull Nesta from him. Nesta paid Tamlin no attention, did not quake with fear at his rumbling temper beside her. She had grown too used to it. She had surrounded herself with a male as explosive as she was to bat an eyelid from it.

To Rhys however, she sighed. She locked him into her gaze like a target. So much for forgiveness.

‘The high lady of the Night Court infiltrated Spring with one agenda: to raze it to the ground for petty revenge. Her actions-’

‘I’m not listening to this,’ Feyre snapped, getting up from her chair.

‘High lady you may be,’ said Nesta coldly across the table to her sister, ‘but you will sit and you will listen.’

Cassian had only ever felt magic like that once before. Feyre’s legs gave out, thrusting her back into the chair. He spared a glance to Rhys, but it was not his magic holding Feyre in her place. Rhys was struggling, his splayed palms on the table pushing against an invisible force that pinned him to his seat.

A crown of silver flames wreathed Nesta like a halo. The fae gathered stared at her in a mix of awe and trepidation. He was glad their attention was fixed on Nesta, Beron included, so they could not fully understand the way in which she held Feyre and Rhys into place, no more difficult than pinning an ant under her thumb.

‘Your act of revenge cost the lives of many in the Spring Court as well as the Summer Court, high lady,’ Nesta said, her eyes like molten quicksilver in an unnerving ethereal display. ‘You would do well to show some humility and admit your failings rather than this display of defiance. Because of you, children are without their parents, wives without their husbands, mothers without their sons.’

Cauldron, he knew she was powerful, but that level of it was unheard of. And the control she had over it was impressive. He had to give Eris credit that he’d trained Nesta well. The snake sat mesmerised, a smirk on his thin face watching Nesta dominate the room.

Cassian couldn't help but think again how different things might have been if it was Nesta taken from the mortal lands instead of Feyre. She'd likely have ripped Amarantha's tongue out with her bare hands.

Rhys’ eyes slid out of focus then Feyre’s. Both stopped struggling against Nesta’s magic and admitted defeat after a silent communication with one and other.

‘Last I checked, it was not your court,’ Rhys said, the drawl of his voice fighting hard to keep the anger from it.

‘It is our court,’ Tamlin said, talons growing from his fingers as he partially shifted. ‘It blooms under Nesta’s care.’

Who could have predicted that them pushing Nesta away on the winter solstice would result in her allying with Tamlin and the Autumn Court? Cassian should have known that Nesta was a wildcard, shattering every mould intended for her.

Nesta picked up the sheets of parchment laid out in front of her and read to the courts assembled. ‘Dana Esrith – lost her husband and three sons during the war. The family farm has been seized by debt collectors as there are no males to tend to the land. Shuran Lefia – home burnt to the ground by Hybern, her two children perished while soldiers raped her. Bran Doyle – arm amputated after Hybern’s soldiers ransacked his store, burnt his stock, and murdered his wife.’ Those eyes, still blazing with silver, stared down every high lord around the table. ‘I have over three hundred stories from the Spring Court alone. Many more have been taken in as refugees in the Summer Court. These are fae who have suffered through no fault of their own.’

‘It is time to be accountable. It is time to pay attention to the lowest in your courts. The crowns on your heads would feed families for a whole year. How can you not feel outraged by the injustice?’

‘My court’s taxes will not be spent supporting another that cannot manage its own finances,’ Beron scoffed, not balking from the flames still crowning the female on his left.

Nesta thumbed through her paperwork without a hurry. Nobody else dared speak, not when she held them all in a thrall. A small noise of triumph escaped her lips as she pulled a piece of parchment from the stack.

She cleared her throat before she spoke, the flames fading. ‘Astrid Belevin – Autumn Court - father, three brothers, and her husband fell against Hybern. All the males served on the frontline which suffered the heaviest losses. Kharen, Elusia, and Tarrelia Lundor – Autumn Court – children whose father died in the war. Their mother, a healer, also perished when Hybern’s soldiers targeted an infirmary. Need I go on, Beron? Your son has compiled some one hundred and fifty stories so far and they continue to pour in across the Autumn Court.’ Nesta offered him the stack of parchment, which he refused. ‘The Spring Court is siphoning twenty percent of its tax and tithe to the fund. If your council is so inept at assessing its financial situation that it has not noticed the level of poverty growing amongst your people, I shall be glad of the opportunity to examine the finances myself.’

Nesta refused to look away from Beron. Only once his hard stare slipped down to his own hands did she drag her attention away. The sheer thrill of it was electric in Cassian’s veins; how she had dared to address him by name, not high lord.

A faint blush powdered across Nesta’s cheekbones as she spoke again, this time moving away from her well-rehearsed speeches. ‘There are many individuals out there like me, who are struggling but are too proud to ask for help. If they will not come to us, we must go to them. We must seek them out and we must help them.’

‘The Summer Court will assist where we can,’ came Tarquin’s smooth voice from the Summer Court contingent assembled. ‘Many of our refugees from Spring have settled well. Permanent status can be granted, should they want it.’

Nesta and Tamlin nodded in acknowledgement with his words.

‘Your court has also suffered greatly. Together, the path will be easier.’

Feyre had sold Nesta’s skills short; the female was an expert courtier. The soft, alluring smile she gave Tarquin was a polished, political move, but one that brought a smile to Tarquin’s own lips in response.

Calm down, Rhys said speaking into his mind. It was only a smile exchanged between a high lord and his mate, but it still had Cassian’s siphons flaring in response. That, and the fierce blaze of pride in Eris’ eyes as he observed Nesta. Even the Lady of Autumn Court was assessing Nesta with a small, tight smile but her eyes twinkled as she watched the female hold the room.

‘Cresseida will assemble a team to compile a list of those most in need and we will examine our finances to siphon coin to a mutual aid fund.’

The transparency of the young high lord was a stark change to the others present. There was something about that decency and honesty that appealed to the other lords present.

‘The jewels of the Summer Court are its leaders,’ said Nesta, bowing her head.

For what felt like hours, they hammered out arrangements and next steps to repair the fractures in the courts left by war. The talk of finances and tax brackets was too much for Cassian. He’d sat muddled during it all, letting the leaders argue, feeling no better than a baseless soldier after all. He glanced over to Elain who sat watching Nesta with her brows drawn together. Feyre was also quiet, letting Rhysand lead the talks for the Night Court.

Tensions simmered as egos were prodded. Finally, a stop was called after noon had struck. Cassian’s stomach had been gurgling for the last hour besides.

A spacious room had been prepared with a light buffet; the huge balcony open to allow them all to bask in the warmth of the sun. Thesan offered tours, led by his servants, of the vast palace and its grounds. Some accepted, some preferred to return to their room, others remained for lunch. It provided a chance to mingle before the night's ball.

'It's a good idea,' Rhys admitted. 'I wish I'd thought of it.'

'Will we contribute?' Feyre asked, adding a branch of grapes to her plate.

'On the condition one from our court oversees the finances. I don't trust it to not go into Eris' back pocket.'

Mor grimaced. 'How can she stomach him?'

Nesta was locked in conversation with Tarquin and Eris. It was an easy discussion; the three minds bouncing ideas off each other at a table while nibbling at food. Cassian frowned as he watched Eris pick a chunk of apple from Nesta's own plate and pop it into his mouth. His arm was round the back of her chair. They were so comfortable around each other. Beron was nowhere to be seen - neither was his wife or other putrid children - which was likely why Eris' casual demeanour had made an appearance. Nesta's smiles were so difficult to win, but to Eris they were given freely.

'Stop torturing yourself,' Rhys murmured with a hand pressed against the siphon on his chest.

But he could not stop watching Nesta. Every other female was a shadow compared to her. The food Feyre had offered him tasted like ashes. Without Nesta, it would always feel like starving.

'He's given her one of his smoke hounds. A pup.'

Rhys' attention snapped across the room to the pair. 'They're not to be traded out of Autumn. Beron allowed that?'

Tarquin had departed, leaving the two alone. Twin flames, one silver, one red. They clinked glasses together, from the look it was only a fruit juice. Nesta waited until Eris had begun drinking then she whispered something. It had the male spitting his drink down his front and Nesta roaring with laughter in a way Cassian had never seen her laugh before.

'My enemy's enemy is my friend,' Rhys said coyly, violet eyes examining their exchange.

If he'd staked a wager on it, Cassian would have expected sheer anger from the male, but Eris merely wiped his front and nudged Nesta with a grin on his own face.

'Why don't we go the balcony. You can sun your wings,' Mor said, already bringing Cassian to his feet.

It would always be difficult for Mor to see Eris, but perhaps seeing him as a male who another female was happy with made it more uncomfortable. The other three followed and Cassian found himself willing Azriel to arrive as soon as possible to keep his temper under wraps.

Even the warmth of the sun could not manage to repair his bleak mood. The others seemed to understand that too and volunteered to head back to their rooms to relax. Cassian did not know how he'd get through the ball.

They passed through the crowds still mingling over luncheon and made for a corridor filled with music. By the large bay windows at the end was a pianoforte. Two familiar figures were seated; one playing, one listening with rapture.

It was the final straw. Feyre gripped Nesta around the top of her thin arm, pulling her away from Eris who only watched on with faint amusement.

‘You know what sort of male he is. I thought you’d have learnt your lesson from Tomas Mandray.’

A burning, blinding pain shot down the bond straight into Cassian’s gut. Nesta stared at Feyre with utter disdain. Cassian’s siphons blazed in warning to the inner circle that a maelstrom was coming their way and there was no God who could stop it.

Rhys pulled an arm in front of his mate, teeth bared, but Feyre was not the target. Silver eyes drifted over Feyre’s shoulder, catching on the female making quiet conversation with Mor. Nesta’s chest heaved as she stalked towards her sister, every inch the predator.

‘How. Dare. You.’ Nesta’s voice was broken and brittle, every word sounded like she had glass in her mouth. Cassian could feel her uncontrollable hurt shooting down their bond.

Elain blinked at Nesta with her innocent brown eyes. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You had no right telling anyone about… About him. How dare you tell my business to anybody?’

‘Nesta, stop it,’ Feyre said, coming to stand by her sister, playing peacemaker. ‘It wasn’t Elain who told me.’

Nesta tossed her head back in laughter. It was shrill and on edge. ‘Fucking hell, what has she ever done to warrant such fierce loyalty from either of us, Feyre? Precious little Elain who sat on her backside in the cabin alongside wicked Nesta. One is martyed for it, the other damned.’ Cassian’s knees threatened to buckle from the anguish twisting between their bond. This was pain. Nesta’s greatest wounds were carried in her heart. ‘The only ones who knew the way I came home that night were her and father. I doubt he had that conversation with you before his neck was snapped.’ Her attention turned to Elain again. Elain clutched Mor’s arm, but even Morrigan who had fought many battles seemed to shrink from Nesta.

‘The only reason I ever entertained the idea of Tomas was for you.’ She jabbed Elain in the chest. ‘I’d have walked through the fires of hell for you. And you would stand and watch me burn. I deserve better than you. Mother knows Lucien does too.’

Trembling, Nesta departed. Elain bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying. Feyre’s arm had come around her shoulders while Mor tried to disperse the curious eyes that been peering down the corridor. Cassian couldn’t help feel that Nesta was right though. All of them had taken to Elain, to her softness, to her lack of disruptiveness without ever tarring her with the same brush as Nesta. And Nesta truly would have done anything for Elain once.

‘Why did you bring up that male?’ He pressed Feyre, voice low to stop the crowd overhearing as they slowly began their chats in the main room again. ‘What was the reason?’

Feyre rubbed a thumb in a small circle on Elain’s shoulder. ‘Nesta is getting carried away with revenge. I’m just trying to protect her.’

‘No,’ Cassian said speaking against his high lady. ‘She is not malicious. She’s stayed away from you both. She’s trying to help in Prythian. It’s not revenge.’

‘Cass,’ Rhys warned, his voice little more than a snarl.

‘You defend your mate often enough, let me defend mine,’ he snapped back.

A slow clap sounded then Eris trod towards them lazily. There was something so feline about his movements, the careful tread of his polished black boots, the slight bounce to his gait. And the way he stared, like a cat bearing down on its prey.

‘It astounds me really how your court is able to function. You manage to fuck up every opportunity with Nesta. I dread to think what life is like for the Illyrians.’

‘Fuck off, Eris,’ Mor spat.

He leered at Mor. If Azriel had been there, he’d have splattered him against the wall.

‘Naughty Nesta Archeron who failed her sisters,’ he drawled. ‘What’s today’s date?’

‘Would you like a calendar, Eris?’ Rhys said.

‘Indulge me.’

‘1st April.’

‘And yesterday’s?’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Mor snapped.

Elain made a whimper. A clammy hand clutched over her mouth. ‘It was Nesta’s birthday yesterday.’

Eris clapped again, dragging it out slowly for emphasis. ‘That’s her third birthday since the Cauldron made her into something spectacular. The first,’ he said counting it onto his finger, ‘was spent guarding you in the library Elain, wasn’t it? Of course, nobody celebrated it when all her efforts were focused on you. The second, well she spent that one alone in a tavern because nobody bothered to remember. And yesterday? Oh look, no sisters remembered again. Or her mate.’

‘You’ve made your point, Eris, now fuck off.’

‘No,’ he said, holding up a finger to Morrigan – one she shrunk away from. ‘This is not about scoring points. Do you know how she spent her birthday? Crying on my shoulder.’ His attention turned to Feyre. To her credit, Feyre steeled her nerves and stepped out of Rhys’ shadow. ‘When you hunted for food, who cooked it?’

‘Nesta.’ The word sounded like a curse upon his high lady’s tongue.

‘And who cleaned the clothes on the metal washboard until her hands were red raw?’

‘Nesta.’

‘Who dried the clothes and folded them and put them back into drawers? Who scrubbed the embers from the hearth until it gleamed? Who dusted and swept? Who did all the tasks the lady of the house would do?’

‘Nesta,’ Feyre admitted, ‘but as the eldest, she was raised to do it.’

‘Yes. And she did it. Because that was expected of her. One day she'd find a mortal husband and do the same for him. Was she ever thanked for it?’ Eris’ vicious glare went to Elain. ‘What did you do? What have you ever done for her?’

It was Mor who answered. ‘Leave, Eris. She's Lucien's mate.’

'She's a spoilt madam. Who stepped up and taught you about cycles and contraceptive tea as a mother might do?

‘We get your point,’ Feyre ground out.

‘Do you?’ Eris snarled, eyes blazing. ‘And did you thank her for telling her story about the Cauldron? Did you thank her for trying to repair the wall? For tending to your injured soldiers? For scrying? For killing the King of Hybern? What more must she do to atone for make believe sins?’

Cassian had never seen the male so worked up. His typically cool demeanour had been shattered. The colour had risen in his cheeks, revealing his feelings for Nesta for all the world to see. Then those strange, amber eyes locked onto his.

‘For once, in your pathetic life, stand up for your fucking mate like she damn well deserves.’

Eris withdrew a step. ‘Keep Nesta’s name out of your mouths. She might not be like you, but I am much worse. Do not upset her again.’

‘Or what?’ Rhys said in a quiet voice, staring at Eris with feral delight. ‘You’ll tell your father about our little arrangement.’

Eris smiled. It was always dangerous when the male did that. ‘I shouldn’t have to resort to blackmail for you to be nice to your sister-in-law, Rhysand. With family like you, who needs enemies? You can thank the Mother that Nesta has friends like me.’

#au acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #Eris vanserra

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arinbelle · 2 years

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Taglist Cleanup

Because all my friends did one and now because I’m bored I’m doing one too. Please just interact with this post or message me within a week and I’ll keep you on the taglist. Otherwise BOOM you’re gone. Lol.

( Also, this is just the general taglist. If you asked to be on the Suits or Made taglist, I won’t remove you unless you ask specifically, mostly because I’m lazy and that’s a lot of work. If you’re bolded, the tag isn’t working :( sorry.)

Taglist:@bookstantrash @duskandstarlight @d0riansgray @queenestarcheron @nessiansimp @cassianscool @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @courtofjurdan @vasudharaghavan @sayosdreams @moe8 @arielle-reads @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @nahthanks @oversizedbats @swankii-art-teacher @inardour @rowaelinismyotp @starryblueskies7 @nestaarcher0n @vidalinav @nessiantrashh @iwastoowildinthe70s @nessianlordandladyofillyria @angelic-voice-1997 @moonlitchandeliers @vanzetanze @generalnesta @drielecarla @moodymelanist @wishfulimaginings @amaranthas-whore @simpingfornestaarcheron @karmasworlds @champanheandluxxury @live-the-fangirl-life @confusedfandomslut @imagine-me

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bakingandbooks3 · 2 years

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A Court of Song and Serpents Masterlist

Summary: An ACOSF Re-Write... Nesta was a wisp of the woman she once was, and as past becomes present will she crumble entirely or become who she was meant to be all along?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Tag List:

@loosingdreams @sayosdreams @audreycressworth @cyra04 @that-golden-lyre @nessiantrashh @misswonderflower @dontgetsalmonella @caram267 @bickbickbarnes @sabrinasam-blog @echospace2000 @sirendeepity @booksandbeans @moodymelanist @heron-lanstov @nightsofvangogh @confusedfandomslut @a-court-of-valkyries@xstarlightsupremex@sv0430@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury@nahthanks @perseusannabeth @queennestaarcheron @silvernesta

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nesquik-arccheron · 2 years

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Call Me Yours (if only for a night)

I am not sure where this idea came from, but once I got it in my head it wouldn’t leave until I wrote it down. I still struggle a lot with dialogue, but I think I did a pretty good job. I hope you enjoy 🥰 AO3 LINK

SUMMARY: When Feyre convinces (‘forces’) Nesta to leave the safety of the castle to explore the commoners version of the Spring Equinox, she think’s it’s the worst and most reckless idea her sister has ever had. But when she meets a handsome stranger in the crowd, Nesta begins to question life as she knows it. (Spoiler, it’s my excuse to write smut)

next part>>>

Nesta shivered as she tightened her cloak around her shoulders, leaning a little too close to her younger sister as if Feyre’s equally small frame would protect her from any oncoming threats.

She felt no guilt in it, for it wasn’t her idea, after all, to venture outside the castle walls late into the night. Though it seemed it was Nesta’s verbal curiosity that day at their midday meal, that had her little sister barging into her rooms while she slept, throwing a set of scratchy cheap material at her, demanding she change. How her sister convinced her to strip down and don the peasant's clothing was beyond her.

The village's version of the Spring Equinox Festival was in full swing, even so late into the evening, the moon having set its place in the sky hours ago.

Nesta looked around as she was carted through the bustling streets by her sister, squeezing her arm tighter than strictly necessary. She couldn’t help but notice the significant difference between the Palace’s classy affair, that she had attended earlier in the evening, to the one she was witnessing now.

No crystal chandeliers casting sparking light over the attendees from above, no smiling couples who trotted over a marble dance floor to the melodic sound of a grand piano. There was a lack of polite, quiet conversation, or couples meeting and exchanging flirtatious glances, which left the ladies blushing and demurely fanning their faces to attract a potential suitor. There especially, was a lack of attention to herself, a feeling Nesta had never bore witness to, being the Crown Princess and Heir to the kingdom due to the lack of male heir produced (to their father's dismay).

Here she wasn’t important, she was no Princess to be pampered, no Lady to be fussed over, here she had no expectations to live up to or rules to abide by. Here, she didn’t have to worry about the fact that she just stepped into a muddy puddle, ruining the shoes her sister forced her to wear.

Her sister had snuck her out with professional ease, alarm bells ringing in Nesta's head as they stepped out into the outskirts of the town square through a conveniently hidden tunnel. She knew Feyre tended to sneak out from time to time, saying she enjoyed the atmosphere of the village below, but Nesta believed she had been utterly blind to the regularity of her sister's trips outside the castle walls.

She felt a shiver run down her spine, drawing closer to her youngest sister as one of the men who had been watching them approached, getting closer than what Nesta was comfortable with. She had begged her sister to allow them to bring one of the royal guards, or a least advise their sister Elain of their whereabouts, but Feyre had denied her request.

Feyre had every right to be concerned, though they both loved Elain, she was their mother's perfect little lady, and a huge tattle-tale. While Nesta embodied everything of the ideal Princess, she also had one of the most dangerous things a woman could have, a curious mind. One she sometimes couldn’t keep at bay, which lead her to her current predicament.

Nesta’s eyes lit up in both fear and awe in equal measure as they passed a man breathing fire. She had never seen such a thing, how did he do it? Her mother always hold her magic was a thing of silly childhood tales, but this display couldn’t be anything other than just that.

“Come one, come all,” a tall man to the left yelled, a funny black hat atop his head, a cane waving in his right hand to gain the tension of passers-by. He was standing in front of a red and yellow striped tent. Nesta had seen these all the way from the tallest towers of the castle, she always wondered what lurked inside, “Celebrate the coming of Spring in style!”

“Hey little lady,” he addressed her gently, noticing her hesitancy, “Have you ever seen a bearded woman, a lion that can jump through hoops, what about a woman who can defy the laws of gravity?”

Nesta shook her head in wonder, “Then just for a single silver piece, you could see it all!”

Before she could reply, she was jerked forcefully by the arm and down the road, a squeal emitting from her lips at the shock, “I told you, don’t wander off!” Feyre huffed, "We need to stick together." Nesta knew it wasn't just for her safety. If anything were to happen to Nesta, the kingdom's future Queen, as the youngest daughter, Feyre would be blamed. It was unfair, but a true fact.

Nesta and Feyre continued down the road, the younger answering questions about the masks some wore and the traditions they infused into the day that were so very different than the ones they were accustomed to. People danced in the street with abandon, drunk off cheap wine and filling their bellies with stews and freshly baked bread. The smell had her mouth-watering, it alone was more enticing than the finely displayed buffet of food and sweets offered during the festivities at the castle.

The sounds, sights and smells were hypnotizing, had her head reeling and body buzzing from the overstimulation. She was high with excitement, having never felt so free. The confines of the castle felt so small compared to the world outside of it. She now understood why Feyre longed to leave so frequently, and Nesta was only getting a small taste of it.

If only she could escape her mother's watchful eye for more than just a fleeting moment.

It wasn’t until a flash of fire came too close to the delicate skin of her face that she realized she had wandered off yet again. Panic set in immediately, causing her to spin swiftly to avoid being burned, which had her stumbling around disoriented and scared.

She yelped in surprise, tripping over a stray rock in her haste to put as much distance between her and the fire as possible. Someone cursed when she tugged on their half-open shirt to balance herself, ripping it from her death grip angrily. Nesta ignored them, turning left and beginning a sprint in the last direction she remembered seeing Feyre in.

She burst through the crowd, panting heavily and whimpering in fear while forcing her way through clusters of performers in masks, half-naked men and women and passed-out drunks. They bumped and jerked her in every direction as they danced in sensual waves amidst the overly packed street, so close she couldn’t tell where one body began and the other ended. One couple tried to grab at her skirts, inviting her to join their half-naked display of limbs.

She was scandalized, a flash of breasts flashed across her vision, causing her to blush in embarrassment. Animals, she thought, Barbaric animals!

She needed to find Feyre before she got herself into even more trouble. Never again, never again would she leave the safe confines of the high castle walls and the protection of her personal guard. This place was not meant for someone like her.

She let out a startled scream when she felt a large, strong hand clasp around her bicep, pulling her upwards. That defiantly wasn’t Feyre, “Hello, Princess,” the low voice rumbled. Did he know, how could he know!

Her body froze, dead weighted as she looked into the stranger's eyes. He was drunk, pupils dilated, break reeking of cheap alcohol. The way he addressed her was not knowledge of who she was, but a mocking nickname to degrade her, “Let go of me, Sir!”

She tried to keep the distress from her voice, but it proved more difficult than anticipated. She knew what happened to women like her, knew what could become of her before the evenings end if she didn’t find a way out. You didn’t have to be pretty for these types of men to force you to the ground and devour you, no, the weak ones were the ones found in back allies, completely naked and occasionally dead. She refused to be one of them.

“I said unhand me!” She screeched, breath coming out in puffs as she continued to wiggle out of the drunk man's grasp.

“Come on, Princess, it’s Spring Equinox, it would be ungentlemanly of me to leave such a beautiful woman, unsatisfied,” he slurred, staggering on his feet. Bile rose in her throat when he leaned down to kiss her. He didn't know the meaning of what a gentleman was.

Nesta assumed the first time she touched a man, down there, it would be on her wedding night. A large fluffy bend adorned with equally fluffy pillows, candles and rose petals. Not in the middle of a crowded street, surrounded by horny and sweaty dancing bodies, fear clouding her head and heart-pounding erratically, but her pride drove her forward as her knee collided with the softest part of the male body.

“You bitch!” The man choked out, releasing her. Nesta didn’t stay behind long enough to see what happened next, all her instincts knew was to run. Where she was running to, she wasn't quite sure.

In a whirl of terror and fried nerves, she didn’t look to where she was going, pushing anyone and anything in her way to the side. Her hand burned when she made contact with the heated flesh of a bare chest, whipping her hand back so quickly in the opposite direction she ended up elbowing another in the back.

Twisting like she had been scorched, she fell for the second time that night onto the muddy ground when she tried to back away from the owner of said chest. Though he didn't seem to notice her in the midst of his sexual haze.

She coughed when the breath was forced from her lungs as she made contact with the ground. Dizzy and scared, the only words in her head were, 'find Feyre, find Feyre and she would be safe.'

“Hey,” a gentle voice came from above, causing Nesta to whimper and skurry away as best she could from her vulnerable position like a frightened animal, “You alright, I saw what happened.”

“Get away from me, I don’t want it,” she begged, backing onto her knees, balling her fists into balls, preparing to defend herself, even with her head spinning from lack of oxygen.

The man raised his hands, but not in a threatening gesture, but one of surrender, “I won't touch you,” he promised, “But I think you should come with me.”

“Why?” Nesta hissed, wobbly getting to her feet, adjusting her hood over her face, “So you can take advantage of me in privacy, I don’t think so, now go before I kick you…down there,” and pointed between his legs. She positioned herself with a straight back, proud of her display of strength in the ability to disarm him. It was worked before.

“You mean my penis?” He mocked her inability to say the word, the discomfort, “My cock?”

“You, Sir, are a heathen,” she pointed accusingly at him, “I am a lady, and you should know better than to use such language around a lady," looking around disgustedly.

“All I see is a little girl who's scared of seeing a little skin on display,” he pointed out, flexing the bare muscles of his chest. Nesta rolled her eyes at the act, prepared for a very different kind of fight, one she was well versed in.

“I’m not a little girl,” she folded her arms under her breasts, exaggerating them, his eyes flickering down at the movement.

“Clearly,” he chuckled, giving her a toothy grin.

Nesta bristled, “Stop that,” quickly bringing her arms firmly to her sides, “I refuse to be subject to your barbaric perversions.”

“Oh, big words for such a tiny girl,” amusement sparkled in his hazel eyes, “You’re not from the village are you?”

Her mouth opened and closed in outrage, “Of course I am,” straightening her spine even more in an attempt to look taller, to give off an air of authority she so often did at court, “Just because your vocabulary is of a mere child, doesn’t mean everyone else must resort to grunts and moans.”

He drew his lip between his teeth to keep himself from laughing. He found her amusing did he?

Any retort she may have had was lost on her as the large man lifted his arms up into a stretch, showing off muscles she didn't even know could exist on the human body. Nesta couldn’t tell if it was for his own benefit or hers as she admired the hard lines of his chest, why did everyone have to be so…nude.

“I only came over to see if you were okay, I saw what happened between you and that drunkard,” he explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted, refusing to let her eyes wander from his face, afraid to look anywhere else but those mesmerizing eyes, lest he catch her gawking.

“Alright, my bad,” he apologized with a shrug. She was surprised when without another word, he turned, heading in the direction of an old worn-down pub across the street.

Nesta sputtered, not used to the blatant disregard for her presence. “Well, no, wait!” she huffed sharply. It wasn't just the possibility of being left alone that left her red-faced, but the utter disrespect he had just shown her. Didn't he know he should wait for a proper dismissal before leaving her presence?

What were these people taught in their schools?!

"As I said, feel free to come along," he yelled back, and Nesta followed briskly after him, needing to let her displeasure be known.

She wasn't completely confident in her decision to follow after the handsome stranger, at least out in public there were witnesses to whatever he did, but her pride demanded it.

She watched his broad back vanish through the main door of the pub from a safe distance. It was a dark, quiet reprieve to the chaos of the streets.

She paused feet from the door, was she being stupid to put herself in a situation where they may be alone, where he may be able to corner her? She shivered at the thought of making herself more vulnerable than she already was.

It didn't take much convincing as she spotted the same drunk fool invading the space of another young lady, and without a second thought rushed the few remaining feet to the pub, her mind reasoning that she would be safer with him than on the streets alone as easy prey. She needed to find Feyre.

She flung herself through the few remaining bodies, careful not to make contact with any more bare flesh, and clumsily burst through the entryway of the pub.

It was much quieter within the building, but the thump of the music from outside was dulled to a low hum. She could hear herself think again. Looking around she noted that the patrons were staring at her, her entrance having caused such a disruption that she had gained the attention of every occupant. She blushed, she was used to being gawked at, stared at, but usually, it was because of her status, not because she almost face-planted onto the floor of a seedy bar.

She refused to let her discomfort show, straightening her back almost painfully and glided towards the barstool she spotted her handsome stranger at.

“You noblewomen do love to make an entrance, don't you?" Her new friend chuckled as she approached the bar. She rang in the urge to wipe down the top of the wooden stool with the bottom of her cloak, based on those around her, she didn’t think it was appropriate. She shifted uncomfortably as her bottom made contact, the material sticking.

She chose to ignore the remark, using the moment to take in her surroundings. She had never been inside a bar, which was no surprise, as she had never genuinely been outside the castle barriers in such a way that would give her the opportunity to wander.

It wasn’t truly as dishonourable as she had expected, but knew that those who frequented it were not so honourable themselves. The floors weren’t covered in mud and the glasses were clean enough that she wouldn’t gag if she were to be forced to sip from one.

“You can pull the hood down,” he told her, waving over the bartender to order them a couple of drinks.

Nesta had never felt more privileged to be so sheltered than in this moment, for her parents to keep the identities of their three daughters from the public. The royal family was not unconditionally loved by the masses, and their parents had every right to be as overprotective of their three daughters as they were.

It was a rare occasion that they were seen by anyone other than their parents, close relatives or potential suitors, their parents preferring to keep their identities hidden. There had been threats not only to their father but to the three girls as well. Nesta, being the oldest and heir to the throne, was the biggest target. Since the first threat to her life at the tender age of eight, the three sisters had known nothing of the world beyond the thirty-foot stone wall that surrounded the castle grounds.

On the occasion that the girls were required to travel off the grounds, they were veiled, escorted into a heavily guarded carriage that had no windows, and were securely locked inside with another guard at the ready. They were completely cut off from the world around them.

No one knew what they looked like, only that all three took after their mother in beauty and donned the silky golden-brown tresses of the many Princesses and Queens before them. It was why she guessed Feyre felt so brave on the days and nights she was able to escape, sashaying down the cobbled streets of the village centre without a hood. Nesta thought it was reckless.

Nesta placed her practiced mask of indifference on her face, trying not to let her discomfort show as she left the safety of her hood. She felt exposed, naked, like the men and women who currently danced in the streets, even fully clothed, even with the knowledge that this man, nor a single other occupant would know who she was.

“What’s your name?” She asked, she should at least know the name of the man if she was to spend her time with him, ‘Handsome Stranger’, as exotic as it sounded, was not something she wished to call him aloud.

“Cassian,” he replied without a second thought. She wished she didn’t have to think twice about giving out her name, to freely give something so simple as what to address her as without the fear of what someone could do to her, or who they could sell information to, “Yours?”

“Yes, mine..." she trailed off thoughtfully. 'You complete and utter moron,' she thought to herself, 'Of course he would expect a name in return."

“Yes,” he said, turning his body towards her, bringing their bodies closer together, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his naked chest, “It’s a custom among us lowly peasant, that when you ask someone for their name, you also give yours in return.”

She watched his eyes examine her questionably, from her dirty shoes up to her pale blue eyes. It strangely didn't make her feel uncomfortable or dirty, but a funny feeling in her stomach began to develop.

She swallowed thickly as her body warmed under his stare, she didn’t know what it was about the beautiful stranger that had her melting under his gaze so much she blurted out her god-given name, “Nes-“ but stopped before the rest could sneak past her lips.

“Nes?” She watched as he repeated it three times over, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched his lips form her name in his mouth. He had a nice mouth, she wondered how nice it would look saying other things, moaning other things.

Nesta felt her chest flush at her own thoughts, ‘Get a hold of yourself’ she scolded her filthy mind. Her mother always told her that those books she snuck into her room would corrupt her, having the majority of them burned to keep her from them, planting her in front of the temple alter for days when she discovered her stash. Her knees were bruised after that, but it didn’t stop her from searching high and low in the grand library in hopes she would discover just one her mother hadn’t burned. She did, and it was securely hidden in one of Feyre’s secret passageways, where Nesta carved out a rock to hide it behind.

She was starting to think there was some truth to her mother's words as she continued to watch his mouth, wondering what sounds he could evoke from her own.

“Is that short for something?” Eyeing her suspiciously before shaking his head, “It has to be, it doesn’t sound very…high born, elegant, regal,” Nesta felt her earlier desire turn into an angry boil as he mocked her.

“It’s Nes,” she insisted at his questioning attitude, her shoulders stiffening, “Just Nes.”

“Well, just Nes,” she wished he would stop saying her name. She was supposed to be angry at him, but her name just sounded so good when he said it, like his tongue wrapped and flicked about each syllable, voice dropping an octave as he pronounced the lone vowel. Her entire name sounded obscene in his mouth. May the Gods help her.

He passed her a mug full of some amber liquid, her nose scrunching up at the pungent smell, “It’s clear you come from wealth, so what is it, you’re father a Duke, Baron, Merchant?”

'Try the king,' she thought.

“Bold of you to assume it’s my father,” she scowled before erasing it from her face. She could practically hear her mother scolding her.

“It is?” Cassian raised a scarred eyebrow.

It wasn’t, women of noble status rarely held jobs besides raising children. “What is this?” She questioned, veering the subject in a less uncomfortable direction.

“It’s Mead, have you never had it?” He asked, taking a large swing from the cup, liquid pouring down the sides of his lips, landing on his chest. Nesta suppressed a moan low in her throat and pressed her thighs together at the unexpected sensation in her gut.

“No,” she mused, taking another wif. The most she had ever had was a few sips of the Palace wine. Her mother always watched her closely on the limited opportunities she was presented with to sample the alcohol. It was unbecoming of a Princess to be drunk.

“Don’t sniff, drink,” Cassian ordered, using his forearm to wipe his face clean, leaving the glistening drops on his chest to dry naturally. Did he know how much it tortured her?

She glanced back down at the drink in her hand, and back up at him before bringing it to her lips. She would have gagged if she hadn’t been holding her breath, as the taste was just as offensive to her tastebuds as her nose. Nesta’s eyes watered as she forced it down, fighting the feeling of nausea, to vomit and expel the contents of her stomach onto the floor. How did people drink this, why did they drink this?

“Ah!” She panted, slamming the cup back onto the wooden countertop with a little too much force that some of the remaining contents of her drink sprayed out, leaving little droplets on her arm. “How revolting!” She choked out, laying a hand on her chest as she attempted to calm her breathing.

“I didn’t mean for you to down the entire thing, I thought you would take a sip!” Cassian howled, laughing even louder when her face turned an angry red.

“I simply do not do things halfway,” she snapped, though she assumed she didn’t look at threatening with tears in her eyes, red-rimmed from the strain to not let them fall due to the burning in her throat.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that Sweetheart,” he said as he studied her carefully. She could almost feel his hands on her, those large, rough hands, caressing her skin, “I bet you like a good, hard challenge.”

“The harder the better,” she assured, her head tilting upwards in a display of pride. Nesta was competitive by nature, and never backed down from a challenge when it presented itself. She could be found all hours of the day making bets with her sisters she knew they would lose, or challenging anyone from her handmaidens to her own personal guard to a game of chess. She liked to win, a trait that was drilled into her by her mother that Nesta herself honed every breathing moment, “I’m a woman of many talents and skills.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Cassian’s eyes twinkled in boyish delight, taking a long sip from his cup before continuing, “I bet you're exceptional with your hands…your mouth.”

Her nostrils flared in a very upcoming way as the realization of his words hit her, “You boorish, brutish man, do have some shame!” She scolded, reaching over and flicking his forehead, not unlike what she did with her younger sisters when they became irksome. Her voice was tight with annoyance when he didn’t even flinch, “Do you not know the first thing about talking to a lady?”

Cassian lifted his hands in an invitation, “Go on, how should, what did you call me?” He muttered, bringing his hand to his bearded chin in a look of thought, “A boorish, brutish…I think you also called me barbaric, man like myself, address a Lady?”

She rolled her eyes at his arrogant tone. Nesta breathed in sharply when she saw stars in her eyes at the action, the room spinning for a split second before righting itself, “Well,” she began, ignoring the fact that he was baiting her, “Firstly, a gentleman would bow to a lady, especially those who are of a higher rank. A kiss on the hand is also acceptable, especially if one finds the Lady in question marriage material, and would to show their interest, but it is also acceptable to do in terms of respect.”

“Wish I had a scribe, I could take notes,” He was met with a very unamused look. Nesta got the feeling he was enjoying it. Was this how the lower classes mated?

“Sorry, continue,” he gestured after a moment.

“A man might compliment the female, tell her she looks beautiful, that she smells nice or that the gown she wears compliments her complexion, tell her what an honour is it to meet with her,” she rambled on, trying to keep her head still as the room tilted slightly, “They do not curse, and they certainly do not talk about…” she trailed off, cheeks aflame.

“About?” He pushed, leaning his body closer to hers, invading her personal space.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she huffed, a puff of air roughly releasing from her nose, “That act of…life creation,” she replied awkwardly. Her mother refused to talk of such things, telling her that her husband would know what to do with her when the time came. Nesta, being Nesta, refused to take that at face value, which lead her to the scandalous pages of the books she devoured before her mother discovered their presence under her mattress one evening. She still was shameful enough to not speak such terms aloud.

“Do you mean, sex?” He asked, continuing to take up too much space. She could smell him, the musky pine mixed with the harsh smell of the alcohol they had both consumed.

Nesta sighed as Cassian whispered into her ear, feeling her entire being go on high alert, each cell in her body focused in on him, his voice, his smell, the hot sensation of his breath on her skin, “Fucking?”

“This,” she stuttered, using her minimal strength to shove him from her, her body embarrassingly hot and sweaty, but not only from Cassian’s proximity. Her body felt looser, more relaxed, even her thoughts seemed less inclined to follow the strict outline of her mothers teaching, wandering to unholy places, “This precisely, is how you do not talk to a lady,” and she is surprised how her words slur and blend together, making her sound like one of the village children who had yet to learn to speak proper sentences.

“You alright there?” Cassian asks, his brows furrowing in concern.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” she shot back, grabbing onto the countertop to anchor herself. She didn’t necessarily feel bad, her stomach was a little woozy, but otherwise, she felt, light, free, she would even say maybe a little giddy. What had she truly consumed?

“Did you put something in my drink?!” She accused, shoving a finger into his chest. It felt warm under her finger, and she almost gave in to the urge to let it slide down the golden plains of his chest before he wrapped a large hand around it, jarring her from her thoughts.

“No, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. He laughed too much, like everything she said was some sort of joke, like she was a joke, but it was a nice laugh, low and hot, one that made her spine tingle and toes curl, “But I did just watch you inhale half a cup of mead, didn’t expect it to hit you this quickly, I thought you nobles would have a higher tolerance with all the expensive wine you drink,” Nesta hardly paid any mind to his words, no, she spent that time analyzing how her hand fit nicely into his as he continued to hold it against his chest.

“I am simply a little tipsy,” she insisted, removing her hand from his in order to allow her thoughts time to settle, “A lady never gets drunk.”

“Well, I think you are breaking one of your rules, because Sweetheart, you’re well on your way.”

Nesta lashed out her leg in an attempt to kick him, aiming for the good bits. Cassian’s reflexes were too good, better than her sluggish ones, and wrapped his hand around her ankle before she realized he had even moved. She pouted childishly.

“Ah, ah, I don’t think an action like that is very Ladylike,” he tsked, reprimanding her like a small child, “And here I was going to ask you to dance, it’ll help burn off some of that alcohol.”

“What makes you think I would agree to dance with you,” she whined, not caring about how she looked, trying to shake his hand from his foot, “Let go of me.”

“Only if you promise to be a good girl,” Cassian purred, rubbing circles into her ankle. Nesta whimpered at the sensation that travelled up her leg and to the apex of her thighs, the action paired with his commanding words almost sent her over the edge.

“Fine,” she agreed, teeth clench. She’d agree to almost anything to get away from his hands, what she was feeling was way too dangerous, her mind too foggy to stop her body from acting on those actions, “I’m sure they suffer enough abuse on the daily, I can’t be the first women to make the attempt.”

Cassian shook his head, ignoring the jibe, he enjoyed playing with her too much to take the bait. The blush that appeared on her cheeks at his next words told him all he needed to know, “Say it, tell me you’ll be a good girl,” he hummed.

Nesta barred her teeth, but instead of complying, she gave one last good attempt at striking his crotch. He was faster than she gave him credit for, holding her leg steady so easily he barely had to it in any effort. She was furious, how dare he ask such a thing of her, how dare he ask for her compliance when he was the one spewing such derogatory remarks at a woman of her status.

With a defeated sigh, she let her body go limp. She couldn’t look at him as she said the next few words, teeth grinding so hard she was afraid they may break, "Fine, I’ll be good," she grumbled like a petulant child. Her body went hot the moment the words left her, in anger she told herself, while she gripped the sides of the stool with both hands, knuckles white, legs shaking with the strain of trying to keep them from falling open and revealing her own growing issue.

“Good girl,” he praised, releasing her, but not before letting his nails scrape over the sensitive skin of her ankle. She wanted to scream at the pain between her legs.

She’d later blame her reaction and the proceeding events of the evening on the bitter liquid she had drunk. It was the only reason she was acting like such a harlot.

“Now, M’Lady,” Cassian began, a tone of jovial amusement dripping from his tongue, and Nesta watched him carefully as he shift from his stool to in front of her, effectively boxing her in between himself and the bar. It was an action she would find threatening if she didn't enjoy it so much.

“Would you be so kind as to allow a poor lowly man, to escort such a beautiful, delicate women such as yourself to the dance floor, so we may spin and jaunt in such a way it would elicit envy from every gentleman in the vicinity," he gave her an overly exaggerated bow, bending so low she almost wished he did hit his head off the stool he was far too close to.

Nesta rolled her eyes as he mocked her. Cassian’s shoulder slumped in a fake pout, “I didn’t curse, I did not talk about, what was it, life creation?” He teased, her face unimpressed, “What have I missed, shall I kneel?”

Cassian went to his knees before her, gaining the attention of those around. Why did he have to do such things that had her thoughts wandering to such explicit places? He would have such easy access to her most private of parts from the position he was in, all she had to do was-'No, stop that immediately!' She swore it was her mother's voice this time chastising her.

Not trusting herself to speak, Nesta presented her hand to him wordlessly, gesturing for him to take it. Unsurprisingly, instead of following her instruction and helping her from her stool, he placed a soft, warm kiss on the top of her hand, looking up at her through thick lashes. He didn’t stop there, bringing her soft fingertips to his mouth and placing one on the end of her middle finger, all the while not breaking eye contact, “What my invitation acceptable?” He asked, her fingers still close enough to his lips to feel his breath along them.

Distracting herself, Nesta lept off the stool with practiced grace, patting down her skirts and looking down her nose at him, “It’s was adequate.”

“I’ll be sure to practice,” he proclaimed, standing upright and stretching out his arm towards the door in a gesture for her to step ahead of him, “Shall we head to the dance floor?”

Nesta didn’t move, staring him down like a proper Queen. Cassian froze, unsure of what had warranted such a look from the haughty female. Nesta sighed when he made no move to fill her silent request, “Offer me your arm,” she insisted like it had been obvious.

“So sorry, M’Lady,” he apologized, and Nesta instantly found herself regretting the statement as he presented his arm to her. She could feel the heat radiating off of him even from a distance. She would have to touch him again, and she didn’t know if she had enough self-control to not let her hands wander given the chance.

Nesta had never met someone like Cassian before, someone who evoked such feelings in her. Dangerous feelings, ones she knew she should be wary of, but ones she knew would feel so very good if she allowed herself to succumb to them. She bet Cassian could do so many wonderful and things to her mind and body if she let him get his hands on her the way they both so obviously wanted.

It wasn’t just the effect he had on her body that drew her to him, but his intriguing personality, how even though he knew she was a Nobel woman, she chose to treat her with as much respect a woman of any status should have. He was interesting and fun to talk to, no matter how many jokes he made at her expense, but she had a wit about her to give as good as she got. Too many times had she had to sit through long, lifeless conversations with stuffy aristocrats who pandered to her title. Cassian didn’t know who she was, didn’t care for her status, so he did not hold his tongue, he challenged her, excited her in ways she never experienced, never thought were possible.

Nesta had never found herself fighting to keep up, to maintain the upper hand. She liked it.

She liked him.

Linking her arm through his, she never felt more like a Princess than in that moment. No golden jewelry adorned her neck, no gown flowing yards behind her, held up by her handmaidens, nor a grand introduction. They didn’t need one. There was no doubt that Cassian was pleasing to the eye, every woman watching enviously as he lead her back into the street. Yes, she was still a Princess with him, even in her torn muddy dress, even with loose strands falling from her braid.

The way he still looked at her made her feel like she would never need pretty trinkets to feel beautiful again.

The music wasn’t anything Nesta had ever danced to, which she told him. He laughed that beautiful laugh again as they stopped in the middle of the crowd, “This music isn’t about strict, rehearsed movements,” he explained, bringing her body close to his, “There are no steps you need to remember, you make them up as you go along.”

The lull between songs was short, and before she knew it, Cassian grabbed her waist and began to lead her into a dance. It was uncoordinated and messy, nothing like the stiff movements of the court dances that required many hours of practice.

Her skin felt electrified when he spun her, their bodies moving in perfect tandem together through the mass of people. He was an awful dancer, and he stepped on her toes more than once, bumbling through the steps as she laughed at his mockery of her favourite dance, the Waltz. It wasn’t pretty to look at, and it put to shame the hours of dance lessons she endured since she was eight, but she felt free for the first time as her hair came undone, braid unravelling down her back, tangling into knots at her nape as she flung herself in all directions.

It felt so inherently wrong to be open like this in public, but with the mead racing through her veins, giving her a different kind of buzz them the small sips of wine she was occasionally allowed, the music and the pure joy of Cassian’s face, she could not remember one reason why she shouldn’t be here. Getting caught was secondary to this pleasure.

All her life, she had been the model daughter. Allowed those around her to dictate her dress, where she went, who she talked to, who she would marry. She had been complacent in it, but until now she hadn’t realized how little control she had over her own future, her own life.

What kind of Queen would she be if she didn’t even have control over that?

Nesta stopped dead, chest heaving from the veracity of her dancing, and looked up at him. Gods, he was handsome. Funny and charming, with a wit that kept her on her toes. He was looking at her with an adorably confused face, asking her if she was okay, and she nodded silently.

Nesta placed a firm hand on his chest, appreciating the darker tone of his skin against her own. There wasn’t much wanting in her life when it came to the basics, food, water, clothing, but there were things she couldn’t have, would never be allowed to have.

For once, she would take what she wanted. Unapologetically.

Faster than even Cassian could comprehend, Nesta propelled herself towards him, clumsily smashing her lips against his.

It was sloppy, uncoordinated like the dancing, but it was full of heat and wanting on both ends. Cassian instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist, trapping her hand between their chests as the kiss intensified, the couples around them dancing on without a care.

It wasn’t her first kiss, but if she had to compare, it was her best. Not that she had a lot of experience with such things.

She had kissed three people in her short life. There was Tomas, the son of a wealthy Lord whom her mother at one point wanted her Wed too. It had been her first, sloppy and a little too rough as he forced his lips onto hers without an invitation. Then along came Eris, a princeling to a neighbouring kingdom whom she met with on occasion. He was skilled but far too cold, distant. Then there was Clare, a servant girl from the kitchens. Nesta had come down alone in the dead of night looking for something to fill her stomach, and there she was, pretty as ever in her blue servant dress. Clare’s kiss was soft and timid, just like her own experimental one, but her lips felt so good against hers that it had Nesta diving in for seconds. She never saw Clare again after that.

Cassian’s kiss was different. His lips were plush and soft, but his kiss was hard, demanding, controlling. He was far more skilled than any of her previous endeavours, and she gasped when his tongue flicked against her lips. He used her moment of weakness against her, sliding his tongue slowly into her mouth, giving her time to change her mind. He knew she was inexperienced, maybe a little tipsy, and was telling her through his hesitation that she was still in charge of how far things went.

She soaked in the sense of control, even though Cassian’s more seasoned tongue lead the dance of their mouths. Nesta allowed her own to meet his shyly, enjoying his sweet taste mixed with the bitterness of the alcohol. Cassian let his tongue retreat and she followed, memorizing every inch of his mouth with her own, a sense of pride rushing through her as he moaned in response.

Cassian went to pull away, but she refused him the luxury, grabbing the back of his neck, forcing him in place.

Nesta breathed deeply through her nose and pressed her lips harder against his, letting the hand against his chest slide down the tan skin to just above the V of his lower stomach. She shuttered at the thought of having her hand so close to what she so desperately wanted to feel. The heat radiating off his skin, the kiss, along with the alcohol and her newfound sense of freedom made her dizzy, made her feel reckless.

She ignored his questioning look when she broke from the kiss abruptly, grabbing his hand and leading him back towards the pub they have previously occupied. Instead of heading towards the doorway, Nesta lead him to the dark alleyway just to the right of the establishment.

“Nes, wha-“ but he was quickly cut off as she used the element of surprise to push his body against the outside brick of the pub, standing on her toes in order to crush their lips together once again. She was drunk on power, on him.

“Nes, slow down,” and Nesta froze at the order in his voice. It wasn't aggressive, but it demanded her attention. Had she done something wrong, was she really that bad at kissing? Had she, pushed him? It seemed he was enjoying it.

“Now, now, don’t let that pretty head wander,” he teased as if reading her thoughts. He brought his hand to her jawline, outlining her swollen bottom lip with his thumb, “Are you sure about this, what was going on up there?”

She looked up at him, unsure of how to reply, she didn’t want to admit she hadn’t thought farther than getting him alone and his lips on hers. Didn’t even think about what that would insinuate, what conclusions it would lead to.

Her mouth opened, then closed again, she didn’t have a thought left in her besides him. “I’m all about helping you explore, Sweetheart,” his breath grazing against her lips, chilling them. She licked them in response, Cassian watched her intently, “But, I’m not sure that you even know what you want.”

“I want-“ she cut herself off. What did she want, it wasn’t a question she was ever asked. What she wanted. She allowed herself a moment to contemplate the question, and she was grateful that he didn’t push for an answer.

She knew what she wanted, but she was scared to put a voice to it, her strict upbringing a having a chokehold on her voice box. She wanted to choose, she wanted to allow herself to be curious, she wanted this enthralling man, she wanted…“To feel good.” She finally answered, surprising herself as she let the thought slip.

She felt safe in his smile to feel all of those things, “I can help with that.”

Cassian placed the other hand that was not holding her jaw to her hip, running it up and down her side in long, even strokes, “Have you ever made yourself feel good?”

Nesta blinked lazily, pupils dilated with arousal. She sucked in a shaky breath as she felt her nipples harden under the thin material of her gown, “What do you mean?” Truly, she had no idea, it wasn’t in any of the books she had the benefit of getting her hands on before her mother destroyed them. The man made the women feel good, they were the ones to bring women pleasure if they chose to.

Cassian steadied his hand to her lower back, warm and reassuring, their bodies pressed together so tightly she could feel the pounding of his heartbeat vibrate through her, “You’ve never dipped your pretty little hands between your thighs?” He whispered into her ear. Her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of the moan that she felt developing in her throat, begging to come to life, ”Never explored what kinds of pleasure you can bring yourself with just your fingers?”

“N-No,” she whimpered as the pressure between her legs became too much. She shifted, rubbing her thighs together in order to release some of the tension. Cassian’s nostrils flared at the action, not at just what it gave away of her current state, but the friction of her body rubbing against a very interested part of his own.

“Let me show you,” he offered, running his nose along her neck before placing a gentle kiss behind her ear. He smiled at the quick intake of breath, noting it as a sensitive spot he would revisit again before the end of the night, “I can help you help yourself feel so, so good, Sweetheart.”

Nesta nodded her head quickly in agreement, a motion one could even label as pleading, “Yes, yes,” she agreed, knowing he was looking for a verbal confirmation.

“Just promise me one thing,” pulling back and looking down into her eyes with a seriousness that shocked her, given the current direction of the evening, “You let me know if you want to stop, if it gets too much.”

“I promise,” she complied. She was in a state that she may have agreed to just about anything if he asked. She took solace in the knowledge that Cassian wouldn’t ask for more than she could give, would look to her for direction. She had never trusted someone so quickly as she did this man, but there was something about Cassian that told her he wouldn’t take advantage of her. She was hoping this wouldn’t be the day her gut betrayed her.

At her compliance with his one and only request, she was rewarded with his lips against hers once again. She melted into it, allowing him to lead the joining of their mouths, and the moan she had been holding back since the very first kiss burst through her lips and into his. Cassian drank down every sound, letting it pulsate through his body and down to his already hardening cock.

Nesta almost screamed out when he shifted, latching onto her neck and sucking at the delicate skin there, her nipples hardening to an almost painful degree. With Cassian’s lack of clothing, she had to settle on fisting her hands in his britches, forcing him to her, so close he thought they may fuse together.

The contact was both too much and not enough, she wanted to explore every inch, every secret place on his body, wanted to know what made him shout out in pleasure. Her body was a live-wire, singing with need like this moment was a dance she had been preparing for her entire life.

As if sensing her desire, Cassian lightly guided her towards a stack of crates and large wooden boxes piled up at the end of the alley, ready to be filled with deliveries for the next day. He kissed her one last time before speaking, “Turn around,” he whispered against her lips. She obeyed without a single complaint, turning and bracing her hands against the stack when he told her to.

Her head was swimming with questions, curiosity sitting at the forefront of her mind, but she wouldn’t have to wait long to get her answers.

She froze when she felt the hard lines of his body against her back, pushing her firmly against the wooden crates. It wasn’t out of fear, but the shock of the new sensation as his stiff length settle between her ass cheeks. She ground herself back into him against her will, her mind losing all control over her actions, her body demanding to take lead.

Cassian gripped her hip firmly with one hand, stilling her, and she felt his ragged breath against her exposed neck. He was holding back, allowing her to be the centre of attention. She was about to protest before he shoved his face into the space between her shoulder and neck met, breathing in her sent, “Just let me,” he pleaded, and she couldn’t deny him when he spoke to her like that. She wanted every single thing he had promised her.

He trailed wet kisses along her neck, flicking his tongue along the way, testing her reaction to each movement. He smiled at the gasp she emitted when he brought a section of skin between his teeth, biting down hard enough to sting, but not leave a mark.

“Cassian,” she whimpered when he found that sensitive spot behind her ear again, robbing her of any thoughts that had not been his lips. His response was to grind up against her, and she wondered if his mind was also inclined to allow his body to make all the discussions.

She barely noticed his free hand wander, down over her abdomen, over her hip, giving it a firm squeeze before moving on down her body, bunching up her skirts until his hand easily slipped beneath them, not once removing his lips from her neck, his tongue tasting her flesh like he was a man dying of thirst.

Her body felt tight, her nipples were achingly taut, and she was a single breath away from asking him to put one of her aching breasts in his hand, to give her some sort of reprieve from her misery when she felt his rough, firm hand palm her between her thighs. Her body bucked without consulting her brain and ground rhythmically down onto it like an animal in heat.

It was demeaning, obscene, but it caused her undergarments to become wet with her arousal. Nesta blushed, thinking she had wet herself with the amount of liquid soaking the material separating them.

He allowed her to find her pleasure for a minute longer before sliding his hand upwards to the hem of her thin drawers, he had other plans that didn’t have her finishing before he could show her how to find her own gratification. “This alright?”

Nesta nodded, “Please,” her grip slipped with the sweat on her palms. Her entire body was prickling with the sting of perspiration. His hand passed through the top of her drawers and she felt her sex clench and toes curl in anticipation.

The knuckles of her one hand turned white as she gripped the wood harder, and she thought she would pass out from sheer bliss when his index finger passed through her folds. Without Cassian’s grasp on her hip, she would have fallen into the mud beneath her at the shock that greeted her as his finger passed over her clit.

She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, “More, Cassian, please,” she cried, spreading her legs wider to grant him better access. She felt like a common whore, in the middle of a dark alleyway, legs spread wide open as Cassian rubbed at her most private of parts in public.

She couldn’t bring herself to care. She would pray for her soul later.

“For someone who was blushing at the use of the word cock,” he chuckled wetly in her ear, using both his middle and index finger to gather the juices from her entrance, using it as a lubricant to allow an easier slide against her sensitive nub, “You’re very good at begging.”

Unable to wait for him to do so, Nesta took charge of her own pleasure and brought one hand to her breast, squeezing so hard she thought she may bruise the tender flesh. She pinched and rolled her nipple between her fingers through the material of her dress, wishing she could rip it from her body, needing that skin-on-skin contact.

Nesta cried out and this time the tears she was holding back leaked down her cheeks, wetting the surface beneath her. His touch was rough but experienced, knowing when and how to apply the right amount of pressure to make her see stars burst in her vision.

She felt so empty, her cunt gripping at nothing, begging to be filled. It hurt, even more, knowing it wouldn’t happen, couldn't happen. Her virginity was her livelihood, they both knew it, and Cassian wouldn’t fuck her, even if she begged.

“Give me your other hand,” he instructed, and Nesta worried she may collapse if she let go of the crate, she told him just as much, “I got you, let me show you how to make yourself feel like this.”

She tested his ability to hold her up by slowly letting go of her only anchor, but he was stronger than she realized and didn’t so much as grunt while he supported most of her weight. She presented her wrist to him and he removed his own from beneath her underwear only long enough to grab onto it, guiding her hand back to the space he had previously been.

“Feel how wet you are?” He asked, placing his hand fully over hers, maneuvering them back and forth over her dripping entrance. She was making a mess of herself, shaking as he helped her gather the wetness between her legs on her fingers, showing her how the tight circling motion over her pulsing clit could make her sing.

“Keep going,” he said, wanting her to take the lead, but keeping his hand above hers as a safety net, to be there to help when she needed it, “You know what feels good, find it.”

Nesta continued to rub in small even circles like he showed her, but deviated when she hit a spot higher up and broke, howling in black-out pleasure when she pressed harder on that same spot, “That’s it, make yourself cum.”

His urging felt like warm liquid chocolate pouring over every part of her skin, and she wanted him to lick every inch of her body clean.

The hardness between her cheeks twitched and she rocked back into it, “Oh!” And she couldn’t stop herself from repeating the action over and over, causing her cries and Cassian’s growls of pleasure to fill the alley. She didn’t care who came across them, who heard, she was at the peak of desire and there was nothing and no one that could make her stop.

Her orgasm came on faster and harder than either of them had expected, crashing into her with such brutality that Nesta’s vision blurred before going completely black for all of a second. Her body convulsed, tears staining her pale skin as Cassian urged her to keep going, to ride out her pleasure to its fullest.

Cassian wrapped both arms around her as she stilled, gathering her spent body into his arms, sitting them both onto the dirty floor of the alley, her in his lap. Cassian pulled her in close, rubbing her back slowly up and down in an attempt to calm her, “You alright there?” He asked, wiping her tear stained cheek.

She nodded, unable to speak. Nesta leaned her head against his chest, enjoying the beat of his heart and was about to let it lull her into a deep, blissful sleep when he shook her, “Come on, Sweetheart, you can’t fall asleep here.”

Nesta pouted, but agreed, letting him help her into a standing position, using his arm to support her, “Let’s get you some water,” he suggested. She didn’t think to protest as he lead her back to the entrance of the pub. He told her to wait for him there, going inside to collect a mug of water for her to hydrate herself with.

A cool gust of wind passed her, and she shivered. Nesta stood there, replaying over the entire situation, she knew she should feel dirty, like a low-level whore, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty over the gift she had just experienced.

“Nesta?” Came a soft voice from her right, getting louder as the blurry figure approached. Feyre.

“Oh, Nes,” her sister cried, wrapping her arms around her, “I was so worried, I turned around for a moment and you were gone again, I thought something happened to you, I thought someone-“ but she cut herself off, looking to the figure that approached them from behind her.

“Here,” Cassian offered the mug to her, she took it, taking large messy gulps that made her sister gap at her like she was possessed.

“Who are you?” Feyre questioned him, doing her best impression of her older sister. It was good, but she couldn’t quite look down her nose the same way Nesta could from her shorter vantage point.

“I found your…?” He paused, looking between each of them. ‘Sister’ Nesta offered as she finished off the rest of her water, “Sister, wandering the streets, she looked quite out of place and I offered to help her find her way home.”

Feyre eyed them both with such scrutiny that it impressed Nesta. Noting her older sister's red-rimmed eyes. She could tell her Feyre didn’t quite believe the story, but she didn’t have enough proof to suggest otherwise, “Well, thank you, I was worried, we need to get back home before…” she trailed off, not upset sure what she could say in front of her sisters new ‘friend’.

Nesta nodded in agreement, they had been gone far longer than originally planned, and there were only so many excuses they could come up with if their mother noticed they were missing.

She felt a pang of sadness, she didn’t want the night to end, especially because she knew she would never see Cassian again. From the look on his face, he knew it too. They came from vastly different worlds, one night was all they would get.

“Give me a moment, will you?” She asked Feyre, who seemed wary of allowing her sister out of sight again. “I won't go anywhere, you can watch from over there.”

Feyre gave them each one more look before nodding, “Make it quick.”

Nesta turned to him once Feyre was far enough that she wouldn’t hear them, “So….”

Cassian gave her a sorrowful look, “Yeah…”

What could they say, what could she say, ‘Thanks for the earth-shattering orgasm, bye.’

She did appreciate it, but there was more she was leaving behind than the possibility of more of those. Cassian was different, he didn’t care that she was nobility, he made her laugh, challenged her, and in the end, made her feel safe to be herself. Something no one, not even her sisters offered her. It was dangerous to be such a thing in her position, but she craved it all the same.

“This isn’t how I thought things would end between us, but I can’t stay,” she whispered mournfully. Cassian reached over and tucked a strand behind her ear. Nesta leaned into his touch.

“I know.”

Nesta peaked over in the direction her sister went and saw her talking to a merchant, eyeing the pretty trinkets and flower crows available. Feeling safe in her sister's distraction, Nesta quickly leaned up and gave him one last parting kiss on his lips, “Thank you.”

“I’ve never been thanked for giving a woman an orgasm…well, not verbally anyway,” Nesta rolled her eyes at the insinuation.

“Not that, well not just that, but for everything,” she admitted, “The drink, the conversation, the dancing, it was all the freedom I ever wanted to for myself, and you gave it to me in one night.”

“I didn’t give you anything, but I’m happy I was able to be a participant in your adventure,” he smiled back. She was glad she wasn’t the one feeling the sting of goodbye.

“I should go,” She said awkwardly, she wasn’t good at goodbyes, she never cared about anyone enough to feel pain at their departure, besides her sisters, but they were never separated like this, “Maybe one day we’ll meet again…” she knew it was a lie, but it made her feel better.

“Maybe,” he knew the odds didn’t work in their favour. Cassian tugged on something beneath his sleeve, untangling it from around his wrist before asking for her own. She looked to him questioningly as he laced it, and she admired the beautiful handmade bracelet that was now wrapped around her own wrist, a red ruby placed lovingly in the centre. “A reminder of sorts,” he shrugged, a blush creeping onto his tan cheeks, making him look like a young boy who just told a girl he liked her.

Nesta shook her head, “I can’t take this, it looks important.” It was, but Cassian didn’t voice just how important it actually was.

“Take it, it looks better on you anyway,” giving her a forced laugh, trying to cover the sadness that still lingered there.

Nesta gave him one last look before turning, there was no use in prolonging the inevitable, “Goodbye, Cassian.”

“Goodbye, Nes.”

Cassian stood there and watched Nesta and her sister's backs retreat, and didn’t move until long after their bodies disappeared into the crowd.

—————————

Tag list: Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed (no hard feelings!)

@live-the-fangirl-life @mehx1000 @champanheandluxxury @silvernesta @swankii-art-teacher @a-court-of-valkyries @misswonderflower @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @mis-lil-red @bo0kmaster69 @angelic-voice-1997 @simpingfornestaarcheron @vinylcryes

#nesta archeron #nesta #pro nesta #cassian #pro cassian #nessian #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #my oneshots #call me yours #confusedfandomslut #quite honestly #this is shit #but #my nessian oneshots

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ladynestaarcheron · 2 years

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everyone was so nice about my last fic and i'm so grateful so i want to say thank you to everyone!! i really really really appreciate comments like these because i am a validation gremlin and also this particular fic was a new sort of venture for me so it really means a lot❤️❤️

@oversizedbats THANK YOU😍😍

@moodymelanist agreeeeed, and thank you!!

@vidalinav asdfghjkl don't tell anyone it's a secret but my original wip's pitch is "Acotar if it were well written and had plot" lol thank you my love!!

@letstakethedawn THANK YOU THANK YOU!!

@nicolivesinbooks thank you babyyyy<3<3

@simpingfornestaarcheron all the feels?? thank you!!

@arinbelle omg it's such an overrated moment right?? like what could have been...thank you so much!! yes nesta is young and inexperienced and canon should do a better job reflecting that!! nesta being a sex goddess in a/cosf makes NO SENSE and i will die on that hill. thanks so much love glad you liked it!!

@theladyofbloodshed thank you!!

@angelic-voice-1997 hahaha i know what you mean!! we deserve wayyy more nessian content!!

@confusedfandomslut thank you so much!! there are so many missing nessian moments aren't there??

@champanheandluxxury AHHHH ABSOLUTELY ABSOLUTELY!! THANK YOU<3<3

@bittermuire thank you thank you thank you!! yes i really wanted to capture nesta's anxieties, so happy to hear that shone through!! enjoy your rereads, thank you for sharing that!!

@nikethestatue you can TASTE it?!?! bye putting this on my resume. and yeah cassian really tries with her, i wish acosf had shown that!! thanks love<3

@vasudharaghavan thank you SO MUCH!! blushing rn bye

#compliments #thank you alllllllllll #someone on ao3 said it was sophisticated smut and that shot me point blank i'm dead now #thank y'all so much!!!

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moodymelanist · 2 years

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The Love Club

hello my dear wife @simpingfornestaarcheron. Tis I, your secret santa. Originally I was going to write something else but ~things happened~ so I hope you enjoy this one-shot that's super fluffy and cute and not very Christmas-y but still fun <3

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

On Nesta’s first day at her new job – it was her first real job as an attorney, working as a public defender – she was incredibly thankful to have survived until lunch. It wasn’t that the work isn’t interesting, because it was, and she was incredibly grateful to help people who need it. Mostly, it was the fish out of water feeling she had all morning. She missed the safety of the classroom and clinic and having a professor to guide you if you got lost, but here, she didn’t have such luxuries.

So when she opened her lunchbox to see her boyfriend left her a post-it note with a giant smiley face on it, his blocky handwriting telling her that he loved her and that he was proud of her, it took everything in Nesta not to burst into tears right there in the conference room.

Fuck, she didn’t deserve him.

Keep reading on AO3

#acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #moodymelanistwrites #gc secret santa

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vidalinav · 2 years

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Holiday cheer anyone?

“Kids, what movie are we going to watch?”

“I vote the Elf!” Ama yells, raising her hand excitedly.

Rhys wrinkles his nose, “that movie’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.”

His dad turns to him, giving him a look that can only mean he wants to roll his eyes. Every year...

“How about you, Cass?”

Azriel scoffs, grabbing at the remote. It must have a magnetic connection to his hand, Cassian thinks, because he swears he hasn’t seen him carry it around this much. “Why do we even have to vote, we all know what Cassian is going to choose.”

The Grinch. They all know that.

It’s Cassian’s favorite since he was small. Even when it wasn’t Christmas, his mom would put it on for him every time he got sick. She let him lay in their big parent bed where he’d be swallowed by pillows and throws, and The Grinch would be on. All that color.

Cassian can quote every line and he thinks he does a pretty good impression of Jim Carrey... not that anyone ever wants to hear it.

His mom holds a hand out, and Azriel begrudgingly gives her the remote. “How about we have our guest choose the first movie?”

Rhys throws up his hands, but Nesta sits back, a small frown on her face. He knows she doesn’t like the attention they keep giving her, but... he can’t do much about that. His family’s just like that. Annoying and endearing all at once.

Overwhelming, he should say.

“You just said she was a part of the family,” Rhys says, “she’s not a guest, so why does she get to decide?”

Cassian watches as his mom gives Rhys a stern look, setting her hands on her hips.

You go, mom.

But Nesta grimaces, shaking her head. “I’m okay with whatever. Any one is fine.”

His dad only smiles sweetly at her. Kind and patient, in the way Cassian knows well. “Then let’s make it easy. The Elf, The Grinch, the Polar Express—a personal favorite. Home Alone or Christmas with the Kranks? All of our favorite movies, and none of us will argue with what you choose.”

Azriel sits back crossing his arms, and Ama and Rhys open their mouths to argue. His dad, this time, is the one to silence them with stern looks.

Nesta thinks about it, rolling her hands up her thighs as if her palms are sweaty. Cassian would comfort her if he could, if it didn’t sound alarms at the action. That their relationship is something more... even if it isn’t.

“The Grinch,” Nesta says softly. She shrugs a shoulder. “It’s my favorite Christmas movie.”

Rhys groans, but Cassian is sure it’s not from the movie choice. They all look to him and Cassian can’t help the grin. But then, Nesta’s turning to him and he can’t help the blush.

“I’ll make popcorn,” Cassian says, to distract them from his pleased expression. From his reddened cheeks. “I’ll even throw in some green and red M&Ms.”

@unhealthyfanobsession @moodymelanist @simpingfornestaarcheron @arinbelle @champanheandluxxury @confusedfandomslut

#Stu(died)#nessian #vidalinav writes snippets #of a chapter that is not even next #uhduihauidhgiahgf

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a-court-of-valkyries · 2 years

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Where We Go From There Ch. 2 Teaser

Had it been anyone else, Nesta would have insisted that the whole incident had been a mistake on her part, that she truly had taken a nasty spill. But she knew her story wouldn’t add up because why else would she have asked to stay here? She had lied from shame and embarrassment, but she should have known that they would not buy the lie. Gwyn and Emerie knew her almost as well as she knew herself. They had always been able to read each other well. She would never be able to lie to them.

Sorry for the late posting! I will try to have the chapter posted later in the week.

Tag List: @ladyllbookstan @confusedfandomslut @dustjacketmusings @champanheandluxxury @allyswift @theladyofbloodshed @vidalinav @mis-lil-red @sv0430

#nesta archeron #gwyn berdara #emerie acosf #nesta x gwyn x emerie

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Au acosf - chapter 31

Updates will be coming a little bit slower for the next couple of weeks as i work in a school and i'm just trying to survive until the holidays and not come home covered in glitter

Fae shrank back and stepped aside as the spymaster crossed the dance floor. He was a tall, commanding presence shrouded in darkness.

‘Emissary to the Spring Court,’ he murmured, as he reached the female in the emerald dress.

Azriel held out a hand, awaiting Nesta’s to place a kiss atop of it. But Nesta had other ideas. She couldn’t help the overflow of giddy excitement at seeing the stoic shadowsinger again; a friendly face amongst the sea of preening, polished masks. Nesta threw her arms around his neck, letting her feet lift off the ground as a strong pair of hands locked onto her waist. She breathed in that deep scent of night chilled mist and cedar before Azriel settled her down.

‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘You too,’ he agreed. ‘Sorry I missed the meeting. I hear you were wonderful.’

‘I tried,’ she said, dipping her chin. ‘How is your mother?’

‘Misses you as always. You will always have a place in her home.’

Azriel led her onto the dance floor, not caring if his family watched him carefully from their alcove. She could feel Eris’ eyes burning into her skin. He had managed his temper, attention barely stirring as different males had swept her across the floor, but Azriel had brought his heat to the surface. Nesta knew it because her attention had flitted to Eris frequently.

Without Beron in the room, she had thought Eris might have asked her to dance – she had wanted it. In their practises together, he had been wonderful. But with an orchestra and a beautiful gown, it seemed too good of an opportunity to miss. Still, Nesta knew his own ambition – his court – would always be his priority. And he’d not risk it to dance with her. Although he had admitted he would need to keep away, it did not make the feeling any easier, to be roughly discarded because she did not fit into his master plan. It was the same at the war camp when Cassian had thrown her hand away because Nesta did not suit him then.

‘You seem distracted,’ Azriel murmured in her ear, as he led them in a series of swaying steps. He was a good dancer, used to moving with stealth and purpose.

Nesta hummed a response. ‘Busy few days.’

‘With Eris and his mother?’ The shadowsinger’s lips barely moved as he spoke, his eyes were fixed on a spot on the wall as they moved.

‘You were subtle,’ he said, releasing one of her hands so she could spin then he caught her and drew her again into hold. ‘But not subtle enough.’

She tried to keep her face impassive. ‘Is this a telling off from the spymaster?’

‘Advice from a friend.’

Azriel clasped her closer, the coolness of his hand seeped through the silk to her spine. Nesta could feel the shiny scars on the skin of his hand like melted wax where he’d been set alight as a child as her own grasped onto his tighter.

‘Males like Eris are used to sacrificing what they have to get what they want. He desires to be high lord. He will keep you until you’re no longer useful.’ As her face began to twist into anger, Azriel held her tighter. ‘I say it because I care, Nesta. Because I was the one who found Mor. She was no benefit to him so he discarded her. Every word that leaves his lips has been evaluated and polished before it comes out to best suit his agenda.’

In the dim light of the ballroom, his hazel eyes were darkened. The mention of Mor’s suffering had warped his expression into one that his enemies feared. An uncontrollable anger lingered beneath his exterior, always seeking an outlet. Azriel could be intimidating, in a way that Cassian wasn’t. Cassian was passion; an eruption when he angered, but one that came with warning and could be subdued afterwards. Azriel had a different sort of wrath. One that lingered beneath the ice, waiting for it to crack so it could drown. His anger never left, it was always there laying in wait. She had seen Keir cringe away from the spymaster, how crowds parted for him as though they couldn’t stand to be too close to that unforgiving fury. To Nesta though, Azriel had only ever been decent. Honest. That male had seen her at the lowest point in her life and had turned her away from oblivion; a fact she’d always be thankful for.

In their loping dance, they were approaching the table where Eris was seated with Tarquin. Azriel had planted that seed of doubt in her mind – settled it next to her own insecurities with the Autumn Court heir. Nesta knew his was ambitious. Knew how he gambled with fortune. She had not yet forgiven his little trick on Calanmai to teach her a lesson in pride.

‘If you are to play the game, you must accept sometimes you’ll lose,’ he murmured, breath tickling the delicate point of her ear as the music changed to a slower tempo and their bodies pressed close. ‘There are losses we never recover from. And, sometimes, the other player changes the rules.’

For a moment, Nesta locked eyes with Eris. Part of him did care about her, she knew it to be true, He didn’t need to both having dinners with her or celebrating a birthday or defending her from family. He did it because a part of him was decent. But so much of Eris was shrouded with shadows and lies; Nesta never knew which version of the male she would get. It always felt like he had the upper hand. Eris turned back to Tarquin, pretending Nesta was as insignificant as a fly in his life. So many masks, so many deceits.

Nesta let her hand slip from Azriel’s shoulder and curve around to his back just beneath the sprawl of his wings. Her cheek rested on the lapel of his jacket, her ear pressed against the steady beat of his heart as their feet slowed their pace. She felt Azriel’s body tense from the proximity of his brother’s mate against him.

‘What are you doing?’

With her eyes ringed with silver fire, Nesta turned her gaze upwards, meeting the shadowsinger’s eyes. Her body remained pressed to his.

‘Reminding the other players who taught me to play the game.’

When Nesta and Azriel finally ended their dancing, the balls of her feet throbbed from the ridiculous heeled shoes she’d contorted her feet into. They were torture devices. She’d never understand why females deemed them necessary.

Eris had stared at her from across the room. His face tight. It was worth reminding him exactly where Nesta had once lived. Her family were Night Court loyalists, her mate the general of their armies. Eris might have spoken up for Nesta, but she had no doubts that it was as much an act of vengeance against the court he could not stand as it was an act of gallantry. She could not say which male he hated more from Azriel and Cassian. From the look of contempt he had given her as he strode by to ask Cresseida to dance, he had no kind words for either bat.

The webs Nesta was spinning were becoming more intricate. Part of her wished she had stayed with Rovena where she could have spent her days cooking and reading. It would not fulfil her, but it would be far less stressful. Her role as the emissary to the Spring Court had been manoeuvred by Eris, but she did feel proud of the things she was starting to achieve. The fae who would benefit from the fund would have better lives. But being the emissary had moved her into the open. Coin to the right fae would hand Nesta straight to Briallyn and Koschei; she may as well already have the target aimed on her chest. Against a deathless god, what good was a sulking high lord and untested sentries?

Then there was the mess with the Autumn Court. Eris could be good, could be thoughtful and enticing – but Nesta had seen him cruel and sneering. He infuriated her as much as he enchanted her. His work ethic remained a thing she admired in theory, but when she had shared a home with the male, his long hours locked in an office were tedious and lonely for her. If he became high lord, it would only be worse. Yet he was a better option than his father. There had to be a way she could assist him in claiming his mantle as High Lord without getting herself in too deep the process. Beron needed to be eliminated; he was the most likely to stick a bow on her head and send her to Briallyn. But how far was Nesta willing to go for Eris? Would he not save his own skin if she was implicated in the death of the high lord?

Nesta contemplated the room. Most of these fae had lived for centuries – and what had they ever done? Her eyes flitted to the crowns on Feyre and Rhys’ heads. She knew the Night Court hoarded treasure – Feyre never repeated a crown. They were all rich beyond measure. Not a single one had known the struggle of being poor. Not the threat of Amarantha taking their power or Hybern claiming their wealth, but the worry of never knowing when a meal would come, if the family would have enough wood for a harsh winter. Even Tarquin, a high lord who endeared himself to Nesta for his openness, sent rubies as a threat.

With her mood souring with every inhale, Nesta stalked out of the room.

***

Seeing Nesta passed between males on the dance floor, each one hungrier for a moment with her, had Cassian in a foul mood. For most of it, he’d sat there glowering. Even when Azriel had danced with her, although he trusted his brother entirely, he still wished it was him sharing that moment with her. Mor had tried to entice him to a dance, but that felt like too much of an insult to Nesta. When Cassian had bolstered enough courage to ask Nesta himself, Lucien had leaned over the table and asked Elain for a dance. The female had blushed then turned away, feigning deafness. Lucien said nothing, only turned back to his wine – and any confidence Cassian had evaporated.

Despite the constant noise of the orchestra, one name was blaring in Cassian’s head. Tomas Mandray. The fear he had felt earlier in the day from Nesta down their bond had stayed with him. It burnt up his throat like bile. Tomas Mandray. A male who believed himself entitled to a woman. A male who had dared laid his hands on Nesta.

Feyre touched his hand. ‘Why don’t you go back to Velaris tonight?’

The high lady of the Night Court glanced between him and Lucien, offering them both an exit from her sisters. Elain, who Cassian had always considered shy but amenable, had been downright ignorant to Lucien bordering on rudeness. Nesta had ignored Cassian entirely, though that was better than an argument in front of the high lords. It would be a source of amusement for many: the Cauldron born sister who killed the king of Hybern rowing with the Lord of Bloodshed on the dance floor.

‘And face Amren alone?’ He said, forcing a laugh. ‘I’ll stay. As long as you and Rhys have a shield around your room tonight, I’ll stay.’

When Nesta departed, he thought he might be able to breathe a little easier. But her absence worried him. Tamlin had not attended the ball. Eris had not spoken with her once. He did not want her to be alone again. She needed friends. Needed companions like Balthazar and Emerie who she had began to befriend in Illyria.

Mor and Helion danced together, the male’s hand roving over her bare back. She would be in his bed that night, regretting it by morning. Feyre had moved to sit in Rhys’ lap, the male whispering something in her ear as she giggled. Lucien and Elain sat opposite each other, both pointedly ignoring the other. Azriel sat straight-backed in a chair, eyes observing every minute interaction, never relenting in his duties as a spy. Nobody noticed when Cassian left too.

His feet were heavy with defeat. But the bedroom had not called to him. So Cassian trudged through the gardens again like he had earlier that day. The stars twinkled in the inky black sky and he found himself missing Illyria. There was no night like the one in Illyria. He heard the sound of the fountain before he saw it. Sitting on one of the benches, eyes in a trance as she watched the water trickle over the marble petals, was his mate.

At the sound of his boot stepping across the grass, her head turned sharply. For once, Nesta did not seem surprised by his presence. What feelings of his own had he passed to her along the bond? So often, he could feel her own, but he’d never considered how much of him he gave to her in return.

‘Doesn’t it feel false to you?’ Nesta did not wait for his response, merely scrunched up her brow. ‘Hours we spent arguing over whether the courts could spare coins. But Thesan can throw this ball with no concern over the cost. As long as they are having a good time, who cares for those beneath them? I feel too guilty to enjoy it. I know how it is to be starving and cold, not knowing when the next meal will come. I know that desperation. That fear that if winter overstays its welcome, you might lose a family member.’

Nesta laughed bitterly to herself. ‘Yes, I know. I should have magically learnt how to hunt and gone into the woods instead of poor, little Feyre. I’m an awful wretch of a female. Maybe I should have sold my body for a few coins to feed my family that way.’

Cassian shook his head and settled on the bench beside her. ‘I wish none of you had to face that. And I’m so proud of you that you are trying to help others. It is not easy to make changes with such resistance, but you took on a room of rules centuries older than you and proved to them, you are a force to be reckoned with. Regardless of what the Night Court decides, I’d like to make a personal donation.’

‘Is it a trick?’ She asked narrowing her eyes across the bench to him.

‘No. You blew me away today. It’s an admirable pursuit, Nesta.’

‘There’s a lot that can be done in Illyria. Perhaps your high lord should actually rule that territory and improve the lives there first.’

He breathed in deeply, steering himself away from the instinctual defence of Rhys. ‘More and more females are being allowed to train.’

‘But do they have to be warriors?’ She asked splaying her palms out in question. ‘Can they not still be home makers but ones who aren’t beaten or clipped? Can’t the males say no to the blade and be soft?’

It was not a path Cassian had ever considered for his home. Its people were traditional, too set in their ways to accept change easily. A male who refused to fight would be forced into the ring regardless and beaten to death.

Nesta twisted her hands into the skirts of her emerald gown. ‘How soon is the Blood Rite?’

‘Three days.’

Nesta gulped then nodded, eyes cast down to her lap. A preternatural stillness had overcome her again as though she’d turned to ice. The knife she had gifted him for Solstice remained on him at all times – not only because Nesta had purchased it for him, but the craftsmanship was exceptional from the young blacksmith.

‘Azriel thinks Balthazar will get through it,’ he said softly.

‘How many more won’t? How many will die trying to prove they matter in the world?’

Choice. She wanted the Illyrians to have the choice too to become warriors or not. Choice was everything she wanted. He was a fool for not recognising it sooner. So Cassian cast his eyes across that beautiful, clever female sat gazing at the water in the fountain and realised a sad sort of truth. That Nesta’s issues with them had never truly been with him, or who he was, simply that she had not chosen him. It was another choice made for her. A decision that the Cauldron, an object she detested for what it had done to her, had made.

‘Nesta,’ he rasped, feeling as if his throat wanted to close before he could say the unspeakable. ‘If Eris is the male that you want, I will sever the bond.’

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘What?’

‘I will sever it. You don’t need to feel guilty that you cut it that way. I am willing to sever it, if it’s what you want.’

‘But males go mad from it, do they not?’ She’d clutched a hand across her heart. ‘You would suffer terribly. No! No, you can’t.’

‘Nesta, I want you to be happy. If it’s not with me then it’s not with me. It might be different if the male breaks the bond,’ he explained.

‘You hate Eris.’

‘I do. And I hate his family. And Beron is a tyrant. But if you want Eris, if you are prepared for what life as his partner would be, then you deserve to pursue it. It is your happiness I care about.’ Cassian hung his head. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t care about it sooner.’

Nesta stared at him, eyes wide with horror. He could feel her hysteria building down the bond at the thought of it breaking.

‘Please don’t sever the bond,’ she whispered, reaching for his hands. Hers were icy to the touch. ‘You can’t do that. You can’t.’

‘The threat of Briallyn and Koschei terrifies me, Nes. The thought of you so close to Beron too, it gnaws away at me.’ Cassian took a deep steadying breath. ‘I don’t want to fail you. I don’t want you trapped with me. I failed my mother. As soon as I was weaned and walking, I was taken from her arms and dumped in Windhaven. I had to fight for everything. I had to choose between sleeping and eating, never both. And the winters. There’s a part of me that will forever be cold, that won’t ever lose that numb pain of coldness from sleeping in a tent alone in winter as a boy. A widow took pity and found a broken tent, mended parts of it for me to sleep in the first winter I was there.’

Without that female’s kindness, he would have died that winter. The scrap of fabric protected him from the wind and the frost, but that biting cold that drove away sleep could never be chased away. He was greatful to fight each day, for his blood to pump around his body and warm his stiff fingers and toes before he lost them to frostbite. He was a skinny thing, never managing to eat more than a measly meal in a day – sometimes not even that. It didn’t sustain him in the summer months when he trained daily, definitely not in the winter when he needed all his energy to survive the low temperatures.

‘When I was old enough, I tracked down the village I’d come from. It made Windhaven look progressive,’ he spat out. ‘The piece of shit that forced himself on my mother, the three of us – Az, Rhys and me – killed him. I destroyed the whole village. Women, children, elderly, I let them leave. But the rest of it, I became the monster I never wanted to be. I made them all suffer for what they did.’

‘And your mother?’ She asked tentatively.

‘The bastards couldn’t even tell me where they’d buried her. If they even deemed her worthy of a grave after her working her to death.’

He had no recollection of her. No memory of a face or a voice. Only that he’d had a mother who suffered because of his conception. Every female he passed in Illyria, he couldn’t help wonder if his mother had the same waves in her dark hair, whether her eyes were hazel or darker like Rhys’ mother’s had been, whether she was young when she’d had him, whether there had been other children. Did she resent him for ruining her life? Cassian rubbed his face with his hands. And when he saw his reflection sometimes, he wondered if he resembled the male who had destroyed his mother’s life.

‘It took me a decade to face what I’d done. None if it made a difference, Nes. My mother was still dead. Nothing brought her back.’

Being bastard born in Illyria was a death sentence to many - and their mothers. Azriel’s father had chosen to acknowledge him as his son, a status not often given to children born out of wedlock, but it did not mean Azriel was treated kindly. Often, Cassian thought about what would have happened to both of them if they had been born female. What cruelties they would be forced to suffer.

‘It scares me. If anything happened to you and I didn’t try to stop it, I’d set the world on fire. I wouldn’t stop until that rage had burnt me from the inside. Nes, I’ve failed as a mate. I know I have. If Eris can protect you, if he can love you,’ it was poison on his tongue, ‘you should be together. I don’t want to be a male who forces you to be with me.’

Nesta hands shook in his own as she stared at Cassian. It was the first time they had truly looked at each other, not as opponents or mates, simply as Cassian and Nesta. Those blue-grey eyes stared deep into his hazel ones, the bond they shared heating. It wasn’t a heat that scorched. It was inviting, like coming into a warm home after being in the cold. A warmth that seeped through the bones, chasing away any fears.

Hesitantly, she peeled her own hands from his then folded them into her lap. The slight chill in the air had brought out goose bumps on her flesh so he was struck with the urge to bring her to him and envelope his in his arms.

‘Can we start over?’

Cassian’s brow knitted together. ‘What do you mean?’

A small, shaking hand was held out before him. ‘My name is Nesta Archeron. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Cassian,’ he said, taking hold of hers again gently and shaking it. ‘Lord of Bloodshed. Prince of Bastards.’

‘Oh, are we doing titles? Kingslayer. Witch. Beron called me a Cauldron born bitch so that’s a new addition.’

A burst of red escaped from his palm where his siphon flared in response. ‘He called you a what?’

‘A Cauldron born bitch – with nice breasts.’

‘That is a disservice. They’re exceptional.’

‘So forward for a male I have only just met,’ she scolded.

He didn’t know where they stood, only that she didn’t want rid of him yet. She brought his large hand to her cheek, let it rest there while her eyes fluttered shut.

The first moment he had set eyes on Nesta, as a mortal when she had subtly stepped between them and Elain, ducking her hand into a fist – prepared to fight against three powerful Illyrians for her sister – he had been enamoured. She had looked down her nose at Rhys, not caring if he was the most powerful high lord in existence. She had looked at him as if he were nothing more than a pest she wanted removed from her home. Cassian had never met a female like her. He’d met Valkyries, females with utmost skill in battle. None had ever brought him to his knees like Nesta. Never had he met a female who had absolutely no abilities with weapons, who was utterly powerless against them yet had no fear in waging war against them.

Cassian stroked his thumb across the cool skin of her cheek. ‘I feel like I waited for you all my life.’

#au acosf

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