#acotarfanfic

[illyrian-dreamer]

Make a bargain with me

Rhys x reader angst/fluff one shot

Summary: Your unrequited love for your High Lord has seen you distancing yourself not just from Rhys, but the entire inner circle. Rhys is concerned, and confronts you.

Word count: 2.2k

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You shifted uncomfortably under Rhys’s stare, keeping your eyes fixed the night’s horizon, still with anticipation of starfall that was yet to begin.

“What’s going on Y/N?” he asked softly. 

He had sprung you from your hideaway. It was stupid, really, to think you could escape him, or that he wouldn't follow. 

Tonight on Starfall, when your family and friends were drinking and laughing and toasting to a better year ahead, you had held yourself back, observing from the sidelines, longing to partake as you had each year before.

But things were different now, you were different. It had been a stressful year to say the least – too many losses, too many sacrifices made on missions that you couldn’t come to terms with. Choices made, last words said – the turmoil of your mistakes was a constant loop in your mind, each of your missions weighing heavier than the last, a little piece of you left behind on along the way.

And where you would usually confess or turn to your family for the support you desperately craved, it was all skewed by the devastating, gut-wrenching love you had developed for your High Lord.

You wondered what your friends might say – their snorts and sorry smiles as you dreamed of a life with not just any High Lord, but the High Lord of the Night Court, who was only just finding his feet. 

It was only shy of a decade since Rhys lost his sister and mother, leaving the male to wade through the trenches of grief alone, which were only deepened by the weight of responsibility as he assumed position as High Lord of the Night Court. You hadn't known him before he recruited you to the inner circle, but in your few years of working for Rhys, he had aged, maturing into his title and proving himself as a true and honest leader.

And in those years, not once had you seen him take to a lover or celebrate romance in his life. You knew that your love for Rhys would be nothing more than an imposition – a burden for him to manage in a world where he was not ready to love again, especially not someone like you. 

But concealing your feelings had a very true affect in physicality – you were plagued with guilt, rigid  by unrequited, unconfessed love practically bursting to come out. Skittish manoeuvres to avoid his touch, aloofness at times where you were known to share and console – you had done excellent work to distance yourself from Rhys, and with it the rest of the inner circle. 

Even the blatant probing by Cassian to open up, or gentle suggestions from Azriel to join them on flights went politely declined as you assured them you were fine. And the times where your work was too much, when you needed to tell your High Lord the burdens you were baring and seek comfort from him as a friend – instead you bottled it up, unsure of what you might confess and afraid of the very real affect of someone who was not yet ready to love. 

Rhysand had been particularly observant tonight. Your own behaviour was predictable as of late, but after the first bashful glances to the ground, reddened cheeks where you used to bite back, and the distant, distracted manner in which you watched on – you felt watchful violet eyes on you all evening.

The tipping point had been Rhysand’s speech, a glass of auburn liquid raised high as he spoke to his sincere care and affection for each of you in his circle. He was thankful for all of you, for being the self-made family he could have only ever dreamed of having. But as he spoke to each of the members, starting with his second-in-charge, followed by Mor, Cassian then Azriel, you had slipped from the room before he could get to you. 

Because in that speech - he had shown that he still loved, just not in the way that you craved. And if you had learnt anything through both your career at the Night Court and from Rhys himself – it was that happiness could be stolen in an instant. 

So you fled, heart thumping as you craved fresh air – overwhelmed with cyclical thoughts and foolish amounts of fae wine. 

After a polite ten minutes, Rhys had followed, finding the flattened patch of roof you often sought out after long missions, now stripping you bare under his gaze.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Rhys winced with worry. “I asked what’s going on with you?”

You forced a small smile, keeping your breathing as even as you could. You were trained to stay calm when interrogated, but somehow this was harder than some of the life threatening circumstances you had endured. It was almost laughable.

"Nothing at all," you forced your eyes to his, your stomach dropping at his beauty.

Rhys’s face remained concerned, completely unconvinced. 

“Is it work?”

“No.” A half-truth.

Rhys nodded, a sense of relief that his court was not to blame.

A few moments of silence, you were burning from within, cheeks flushing yet again. You allowed for a moment to imagine his reaction if you were to tell him. Imagined his face as you confessed your feelings for him – your High Lord, your employer. How ridiculous and wildly inappropriate. 

Your face flushed a deeper pink at the shame of it. Rhys’s eyes dotted to your cheeks, not missing a thing.

He leveled a look at you. “You can always be honest with me.” You felt a gentle caress on your mental shields, and it was an instinct you cursed yourself for to seize them higher at his touch.

You moved your eyes back to the horizon, sighing with frustration. He was here, he cared – perhaps you could just, try?

“How did you do it?” you asked ominously, a pained frown pulling at your brow.

Rhys shifted at your question, brows raising in surprise. “Do what?”

You cleared your throat. “How did you let yourself love again, when you know how quickly it can be taken away?”

Rhys nodded slowly, violet eyes softening with understanding.

“Would you believe me if I said it was easy?” he replied.

You gave a small laugh, looking down at your hands. “No, actually.”

“Well it was.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Opening my home to all of you, creating this family is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because it was meant to be.”

You nodded back. You would never tell him how easy it is for you to fall in love with him too. How quickly it had happened, how natural it felt for you.

“I would risk everything I have to have to keep you all safe and content, even just for one more day.”

His words struck you. Risk – there was too much to lose.

“I would risk everything I have for anyone I love, I think,” he continued. “I know that now, that it’s important to let go of what I can’t control, and let myself risk it all.”

He loved your family so dearly – it felt traitorous to indulge in the idea that your love could evolve past the sincere platonic form that it took now. You were greedy, spoilt.

“But that doesn’t just apply to my love for my court.”

Huh?

“As you know, anyone I care for is automatically a target beyond Velaris. My brothers, Mor, Amren.” Rhys paused. “And you.”

You looked up at him, his violet eyes unreadable as stars winked in their depths.

“I don’t want you to risk what you have for me,” your voice was barely a whisper, and you wondered if he sensed the deeper implication of your words.

Rhys wore a soft, sideways smile as he spoke. “You are well worth the risk.”

You were sure he could hear your fastened heart, no longer able to conceal your feelings. For a year your secret had lived at the tip of your tongue, threatening to ruin everything you had. It was too much to bare.

Silent tears started to run down your cheeks.

Rhys’s eyebrows clenched in concern, and he stepped towards you, reaching to brush them away with a stroke of of his cool fingers. You tried to step away, turning your face in shame – but he held your shoulders, a gentle hand pulling your chin to face him.

Violet beheld you again, and you forced yourself to not look away. Maybe you could face him, face your truth. Maybe, you could be as brave as him.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N,” Rhys said softly, his hands cupping your face as he brushed away your tears. “I don’t think I need to tell you that I’m very fond of you.”

Your heart thrummed, pulsing with instinct. Say it, out loud, risk it! it seemed to shout.

You bought your hands up to his, holding them as you took a deep breath.

“And I am fond of you.”

Rhys’s face lit up as stars twinkled in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and the smile that pulled at his sharp cheek bones threatened your knees to buckle.

You couldn’t help the tears that kept running. You were given in, risking it all, and there was no coming back. 

Rhys leaned in close to your face, his fresh scent filling the air around you. He placed a gentle kiss on each of your tear stained cheeks before licking the salty liquid from his perfect lips.

You stared at him in awe, his beauty enveloping your view.

“Fond, on my behalf, is an understatement,” he murmured, tilting your chin upwards to him. 

A gentle hand snaked behind your back, pulling you against his body. The feeling of him softly pressed to you made you throb, and you continued to stare up at his face, unable to hide your own shock. 

He brushed your hair behind your ear, before cupping your jaw.

“So beautiful,” he said again, before leaning down and placing his lips on yours gently.

The kiss was soft, more attentive than you had ever experienced. You succumbed to it, letting your body relax into his hold as he pulled you in closer with the arm at your back, strengthening to hold your knees truly gave out at his touch.

You own arms naturally made their way to his hair and neck, trying to pull yourself closer.

Rhys chuckled into the kiss, inhaling as he traced his tongue along your lips, asking for permission.

A moan escaped you as you gained Rhys his entrance, his tongue sliding sensually over yours.

Your skin was alight, senses heightened and perked as every part of you ached and begged to never let go.

But a guilty conscience had Rhys pulling away from your lips, a small smirk pulling at your frustrated moan.

“Y/N,” he straightened, suddenly more serious. “I didn't come here to only confess my affection.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you hummed, fingers on your mouth as your lips tingled with his lingering touch.

When Rhys chuckled, you swore it pleased the Gods.

“The others are just as concerned as I am. You’re withdrawn, proper sleep has escaped you for months, and–"

Your mouth twitched, before you flew up to plant a quick peck on his lips, silencing him. “And what of you, High Lord? How much do you burry in that head of yours? It is hard to know how much to burden onto you, when you are already dealing with so much.”

Violet eyes danced between yours in thought. “Make a bargain with me.”

Your brow quirked. “Pardon me?”

“Promise me, to share the things with which you need support so you may not burden them alone. And I will promise to do the same.”

“Rhys,” you breathed, honoured yet anxious at the vulnerability weaved into a bargain such as that. “Do you know what you’re asking each of us to confess?”

Rhys smiled, shaking his head. “With conditions, of course. This will be for those things that you know you shouldn’t keep to yourself, the truths you know the other would want to help with.”

You couldn't help the grin that pulled at your cheeks. “You’re mad.”

Rhys flicked your nose. “I know what it is to rot from within, Y/N. And in a world of magic and power and darkness, I will not let you burden it alone.”

“Rysand…”

Rhys all but moaned, pulling you in for a searing kiss. “Say yes,” he murmured against your lips.

With clenched eyes, you nodded, aware of the itching sensation on your neck as Rhys enveloped you with another kiss, the etching of your bargain searing to your skin. 

A gentle talon stroked at your mind then, hinting with sensuality.

You opened your eyes, forcing your shields down for the first time in years. 

Rhys growled as he entered your mind, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deeply. And as the night sky became alive with iridescent streaks of light, the beginnings of starfall went neglected as you and Rhys explored a world of your own.

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AN: Hello dreamers, I just had to get out a one-shot, and I had a few requests to write for the most handsome High Lord! I sincerely hope you liked this, I haven't done a one-shot in a HOT minute!! So glad to be back with them. Comment to join my main tag list anytime, MWA!

#acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand fanfic #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff #rhysand unrequited love #rhys fanfic #rhys angst #rhys fluff #rhysand one shot #rhys one shot #acotar one shot #unrequited love #acotar fandom #acotar angst #acotarfanfic #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand x oc #rhys x oc

[haunted-moon]

Long Way Home [Part III]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here.

Read Part 2 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part III

A few months later, Star fall was to commence soon. 

Excitement was in the air, and I was looking forward to it too. Rhysand and Feyre were going to host a party, and preparations were already underway. Everyone pitched in to help between their usual duties, chattering about the outfits, the food, song and dance.

Mor and Feyre repeatedly asked me about my outfit for the event. I remained evasive, since I had no plans of actually attending the party. I'd be watching the sky from elsewhere. Even though I helped with the preparations as if I was going to attend, I was gradually emptying my quarters and shifting my things to an isolated property outside the city. This property was situated in a river valley backed by the large mountains surrounding Velaris. It was an inheritance passed down in our family, and I had remodelled the villa and the gardens with the help of my dad. It was a perfect place to avoid others, and I loved it very much. Father, on the other hand, didn't like to be alone for long periods of time and didn't visit it much. 

While I was still in the process of shifting my things, I started sleeping less in the nights. I stayed awake at the kitchen table with a hot cup of tea, working my anatomy drawings or study notes. The one thing I'd miss when I left was the library, so I tried to make extensive notes and copied important paragraphs from the books I read. 

One night, I decided on a change of scenery and took my materials to one of the many balconies, making myself comfortable on the thick carpet. As usual, I had some tea in my favourite cup and lots of lamps to illuminate my work. 

I had placed the tea-cup along with a glass jar of coloured pencils on a side table so that I wouldn't accidentally knock them off with my elbow. Leaning against the balcony railing, I was copying a detailed anatomical diagram of an Illyrian wing in my journal. 

A sudden gust of wind knocked over the table and shattered the tea-cup and glass jar. I jumped, dropping my journal as I watched the carpet soak up my drink and pencils scattered everywhere. My favourite cup was broken to fragments. 

Azriel appeared before I had the time to think what to do next. 

"Oh, sorry," he pointed at the shattered pieces.

I sighed. The glass jar could be replaced, but the tea-cup was from one of a collection set of my mother's. It hadn't broken into very tiny pieces, though. Maybe I could put it back together, even if it couldn't be used. I could use another cup for drinking and keep this one back in its shelf. 

I unfolded a drawstring pouch from my pocket and gathered all the pieces. Azriel helped by collecting the remains of the glass jar and the scattered pencils. The tea stain on the carpet couldn't be helped.

He didn't leave immediately after we finished, so I offered him a cup of tea while I brewed some for myself. He accepted, and soon enough, we had our own mugs of the hot liquid and sitting next to each other on the balcony floor, looking out into the night.

He cleared his throat. "That cup was important to you."

I nodded. A tendril of his shadow flickered near his neck, and slipped out of sight. "It's from a set that belonged to my mother."

His expression dropped from his usual polite blankness. "I'm truly sorry. If there's any way I can help fix—"

I held up a hand. "It's alright. I'll fix it by myself later on."

I was curious as to why he had appeared here. He had never actually come to a place I was in out of his own volition. I asked him about it.

He did not give a direct answer. "You weren't there in the kitchen. I was looking for you everywhere."

I fell silent, turning over his reply in my mind, unsure of how to proceed. Meanwhile, he laid down his mug and picked up the journal I used for sketching. This journal in particular was just pages and pages of anatomical Illyrian wings with the parts labelled and side information. I had drawn them in every possible angle and technique I could think of. 

He slowly thumbed through the pages, his own wings slightly trembling in the breeze. 

"These are really accurate," he commented as he stopped at one of the pages. His eyebrows went up, and I leaned over a bit to see what he was looking at. 

It was a shaded sketch of a pair of hands, with the palms turned up. And they had scars on them. Azriel's hands, which I had drawn one feverish night from memory. Fuck. 

I straightened, cupping my own mug with both hands and intensely staring at it, determined not to face him or acknowledge the drawing. My ears and neck turned hot with embarrassment. He stayed on that page for a long time before closing the journal and carefully keeping it on the carpet between us. 

"Why the wings?" He asked after a while. 

I shrugged. "I miss having them."

"What happened?"

I narrowed a side glance at him. "I'm sure you know what happened."

One corner of his mouth tipped up. "I do. But I'd like to hear the account from you."

I shrugged. "Nothing much to tell. Father was sent on a mission. Mother was already dead by that time and he had to take me with him since there was nobody else at the time to look after me. The task went wrong, and the enemy soldiers ripped off both our wings and left us to die. Only, we were somehow revived and brought back to life. It was quite a while before I learned how to properly balance myself without my wings."

"This was during the war, yes?"

"Yes."

He turned to me and gave me a once-over. "Your mother was not Illyrian."

I nodded. "She was a high fae from the Summer Court. It's a thing in our family's ancestry. We come from a long line of powerful healers, and not all our mates are Illyrian. She survived my birth, even with my wings, but she died during the second along with the child."

Noticing the sadness that crept into my voice, he changed the subject by pointing at my journal. "Why my hands?"

I blushed, turning away from his inquisitive gaze. "I find them beautiful, that's all."

He opened his mouth to reply, but stood up abruptly, his head cocked to the side as if listening to something. 

"I have to go."

Going like this only meant one thing. "Is Elaine in need of help?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears.

He was on his way to one of the archways, and halted mid-stride. "Yes. Why?"

I shook my head, motioning for him to leave. "It's nothing. Go on. Don't let me keep you."

He took a step towards me. "But—"

"Just go."

He left.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

I took a nap right there on the carpet until the early morning rays warmed my skin. When I was awake, I started gathering all my things to go back to my room. Cassian appeared and waved at me as I stood up, my arms weighed down with the books and the empty mugs. 

"Good morning, my chicken soup."

I laughed. "Morning, Cassian."

During my stay, Cassian had once fallen ill with a stomach problem and wouldn't eat anything and spat out the medicine. I mixed all the herbal concoction in some chicken soup, its flavours masking the bitterness of the herbs and fed it to him until he was better. From then on, he started calling me his chicken soup and always came to me in case of injuries and other illnesses. 

He took some of my books and started walking me to my quarters. "I've fetched you breakfast, its in your room."

"Thanks."

When we reached my room, we unloaded our things on a table and I sat on a chair, keeping the breakfast tray on my lap. He took a seat on my bed and thoughtfully chewed on a piece of fruit. 

His wings were gently fluttering and I couldn't stop staring. 

"How does it feel to fly?" I asked in a low voice. My wings were ripped before I could do so.

His eyes softened. What happened to me and father was not a secret, everyone knew about it. He suddenly grinned as if he had a great idea. 

"What if I show you, instead of describing it?"

I didn't know what to say. "Um, I don't know, I'm a pretty chubby woman, I might be too heavy for you to—"

He groaned dramatically. "Oh, come on. I will be put to shame if I can't carry you!" He stood up. "Finish your breakfast. I'll take you right now."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Tags:

@kalulakunundrum

@thelov3lybookworm

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 4 here.

Thank you for all the responses to my previous two parts of the story!

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

#acomaf #acotar #acotarfanfic #amren #archeronsisters #azriel #azrielxfemalereader #azrielxreader #cassian #elaine #fanfiction #feyre #nesta #prythian #rhys #thenightcourt #velaris #wattpadfanfiction #wattpadindia #azriel x yn #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #creative writing #writing #writers of tumblr #wattpad writer #text posts #long reads

[popjunkie42]

Blossoming in Winter - Chapter Four

For my darling @witchlingsandwyverns, the next chapter of your gift exchange! I hope you enjoy! The angst is getting angsty.

Love and kisses to @witch-and-her-witcher, @temperedink and @wilde-knight for the beta reads, patience and advice!

Blossoming in Winter

Chapter Four: Darkness Unescapable - read on AO3

Summary:

Five hundred years before Amarantha’s reign Under the Mountain, Prythian and the Continent were thrust into a brutal war to abolish human slave lands and the threat of the King of Hybern. Tamlin, third son of the High Lord of Spring, has rebelled against his father to fight on behalf of the human-faerie alliance. A fae archer in his personal guard, Feyre Archeron, makes a foolhardy decision that changes the tide of the entire war.

Rescued from torture at the hands of General Amarantha, Prince Rhysand has been sent to High Lord Thesan’s Hall of Healing in the Dawn Court. Frustrated, immobile and in disgrace with his father, Rhysand meets a fellow patient in healing who helps him see the days ahead, beyond the brutality of war. But can he make her see that future for herself?

A Court of Thorns and Roses AU set during the first Hybern war, inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn in Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.

First part of Chapter Four under the cut!

In her quarters, Feyre argued with her nurses until she had driven them from the room.

The nurses were a problem. They insisted on bandage changes twice a day. And she was starting to lose the strength to keep them away. Standing in front of the mirror, breathing deeply, Feyre began to unwrap her bindings.

White, withered skin revealed itself stripe by stripe in the mirror. It was dull and gray, as if it was dying on her bones. 

The pale wintry sun shone over the spread of newly infected flesh on her ribs. The skin around the edges was raw and red. Every day she felt it, the searing, frozen cold biting at her body. And then, nothing. More of her body given way on the battleground of her flesh.

Turning away from the mirror, she pinned a strip of clean bandage between her wrist and the table, and began awkwardly wrapping her arm. Hopes or wishes could do nothing now. The ichor spilled on her skin was claiming her body, inch by inch.

Feyre closed her eyes. Sometimes the memories felt so real she wondered if she ever really left the Middle. If that cursed blood that spilled on her had stained her mind as well as her body. The memory of the scent of wet earth and sweet rot hung heavy in her nose. She swore she felt wet moss trailing over her skin, the sound of rustling leaves drowning out the muted bustle of the healing hall. 

In the forest, she had not approached the god like a warrior, soldier, or High Lord. 

Feyre had hunted.

She was fortunate that his power was so vast it prickled the hairs on her arm, that she could sense it and keep to the very edges, out of his awareness. Fortunate that a small creature such as herself posed so little threat to an old god as to go unnoticed.

Magic had dripped off of him like morning dew. Her feet followed the path decked with new green buds on the trees, spring grass and flowers on the forest bed in the shape of his footsteps, quickly freezing and dying in the early winter cold.

Under the dark trees, she had circled for hours, scenting and tracking. And slowly, she set her trap - of wards and spells, and the more vulgar spikes and ropes. 

She didn’t lay eyes upon him until he had fallen into her trap. A towering figure, long of limb, so covered in sprouts and moss and vines it was impossible to see the skin underneath. His power not of good or evil but simply the endless, metamorphic cycle of a seedling sprouting and falling back to the earth as a rotted tree.

When he was caught, bound and covered in his own dark blood, and she finally stood in front of him, her only impulse had been to kneel.

She was a creature of the forest, was she not? 

In his eyes, in the draw of that vast power, older than time, she felt the world melt away. Felt how short a time these seven years were to an immortal. Grief over the dead on a battlefield was meaningless, as all would return one day to the earth to feed the trees.

And as he raged even in his death rattle, the burning blood had splashed from his wounds and onto her body. He sank to the forest floor and breathed his last as Feyre had screamed, her skin marked, cursed, by magic and fury. 

In her bedroom, Feyre winced at the bite of ice on her flesh. For a terrible moment, the numbness subsided, and she felt the burning pinprick screams of her limb so long asleep and starved for blood. 

She shoved the rest of the bandages in between her teeth and screamed.

Through the pain she repeated the awful truth to herself: she had already accepted this cost, for Tamlin, and by consequence, the rest of Prythian. The Suriel had foretold it, and it was just taking a little longer than expected. 

Wasn’t one inconsequential fae life worth the rest of them, of all Prythian? 

The pain subsiding, she tucked her wrapped arm under a large tunic and tied the sleeve, pulling it tight with her teeth. Then she pulled the fine night-blue cloak around her shoulders and tied it tightly around her throat.

She didn’t admit what was on her mind now. She was going walking, and it was best he didn’t see.

Read the rest on AO3

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre #acotar fanfiction #acotarfanfic #lord of the rings inspired #faramir and eowyn #acotar au #feysand fanfic

[acourtofladydeath]

Hello all and welcome to the depths of depravity my masterlist! Here you will find all of my fics to date, which are available to read on AO3. While most of my work is currently ACOTAR based, I write for multiple ships across many fandoms and will happily hear your requests!

✍🏻 indicates a WIP

🌶️ indicates spice on a scale of 1-3 peppers

🗡️ indicates depictions of violence, battles, and/or injuries

📚 indicates a multichap fic

💞 indicates fluff

❗ indicates heavy emotion/emotional trauma/death, however this may not be inclusive as every person experiences and reacts to emotions differently.

💤 indicates a hiatus

Please be sure to check all fic tags on AO3 as well as these initial indicators! Many of my fics include explorations of physical and/or emotional trauma.

Azris

All Things End ❗ This fic has an immersive, direct read playlist component that you can read about here!

The Soft Heart & The Shadow 🗡️❗

The Soft Heart & The Little Fox 🗡️❗

One Bed, One Bond, and a Pair of Wings

Enter: Uncle Autumn

Fighting Fire with Fire 🗡️❗

And So Our Life Begins (ASOLB) ✍🏻📚

A Second Chance *part of the ASOLB series

Finding His Shadow: An Azris Peter Pan AU **please note this fic is very aged up from the original material 📚🗡️🌶️🌶️🌶️ in Ch. 2 only

Fire Alarm

All I Want For Solstice Is You 💞

Nessian & Nessriel

In Due Time 💞 (Nessian)

What Happens In The Night 🌶️🌶️🌶️ (Nessian)

Complications Arose, Ensued, Were Overcome 🗡️ (Nessian)

Take These Broken Wings ✍🏻🗡️❗📚 (Nessriel)

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tender 💞 (Nessriel)

Our Greatest Adventure 💞 (Nessriel)

Multi-Ship or Other ACOTAR

3 Jewels In The Hewn City 📚🌶️🌶️🌶️ (Feysand, Nessian, Azris)

Lovers Live & Die Fortissimo (LL&DF)💤✍🏻📚 (Azris, Nessian, Feytamsand, Elucien, HelionXLOA)

Publicly Pleasing, Silently Drowning 🗡️❗ (Eris Vanserra)

How I Met Your Fathers 💞 (Feytamsand)

Stairway Snoops (Azris X Nessian polycule)

Into the Fire 🌶️🌶️🌶️ (Feytamcien/Lufeylin)

Return to the Hewn City ✍🏻📚 🌶️🌶️🌶️(Azris X Nessian swinging)

ACOTAR Drabbles

The Fawn, The Fox, & The Fiend 🌶️🌶️🌶️ (Eltamcien)

Live, and Be Happy ❗ (Feytamsand)

The Wall Comes Down 🗡️ (Azris)

Just One More 🌶️🌶️🌶️(Nessriel)

Other Universe Fics

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[danydragons21]

TSTS Chapter 34: The Hourglass

Read it on ao3 here.

Chapter 34: The Hourglass

Elain scented her sister before she saw her.

The eldest Archeron was in the library at the Mortal Manor, a book balanced between her palms, blue-gray eyes narrowed intently as they quickly and smartly scanned the page. She was so enraptured she didn’t even notice Elain, who was on her way back from Vassa’s quarters - she had just tried to intercept the queen at the start of nightfall yet again, unsuccessfully, of course - when she’d caught a whiff of Nesta’s signature scent: rich vanilla and silvery smoke and burning embers. 

She had to call her sister’s name to get her attention.

“Nesta,” she said. 

“Elain!” she replied, surprised. She snapped the book shut.

“What are you doing here?” If Elain was blunt, she didn’t much care. What was it with her family showing up unannounced, time and time again? 

“There’s an impromptu meeting this evening to discuss the ball. We need to go over the plan and discuss a few…loose ends.”

Elain regarded her sister suspiciously. “Is it anything I should be worried about -?”

“Oh no, no,” Nesta reassured. “Just logistical things, mostly.” 

“Oh.” Elain nodded. “Okay.”

They were both quiet for a long moment.

“So how have you -”

“I’ve been meaning to stop by -”

They spoke over each other, stumbling over their words, before resorting back to an uncomfortable silence. 

Then Nesta sighed, heavily.

“It used to be so easy between us,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

“Of course,” Elain replied warily. Of course she remembered. Nesta was her closest companion, the other half to her whole, for so many years. Even before their mother died, but especially after. Poor, sweet Feyre, always shunted to the side…but Elain and Nesta were inseparable. For a long time, Elain believed it was because her sister loved her more than anything else in the world. Now, she sees it for what it was: a love of control. 

Nesta's eyes were sad. “The meeting is in an hour. I was hoping you’d like to spend some time together before…” the eldest Archeron trailed off. 

What was she supposed to say? No, I’d rather not spend time with you, because every time I look at you I feel a simmering, boiling rage that I simply don’t know what to do with ? That would do no one a drop of good. 

So instead, Elain nodded tightly and gave as genuine a smile as she could muster. “How does a walk around the Manor sound?” she suggested, and ignoring the stab of guilt she felt when Nesta’s worried expression brightened at her acquiescence.

***

After a slightly awkward albeit rather relaxing walk around the Manor, in which Elain intentionally avoided visiting the conservatory (Cassian might have been fooled by the fast growth of the flora but Nesta most certainly would not, and Elain was in no mood to answer difficult questions), the two sisters entered the doors to the grand atrium.

They were the last ones to arrive. Everyone else was already seated around the long table in the center of the room: Feyre, smiling brightly but tiredly; Jurian, his face tan and weatherbeaten, as if he'd been out in the field more often than not; Lucien, who was avoiding Elain’s eyes; Cassian, who was avoiding Nesta’s eyes; and Vassa, who was avoiding everyone’s gaze all together. 

Elain couldn’t blame them. She was feeling slightly uncomfortable herself; it was the first time she’d seen Lucien since that night in the gardens, and it was the first time she’d seen Vassa since returning from her travels.

Not to mention it was the first time Cassian and Nesta had seen each other since The Incident . She tried to send a subtle, warning look to Cassian, but he wasn’t looking at her; instead, he was staring fixedly at the floor, as if even glancing at Nesta would make the secret come spilling out. 

Whatever. He could handle things however he wanted as long as he stayed quiet. If he kept his mouth shut, there was no way Nesta could find out, right? 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her elder sister give her mate a curious, suspicious glance. Then she thought about how Nesta could always tell when she and Feyre were lying as kids, and her stomach started to hurt.

In an attempt to distract herself, Elain looked around the room. She'd only been in the grand atrium once before, at the very beginning of her stay at the Manor. Vassa had taken her. The queen said it was a hallowed sort of space used traditionally, reverently and sparingly for only the most prestigious of occasions - but it was also rather plain. 

That is, except for the one piece of decor in the room: the gigantic hourglass embedded into one of the walls. It was filled with silvery sand that glimmered as it trickled down and protruded so naturally, so effortlessly, from the wall that it looked like it had grown there, like some sort of plant. Like some sort of rot.

Every time the sand in the top bulb emptied entirely, the hourglass - and the pieces of stone wall it touched - moved until the hourglass was flipped upside down, and the whole process started again. It was both impactful and beautiful.

“My father used to joke about why the first royals might have put the hourglass into the Grand Atrium,” Vassa had told her. “He said that it was obviously to keep track of time during long and tedious meetings, because if our ancestors were anything like me and my mother, then impatience was as in grain ed in them as the grains in the hourglass.”

Elain had smiled then, but she wasn’t smiling now. The hourglass did not seem beautiful anymore. It seemed more like a taunt. 

The queasy feeling in her stomach intensified, but before she allowed herself to mull over it, she turned her attention back to the table. Everyone seemed to be watching Vassa, who was scanning the contents of several handwritten papers. Elain couldn’t help but notice the dark purple circles rimming the queen’s eyes.

“Notes on Koschei,” Feyre said in an undertone, noting Elain’s curious glance at the documents. “Amren, Rhys and I have been visiting different libraries throughout Prythian and finding every book on him we can. We haven’t found much information that is helpful, to be honest. It almost makes me wish we knew where Bryaxis was so we could ask it for details; I’m sure it knows plenty about Koschei, given that they’ve both existed for eons.” 

Elain considered reminding her sister that they had enough to worry about without adding Bryaxis into the equation, but she just nodded instead. 

“This is nothing I didn’t already know,” Vassa said, throwing the papers back at Feyre. “But that’s alright. I wasn’t expecting much anyway.” 

Startled, her sister blinked. Elain felt similarly taken aback. She’d never heard Vassa sound so…uncaring. 

“Well?” the queen asked, raising an eyebrow. Impatience laced her words. “Who wants to begin?” 

“I can,” Nesta said. Then she cleared her throat. 

“There are three levels to this plan,” she said, voice louder and deeper than before. The voice of the Captain of the Valkyries, dangerous and cool. But sometimes, when her sister spoke in such an authoritative voice, she was reminded of when they were little and Nesta would boss her and Feyre around the house like the little mother she was. Elain had to fight back a grin. Then she remembered that she was still angry at her older sister, and the grin faded away. 

“The first level is the Bait,” Nesta said. With the world’s smallest, tensest grimace, she nodded toward Elain. “AKA, Elain.”

Everyone’s eyes turned toward her, and she did her very best to remain cool and collected, staring blankly into her sister’s blue-grey eyes. 

Nesta tore her gaze away, jaw flexing, before continuing. “As we are all aware, Koschei believes Elain knows where the missing part of his soul is being kept. During the ball, we are going to use this to our advantage and leverage Elain to lure Koschei into a trap. 

“Because of this, I’m sure you’ll all agree that a majority of our magical protection should go toward surrounding Elain,” Nesta said.

“Elain is the bait, yes, but what about Vassa? Have we forgotten the curse he put on her? Have we forgotten the promise he made to return her to that hellhole of a lake? Vassa must remain just as protected. What if he’s tricking us into who his true target is?” Jurian said, eyes gleaming fiercely. 

“That’s a good point,” Elain murmured thoughtfully.

“I don’t think so,” Vassa said. “As soon as the power of the curse returns in full force, he will not have to trap me to get me to return to his lake. I will immediately be back under his enchantment. There will be no capturing or chasing or tracking that he will have to do. I will simply be gone.”

Lucien’s knuckles turned white. “No,” he said darkly. 

“It is not something you can have an opinion on,” Vassa said sharply, refusing to meet his eyes. Refusing to meet any of their eyes. “It is simply the truth. So fine, put some level of protection on me, but the majority should be on Elain. He may not be able to control her mind, but he will try to get to her in other, more dangerous ways. I am an inevitable casualty at this point. Elain is not.” 

“Don’t say that,” Elain said quietly, but the edge in her voice was all sharp steel.

Vassa remained quiet, as did the others, until finally Nesta resumed the plan.

“We will have a welcome ceremony the evening before the actual ball, with appetizers and cocktails and the like. We have more than enough rooms in the mortal manor to provide lodging for the guests. It’s the perfect way to get a feel for what we’re up against before the ball the next evening.

“When the ball begins, Vassa will make a welcome announcement. She will thank everyone for being there, and then specifically thank Elain for helping her with an unknown project. She’ll make sure to mention how dangerous the task is and how Elain is doing it out of the goodwill of her heart, along with her desire to keep all the courts safe from outside forces that might try and hurt them.”

“In short, she will place even more of a target on Elain’s back,” Jurian said flatly, but she knew him well enough by now to clock the worry lacing his tone. She felt a sudden rush of affection for the mortal.

“Sounds good to me,” Elain said, keeping her tone light. She didn’t want anyone to worry about her. “Keep going.” 

Nesta continued on, Feyre and Cassian interjecting every now and then with more details. Lucien surprised them all with his cunning, thoughtful questions that poked holes in the plan -  “ What happens if he hasn’t shown up by midnight? Do we have a backup plan if the magic doesn’t hold during the Presentation of the Courts? What if the other courts are gone by the time we reach Level 3? ” - forcing them to reevaluate and redesign specific components. But eventually, they all came to an agreed-upon scheme.

Well, almost.

“What exactly is our game plan during cocktail hour?” Lucien asked, “Because ‘ roam around and observe ’ doesn’t exactly sound strategic.”

Feyre let out a giggle, clearly forgetting they were in a serious and important meeting. Then she cleared her throat.

“You’re right. Let’s expand on that. How about..after Vassa gives her speech, we will split into groups and observe our guests,” Feyre suggested. “We can decide on the exact groupings later, but it would make sense, and look less suspicious, if those that are couples stay together. Rhys and I, Nes and Cas…”she paused.

Vassa interjected, “Jurian and I will remain together. The mortals that will be there know both of us well, and it would make sense to present us as a united force.”

Feyre nodded her approval, though Elain noticed Lucien’s jaw tighten. 

“We have invited Gwyn and Emerie to come, as well. Having the three Valkyrie leaders will add an additional level of prestige as well as protection. Gwyn and Emerie can stick together,” Nesta added.

“Smart,” Jurian said.

“Since Amren will remain behind to protect the Night Court, that just leaves Elain, Lucien, Mor and Azriel…” Feyre trailed off awkwardly. 

Elain cleared her throat and braced herself. She knew what she had to do, for the sake of the plan. “I’ve thought a lot about what you all suggested. About…about pretending that Lucien and I,” she gestured toward the red-haired male, who blinked in surprise, “have accepted the mating bond.” 

A thick quiet wrapped itself around the group. Feyre stared at Elain with wide eyes while Nesta, quite uncharacteristically, gasped softly in surprise. Jurian and Vassa exchanged a startled glance. It dawned on her that she’d never so explicitly mentioned the bond in front of the two mortals. Cassian looked utterly bewildered and, unless she was imagining it, slightly displeased.

The only other person in the room who didn’t seem taken aback was Lucien. He simply regarded Elain with a wary expression on his face. 

It was the longest they’d looked at each other since that night beneath the fae lights.

“And?” Feyre asked.

Elain cleared her throat. “And I think you’re right. There will be many potential enemies there. But if Lucien and I act like a pair, those enemies will be less likely to instigate anything. So I’m okay with…with making it seem like we are together. For the evening. But only if it’s okay with you,” she added awkwardly, finally meeting Lucien's gaze. His one good eye burned into her, and the memory of their almost-kiss flashed across her mind without warning. She was sure he was thinking about it, too.

“Of course it’s okay with me. It is what is safest for you, and that is all that matters,” he said finally.

She nodded once and looked down at the floor. 

“So that just leaves Azriel and Mor,” Feyre said, returning to the matter at hand. 

Despite the fact that Elain knew her decision was the right one, not only for her safety, but for the safety of others and for the good of the plan as a whole, her heart dropped at the thought of Azriel and Mor sashaying through the ballroom, the beautiful blonde hooked on Azriel’s arm. She could already see the way his hazel eyes would glow as he stared at the female he’d loved for centuries, who for the night was all his, all his . It was enough to make her feel slightly nauseous.

As was the thought of how Azriel would react when he found out she and Lucien were going to pretend to be mates for the evening. 

But gods, he had made it clear as day that they were not a couple. Sure, he’d admitted to caring about her, to liking her, but that was it. If the Cassian debacle had proved anything, it was that he wanted to keep their affection a dirty little secret. Perhaps she would simply have to accept their relationship (or lack thereof) for what it was and what it was not. Accept it was all it would ever be.

Just as Azriel would have to accept that for two nights, she would pretend to the world that her heart belonged to another. 

Even if it was just another bitter lie.

***

Elain had hoped to speak to Vassa after the planning meeting and confront her at last, but the Queen slipped out before she could reach her. Then Nesta and Feyre had cornered her to tell her just how proud they were of her for agreeing to be fake-mates with Lucien for an evening. As if it was a favor she was doing them. As she was a little girl in pigtails who needed to be praised and coddled for every "correct" decision she made. 

She didn't do it to make her sisters or anyone else happy. She did it because, deep down, she knew they were right. Not about everything, of course; she still wanted to give Rhys a swift kick up his 500-year-old ass in retaliation for the last time he'd imposed his sense of right and wrong on her. But about this one thing - about this, they were right. It was safer for everyone, not just her, to pretend that they had accepted the mating bond. Safer, and better for the plan, and the right thing to do. 

But every time she though of Mor and Azriel together, smiling and dancing, she wanted to throw something. Or scream. Or both.

Suffice it to say, Elain was not a pleased female by the time she left the grand atrium.

Hence the broad scowl that graced her face as she stomped angrily through the corridors. What the bloody hells was she supposed to do with the rest of her evening now? She was too worked up to sleep. Too emotionally-unsteady to do something productive. Too angry to hang out with anyone else in this stupid manor, especially -

“I hope that face isn’t because of me.”

Elain whipped around. “Don’t flatter yourself," she told Lucien with a small smile. "You may make me mad, but only my sisters can make me this mad.” She considers for a second. “And Vassa,” she added, then cringed. Lucien and Vassa were very close, after all. “Sorry.”

Unexpectedly, Lucien grinned. “I like it when you’re honest with me,” he says. 

She grinned a bit back, but she couldn’t hide her wariness. This was the first time they had been around each other since the almost-kiss in the gardens, let alone standing in close proximity to each other in a vacant hallway.

Without warrant, her heartbeat sped up.

Lucien seemed to notice the change in her mood too, for the sly grin dropped from his face. “I’m about to leave again,” he told her. “I’m going to…going to the Autumn Court.”

“What?” Elain breathed, her eyes wide. “No, you can’t,” she said, her voice rising in panic.

“Beron is threatening to not come to the Symposium or the Ball if I don’t pay him a visit,” he said grimly. “And we need him here that night. He’s an essential part of the plan.” 

“What does he want with you?” she nearly whispered.

Lucien’s shrug was too tense to be casual. “Who the hells knows. Maybe he just misses my pretty face.”

“You don’t think he knows about…you know,” she hedged.

Lucien’s face remained unreadable.“I guess we’ll find out,” he said finally.

Well, that wasn’t reassuring at all. She frowned at him, and he visibly softened. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. Then a corner of his lip twitched up. “Though it’s sweet of you to worry,” he teased. 

Elain smiled without thinking about it. 

Her smile seemed to trigger something in him. He sobered up immediately, and before she could even question what was wrong, grabbed her face with both his hands. 

“Before I go,” he said, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his hot breath on her lips, “I have to kiss you first.”

She froze, utterly shocked. 

“Just once,” he murmured, those arresting, uneven eyes staring straight into her own. “Just to see.” 

And she was so shocked, so taken aback by the declaration, that she didn’t stop him when he leaned forward and kissed her. 

***

While Elain was frozen, the Shadowsinger was in the middle of an interrogation.

Azriel studied the male in front of him, frowning slightly. This was taking longer than he expected. Longer than he had wanted it to take; otherwise, he might have made it to the Ball Planning meeting on time. Unfortunately, the Autumn Court soldier, who had been captured by one of his loyal spies, had yet to break. He’d already lost three fingers, for Cauldron’s sake, yet he still wouldn’t talk. 

But Az wasn’t worried. He would talk. They always talked in the end.

It had been several months since he last traveled to the Court of Nightmares. He might not admit it to anyone else, but he could admit it to himself - it was somewhat of a relief to be back. There was no better time for him to… let loose, per say. If only because his blood was close to boiling over already, what with every other burden he bore on his back. 

The anxiety. The guilt. The secrets . How come he’d never fully realized before how heavy secrets were? They were weighing him down like sand. 

But here, in the dark and cool caverns beneath the Court of Nightmares, where not even the strongest Fae hearing could detect a scream - here, he felt the glorious relief of lifted pressure; of steady, pulsing silence. Here, he could wear the worst parts of himself like a shining suit of armor. Here, he could be the Azriel everyone knew and feared. 

Smoothly, he slipped Truth-Teller out of its sheath and twirled it between his fingers with casual, lethal precision. 

“Next question,” he said. “Where did you stay while in Pentalos?”

The male said nothing. The only sounds were his ragged panting and the blood dripping slowly from the little stumps on his hand.

“I’ll wait,” Azriel said. “I’ve been told I’m very patient.” A pause. “But I’m also incredibly impulsive, and I get mad easily. So who knows what will happen.” He cocked his head to the side. “I suppose we'll find out soon enough.”

Still, the male said nothing. Instead, he summoned all his strength and spit in Azriel's direction.

The dagger was in the Spymaster's palm, and the next second it was lodged in the man’s kneecap, deep and through the bone. The scream the soldier let out was so blood-curdling that even his shadows winced, tightening themselves against him like a second skin.

But Azriel did not react a bit. No, he simply watched as the male screamed in agony, his own expression blank and empty. There was nothing he hated more than insolence.

He let the soldier cry and sob until there were simply no tears left to cry. Slowly, Azriel approached the man and retrieved his favorite dagger before retreating once more. And only then, only then did the Spymaster speak.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” he said quietly. “Where did you stay while in Pentalos?”

The soldier let out a dry, hopeless sob, and Azriel knew he had won. 

“In the caves,” the male said, his voice raw and rasping. “In the underground caves.”

Azriel froze. “There are no underground caves on Pentalos.”

“There are,” the soldier said, exhausted. He was getting close to death; Azriel could tell. “There are.” 

Well. That was news to Az. And everyone else who scoured the island. This prisoner was turning out to be useful after all.

“One more question. Almost done,” he said, but there was no compassion lacing his voice. Just an underlying, dark promise. He tried to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. “What does Koschei want with Elain Archeron?”

A grating, humorless laugh worked its way out of the soldier’s throat, and Azriel had to fight the urge to kill him right then. “What does he want with her?” he repeated, but his tone wasn’t mocking; just resigned. Just tired. “He wants her ruined .” 

“ No ,” Azriel growled, as if the intensity of his objection could ensure Elain’s infinite safety. “He won’t ever get what he wants. Ever. But why does he want her?”

The soldier shook his head, something close to regret in his expression. “She can’t be saved,” he rasped. “Koschei wants her too much. He needs her too much.”

Pure, unadulterated panic shot through his chest, followed closely by white-hot, furious denial.

His fingers clenched around Truth-Teller.                   

“Wrong answer,” he said. There was a flash of silver, a shocked, gurgling gasp, and the Autumn Court soldier spoke no more. 

But the panic threatened to drown the Shadowsinger all the same.

***

It was four in the morning, and Elain had yet to sleep a wink.

Her mind simply wouldn’t shut up. She couldn’t stop thinking about - well, about everything , about so many things she couldn’t keep track. Things that happened today and things that happened yesterday; things that happened decades ago and things she wished she could do again; things that never happened and things that never will. All of it flashed through her mind at the speed of light: 

The cabin she used to live in, when she and her sisters slept in one bed together, curled around each other like cats;

Nesta in the library, smelling like vanilla and smoke and wariness;

The garden in the Night Court, thriving and beautiful without her tending to it;

Vassa, loving her like a sister and then avoiding her like the plague;

The cauldon, big and black and formidable, mocking her with its mightiness;

All the things she wished she would have said to her father - and to her mother;

The Flame Keeper tapping on her chest three times as she mouthed 'speak to the Queen;'

Lucien in the hallway, a deafening quiet engulfing them as his lips pressed against hers;

The looming presence of Koschei hanging over her like a storm cloud;

Azriel on his knees and between her legs, smiling at her and kissing her thigh with heart-wrenching tenderness, a thousand unspoken words gleaming in his piercing hazel eyes -  

She sat straight up in bed, her chest heaving. For a long moment, she was frozen, just staring intently at the full moon.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, then threw the covers off and stood to her full height. 

Less than a minute later - she forgot how convenient Fae speed was sometimes - she was outside Vassa’s quarters, knocking on the heavy oak door with loud and obnoxious persistence.

A servant answered the door. “Lady Elain, what is it?” the young girl asked. “Do you know the hour?”

“I need to speak with Vassa,” she said promptly. “And don’t bother telling me she isn’t awake. And I apologize in advance for my bluntness, but don’t bother trying to stop me from going in.”

The servant swallowed, glancing behind her nervously. “Lady Elain, I’m very sorry, but the Queen has given orders -”

“I don’t care what orders she’s given you,” Elain said patiently.

The servant looked downright scared now. “I’m very sorry, my Lady, but -” 

Elain sighed, then strode past the servant faster than the human could blink. 

She found Vassa in the last place she expected - outside, on a small balcony just off the side of her bedroom. With all the time she’d spent outdoors since the curse returned, Elain assumed the queen would much prefer the indoor comforts of her home. But perhaps even the familiar felt strange to Vassa now. 

Unnoticed, Elain observed her friend for a minute. The queen looked too tired. And too skinny. And too sad, too hopeless , her eyes blank and open as she surveyed the starlit night, hands gripping the railing like it was a lifeline. 

“Vassa,” she said softly, trying not to scare her.

To her credit, Vassa didn’t even flinch. And she did not turn around as she said, “Elain.” It almost sounded like a sigh. Like she’d been expecting and waiting for and dreading this moment, and here it was. 

But Elain didn’t let that mess with her. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said steadily. 

Vassa still didn’t bother turning around. “Yes.” 

Slowly, like approaching a wild animal, Elain joined Vassa at the balcony. She followed her friend’s lead and stared at the expansive landscape before them. 

“Did you have a good relationship with your mother?” Elain asked out of nowhere. 

Vassa visibly started. “What in the world made you ask that?”

Elain shrugged. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest.”

“Yes,” the queen finally answered. “Yes, I did. My mother was a wonderful person. Both my parents were.” A clear note of wistful grief rang in her voice. 

Elain smiled, just a little bit sadly. “That’s good,” she said. “I’m sure they were lovely, seeing as they managed to raise a woman like you.”

“What was your mother like?” Vassa asked after a beat, her voice noticeably softer. 

“Oh, she was an absolute delight.” Elain let out a laugh that didn’t sound quite right. “She was intelligent, beautiful, and well-connected. She was incredibly good at reading people. She was trendy, and her taste was impeccable, and she loved finery; she always made sure we were dressed in the latest fashions.

“And she was also cold, callous, and cruel.” Elain shook her head slightly. “It’s hard for me to pick which one of us she was most awful to. We all got it worse in some ways, I suppose. Nesta was the heir apparent, treated more like a soldier than a child, expected to not only obey but to carry out my mother’s every order. Feyre was the forgotten child.

“And I was a pretty little puppet who was too silly and naive to try and cut off the strings that held me in place.”

Elain’s hands flexed unintentionally on the railing. She forced them to relax.

“I don’t think of my mother often,” she continued. “And I talk of her even less. My sisters are the same way. Sometimes it feels like she never existed, like I just made her up in my mind, but even I’m not enough of a masochist to imagine someone so uncaring. So unkind.

“But even though we never talk about her or miss her or hold any fond feelings toward her at all, and even though she died when we were quite little…I think she’s left her stain on us all. And I wonder, sometimes, if it can ever be washed out.”

Vassa was quiet for a very long time. But Elain was used to waiting. Used to being patient. It was yet another thing that separated her from her sisters: where Feyre and Nesta were impulsive, Elain was content to wait in the shadows for the proper time to strike.

And wait she did. 

Vassa finally broke the silence. 

“Why did you come here tonight, Elain?” she asked.

It was then that Elain turned to face the queen fully.

“There’s something I need to do. And you’re coming with me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It’s quite important, actually. And guess what?” Elain raised a brow.

“What?” the queen asked dryly. 

“You're going to do it, too.”

"I am?"

"Yes. You need to do it, actually."

“Do I really?”

Elain nodded, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm in Vassa’s tone. 

“And what, may I ask, do we both need to do that is so important you barged into my quarters in the dead of night?”

Elain cocked her head at her and grinned slightly. Something in her expression finally tipped Vassa off. 

“Oh, I don’t like that look,” the queen said, and though she was shaking her head, the first traces of excitement finally seeped through her voice. “What are you planning?”

Elain just grinned wider. “Vass,” she said, “Do you fancy a swim?”

***

The two females hurried through the woods. Leaves crackled beneath their feet; a heavy breeze whooshed over their bodies, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake; moonlight streamed through the gaps in the lush forest canopy, lighting their way.

“We are nearly there,” Vassa said, and though she spoke quietly, the sound still had Elain jolting slightly. Being this deep in the woods, no one around but the creatures who lived here, no sound but for the whispering wind and the rustling of foliage, had words themselves feeling foreign. Alien. 

Rounding a corner, they came to a huge clearing in the forest. The trees here arched toward each other, creating a high, curved canopy. In the center of the clearing was a large, glassy pond, or perhaps a small, circular lake, depending on who you asked. The surface was still as a statue, and the way it reflected the night sky made the water look like it was composed entirely of silvery starlight. 

“Wow,” Elain whispered. Vassa nodded in agreement. Together, they approached the edge of the glossy lake.

“When was the last time you were here?” Elain asked.

“Ages ago,” she said. “I don’t even remember. I fly over it sometimes, when I’m…in my other form. But I’ve not been this close since before the curse. Since before I became Queen, perhaps.” She shook her head as if the movement would shake away the memories. 

“Are you ready?” Elain asked.

“No,” Vassa said. “But let’s do it anyway.”

They stripped to their undergarments. Elain neatly folded her clothes and placed them on a large, flat rock; Vassa threw hers in a pile on the ground. Elain dipped a toe in and shivered. 

“It’s cold.”

“It’s November,” Vassa reminded her.

“Well. It’s not going to get any warmer with us standing here,” she replied shrewdly. “Come on. Let’s jump.”

A thick swallow worked its way down Vassa’s throat. Her hands were trembling, and Elain did not think it was because of the cold.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said softly. 

“Yes. I do,” her friend replied. She took a deep, rattling breath and then held out her hand to Elain. 

In that moment, Elain forgot any anger she had with the queen. Without hesitation, she grabbed Vassa’s hand and laced their fingers together. 

“On three?”

The red-haired woman nodded tightly. 

“One,” she began.

“Two,” counted Vassa, her voice a nervous croak that nearly vanished with the wind. Elain couldn't deny it, either: she was nervous as well. She still hadn't dunked her head entirely underwater since the Cauldron...but she had to. She had to get Vassa to talk to her. And this was the only thing she could think of that might work.

“Three,” they said together, and then they were jumping. The second they hit the water, their grasp broke apart. It was cold, so cold, but so lovely too, invigorating and refreshing and a delicious shock to her very soul. 

Kicking her way up, Elain gasped as she broke above the surface, relishing the way the cool night air bit at her damp skin. A few feet away, Vassa emerged from the depths, crimson locks plastered to her face, blue eyes bright and gleaming in the light of the moon. 

“It’s fucking cold,” the queen gasped. 

“Is it?” Elain asked. “Feels amazing to me.” 

In unison, they started laughing uncontrollably. If asked, Elain could not have said what was funny, but maybe that was the point; maybe it was simply the nature of the situation, the thrill of acting on an impulse, that had mirth uncontrollably bubbling up inside of her. Or maybe it was the way she felt renewed; the way she felt clean , like all the dirty parts of her had been eliminated by the biting cool of the water; washed away like the tide, utter and absolute. Like all the rot inside of her had been cut out and replaced with new, thriving life. 

After several minutes, their laughter guttered out, throats left raw from the act. They stared at each other, treading water, soft smiles on their faces.

“Thank you,” Vassa said. The thin film of moisture in her eyes did not seem like it was from the pool they swam in, but Elain couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know if I ever would have come back here if it wasn’t for you.”

“You would have,” Elain said confidently. She was sure of that. Her friend may have her faults, but Vassa was brave and bold and true, and she would not let any obstacle stand in her way for long. Not if she could help it. 

Suddenly, Vassa's expression shifted dramatically, going from bright and giddy to starkly sober.

The mood shifted immediately, the queen’s words a catalyst to the thundering of Elain's heart. Even the forest around them seemed to quiet, the wind stilling, no creatures stirring, all listening for what came next. 

“Elain,” Vassa said, low and clear. “I need to tell you something.”

Afraid a trembling voice might give away her nerves, Elain merely nodded in response.  

Vassa took a deep, rattling breath. “Before I go any further, I want you to know that - “

She never finished the sentence. One moment she was there, staring at Elain with serious and mournful eyes, and the next she was gone. She vanished beneath the surface as if she was never there at all. She was gone so quickly she did not even have time to scream.

But Elain had seen the petrified expression on the queen’s face before her friend was pulled beneath the surface. A horror so heavy it sank like stone.

TAGS (lmk if you would like to be removed/added)

@sakurakittypeach @shedoessoshedoes @courtofjurdan @lesolehabitantdelalune @suntoksabuwan @sweet-pea1 @ireneherondale24 @supernaturallynerdy @dreaming-of-azriel @bookstaninthesoul @cuppamelia @fawnandshadows @offtorivendell @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @nikethestatue @reverie-tales @nyaxxe @casuallivi @protectorofvel @briar-reads @creatureofnightmares @swankii-art-teacher @the-laughing-bubble @gracie-rosee @cntrol @magnolia-blossom87 @ela-ivp @potassium-boron @freepandahugs @karomdr-blog @athena-85 @justreallybored

#elriel #tsts #acotar #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elriel fanfic #post acosf #azriel x elain #theshadowsthatsing #danydragons21 #elain supremacy #acotarsmut #acotarfanfic #lucien acotar #vassa acotar

[thattrable]

a Night of Wings and Roses

Summary: Feyre asks Azriel to escort Elain out for a night in Velaris.

Notes: Mature / Spoilers for the entire ACOTAR series.

Sneak peak:

“Because I. . .” Azriel looked down at the forest they flew over for a moment before looking back at her gorgeous face. “Because it’s hard to be around you. Every second that I’m in your presence, I feel like I’m fighting for my life. I’m trying to keep my composure when all I really want to do is taste you, protect you, tell you how strongly I feel for you.”

_____

The sky was painted deep shades of pink and purple, the last of the golden light disappearing behind snow-capped mountains as the sun set on Velaris.

Azriel flew above the city, watching the people bustle through the streets. They were all either completely unaware that one of the strongest Illyrian warriors in history, their High Lord’s spymaster, flew above them, or they simply did not care. Az shifted his wings and banked right to follow the sparkling sapphire waters of the Sidra River. Though it was spring, the night air was still crisp and the wind stung his face and bare hands. It was a relief to land on the balcony of the River House and walk into the warm sitting room.

No one was present to greet him, though he needed no invitation to further enter the house. Az flexed his wings, taking in the warmth from the fire place, and sent his shadows out to locate Feyre. They returned quickly and whispered in his ear that she was in the nursery. They also whispered of another presence in the house. Not that he’d needed them to tell him she was here; He’d scented her the moment he entered the threshold.

He would have to make this visit quick.

Azriel strode through the halls of the spacious house and couldn’t help but wonder how Feyre had made such a large, elegant manor feel so cozy.

As he approached the nursery he allowed his normally silent footsteps to fall a little heavier, signaling his arrival. He came to a stop in the doorway and Feyre looked up at him, her blue-gray eyes shining. Azriel nodded his head in greeting, but his eyes fell to Nyx, sleeping soundly in her arms. Tiny-He was still so tiny, so delicate. But fierce. Az had seen the spirit in the babe’s eyes and knew he would be just as wild and unruly as he and his brothers had been as kids.

The thought had Azriel itching to take him to the skys. He and Cassian had already spent hours debating over which techniques they would teach him when he was old enough- Nevermind that Rhys would want to teach his own son to fly.

“Az?” Feyre said softly, drawing his attention back to her. He wondered how long he’d been silent.

Azriel crossed the room silently and held out the small stack of books he’d been carrying. “I hope these are the right ones.”

Feyre shifted Nyx to one arm and took the books with her free hand. “These are perfect,” she said, examining the colorful covers of the children’s books. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” He replied, his eyes again watching the still-sleeping babe. Feyre had asked him to bring some books from the library at the House of Wind so she could read to Nyx.

“Could you do another favor for me?” Feyre asked, placing the books on a nearby table.

“Anything.”

“I had plans to go out with Elain tonight, but Nyx has been fussy and I finally got him to sleep.” She looked down at her son, then back up at Az. “Would you mind?”

Azriel’s heart began drumming in his chest. “I didn’t realize Nyx was giving you trouble.” He eyed her suspiciously. Nyx was one of the least fussy infants he’d ever seen, not that he’d been around many.

Feyre looked away, but not before Az caught the ghost of a smile on her lips. “He’s usually so good, I think he’s just had an off day. I should stay home with him tonight. That’s why I asked you to bring the books. Rhys will be home soon and I’d like to spend the evening with them. ” She turned to him again, and this time her smile was lupine. “I just figured since you're here . . . You could escort Elain.”

Lupine indeed, his High Lady. Intelligent enough to trap him into this. She knew. He was sure of it. Feyre was extremely observant, especially when it came to the romantic lives of the Inner Circle. He was sure she’d noticed the sudden increase in work that kept him away and the way he skipped many family dinners. If he was being honest with himself, he was just surprised it had taken her this long to step in and meddle in his love life. On many occasions, his shadows had warned him of Feyre’s watchful eyes as he stared longingly at Elain from across the room.

Azriel started to open his mouth to object but she cut him off. “She misses you, Az.”

He averted his eyes, and in a low voice said, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Please,” She scoffed. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I’ve also seen the way you look at her.”

Azriel stiffened defensively, as if his body was subconsciously preparing for battle.

Feyre released a long-suffering sigh. “I know you think I’m being a busybody, but I just want you both to be happy.

His hazel eyes widened. Feyre laughed. "Relax, Az, I'm just asking you to take her out on the town, not take her to bed."

"Yes, but Rhys-" He protested, heat blooming high on his cheeks.

"Rhys will enjoy some extra time with me and our son,” she nodded towards the sleeping babe in her arms, “and if he wants to be angry with anyone about this, he will be angry with me. I'm giving you an order, as your High Lady; take Elain out and show her a good time.”

And that was that. Azriel simply nodded. Feyre almost never pulled rank with any of them, even less than Rhys.

"And as your friend," Feyre continued, stepping closer and gently placing a hand on his upper arm, "I'm asking you to stop worrying so much. You should enjoy yourself too." She smiled, and Az had to admit defeat.

"I will show Elain a good time, as well as keep her safe." He dipped his head, kissing Feyre’s temple, then leaned lower and kissed Nyx's head. The babe stirred in her arms, but did not wake.

“Thank you, Azriel.”

“I’ll be in the sitting room.” He muttered, stalking out of the nursery.

—--

“I thought I’d find you here.” Feyre said by way of greeting as she entered the kitchen. Nyx was blinking lazily in her arms, as if he’d just woken up.

Elain, seated at the kitchen table, closed the book she’d been reading. “Feyre. I was just looking for a new recipe.”

“What do you want to make?”

“I was thinking it would be fun to bake a pie.”

“I’m sure Nuala and Cerridwen will be happy to help.” Feyre offered.

“Oh, yes,” Elain nodded. “They said they’ll help me learn anything I choose.”

“I can’t wait to taste it.”

Elain glanced at the clock on the wall, and then took in her sister’s clothes; Comfortable clothes more suited for lounging at home, not a night out in the city.

Feyre noticed her stare and her face became apologetic, “I’m sorry, Elain. Nyx has been fussy today so I’d like to stay in with him tonight.”

“Oh, no,” she stood up. “Is he falling ill?” She asked, looking at the babe more closely. Now that he was fully awake, his blue eyes were clear and he was playfully cooing to himself.

“No, I’m sure he’s fine.” Feyre said, adjusting him in her arms. “If you’d still like to go out, I’m sure Azriel wouldn’t mind going with you.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed at the mention of the Shadowsinger. “Would he really?” She asked.

“Yes,” Feyre nodded. “When I told him I was going to have to cancel on you tonight he offered to take you out instead.”

Elain’s breath caught.

“He’s waiting for you in the sitting room.”

“He’s here, already?” Elain gasped.

Feyre chuckled, and the sound of it earned her a giggle from Nyx as well. “Yes. Go have some fun.”

Elain looked down at her rouge colored dress. It was a simple, cotton dress with an empire waistline and long sleeves. Suddenly, Elain felt too plain. “Should I change?” She asked, her voice hoarse. “No, you look beautiful.” Feyre said.

Elain followed her to the sitting room where Azriel stood near the large glass door that led to the balcony. How long had it been since she last saw him? Too long. He turned to look at them and Elain thought she might be gawking at him, much the way she did the first time she ever saw him. Azriel was the first man-male-she’d ever thought of as beautiful. She took in the elegant planes of his face, his golden skin, his dark hair, and his eyes. Those beautiful, hazel eyes that looked back at her, but concealed any emotion or thought. Even the shadows that curled around the tips of his wings were beautiful.

He nodded. “Elain.”

“Thank you for offering to take me out tonight.” Elain smiled, stepping up to Feyre’s side. “I hope you didn’t have to cancel any other plans.”

Azriel’s attention flickered to Feyre and Nyx, then back to Elain. “Not at all. I am yours for the evening.”

Elain couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

“Shall we?” Azriel asked, gesturing towards the glass door.

“Oh,” Elain started. He would be flying her then. She tried to hide her excitement. “Yes, let’s go.” She walked past Azriel and through the door he was holding open and onto the balcony. The night air was brisk and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering.

Azriel noticed. “One moment,” he said, and disappeared back into the River House.

Elain stood near the balcony railing and wondered where Azriel would take her. Had he really wanted to accompany her tonight? Before she could think too much on it, he reappeared, a cream colored cardigan in hand. “It’s chilly tonight. Feyre said you can wear this.”

“Thank you,” Elain said, reaching out to take her sister’s cardigan.

Azriel held it up by the shoulders, and Elain knew what he meant for her to do. She turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves, allowing him to adjust the neckline of the cardigan against her. Elain hoped he couldn’t hear her heart beating as she felt his hands linger by her shoulders for a moment.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yes.” Elain breathed.

Azriel effortlessly scooped her up, holding her tight against his chest. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and wondered if the color on his cheeks wasn’t entirely from the cold as he spread his wings and took flight.

—--

She was going to be his undoing. He should have waited by the front door so they could walk, but he’d gone to the upper floor near the balcony door. He wasn’t sure if he’d done so out of habit, or for an excuse to hold her close like this.

One thing he was sure of was that Feyre had set him up. She had tasked him with a stupid errand just to get him to the house and then came up with an excuse to stay in and ask him to go in her place. Nyx hadn’t been fussy at all. In fact, he was awake and playful when Feyre appeared with Elain in the sitting room. It was almost as if the babe himself was in on his mother’s scheming. The other thing Az was sure of, was that Elain was driving him absolutely insane. Her soft body held firmly against his, the smell of jasmine and honey filling his lungs, it was almost enough to bring him to his knees.

“Where are we going?” Elain asked, her first words to him since they’d taken to the night sky. She kept her eyes on the city below them.

“Wherever you would like to go.” He responded. This was probably something they should have discussed before leaving the balcony, before he’d impulsively swept her away into the night.

“Are you hungry?” She asked.

“I could eat.”

She was silent for a moment before turning her head to look him in the eyes. “Take me to your favorite bakery.”

All Azriel could manage was a nod of his head. It was an effort not to stare into her big, brown eyes for too long.

He landed them in the Palace of Bone and Salt, the market square best known for its food and prepared confections, and carefully set Elain on the ground.

She smoothed out her dress, tucking a strand of wind-blown hair behind an ear, and looked around.

They stood in front of a small bakery, built from warm sandstone, nestled on the corner of a block. Iron tables and chairs were placed outside, surrounded by large planters filled with various plants and flowers. A wooden sign hung from the side of the building that read Lumio Bakery.

“This is Lumio Bakery.” Azriel explained. “I come here often.”

Elain’s eyes were wide, her cheeks slightly flushed as she said, “I saw this place a while back. I’ve wanted to come here ever since.”

Azriel’s heart skipped, and he willed himself to keep his emotions hidden. Even when Elain looked up at him expectantly, even when he extended his arm and she locked hers in it, even as they entered the bakery and his shadows whispered to him about more than one set of eyes on them. Eyes that he knew fell upon Elain’s beauty.

He breathed in the slightly sweet, yeasty aroma, and Azriel felt like someone had wrapped a warm blanket around them.

“Azriel!” A familiar voice called from behind the counter.

“Hello, Sylvie,” He greeted, tucking his wings in tight and leading Elain up to the glass case. Sylvie had worked at Lumio Bakery for as long as Azriel had been coming here-and that was a long time. She was always cheerful and had his favorite order memorized.

“Who might this be?” Sylvie asked, her eyes bright as she took in Elain and their arms still looped around each other’s. “It’s not often that you bring company.”

That was an understatement. Az never brought anyone to Lumio. It was his secret reprieve from the world. He liked the quiet of the bakery, and though he loved them, he knew Cass and Mor would ruin the atmosphere of the sleepy little shop. In fact, he’d once made the mistake of taking a box of treats to a solstice party. Cassian had eaten half of the box himself and to this day still hounded Az to tell him where he got them from.

“Sylvie, this is Elain,” he said, nodding his head. “Elain, Sylvie.”

“It’s nice to meet you Elain!” Sylvie extended a hand over the counter. “Is Azriel treating you to a night out?”

“Oh,” Elain unhooked her arm from Azriel’s and took Sylvie’s hand, shaking it once. “Yes, my sister asked him to be my escort tonight.”

“Ah.” Sylvie’s eyes shot to Azriel’s. She grinned and Azriel stiffened, his shadows coiling around his feet. “Well, what can I get you two tonight? Azriel, I’m assuming you’d like your usual?” “Yes, please,” he nodded, “and anything Elain would like.”

“I’ll take a strawberry donut, please.” Elain said, gesturing to the case of sweets.

“Sure thing.” Sylvie wrapped a donut in paper and set it on the counter. “Anything to drink, sweetie?”

“Some hot tea, please.”

“Comin’ up!” Sylvie quickly gathered Azriel’s usual order and placed the treats in a paper bag with Elain’s donut. Then she poured Elain’s tea and Azriel’s coffee into white paper cups and set them on the counter next to the bag. “I’ll add it to your tab.”

“Thank you.” Azriel handed Elain the cup of tea and took his coffee and the bag.

“You two have fun tonight!” Sylvie called.

Azriel only waved a hand at her, but Elain replied, “Thank you!”

—--

The chill night air bit at Elain’s fingertips, and she was grateful for the warmth of the hot tea seeping through the paper cup. They walked slowly along the Sidra, watching the light reflect off the water’s surface.

Azriel leaned against the railing and held out the paper bag. Elain shifted her tea to one hand and pulled out her strawberry donut. “Thank you.” She said.

“Lumio is one of my favorite shops in Velaris.” He offered.

“You must visit often, if Sylvie has your order memorized.” Elain nodded towards the paper bag, curious as to what was in it.

Azriel smiled, and Elain’s heart skipped. She took a tentative bite of her strawberry donut. “It’s delicious!” She said, mouth full, then blushing at her outburst.

Azriel almost choked on the coffee he was sipping at. Elain covered her mouth with a pale hand, but Azriel only tilted his head back and laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What did you get?” She asked.

Az perched his cup on the railing he was leaning against and shoved one of his scarred hands in the paper bag. “A lemon tart and pain au chocolat,” he explained, pulling out a pastry. Elain studied the flakey bread. “Is that a type of croissant?”

“It’s similar, but there’s a surprise inside.” He held the pain au chocolat out towards her. “Take half.”

“Oh, no Azriel,” Elain started.

“I insist.”

Elain held the other end of the pastry and pulled it in half. She studied her end and found a filling inside the bread. “Is it chocolate?”

Azriel nodded, the corners of his mouth curving up.

She took a bite of the pain au chocolat. The bread was light and fluffy and the chocolate filling was sweet. “Mmm,” she groaned softly. Azriel stiffened slightly at the sound of it. “I can see why you come here so much. Is this your favorite baked good?”

His eyes were trained on her mouth as she took another bite. He cleared his throat and said, “yes, actually. These are my favorite treats.”

Elain nodded, finishing her half of the pain au chocolat. She watched Az stuff his entire piece into his mouth and eat it in one bite. Was he blushing, or was the color on his cheeks from the cold? At least she’d learned what sweets he liked. She would ask Nuala and Cerridwen to teach her how to make them. Maybe she could surprise him.

Azriel took a sip of his coffee and then started on his lemon tart. “Where would you like to go next?”

Elain looked down the street towards the various shops. The pathways glowed softly under hanging string lights. “Wherever,” she said, turning back towards Azriel. “Oh. . .” At the corner of his mouth, a crumb of lemon filling had gotten stuck. Without really thinking about it, she reached up and carefully swiped a finger over it. Then she brought that finger to her lips and licked it clean. Azriel went completely rigid, his eyes wide. The color on his cheeks darkened and Elain felt her own face flush. “You had some. . . Lemon. . .”

“Thanks.” Azriel mumbled.

Elain averted her eyes and drank from her tea.

When he finished his lemon tart, Azriel offered, “There’s a flower shop down the street. We can stop by.”

“Yes, I’d like that!” She replied, linking arms with him.

They walked in content silence for a while. Azriel nodded to a fae male they passed but no one else paid them any mind aside from a polite smile or two from strangers. Elain savored his warmth at her side and was grateful that he’d borrowed a cardigan from Feyre for her.

Arms still wound together, they rounded the corner and Elain spied the flower shop. It was built with red stone bricks and had two large windows covering the storefront. White and sage colored umbrellas stood on the patio covering large buckets of fresh cut flowers.

Elain felt a smile spread across her face. “Look at all the flowers!” Azriel released her arm so she could move freely and she bent at the waist to smell some roses. “They smell heavenly.” “Good evening!” A male voice called from inside the shop. He walked over to the open door and asked, “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, we’re just looking.” Elain replied.

“Ah, I’m here if you need anything.” He wiped his hands on his sage apron. “We have more flowers and some vases inside. Feel free to come in.”

“Thank you.” Elain nodded.

The shopkeeper disappeared back into the store. Elain continued walking around the buckets.

“Do you know what all these flowers are?” Azriel asked. He was walking behind her, wings tucked in tight so they wouldn’t bump any of the displays.

“Yes, most of them at least. I have some of these growing in my garden at home.”

“I recognize these.” He pointed to a bucket filled with bouquets of small yellow flowers.

“Those are daffodils,” she explained, stepping closer to him. “They grow best in the winter.”

They continued wandering through the arrangements, making small talk about Elain’s garden and her plans for the spring and summer. When they’d seen everything the shop offered they started down the street again. Before they got very far Azriel stopped.

“I’ll be right back.” He turned and jogged back to the flower shop.

Elain waited patiently for him to return, cupping her hands in front of her mouth and blowing into them in an attempt to warm her cold fingers. Shadows crept around her feet and along the street, as if Azriel had left them to keep watch over her. She was watching them, still breathing against her hands, when he returned.

“Sorry, I thought I dropped something.”

“It’s not a problem. Did you find it?”

He nodded, his gaze falling on her hands. “Are you cold?”

“A little, but I’m okay.” She admitted.

Azriel took a step towards her and placed his hands around hers. He bowed his head and blew his warm breath onto them. Elain felt all the air leave her lungs.

—--

Azriel stared at Elain’s perfect fingers in his scared ones and cringed. He shouldn’t be touching her like this, tainting her beautiful skin. Gods, he shouldn’t even be out with her.

It was wrong.

Rhys would be pissed.

But Az could have sworn Elain’s eyes glazed over. She didn’t look opposed, wasn’t pulling away. In fact, she looked. . . Happy.

Fuck it. Feyre said she would deal with Rhys. He could have this. Tonight. These small moments. The stolen glances, occasional touches. He would take anything she would give him. Cauldron knew he’d give her anything she wanted.

He blew on her hands again and asked, “better?”

“Yes,” she responded, a little breathlessly.

Azriel was faintly aware of music playing nearby, but the roaring in his ears was drowning it out. He’d forgotten there were others around them. Looking into Elain’s rich brown eyes he could hardly remember what they were even doing out here.

A faint breeze rustled Elain’s hair and sent a chill down his spine. His wings flexed slightly and he noticed Elain’s attention shift to them.

“Do you think. . .” She bit her lip briefly and the only thought in his head was how badly he wanted to put his own teeth there. “Do you think you could take me flying?”

She wanted to fly? “Where?”

“Anywhere.”

He studied her for a moment, his large hands still cupped around her delicate fingers. “Of course. Do you like it? Flying, I mean?”

She smiled shyly. “I think I do. It’s a little scary, but also very exciting.”

“Then let’s fly.” Azriel scooped her into his arms and waited until she’d wrapped her own arms firmly around his neck. His grin turned feral as he said, “hold on tight.”

Elain squealed as they shot into the night sky, her arms tightening around him. He couldn’t help but chuckle against her neck, his wings flapping steadily now as he carried her off towards the mountains. “Did I scare you?”

She loosened her death grip enough to pull back a few inches and look into his eyes. “Yes, I was terrified!”

“I’m sorry.” She giggled and said, “Don’t be. That was fun.”

“You truly like flying?”

“I do.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Even though it’s scary?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “It is frightening, but I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Azriel struggled to calm his heart.

“Thank you for tonight.” Elain said suddenly. She turned her head and her arms shifted around him as she pressed her lips against his cheek. Then, just as every thought left Azriel’s head, her hand brushed against the edge of his wing.

A surge of pleasure shot through him and he sucked in his breath.

Elain, seemingly oblivious to his reaction, ran two fingers along his wing again. “I’ve never touched them before.”

Azriel held her a little tighter against him. “Illyrian wings are sensitive.” He explained, trying his best not to moan in her ear from the touch.

“I’m sorry!” Elain pulled her hand away and rested it on his shoulder instead. “Does it hurt?”

Azriel chuckled. “No. They’re sensitive in. . . Other ways.”

“Oh,” She said. “Oh!” Elain’s cheeks turned the most beautiful shade of pink he’d ever seen.

“Illyrians are so protective of their wings they’ll often attack anyone who touches them.” He felt Elain stiffen up a little. “But I,” Azriel struggled to compose himself, “I feel safe with you too. Elain’s doe eyes sparkled, the stars themselves shining in them. “So it feels. . .”

“It feels a little like this,” He leaned in, his nose grazing the creamy skin of her neck, and brushed a soft kiss under her ear.

An almost inaudible moan escaped Elain’s throat. The sound threatened to be his undoing. “That feels. . . Nice.”

At the whisper of a taste, his cock strained against his pants. Azriel had to get control over himself. Being alone with her like this was dangerous.

No, they could have this. Tonight was theirs.

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, “I’ve missed you.” He stared into her eyes again. “You don’t come to dinners any more, and I hardly see you around the house. Did I do something wrong?”

Azriel felt his heart split in two. He’d done that. He’d avoided her and hurt her, and it was his fault that she looked so sad right now.

“No,” he almost choked on the words, “You haven’t. Don’t ever think. . .” He took a deep breath. “It’s my fault. I. . . I was afraid.”

She cupped a hand over his jaw. “Of what?”

“Because I. . .” Azriel looked down at the forest they flew over for a moment before looking back at her gorgeous face. “Because it’s hard to be around you. Every second that I’m in your presence, I feel like I’m fighting for my life. I’m trying to keep my composure when all I really want to do is taste you, protect you, tell you how strongly I feel for you.”

“Then do it," Elain said. "Tell me anything you want. Keep me safe. . ." She leaned in closer to him, and her lips brushed against his ear as she breathed, "taste me."

Azriel shuddered and buried his face in the space between her shoulder and neck, breathing in her sweet scent. He looked back up long enough to land on a ledge of the mountainside. He set her down carefully, but neither one of them tried to step out of the other's embrace. Elain kept her arms wrapped around Azriel's neck as he slid his around her back.

"Can I just. . . Hold you?" He asked, his voice low and broken.

"As long as you like."

"I'd like to all night."

"I'd like that too."

"But I-" Azriel forced the words out. "I don't deserve it-You. I'm not. . . Good."

Elain pushed away from him enough to look into his eyes. "You're wrong."

"Elain."

"You are good, Azriel."

"I'm not. I've done. . . Terrible things." His hands shook against her.

"I know." She breathed. "But not without reason. You are a good male. You have saved me in more ways than you realize. You listened to me when no one else would."

"Elain-"

His words were cut off when Elain pushed up on her toes and brushed a feather soft kiss against his lips. Azriel's entire body stiffened, heat roaring through him. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, dumbstruck and speechless.

"Everything in my life has been chosen for me. For once. . . I'd like to choose for myself." She smiled shyly. "And I choose you."

They were the nicest words he'd ever heard. And he wanted more than anything to give into his desires. But they had to do this right. He'd had suspicions that the Cauldron had been wrong in mating Elain with Lucien. Deep, deep down, he felt that he was her true mate, and he would find a way to prove it. Until then, they would have to be careful. If they were caught together. . . Azriel didn't want to think of what might happen.

"I think. . . Elain, I think the Cauldron was wrong. I think you're my. . ." His hands slid down to her waist and as he rested his forehead against hers, he whispered, "I think you're supposed to be my mate."

"Can that happen?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"Truthfully, I don't know. But I feel so connected to you. It has to be."

"I would like it very much," she let her eyes flutter and close, "if you were my mate. But I would still choose you, even if you weren't."

Something in Azriel's chest squeezed. Elain bit her lower lip, eyes still closed. Azriel moved one hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. She hummed softly in response. His hand moved to her neck, his thumb on her chin, so he could angle her head up. She remained motionless, waiting, he realized, for his kiss.

How long had he dreamt of this moment? How many nights had he fisted his cock to the thought of her sweet face? And now he hesitated?

“Azriel,” Elain whispered, “Please. . .”

He’d give her anything she wanted. Himself, a field of flowers, Cauldron, all the stars in the sky wouldn’t be enough.

He bowed his head and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was gentle, and unrushed, as he slowly brushed his lips over hers, again and again. She tasted better than he’d ever dreamed, and he was going to savor every last second of this. The scent of her arousal that drifted up to him threatened to bring him to his knees, but he wanted to take this slow.

Azriel's hand tightened on her waist and Elain's lips parted for him. His tongue swept in, mingling with hers, and she moaned against his mouth. Az buried his other hand in her thick hair, pulling her against his body as tightly as possible.

He groaned as Elain placed a small hand against his jaw and leaned into him further. His cock ached for her so badly he was going to jump out of his skin. He was going to learn just what sounds she would make when he thrust it into her. He was going to put his mouth all over her gorgeous body and taste every inch of her. He was going to-

"Azriel. . ." Elain moaned breathlessly between passionate kisses.

He pulled back to survey her face. He had no words for her beauty. Her lips, now full; her eyes, glazed over. Gods.

Something fluttered into his line of vision. Snow. They were high enough on the mountain that it would still get flurries at night. A frigid wind tore through them and Azriel knew he needed to get Elain home or they would both freeze up here.

It took every ounce of restraint in his body, but Azriel kissed her temple, gathered her into his arms, and said, "let's get you home."

—--

Elain savored Azriel's warmth in the freezing night sky. As they approached the river house, it became apparent everyone was asleep. All the lights were off, except a dim spark on the balcony.

They landed, and Azriel set her down. She peered up at his face, her hands cupping his cheeks. His own hands ran up her sides, stopping over her ribs.

"When will I see you again?" She asked. She couldn't bear the thought of his absence again.

He considered her for a moment before his mouth curved up into a faint smile. "Tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'll be more. . . Involved, now that you know how I feel."

Elain beamed. "That makes me so happy."

Azriel nodded, his hands shifting around her so he could pivot her towards the door.

Elain gasped.

Sitting on an iron table was the largest bouquet of roses she'd ever seen. Azriel slid his hands around her waist and held her from behind. "For you," he whispered, leaning his head down to kiss her ear.

"When did you. . ." Suddenly she remembered Azriel running back to the flower shop claiming he lost something. "This is why you went back to the shop?"

"Yes." He admitted. “I had them delivered.”

She spun around in his arms, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Azriel couldn't help but smile against her lips.

"Thank you." She said, hugging him tightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He said, voice low.

Elain nodded. Azriel kissed her temple and then stepped back, wings spreading wide. "Sweet dreams," he said, and then he shot into the starry night sky.

Elain watched him fly away until he was a speck in the night before taking her flowers inside and going to bed.

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #acofas #azriel #elain #elriel #acotarfic #acotarfanfic #elrielfanfic #fluff #angst #shadowsinger #azrielshadowsinger #fanfic #feyre #rhys #rhysand #nyx #feysand #feysandnyx #azriel and elain #azriel and feyre #azriel and nyx #elain and nyx #elain and feyre

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 53)

Notes: Thank you to everyone being so patient in waiting for this chapter. Life has thrown some difficulties my way recently and the work life balance is very much out of whack which means my writing time is just non-existent. Big love to all of you sending lovely anons reassuring me that you'll still be reading even if my chapter updates are infrequent.

Anyway, I hope you love this one! Nesta and Cassian finally chat about what happened beneath the Lake...

Chapter 53 Cassian 

The journey to the Eastern Steppes was a rough one. Cassian only had the abilities to winnow once a year, his technique rusty and untried enough that the wind whipped and howled at them, as if protesting at his lack of skill, the wrongness of the movement.

But soon enough the folded fabric of time righted itself. Colour bled back into the world. Birds sang. The soil smelt damp and dewy. The trees sighed in the wind.

Above them, the spring sky remained blue and hopeful.

Inside, Cassian still felt as ravaged and violated as he had the moment he’d sat up reeling in the moss and realised that Death had torn apart the braided rope of he and Nesta’s mating bond. No ruby magic had kissed silver. Their avenue of connection replaced only by a vast emptiness, the two severed ends tied like a makeshift tourniquet around Cassian’s ribcage.

As if remembering the agony of it, the magic inside of Cassian chose that moment to awaken. It gave a deep, shuddering breath, like lungs starved of air. Now they were outside of the Lake’s influence, Cassian’s magic felt as if it had been released from a chokehold. His siphons flickered then pulsed gently in greeting. It felt like the renewed beating of his heart. 

Tossing her head, Sala indignantly Sala threw off the lingering ebony of darkness that clung to her fur and their clothing, like shifting shadows. Cassian carried himself instinctively with the movement, shifting his weight atop her as the beast’s wings snapped in and out, as if she was making sure that her body was in one piece after winnowing. 

Nesta’s body did the same, the motion fluid, her body more one with the manticore than Cassian would ever be. If Nesta had been disconcerted by his rusty winnowing skills, she didn’t let on. As always, she remained composed and regal, her back straight, her chin lifted despite the weariness Cassian could sense radiating off of her.

She’d mentioned that she’d used every last drop of her healing magic at the Lake. Who knew what else she’d dealt with Below, what she’d learnt. What she’d suffered on top of the bond being wrenched from them. 

Cassian suspected that the only reason that Nesta was actually standing was because her fire magic was supercharged. Because whilst the proximity of the Lake and the surrounding forest had been enough to leech Frawley, Lorrian and Cassian’s magic from their veins, Nesta’s main facet of power was death… 

Nesta’s healing magic might have suffered just like theirs, but her fire magic was death.

The thought had Cassian banding his arm tighter around Nesta. Underneath the scent of lake and moss, her hair smelt like she always did—jasmine and vanilla—and it brought an overwhelming sense of relief to know that some things remained constant. That she was back with him despite what she’d been through. Especially in the calm before the storm, before everything kicked into action, before whatever terrible fate awaited them had to play out. 

Because Cassian knew that there was something waiting for them. There always was. 

A soft rumble from Caer drew Cassian’s attention behind him and away from the panic that was trying its best to build to a crescendo. 

Lorrian had already dismounted the male manticore and was at the back door with a limp Frawley in his arms. Before Cassian could move to help his friend with the door, Caer had risen on his back legs, his paws pressing against the pine. There was a fizzle of magic, gold sparks outlining Caer’s paw and then there was a click and the wooden door swung open.

Cassian watched Lorrian step into the kitchen with Caer at his heels, but then Nesta shifted in front of him and his attention was pulled back to her, just as it always was.

She was watching Lorrian, too. With her head turned towards him, Cassian could see the profile of her face: her pale cheeks, the natural arch of her brow, the lips jammed tightly together. Wisps of hair were carried by the wind and fluttered beneath her eye and across her nose, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“Is it working?”

For a moment, Cassian didn’t understand what she meant. He was too distracted at the sudden realness of her which kept hitting him like the turn of a wheel as it ran full circle. Every time he processed that she was alive and breathing brought on a new sense of crushing relief, like a tidal wave breaking across the shore. 

When the bond had broken, Cassian had suspected the worst. For all he’d known, Nesta had descended Below only to never return. 

Then, everything had seemed impossibly dark.

Now, around them, the scenery was soft and light—the cottage, the forest… Even the air, which let his magic breathe and replenish. The contrast felt like a mockery given the journey that they’d been on, as if it was trying to insist that it had never happened at all. 

And if Cassian didn’t so vividly remember how he’d fallen like lead in the sky, he might have forgiven the forest for carrying on like usual. 

“Your injuries?” Nesta elaborated when Cassian didn’t respond. Her head turned a little farther in his direction, as far as she could manage. “Are they healing?”

In all truth, Cassian hadn’t thought of his injuries beyond registering that they’d hurt during the flight.

“Cassian?” 

Nesta’s voice broke through his thoughts and the way her head remained turned towards him, the way she pressed him, told Cassian that she needed answers. Because if his magic was healing his body, it was logical that Frawley’s power was already replenishing itself.

Gingerly, Cassian lifted his injured wing—testing it—making sure before he reassured her. It still hurt, but the pain was less than before. And as he slowly tapped his attention back into his body, he could feel that his cracked ribs were tingling, itching, as his body slowly started to knit itself back together and his wing felt the same. 

“It’s working,” Cassian assured her, trying his best to make his voice even. He dismounted Sala to prove that he was telling the truth, his wings working as they always did to balance him, even as his left wing and ribs yelped in protest. “Not as quickly as usual, probably because my magic is replenishing itself after being drained.”

He held out a hand to Nesta. She was observing him with that razor-sharp focus of hers, those blue-grey eyes scouring over his wings, his ribs, his expression for any sign of discomfort.

He made himself wiggle his fingers entreatingly, hoping she might let out a huff or lift her eyes to the sky—any sense of normalcy to ease the underlying sense of panic that was building inside of him. But Nesta only took his hand without hesitation, her expression serious as she neatly dismounted from Sala, her fingers icy cold from both the flight and the drop in temperature as they’d winnowed. 

It was never that cold when Rhys or Mor did it. Cassian would have to ask them how—not that he had the power to winnow more than one day of the year. Nobody knew why Illyrians powers were magnified the day before the Rite. Most Illyrians believed it was a fleeting gift from the Old Gods before one of the most sacred of Illyrian traditions. The Rite was what gave Illyrian males their name—when the stars Arktos, Carynth and Oristes aligned at Ramiel’s peak they could fight for the social standing that would define them for the rest of their lives.

It was their chance to prove themselves under the watchful eyes of the Old Gods and Illyrians believed that they had been blessed with magic to ensure that the Rite was put in place.

But not this year. This year, they had magic but no Rite.

Kallon had insisted that it was to save Illyrian lives, to rebuild war units after losing so many against Hybern. It had won him some solid support for the Rebellion cause, including the favour of Lords and Lordlings across the war camps, all the while the Princeling killed innocent females in a bid to bond him to Enalius’ sword.

A gust of wind dove through the clearing and Nesta did her best to suppress a shiver. But Cassian caught it and his attention pivoted back towards her, like a compass needle swinging towards true north.

Nesta’s leathers were still damp, her hair still wet. Now he could see her entire face, he noticed that the outline of her lips were blue. 

Cassian swallowed. “Can you dry yourself with your fire magic, sweetheart?”

The words didn’t have the effect Cassian had intended. Nesta tensed up, her muscles packing up so tightly it was almost as if someone had cast a spell on her and froze her in place. Even her face drained of colour, her skin taking on a ghostly pallor.

Confusion seized control of Cassian’s features, his brows dipping into a frown before he evened them back out again. It hurt that he’d triggered her somehow. Cassian had always prided himself on being able to read Nesta like a book, to know what she needed and how she needed it. But he didn’t know now.

So many questions began to coil on the tip of his tongue, ready to unravel as he spoke them. And Cassian knew he should be pressing Nesta about what had happened, about what she’d learnt Below. He knew they needed to address the bond that had been wrenched from them—the breath-snatching pain of it—but he was a coward and he chose to worry over her wellbeing rather than cutting to the chase. “You’re catching a chill, Nes.”

Cassian brushed a thumb over Nesta’s lips to punctuate his point. She didn’t move away from him. For a moment, it seemed as if she wasn’t so much as breathing. And Cassian was just about to open his mouth to encourage her to speak when he felt her magic—that fire—rush through her body as she called it forth. Felt it ignite, the heat of it relentless, as it licked over her skin.

Cassian didn’t recoil. Didn’t need to. Nesta’s fire magic had never burnt him before and he knew that now would be no exception.

Flames danced in Nesta’s irises, turning them a ferocious metallic. The power of it was so palpable it was like an additional, other-worldly heartbeat. But then Nesta’s magic was snatched back within herself and her eyes fell back into their usual grey-blue—yet guarded in a way that instantly set Cassian on edge. 

Together, they hesitated, lingering by the back door, neither of them moving. And Cassian felt something coalesce in the air, all of the unspoken words and truths, until there was a shadow hanging ominously between them, a pregnant thundercloud waiting to split its seam. 

Not sure what to do, Cassian raked his fingers gently through Nesta’s hair. Trying to communicate that he was here, that she could speak now if she needed to. 

But Nesta didn’t say anything and anticipation had Cassian’s blood quickening, his pulse pushing insistently against his skin. 

Eventually, when it felt as if Cassian’s heartbeat was thrashing about on his tongue, Nesta said, “We should go and help tend to Frawley.”

It felt as if a ball of yarn had knotted itself in Cassian’s throat. It made it hard to swallow down his heartbeat. And like the coward he was, Cassian dropped his hands from her hair. “We should,” he agreed thickly.

But before he could turn to follow Sala’s slinking haunches through the kitchen, Nesta had snatched out to grab his hand. 

“Cassian?” 

Steadily, Cassian made himself meet Nesta’s eyes. And for the first time Cassian saw the true panic, the urgency, in his partner that she’d been doing her best to conceal, as if she’d lifted a veil to showcase the inner turmoil beneath it. 

But Cassian did not balk. Long ago, he’d vowed that he would never shy from anything Nesta threw at him and he wasn’t going to start now.

So, Cassian waited for Nesta to speak, even as that unaddressed shadow passed between them again. 

That knowledge of a bond broken, a connection severed.

Nesta’s hand tightened imperatively around his, her gaze deepened. The magnetism in her irises reeled him in, deeper and deeper and Cassian let himself fall willingly. 

“After we’ve checked on Frawley,” she said, her voice a grave hush, a terrifying secret that Cassian had known was coming. “I need to speak with you.”

***

Lorrian had taken Frawley up to their bedroom. 

It was the master room in the cottage. The walls were white, the wooden beams structuring the room old and uneven—left as nature had formed them rather than cut to precise rectangular lines.

Frawley lay unconscious atop the huge bed. Her eyes were shut, her skin waxen, her lips chapped and parted. Cassian saw the blue and purple veins stark against the witch’s eyelids, like intricate, terrifying spiderwebs. Yet, even out of consciousness and looking as fragile as she did, Frawley still looked other. Like something you wouldn’t dare to wake.

Lorrian wasn’t of the same sentiment. He didn’t speak or tread quietly. He turned to Nesta the moment they walked in. 

“Can you dry her? It will be quicker than putting her in new clothes.” Then, he looked to Cassian. “There’s tonic in the Cauldron on the stove downstairs. Can you heat some up?”

By the time Cassian returned with two mugs of steaming tonic in hand, Frawley was tucked beneath the covers. Her white hair was dry but tangled, her face still pale but no longer deathly. 

Atop the coverlets, her hands lay half unfurled. And in the heart of her palms… no light. No magic at all. Not even a whisper.

Despite that, some colour had bled back into her face, as if the air of her forest was breathing life back into her magic and herself.

When Cassian handed the mug to Lorrian, Frawley’s eyes began to move beneath her eyelids. As if the wafting steam of the liquid’s magic called to her, trying to reel her back from the realm she’d fallen into. 

Yet, it was a while until the witch’s eyelids finally cracked open. And the sight of his wife awake clearly affected Lorrian, whose knuckles tightened so starkly that Cassian thought the bones might pop out of their sockets. 

But all Lorrian said in low greeting was, “Witch.”

Both of Frawley’s eyes slid to her chroi and Cassian watched her pupils constrict, spooling inwards. It made the colours in her irises stand out and for the first time, Cassian realised that the hazel eye of Frawley’s mirrored Lorrian’s, down to the exact blend of brown, green and gold. 

The witch’s words were a tired and exhausted breath. “Illyrian mongrel.”

Some of the knots in Lorrian’s back loosened, his wings sagging and spreading slightly in relief. His fingers unfurled slightly, the colour seeping back into his knuckles. “Time to drink the potions so you can go back to commanding me around, Xiomara.”

Nesta threw a quizzical look at Cassian at the unfamiliar name, but Cassian just watched as Lorrian lifted Frawley’s head and coaxed her to drink a few sips. As he tenderly swept the witch’s matted hair back from her forehead.

And Cassian knew Frawley was in a bad way because she was too exhausted to even try and assist him. But the more she drank, the stronger she became. Until Lorrian was no longer holding her entire weight, but supporting it.  

Eventually, when she’d slowly managed to wrestle down two tonics, the witch’s different coloured eyes slithered over to Nesta. And when they did, the barest flicker of a wry smile twitched at Frawley’s lips. It was the sort of exhausted smile that only came from a shared experience. And there was no anger or resentment on the witch’s face, only relief.

“We made it then,” the witch rasped wryly.

Nesta leant forward from where she was sitting on a wicker chair in the corner of the room, her back ramrod straight as always. Her hands were clasped around the mug of tonic Cassian had insistently handed to her and the remaining steam coalesced into the air, dancing upwards in front of her face. “We made it,” Nesta agreed. 

Frawley raised a hand from where it lay on the mattress. It took a few failed tries, but then it was there: a circle of light. Small and unassuming, but full of promise—steady.

One corner of Nesta’s mouth inched upwards and then she held out her own hand in reply where her own bead of healing light sung softly. And the melody was so mournfully beautiful, that Cassian felt his own magic stir, his siphons pulsing gently.

Cassian knew if his seven gems could speak, his magic would be whining the same tune as the Illyrian wind outside the windows. Her name, always. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Frawley’s smile turned into a pained grimace.

“Thank Oya,” she announced weakly.

And then, as if that was all she’d been able to muster, her arm fell back onto the mattress and the healing power at her palm went out.

Within moments, Frawley was out cold.

***

Andraste arrived on a moth-carried wind not long after Frawley had fallen back asleep. 

The witch of the Northern Steppes appeared at the doorway to the bedroom, silent and creeping, ready to examine her sister. 

If Nesta’s head hadn’t whipped to the door, if the manticores hadn’t launched onto all fours, Cassian wouldn’t have heard the witch at all.

Andraste listened to Nesta relay how the deathly magic in the forest had slowly leeched Frawley of her power. And all the while, Andraste’s moths had fluttered around her sister’s body like eery, unstable companions. 

Cassian had never been sure if the moths were real and simply bound by the witch’s magic, or whether they were purely created by Andraste’s magic and imagination. He’d never had it in him to ask. There was a fundamental element to Andraste that had always been put on edge, like the kiss of a well-honed blade, deadly as its lethal edge caught the light.

Eventually, the moths disappeared and the dark-haired witch straightened, rising impossibly tall, as willowy and elegant as the slim trunk of a pine. The wooden beads at the ends of her thick cornrow braids had clinked together at the movement, but when Andraste's dark eyes pinned on Lorrian, they abruptly stopped. 

Frawley would sleep for hours, the witch told them in that distant, cold voice of hers, as if she were somewhere else entirely. Moths fluttered briefly around her ears in the same way that Azriel’s shadows did when they were reporting secrets. Rest would help to replenish Frawley’s magic stores, along with more tonic and a few good meals.

When Andraste’s dark eyes jumped to Nesta, Cassian tried to swallow down his instinctive fright. It had always been indisputable that Frawley was not fae, but Andraste was something else entirely. A witch made for the night, but lured out of the shadows against her will, the flutter of her moths wings whispering in her ears. “You were wise to get her out of the forest when you did.”

To Nesta’s credit, she did not balk. Her spine remained straight but her countenance was relaxed, confident in herself and her abilities as she dipped her chin. Cassian got the impression other things were on her mind, her own whisperings pulling at her mind, distracting her from what was going on in the present.

So, he wasn’t surprised that the moment that Andraste disappeared on a moth-carried wind, Nesta was back by his side. She touched his hand with her cold, slim fingers. Encircled them around his wrist, awakening him until his eyes were no longer on the stream of moths flittering out of the window, but her. 

“Let’s take a walk,” she murmured and something awakened inside of Cassian. It was that same feeling of foreboding that had overcome him outside.

Lorrian let them go. Silently, he replaced Nesta on the wicker chair. But not before he’d dragged it closer to the bed so he could hold Frawley’s hand whilst she slept. 

Nesta led Cassian purposefully out of the cottage and past the paddock, until they were walking amongst the pine trees and the woodruff, the smell of earth and green and the crisp spring air all around them. 

With every step they took, the pain in Cassian’s wing and ribs continued to ease. Now they were out of the vicinity of the Lake of Souls, his Fae blood and magic were slowly cranking up to working at full speed again. Cassian was no stranger to pain, but his mending limbs would have felt like a relief if the suspense of what Nesta had to say wasn’t gnawing at his insides.

The silence between them grew tauter and tauter the further they walked. Together, they threaded through tree trunks and stepped over fallen branches. Nesta still led the way, her step purposeful and sure-headed, guided by whatever information she’d learnt from the Seer of the Sage. And Cassian trusted that Nesta would lead them to where they needed to be, so he tucked his wings in tight and navigated through the narrow spots without complaint. 

And all the while that silence continued to build between them, like a storm coalescing above them, its sooty clouds flattening the peaks of mountains and the tops of trees.

By the time they reached a break in the canopy overhead, the pain of Cassian’s injuries was only tender—the kind of hurt that came from pressing down insistently on a bruise rather than something sharp—but his heart had begun to beat faster, his blood pulsing through his veins in anticipation, an unyielding, distracting thrum. 

Because whilst Nesta seemed in control, there was something highly strung about her. There was an urgency to her movements, as if her body was not only being powered by a higher purpose, but nerves, too. After all, Cassian had learnt to read her long ago. And Nesta’s heart? He could hear the nervous beat of it in his own ears, the tempo entangled with his own.

Before them, a stream trickled unassumingly through the forest, cutting an uneven path through the foliage. A plateau of flat rocks picked their way across the water as if they’d been placed by a higher hand—or perhaps a magical one—but weathered from feet over the decades, enough so that they weren’t obscured by the moss which had tried to carpet everything else. 

Cassian hung back by a loose pine tree, watching Nesta as she beelined towards the water. As her stride grew slower and less resolute—identical to the way one might trail off mid-sentence. As if now she had arrived at the place she wished to speak with him, Nesta wasn’t sure where to go next.

When she reached the water’s edge, she turned to look over her shoulder at him. The tangled strands of her hair lifted from the breath of the wind. Somehow it highlighted her pale face, the weight that lay across her brow. 

Nesta’s lips parted. Closed. 

By her side, she curled her fingers into fists before loosening them.

As she straightened them, they shook slightly. When she balled her fingers into fists again, she clenched so hard Cassian knew that there would be half-moon prints embedded into her palms. 

Still, Cassian waited. But when she didn’t say anything, he moved. Unable to bear it. To see her like this, to find himself succumbing to that taunting in his head that hissed the worst. 

Cassian wasn’t stupid. He’d lived long enough to know that something was coming, something that would no doubt put them back danger again—just when they were beginning to piece themselves back together after the war with Hybern.

Because life was cruel like that. It didn’t care about your history, about the trials and tribulations that had shaped you into a darker version of yourself. It chipped away innocence and naivety, carving you into something more severe, more world-weary.

“Nesta.” A few long strides had Cassian’s legs eating up the distance between them. And Nesta didn’t step away, didn’t try to deflect him as he cupped her face.

As always, her head angled up to meet his. And in her eyes, was a pool of emotion that had him wanting to take a step back. It was aching and sad and… apprehensive.

Cassian had no idea what had happened in the forest where death sang its own eerie tune. He didn’t know what had occurred when she’d descended into the Lake Below. And even that was an assumption. Even though he couldn’t think of any other reason why their mating bond had been torn from them than her having travelled beyond the living. Couldn’t think why he’d have fallen from the sky, a frozen, dead weight of agony as his body had crashed through the tops of trees.

And for once Cassian didn’t know how to make it better. So, he just searched her eyes and said, “Just tell me, sweetheart.”

Still Nesta said nothing. She just continued to stare up at him whilst her thoughts stampeded through her mind.

In the end, she simply shook her head. “You’re here.”

Her hands came to rest at his chest. Cassian had the distinct impression that if his armour would have allowed it, she’d be fisting her hands into the scales of his leathers. Her gaze deepened on his, her eyes searching for an answer she couldn’t seem to find. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Not knowing what to say, Cassian gently rested his forehead against hers. He breathed slowly, a deep inhale, as if breathing her in would convince him that she was actually here before him. And then spoke his truth. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to come back.”

When Nesta looked back up at him, her grey-blue eyes were lined with tears, her words thick. “From the Lake?”

Cassian nodded. “I didn’t know if you’d just descended Below or if you’d…”

He couldn’t say the last word. Couldn’t voice it in case it ever came true.

A world without Nesta wasn’t one Cassian wanted to be in.

As if Nesta sensed the root of his thought, she lay her hand gently over his ribcage. Her fingers barely spanned the breadth of his heart but it felt as if she was cradling him whole. “Did you know?”

Did you know what would happen to us if I descended into the Lake?

“Not for sure.” Cassian raked a thumb over Nesta’s cheek. Caught a wayward tear. Water and salt soaked into his skin. “I knew there were some dots I hadn’t connected. But the moment you disappeared into the forest, I knew.” He clasped the hand on his heart, drew it down to his stomach. Pressed it into his abdomen. “I felt it in my gut, right here. Like a premonition.”

For a few heartbeats, Nesta just studied him as if she was trying to delve deeper, understand. “You didn’t tell me you had a bad feeling.”

Cassian’s breath wanted to catch but he didn’t let it. She had every right to be mad at him for withholding his fears, but he hadn’t truly known the consequences until it was too late. “I didn’t want to stop you doing something you were destined to do,” he said truthfully.

“I broke it.” Nesta’s words were broken too, raw and exposed—devastated. And only then did Cassian realise that she blamed herself for it. 

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, instilling all of the love and comfort he could muster.

“I believe in you,” he told her, “and I believed in Elain’s vision. It had to be done, Nesta, for the greater good. And this thing between us, the love I have for you… I knew the lack of a mating bond wouldn’t change that.”

Despite his speech, Cassian could tell from the anguished knit of Nesta’s brow that she couldn’t see past her self-blame. So, he rested his palms on her shoulders until she met his eyes. “Death broke the bond. Our purpose broke it. Don’t think for one second that what happened falls on your shoulders.” His hand came up to wind around her neck, cupping it. “You’re safe and here. It’s all I care about. It’s all I ever care about.”

Nesta leant forward, until her forehead was resting against his chest. She released a slow breath. Then said, her voice small and muffled by his leathers. “You fell.”

“So did you,” he replied softly. He touched her chin with a scarred finger, coaxing her to meet his gaze, to come back to the issue at hand. “Tell me about the Lake, sweetheart.”

Something flickered behind Nesta’s eyes, a shuttering, as if a door had closed and a new one had opened. 

“It’s just us,” Cassian prompted. His fingers grazed the underline of Nesta’s jaw, the callouses a tender scrape. “You can tell me.”

To his surprise, Nesta nodded. Her chest rose as she took in a slow, quiet breath and lifted a palm to Cassian’s cheek. 

Cassian’s wings had been held high behind him, but her touch stirred them awake. They shifted the air around them, stirring the pine needles underfoot, creating their own wind as they wrapped around her, pressing her closer. 

Cassian leant into Nesta’s palm but didn’t break the lock of their gaze. He just waited, patient and beseeching.

“I wanted to tell you first,” Nesta started, but then paused. Searched his eyes again. Took another deep breath. “I didn’t meet the Seer of the Sage, Cassian.”

Cassian straightened. Blinked. “You didn’t?”

This time it was Nesta’s fingers tracing his jaw, stroking across his brow. And Cassian knew his eyes were unspooling, the guard behind them lifting to show his confusion, his apprehension. But he didn’t stop it, because it was Nesta, and he wouldn’t hide from her. 

“No,” Nesta said softly. “I met your mother, Cassian.”

***

Stunned, Cassian couldn’t do anything but stare ahead of him. 

“I know it seems unbelievable,” Nesta said in wake of his silence. The sounds of the forest were a distant noise in Cassian’s ears, a buzzing, because his mind was reeling from what Nesta had just told him. 

His mother.

His mother.

The female who had birthed and nurtured him. The female who had raised him in poverty but who had sung to him in front of a meagre fire every night, her soft voice gentle and lilting. The stars overhead. Her dry, cracked hands cradling him tight against her chest.

Cassian had barely remembered her, had been unable to recall what she looked like, but he knew she’d been warm. That she’d loved him.

“My mother,” he croaked finally, when he realised he had to say something. “You met my mother.”

Nesta touched his face again. Her fingers were cold yet somehow they felt like a balm. 

“I did,” she confirmed softly. “I thought of her before I descended beneath the Lake. It was a fleeting thought, but I think my magic called to her. And when I got Below, she was there, waiting for me.”

Caught off guard didn’t even begin to describe how Cassian felt. A rising hope surged in him at the same time disbelief crested. The two emotions warred, clashed, fought. 

In the end, Cassian could only repeat himself, “You met my mother.”

“I did,” Nesta said again, her voice tentative and unsure but also tempered down to soothe. Her hands coaxed his face to meet hers and the love shining on her expression was like a beacon, a calling. His blood howled. “She’s the most wonderful, brave female I’ve ever met. And she loved you so much, more than anything. Can I tell you about her?”

It all crashed into him then, the gravity of what Nesta was telling him. The emotion hit him like a punch in the gut and a breath sucked out of him, his eyes burned. “Please,” he begged. 

So, Nesta told him and Cassian let her. 

He sat with his back against one of the slim pine trunks, surrounded by the scent of earth and resin. The cold from the forest floor seeped through his leathers, but he didn’t care.

Neither did Nesta, she sunk to the floor at his side, her legs folded beneath her. But as she began to speak, she rose onto her knees, her hands falling to his shoulders. Her eyes were the most open he’d ever seen them. They glittered as she spoke, the light in her eyes both animated and mournful.  

When Nesta finished, the only sounds were the birds in the trees, the stirring rustle of the needles in the wind. The only sensation grounding him were the palms now resting lovingly against his cheeks.

In years to come, Cassian would distinctly remember the way Nesta studied his expression. The way she looked, so hopeful yet full of apprehension. The exact way the strands of her honey brown hair fell over pale face.

“Cassian.” Nesta’s voice floated into his head and stayed there, echoing around the empty cavern inside of his head. His thoughts had been all over the place, but now it was if his body had slammed down a guillotine and cut them off, protecting him from the inevitable overload.  

But like it always did, Nesta’s voice reached him, stirring his attention. Pulling him towards her. 

“I know it’s a lot to process,” Nesta said. “I know—“

“What was she like?” he said. He swallowed and his throat felt thick and syrupy. “The true Maya.”

Cassian hadn’t meant to cut Nesta off, but the words punctured out of him of their own accord. There was so much he should say, so many things they needed to address, but in the end it was the most basic of questions that he yearned the answer to. 

Nesta’s hands moved from the nape of his neck to tangle in the knotty strands of his hair. She leant towards him as if she was imparting a secret. 

“Fierce and loyal and brave,” Nesta whispered, her smile soft and trembling. “But her heart was so full, Cassian. She wanted the best for her race. That’s why she left, why she risked everything and hid you away. And she wanted you to know that she doesn’t regret a moment of it. That you were the best thing to ever happen to her and that she would do it all over again if she had the chance. Because she loved you and your father and she wanted a better world.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to address the star-born prophecy. Suddenly, he had the overwhelming urge to cry, enough so that he was forced to remain quiet. Instead, he reached blindly for Nesta’s hand and squeezed. 

She understood just as she always did. Wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him into her chest. 

And it felt so good to be comforted, so good to be back with Nesta, encircled in her scent, his home, that he wrapped his fully healed wings around her body.

They stayed like that for a long while, the rise and fall of their chests their only rhythm. And it felt so good to ignore everything else that he’d learnt for a moment and just simply exist, safe with Nesta, just the two of them in their very own world. 

And with every joint breath, the yawning emptiness in his mind receded and thoughts poured in, like shadows falling over sunlight.

“Lyanne and Maya are near identical,” Nesta said into his hair before she leant away from him. She searched his eyes, grazed the left corner of his mouth with her thumb as a smile of her own tugged at her lips. “I could see you in her,” she confessed softly. “She has your smile.”

It took everything in Cassian to make his mouth kick upwards. 

Nesta caught it with her thumb, as if she hoped by touching it that she might freeze it in place. “This one,” she told him. “Your sad, half smile. And her eyes express themselves in exactly the same way as you. They even have the exact shards of gold.”

“I’m glad I have pieces of her,” Cassian confessed, because that’s what he’d always been terrified of. That he only carried traces of an unknown father who Cassian had wrongly suspected had abused his mother. 

But it turned out that wasn’t true at all. His father, wherever he was, had been his mother’s mate and Cassian had been born out of love.

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t meet her,” Nesta murmured. “She was looking for you. She thought you might be with me, Above, at the shoreline of the Lake. She kept scanning the ceiling and it took me too long to understand why.”

The thought of his mother casting her eyes Above had that knot tightening in Cassian’s throat. She had looked for him. Had wanted to see him and he’d been somewhere else entirely. 

After the mating bond breaking, Cassian hadn’t thought his heart could fracture any further, but it did. Another crack, another reminder of something painful.

Nesta had met his mother, had held her hands and cried with her. And she had learnt the story Cassian had always wanted to know. His history was all laid out before him and the truths that came with that? It made his mind spin. 

“If it was going to be anyone else but me,” he said, meant every word that rasped out of his mouth, “I would have always chosen you.”

Nesta blew out a breath as if she was relieved. And it was only then that Cassian realised that she had been nervous, anxious of his reaction. 

“In the forest, my fire magic was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before,” Nesta confessed. “Death was in the ground and it made me so strong. At first I was scared of it. It kept trying to get out like before—when I was untrained and denying who I was. But when I said goodbye to your mother, I realised that I could use it for something good.”

“I burned your mother’s soul,” Nesta continued when Cassian only continued to look at her, not quite understanding what she was trying to say. “She wanted to be complete and I wanted to give that to her—to you.”

Cassian’s lungs sucked in a breath he didn’t ask for and it shook, like the ground rumbling beneath their feet in an earthquake. He was almost too scared to ask what he did next, but in the end he had to know. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed. “At least I think so. I think my magic finally did something wholly good. Not just protecting someone from harm but granting someone the opportunity for peace.” Nesta found Cassian’s hand and held on tight. “I told Maya that we’d meet her at Kharon. That you’d be there and that you’d set her soul down the River Styx.”

It was too much. A sob wrenched out of him. And Cassian couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the wracking sound splitting open his ribs. Because his heart was no longer fissured but entirely cracked in two by the love he had for the female before him.

In that moment, never had Cassian been so sure he wanted to ask her to be his wife—the bond might have been broken, but their lives could still be entangled in every way possible.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta chanted over and over, as if she thought he was upset with her—because she’d got this opportunity over him. And the tears were flowing so freely, the air trapped in his chest winding him with every sob that he couldn’t speak. So, he just pulled Nesta into his lap and buried his face in her hair.

“Oh Cassian,” Nesta breathed when he eventually quieted. His tears had ran into her hair but she didn’t seem to mind. “I’m sorry that you weren’t able to meet her.”

Cassian pushed his palms into his damp eyes. The pressure alleviated the flow of tears. 

“It’s not that,” Cassian managed to say thickly. He rested his chin atop the crown of Nesta’s head, gathered her closer to her chest as he tried to convey how he felt. “It’s just…” He reached out a hand into the darkness in his mind, trying to grasp the right words. “What you did for my mother? Putting her to rest? I can never thank you enough for that. I can never make it up to you.”

Nesta tilted her head up to look at him and Cassian let her, unfolding his body from hers, leaning back so their eyes could connect. She’d been crying too, Cassian realised. This wonderful, fiery female had shed tears for him, his mother, his history. 

Her cheeks were streaked with salt tracks, her irises shone with a challenge that was set in its determination. “Why should you?” 

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, to explain that putting his mother to rest would close that door he’d never been able to jam shut. He’d always wondered about his mother—how she’d died, what she’d suffered. He’d always blamed himself for her death. If he’d not been born, if he’d not been this burden this byproduct of what he’d been certain was rape, his mother could have escaped the poverty and travelled somewhere else, away from the cruelty. 

And to know now that he’d been a choice? That his mother had died fighting for a better world, a world that Cassian himself had also been fighting for since he was tossed into the mud at Windhaven? He’d been bonded to her all this time without knowing it, this shared ideal, this critical mission tying them together and now her soul could stop wandering. Next year at Kharon, Cassian could put her soul to rest and she could finally sleep knowing that he was continuing her legacy. 

But Nesta cut him off. “You saved my life,” she admitted softly. “I would have died if it wasn’t for you. I would have drunk myself to death. And I hated you for helping me, for thinking that I was worthy, but even when I told you otherwise, you were always my light in the dark. You never gave up on me, never stopped having faith that I would grow into my full potential.

“I will never stop being thankful that you fought for me. That you gave me the means to fight for this life and make something of it. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to control my power the way I did beneath the Lake. I wouldn’t have been able to burn your mother’s soul, to give her a proper burial.”

We did this together, Nesta’s eyes said as she stared up at him. 

Gently, Cassian leaned down to press his lips to hers. She tasted like tears but also hope, despite everything looming on the horizon. 

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Cassian murmured against her mouth, his breath whispering between them.

“And I am,” Nesta told him, and Cassian heard the truth of it in her voice, the conviction. “Of course I am, Cassian. I have you.”

***

There was so much to discuss, so much to say, but Cassian and Nesta remained in the forest a while longer, wrapped in silence, Nesta curled in his lap, his arms holding her close. 

They didn’t discuss the fact that Cassian’s heritage traced back to Ironcrest. Or the fact that his mother had been the twin to fulfil the prophecy predicted by the Seer of the Sage, which had stated that the first twin to fall pregnant would bear a star-born child. 

But eventually, the silence had to end.

It was Nesta who broke it but Cassian couldn’t begrudge her of it. In the quiet, Cassian had been trying to process the information she’d given him—the blessings and the hard truths. 

But they couldn’t ignore the reason she’d gone below the Lake in the first place. 

“Cassian,” Nesta pressed eventually. Her voice was soft and tentative, but there was an urgency to it, a seriousness that Cassian knew they could no longer ignore. “I asked your mother if she knew whether Kallon’s sacrificial ritual would work in bonding the blade to him. She said he didn’t know, but that if Kallon was attempting to use such dark magic, it would be best to use it when his magic was strongest…”

She trailed off but Cassian had already connected the dots. 

Had already stiffened, his mind sharpening. He’d partitioned off his emotions with a mental movement akin to the slashing of a sword and stepped into the role of General.

“The Rite,” Cassian said grimly, kicking himself that he hadn’t seen this coming. He was the General of the Night Court Armies, he had years of experience when it came to strategy and war, but he hadn’t been able to predict Kallon’s next move. His next step in battle.

But now it was as clear as the water in the River Styx. Kallon hadn’t just wanted to garner support by cancelling the Blood Rite, he’d wanted an empty arena.

Nesta turned in his lap so she was facing him. “I think Kallon is going to use the increased strength of his magic to try and bend the sword to his will. He’s going to sacrifice the final three females believing that will solidify his star-born status—”

“He’ll do it on Ramiel,” Cassian cut off grimly. “He’ll try to complete the ritual there on sacred ground. The mountain is only accessible on the day of the Rite, magic prevents Illyrians from even stepping in the vicinity of it at any other time in the year.”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed. “I thought the same. It makes sense that he would try to do it in a place where there’s a strong connection to Enalius.”

Because Oya and Enalius had defeated Vanth at the top of Ramiel on the thirty-third day of battle, ultimately uniting the Illyrian clans over a common cause. Every year, the Blood Rite marked the anniversary of that day. When Oya had sacrificed a bone of her ribcage to create the sword that Enalius had ultimately used to slay Vanth.

“Kallon has a limited window.” Cassian stood, trying to ignore the voice inside his head that reminded him that the male they were talking about shared blood with him. Kallon was his cousin. His cousin. And Ailie and Samra were, too. “We need to get back to Windhaven—“

“We do,” Nesta agreed, but she was looking carefully at him. He knew what she was thinking, what she wanted to discuss. 

The star-born prophecy. The potential that it had never been Kallon destined for the sword, but him.

Even now, Cassian could remember how the sword had called to him when he’d seen it in Ironcrest. His magic had turned over inside of him and it had leapt, pushing against his skin, trying to escape. His siphons had thrummed, lighting up like a beacon, the star ruby beating like its own heart.

As if it had awakened. 

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @starksravings @lovelynesta @melphss @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @fanboy7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @misswonderflower @6passionflower9-blog

#nessian #nessianfic #nessianfanfic #duskandstarlightwrites #acotarfanfic #acotar #acosf #cassian #nesta archeron #embersandlightfic #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic

[elegistnox]

Chapter 22 - Violet eyes violet skies

Heir of Night - An ACOTAR Prequel

#rhysand #acotar fanfic #acotar #azriel #cassian #rhys #acotar fanfiction #ask han #heir of night #the bat boys #rhysand fanfic #rhys fanfic #sjm #acotarfanfic #rhys in his 20s #sjm fanfic #acotar fanart #ao3 #bat boys #rhys fanart

[suckerpunchfemale]

Chapter Nine!!

"Feyre Archeron may be to blame for a lot of things that happened to the Spring Court but the High Lord wasn't entirely blameless. All of them, even the Spring fae, had played a role in what had happened, and when the time was right the High Lord, like everyone else, would have to face his own monsters. He too would have to face the consequences of his actions, no matter how well-intended they were.

Until then, Cin would allow herself to feel proud in knowing that he was eating properly again, that he was bathing regularly again and finally, finally, the High Lord of the Spring Court was sleeping in his Rose Manor again.

He was back in his seat of power."

GUYS, LET'S TALK ABOUT THE HIGH LORD BACK IN HIS SEAT OF POWER!!

#pro tamlin healing arc #pro tamlin #tamlin acotar #tamlin #pro nesta #anti ic #hyacinth #lameezisreal #acotar fandom #acotarfanon #acotarfanfic

[nicephere]

Chapter List

BLURB

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

#acotar #masterlist #acotarfanfic #smut fanfiction #oc #fanfic with oc #nyx #feyre #rhys #nessian #feysand #nyxacotar

[mistressinkandquill]

♡ Part 1/3 of my fanfiction where Elain Archeron finds herself..and love. ♡

Elain stared down at her torn gloves, watching as the ruby blood seeped through the fabric, her hands riddled with thorns. She stood and began plucking the thorns from her hands before removing the gloves, placing them on a small wrought-iron chair beside her. She began walking around the house, away from the flowerbed and toward the entrance of the Velaris Town House.

Before she had even reached the corner of the house, the little cuts had already begun to heal by some magical fae ability. Small things like this still perturbed her, reminding her of the humanity that had been stripped away and the life destroyed. She didn't let herself ponder on it too long, now rounding the house and approaching the front door.

She reached for the handle but stopped and took a step back as the door opened and she was faced with Lucien. She immediately took another two steps back and folded her hands together, averting her gaze as he stepped out of the house. His golden eye whirled to steal a glance at her before he continued onward. They had always been like this, at odds, at war with each other, with that bond. She didn't bother saying hello or goodbye, knowing he was probably returning to meet with Jurian and Vassa in the mortal realm.

Briefly, she allowed her eyes to find his back, watching him walk down the street and toward the river. She turned and finally stepped inside and made her way to the kitchen, where she plunged her hands into the freezing water that ran from the sink, washing her face and smoothing a cold, wet hand over her neck, allowing it to soothe her nerves.

She loosened a small sigh and leaned her palms against the sink, watching the filthy water swirl as it drained. She loved gardening, and she had even grown fond of Velaris and her housemates whenever they were around. But recently, she had felt an uneasy tug in her chest, like she was forgetting something or remembering something or both combined. She lifted a hand and pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger, her anxiety bubbling at the seams.

"Want to take a walk by the river?" A voice, cool and collected, called from the kitchen doorway. Elain nearly startled, but she knew that voice, and as she turned and leaned against the sink, her brown eyes settled on the Shadowsinger as he leaned casually in the doorframe. She thought for a moment, letting her eyes drift to the floor as she considered it before nodding. "Alright." She was short on words and offered a small smile instead before pushing off the sink and walking toward and then past Azriel.

Azriel's eyes tracked Elain's thinning form as she led the way to the front door. He could feel her unease and had felt it for a few months now. Ever since Cassian and Nesta had gotten married, and Rhysand and Feyre had become occupied with their baby, the house had been left relatively quiet. It gave time for Elain to think, maybe too much time. Azriel followed her outside and down the stretch of lawn until they found the road and began walking in comfortable silence. His hands, neatly tucked into his pockets, as he gazed over Velaris.

"Did he say something to you?" He inquired.

Elain tensed slightly but answered quickly, not wanting the question to hang in the air for too long.

"No. He never does. Not anymore."

Azriel's eyes drifted from the back of her head to the stained cuffs of her dress. She never wore the gloves Lucien had brought her on the winter solstice; she never spoke of him or asked about him. And every interaction the mates had was awkward and tense. Azriel wondered if this was a result of a rejected mating bond, and part of him wished to indulge in the unspoken tension between himself and Elain, but he knew that Rhysand wouldn't approve. No, his brother would ship Elain away to the farthest mountain before he let Azriel touch her.

Azriel's face was neutral, not depicting any of the turmoil beneath him; it never did. His eyes caught the sunlight as it poured through Elain's silky hair, illuminating those soft curls and the gentle curves of her silhouette. He wasn't sure what he felt for her, but he could never call it love. He would never allow himself to draw Elain into his life, not with how dangerous his lifestyle and job were. She was dear to him, but his scarred hands would be kept at bay. If not by himself, then by Rhysand.

#azriel #lucien vanserra #cassian #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #elainxlucien #elainxtamlin #elainxazriel #azrielxelain #lucienxelain #acotarfanfic #acotar fandom #fanfiction #elain archeron

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our Girl – Part 4

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut [18+, minors DNI]

You stared at the gold invitation, cursive writing announcing Cresseida to be wed in a months time. And there was your name printed, Y/N and partners. You had scoffed when you first saw it – maybe in another life.

You were chewing your lip, lost in thought on whether to attend or not. You knew at the least, Rhys and Feyre would attend the wedding – that meant seeing them. And word would surely spread of your work at Spring Court once you got to chatting to other guests – that would reveal your location. 

“Whats bothering you, young spark?” Finbark asked from the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables as a pot of stew boiled behind him. He looked up briefly, spotting the invitation in your hand. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not attending?” 

“I don't want to risk what I have here.”

“Y/N, everything you’ve worked for is already yours. Your home here, your work, even your privacy, no one can take that away from you now, not even a High Lord or Lady.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s just… I've so enjoyed my little bubble away from everything that happened. Seeing them… they made me feel so small Fin, so helpless. I don't know if I can stand going through that again.”

“So much has happened since then. Look at all you’ve done, all you’ve accomplished. Thousands of fae, gods, even the entire damn court is mending thanks to you. You were never small, and you have proven that to yourself over and over again.”

A wobbly smile jerked at your lips, tears pricking in your eyes. He wiped his hands, leaving the vegetables to come cup your face, brushing away your tears.

“You cannot lock yourself in Spring Court forever, sweetheart. Don't punish yourself for their mistakes, expand your horizons, celebrate with friends that are equally yours as they are theirs. And celebrate yourself, you deserve that even more.”

You reached for your uncle’s rippled hand, holding it tight. “Thank you, Finbark. You mean the world to me.”

“And you me, young spark.” 

So it was decided. You would attend the wedding, without any partners.

————

“Where are we going?” you called from Podie, Tamlin a few paces ahead on his own horse. He was leading you through a trail you weren't familiar with.

“For the umpteenth time Y/N, it’s a surprise.” He called back without turning his head. 

You let out an audible sigh, to which Tamlin chuckled. You did your best not to admire his ass as he straddled a horse – it helped neither of you how handsome Tamlin looked in his riding clothes. You pressed your heels to Podie, coming to trot beside him.

“You should know I hate surprises,” you sang.

“Even the good kind? What a shame,” Tamlin responded, clearly not letting up on where he was taking you. You poked your tongue out, earning another chuckle.

It had been several months since your first dinner with Tamlin, and you had fallen into a comfortable pattern with the High Lord. You enjoyed a regular drink or meal together when your work crossed paths, and he had even consulted you on advice for his court, which flattered you. His company was a consistent pleasure, and you treasured the friendship you had formed – the Gods knew you needed it.

You managed to bite your tongue for another twenty minutes, and just as you were about to pester him again, Tamlin spoke. “It’s just up this trail.”

Pulling the reins of his horse, Tamlin led you down a steep path, hidden much by overhanging trees and bushes, only to reveal a clearing.

No, not a clearing – a field, blossoming with rows of carefully planted pink flowers. And as you got closer, the size of the field was revealed, bordered by a low wooden fence. It was… a farm?

You drew in an audible breath as the scent of the flowers hit you. You widened your eyes at Tamlin, who was grinning at your shock. You dismounted Podie quickly, rushing to brace the fence as you took in the site with awe. 

“Wild Gernaium?” you choked, your eyes still wide. 

“The healing flower,” Tamlin nodded. “It took a while to learn how to farm them, months in fact, but Spring has Prythians best botanists.”

“And here I thought they could only grow in the wild,” you shook your head with disbelief. “Tamlin, these are so rare, how on earth you were able to farm this many?”

“Spring Court is a land that gives back, the soil here is rich of nutrients and the weather forgiving. It is of course only something we were able to do, thanks to your mission work to help recover the land. This is your accomplishment as much as it is theirs.”

Tears pricked in your eyes then. The amount of fae that could be helped with this crop – it was an overwhelming thought. 

“And they are for you, of course.”

You gaped at the High Lord, who laughed again. 

“For me?”

“Of course, for your work. Whatever you need – farmers to pick the flowers, a factory full of workers to grind and bottle the pigment – say the word and it’s yours.”

“Tamlin, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Please, don’t. It’s not a thanks I deserve, I’m just… trying to look out for my people. Just as you do.”

“Well… you’ve done a Gods damned good job,” you said with raised brows, blowing out a loose breath at the extend of the farm. 

Tamlin threw his head back and laughed, and you grinned at his happiness. You reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Nice work, High Lord.”

Tamlin squeezed your hand back. “It wouldn't be without you.”

He pulled on your hand then, leading you through the flowers as you admired the plants up close. He explained that a factory could be built at the farms edge, attached with a pressing mill and grinders. Your heart fluttered with excitement, your work could extend past manual labour, you could now offer medicine and healing. There was a force brewing inside you, something unstoppable and good, something that lay dormant for centuries, finally unleashed and free.

You still held Tamlin’s hand as he lead you through the field, making your way to a lush hill that overlooked the farm. You sat together, Tamlin listening contently as you excitedly spoke through your ideas on how to harvest the medicine, noting that your small growing team of mission workers could also help to distribute throughout the court.

“How many aid workers have you recruited now?” Tamlin asked. 

“Seven, and we’re currently inducting Nyvya in the east. She’s a trained healer, so will be delighted to hear of the Gernaium.”

“That’s wonderful,” he smiled. 

“It is,” you said warmly, and it occurred to you that you owed Tamlin a truth. An idea you were planning to run by him at a much later time. But with the offer of the Gernaium, the access to this kind of healing, that changed things. “It is,” you repeated almost flatly, chewing at your lip as your eyes fell distant, dancing with thought.

Tamlin caught the movement, and he frowned slightly as he shifted from his lounging position. “What is it?”

Your heart rose in anticipation – you felt sheepish. So you stared at him, deciding on whether it was in fact the right time.

“You can say it – whatever it is,” he said gently, taking your hand. Your silence lead him to start guessing. “Are you leaving Spring?”

“No, no I–”

“Because you are free to come and go as you please. I know my past behaviour speaks for itself, but I would hate to think that you feel trapped or–”

You grabbed his shoulders then, squeezing the muscle underneath. “Tamlin, gods I know that.”

The action seemed to stun him, and his lips pressed into a thin line. You felt a slight twang of guilt for drawing out such a distinct shame in him. 

You took a deep breath, pulling your hands to your lap. “With the mission work expanding, along with my team, we have been able to help fae at the borders, some from Summer, even a few from Autumn.”

Tamlin nodded assuringly, a sign for you to continue. He didn't startle over the technicality of Spring members helping foreign fae – that was a good sign. 

“And it felt good to help them Tam, they were isolated, and just as vulnerable as some of those in Spring.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

You had to take a deep breath, and your eyes found the horizon beyond the rolling hills around you. 

“You know,” you spoke softly. “My ambitions to help and protect others, it has always existed beyond court borders.”

You could see Tamlin shift, before giving a slow nod. 

“After talking with my team, we believe our mission work could gain traction in other courts, should they be willing. We could share knowledge, resources too if it was agreed, and provide aid across Prythian without being conformed to borders.”

You forced your eyes to Tamlin then, grimacing at what you might find written on his face. But it was just as neutral, his eyes soft, his jaw chiselled and handsome and – damn him.

“This is not the way I wanted to propose this to you Tamlin, please know. Especially after your generosity with the Gernaium, I understand completely if you have grown them purely to aid your own subjects. But that doesn't stop the need for mission work across Prythian. I plan to gain the support from as many High Lords and Ladies as possible, and I would be honoured if that started with you.”

Tamlin eyed you with those sharp green eyes, the kind of look that made you shift under the weight of it. And after an insufferable silence, he spoke. 

“You are incredible.”

You blinked in shock, Tamlin’s lips pulling at your reaction. 

“Truly,” he smiled, grabbing your hand to kiss it. “I have never met anyone who was to see a need as great as this, and think to grow it beyond borders. Magic anchors a High Lord or Lady to their Court, it makes us territorial and protective, violent even. But you, this,” he said waving his hand to you, before sighing, contemplating how to say what he felt in words. “You are what this world needs.”

Your eyes welled before two fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “Tamlin,” you chocked, unable to think of anything else to say.

He shifted closer, brushing the tears away with his thumb as he cupped your face. “You have my support Y/N. Thank you for teaching me to be better.”

Emotion surged through you, as if flushing you from years of doubt and hate, replaced now with inspiration, kindness and good, honest love. And then your lips were on his. 

Taken aback, Tamlin caught himself on one strong arm as you held his face and kissed him. You pulled away, worried to have overstepped your boundaries. But then a strong hand laced around your waist, his other propping himself up as he leaned in, closing his mouth over yours, a sharp breath drawn as his nose brushed against your. Friendship, understanding, a blossoming love – how quickly Tamlin had welcomed you to a world capable of healing, of growth. 

Every fibre in your limbs begged to be closer to him, to bask in the vulnerability he had shown you, and you him. In only half a year, you had grown together, healed together, and learned to love one another. You did, you loved him, for whatever he was to you – a dear friend, a High Lord, it didn't matter. It was equal, and genuine, and you craved it in every way. 

Fuelled in by dizzy passion, you quickly straddled his lap, pulling at his broad shoulders to bring him further into you, letting him encompass your senses. 

Tamlin’s own hands slid across your back, moving up to your neck, gripping at the roots of your hair, the other grasped at the flesh where your thighs met your hips. 

He seemed to realise where this was heading, pulling away with a sharp breath through his nose. “Y/N–”

You shook your head, dismissing him immediately with another kiss, your tongue begging for entrance to his mouth. “Tamlin.” His name was a plea.

“Are you cer–?”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his question, peppering kissed in between words. “I’ve–never–been–more–certain.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and goosebumps pricked at your skin as you felt it vibrate through to you. Your excitement peaked, it had been so long since you had shared yourself with another, and your core fluttered with anticipation as every fragment of you seemed to chant yes, yes, yes. 

Which is exactly what you moaned as Tamlin entered you, your skirts pulled high, his riding pants pulled low. You placed a flat palm on his chest, your eyes clenched shut as you stretched around his girth, your walls already throbbing as you slowly slid down. Tamlin let out a stifled growl, one laced with satisfaction and a lot of restraint. 

Strong arms hugged you then, and you began to writhe together, moving gently and sensually as you ground against each other. Chasing release was far beyond you, there was so much pleasure to be had in sharing your bodies, relishing in the trust you both had found in one another.

Tamlin did his best to keep a leash if his instincts, his beast form begging to be released and he grunted and growled when you moved your hips in a certain way, nipping at your neck and ear as claws now ran down your back. You ran your fingers through his hair, using it to guide his face to yours as you kissed him and fucked him how you pleased. His own hands moved to grip at your ass to do the same. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, his deep voice breaking, strained with pleasure. 

“Tamlin, gods, you feel–”

“So. Good,” he gritted, finishing your sentence. You leaned back, head thrown back as your hands found balance on his thighs as you rode him in the warm spring air. 

Pleasure found both of you again and again in that afternoon. You climaxed on his lap, and not twenty minutes later he was pushing into you again, your bare thighs spread on the lush green grass as he moved above you. You clung together, a writhing, sweaty mix of passion and pleasure until the sun began to set over the rolling hills. 

Tamlin reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours as you ate the last of the berries he had packed. He kissed your forehead before turning you to rest against his chest, not wanting you to miss the view. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured into your hair. 

Stroking his arms that were tightly wrapped at your waist, you swallowed, debating on what to say. But no, Tamlin deserved the truth, you must always choose truth. You sighed , saddened by what was churning through your head after such incredible sex.

“I’m thinking we need to discuss what this afternoon means.” 

You loved him, you did, but Tamlin was bound to his court, and your life called beyond it. It wouldn't work, no matter how much you cared for each other.

Tamlin knew this too. “What if,” he spoke softly, brushing your hair away from your neck so he could place a gentle kiss on it. “What if we enjoy this moment for what it is, just for today.”

You smiled, kissing his hands. “Tomorrow then.”

“Plenty of problems await,” he joked, and you laughed before settling further into him. You smiled cockily as you felt him harden against you. Tomorrow indeed.

————

One month later

Peering from the carriage window, your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the clap of horses hooves as guests arrived at the summer estate, music floating gently from within.

Dawned in all colours, you watched guests gasp in awe at the beauty of the building. This was one of many of Tarquin’s estates - one you had never visited. It was an open, grecian style home, golden columns holding the impressive entrance carved with shimmering vines. Fae flocked in groups, sparkling wine already in their hands as they made their way to the gardens, no doubt where the service was being held. 

“Are you alright?” Tamlin asked, the velvet of his deep green suit brushing against your bare arm. 

“Uneasy to say the least,” you said thickly, your tongue stiff with nerves. “And you?”

Tamlin looked beyond the window, eyeing each of the guests. “One step at a time,” was his response as he squeezed your knee. 

————

The curtesy wine offered to you at the entrance was gone within the first few moments of arriving. You wouldn't make a fool of yourself here, but a little wine to take the edge off couldn't hurt. 

Tarquin stood proudly, wearing a fine turquoise suit detailed with gold thread, shaking hands as he welcomed guests. 

“Y/N,” he beamed, taking your hands and kissing each of your cheeks. “I’m honoured you came.”

“The pleasure is mine, Tarquin. Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense, both Creseida and I might have forced you here if you had not come willingly.”

You laughed freely. “How is she?”

“A wreck of nerves,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sure she looks beautiful,” you laughed lightly back. 

“She does, just as you do,” he winked, raising your hands he still held to take in your dress. A silken, soft blue dress fell of your body, its back open as material gathered just before your rear. The dressmaker had done an incredible job, fitting style and colour alike. You had politely declined her suggestions of a sage green, a Spring Court signature. It was kind, but you were courtless for over a year now, and proud of it. Instead, you had asked for sky blue – as no one ruled the skies. 

Blushing, you let out another soft laugh. “You are too kind, High Lord.”

Tarquins eyes flashed behind you, catching Tamlin as he spoke with some familiars a few paces away. “Have you…?” he questioned, trailing off.

You smiled knowingly. “I’ve come alone. Tamlin and I shared a carriage, journeying from the same court. You remember of my work there?”

“Remember? Sweetheart, there is talk of your mission throughout my court. There are guests here who are very keen to meet you. And we will need to formally discuss your work, and give a proper thanks to the aid you have provided at the border.”

You were smiling wide now, shaking your head with gratitude. “I would like that too, but perhaps not here.”

Tarquin grinned. “No, perhaps not. Welcome, sweet Y/N, please enjoy the festivities, and accomodation.”

You smiled politely as Tamlin approached, exchanging a firm handshake before raising his brows at you. “Shall we head in?”

Nodding tightly, you let Tamlin guide you with a hand at the small of your back. At the very least, the warmth of his skin against yours was a small comfort. 

The estate was even more impressive the further you ventured, white marble and golden staircases twisting this way and that, leading to corridors of rooms, each door carved to perfection. These were the guest accomodations, and included your own for the evening. 

But the jewel of the home was its view, where a perfectly groomed garden now catered to almost a thousand fae, overlooking the crystal blue Adriatic, the waves beneath crashing the cliff quieted by the string quartet. It was an overwhelming beautiful home, and you were glad to be lost in a sea of guests. 

 A golden arch was set at the end of a the aisle, a High Priestess exchanging words with a groom you did not recognise. But you smiled – you were happy for Creseida. 

“An impressive turnout,” Tamlin muttered, sipping his wine as his green eyes turned sharp, scanning the crowd. You ignored the glances being cast your way, whether it was from your attendance with Tamlin, or Tamlin’s presence alone, you didn't care. What did these fools know of either of your stories to judge.

And you tried not to look, to not let your heart beat fast as you scoured for a rare set of wings amongst the finery of the wedding, telling yourself you wouldn’t turn your heel and run at the site of any siphons or shadows or night. But you were thankful to not find any. 

That was, until you felt them. Muscles jerking, goosebumps pricked your skin as your power began to tingle sharply, spreading across your body like a rash. Shit – you hadn't anticipated to lose your lid in such a way, your power had been so forgiving this past year. 

A small gap parted in the crowd of guests at the stairs of the estate, and the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were revealed. Arms loop, night curling around them in the fashion that impressed and threatened all at once. Rhysand shook hands with a nearby male, Feyre kissing the cheeks of a curtsying female. 

It shocked you, how quickly your spy instincts found you. As if in one of your many life-threatening missions, your senses narrowed, the noise in your brain focusing to immediate details – taking in only what you needed to survive, just as Azriel and Cassian had trained you. Your vision barrelled to the couple who still greeted others some distance away. Scanning behind them, you anticipated the remainder of your old family, and of course, your exes. 

Yet no one followed. Not even Mor. It seemed the High Lord and Lady had attended alone. It was strange – had things turned bad at the Court, that even the Morrigan had forgone a wedding?

Rhysand wore a handsome smile as he guided Feyre down the stairs to the garden, guests parting even further, bowing as they strode through. They were getting closer, and you ignored the clench of your heart as their scent filled your nose, before mixing with others. It was the smell of home.

No. it wasn't home. Not anymore, and not for a good while now. You hated that instinct, to curl into it, to let it welcome you, claiming you still. 

You glanced behind, conscious that they would find you standing with Tamlin. But he was no where to be seen, and you thanked him silently for the courtesy of having stepped away.

Rhysand and Feyre glided closer and closer, exchanging nods and accepting bows. And then they halted, violet eyes scanning before locking to yours, grey eyes shortly followed. And Rhys’s smile, the one that he used in the face of the public, it softened, his eyebrows twitching upwards almost unnoticeably. 

Feyre’s hand gripping at his arm tighter, and you could hear her heart fasten from where you stood. You almost resented how in-tune you were to them, these micro-behaviours. 

Glancing between them both, you followed the order of those next to you, lowering yourself to a polite curtsy. 

They couldn't reach you, not without drawing attention, not without the watchful eyes of hundreds of guests. So with a nod from Rhys, and a soft smile from Feyre, they continued on, finding their seats in the queues. 

————

Cresseida was the most beautiful bride you had ever seen. Golden vines were cuffed along her arms, as a silk gown as white as her hair trailed behind her as she walked the aisle, Tarquin proudly at her side. 

You smiled through your tears as she was married. You were happy for her– you were happy –you were… An unmarketable emotion filled you as you couldn’t help the run of tears that continued to pour, even after the ceremony ended. 

————

“And is it true that you were able to help the children at the border?” questioned one of Tarquin’s emissaries as she leaned in, raising her voice over the music. 

The party was in full swing, food had been served and hundreds of fae drank and danced, celebrating Creseida’s courtship, each of them eager to get even a glimpse at the bride and groom. 

“Yes, we were lucky to have an experienced healer join the mission, and she was already aiding some of the fae in Spring.”

The female smiled, and squeezed your arm. “On behalf of my court, we are grateful.”

“Not at all,” you smiled back. “Your authorities were notified, and from what I heard your own healers were already on their way. We were simply closer to that area, and had supplies to spare.”

It had been hours, and your company was still in high demand as endless Summer Court members were eager to meet you. Tarquin, it seemed, had been spreading you just as much praise as Tamlin. You had danced with many, exchanging jokes and stories, enjoying the festivities with some familiar faces and many new ones. 

It was a struggle to keep your eyes from averting, your instinct to find Rhys and Feyre in the crowd was loud and stubborn. Old habits, you supposed. 

Tamlin approached you then, having made himself scarce from your company for most of the evening, something you both had agreed to do. But you were comforted by his presence as he easily slid into the conversation, slipping a glass of fae wine into your hand without even asking. You smiled, giving his shoulder a thankful squeeze. 

There was an itchy, uneasy feeling that tugged at you, and you knew you were under watchful eyes. You found them, surrounded by their own acquaintances, and while Rhys masked his curiosity perfectly, Feyre’s stare bored into you from across the dance floor. 

Taking a large sip of wine, you let it warm you as you squared your shoulders. You would not cower, you would not shy away. And now was a better time than any.

So you strode directly to them, Feyre’s stare softening as Rhys pardoned himself from his conversation. Then, they were walking towards you to. 

You stopped a few paces shy from each other. Staring. It was…. awkward. 

But then Rhysand smiled. Warm and genuine and familiar. You hoped he didn't hear your silent curse to him. 

“You look well,” he said. 

You nodded, acknowledging the half-compliment, sensing their relief. No, you weren't that broken withered girl you were when you left. 

“How is Nyx?” The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them. You would have been more annoyed at yourself, but your care for that child was pure, and you knew they would never withhold him as currency. 

“He’s well, growing every day,” Feyre replied. “And walking all on his own.”

Your smile, be it small, was sincere. 

“He still… asks about you,” she added. 

Pain sliced through your heart then, and you weren't quick enough to hide it in your face. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice strained. Gods, that didn't take long.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly, hands reaching out before she quickly drew them back in. “I didn't mean–“ she cut herself short, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

You cast your eyes to the side, blinking away the sting of tears. “It’s alright.”

Rhysand watched you intently. “Perhaps we can all use some fresh air? I spotted a terrace, free from other guests.”

The choice was yours, you knew that. You had things you wanted to say, and you were sure they did to. You nodded, following their lead as you quickly cast a look backwards, Tamlin offering you a tight nod as you left the room.

————

“So, mission work in Spring?” Rhys asked, wine swirling in his hand as he leaned casually against a column, warm summer breeze surrounding the three of you as the party continued faintly below. 

You nodded, your arms crossed at your chest. 

“It’s very impressive,” Feyre added from where she sat, offering a genuine smile. 

You didn't respond, unsure of how much detail to reveal. Rhysand caught on, sighing slightly. 

“We didn't bring you here to interrogate you for detail, It’s only that your work and whereabouts is quickly becoming widespread knowledge. We thought it was best to acknowledge that we know it too.”

“And what of Cassian and Azriel?”

“We have held true to our bargain on that.” You believed him. 

There was an award silence, unasked questions looming. 

“Are you safe there?” Feyre asked quietly.

“Very much so.”

“And Tamlin is–”

“A friend,” you said quickly. 

“– respectful to you, was what I was going to ask,” Feyre said with a knowing look.

You sighed then, running a hand through your hair. “I didn't do it to hurt you,” you said, with a straight face. You owed her no allegiance, but, you were done hurting others, and her concern did no one any good. 

“I know,” Feyre acknowledged, with the grace of a High Lady, of someone who knew that the past was the past. She shook her head then, before adding. “We worry for you, that is all.”

“He’s changed.” You were shocked at how quickly those words left your mouth. 

It was Rhys who threw you a condescending look. You hated how small it made you feel. 

“Look, I appreciate your warning, but Tamlin has shown strides of growth, he has acknowledged his mistakes and is working endlessly to undo them. When was the last time you looked within yourselves?”

Rhys flashed his eyes at you with warning, bringing an arm to comfort his wife. “Careful,” he said plainly, but a flash of darkness passed through those violet eyes. 

Damn him. And damn Feyre too. “You didn’t so much as try to stop them,” you breathed, your eyes welling with tears as you focused on her. Gods damn it – you thought you were past this, past them. But it was as if a year away meant nothing, you were just as hurt as that night you left the Night Court. Feyre watched with a pain expression as your lip wobbled. “And you didn't so much as try to apologise,” you whispered, your voice moments away from breaking. 

Feyre’s eyes now glistened with the same tears. “You shut us out,” she countered, and you could see how much your own choices had wounded her.

“What choice did I have?” you asked, brushing away a stray tear. “You think I want to be this way? You think I wanted to cast myself out? You broke my trust and lied to me, alienating me from this family. And I was supposed to come to you for an apology?”

Feyre gulped guiltily, looking at the floor. Rhys watched you intensely, a concerned frown on his face. 

“You’re right,” Feyre said quietly, grey eyes now finding yours. “But you must know Y/N, I am sorry. I’ve been sorry since the day it happened. I thought it wise for Azriel and Cassian to want to protect you, but I realised very quickly how it was that kind of thinking that trapped me within warded walls,  and that had me fleeing my home all those years ago.”

You nodded, casting your eyes upwards to not let the tears stain your face yet again. “We can't keep doing this.”

“What’s that?” Rhys asked gently. 

“This,” you gulped, waving your hands between you. “These sorry confessions and apologies, it hurts us all.”

“Alright,” Rhys said neutrally. “But you acknowledge our apology?’

“Yes.”

“Do you forgive us?”

Your lips pressed tight as you grimaced. 

“That would be a no,” Rhys said sadly, his smile broken. Feyre couldn't force one if she wanted to. 

“I want us to move forward,” you offered instead. “There is no use in resentment. It may be that we’ll continue to cross paths, and it is important to me that you know I will not respond illy.”

“Of course,” Feyre nodded, smiling. 

A sharp pain throbbed at your temples then, the kind that came about when you had to keep your emotions and powers under tight strain. It was instinct to rub at your temples. 

“Can I heal that for you?” Rhys was now standing in front of you, his smile remained but his eyes – heavy, saddened. 

You blinked up at him before flicking your eyes to Feyre who waited eagerly for you to respond. Was this a test? Could it be, after all that had happened, you could consider them just…friends? You searched within yourself for the right answer, but nothing came about. It was just too soon. 

But there was no harm in letting Rhys work some of his magic. “Alright,” you replied, and you heard Feyre loose a breath. 

Rhysand’s hands cupped the side of your face, his fingers pressing to your temples as the familiar feeling of him slipping into your mind sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in you, something impossible to kill that was comforted by his touch. He was, after all, your High Lord of decades. He had been your home, your family, and maybe there was some part of that would always remain. It upset you how much you had to resist the urge to wrap your arms around his waist, to pull Feyre in too, to sob of how much you missed home, your family, how much you ached while you were apart. 

It was over as quickly as it began, Rhys slipping from your mind, leaving no trace of a headache behind. You hadn't clocked that you had closed your eyes, your lip quivering as your cheeks were now wet with tears. Rhys kept his hands on your face, brushing them away. 

“Y/N–,” he said softly, his face pained. You knew what he would say – come home, even if you hate us, come home. But you wouldn't give him a chance. 

“T-thank you,” you stammered, pulling away from Rhysand’s hold and fleeing the terrace, leaving the two to their shock. 

————

You were brushing away hot, fast tears as you fled the wedding, racing towards your guest room. 

Gods, what was wrong with you today? You hated feeling like this – an unstable, blubbering mess. Nothing had changed in a year, not really. You were still the same, broken and alone. It hurt just as much to see your family now. 

To hell with this wedding. You craved a sleep tonic and to be rid of this night. That was when Tamlin fell into side-step with you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked simply, muttering the words to avoid drawing attention as you passed through the crowd. 

“No,” you managed to say, and you could have kissed him for playing into the nonchalance. He seemed to respect privacy, even when there was little to be found. 

“I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

“No, Tam, I’m fine, you should–”

“Nonsense,” he replied, and you knew you wouldn't shake him. So you walked to your room,  sniffing through your tears as you tried to calm the current brewing at your fingertips, Tamlin by your side.

You reached your quarters, a private corner in a long corridor or rooms. The door was carved in  unique artwork, familiar somehow, as if beckoning you to enter from within. 

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” he said with an unconvinced look. 

“I will be, Tam, thank you.” 

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, before turning the handle to the door. 

And made it two paces in, before shadows filled your vision. 

————

You swore as strong hands held your shoulders, blue siphons a blur as shadows cast around you. You fought on instinct, but it was impossible to shake Azriel’s grip. 

“What in Mothers name–?!” you cursed again. 

“You’re safe,” Azriel spoke with relief. Despite yourself, your skin ignited at the husk of his voice.

“Get your damn hands off me,” you gritted, taking in the room as the smog of shadows finally cleared. 

Cassian was between you and the door, where Tamlin still stood, completely stunned. The General’s hands quickly curled into fists.

No one moved, each of you just as shocked to see the other. They had come for you, yes, but you were certain Tamlin was an unpleasant surprise. 

“Fuck,” you ground out, almost rolling your eyes as you knew the strife that now awaited your friend. 

Azriel moved you behind him, as if you needed to be shielded, protected. “What are you doing here, traitor?”

“Let her go at once,” Tamlin growled, stepping into the room. 

You stepped out from behind Azriel, your mind reeling at the sight of the two Illyrians in you room. You hated them, but something in you churned - a yearning. It was easy to stamp down as a rage took over. 

“What are you doing here?” you countered.

Azriel gave you a piercing look, running his eyes down your body. There was love in that look, but a sternness too. 

“Answer me,” you ground out. 

Cassian was still facing Tamlin, his siphons so bright they radiated heat. “Did you hurt her?” he growled at Tamlin, a shaking rage consuming him. 

“You hunted me? Like a mare?” your voice was ice cold, colder than any of these males could ever hope to perfect. Your trust, betrayed, again. 

That voice snared their attention. Cassian casting a look back at you, desperate, like he wanted to give you all of his time, to never stop drinking in the sight of you. 

You prowled closer, fingers twitching as your power grew so strong zapping could be heard. “Rhys’s promise to me, the bargain. You broke it,” you spat.

“Y/N.” Cassian said your name, begging you. His pain cut through to you, your power dampening as a sick, sick part of you folded at his plea. Go to him, that part of you begged. 

The room was filled with a sharp coldness and breeze as Rhys and Feyre winnowed into your quarters, Feyre’s face one of shock, Rhys’s one of fury. 

“What in Gods name are you doing here?” he growled at his brothers. 

“You left us no choice,” Azriel seethed back at Rhys, his wing stopping you as you silently moved to join Tamlin. 

You glared at him. “Try that again,” you growled. 

Azriel’s eyes were dark, predatory, but his brows pulled with a softness only reserved for you. “I do not trust him.”

“And I do not trust you,” you spat back. 

“The promise,” Rhys growled, glaring between his brothers. 

“Y/N, we had no idea they had come,” Feyre spoke with a desperation that you had to believe her. 

“Leave. Now.” Rhys ordered, but the males ignored him, his power underwhelming in another court. 

Cassian’s brow pulled, his face truly broken as he spoke to you. “You left us. And joined him?”

You snapped at the accusation. “I joined no one, because I belong to no one. I pursued a life beyond you, and I am a free female. Free to roam wherever I please, and fuck whoever I want.”

You words landed their mark, because both Azriel and Cassian recoiled.

And then Cassian’s face turned grave, as he slowly faced Tamlin again. “You-you touched her?”

You cursed yourself for the pointed insult – you should have known it would put Tamlin in the firing line. To his defense, Tamlin held a high chin. 

“She is a free female. Nor you or I can rob her of that.”

Azriel snarled, and Cassian was on Tamlin in an instant. 

“Stop that! Get off him! You will not hurt him!” you cried, broken at the thought of Tamlin being hurt because of you. 

But before you could throw yourself at Cassian, night magic filled the space, pulling the males apart, commanding the room to its master. And you were surprised to see Feyre walking towards them, her palms outstretched, night pouring from her as her eyes now glowed with silver. 

“Sensless violence ends now, I don’t care about the circumstance.” 

What did she mean by that?

“Leave,” Cassian snarled at Tamlin, but Tamlin held his ground. 

“He is welcomed to stay so long as Y/N sees fit,” Feyre spoke coldly, forcing Cassian’s eyes back to her. Now that, was a High Lady. “I can not believe you two–“

“You weren't invited?” you interjected, untrusting of your exes as you scowled between them. 

Rhys shook his head from across the room. “We went as far to hide the papers.”

You gulped as you stared up at Azriel. “Pray tell, how you found me, then?”

Azriel wore no remorse as he said “Amren – she possessed an invite and–”

Exasperated sounds from each of you filled the room. Amren, of course. She was the only one to know to play games above Rhys and Feyre’s head, and cunning enough to pull it off. 

“And what is your plan, then?” you added coldly. “Drag me back to the Night Court, kicking and screaming?”

“No, of course not,” Cassian responded softly, stepping towards you, stopping as you retreated back. “We had to know that you were safe.”

You stared at him, the sorrow in his voice, the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged. He was broken. 

“You were not well when you left, Y/N. It’s been killing us not knowing how you are faring now,” Azriel added, his eyes soft, looking just as worn as his brother. You knew he sang silently to his shadows as they coiled in on themself, they would be begging to reach you. 

“Please, don't be angry,” Cassian begged, his eyes welling. “We’ll go, we’ll go now, it’s just–”

“We love you. We- we need you,” Azriel interjected, his own brow clenched with pain. 

Each of their words were a dagger to your heart, piercing it’s way through the walls you had built. 

“Stop that,” you whispered, your hand pressing against your chest to ease the pain. Were these your feelings, or theirs?

“It’s true,” Cassian continued. “You’re our girl. We'll do better, Y/N, we promise. Please.”

It was painful to hear, and you faltered slightly as your body jerked in pain. Something was breaking within you, crumpling around something else, something buried deep. 

“Please Y/N, come home.”

Your knees gave out as you let out an anguished cry, your heart tearing and swelling to the point where you thought you just might die. 

“Y/N!” Tamlin called in panic, but Azriel and Cassian were already at your sides, holding you, asking where it hurt. 

Palms braced on the floor, you tried to breath through laboured breaths as you finally felt what was concealed for so long. It was unmistakable, a tether of sun-lit rope, tying you to the males at either side of you. You felt it all – their fear, the instincts to take you far from this place, their overwhelming, unconditional love. 

And you hated it. 

“No,” you gasped, your hand finding your heart as you tried to calm its pounding.

Azriel glanced at Cassian, who gave a single nod in confirmation. Feyre gasped from where she stood. 

“What is it?” Tamlin panicked. “What’s going on?”

“No!” you repeated, standing quickly and backing away from the two males. It couldn't be – you were free, you had left…

They watched you with saddened eyes at the horror that beheld you. 

“The Mother is cruel,” Rhys tutted, lowering his head in sympathy.

“What in the gods-forsaken realms is going on?” Tamlin yelled.

“No, no, no, no! Please, no!” You clutched at the roots of your hair, your mind reeling as you begged to no one. You were bound to them, whether you liked it or not. An enslavement of kinds.

“It snapped,” Feyre answered to Tamlin without ever turning his way.

It was too much to bare – their instincts, your newly ignited ones, their love, your hate. Your brain scrambled for sense, fighting itself over and over as you shook at your knees. 

A final ‘no’ pushed past your lips before your body gave out, the world tipping and your vision darkening as strong hands caught you. 

You succumbed to the gods damned mating bond. 

-------

Part 5>>>

AN: Helllllllllo my lovelies! I am so so bloody excited to share this part with you! It was a rollercoaster to write, hope you held on tight for this angst-train! Always, always, ALWAYS want to hear your thoughts and feelings on where this story is heading, so please drop a comment anytime. And thank you endlessly for your support with this fic - it means the world. MWA!!

#acotar fem reader #acotar series #cazriel series #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #azriel x cassian x you #azriel angst #cassian angst #cazriel x you #cazriel x fem reader #tamlin x reader #acotar angst #rhysand x reader #feyre x reader #tamlin redemption #cazriel angst #cassian x azriel x y/n #acotarfanfic #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #mating bond #cazriel x mating bond #azriel x cassian x y/n #azriel x cassian angst #acotar smut

[alicenthiightower]

Summary:

“I knew it was you.”

“How?”

“Sometimes, I could only see through one eye, and I was finally fearless.”

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotarfanfic #acotarfic #elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #my wriitng #acosf

[popjunkie42]

The One Where Rhys Wears Glasses

I did it.

Instead of doing my actual job or working on the 30k+ word fanfic I’m writing, I wrote a one-off with nerdy philosopher Rhys. He wears glasses.

Eureka on AO3

Rhys finds something interesting in one of his dusty old books and goes on a late-night research tear, much to Feyre’s amusement. 

Someone on a previous thread mentioned the idea of fae glasses helping them see hidden text or objects, like Lucien’s eye. Remind me who you are and I am happy to credit you. I stole the idea completely.

I also fully invented some random Prythian history and magical rules as I went so...be gentle.

I hope you enjoy!

Snippet:

Feyre regarded him for a moment, a soft smile on her face. It was easy, sometimes, to forget they had known each other for such a short amount of time. Hardly two years. Sometimes she thought she knew her mate more than she knew herself. Much of her life was spent with him by her side, his thoughts and emotions traveling freely back and forth between the bond, his mind a familiar landscape.

She knew his moods, his looks, when a quirk of his lips meant he was annoyed or amused. When he was calm and lost in his thoughts, or observing the tone of a room and ready for a verbal spar.

Since she had first met him on that fateful fire night, Feyre had seen many faces of Rhys. The cruel High Lord, the cold politician. The cocky Illyrian warrior and the grand commander of armies. The gentle ruler of Velaris, and his truer face, smiling and teasing with his family around a dinner table. Her mate, his eyes sometimes lustful and wicked, or filled to the brim with love and devotion.

And now, here was a new one for her own personal catalog. Rhys…the nerd. The devoted scholar, the inspired researcher.

She loved it, of course. As she loved all of his many personalities.

Oblivious to her thoughts, he let out a rather dramatic sigh, crossing out some notes on the parchment.

Feyre snorted. He lifted his eyes to her, the first time in hours.

“You remind me of one of our tutors when he finally got to my father’s library,” she said. “He used to bounce his leg furiously when he found something he liked. None of us could even sit in the same room as him when he was reading.”

“Oh? Was he also handsome, charming, devastatingly intelligent?” Rhys crooned.

She smirked and sent a mental image down the bond. One of her childhood tutors, a mere scrap of a boy fresh from school, his limbs gangly, his greasy hair slicked over his forehead, and small round-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, threatening to fall into the book he was buried in.

“Yes, I’d say it’s almost a mirror image.” He rolled his eyes. “Except for the glasses, I suppose.”

“Well, fortunately for us, the fae have little use for such things. Although,” he said, thoughtful. “I do have an old pair actually. Enchanted, for reading hidden text.” With a flourish of his hand he brought forth a pair of glasses, rectangular and thick-rimmed at the top but nothing but glass below. He placed them on his face and with a snap a book appeared in his left hand. He motioned her over for a demonstration. Feyre swallowed, looking him up and down.

“The Illumi village, centuries ago, were a people very secretive about their knowledge. They wrote with enchanted parchment and ink that was only visible to their own people. Until their rivals cracked the magic and created objects with which to view it. It was quite a scandal, back in the day.” He held open the book for her to examine.

Feyre made her way to the table, taking the book from his hands and dropping it unceremoniously onto the table. Before Rhys could object, she slid into his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck. The corner of his lips twitched and his hands rested on her hips.

“Perhaps I could become a scholar,” she said, kissing him, pulling a bit more than necessary on his bottom lip. “Of this mysterious knowledge.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest. The glasses . The glasses were doing something to her. He looked…distinguished. Somehow more than usual. Rhys the scholar, indeed. Feyre had been too young and their tutors too odious for her to have anything but rather negative memories of her lessons. But she did recall one of the younger of them all, how Elain would go beet red when he leaned over her shoulder to check her work, how she squeaked once when he laid an unexpected hand on her shoulder.

“Would you like a lesson later?” he whispered, his eyes darkening a bit. Feyre captured another kiss and then her lips began a slow path down his jaw, to his neck. “I have a twenty-volume History of Prythian we could start with. It would take…a while to get through.”

He hissed slightly as she nipped at the soft skin of his neck. His hands found her backside and squeezed, dragging her tantalizingly across his lap, closer to his body.

“Maybe I could shape shift into a quartz stone,” she said, her lips and teeth working their way slowly back up to his mouth. “And then I could get some of that attention back on me again.” Feyre kissed him again, taking his lip between her teeth and pulling.

Rhys groaned against her mouth. “Don’t you know, Feyre darling, you will be my top research subject? With all your many powers, you’ll probably be the most interesting fae I could study.” His voice was low, and his hands were skimming across her body, her hips, her waist. She loved how she could see his eyes go darker, his breathing heavier under her attention. “And when we’re done I’ll buy you a necklace of quartz, and you can wear it always, so I can take minute-by-minute calculations. For…research.”

#acotar fanfiction #acotarfanfic #feysandfic #feysand #Feyre #rhysandfanfiction #rhysand #rhys with glasses #nerdy rhys #philosopher rhys #feyre is tired #what is magic anyway

[acourtofladydeath]

Multi/Poly X Reader ACOTAR Poll

I'd love to see you comment and/or tag your favorites! I know I personally would struggle to pick just one myself. Let me know if you prefer the pairing as poly or multi as well (poly being they all love each other, multi being one person is the center of all the love). What gender identity (if any) do you prefer for the reader to have with each ship? If your favorite option isn't there, please add it in the comments! There wasn't room for an "other" option, but I'm aware there's a lot more possibilities here!

Would be so grateful if you reblogged so this can reach as many people as possible! I've left the poll open for a week to see what results I get. LET ME KNOW ALL YOUR THOUGHTS!

Visit the Canon Character sister post here to cast your vote there as well!

#acotar x reader #poly!acotar X reader #X reader #band of exiles x reader #emorie x reader #tamcien x reader #cazriel x reader #bat boys x reader #azris x reader #nessian x reader #morlain x reader #vanserra brothers x reader #morigan x vivanne x reader #elucien x reader #tamsand x reader #acotar #acowar #acosf #acotarfanfic

[danydragons21]

The Shadows that  Sing Ch. 30

Read on ao3 here. 

Chapter 30: The Day Court Part 2

Under different circumstances, Elain would have enjoyed being in the High Lord of the Day Court’s personal study. Opulent marble coated the floor; the walls were lined with majestic columns and arching windows that revealed a stunning view of the Day Court territory; a chandelier made entirely of delicate glass hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the surroundings in shimmery light. It was as lovely as the rest of the Court.

As it was, the only reason they were here was because they’d fucked up—badly—and were now being savagely (and deservingly) berated for it, so Elain found it difficult to fully appreciate the impressive architecture.

Helion was pacing back and forth in agitation, the gold trim of his pure white robes sweeping over the marble as he did so. Before him stood Lucien and Elain, their heads bowed slightly like two children who’d gotten caught doing something naughty. Behind them were Feyre and Ishira, who for whatever reason had insisted on coming along.

“You were welcomed into our Court with open arms, you were given access to our libraries, and yet you decided that was not good enough,” Helion said, continuing on his rant that had already lasted several minutes. “You decided to take advantage of our hospitality and venture into areas prohibited to guests!”

Elain gulped. “I can understand that,” she said in a meek voice, “But to be fair, there was no one or nothing that told us we were specifically weren’t allowed to follow any secret passages we might find.”

The High Lord glared at her with such ferocity that she felt herself shrink backwards a little.

“The Caverns of the Keepers hold some of Day Court’s most honored and classified troves of knowledge,” the High Lord said hotly. “It’s not only disrespectful in the highest degree to take it upon yourself to peruse through the caverns—it is forbidden.”

Feeling small and useless, Elain spoke in an even quieter voice. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you. I was just following the voices in my head.”

It took only a second after speaking for her to register how positively insane she sounded. From Helion’s wary look, she was sure he was thinking precisely the same thing.

“Ishira told us that we were meant to come down there,” said Lucien, speaking for the first time since entering the High Lord’s study. “I understand that we broke your rules or whatever, and we are sorry, but clearly this is something that was destined to happen.” He shrugged in that casually confident way of his. “When both a Seer and a Flame Keeper receive intelligence from higher powers that force them to meet, it seems like it’s something that should be forgiven. Especially in light of the bigger problem here that we are all trying to solve.”

A snarl formed on Helion's face. “How insolent,” he seethed. “Both of you,” he nodded toward Elain, “are young and foolish and irresponsible— ”

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Lucien fiercely.

Helion strode forward until he was face to face with Lucien.

“I’ll talk to her however I want in my own home when—”

But as Helion lifted his arm in an angry gesture, Lucien seemed to take it as a threat, rather than just the way the High Lord was talking expressively, and he raised his hand in response.

A beam of golden light exploded from Helion’s outstretched hand at the same time a lick of crimson fire came from Lucien’s. Both looking utterly shocked, as if they had no control over the magic whatsoever.

Though Elain knew that the magic emitted by Helion couldn’t possibly be fire (it was, after all, a gift of the Autumn Court), she couldn’t help but think that the High Lord’s glowing beam looked suspiciously like a flame, mimicking Lucien’s own so very closely.

The flame and not-flame danced together, twisting and curling in a way reminiscent of Azriel’s shadows, wrapping around each other as tightly as a lover’s embrace and burning bright as the Night Court stars before vanishing into utterly nothing.

A chill of realization ghosted across the nape of her neck as a memory—no, a vision— from months ago swam to the forefront of her mind. This was not the first time she had seen the dancing flames.

“What the bloody hells was that?” Elain surprised even herself by asking, but she could hold the question in no more than she could ignore the sense of foreboding growing stronger with every passing moment.

No one replied. Confused, frustrated, and slightly concerned at the lack of response, she studied each of her companions’ visages. Lucien looked as stunned and puzzled as she; Ishira had an expression of grim acceptance; Helion was absolutely frozen, his eyes wide as saucers. She wasn’t even sure that he was breathing.

But it was Feyre who confirmed Elain’s suspicions that something incredibly meaningful had just occurred. And it was Feyre, her sister, who she knew better than almost anyone else in the world, standing there with the strangest look of anguish, resignation and apology written across her face, who spoke next.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “This is not how I wanted you to find out.” Her eyes, wide and beseeching, swiveled back and forth between Helion and Lucien.

“Find out what?” the red-haired male demanded, his vexation now mixed with frustration. Helion, on the other hand, remained in his state of shellshock; he had yet to move a single inch.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Ishira cut her off.

“What you’ve just seen is a rare, albeit not unheard of, magical manifestation that occurs in the most unique of circumstances.”

“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured under her breath, closing her eyes.

“Precisely,” the Flame Keeper said.

“What might those unique circumstances be?” Elain asked slowly, but Ishira had turned to look at the male beside her.

“Lord Lucien,” she said, “You have been told a lie your entire life. You are not the son of Beron Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

A heavy, pulsing silence reverberated through the room.

“What?” he breathed finally. Then he shook his head. “What are you playing at? Of course he’s my father.”

But Ishira shook her head right back. “He is not, Lord Lucien,” she said. “Yes, your mother is the lovely Lady Elvinye of the Autumn Court.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Helion finally move, his whole body shuddering when the Flame Keeper said Lucien’s mother’s name. But Elain did not turn her attention to him; she could not keep her eyes off Lucien. Something in her very blood told her that to leave him unattended at this moment would be a grave mistake.

“But your father—your true father—is none other than High Lord Helion of the Day Court,” Ishira’s clear voice rang out.

All the breath vanished from Elain’s lungs. She felt the thread in her chest grow taut as across from her, Lucien went utterly still.To her right, Helion’s head collapsed into his hands, a position of sorrowful defeat.

Her head was spinning with questions. Lucien was Helion’s son? Helion? How could that be? If his mother was truly the Lady of the Autumn Court…did that mean Helion and Elvinye had once been together?

Most importantly, what did this mean for Lucien? And what would his “father,” Beron, do if he were to ever find out?

The thread in her chest tugged again, pulling her from her thoughts. She focused on Lucien. He wore an expression of the utmost animosity, his teeth gnashing together.

“Is that true?” he demanded, looking straight at Helion. Slowly, the High Lord removed his hands from his face.

“I…It’s possible,” he finally croaked out.

The anger on Lucien’s face became even more pronounced. “It’s possible ?” he repeated in a low growl. Then he turned to Feyre. “You knew about this?”

“I suspected, yes,” she said, her voice rather hoarse.

“For how long?”

Briefly, she closed her eyes; when the youngest Archeron sister opened them again, tears swam in the blue depths.

“For a while,” she answered honestly. “That’s why I came here. To tell Helion of my suspicions.” She grimaced. “Of my very strong hunch.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” Helion asked angrily. “We’ve been together for hours today, doing nothing of importance.”

“I was working up the courage.”

“The courage?” Helion repeated incredulously. “We spent three hours petting the pegasi, for godssake!”

Elain turned to her sister. “You saw the pegasi without me?” she practically wailed.

“Now is not the time, Elain,” her sister hissed. Elain closed her mouth. She had a point.

“You didn’t think to tell me before, perhaps?” Lucien said angrily to Feyre, his voice harder than she’d ever heard it. “As your longest friend here in this Fae world, you didn’t think it was something I deserved to know?”

“I had to know if it was absolutely true before I told you,” said Feyre pleadingly. “I know I messed up. I know I should have been more proactive about getting to the bottom of it. But if you believe anything, you must know that I had no intention of hurting you—of hurting either of you,” she added to Helion. “This is not how I wanted you to find out. And I’m so, so sorry for it.”

Lucien scoffed and then directed his attention to Elain. And while the anger blazed in his eyes for a brief moment, the longer he looked at her, the dimmer that flame became, until suddenly it was replaced entirely by an undeniable exhaustion. A tiredness that seemed to emanate from his very core.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, once again speaking without truly thinking about what she was going to say.

But she knew she’d said the right thing when he nodded right back at her. “Yes,” he answered.

“Go to the Night Court,” Feyre said. When Elain met her gaze, she saw both her younger sister and High Lady staring back. “Please,” she added softly.

Elain nodded once. Where else would they go, after all—the Mortal Manor, where Vassa and Azriel were, two people she was hesitant to speak to for different reasons, and where they would not be expected to return so soon? The Autumn Court, where Lucien wasn’t even a full-blooded heir, if the crazy secrets revealed in the last few minutes were to be believed? Where else besides the Night Court would they be safe?

She nodded stiffly at her sister. Lucien crossed the room and grabbed her hand.

The last thing she saw before they winnowed away was Ishira staring at her with a meaningful look on her wise, ageless face.

Talk to the Queen , the Flame Keeper mouthed. Then she tapped the center of her chest three times.

Before Elain could do so much as blink back, they were winnowing away, twisting between the folds of time and space.

Mere seconds later, they stood in the foyer of the River House. Dropping her hand, Lucien let out a bone-weary sigh. Her heart clenched in sympathy at the defeated look on his face.

She straightened up. “Wait here,” she said. A few minutes later, she returned to find him still standing in the same spot, clearly not having moved even an inch in her temporary absence.

She held up two large bottles of wine. “Want to forget about all this shit for a little while?”

The corner of his lips turned up in the smallest possible smile, but she was thrilled—a smile was a smile, and she had succeeded in putting one on her friend’s face against all odds.

“I’ve never wanted to forget anything more,” he replied.

***

A few hours and several bottles of wine later, Elain and Lucien were wonderfully drunk and roaming through the Night Court garden. It was full of winter blooms, which naturally were not as bright and vibrant as their summer cousins, but she found them just as enchanting. She wasn’t sure who had been tending to the garden in her absence and was equal parts pleased and sad about it—pleased that the plants were being cared for, sad that they thrived just as well without her. She knew it was a silly thing to be sad about, but she couldn’t help it.

Thankfully, she had much more important things to worry about. Like the red-haired male at her side, who was significantly drunker than she, and had taken to singing randomly at the top of his lungs.

“Stop!” she said at the end of a particularly painful rendition of "The Fae Who Got Away," even as she laughed at his antics.

“You don’t like my voice?” he asked, mock-offended.

“No, I do not tend to enjoy the sound of a dying squirrel.”

He laughed loudly in response, then started swaying slightly.

“Ooookay, let’s find a place to sit,” she said, tugging him toward a nearby bench. He plopped down, uncorking the half-full bottle in his hand and chugging.

Sitting next to him, Elain curled her legs beneath her and gazed up at the sky. It was quite late in the day, or perhaps early in the morning; it had been early evening when they were still at the Day Court, though that had been hours ago, so she couldn’t imagine what time it was now. But she wasn’t tired at all, the wild events of the day keeping her mind busy and her stimulation piqued.

“What am I supposed to do next?” Lucien asked out of nowhere. He seemed to have shed the drunken lightness like a second skin and now wore a forlorn and dejected demeanor.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he took another gulp of wine as he gathered his thoughts, “What in the bloody hells am I supposed to do next? Do I tell anyone? Do I tell no one? Do I start referring to Helion as Daddy?”

The snickered together, though Lucien’s expression sobered up quickly.

“Do I let my mother know that I know the truth of my heritage, the truth she has kept from me all my life?” Some of his sadness was replaced with anger as he shook his head. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“She was trying to protect you.”

“I know that. Gods, I know that. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

“No. No, it doesn’t,” she agreed quietly.

For a while, they both sat in silence, sipping on wine and lost in their own thoughts. Soft Fae lights were strung through the branches of the trees that formed a sort of canopy above the bench, casting a warm glow over them.

“You should ask the voices in your head what I’m supposed to do,” Lucien said.

She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think it works like that.”

He sighed and faced her fully. “I didn’t think so, either. Worth a try though, eh?”

She smiled wider. She admired her friend - she really did. Even in the face of such a life-changing discovery, even after finding out that his entire existence has been a half-lie, he still tried to keep things light and humorous. Sure, it was most likely a defense mechanism, but she liked it all the same.  

Elain was suddenly distracted by his eyes. They were really quite enchanting, one russet, one gold and mechanical. She admired them for a moment unabashedly, feeling as bold as the wine she’d been drinking all night.

“You’re staring at me,” he said.

“I am,” she agreed. It would be silly to deny it.

The enchanting eyes in question widened at her response. “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“You almost never look at me. At least not like that. Not so…fully.”

She blinked, his honesty scalding as boiling water. Just as painful was the knowledge that there was a kernel of truth in the statement. Whether it was the wine or the guilt she felt, she decided to return his honesty with a little of her own.

“I know,” she replied finally. “I am...sometimes I look at you, and I feel like I am drowning.”

“Drowning in the cauldron?” Lucien asked quietly.

Elain stilled. Breathe , she reminded herself.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That, and also just drowning in you .”

“I can relate to that,” he said, shifting a bit and glancing away. A thick swallow worked its way down his throat. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To feel so connected to someone that you don’t know that well?”

She nodded in response, watching two fireflies circle each other. “We know each other now, though,” she said. “But you’re right. It was so strange to feel that…that tug in my belly, that indescribable pull, the very second we made eye contact that night. It feels like that moment just changed everything, you know?” She was talking mostly to herself at this point, contemplating and reflecting on how that evening in Hybern had turned her entire world upside down. But here she was on the other side, still alive, still moving forward. Stronger and surer of herself than ever before.

Lucien’s soft voice pulled her from her contemplation.

“Elain,” he said. When she looked at him again, she was shocked to see tears falling swiftly from his one good eye. “I have never truly apologized for that night. Though I swear to you that I had no idea Hybern was planning on doing that to you and your sister…” He inhaled sharply, and through the bond she felt his guilt, heavy and suffocating.

“I am so sorry. For the Cauldron. For the things I said when the time was clearly not right. For all of it.” He was still crying, his regret palpable. Unconsciously, she reached out and grabbed his hand. Watched as he froze when she began rubbing her thumb over his palm in small, soothing circles.

“I forgive you,” she said. “I forgave you a long time ago, actually.”

He smiled then, gratitude glowing in his eyes, and she found herself smiling back. They continued to smile at each other as Lucien intertwined his fingers with her own. The fae lights hanging overhead reflected against his brilliant crimson hair; for a moment, he looked luminescent.

“Growing up Fae…you hear about mates as if they are legends,” Lucien mused. “Myths, practically. That might not make sense to you, since both your sisters are mated, but it’s true. Mates are so rare, so precious. I never expected to find mine. And…and after I met Jesminda, I never really wanted to,” he admitted in a rushed whisper, as if he didn’t know if he should be mentioning his deceased lover.

“I heard what happened to her,” she said quietly, watching as Lucien stiffened. “To your…to Jesminda.” A pause. “I cannot imagine the pain and sorrow you endured. That you continue to endure. As someone who has lost a loved one, too…I know that just because they are gone, it does not mean the love you feel for them is gone. If anything, it just exacerbates it. Brings it into higher definition.”

The red-haired male inclined his head. “Exactly,” he said. “It took decades for me to even look at another female after her death. And it took even longer for me to feel anything more than lust or physical desire for one.”

“When I became Fae, and Greyson did not want me anymore, I was convinced I’d never love again,” she confessed. Almost involuntarily, the corners of her mouth turned up. “How glad I am that I was wrong.”

Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes at that, and maybe if Elain wasn’t so tipsy, she would’ve realized her slip-up. Would have realized the danger of her words. Would have realized she was a liar and a sneak and a spy , and she had just accidentally divulged a threateningly-personal piece of information. For either Lucien would assume she was talking about him… or he’d discover she was talking about someone else.

As it was, though, Elain did not realize any of this. She continued smiling in blissful unawareness.

Lucien’s face had gone rather slack. “It was you, you know,” he breathed.

“What?” she replied, just as breathlessly, taken aback by the sudden intensity in his gaze. They were moving closer together, their chests nearly touching, drawn like magnets. She could count every freckle on his nose.

“You were the first female that made me realize I could…could feel that way again. Could love again.”

Elain sucked in a breath, apprehension mixing with something different, something far more dangerous. The rational half of her brain told her to run. The other half—the half ruled primarily by the aching in her chest that had been there since the day of Cassian’s healing—begged her to move closer.

“I took one look at you,” he whispered, “and I just knew.” Her heart was pounding. Those words...wasn’t that what every girl wanted to hear?

They were so close now she could taste his warm, sweet breath. What would it hurt, she thought, to give in to this? To finally allow that thread within her to pull her toward what it so clearly wanted?

Just one kiss, she thought, head heavy with wine and want. Just one kiss, to see what it was like.

But as she began to close the distance between them, her eyelids drooping down in tandem with Lucien’s, something caught her attention. Their two figures, bent forward and nearly intertwined, were backlit against the fae-lights, creating a shadow that spanned across the ground.

Shadow .

It was with a great, heaving gasp that she pulled away, her entire body suddenly cold. Her hands covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She would have liked to say it in a normal voice, but her throat didn’t seem to be working right.

Confusion and hurt warred across Lucien’s golden face. All he said though was, “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No. No, you shouldn’t. Please, don’t apologize to me.” She stood up. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for a reply, she raced away, thankfully encountering no one else on the way. When she finally reached her bedroom, she collapsed on the bed, stuffed a pillow beneath her face and screamed.

Why couldn’t she just be happy with Lucien? Why did the sight of a goddamn shadow make her feel guilty for nearly kissing someone who was as single as she - the same someone that the stupid godsdamned Cauldron had decided was meant for her?

If she was smarter, if she wasn’t so drawn to an emotionally unavailable shadowsinger who had yet to explicitly admit his feelings for her, none of this would be an issue. If she didn’t let her heart make every damn decision, she wouldn’t be feeling so hollow and helpless. Wouldn’t have hurt someone else in the process.

Fucking Azriel. She should have known she'd never be able to get him out of her head.

***

Elain remained at the Night Court the next day, opting to return to the Mortal Manor the day afterwards in order to spend some much needed time with Nyx. Feyre had arrived back from the Day Court at some point the previous evening but had wisely given Lucien some much-needed space, so Elain still didn’t know how the rest of her conversation with Helion went.

Speaking of the red-haired male, Elain had not seen him since her disastrous departure in the garden. She expected he was avoiding her. She certainly could not blame him for that, and was secretly glad of it—she, too, needed some time to consider just how to approach the situation. Merely thinking about their almost-kiss had her stomach hurting like she was about to start her period (which, ever since she turned Fae, was quite possibly the most painful thing she’d ever experienced).

Thankfully, Nyx was the best cure for her stress. After a day full of belly kisses and baking cookies and trying to keep him from flying into the walls (she succeeded, for the most part), she felt infinitely better, and tucked Nyx into bed that night with a weight lifted off her shoulders.

She had just entered her bedroom and was looking forward to washing her face and curling up with a book when there was a light knock at her door.

Assuming it was Feyre with Nyx, who almost always requested multiple goodnight kisses from his Auntie Elain, she opened the door with a playful smile on her face.

It vanished almost immediately as she beheld Azriel.

“What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly, hating the way her mind went to the previous night with Lucien, beneath the fae lights, and even though technically nothing had happened…heavy guilt churned through her belly.

The corner of his jaw ticked nervously. “Well, Lucien arrived back at the Mortal Manor early this morning. Said you and Feyre were in the Night Court and then left immediately after to go gods-know-where.”

She nodded slowly, then frowned. “If you’re here, who’s guarding the Mortal Manor?”

“Mor,” he replied, surprising her. Then, to her greater shock, he blushed. “I, well, Vassa seemed like she could use a girl friend to talk to, and I’ve always thought she and Mor would get along great, and Mor has been wanting a break from Valhalla for a while now -”

“So you set them up,” she asked, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from turning upward as Azriel blushed even deeper, the high contours of his cheeks a dusty rose color.

Her good humor was short lived as she remembered the awkward tension that still lingered between the two of them. The small smile on her face disappeared, replaced with wariness.

Sensing her change in demeanor, Azriel grew somber. “ Elain,” he said in a rough voice that reverberated through her body all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

She closed her eyes. It was truly unfair how his very presence affected her so significantly. She was trying so, so hard to be aloof. Cool and collected.

Thankfully, despite his affect on her, she said nothing. She would not give him the words he so desperately sought. He knew better than to expect her to fill in the blanks for him.

“Can we talk? Please?”

“We are talking,” she replied evenly.

“Somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“I want a chance to apologize. In depth, this time.”

“Apologize for what?” she said calmly, lips slightly numb. “The cruel and unwarranted words you said to me, or the way you threw my insecurities back in my face?”

Azriel swallowed. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes, all of that.”

She gave no reaction, just continued to look at him with those big brown eyes.

“Elain, he said again, and maybe he was a selfish bastard for using her name (because he knew the effect it had on her), but he would do anything to win her back right now. Would throw all his cards on the table.

“Do you remember that day in Rosehall? When I told you why my mother cannot speak.”

“Yes,” she said after a moment.

“I never finished the story.”

She blinked, her surprise evident, but she remained silent.

“I’d like to tell you now, though. Will you please go somewhere with me to hear it?”

“Where?”

He held out a hand. She eyed it for a long moment.

A thick swallow worked its way down the column of his elegant throat. “Trust me?” he asked quietly, a vulnerability in his expression that she’d never seen before.

Oh, gods. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling her resolve crumble around her.

Besides, there was only one honest answer.

She opened her eyes. And she took his hand.

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