#devlon imagine

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

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Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #reader insert #cassian #rhysand #batboys #illyrians

[sunshinebingo]

imagine...

The Valkyries show up at a meeting in Windhaven. Gwyn acts as their spokesperson and explains the training plans they came up with for Illyrian females. Devlon stands up and opens his mouth to throw some insults at her. But Azriel silences him with a, "Be careful how you speak to my mate."

#I'll be daydreaming about this for a while #Gwyn can fight her own battles of course #But it would be so hot of Azriel to do it too #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #the valkyries #acotar

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night she gets her heartbroken

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: angst? mentions of violence

summary: Valeria is heartbroken and seeks the comfort of her brother. Meanwhile, Azriel decides to take matter into his hands.

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection of imagines that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here.

**

Days turned into weeks, and Azriel battled with his emotions in solitude. He tried to hide his jealousy, but the shadows around him could sense his turmoil. He grappled with the fear of that his chance had slipped through his fingers.

Azriel couldn't deny the weight in his chest as he heard the words slip from Valeria's lips the other day—the revelation that Damien had claimed her first kiss. The news hit him harder than he anticipated, stirring a mix of emotions that he struggled to process. He sought comfort that night in the company of a beautiful Illyrian girl, but with every caress and tender kiss, his thoughts drifted to Valeria. He couldn't help but wonder how she felt, what she tasted like. 

This had become a pattern, a repetitive cycle of seeking companionship elsewhere while his heart yearned for the one who had unknowingly captured it. He was grateful that Rhysand and Cassian were distracted with interests of their own. It shielded him from having to fabricate excuses for choosing to spend his nights alone, masking the truth that he could no longer find that physical connection with anyone as he did before. Before his feelings for Valeria had gone beyond those of friendship.

Rhysand’s and Cassian’s distractions had also made it easier for him to keep his feelings for Valeria hidden. He buried them deep within, fearing that the friendships he had built with her and Rhysand might crumble under the weight of his emotions. But now, the realization of Valeria sharing such an intimate moment with another person ignited a jealousy he couldn't ignore.

**

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, Valeria stormed into the house. That’s when she ran into Rhysand and Azriel.

Rhysand, lounging with his legs propped up on the coffee table, swiftly removed his feet, dog-earing his book, concern flickering in his eyes as they locked onto his sister. Azriel, engrossed in sharpening a blade from his seat in the armchair, also paused in his task. His shadows, always vigilant, sensed the distress surrounding Valeria, some rushing to her. They let out a small sigh in relief as they confirmed that she was physically unharmed, though emotionally shattered.

Tears welled up in Valeria's violet eyes, her bottom lip trembling in a pout. Rhysand was on his feet in an instant, already sensing her distress. Valeria wasted no time, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of her brother. "What's wrong?" he gently inquired, his protective instincts rising to the fore.

"You were right," Valeria sobbed, the pain of overhearing Damien's heartless words still fresh. The memory sliced through her heart, shattering it into irreparable fragments. "He used me. He never truly liked me, he just liked my title."

Rhysand’s expression turned dark with anger, and his protective instincts flared. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

But beneath the boiling rage, Rhysand frowned. As much as he desired to unleash his wrath upon Damien for daring to hurt Valeria, he knew he couldn't succumb to that urge. Rhysand was the High Lord’s son and heir. Damien also held a delicate position as he was Lord Devlon’s son, the one who oversaw the Windhaven camp. Provoking such conflict could plunge them into a harrowing confrontation, one that might spiral into a gruesome clash.

Cassian, who had been tidying up in the kitchen, stepped into the living room with a warm smile playing on his lips. However, it swiftly vanished at the distressing scene before him. Rhysand, comforting Valeria as tears streamed down her face, and Azriel exuding an aura of controlled fury. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. The realization of what had transpired hit him, and soon his expression mirrored his brother's. "It was that asshole, wasn’t it?”

Rhysand gently pulled away from Valeria to assess his sister, worry still etched into his features. "I didn’t care for him as much," Valeria confessed. “I think I liked the idea of him more than I liked him. The idea that someone could like me.”

The pain cut Valeria deep, a piercing wound laced with betrayal, anger, and humiliation. Damien's hurtful words had struck her not because she found herself falling for the cruel individual, but because they were a searing slap to her face, bringing to surface her deepest insecurities.

"Aww, come on, dove. Don't look so surprised," he had taunted. "Did you really think someone would like you for you? You would be nothing but just another pretty face, if it weren't for your father or brother."

“Everyone sees me as the High Lord’s daughter…Rhysand’s little sister…When will someone just see me as me?” Valeria’s voice trembled with a tinge of sadness. “When will someone like me for just me?”

“Fuck that asshole.” Cassian's anger surged at the raw hurt in Valeria's eyes, and he clenched his fists.

Rhysand tenderly wiped each tear from Valeria's cheeks, his frown deepening. "You are my sister, but you are so much more than that. You are Valeria. Beautiful and sweet, brave and kind. A strong and kindred spirit, who loves chasing the stars and shines as bright as the moon. You needn’t dim your light over the words of Illyrian scum."

Valeria sniffled, her tears gradually subsiding. "I love you, Rhys."

"I love you too, Val," Rhysand replied, a fond smile gracing his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"How about some lemon cakes?" Cassian chimed in, attempting to soothe her pain. He knew how much she loved sweets, especially those with a lemony flavor.

Valeria turned to him, a faint smile ghosting her lips. She nodded. "And ice cream?"

"Of course," Rhysand responded, leading Valeria to the couch and encouraging her to sit.

"I’ll get the whipped cream and sprinkles," Azriel offered, his desire to ease her suffering evident. Despite the ache in her heart, Valeria's spirits lifted at the thought that he remembered her preferences.

"Don’t you dare move from that couch, Val! We will bring everything to you," Rhysand exclaimed playfully as he followed Cassian down the hall and into the kitchen.

Azriel lingered by the hallway, his golden gaze meeting Valeria's. "I see you," he softly assured her, unable to let her go without expressing his true feelings.

 To Azriel, she was not just the High Lord’s daughter or Rhysand’s sister. She was Valeria—the girl who now consumed his thoughts and dreams. The girl who continued to warm him with her light, even in the darkest corners of his soul.

**

The following day, Valeria decided to accompany Rhys, Cassian, and Az on some camp errands. As they strolled through the town square, they crossed paths with Damien, the son of Lord Devlon. However, Damien purposefully ignored Valeria as she walked by. She caught the sight of a nasty black eye and busted lip as he avoided her gaze. 

Rhysand had harbored the desire to inflict pain upon him, but held himself back. Nevertheless, to his surprise, he found that someone had already taken matters into their own hands. Cassian couldn't help but chuckle at Damien’s sorry state. Azriel wore a smug smirk, relishing the fear that flashed in Damien’s eyes as they walked by.

**

Bonus scene:

Azriel couldn't stand idle knowing the pain Valeria endured. The fury within him ignited, fueled by his love and protectiveness for her. As the moon hung high in the night sky, he made his way to the place where Damien was known to frequent.

He found the despicable son of Lord Devlon already nestled in the company of another girl. Azriel's anger surged, his vision momentarily consumed by red. He moved with a growl, swift and silent, and yanked Damien away from the girl by the back of his leathers. The frightened girl fled, leaving the two men alone in the darkness.

Without hesitation, Azriel's fist connected with Damien's face, sending him crashing to the dirt, where he belonged. "Don't you dare look at her or breathe in her direction ever again," Azriel seethed, his voice laced with menace, as he dropped to his knees and landed another punch.

"I swear on my life!" Damien cried out, his face contorted in pain and fear.

Azriel rose to his feet and sneered at the pathetic display. "I've seen your life. Swear on something else.”

**

Tag list: @justrepostandlove @kemillyfreitas @thelov3lybookworm

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #rhysand's sister x azriel #acotar imagine #azriel x oc #rhysand's sister #acosm #azriel imagine

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Baby, Now We Got Bad Blood

A/N: So, we're told in ACOMAF and ACOWAR that mating instincts ride the males hard and that you should never come between a male and his mate, but one of my biggest gripes with ACOSF is that we never really see that from Cassian. Like come on, SJM! I want to see the Lord of Bloodshed go into Mate Mode(tm)! And so, I decided to write this. I recognize it may not be everyone's cup of tea, so remember that the back button is free, but for everyone else, enjoy! :)

Read on AO3

The tug between Cassian’s ribs is so sudden, so harsh, that he almost drops to his knees right then and there. That golden thread securely tucked there squeezes tight enough that it steals the breath straight from his lungs, twisting and writhing in his chest until he can do nothing except press a palm against his side in hopes of alleviating the pain, until he's sure that he must be bruised. He’s half aware of Devlon watching him curiously, of the other camp lords still sitting around the table, but all Cassian can focus on is the way his blood has run cold, on the ringing that’s taken up home in his ears all from that one tug.

Tentatively, he reaches for the golden thread within himself, sending his confusion and concern down the bond. He skates a finger along it, keeping his touch featherlight, before he plucks, a small, urging question. And then, with bated breath, he waits. Waits for the tug in response. Waits for the soothing feeling that’s not his own to rush through him and calm his worry.

But it never comes.

In fact, there’s almost nothing on the other end of the bond. Just silence. Just an empty, yawning void that has the hairs on the back of Cassian’s neck standing up, that has the pounding in his ears turning into a deafening roar. Genuine fear sparks through his veins, ice cold where it digs its claws into his mind and sends his heart stuttering. He reaches for that golden thread again, tugging more urgently this time, but still nothing.

Something’s wrong.

Cassian knows that Rhys had sent Nesta and Mor to the human lands on some sort of reconnaissance mission. Azriel’s network had gotten some concerning information through the vine, so the High Lord sent Nesta and Mor to blend in with the women of some village and see if they could get more details. It was supposed to be an easy in, easy out mission. He’d even arranged this war meeting in Illyria for when she was gone so he’d be back in time to welcome her home, even had tickets ready for them for the Velaris ballet.

But now, all he has is a silent bond, that single moment of fear twined in that hard tug that festers and burns with his own.

Without a backward glance, Cassian storms out of the room, ignoring Devlon calling after him. As soon as he steps outside into the biting snow of Illyria, Cassian unfurls his wings wide behind his back and takes to the skies. He keeps a hard and fast pace as he tears through the clouds, pushing himself and pushing himself and pushing himself. His back and wings ache with the exertion, but it’s nothing compared to the ache that throbs in his chest like an open wound. Nothing compared to the bloodied and bruised shreds of his heart at the thought of something happening to Nesta.

His mind keeps playing an endless loop of possibilities, each one worse than the last. He tries to imagine a scenario where it’s all a big misunderstanding, where he arrives back in Velaris and Nesta is there with that softness that takes over her stormy blue eyes when she sees him, with that sweet smile meant only for him, and they’ll laugh about this whole thing. But there’s no denying that niggling doubt, those whispers in the back of his mind. They fuel his fear, taunt him, and soon all Cassian can see each time he blinks is the sight of Nesta’s eyes open but unseeing, the color completely leached from her face, seared on the back of his eyelids.

It drives Cassian to push himself even harder, to fly even faster. Each beat of his wings, each thunderous hammer of his heart, it all pounds in time with that twisting thread between his ribs, in time with that call that blazes through his soul.

Nesta Nesta Nesta

He lands hard enough that his knees groan and ache, but he doesn’t care. He presses his hand against the wards, an incessant flash of red sparking in front of him, and steps inside the River House. Rhys steps into the view at the top of the stairs almost as soon as he’s through the front door, as though he was expecting him. The wariness pinching the corner of his brother’s eyes, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, it confirms all of Cassian’s worst fears. Bile claws up the back of his throat, tangling with the lump already lodged firmly there.

“Where’s Nesta?” Cassian forces out.

“Cass…” Rhys starts slowly, holding his hands up placatingly. Cassian doesn’t miss the way his brother shifts his feet, resetting his stance like he’s expecting a fight.

Cassian is about to ask his question again when Madja comes bustling into the River House behind him, rushing up the stairs and past Rhys. The sight of the healer jolts Cassian into action, and he follows hot on her heels down the hall and into one of the bedrooms, but his steps stutter to a stop when he realizes it’s Mor sprawled across the blankets, holding her hand against a wound in her side.

Cassian whirls back around, ready to check every other bedroom until he finds his mate, but he comes face to face with Rhys again. His brother is still wearing that cautious expression, face still pinched and body still tense like Cassian is some sort of wounded animal he needs to treat with care.

“Where is Nesta?” Cassian demands again.

Rhys holds his ground and raises his chin, his eyes glancing over Cassian’s shoulder only briefly before landing back on Cassian’s face. “There was an ambush. I don’t know how the mortals knew we’d be there, knew who Mor and Nesta were, but there were two dozen of them… with ash arrows.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Where is she?”

“When I got there, Mor was already badly injured. She was going to bleed out if I didn’t get her out of there and to a healer.”

Cassian can feel his patience hanging on by a thread, stepping closer to Rhy and growling out, “where is my mate?”

Cassian feels the press of Rhys’s magic against him, the darkness that begins to creep and rumble from the corners of the room, as Cassian stares his brother down, but Rhys is unmoving, undeterred. He continues to meet Cassian’s blazing gaze, his face and voice an even calm that grates against the last shreds of Cassian’s nerve endings, the last of his sanity.

“I had to make a choice, and I made it.”

It takes a moment for the words to really sink in, to understand exactly what Rhys is telling him, and when it does, it’s a bucket of ice water over his head. He stumbles back a step in his shock. His stomach roils and drops all the way to his shoes, his blood crystalizing into ice, as he chokes out, “what?”

Rhys looks away then, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I used too much of my magic winnowing there already, and Nesta was too far away. I couldn’t get to her without risking Mor, without risking both of us, so I did what I had to do and winnowed us out of there.”

Cassian doesn’t think he’s breathing. He’s sure that his heart isn’t beating because it’s lost somewhere in the human lands, lost with Nesta. “You…” Cassian swallows hard, finding his voice again. “You left her there? In the middle of an ambush?”

“I’m sorry, Cass. I really am.”

“No, you’re not.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Cassian has always known that Rhys isn’t exactly Nesta’s biggest fan. From the moment they met the sisters, from that first meeting at the manor in the mortal lands, Rhys has always held a certain animosity for the eldest Archeron. He’s always held onto that cool resentment on Feyre’s behalf for what happened when the sisters were young. And despite what happened with the human queens, despite what Nesta did during the War, despite what she did for Feyre and Nyx, that tension has never quite dissipated, that contempt is still there.

“If you were really sorry, why didn’t you go back for her?” Cassian continues, shaking his head in disbelief. “After you got Mor back to Velaris, why didn’t you go back?”

Rhys sighs as if this whole conversation is exhausting. “I just told you. My magic was depleted by winnowing that far, and they had ash arrows. I couldn’t risk it.”

“But you could risk Nesta, right?”

Cassian can feel his disbelief at this whole situation quickly morphing into anger. He can feel the heat of it just beneath his skin where it blazes through his veins. The beast deep within his soul thrashes against its restraints, hackles raised at the idea of any harm coming to Nesta. That rage burns and roars as it twists in dark, crackling tendrils in his chest. It urges him to fight, to raze the whole world to the ground until the debt is paid, until all of Prythian understands the mistake of risking the Lord of Bloodshed’s mate.

“It’s what she would have wanted,” Rhys continues, still using that too calm voice. “You know that. Nesta understood the mission, the importance.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cassian snaps, stepping forward again until he and Rhys are toe to toe, glowering down at him. “Don’t you dare speak of her when you left her to die.”

“Calm down,” Rhys speaks slowly, violet eyes flickering in warning.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What if it was Feyre? What if I left Feyre in the middle of an ambush surrounded by ash arrows? What if I left your mate for dead?”

“Don’t.”

The low tone of Rhys’s voice lets Cassian know he’s hit his mark. That magic and darkness presses a little bit harder, those violet eyes turning cold, clearly unimpressed with the underlying threat toward his mate. Cassian almost wants to laugh hysterically, seeing his own feelings mirrored back to him. It’s a sickening type of vindication.

“That’s the difference, isn’t it?” Cassian continues to drawl, not backing down, the red of his siphons flickering in time with Rhys’s own magic. “I would risk it for Feyre. I would go back for her because I know how much she means to you, but you don’t care. You’ve never forgiven Nesta, not really, and now, you finally got the chance to wash your hands clean of her.”

“Cassian—”

“Where?” Cassian interrupts, taking a step back finally and adjusting the straps of his leathers and preparing for a long flight. “Give me the coordinates. I’ll go get Nesta myself.”

Cassian side-steps around Rhys and heads for the stairs, but Rhys is hot on his heels. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you fly all the way to the mortal lands and potentially walk head first into an attack.”

“Try and stop me,” Cassian dares, whirling around with a snarl of warning. “Being mated and a father has made you soft, Rhysand. Do you really think you could take me?”

The temperature in the room starts to drop, Cassian’s siphons flaring brighter in response as magic scrapes along his spine. He’s been itching for a fight since the moment he stepped through the doors, instincts gnawing at his every nerve ending and riding him hard until his hands are clenching into fists, his fingers twitching with the urge to drive into Rhys’s face.

But he doesn’t have time for this.

Nesta is gods know where in the mortal lands, in the Mother knows what state, and he needs to get to her. He waited five hundred years for her. Five hundred years to hold her. Five hundred years to love her. And he’ll be damned if he loses her now. Damned if he fails her again. Damned if he doesn’t save her when he wasn’t there to protect her in the first place.

He turns back around and storms down the stairs, striding toward the door without looking back. His blood has already started to thunder again, that same beat of Nesta Nesta Nesta as he stretches his wings to warm them up.

“Cassian, stop,” Rhys calls after him, but Cassian merely rolls his eyes. “I am ordering you as your High Lord.”

Cassian can feel the magic of the order as it slinks across his skin, taste it on the back of his tongue, but he’s quick to shake it off with a scoff, yanking open the front door. “Fuck off.”

“You step out that door, you won’t be welcome back in this Court.”

Cassian turns over his shoulder, settling Rhys with a deathly cold look. “Good luck finding a new General then.”

Rhys looks genuinely taken aback by that, blinking a few times in surprise. “You’d really throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for? Everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“Nesta is everything I’ve ever wanted. And you knew that. And you still—” Cassian can’t choke the word out, can’t fathom a world where Nesta, his Nesta, his beautiful, smart, amazing mate is gone.

A world where Rhys killed her.

With one last shake of his head, Cassian steps out of the River House and onto the streets of Velaris, the door slamming behind him. It feels strange and wrong to step onto these streets knowing Nesta isn’t here. Knowing that her quiet steps won’t fill the bookshop in the Rainbow. Knowing that her soft laughter won’t fill her favorite bakery by the river. That fear from before grips Cassian tight enough that his steps almost stumble, but he stretches his wings out wide behind him nonetheless, siphons flaring in anticipation.

He’s going to get her back. Even if it’s the last thing he does.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @girl-of-many-floods @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head

#nessian #technically at least #cassianappreciationweek2023 #cassian #rhysand #acotar #acosf #my fic

[fieldofdaisiies]

I’m so sorry and I know it says your requests are close so you can ignore this but this is stuck on my mind and I will literally forget about it but I feel like azriel would be the person to adopt because the child reminded of him when he was younger.

Anyway hope you’re having a good day/night whatever time it is for you(timezones suck)

oh I love this thought, I will turn it into headcanons. I really don’t want to ignore it, so I hope it is fine that way❤️

it all happens on a visit to Windhaven

when Azriel walks up to the hut of Devlon he will notice a little boy sitting in the mud, one wing crumbled, hanging lifelessly behind his back

he meets Azriel's eyes through a glassy gaze and when Azriel walks up to him he starts crying Azriel's heart breaks and he reaches his hand out. "Hello, buddy. I am Azriel, let's get you inside, you freezing out here."

Azriel picks up the little boy, he must only be three to four years old and Azriel's heart break when the little boy immediately snuggles to into his chest, fisting his Illyrian leathers

instead of Devlon's hut, Azriel opts for Rhysand's mother's old hut

he brings the little boy blankets, and a hot cocoa

when Azriel wants to leave him alone for a little bit, but the little boy grabs his scarred hand and holds onto it

Azriel stays with him, preparing a little meal for the boy so he can it

only later he finds out that the boy is an orphan, he does not know his father and his mother died due to an illness

the little boy is all alone and this nearly destroys Azriel because he knows what being alone feels like

when Azriel leaves in the evening he tells one of the laundry women to take care of the boy for the night and he will return in the morning

at home he discusses it all with you, saying he would like to adopt

your hesitate for a moment, but then the answer is actually clear

YES

and so the next day you both go to Windhaven and Azriel picks up the little boy whose name is Barrian

he introduces him to you and you immediately see so much of Azriel in him even though they are not related

Devlon needs no convincing to let the two of you adopt the little boy, as long as he joins the war camp once he is old enough

for now you agree

and obviously you ask the little boy if he wants that and if he wants to move to Velaris with you

he does, obviously and smiles for the first time

and so a completely new life, one no one out. of the three of you could have imagined just two days before

#azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #azriel headcanon

[stargirlie25]

And when Gwyn reached the finish line, bloody and panting and grinning so wildly her teal eyes glowed like a sunlit sea, she only extended her battered hand to Azriel. “Well?” “You already have your prize,” Azriel said simply. “You just passed the Blood Rite Qualifier. Congratulations.” Gwyn gaped. Nesta and Emerie halted. But Gwyn said to him, “ That was why you invited them?” Nesta had no idea what the priestess was talking about, but followed her gaze upward, to the lip of the pit, where a stone-faced Lord Devlon and another male peered in, scowling. No doubt this was the reason the other priestesses had been occupied today. Cassian murmured to Nesta, “I had a feeling today might be the day.”Devlon seemed ready to erupt, his face purple with rage, but he looked to Cassian and nodded tersely. “You told the priestesses not to come?” Nesta asked Cassian and Azriel. “We informed Clotho that we might have some observers today,” Azriel answered, eyes full of ice and death as he stared down Devlon. The male looked away from the shadowsinger before grunting to his crony and flying eastward toward Illyria. Azriel went on, watching them vanish, “Clotho explained it to the others—and they chose to find other ways to fulfill their day.” Nesta asked Gwyn, “But it seemed like you didn’t know what we were doing.” “Cassian and Azriel warned me that we’d be watched by males today, but didn’t specify why. I had no idea it was the Blood Rite Qualifier.” Her eyes shone bright above the dirt smudged on her face.

Azriel staring down devlon with death in his eyes. This is a couple seconds after Gwyn passed the blood rite qualifier and Devlon looked mad and we know this guy says a bunch of nonsense. Also not to mention Azriel imagined her eyes lighting up with joy and them finally doing so? Yeah no Azriels not going to let Devlon ruin Gwyns well deserved Joy.

Art: Poppypola on Instagram

#pro gwynriel #anti elriel #elucien #gwynriel #pro elain #pro elucien #pro gwyn #acotar #anti e/riel #pro lucien #pro emerie #emerie is the best valkyrie #pro nesta #cassian #archeron sisters #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #acosf

[ghosts-cyphera]

AHHHH ANOTHER PERSON WHO LOVES ACOTAR AND COD. It has become my comfort series the past few years.

Rhysand lives in my head rent free all day 🫡🫡 it might seem basic but I simply don’t care anymore😭😭

oH MY GOD YES HEYHIHELLO !! I'm a cassian girl through and through (devlon who I do not know him lol shh) and bestie, I could literally talk about acotar for four hours straight, eek !! it's such a comfort series for me too and one of the few book series I just keep going back to again and again, and just can't seem to get over.

you know what? here, take me in my nesta cosplay from a couple of years ago lol:

...face reveal who? I shared this in an acotar facebook group some time ago and so many people told me that I look exactly how they imagined nesta to look like and I still go back and read those comments when I feel insecure about my looks lmao help. anyway !! acotar YAY mwah I love you for sending this in <3

#please send me acotar asks #I'm trying to rekindle my acotar hyperfixation again and this is helping a lot lmao #lo answers #look it's lo

[perseusannabeth]

Chapter 8 - Cassian

A/N: Hi guys, long time no see!

I just want to thank everyone for all the lovely comments you left me during this really long break I took. I really appreciated them, even though I didn't respond. You guys were the reason I carried on writing.

After I posted the last chapter, my grandad got really ill, and he passed away at the beginning of this year, so I've been super absent because as you can imagine, taking care of my grandad, and then dealing with his sickness and then death took it out of me. I'm doing a lot better now though, but writing isn't coming to me as easily as it was before.

I felt like since I finally finished writing and editing this chapter, everyone deserved it, but I have no idea when the next chapter will be. I promise I'm still writing this fic, I'm just taking a long time to write the chapters.

With that being said, please remember that this fic is angsty. There are no trigger warnings I can think of for this chapter, but if people think of any that need to be added, please let me know!

Word count:   7282

LMBYH Masterlist | My Masterlist | My Ask Box | Read on AO3

Cassian had never been the kind of man to live in excess. He enjoyed his wine and whiskey as much as the next person, but he rarely got drunk. Frankly, he found the effects on his health the morning after far too much for a man of his age. This night, however, was making Cassian wish he could work his way up to a drunken stupor because the after-effects of that would be more enjoyable than this night. 

It hadn’t all been bad though. He had felt fairly good at the beginning of the ball and eventually had felt a level of joy he hadn’t known was possible when he had danced with his wife. The dance had given him hope that perhaps they could grow to have a more ‘normal’ relationship as husband and wife one day. One where they could grow to care for one another, and where they could depend on each other. They could become a husband and wife partnership that his parents had never had. Cassian had felt the chemistry with his wife, and he had wanted more. But hope was for fools, and he was the biggest fool of them all.

Nesta had seemed to be enjoying herself, talking to old Devlon. He hadn’t even known they were friends, but that made Kallon’s outburst at their wedding even worse. Then she was sat by her sister, and Feyre seemed so happy to spend time with Nesta. He somehow managed to lose sight of his wife, he thought she was safe with Feyre. He didn’t want to make it seem like he was following her, he had stayed close by if she needed him. He didn’t want to smother her.

It had come as a shock to him when Adelaide told him his wife was not feeling well, and he looked around to notice she wasn’t in the main hall like he thought. When he had tried to find Nesta, he had managed to get cornered by Ianthe, which he should’ve known would happen. Then of course, he was careless and Nesta saw them together, and as he tried to chase his wife and explain what she had seen, only for her to bump into Philp Mandray of all people. It was like a nightmare, only worse because Cassian knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was real. He wished he knew what he had done to deserve this. 

The events of the night felt like they were catching up with him, and his head certainly felt like it was spinning. He wished he could just go to sleep and forget any of this had happened, but he couldn’t. Cassian wasn’t sure how long he stood there, looking at Philip and Nesta before he managed to shake himself out of his daze. Seeing Philip was a shock to the system. He knew that Philip would not be welcome at Helion’s house. Helion had his own issues with Philip Mandray way before the issue of Cassian marrying Nesta had happened.  

“Nesta, are you alright?” Cassian asked loudly, reminding both Philip and Nesta of his presence. Nesta flinched at the sound of his voice. Cassian felt like a knife had pierced his chest at the sight of his wife, practically in another man’s arms, flinching at the sound of his voice hurt him more than he cared to admit. 

“She’s fine, she’s always been very clumsy,” Philip responded, his voice grating on Cassian’s nerves as he spoke, a smirk on his face. Cassian’s hands were balled up, wishing he could throw a punch, but he couldn’t let his anger get the better of him like it did at his wedding. He needed to make sure Nesta was okay. 

“I wasn’t aware that you had changed your name Mandray. Last time I checked, Nesta was my wife’s name. Care to explain why you decided to respond on her behalf?”

Philip’s face was instantly flooded with red, a mixture of anger and embarrassment, which brought Cassian great joy. Cassian hadn’t given a shit about Philip Mandray before, not until he had stopped Cassian from meeting Nesta before their wedding. Still, Cassian couldn’t bring himself to feel even the smallest ounce of guilt when it came to embarrassing Philip. 

“Nesta, sweetheart, are you okay?” Cassian asked softly as he stepped forward. He slowly walked towards his wife, putting himself between her and Philip. 

It seemed like that had been the right move, because Cassian coming into her line of sight seemed to snap her out of the state of shock she had gone into, and she didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice when she was looking at him. Cassian started to move his hand slowly to help her up, not wanting any sudden movements to startle his already terrified wife, but she didn’t even wait for his hand to become fully outstretched before she grabbed his arm so tightly Cassian wondered if she would leave marks. His wife was delicate and didn’t look like she would have the strength to do so, but she might prove him wrong.

She gripped him like she was afraid to let go, so Cassian brought her close by his side. Although he and his wife were not ones for public displays of affection, or any affection, Cassian felt that with Philip around, a united front was needed. 

“I wasn’t aware that you were invited to Helion’s party Mr Mandray,” Cassian said, in the hope of reminding the man that he was risking making a huge scene if the hosts discovered he was here uninvited. A man like Philip put a lot of thought into his appearance, and sometimes needed reminding that he was not as untouchable as he thought. 

“I was not, but I’m sure that I could’ve gotten an invite if I wanted. Anything can be bought for a price, after all,” Philip said, responding to Cassian but not taking his eyes off Nesta, who had buried her face in his chest. Cassian was trying not to focus on the fact this was the most physical contact they’d had since the wedding night.  

“Well, an invitation to this party cannot be bought. I suggest you leave before you end up embarrassing yourself by having to be removed forcibly. I’m sure the guests would enjoy the entertainment though, if you feel like putting on a show,” Cassian said, smirking at him.

“There’s no need for the threats. That’s not the kind of behaviour I would expect from a Duke,” Philip said, tutting and shaking his head in fake disappointment. 

“Ah yes but you forget, I’m not just simply a Duke. I was also in Her Majesty’s army. This is a tame reaction for a soldier,” Cassian said sternly. He didn’t remind people of his history very often, but Philip Mandray needed to be reminded that he was a threat.

Unfortunately for Cassian, it seemed that Philip didn’t give a shit. “What good is a soldier who has no experience in a war? We have been at peace for so long that your title is just for show.”

“I don’t need to justify my service to the likes of you. The Queen is aware of what I did for my country,” Cassian said, wishing he was able to say more. 

Thankfully, Nesta tightened her grip on Cassian’s arm, reminding him she was in desperate need to get out of there. Although they hadn’t spoken about him very much, Cassian was very aware of how terrified she was of Phillip. He simply decided to ignore Philip’s existence (as much as it pained him) and focus on his clearly terrified wife. 

“Do you remember what I said before we came? About how if you want to go home, you just need to say the word?” He asked quietly, so only Nesta could hear. Philip watched them with great curiosity, but Cassian ignored him. 

Nesta had been shaking in his arms before, but now she was still. Cassian knew she remembered what he had said, but she didn’t say a word. He didn’t know why he was forcing Nesta to tell him she was uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but he felt like it was important for her to say this.

He waited for a response, before deciding that perhaps it was best to ease her into these things. He knew she wouldn't have been allowed to voice her opinion while married to Tomas. 

“Nesta, I need an answer. Do you want to go home?”

Nesta was so still in his arms that he wasn’t sure she had heard him. He was about to repeat himself when she nodded, her face still buried in his chest, but it was enough of a step for Cassian. He knew that telling him she wanted to go home had not been easy for her. 

He didn’t bother glancing at Philip, who was glaring at him with such hatred that Cassian wished he could punch him. It seemed unfair that he had punched Kallon at the wedding, but had never once laid hands on Philip, despite him being far worse in some respects. 

Still, he had someone else to think about now. He couldn’t let his emotions rule him, not when he had Nesta to worry about. He led Nesta into Helion’s study, knowing the guards would be standing around. As lax as Helion could be, he would never give someone the opportunity to slip into his study when nobody was paying attention. He’d learnt the hard way that he always had to be prepared. 

Thankfully, the guards knew Cassian well enough to allow him into the study. He guided Nesta onto one of the many armchairs placed around the room, before going to the guard at the door, asking him to find someone to bring his carriage around to the side entrance. With the state Nesta was in, he didn’t want the partygoers to talk about her more than they already were. 

A servant was called and asked to relay a message to Helion and Adelaide that the two of them would be leaving now. They would pass the message on to Nesta’s sisters and the rest of their friends so nobody would worry. He would have to explain what happened later on, once he had made sure Nesta was okay. He knew he had some explaining to do to his wife first, but seeing Philip had clearly scared her. He needed to make sure she was okay before talking to her about anything else that had happened during the evening. He didn’t want to add to her stress and worsen her condition, because she looked incredibly unwell right now. 

Cassian was tempted to send a rider to go get the doctor so that they would arrive home at the same time as the doctor and he would be able to check Nesta over. Thankfully, the rational part of Cassian’s mind reminded him that his wife wasn’t even comfortable around him, so there was no way she would remain calm when a doctor tried to do an examination. 

Since she had been seated in the armchair, Nesta had gone still. Before, when she had been in his arms, she had been shaking uncontrollably; whether this was due to her fear or shock, Cassian was unsure. Now, she was not reacting to anything. He had called her name a few times, moving in front of her hoping to snap her out of her trance, but there was nothing, not even a trace of recognition. He didn’t want to risk touching her in case she reacted badly. She seemed to shy away from him at the best of times. 

Thankfully, the carriage pulled around the French doors, probably ruining Helion’s perfectly manicured lawn, but Cassian didn’t give a shit if he was perfectly honest. He knew that Helion and Adelaide wouldn’t care either. 

“Nesta, the carriage is here. Let’s get you home now,” Cassian said gently as he kneeled down in front of her, slowly putting his hand on Nesta’s. Thankfully, that seemed to be enough to bring Nesta back into the present, although she seemed disorientated. 

Cassian guided her into the carriage by her hand, similar to how you would take a child by the hand to guide them. Cassian joined her in the carriage, trying to give her as much space as possible in a carriage. 

Not knowing what to say, Cassian decided to stay silent. His silence allowed him to get lost in his own thoughts, which mostly consisted of him thinking how nice the calm before the storm had been. His mind kept going back to how beautiful Nesta had looked while dancing in his arms. He had never seen his wife radiate such joy, and he wished he could go back to that. Instead, it had all gone to hell as soon as she left his arms, or so it felt like. There had been chaos after, and Cassian couldn’t understand what happened. Only, that was a lie. He hadn’t been careful. He had let his guard down in his joy of being out with his wife.

He was pulled out of his melancholy thoughts by the sound of Nesta gasping for breath. It seemed like she had come out of the trance, and now the panic in her eyes told Cassian she was hyperventilating. 

“Nesta, it’s okay, you’re safe. Please, just breathe,” Cassian said, scrambling closer to her. His movements made her flinch away from him, so he stilled and sat as still as he possibly could in a moving carriage. 

His words were no help to her, Nesta’s mind was already riddled with panic, and her breathing was getting shallower and louder. Cassian knew she needed fresh air, but stopping their carriages on the mostly deserted roads was not safe either, so he made a decision, which was most definitely a stupid decision. 

He moved to the door of the carriage while he shucked off his overcoat, wrapping it around his hand clumsily, and then punched the glass. It shattered instantly, causing Nesta’s strangled-sounding breaths to stop. He ignored the pain in his hand and cleaned all the glass near Nesta so she wouldn’t get hurt. 

Once her path to the broken window was as safe as he could make it, he moved back to the other side of the carriage. “You needed fresh air to help make you feel better. Please mind the glass,” Cassian said, nodding at the window. 

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again after no words came out. She took some time, but eventually, she moved towards the broken window and closed her eyes. The gentle breeze moved the strands of hair that had come out of her coronet, and Cassian could almost fool himself into pretending she looked calm. 

For the rest of the carriage ride, Nesta closed her eyes and focused on her breathing while Cassian watched her cautiously from the other side of the carriage. She didn’t seem to be calming down, not that he could tell anyway, but she was certainly getting control of herself again. Cassian wished he knew what that meant though. Was it calming enough? Did that mean she felt better, or just better enough to hide her emotions from Cassian? He assumed it was the latter, but it didn’t stop him from wishing he knew his wife better. How could they live together if they didn’t know each other? Every time he tried opening up to her, he was met with a cold hard wall. He knew she didn’t want to share things about her previous marriage, and he assumed none of it could be good, but he knew nothing. 

A normal married couple would know things like each other’s likes and dislikes, and what made them happy or sad. A normal husband would know how to comfort his wife when she was in the state Nesta was in. But Cassian was no normal husband. How could he be, when Nesta was no normal wife? He didn’t need a normal relationship, and he had known that their marriage would be normal, but he didn’t imagine feeling so helpless. He had assumed that taking Nesta away from the Mandray house would free her. He didn’t realise the impact the years had on her until he started living with her. 

When the carriage stopped outside of their house, Cassian felt relief. He knew that, here at least, Nesta was safe and comfortable. He had control of the environment, the situation and the people now, so he might be able to be more useful to Nesta. At the very least, he could do things to distract himself from the helplessness while his wife fought the demons in her mind.  

He jumped out of the carriage, holding the door open for Nesta so she didn’t touch the broken glass. She stepped out gingerly, looking so weak that Cassian fought the urge not to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed. 

Hill was waiting at the door, watching pensively as they came in. She knew Cassian well enough to know when something was wrong, and nobody could look at Nesta and assume she was okay.

“What do you need me to do?” Hill asked, ready to jump into action as per usual. 

“I need some tea if you don’t mind,” Cassian said. Hill didn’t say anything, just rushing off towards the kitchen. 

He guided Nesta to their bedroom, trying his best not to come too close to her. She seemed to be walking in a trance, the part of her brain that knew her routine just took over as she walked to their rooms. Nesta walked in and took a step towards the dressing room before Cassian gently told her to sit down.

She froze, and Cassian was sure that she had forgotten he was even there. “If you would just take a seat for a few moments, Hill will be here soon. I would feel much better if you drank some tea to calm your nerves before attempting to sleep.”

He knew saying he wanted Nesta to drink the tea was a low blow, she would see it as a direct order from him, but right now he didn’t care. If she was only willing to sit and drink the damned tea because he told her to, he would order her gladly. He needed to do something, anything to make himself feel better. 

Nesta sat down, as he requested, on his mother’s armchair, which pleased Cassian, and he couldn’t quite say why. Either way, seeing his wife sitting in his mother’s favourite chair was a nice feeling. It calmed his nerves ever so slightly. 

“Your hand,” Nesta murmured, as Cassian sat down on one of the other chairs. 

“Pardon?” Cassian asked. She had spoken so quietly that he wasn’t sure he had heard her properly.

“Your hand, you hurt it,” Nesta said, looking at his injury. 

Cassian followed her gaze to his hand, and to his surprise, it was bleeding. It looked rather gruesome, and as though it should hurt, and yet Cassian hadn’t even noticed it. He had assumed his clumsily wrapped overcoat would do the job, but in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about it very much. He had been far too distracted to realise he had hurt himself, and Nesta was clearly confused about how he didn’t notice it himself. 

“It isn’t bothering me, my lady, there’s no need to worry,” Cassian said, trying to soothe her worries while covering his hand with his other hand. 

Nesta’s frown deepened. She leaned closer toward him and gently pulled his bleeding hand closer to her for inspection. Cassian went still, holding his breath so that any movement didn’t stop his wife from voluntarily holding his hand. Of course, the circumstances weren’t great, but she had willingly held his hand! He certainly wasn’t feeling any pain now that his wife was holding his hand in hers so gently. 

As a man, society dictated that Cassian didn’t need people to be gentle with him. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him, he had simply accepted it was how life was and moved on. Nesta held his hand gently while she inspected it was the first time someone had been this soft since his mother had died. He hadn’t even realised he missed it. He had assumed when he thought about his mother and it hurt, he was missing her. He didn’t realise he was also missing the kind of love and affection that a man only ever receives from his mother.

It was strange how such a simple act of the slightest affection could make him feel that way. But it was also strange that Nesta seemed to find his injury grounding. When Hill walked into their rooms, he thought she would startle since she was very engrossed with his hand. Instead, Nesta looked up when she noticed Hill put the tea down next to her, and then listed the supplies for the things she needed. 

Hill looked as surprised as he felt, but she quickly gathered all the supplies. “Do you need any help with anything? I can clean Cassian’s hand while you… Drink your tea,” Hill said, looking at Nesta with her eyebrows raised. 

Nesta didn’t respond; she instead went still. “It’s quite alright, Hill. I think my wife can handle it. You can retire for the night now. We’ve taken up enough of your time,” Cassian said with a smile. He gave Hill a meaningful stare, wanting her to get out. If his wife was comfortable dealing with his bloodied hand, then he certainly would not pass the opportunity up. 

Hill left with a small shake of her head, likely knowing exactly what Cassian was thinking. Then again, Hill most likely thought there would be more going on tonight than just Nesta dealing with his injury.

Nesta worked in silence, but it was clear from her actions that she was an expert at cleaning wounds. She picked out the glass pieces and put them into a cloth. Thankfully, There were only two fairly small glass pieces and they had not dug into anything important. It seemed that most of the damage had been done when he had punched the glass window, which was to be expected with his poorly wrapped hand. Perhaps he should not have moved quite so hastily, but he was far too worried about Nesta to care. 

Once Nesta was sure his hand was clear of glass, she dipped another cloth into the bowl of water that Hill had provided, and gently cleaned his hand. Once the hand was clean and Nesta could inspect the wounds properly, she assessed that the cuts were not bad enough to warrant stitches. Cassian was glad to hear that news because although he was able to grit his teeth through the pain, he shuddered at the sight of a needle ready to sew his skin together. He could stomach it, but barely, and would rather drink some poppy syrup. He didn’t really want his wife to see him in that kind of state. 

Nesta wrapped his hand gently, smoothing down the bandages as though she was caressing his hand. He wished he could feel her caress on his skin. His longing was interrupted by Nesta. 

“You’ll need to keep it clean and change the bandage too. I do feel that we should perhaps get it checked over just in case the cut is deeper than it seems, or worse still if any glass remains.” Nesta said, looking at him with concern.

“I think perhaps it is too late to call on the doctor without it being an emergency, but I promise that I will get it checked tomorrow.”

Nesta nodded and then moved away from him to sit back in her chair properly. She slumped down, as though the toll of the day was physically weighing her down. They sat there in silence for a while, Nesta staring into the distance, Cassian watching her subtly. 

Eventually, Nesta stood up. “It’s late, and I think I’ll get ready for bed, if that’s alright with you, your Grace?”

Cassian ignored the way she still asked for his permission. He didn’t have the energy to fight that particular battle right now, not after the night they’d had. He simply nodded and watched as she quickly scurried away into her dressing rooms.

\\\///

Cassian had hoped that his fitful night’s sleep would fix everything, but he had known deep down that he was being foolish. When he woke the next morning and looked at his wife’s tired face, he knew that the previous night’s events had taken its toll on both of them more than he had hoped. He felt like he was fumbling and had no idea how he could fix this mess. 

Nesta seemed intent on carrying on with her day as though everything was normal. She went to her refuge, the library, even though she looked ready to drop. She asked for her breakfast to be taken to the library. Claude was thrilled, saying that it was a sign that she was feeling more comfortable making more demands. Cassian wasn’t so sure but didn’t want to say anything to make things worse. Plus, if he made Claude sad, the whole household would feel the effects of a sad Claude, and that was truly something to fear. 

Cassian worried about his wife. Her resilience was something he admired greatly, but he wished she didn’t need to be this way. He wished he knew how to talk to and comfort her, especially after seeing the fear in her eyes when she was with Philip. He didn’t want to be a traditional, stern husband who barely spoke to his wife. He wanted his wife to rely on him, to be able to talk to him and tell him how she feels and what she thinks. 

Nesta seemed perpetually terrified of everything, and he sometimes felt like she was probably afraid of her own shadow. The way she had looked at Philip was different though. Something had happened to make her scared of him. The problem was Nesta was not likely to confide in Cassian about these things, and unless she did so, he couldn’t reassure her that nothing like that happened to her again. But for her to believe that she would have to trust him, and Cassian knew she didn’t. He didn’t blame her, but it hurt a little.

Cassian tried his best to leave Nesta to her own devices, but it was no use. His mind was constantly occupied by worries for her, wondering if she was okay, and a week after the party he was close to his breaking point. He had to ask Jacob to repeat himself on multiple occasions, but Cassian was just thankful that Jacob hadn’t commented on his lack of focus. 

When Jacob had suggested that perhaps the problem with the tenants could wait until tomorrow, Cassian had felt grateful that he was being given an out. It was too soon after the chaos of yesterday for him to be able to carry on as normal. His tenants would survive one day without him. 

Cassian didn’t instantly want to go running to the library to see what Nesta was doing, worried that she would find him smothering. It was difficult for him because all Cassian wanted to do was check on his wife, spend time with her and get to know her. The fear of alienating his wife was the only thing that made him go see Claude in the kitchens instead.

“Cassian, what are you doing here? Surely you know better than to come into Claude’s territory unannounced!” Matthew said. 

Cassian smiled at the young man, who, braver than most in his household, had volunteered when Claude had needed an assistant in the kitchens. Even Hill had shuddered at the thought of working in the kitchens with Claude.

Matthew was either very brave or very stupid, and Cassian truly could not tell which one it was. He had volunteered to work with Claude, which was a first. Even Claude had been shocked since the cook was nothing if not self-aware of his tyranny in the kitchen.

“I promise not to touch anything. I was just wanting some company,” Cassian said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Now it was Matthew’s turn to laugh. “And I suppose you seeking Claude out has nothing to do with how he sits with your wife. Your wife is quiet, but Claude manages to bring out the chatty side of her.”

Cassian had no clever response for that. He knew he had been caught. He smiled bashfully, and just shrugged, looking for Claude so he could talk to him. Matthew, knowing how these things work by now, simply informed him that Claude was outside and left them to it. 

Cassian walked outside to see Claude in his garden patch. Claude was a big believer that if you could do it yourself, you should, and so he grew many fruits and vegetables himself. It was yet another reason why Claude was one of the best chefs in Velaris.

“Let me guess, you need my help to woo your wife,” Claude said, not looking up from his thorough inspection of his carrots. 

Cassian spluttered, trying to come up with a way to sound less pathetic, but there was no way to achieve that. In the end, he gave up, took a deep breath and said, “I think I messed up.”

That made Claude look up in an instant, and a heart-stopping glare came his way. “What on earth have you done now? I should’ve known not to trust you with her alone. You’re such a brute. You have no idea how to treat a real lady,” Claude huffed in annoyance. 

“Honestly Claude, if you can tell me what I did and tell you how to fix it, I’ll owe you forever,” Cassian said, running his hands through his hair. That made Claude pause. He knew Cassian well enough to know when things were serious. 

“Tell me everything that happened.”

“It was all going really well, we danced, and she was smiling so much. I’ve not seen her that happy before. I could finally see some real emotions from her, not the ones she wears as a mask.” he sighed, thinking back to how radiant Nesta had seemed in the ballroom. It had been a moment where Cassian believed they could be happy together. They would work through whatever demons Nesta was fighting, and they would be able to be happy. 

“It’s probably my fault things went wrong. I was talking to the others, and Nesta got up. I don’t know where she went or who she spoke to. You know how mercenary those women can be. I should’ve prepared her better. We all should’ve. But then Adelaide told me Nesta was in distress and she needed me. I went to the room I thought she was in and Ianthe told me-”

“Ianthe? What did that snake want?” Claude spat. Ianthe was not popular with his friends and family, especially considering how she had tried to integrate herself into their group. Cassian decided it would be best to keep the details of their interaction to a bare minimum, or his life might end up in danger. 

“The usual, but that’s not the worst of it Claude. Nesta ran into Philip Mandray,” Cassian revealed. 

“Fuck!” Claude exclaimed. 

“My thoughts exactly. I have no idea what he said to her, Claude. They couldn't have been alone for more than two minutes before I got there, but it was enough for him to say something that troubled her. The colour had all drained away from her face, and I was worried she was about to faint. She looked so unwell.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” 

“At the time I was too focused on getting her home, it had all clearly been too overwhelming for her and then seeing Philip was just too much for her.”

“And what about since then? The next day did you try?”

“Claude, I know you don’t believe me when I say this, but I swear, I’m not actually an idiot. I’ve tried to broach the subject so many times, but she either leaves the room or changes the subject. Last night she even pretended to have fallen asleep, even though I could see her peeking to see if I had gone to sleep! I don’t know what else I can do.”

Claude’s angry expression melted away to sadness. “I’m not sure what I can suggest either, Cassian. I know she talks to me, but that doesn’t mean she’s open with me. In fact, she’s only ever talkative when asking me questions about my cooking. If I try to bring up other subjects she’s the same as when she talks to anyone else.”

“I don’t know what to do, Claude. At this point, I don’t even need her to open up to me. If she’s happier with me not knowing, that’s fine, but the problem is, Nesta won’t talk to anyone about what happened to her while married to Tomas. She won’t open up to her sisters, and she doesn’t seem to have any friends. It’s not healthy! The only thing that’s keeping me sane is that she seems to be happy in the library. I try to stay out of there as much as I can because it now feels like I’m encroaching on her safe space, but I worry about her being alone all the time.”

The two let the silence stretch on them until Matthew came out. “My goddess, it's miserable out here. What happened, did you two argue again?”

“No, we’re just worried about Nesta,” Claude said.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t talk to anyone and we’re worried that bottling things up is making her ill,” Claude explained.

“Well, has anyone else talked to her about their own struggles?” Matthew asked.

“What do you mean?” Cassian asked with a frown.

“Well, we all know what the Mandray house is rumoured to be like, so I understand your concern. The duchess does not act in a way that could be considered normal, but I’m sure she’s aware of that herself. Everyone who tries to get her to open up is doing so out of concern, but they don’t understand her. I don’t want to step out of line here, but is there anyone who she could relate to? Someone who’s been in a similar situation so she can see she’s not alone?” Matthew spoke as Claude and Cassian looked at each other with wide eyes. 

“Why, Matthew, you’re a genius!” Claude leapt up and hugged the man, startling Matthew. “Of course, she isn’t going to feel comfortable talking to us!”

“You’re right, but who could she possibly feel comfortable with?” Cassian asked, unwilling to let himself get excited about something when he had no idea how to carry out the admittedly good idea. 

At that moment, a boy called out for Cassian, and it was like he had been sent from someone up above as an answer to their question. 

“I’m really sorry, Mr Duke sir, but me and my sister were playin’ out by the front with a ball, and I think we broke a window, sir. It was my fault, sir, I’m terribly sorry,” the boy said, trembling in front of him, but making eye contact nevertheless. Cassian would guess the boy was no older than 6 or 7 years old.  

Claude let out a chuckle, startling the boy. “No need to worry about Cassian when it comes to broken windows Arthur. Cassian has probably broken every window in this place at some point or another.”

The boy, Arthur, looked from Claude to Cassian cautiously. “Why don’t you take me to where you were playing and show me what happened?” Cassian asked, gesturing to the boy to lead the way. It looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do, but clearly, Arthur felt like he had no choice. 

“Of course, sir,” he said, resigned to his fate clearly. 

“So, your mother is Eleanor, correct?” Cassian questioned, having finally been able to place the boy.

“Yes, sir, I’m the eldest. I have a little sister, Jane. She’s the one I was playing with, but it was all my fault, sir,” the boy sounded panicked, clearly worried his sister would get into trouble.

“It’s quite alright, Arthur. I know it’s hard to believe this, but I truly was a scoundrel when I was young. My mother used to despair when I played with my friends. Accidents happen, I’m just glad nobody was hurt.” The boy remained quiet, so Cassian attempted to change the subject. “Do you like living here?” He asked, not sure what other types of small talk he could make. 

“Yes sir, I’m ever so grateful you took us in and allowed my mother to work for you. I ask you not to punish my mother or sister for something I did. I’ll take any punishment you give, sir.”

At that, Cassian frowned. “I won’t punish you, your mother or your sister for this, Arthur. It was an accident, and I believe you.” Cassian stopped in the middle of the path leading them to the front of the house. They were almost there, but Cassian felt he needed to clear things up with the boy. “I will never raise my hand against any of you. If anyone ever dares to do so, then you come to me or Jacob. Even if you have to disturb us, it is our duty to make sure people are safe.”

“I’m the man of the house. My job is to look after my mother and sister,” Arthur said, puffing his chest out to show Cassian importance.

“That’s a very big responsibility for someone so small, but I have no doubt in my mind that you do the job well,” Cassian said with a smile.

The boy’s shoulders slumped at that. “I only look small. I’m actually 10 years old!” The boy said frustratedly.

Cassian was shocked at that. The boy didn’t look big enough for 10. He was all skin and bones, but Cassian remembered how Eleanor had looked when she had first arrived here. The look of hunger was not something that went away easily. Eleanor had admitted to Cassian that she had run away from her husband, and she was worried about him finding them and wanting retribution, but she had never gone into any further detail. Cassian hadn’t needed details from her when he had seen how hungry she looked. In all honesty, the marks she bore were enough for him to know that Eleanor needed his help. The fact that she had come to enquire about a job in the stables despite not knowing anything about horses was also a testament to how desperate she was for money. 

It had been lucky that Cassian had been thinking about the way he probably needed a lady’s maid, as he had recently agreed to marry Nesta. He knew Eleanor would be perfect for the role, so he took her and her children in with no questions. 

He had seen the children around, and they seemed happy, but he didn’t realise how much the children had suffered at their father’s hand. It shocked him that a man could treat his own flesh and blood so poorly, but then again, if a man hit his wife, what morals could he claim to have?

“I know you are a brave young man, Arthur, and I’m sure you protect your mother and sister very well. Sometimes being young can help in these matters,” Cassian told the boy, who was frowning, studying Cassian.

“How?”

“Well, someone like my wife might feel more at ease around you compared to a grown man,” Cassian said, probing to see if the boy would take the bait.

“Your wife?” The boy asked curiously. “Is that the lady who is in the library?”

“Yes! You see, I wish there was a young man like you to keep an eye on her. That way, I’d know she’s safe without making her feel uncomfortable.” Cassian hesitated, wondering how much he should tell the boy. “You see, the man she was married to before was not very nice, and neither was his older brother. He was like your father, actually.” 

At the mention of his father, Arthur looked angry. “I’ll make sure she’s safe from them all!” He declared angrily.

Cassan ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. “I think she would appreciate some company in the library, especially with all those big heavy books. Perhaps when you have some spare time, you can help her?”

“Yes, of course!”

There was some commotion in the distance, reminding both of them of the broken window situation. “Oh, we’d best hurry to that window!”

They both rushed off and saw a little girl who Cassian assumed was Arthur’s sister Jane. Eleanor and Jacob had also turned up and were trying to comfort the little girl who was beside herself. The commotion had clearly attracted Nesta’s attention, as she hovered at the end of the path to her library, but she came no closer. She instead watched Cassian, probably to see what he would do. Cassian looked up at the window to see Hill already cleaning up the glass that had fallen inside. 

“Is that all?” Cassian asked as he looked at the damage. 

“Yes sir,” Arthur replied. 

Cassian let out a laugh. “I had assumed it would be so much worse. That is only a small crack. I was assuming I would have to replace the whole window and the pane, the way you described it to me.”

“I can arrange for it to be fixed by tomorrow, Cassian, but in the meanwhile, Hill said she’d board up the hole. Is that alright?” Jacob asked. Cassian nodded. 

“See, Janie, I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Arthur said, acting like he hadn’t been scared out of his mind to tell Cassian. Cassian decided to let the boy have this victory, though, as it stopped the little girl from crying.

As Arthur went over to comfort his sister, Eleanor came over to Cassian. “My lord, I can’t thank you enough. I will work unpaid until you have covered the costs of your window replacement,” she said in her quiet, gentle voice. 

“Eleanor, I’m not going to do that. But you don’t have to worry about it anyway. Arthur has taken care of it all.” Eleanor looked at him curiously but said nothing, so Cassian elaborated. “He’s going to spend some time with Nesta, keep an eye on her, and keep her company. I’m worried about her, but your son has a good head on his shoulders, and I trust him.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Eleanor said, smiling as she watched her children talking animatedly to Jacob, trying to explain how the window broke. Jacob was in good humour and went along with their dramatics. 

Cassian was well aware of his wife watching them from a distance, but he felt no need to try and rope her into this conversation. He was content that, finally, he might be able to bring her out of whatever she was going through. Watching the children, so innocent and full of joy, gave him hope. Their resilience reminded him that people could always come back from sadness, but sometimes they needed a little help.

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[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxii, ao3)

Chapter twenty-two: Hybern attacks Velaris, and Cassian is caught unawares. (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

All he could think of was that bracelet.

It had been two days - two achingly long, indeterminable days - and still all Cassian could think of was that simple piece of string threaded with glass beads, bought for a single coin from a Starfall market stall. The bracelet he had bought her had still been tied about Nesta’s wrist as she had stood there in that sitting room below the wall, the sleeves of her dress not quite long enough to hide it as it contended with that dull silver wedding ring on her third finger. 

He’d traced that bracelet with his thumb as the words he so longed to say got stuck in his throat— and they were still there now, trapped, like a splinter he couldn’t pull loose. 

I love you.

More than anything— I love you.

For two days, they’d been burning a hole in his chest.

He’d hardly been idle in the time spent since the meeting with the human queens, but still. Time had slowed to an almost unbearable pace, and the days had stretched endless even as the entirety of the Night Court shifted to a war footing. Illyrian forces were mobilised, camped throughout the mountains and waiting for the order to move, and Rhys had already departed for the Court of Nightmares a day and a half ago with Mor, to return the Veritas Orb and rally Keir’s Darkbringers for battle. 

And maybe Cassian imagined it, but it felt like all of Velaris was holding its breath. 

Waiting.

He sighed now, and as the moonlight drifted idle over the jasmine planted in the garden outside, a late-night silence crept through the hallways of the townhouse, where he and Azriel kept watch. Upstairs, Feyre Cursebreaker slept undisturbed.

Like a knife through the dark now, Azriel smirked.

“How’d Devlon take it, anyway?” he asked dryly. “The order to send men below the wall?”

His voice was a smooth rumble through the sitting room, breaking the silence as his head tipped back against the velvet headrest of his armchair. In his hand he swirled a short glass of whiskey, the bottle one of Rhys’ finest, raided from his cellar.

Cassian snorted in answer, the siphon on his hand flaring a little in the grey light. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Understatement.

Devlon’s exact words had been that the order was a ‘waste of time’, and that if war was coming, his men were needed in the camps instead of ‘going below the wall for the sake of two humans’. He’d sneered as he said the word human, like the taste of it on his tongue was an affront somehow.

‘They’re warriors, not bodyguards,’ he’d hissed. 

AndCassian had looked at the man who’d taught him to wield a sword and seen only Nesta’s face, heard her heart beating as the wind tore through the mountains. For her, he kept his temper in check. For her, he let only his face darken. 

‘Eight men,’ he’d ordered flatly, flexing his fingers before curling his hand into a fist. As if Devlon needed the reminder, Cassian kept his voice that of a general, stone-cold and darkly authoritative. ‘Four at each estate’.

To his credit, Rhys had merely nodded and said, ‘You heard him. Eight men, Devlon.’

His way of apologising, Cassian supposed.

When they’d returned to Velaris after the meeting with the queens, they had all of them been subdued. But Rhys had kept a hand on Feyre’s thigh beneath the table, as if afraid to let her go, and when Cassian had looked away - unable to bear the sight of it - he thought for a moment that genuine remorse flashed across his brother’s face.

Oh, how desperately he wished Nesta had agreed to come with them.

She could be here, right now. Sitting beside him in the armchair by the fire, Elain with her, all three Archerons safe and sound and warm. But he knew better than to hope, to dream. Elain would not abandon her engagement, and Nesta would not abandon Elain. Not yet. Not until she was settled— and how could he blame her?

It was one of the things he loved about her— the way she’d throw herself on the fire to save her sister.

The thought had an ache blooming behind his ribs, and gods, he wished he’d had the chance to tell her.

Because in that moment - when he’d watched her tears fall - he’d known it with such absolute, bone-deep certainty that his chest hadn’t felt able to contain it. She wasn’t just his mate. No, she was his everything, and he loved her, so completely that it stole his breath. And he’d been so close to telling her— the words had been just there, waiting to trip off his tongue, but Rhys had been hurrying him along and Elain had been standing by the window and no matter how much Cassian yearned, he hadn’t wanted it to be spoken like that— desperate and rushed.

No, he wanted to savour the moment he told Nesta Archeron he loved her.

Next time.

He’d tell her next time he saw her.

“Have you had contact with them?” Azriel asked, his voice pulling Cassian away from thoughts of silver-blue eyes and golden-brown hair and a scowl that could set hearts racing.

He blinked. “Who?”

Az rolled his eyes, a small smile pulling almost unseen at the corner of his lips. “The men you sent below the wall.”

Cassian cleared his throat. “We can’t all be daemati, Az,” he said airily, waving a hand to mask the fact that he’d been so consumed by Nesta - as per fucking usual - that he’d forgotten he’d been in the middle of a conversation. “But they know not to take any risks. To stay hidden. To send a report if so much as a branch breaks in the vicinity of either estate.”

The shadowsinger hummed. “Or face the Lord of Bloodshed’s wrath?”

A dark smile spread, menacing, across Cassian’s face. “Exactly.”

Az shook his head lightly, curious eyes cutting through the gathering dark and gleaming in the firelight. He canted his face to the side, the shadows at his shoulders skirting away from the glow of the flames as they alighted on his jaw. For a moment there was silence, a quiet hush where neither of them spoke.

But Cassian knew better than to think his brother had run out of things to say. No, when Azriel had that look in his eyes, Cassian knew he was merely searching for the best line of questioning.

Spymaster, through and through.

At last Azriel set down his whiskey, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. 

“So,” he offered slowly, his tone idle, casual, “Nesta calculated the number of ships they’d need.”

Cassian only looked at his brother mildly. “You’re surprised?”

Az quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“No.”

It was as simple as that. He hadn’t been surprised at all, and as he looked to the flames burning in the hearth, Azriel leaned back in his armchair, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his lips as he tipped his head back, dark hair stark against the velvet headrest.

“Rhys was. Did you see his face?”

Cassian shook his head. 

No, he hadn’t been looking at anybody else. Hadn’t been able to. Nesta had stepped forward and all he’d been able to see was her, like the rest of the world had been rendered insignificant the moment she opened her mouth. Az let out a soft breath of a laugh now, one of pleasant surprise, before his face turned somber.

“You love her.”

Cassian lifted his eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

Az smiled. “Yes.”

For the first time, Cassian let a smile of his own grace his face. It was wry and soft, like the most tentative and fragile kind of hope, and it was fuelled entirely by the thought of her— the woman he loved so utterly it might well prove to be his undoing. His eyes eyes flicked up to the ceiling, as if he could see to the floor above, where Feyre slept.

“I thought Rhys was going to kill me,” he said softly, the barest breath of a laugh slipping through his lips.

Az raised an eyebrow. “What, for threatening the queens?”

Cassian nodded as Azriel snorted. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled. Way to burn our bridges, Cass.”

You’ll speak to her with the respect she deserves, or you won’t speak at all.

If anybody touches you, I’ll be the one to start this fucking war.

With a roll of his eyes, Cassian could think only of how he’d take a match to those bridges all over again if it would erase that look of despair from his mate’s eyes. He’d burn the world to the ground and dance in the ashes if it meant that Nesta never had reason to shed another tear.

Idly he rubbed his jaw, thinking of how she’d pulled away from him in that sitting room, when the orb had finished showing the queens the city. He’d felt Nesta’s fingers slip free of his, like she couldn’t bear any of them to notice— to scrutinise the way she held his hand the same way they’d scrutinised Elain’s engagement ring.

Rhys was lucky that Cassian had only threatened the queens.

He curled his hand into a fist now, resting on the curved wooden armrest of the townhouse armchair. His heart ached behind his ribs, and as Az blinked warily, the light of the fire turning the glow of his siphon from the brightest sapphire to a darkened purple, Cassian didn’t know what else to say.

She had wrecked him. Laid waste to him entirely, and now all he was left with was the longing that weighed down his chest— made so much worse by the fact that she could have been here, sitting under the same roof, watching the same silver light gild the windowpanes.

But she wasn’t.

And he didn’t know when he’d see her again, when he’d finally get the chance to say those three little words that were still lodged in his throat. 

Weary, he shook his head.

“I’m going to bed,” he said with a sigh, rising from his chair. He stretched his wings, rolled his shoulders, and gave the windows one last glance to be sure they were all secure. Stifling a yawn, he clapped Azriel on the shoulder. His brother nodded, but made no attempt to move. 

Cassian didn’t push.

Az had never slept well, even when they were boys and shared a room together, and he’d learned long ago that sometimes the shadowsinger needed the silence and the darkness. They had all of them witnessed horrors over the centuries, but it had been Azriel who had visited the temples this past winter, saw firsthand the wreckage Hybern had left behind at Sangravah. 

So Cassian simply tossed a soft “good night, Az,” behind him as he reached for the door.

And with blue siphons glowing in the dark, Azriel nodded again and said, “Good night, Cass.”

***

As the afternoon stretched before them the next day, Cassian found himself walking the streets of Velaris with the new Lady of the Night Court.

He’d taken one look at Feyre earlier and known she needed a break. With Rhys and Mor away and Amren still sequestered with the Book of Breathings and no closer to a breakthrough in translation, their days had been spent doing nothing but training and preparing for war. They pored over maps of Hybern, ran through the numbers and checked all their supply lines were ready to be used, spent hours in the ring at the top of the House of Wind, and fell exhausted into bed each night. And as Azriel left to scout the coast that morning, Cassian had glanced up over the spread of tea and toast and known that Feyre needed something different today. Something lighter.

She was missing Rhys.

He could tell— just by the way she kept looking to the empty seat at the breakfast table, as if hoping he might surprise her and come home early. Empathy swelled in his chest because Cassian felt her pain, knew what it was to feel the absence of another so keenly it was like the sharp end of a blade, and when he’d thought of another day consumed by strategy… even he shuddered. So after their training he’d suggested an outing, asked Feyre what she’d always wanted to do in Velaris but hadn’t yet had chance. She’d mentioned the theatre, said it had been one of the first things Rhys had pointed out to her, and Cassian’s only question had been whether she wanted to walk or fly across town.

So they had just emerged from some old fae symphony and were headed towards the Palace of Thread and Jewels when Cassian found himself breathing it all in, savouring the wonder of Velaris before the threat of war could bring it all to a halt. The streets were busy, bustling, and music hung in the air from the buskers performing in the squares. A smooth, lyrical melody from a violin drifted towards him now, and beneath his feet the cobbles were smooth and polished. Above, the sky was a cloudless, unbroken blue.

They passed flower stalls and food carts as they wended their way towards the river, and the people smiled at him as they passed. They smiled at Feyre too, like they accepted her already, loved her already, and as Feyre smiled back, he could have sworn there was a soft, faint glow radiating from her as she walked those ancient streets. The breeze tousled her hair, the sun was reflected in her eyes, and when Cassian looked at her, he found it hard to believe that Velaris had ever existed without her.

When she noticed him looking, she nudged him with her shoulder.

“What?” she asked.

Cassian shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You were staring,” she countered with a raised eyebrow. 

He smiled softly. “Just wondering if you were supposed to be here all along, that’s all.”

Feyre shrugged, and gods— she looked so much like Nesta. That irreverent lift of her shoulders, the way her spine was straight and her shoulders held back. Velaris suited Feyre, but as the sun played on her hair, that perfect shade of golden-brown, all Cassian could think was… fuck, she reminds me of Nesta. It was a pang in his chest, a sharp and sudden pain, and Feyre’s face softened, as if she could tell where his thoughts had gone. 

Maybe she could.

Maybe he’d been too busy thinking about her sister to make sure his mental shields were up. If anything was certain, it was that he’d always be defenceless where Nesta Archeron was concerned.

Feyre cleared her throat now.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she began, her steps slowing. “About the promise you made my sister.”

Cassian kept his eyes straight ahead as they climbed the steps to the bridge spanning the Sidra. Feyre drifted to the side and came to a halt, her forearms resting on the carved stone wall as she turned to face the water. Looking out towards the sea, her eyes turned pensive. 

“It meant a great deal to me,” she said gently. “And it will have meant a lot to her, too.”

In another world, another life, he might have said, oh, I know.

But in this world, in this life, where he wasn’t sure whether Rhys had told Feyre that he and Nesta were mates, Cassian only shrugged and didn’t say a word as he joined her at the bridge’s edge. He certainly didn’t say that it was a promise he’d made her sister before, one he’d followed with kisses and touches that were less than proper. No, instead he remained silent and cast his eyes out to where the river met the sea.

Oh, Cassian had known Feyre had been surprised by the declaration he’d made in that sitting room below the wall. She hadn’t stopped stealing glances at him since they’d returned to Velaris, like she had a hundred questions to ask and just didn’t know which one to start with.

“She cares more than she lets on,” Feyre continued, and Cassian couldn’t tell where this was going, what point Feyre was steering for. He might have asked, but instead he simply let out a breath and mirrored her, resting his forearms on the stone wall. 

“I know,” he said softly.

Feyre blinked. “It’s just not— I mean, it’s something she hides. It surprised me, at the meeting. She comes across as vicious, but I think its a shield.” Slowly, she turned her face to him, the afternoon sun glancing off her jaw as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “She’s not… like Mor.”

Cassian frowned. He didn’t want Nesta to be like Mor. He wanted Nesta to be Nesta— all sharp edges, teeth cut on grief and anger. Because after all, wasn’t Cassian the same? At his most fundamental level, hadn’t loss shaped him as much as it had shaped her? Deep down, beneath it all, weren’t they the same— two sides of one golden coin? It was why he didn’t wish her to be anyone else, to be dulled or dampened or muted. Her vicious tongue excited him just as much now as it always had, setting his blood racing just like it did at that very first dinner, that first night, where she’d blinked in the face of his anger.

She was his, and he didn’t want her any other way.

“She will never love freely and gift it to everyone who crosses her path,” Feyre continued, a note of caution in her voice that made her words slow, considered. “But those she does care for… Nesta would shred the world apart for them. Shred herself apart for them.”

And fucking hell, wasn’t that the truth?

Feyre didn’t know how right she was, how true her words were. Nesta had condemned herself to a life of poverty and a loveless marriage, bound herself to a man who could any moment turn violent like his father, and all because she thought it might ease the burden Feyre had shouldered. 

Tension crept into his jaw now, the way it did every time Cassian thought of Nesta’s husband. Usually he tried hard not to think of the bastard at all, because it was difficult to fight the sudden urge to break something whenever he was reminded that his mate was married to another. It made him want to spill a ludicrous amount of blood, but since Nesta insisted that he had never raised a hand to her, and since she still planned on remaining his wife until Elain’s wedding… well. Cassian had to deal with it. But he thought of the fucker now, thought of what Nesta had given up for no reward, what she had resigned herself to when that wedding band had been slipped over her knuckle, and he felt resentment curl his stomach.

She’d done it in silence.

And Feyre still had no idea. 

So perhaps that was why he said it, why suddenly felt the need to speak it out loud. He thought of how Azriel had been surprised that Nesta had calculated the number of ships they’d need, and how she’d taken Rhys by surprise too, and— gods, had anybody ever noticed, before that meeting? How much she cared? Right from the start he had, but… had anybody else ever really, truly realised?

“I know,” he said again, sighing gently as he turned his eyes on his new Lady. “I knew the day the Attor attacked you in the woods. Even then I could see it— how much she cares, how much she feels behind those high walls of hers.”

He raised an eyebrow that seemed to ask, did you? And when Feyre avoided his eyes, he thought her answer might just have been, no.

For a moment there was silence, and then Feyre bit her lip. “Rhys… told me some things.”

Cassian stilled. “Oh?”

She hummed, lifting a hand to her chest, right to where Cassian knew she felt a bond woven tight. He knew because he felt the same, felt something taking up space and twining around his ribs, anticipating the beat of another heart, and as Feyre looked down at the water below, for a second he searched her face. 

And then movement on the horizon snared his attention. A dark shape against the cloudless sky, moving fast, indeterminable and indistinguishable. 

“About your bond,” Feyre continued, even as his eyes remained fixed on the dark blur in the distance. Birds— probably just birds. “At the cabin. I wouldn’t say anything of course, not before you tell her, but… I’m happy for you Cassian. For both of you.”

Cassian turned his head, found her smiling gently up at him, and with one tattooed hand she tucked a piece of hair back behind one elegantly pointed ear. He didn’t know what to say— thank you, perhaps? Or I love her, maybe? Anything he could come up with would fall short, and when he opened his mouth Feyre shook her head, patting him once on the chest. 

“Nesta is…”

But Cassian didn’t let her finish.

Because those birds were still on the horizon. Closer now. And suddenly he was leaning forwards and gripping the stone wall of the bridge so tightly his knuckles barked in protest. With one raised hand he silenced the new Lady of the Night Court, because—

Those weren’t birds. 

Not birds at all.

“Those aren’t birds,” he said aloud, deadpan, voice like gravel.

The water beneath them rippled, the surface shattered by a distant, dull boom that echoed through the marble streets. The very air seemed to tremble, to shake, a rumbling stirring the earth as Feyre looked towards the sea with wide eyes. Something was wrong. Cassian could taste it, feel it in his marrow, racing through him as he tapped the siphon on his chest firmly to bring out his armour. He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon as the leather spread across his skin, as six more siphons materialised.

And as the figures he’d thought were birds split apart, Feyre gasped, the sound one of shock and horror. Because oh, they were so much bigger than birds. 

A legion was headed their way, hundreds of winged creatures each the size of a fully grown man spearing through the sky. On the ground the people of Velaris had begun to notice, voices raised and hands pointing upwards as the winged force grew nearer—

Horror sluiced through Cassian’s veins.

Shit, shit, shit.

By his side, Feyre was gripping the railing with whitened knuckles. “You have to sound an alarm—”

Wordless, Cassian only pulled first one blade free, then a second.

“Get back to the town house,” he said firmly, holding both out for her to take. 

She shook her head.

“I can help,” she began, but Cassian glanced sharply at the army in the sky and pressed one of those blades into her hand, curling her fingers about its hilt. He wasn’t about to let her go defenceless. 

“Go. Please.”

Because Rhys would fucking kill him.

Slaughter him and make it slow.

If Cassian dragged Feyre into battle… fuck, Rhys would be furious. Not because he didn’t think she could hold her own, but because the sheer terror at the thought of her being harmed would have him throwing all caution and good sense to the wind. After all, Cassian knew he would raze everything to the ground if he thought of Nesta being caught up in it, and more than anything that was why he searched Feyre’s face and said, once more,

“Please.”

Because, fuck— he needed Azriel. He needed Amren. He needed somebody to get a message to Rhys, and— shields. They needed shields. Cassian looked at the people on the banks of the river, the citizens of Velaris. The vulnerable. Feyre gripped his arm, but before he could urge her to leave again, to tell her to send for Rhys—

The attackers unleashed their first volley of arrows.

A brutal arc of them whistled through the air, ash tipped and lethal. Where they met their mark, screams sounded. 

It was all Cassian needed to cast out a shield, throwing it as far as it would go. In a heartbeat Velaris was covered by a translucent ruby haze, a solid wall of power he held in place around the city. The winged attackers hurtled against it, slamming into it, and fucking hell, the strain. His power was not made for this— not meant to be cast so wide, to cover something as large as a city. But there was no other choice, and Cassian felt the impact of every single one of those creatures as they barrelled into his shield. They were close enough now that he could see them properly at least, make out the details he hadn’t been able to see before. He caught sight of grey limbs, of sharp teeth, and—

“The Attor,” Feyre breathed, gripping tight the blade he had given her. “They’re all like the Attor.”

Cassian swore.

The last time he’d seen the Attor had been in a dungeon beneath the Hewn City, the darkness pressing in as Azriel drew blood from strategic veins. Rhys hadn’t wanted it dead, and so as the beasts howled below, the Night Court’s spymaster had spilled only enough of the creature’s silver blood to leave it clinging to life— but it had muttered Nesta’s name, and Cassian had almost killed the damn thing.

He should’ve slaughtered it whilst he’d had the chance.

Should’ve known, too, in that moment, that Nesta was more to him than Feyre’s sister.

“The stone,” Feyre said now, her voice straining in her throat. She pointed up, at the arms of the creatures that now battered against his shield like a relentless rain, a siege hammer at a wooden gate. Their wrists were encased in stone, dull grey-blue gauntlets that had the Cursebreaker’s face turning ashen. “They used it on Rhys, it repels magic. It can—“

Again, she didn’t get chance to finish.

The creatures wielding stone punched through his shield, and Cassian felt the reverberation in his bones, felt it shake the earth beneath his feet. 

He swore again, more forceful this time, and threw another wave of power into that shield, redoubling it, strengthening it, expending every fractured piece of power his siphons could channel. The holes in the shield knitted back together, but it was weaker than before, and so many of those beasts had already made it onto the streets…

He gritted his teeth. “Get Azriel and Amren—”

Screaming tore the air, ripped right through the city, and Feyre, blade in hand, turned towards the sounds of terror and despair and—

Hesitated.

Fuck.

He needed to keep that shield up, needed it intact. But his breathing turned laboured as the assault continued, the creatures above trying to tear fresh holes in the shield he was so desperately trying to maintain. Every single blow was one he felt deep, and it was chipping away at his strength, at the power he could summon. Feyre looked like she was moments away from launching herself into battle, to find the source of those screams and save them from Hybern’s beasts, but Cassian didn’t know how much longer he could protect this city on his own.

“Go,” he ordered, and maybe she could hear the strain that was burrowing its way into Cassian’s chest, because this time… this time Feyre nodded. If it were any other time, any other moment, Cassian might have marvelled at the fact that he’d finally gotten an Archeron to listen to a fucking word he’d said, but—

He needed to focus.

Feyre turned and made to run in the direction of the Rainbow—

But before she could take so much as a single step, three of those creatures slammed into his shield right above them, clawing at it, and with those fucking stone gauntlets around their wrists— they ripped right through it, peeled it back like it was nothing but a gossamer veil. 

In an instant, Cassian had Feyre on the floor, her back against the stone wall of the bridge. Standing above her, he spread his wings. If he couldn’t shield her with his magic, then he’d shield her with himself, and those gauntlets couldn’t do shit against him. 

And then—

Screams, more screams rent the air as the creatures above began to cackle, a sound so horrifying it had Cassian’s blood growing cold. And even though he’d noticed that one of those creatures had been carrying something in its arms, he hadn’t known what it was, couldn’t tell beyond it being a shapeless, lifeless mass. But when it fell with a sickening thud, a hollow crack—

“Shit,” Cassian breathed. “Shit.”

Blood spilled over marble, threaded over pale stone, and impaled on one of the elaborate iron lampposts that lined the bridge… 

The queen with the golden hair lay lifeless, gore spilling over iron filigree. Cassian swallowed. They’d taken her eyes - her eyes - and though he was no stranger to bloodshed, this was something else, something far more brutal. 

With a chill, he realised that perhaps they had underestimated Hybern.

Feyre pushed out from behind his wings, and Cassian didn’t stop her. He was too focused on the creature that now perched on that blood-soaked lamppost. He recognised it— recognised the scars that crawled up its spindly arms, the remnants of wounds he’d watched be inflicted. The Attor stood above them, hands curling around the wrought iron of the lamppost, teeth bared and fingers slipping in the queen’s spilled blood.

“Regards of the mortal queens,” it hissed.

And then it lurched skywards, heading right to the theatre district they’d just left. Cassian snarled, funnelling extra power into that shield, stitching it back together wherever it had broken. It took everything he had, leaving his insides feeling raw and hollow, but there wasn’t time to rest, to recoup. He made to follow the creature, sword already swinging as he pushed away from the bridge.

But, fuck—

Feyre.

He half turned his head, but she shook hers.

“Go,” she insisted.

Cassian nodded sharply. “Go. Home.”

He didn’t look back as the Attor shot upwards, and he didn’t wait to see if Feyre listened to him this time. He only followed, glancing briefly down at the streets below. Beneath the screams, blood stained the marble and pooled between cobble stones. Somewhere across the city, something was burning. Smoke drifted up towards the sky, thick black plumes that blotted out the sun and gods— how had it come to this?

The court of dreams, the city of starlight, was mired in blood and darkness. 

The wards had been shattered, obliterated, and fucking hell, they should have known the queens would sell them out. He thought of the golden-haired queen, lying bent on the bridge, and fucking hell—

He climbed higher, keeping the Attor in his sights. Above them his shield still held, but for how much longer? It trembled with every impact, and as the Attor fled, the others in the skies swarmed, its ilk converging. Soon enough Cassian was surrounded.

He cut down the creatures in his path, slicing through wing and flesh and bone, sending silver blood raining down on the city below. The guttural cries of those he slaughtered echoed in his ears as he ended life after pitiful life, and though, swift, he cut them down…

When he looked across the city, the Attor was nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Cass.” 

Suddenly, Azriel was there, thunder in his eyes and blood on his armour. His sword was already slicked with silver blood, and as the spymaster raced across the distance between them, Casssian’s blade cut the throat of another three of those creatures.

“The shield,” Cassian roared.

Az nodded.

A blue shield materialised, identical to Cassian’s red. It spread out across the skies, and where it met Cassian’s, suddenly the two were meeting and melding and merging. Where the Attor-like creatures got caught in the middle… the shields tore them apart, cut through them as easily as the stone gauntlets had cut through Cassian’s solitary shield.

Lifeless bodies fell to the streets below, stone gauntlets rendered useless on severed arms.

And for a moment Cassian took a breath. 

Just one.

Because though the creatures in the sky were held back by the two shields, too many had already made it to the ground, were already running through the streets.

A boom sounded on the other side of the river, and Cassian knew it was Amren. He didn’t know whether Feyre had found her or if the chaos that had erupted on the streets had alerted her, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. As long as Amren could hold the other side of the river, he and Azriel would hold this one.

With the shields in place and secure, Cassian turned his attention to the ground below. To the legion of creatures that were setting his city on fire. He landed back on the bridge, one knee colliding hard with solid stone. His blade was already out, waiting to spill the blood of the soldiers he found waiting on the bridge. There was too much red blood coating the marble, he thought grimly as he took in his surroundings. Too much, far too much, and it set fire to his own blood as he lifted his head, slow and purposeful and filled with the deadliest kind of anger. All at once the Hybernian soldiers on the bridge realised who was in their midst, and the fear that shuddered through them was palpable, rippling through them like the currents of the river below. With shrieking breaths and drawn out screams they turned to flee, to run for the other end of that bridge. 

But Azriel stood there now, his face cold.

And with the shields overhead preventing flight, and Cassian and Azriel blockading both ends of that bridge…

There was no escape.

He rose to his feet, silver blood pooling beneath his boots.

And, grimly, Cassian smiled.

The siphon at his chest, even drained as it was, still pulsed. That killing power in his veins still flowed, begged him to take life. He felt death standing beside him, waiting in his shadow, and as he drew his blade across the neck of the first of Hybern’s monsters, he felt a grim kind of vindication, a brutal and bloodthirsty satisfaction. 

At the other end of the bridge, Az was battling three at once with ease, and Cassian put down two, three, four—

The air was filled with smoke, with blood, with the distant screams of fae and the howling wails of enemy soldiers as they were killed.

Cassian spun on his heel, searching for his next mark. He was aware of Az and what he was doing, just as he was aware of each of the creatures in his vicinity. His senses were alight, alive, and the song of battle raced through his veins with every swing of his sword, every pulse of that ruby-red power that kept the shield above from breaking. 

And soon enough, the army on the bridge began to thin.

Hybern’s advantage had lain not in skill but in numbers, and those numbers were dwindling fast now. They were not bred for battle like Cassian and Azriel, not so used to the way it moved. No— they cut them down easily, swiftly, and with each resounding boom on the other side of the river, Cassian knew that Amren was doing the same. Hybern was losing this battle, and now Cassian wanted only to clear the bridge so he could get to the rest of the city— to the Rainbow, where even now he could hear the sound of screams and shattering glass.

Gods, he hoped Feyre had made it back to the town house. It was warded to hell and back, and there was nothing and nobody that could make it through the doors. He hoped, he prayed, that the Cursebreaker hadn’t found herself caught in the crossfire.

And then—

With an almighty crack and a slash of darkness wielded like a blade, Rhys arrived.

Frantic.

“Where is she?” he demanded, eyes wild. “Where is Feyre?”

Cassian spared a moment - just one - to thank the Mother that he didn’t know Rhys’ fear. He never thought he’d be grateful that Nesta hadn’t accepted the invitation to come to Velaris, but he saw Rhys’ anguish, the kind of paralysing, all-consuming terror that was almost painful to witness, and he almost fell to his knees in relief. 

Nesta was safe, below the wall, with four of his men watching over her.

For a moment Cassian was wordless, plunging a knife through the neck of one of those grey-skinned monsters as his sword cleaved apart the breastbone of another. He could feel Rhys’ fury. It was visceral, his terror so potent it was as thick as the blood that slicked Cassian’s hands. Violet eyes scanned their surroundings, searching only for Feyre.

“I sent her back to the townhouse,” Cassian managed at last.

But Rhys’ eyes were glazed, and Cassian knew he was desperately trying to reach his mate, speaking - or shouting - along the bond between them, searching for her mind through the tangled mess of chaos that Velaris had become.

And then Rhys was gone, hurtling along that bridge and down to the riverbank, his own sword swinging as he raced across the city to find the woman he loved.

The creatures were thinning, the mass of them beginning to slow. But gods, Cassian was tired. His shields were beginning to strain again, and it was too much trying to keep the entire city wrapped in his magic, even with Azriel taking half the weight. The blue light of his shield faltered too, and Cassian knew that at the other end of the bridge, Az was beginning to feel the bite of it just as much as he was. Yet Cassian continued to cut down their attackers, even as his muscles began to ache, as a headache started to throb behind his eyes.

And he kept that shield up.

Kept it going even as it flickered and trembled at the edges.

Until every creature that had tried to break it down was dead, until the streets ran with silver blood and corpses littered the marble pathways.

When all those around him were dead, when the bridge was clear and the streets around them were empty too, Cassian raced to Azriel. 

He had barely taken a breath into his aching lungs before—

“Holy fucking hell,” Azriel breathed.

His face was tilted to the sky, and when Cassian followed his gaze…

Feyre was up there, falling through the air with the Attor beneath her. With her bare hands she plunged arrows into its wings. Cassian almost winced. The creature’s wings seeped that silver blood, thick ribbons of it spilling out as the membrane tore and tore and tore, ripped apart as Feyre pierced its hide with those arrows. She was blood-splattered and hurtling towards the ground, and fuck— it was clear she hadn’t been back to the town house at all.

No, wherever she’d been, she’d been in the thick of the fighting, just like the rest of them. Some kind of wonder swelled in Cassian’s chest at that, a kind of pride. That was the woman his High Lord had mated, the new Lady of Night. 

And it was more than that, too.

She was Nesta’s sister.

He could see it in the way Feyre screamed in fury as she took the Attor to its death, her grim determination sealing the creature’s fate as they barrelled towards the ground. Cassian just hoped Feyre remembered to jump before she fell.

“Feyre.”

Rhys’ voice was a roar from the other side of the river. Cassian could see him now, running as fast as he could towards his mate, falling from the sky. Azriel was already airborne, ready to pluck Feyre from the air before she could come crashing down, but—

Right before the pavement claimed her, Feyre winnowed.

The Attor was smashed against the stone, but Feyre…

She materialised a handful of feet away, and seconds before a wave of Rhys’ darkness consumed the entire street, Cassian saw her sink to her knees, her back against the wall.

Like the Cursebreaker had no strength left.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

[nestaismommy]

There’s nothing funnier than Devlon asking if Nesta is a witch and she’s like “yes”, and the Illyrians flinched 😭

“Is she a witch.”

I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, “Yes.”

And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched.

I love this woman

Edit: ok but imagine if she’s actually a witch

#acosf #nesta archeron #pro nesta #pro nesta archeron #a court of silver flames #nesta deserves better #sarah j maas #high queen nesta #nesta supremacy #nesta acosf #sjmaas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #nesta is a queen #sjm books #nesta acotar #acowar #a court of wings and ruin

[vulpes-fennec]

Why Did It Have To Be Me?

Summary:  19-year old Nesta is stuck working with 21-year old Cassian as camp counselors for Windhaven Wilderness Explorers, a summer program that immerses tweens into the Illyrian forests. Will she find a way to address the sizzling tension between them before summer ends?

My first contribution for ACOTAR Writing Circle! Stay tuned with @azrielshadowssing to see who writes part 2 and 3! Also, that is an ABBA song reference in the title :)

Read: AO3 | 2.7k words | Mature | Modern AU

Being a Windhaven Wilderness Explorer counselor for the summer had been a way to make money. Nesta didn’t mind working with tweens; they had a wicked sense of humor, were old enough to take care of themselves to some extent, and were generally excited to be away from home. She liked being outdoors, liked exhausting her body so that sleep came deeply in the hot summer night. 

What Nesta didn’t like was having to deal with her coworkers. Well, only one coworker in particular. Camp director Devlon had paired them up as counselor partners. The first week had just wrapped up, but Nesta didn’t know how she’d make it through the next three. 

21-year old Cassian grated on her nerves from the moment she laid eyes on him in ways Nesta could not quite describe. Maybe it was because he was mind-bogglingly good at everything.  

Foraging for wild herbs? Cassian knew the trails like the back of his hand. “You’re going the wrong way, Nes!” he had called out yesterday. Nes. That awfully grating nickname he’d given her the day they’d met. 

Catching fish? The stupid fish seemed to flock to Cassian’s fish hook, while Nesta was left standing knee deep in the stream for half an hour without a single tug on the line. “Come over here!” Cassian had beckoned her over. And when she still failed to snag anything, he teased her, saying, “maybe they’re scared of your feet.” 

“Says the one with hairy toes,” Nesta had bit back. 

Starting fires? Nesta was still trying to strike a flint by the time Cassian had a toasty blaze going, rubbing it in her face by toasting marshmallows on a stick. “Ladies first,” he had said with a grin, offering her the first s’more. 

Maybe it was because he was infuriatingly endearing with the kids. 

They clamored for his campfire stories, always sought him out for wilderness advice, and wanted to be his buddy for the day. It made sense, given the number of jokes Cassian cracked and the broad smile he wore on his face 24/7. 

Maybe it was because he was attractive, and Nesta knew she couldn’t have him.

With his roughly chiseled features, piercing hazel eyes, chestnut-browned skin, tall and muscled build, Cassian looked every bit the rugged wilderness ranger. Nesta preferred guys with shorter hair, but there was something about Cassian’s shoulder length black waves that had her imagining what it would feel like to run her hands through it. 

Of course Nesta couldn’t have him. First off, hooking up with a colleague would be a HR dumpster fire and drama waiting to happen. Second off, as the ambitious and career-driven first-born of the Archeron family, Nesta didn’t need the tattered remnants of a summer fling weighing her down during the school year. 

Whatever it was, being around Cassian put Nesta on edge, as if she was a vibrating violin string that had been stretched taut and plucked. His teasing eye contact often lingered a second too long, electrifying the air with newfound tension. Their scathing repartee had the kids giggling and whispering. And his winning smiles and smirks stripped her bare at every interaction, which was why Nesta preferred to keep her distance. 

Nature hikes were an easy way to avoid Cassian, since he took the lead while Nesta was positioned at the rear. Their troop had stopped for lunch in a small clearing. Dappled sunlight filtered past the tree canopy, and a small stream gurgled nearby. Nesta bit into her slightly squished sandwich and munched on a crisp apple.

Cassian sat across from her, smiling and chatting with the kids. She had to admit, the way he listened attentively to their stories and chatter softened her stubborn heart. 

After some time, a kid asked, “who’s your favorite person in this group, Cassian? Can I be your favorite?” 

“Aw, I don’t pick favorites,” Cassian said, but he gave Nesta a crooked grin that made her stomach flip-flop. 

“Do you go to school, Cassian?” one of the kids asked. 

“I do go to school,” he smiled, and it was begrudgingly endearing. “Just like you.”

“Where?” 

“Velaris University, with Nes.” Cassian jerked his chin in her direction. Nesta blinked. Cassian didn’t have social media (she’d checked the first day) so she didn’t know much about his personal life. But how could she have missed his swaggering persona on campus? 

“You do?” she asked, surprised. “What do you study?” 

“Environmental science,” Cassian replied, hazel eyes level with her blue-gray ones. As if he was conveying they’d met before. Environmental science, environmental science. Nesta wracked her brains for any possibility of class overlap with political science, but found none. 

She realized she was staring at him a tad too intensely when their group of kids began giggling. “What’s so funny?” Nesta asked. 

“Nessian,” a girl supplied. The kids’ eyes gleamed with mischief as they made little hearts with their hands. “It’s what we’ve been calling you two.” 

“Nessian, huh?” Cassian smirked at her. “It does have a nice ring to it.”

***

The next day, Nesta sought out Emerie for a post-lunch walk because she was feeling especially vexed. The mosquitos would be having a field day with her nylon shorts and t-shirt, but she was too hot to care. Nesta hurled an acorn as hard as she could against a tree. 

“Well, what did the tree ever do to you?” Emerie sighed audibly. “Or is it Cassian again?” 

“Did you hear how he annoyingly picked out which birds were singing during the dawn chorus this morning?” Nesta demanded, throwing another acorn. Bird watching was—yet another—one of Cassian’s specialties. The man could identify the species, whether it was male or female, adult or juvenile, with a simple glance. No binoculars needed.

“Um, Nesta…I think he was just being helpful and answering questions,” Emerie gently suggested. “The kids were asking him, after all.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, not wanting to admit that fine, maybe she was a bit biased. “I’m trying to listen to the birds, not his loud ass voice,” she ranted. “I swear, if Devlon pairs us together for the second camp session in July I’m going to pitch a fit.” 

Emerie was silent. 

“And have you heard what the kids are calling us? Nessian. Nessian?” 

“I mean…they do ship the two of you,” Emerie pointed out. “Let’s be honest, Nesta. You and Cassian would make a great pair.” 

“Insanity. Can you imagine me with someone who is so damn cheerful all the time?” Nesta protested. “Like what is there to smile about at five in the morning? If I have to see his stupidly perfect mouth again—”

Emerie grabbed Nesta’s arm, squeezing it forcefully. In the midst of her complaining, Nesta failed to hear Cassian come up behind them. 

She recognized him by his rounded muscles and toned abdomen, shown off by his blank tank top tucked into tan cargo pants. His standard backwards baseball hat, that kept his wild black hair in place. But the devastation in his expression—that was something new. Nesta’s stomach plummeted. Oh fuck, he definitely heard her shit-talking him. 

“You left this in the mess hall,” Cassian said, his words sounding far away, as if Nesta was underwater. He held up her crimson fanny pack. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stare at how his trademark openness faded by the second.

“Oh, thank you Cassian!” Emerie chirped with forced levity. She quickly bounded over to take the pack from Cassian. 

Cassian’s hazel eyes were still fixed on Nesta, though his mouth even tightened with a forced, awkward smile. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you both later.” Nesta could only watch in silence as he turned and walked away, unable to stop him.

***

Out of all the social faux-pas…Nesta may have committed the worst one yet. Well, technically there were worse things out there. Like maybe talking smack about a manager in an email sent to everybody in the company. Or accidentally having a NSFW tab open on her phone browser. Still, Nesta felt like sinking into the ground and disappearing forever whenever she replayed Cassian’s hurt expression.

It was the weekend, so they didn’t have any scheduled activities with the kids. Still the camp was small enough that Cassian had to have been purposefully avoiding her for the rest of the day. She hadn’t seen him at all. Nesta tossed and turned in her bed, fretting. If he continued to avoid her, how would she find the dignity to face him on Monday? 

“Where are you going?” Emerie asked when Nesta got up. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I need to make things right with Cassian,” Nesta grumbled. “I can’t sleep. Where is his cabin?”

“Cabin 23,” Emerie replied, engrossed with the videos she was watching on her phone. “He shares it with Tarquin.” 

Fireflies drifted lazily along the edge of the forest, crickets chirped into the hot night air. The summer constellations glimmered up above, keeping watch over all the earth’s inhabitants. But Nesta barely noticed the beauty of the night as she stalked across camp, trying to think of what to say. 

She found Cassian’s cabin rather easily and regretted wearing a thin white tank top and sleep shorts. Not because she was self-conscious of her full curves. If any mischievous kids were sneaking out, they would assume she was there to hook up with Cassian. 

The prospect of hooking up with him still made Nesta zone out for a good five seconds. She did describe his mouth as “stupidly perfect” earlier. Hopefully Cassian was too caught up with her calling him annoying to remember her saying such things about his mouth.

She hesitated. What if Cassian was hooking up with someone else? The thought of him tangling with some amorphous other counselor added a shot of unreasonable jealousy to the mixture of nerves bubbling in her stomach. 

“Nes.”  

She jumped. “Fucking hell, Cassian, you scared me.” Cassian stepped out of the shadow, his arms crossed. 

“What are you doing here? Coming to sing praises about me, or see what my stupidly perfect mouth can do?” His voice was bland, almost cold. Ah, shit. So he did hear every single word she said. 

“Don’t be crude,” Nesta snapped, then softened her face. Not a good start to their conversation. “I came here to talk.” 

Cassian glanced at the door. “Tarquin’s asleep,” he replied. “If you want to talk, follow me.” 

Nesta jogged to catch up to him as he stalked towards the edge of the forest. “Emerie knows I went to find you, you know. So if you plan on murdering me, you won’t get away so easily,” she reminded him.

Cassian chuckled darkly. “Believe me, I wouldn’t try to mess with you, Nes. Those elbows of yours look pretty lethal to me.” He walked several yards into the woods and stopped. It was now or never, and Nesta could only pray to the Mother that she didn’t butcher her delivery. 

Nesta folded her arms across her chest and leaned against a tree, trying to decipher Cassian’s neutral expression. He stood roughly three feet away from her, holding himself with a tense stillness as moonlight shimmered on his dark, wavy hair. “About what happened this afternoon. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Cassian tilted his head to the side. Assessing her in a closed off manner. “I’d rather you just tell me what you really think of me, than hearing you apologize and keep your feelings bottled up.” 

“I don’t need a therapist, thank you very much,” Nesta said dismissively. 

“Let’s see…you don’t like it when I ID the birds,” Cassian held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “You think I smile too much. If you needed me to be grumpier in the morning, all you had to do was ask. What else?”

“Gods, why do you care so much about what I think?” Nesta sniped back. She took a step forward, close enough to touch his chiseled body if she wanted to. “You have enough swaggering confidence for the whole camp and then some.” 

“Because I like you,” Cassian replied with a simple shrug, not missing a beat. 

Nesta was taken aback. Impossible, she wanted to say. But looking back, Cassian had always gone out of his way to greet her, to be around her, to help her out. And she’d interpreted it as him being annoying and patronizing. Because she didn’t want to deal with a summer romance, and feared humiliation if Cassian didn’t like her back.

Cassian’s shoulders and arms were now relaxed, but Nesta noticed the still-guarded look in his eyes. And the faint glimmer of hope, as if her sharp words and baleful stares could not squash out that small spark. This was a man who wouldn’t be cowed by her prickly exterior, who held her in high regard for some unfathomable reason, she realized.

“Why?” Cassian leaned closer, his eyes distractedly focused on her lips. Nesta self-consciously licked them. 

“Why would I tell you that, when you don’t even like me?” He smirked, scanning her moon-washed face. 

Heat seemed to bloom on Nesta’s cheeks and in the space between their bodies. Seemingly realizing just how close he was to her, Cassian took a step back, the desire in his eyes cooling away. But Nesta wouldn’t have it. Not when he was so close, touching her already. 

She grasped his stubbled jaw in her hands and brought him down for a kiss. 

Why didn’t I do this earlier, was the first realization that came to mind. The second realization was of how warm and surprisingly gentle his mouth was as it pressed against hers. Fire stirred in Nesta’s heart, flooding her body with burning desire.

Cassian pulled away, his face dumbstruck, his chest heaving hard. Nesta felt like a ball had gotten stuck in her throat, for she was equally speechless, unsure of what to say and how to proceed. 

I kissed Cassian, she thought. Holy shit, I kissed Cassian. 

“Interpret that as you wish,” she forced out, lips still tingling with the phantom imprint of his full mouth. 

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian placed a hand at the curve of her hip, pulling her closer. “I’ve never seen your hair down like this,” he murmured distractedly, tucking a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. His hazel eyes darkened as Nesta placed a hand on his chest, not to push him away, but to rove over his chiseled body. She raised her head in silent affirmation. 

Half a second later, Cassian had his mouth on hers again, pushing her up against the tree. His lips fit hers perfectly, and his breath tasted like minty toothpaste when her tongue ran along his teeth. Rough bark scraped along Nesta’s back, but she could hardly care about the risk of a splinter when Cassian’s entire body was slanted against hers.

“Nesta,” he groaned, and she relished the shape of her full name falling from his lips. “Nesta, you’re perfect.” 

His rough hands traced the hem of her tank top, sparking electricity under Nesta’s skin. She moaned in encouragement when his fingers slipped under the fabric, then higher, and higher. Nesta arched her back as they broke apart. Her hands fisted in his hair, and it was soft and silky like she’d imagined. Cassian dipped his head down, peppering kisses along her collarbone, his stubble sending the most delicious sensations down her spine. 

Gods, maybe she shouldn’t have worn a bra under her tank top. Not when she wanted Cassian to knead her full breasts, assuaging the sensitive ache that grew with each kiss he pressed against her neck. 

Nesta needed more. The fire within her didn’t have to be quelled, as she had been trying to do for the past two weeks, it needed to be embraced. And Cassian’s attention was kindling. She was incandescent. She was weightless. She was—

“Shit,” Nesta gasped, pulling away. What the hell was she doing? “We can’t be doing this.”

Cassian loosened his grip on her, but his eyes still simmered with desire. “Why?” he rasped. 

“Because! We’re coworkers. And someone could see us.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian #summer camp au #modern au #nessian fic #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar writing circle

[acourtofthought]

Have you read HOFAS (and any bonus chapters)? If so, what did you think about our ACOTAR characters and what it might say about their future books? If not, when are you planning on reading it?

I have!!

I have a few more detailed posts on why I believe what I believe but to summarize it, these are my predictions for SJMs future books:

It's interesting that 3 - 4 months after her HEA with Cassian, where she found her home in the HOW, her friends, her purpose with the Valkyrie, where she realized Rhys is her brother and had offered her kindness, where she ended her book visiting their fathers grave with her sisters who were smiling and beckoning at her to join them, that she's suddenly struggling to find her way (as evidenced by the exchange when she and Ember say their goodbyes).

To me, the biggest part of Nesta's life has always been her acting as Elain's protector and if Elain is no longer in the NC, having set off on her own journey with Lucien, I think that could be a big part of her sudden identity crisis. Possibly contributing to why she was so willing to part with the Mask, a bit of a reckless action. She could no longer help Elain so she turned and helped Bryce instead.

I think the next ACOTAR book will be Eluciens and we'll see resolution to the Vassa / Spring / Beron / Koschei / Peace Treaty plotlines. I don't think it will turn into a major battle, I think Elucien's arc will be that of stopping the threats and securing peace between the fae on the continent, the humans, and the fae in Prythian. I think that also closes out the ACOTAR series as we know it now, the one that revolves around the journey of Feyre and her sisters.

I think the book SJM has planned after that, the secret project she's excited to work on but won't say what world it's set in, will be the story of Miryam and Drakon and the Seraphim but set 500 years back. SJM said she imagines she'll feel emotional writing it because of who might show up and I'm wondering if that means we'll get glimpses of a younger Rhys, Cassian and Az, but also a look at Rhys's sister before her murder (I think it meant something that Az brought her up in HOFAS).

I think that story could also be relevant to future ACOTAR books because Miryam and Drakon are now in possession of the Cauldron. HOFAS did put the spotlight on the Cauldron in Prythian and in SF, a shudder runs down Cassian's spine as he thinks what might happen if it's awoken again. Giving us the backstory on the land where Miryam and Drakon reside with their people ties in nicely to possible future storylines.

After that I think SJM will move forward with her new series, one that is set the ACOTAR world but is no longer focused on Feyre's story. I think the new series will heavily involve Gwynriel, Mor / Emerie, and more of Nesta's journey and will further connect SJMS worlds with new crossover content.

I think we'll see the Prison lands being turned into Valkyrie territory with them gaining more female warriors as they work towards becoming an elite fighting unit of hundreds / thousands. I think Mor and Emerie might be the ones to oversee the land, with Mor ending up as a female descendent of Theia who can wield Gwydion and Az giving TT to Emerie (Nesta would be the general of the Valkryie but still remain living in the HOW).

I think the Valkyrie will be the defenders of the portal that exists there, protecting their world from outside threats, threats that I think will be drawn to Prythian because of the Cauldron and Merrill. I think Az will end up overseeing the Illyrian (the way Devlon currently does) and the Illyrian will remain the defenders of the portal that exists on Ramiel, with he and Gwyn either living in the townhouse or the cabin in Illyria.

And I also think we'll see a major battle at the end of that new series, with members of the IC / the Illyrians / the Valkyrie world walking and defending a threat outside their world, possibly teaming up with Bryce and Aelin. I feel there's a reason we were told that Nesta can move through time and space and that she'd use the mask to call thousands of the dead (with the added, "but not yet" in SF).

I think that Lucien and Elain will take up the High King role during these times, where they're not necessarily in charge of leading the battle so much as ensuring the peace remains across their own world between the different lands. I could also see Lucien helping Nesta destroy the mask at the end of it all. I think HOFAS makes it clear that Nesta will always be at risk for losing herself to it and as Helion has a connection to it, I think Lucien as his son does too. I also like the idea of Lucien and Nesta having a brother / sister bonding moment where she truly embraces him if he were the one to help her get rid of it once and for all.

Thank you for the ask, if you want you'll have to send an anon and tell me if you have any predictions yourself!

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #nesta acosf #crossover acotar #emerie acosf #emorie #illyrian #azriel acosf #acotar theory #gwynriel #morrigan acotar #rhysand acotar #miryam #valkyrie #sarah j mass

[tadpolesonalgae]

I think it would also be hilarious for the bat boys to see Devlon acting soft around his mate after growing up with him being an absolute terror😭)

I agree with this soo much omg, it’s living rent free in my brain

Yes!!

Can you imagine reader coming back after a weekend or something and they’re all on edge and asking if everything was okay and making sure she knows that if he does anything they’ll be there for her but she admits she actually had a really lovely time and calls him sweet, and they’re just stood there having a small meltdown at their brutal instructor being called “sweet”

🫣😭🥹

#anons <3 #Lord Devlon #Devlon x reader

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

I think reader should still take Azriels virginity.

He really seems uncomfortable with other people and it also would make him have a stronger connection to her. So her leaving and then seeing each other after 500 years ain’t it for me.

Do I think he is an ass- yes but I also think she’s the only one he trusts with his body.

I also think her l leaving the night Court would be idiotic.

They can secretly see eachother and when the war begins(which should be about that time and Devlon was talking about his troops) she and Azriel could be together.

Like the High Lord takes her with Azriel as blackmailing and pressures him into doing things.

Imagine them having to share a room and bed because the high lord saw Azriels thoughts or something. Instead of rooting for them he wants him to get close to her so he has something over Azriels head.

And she’s kinda cold to him and doesn’t see him often and he comes bloodied home or they hatefuck eachother.

I LOVE all these ideas 😩😩💕💕

#ask #about practice on me

[casuallivi]

TTYLTOYD chapter 3

Absence Makes the Heart Grow fonder Restless

This is kind of a continuation from my TTYLTOYD two-shot.  Actually, all my shots can be associated (except the au) so I'm thinking of multichapting it...

Set: post ACOSF, post Nessian’s Wedding.

Words: 3306

Part 3: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Restless

Going to Windhaven wasn’t how Azriel planned to start his day, especially when he could still feel the lump on his back from the stake out in Miann. The royalty residing in the heart of Hybern would present no concern to Prythian any time soon, since the remaining spawn of the former king were too busy trying to size his throne. The power had manifest itself in the 4th son, a spoiled youth who thrusted too much on the royal adviser, which made the conspirational first born livid. A civil war was brewing, and Azriel could already feel the headache of constant reports to be made in a near future.

It didn't help that he had been feeling uneasy in the last couple of days, an eerie sensation he couldn’t point the origin making him anxious and tense. His boots crunched the piled-up snow, the shadows scurrying away from the early mid-morning rays that did nothing to warm the frozen hell camp. It was no secret that Azriel despised to waste his time dealing with Illyria, the duty usually falling under Cassian jurisdiction, yet here he was, having every aspect of his patience tested by the hardhead war lord.

His eyes roamed around, cataloging the young males practicing different routines all over the camp. Stretching, working with weapons, with shields, flying, running laps, sparing in cockpits, all exhaling puffed breaths under the duress of a typical morning session. The females, however, were sweating for very different reasons. They ran around the camp like servants, polishing boots, mending uniforms, sharpening blades, moving weapons, removing snow from the courses, dressed in raged clothes that were a far cry from the especial leather uniforms provided by Rhys. His fist curled, a dark shadow coating his hand and swallowing the incandescent cobalt stone that flicked.

“The girls are not training.”

Devlon’s attention was fixed on a sparring, screaming inputs to the males. “Lift your shield boy! Lift that fucking shield and rotate! Godsdam, up, up, UP! That’s only 120 pounds! You can’t lift that, you get the fuck out of my pit and let someone with balls train!” He didn’t move his attention from them, didn’t thought he needed to. “The girls have chores to complete.”

“The High Lord was clear.” Azriel said.

His eyes turned to Azriel with disdain.

“This is my camp, boy. Not his.”

“The females train, or no one trains.” Azriel declared, his lack of expression leading others to believe he didn’t have the slightest ounce of interest in the matter.

Devlon snickered, unimpressed with the conversation that happened every other week.

The half-breed lord loved to send his bastards to meddle in his camp. The boys were talented in the battle field, Devlon wouldn’t deny that, they trained in his camp after all, and the half-breed even found a way to become a High Lord, kudos for him. But this was Illyria, not a playground for bored High Fae. Here they have lineage and culture and traditions. Despite Rhysand’s lineage being tarnished, Devlon was one of the few lords who would allow half-breeds and bastards in his camp. His reason was simple,

They were males.

They were males with illyrian blood running in their veins, even if it was washed down. And Illyrian males were born to have their wings spread, a blade in one hand, a shield on the other and a shot at proving themselves as the Mother intended. Females were a different story. As the Mother created the males for thriving in the battlefield, she also created the females for housing and breeding. He had stopped the clipping and allowed them in the camp to appease the prissy prince, but training was unnecessary for them. Imagine having them sharing the field with the real warriors in a daily basis? Bullshit. They would only slow the males down, tempt them, steal their focus to not even amount to good warriors in the end. Having functional wings was privilege enough. Illyrians were and will always be an elite warrior race, therefore mixing them with meek females was stupidity, Devlon knew that. The girls were much more useful like this, tending to the camp chores for the males to achieve their full potential like tradition dictated.

Tradition existed for a reason.

Tradition is fail-proof, timeless, universal.

Noting the shadowsinger’s blank stare still fixed at him, Devlon spat on the ground, the chewed tabaco sinking in the snow in front of Azriel’s boots. The shadowsinger said nothing. He did not move or react to the insult. His shadows were a different story. The devilish things swarmed like a hive of angry bees – dispersing everywhere – syphons flaring to life with the challenge, a cobalt aura engulfing the camp in a spam of seconds.

“What are you doing, boy?!!” he exclaimed with anger, eyes bloodshot red as he beheld his camp. Devlon could barely keep up with the mayhem that came next.

The work-out sounds stopped, replaced by shrieks and gasping and crashing. The racing track froze completely before erupting, chunks of stone flying off the floor. Panic and chaos spreading like a wild fire. With a symphony of screams, dozens of illyrians were falling from the sky, grunting and cursing as they hit barracks, trees, each other. Others had their running and sparing interrupted by the loss of balance, falling face flat on the ground when Azriel bounded every male in the perimeter, straps of shadow trapping a hundred pair of wings. More shrieks followed by whoever held a weapon, for they were now covered with a blue-hot halo, blazing like a new forged blade, burning the hands attached to the handles. More males fell on their knees, burring their hands in snow to sooth the burnings. The ones closest to Azriel ran with terrified faces, which wasn’t sufficient to escape the shadow-binding on their feet and wings. The males began to pair up, trying to free their wings with no success.

The females, who were untouched by magic or binds, stopped their chores to come together, watching the scene with a mix of shock and amusement, their giggles growing into laughter the more the more the males struggled. Azriel watched them for a moment. Their innocent glee reminding him of someone. She flashed in his mind. Her lightly tanned skin, the freckles across her nose, her piercing brown eyes and the radiant smile that had no business being directed at him. He blinked the memory away.

“What are you laughing at, girl?” the war-lord snapped at tthem. “Don’t just stand there, help them to unbid their wings, your brats! Move, move! You!” he pointed at Azriel, “Release my warriors now, shadowsinger!”

“The females train or no one trains.” he repeated with boredom, face blank as a white sheet.

The war lord was still cursing fiercely when the spymaster left, ignoring his tantrum and shadow-walking to the outer shield protecting the cabin. Azriel wasn’t Cassian, he had no patience to deal with the traditions of this forsaken mountain, if Devlon wanted to train his precious warriors, he could come and beg for it. He pushed the snow of his shoulder with irritation, Feyre’s paintings following his every step as he made way to the office. The space was crowded with paperwork, endless piles of new information waiting to be sorted by him. What a headache.

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose trying to focus his thoughts.Tired. He was too tired to deal with that. When was the last time he slept? A shadow drift to the fresh report appearing on top the never-ending pile. ‘Read it. Read it.’ Another crooned in his ear.

“Not now.” He answered out loud, freeing the curtains to cover the window. Azriel paused, glancing at the elastic tie escaping from the cuff of his uniform, the yellow color bright and painful amidst the black of everything else. The adornment had become attached to his wrist since he had found her one too many times with her unbound hair clinging to her sweat face, getting in the way of her vision, his hands ably pulling the rebel strands in a pony tail. Now the unused hair tie mocked the intimacy he was no longer allow to display.

Azriel slouched on a chair and closed his eyes, groaning. There he was again, thinking of her.

Thinking of Elain.

His mind cooking an absurd amount of risqué ideas, indulging in plotting shading escapades.

It had been a while since he last heard her voice outside the echoes of his mind. Three weeks, four days and twenty-four hours. Since Cassian’s mating celebration, if one was counting. Which he wasn’t. Gods, he missed her. He missed the soothing atmosphere that only Elain’s presence could bring to him. Recently, Azriel had become quite accustomed to replay the memories of her, drowning in regret, wishing he had done different, martyrizing himself with the weight of cowardice. That’s what he was. A coward. A coward who hide behind his brother’s order to avoid the mess he created.

Azriel uncovered many secrets in his lifetime, but there was one that didn't matter how hard he tried, he could not unravel, and that was his relationship with Elain, his fondness, his desire, his obsession for the girl who rooted herself in his darkened heart. If he had a soul, it would be hers too. Azriel could not pinpoint exactly how they became friends. Worse, he could not define when the friendship became something more intimate either. How he went from numb to his surroundings, to obsessing over a twenty-five years old and her view of the world. She was breathtaking, there was no denying that, but beauty wasn’t the feature who made Elain Archeron so irresistible.

There was a fire inside her. A flame that burn bright and strong enticing him with every flicker. Elain played the demure persona quite well for someone with such strong opinions of the world. “People don’t really listen to me,” she told him once. “They look at me, and that’s it, my value is defined. That’s the only sense I can stimulate, vision. Like a curse.” He could relate to it better than he would like. Shackled to his appearance, to the horrendous scars on his hands, to the ever-present shadows draped over his body.

When Azriel saw the worst of what life had to offer he decided to be worse, to become the night that once symbolized his terrors, to be feared instead of afraid. When Elain saw the worst of what life had to offer she took a harsh blow, but she came back. As the light in her eyes began to shine again, her kindness bloomed in full, her positivity was contagious, her smiles infectious. There was no sensation that could rival being in the receiving end of her smiles. Understanding the bravery of her kindness was like a punch to his gut, making him gag, expelling, little by little, the foulness collected along centuries, allowing clear air to make way into his lungs. Azriel had never felt proud of anyone as he felt of Elain, and one day he simple caught himself longing for her. Her burning presence, her bright voice, her sunny smiles. Before he even realized it, her mere presence began to mold him anew, changing his habits, brightening his days.

When he could join her for breakfast, after being away for days, she would inquire every little detail of the cities he been to, filling him in with what he lost while away, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he knew what was happening in Velaris no matter where he were because he like to sip his coffee listening to the melody of her. “No” was not a word in his vocabulary when Elain shyly invited him for her usual walks along the Sidra, both quiet in companion silence enjoying the late night breeze, or her twice-a-week visits to the food market, where his hands would relieve hers from anything he judged heavy –which was anything she bought.

Azriel had lost count of how many times he shamelessly brought his reports to the town house, one eye on the words stretching in the paper, another in Elain humming while working in the garden, shadows escaping from him to lurk near her, shading her when they judged her floppy hats were not enough. And how many times had they not slipped away in shadows after a chaotic family dinner? Leaving their loud family behind to watch plays and recitals, attend a festival she had interest in knowing, her curious mind working furiously to ask him about fae customs, Azriel patiently explaining everything she desired to know, nights ending in cozy flights across the coast, dancing and drinking and laughter.

Being with Elain was easy, simple as breathing. Then things changed. In a slip of his tongue, Azriel flirted with her, and to his absolute delight and horror, Elain flirted back. And continued to do so. Her pink stained cheeks, the eyes that followed him everywhere, the subtle touches and brushes. Azriel knew why she was acting like that, cautious of the others noticing their interactions, careful of the gods-dammed bond that was always mention to her. The bond he didn’t give a fuck about. Their clandestine interactions grow bolder, his lust grow out of control, and it became impossible to be near her without barely stopping himself to worship every inch of her body. An spirit Elain seemed to appreciate.

Until he fucked it all up.

‘Master! Wake up!’

Azriel was brought from his reverie by an insistent shadow puling his eyelids, demanding his attention. Snarling, he tried to chase it away.  

‘Wake up, master. Read it, read it!’ It crooned in his ear.

A report materialized on his lap. With a sigh he surrendered, his eyes scanning the letter once, twice, before crunching the paper, his face finally exposing a feeling:

Anger.

“Fuck.”

.

.

.

Elain’s scent was scant, no longer bleeding out the walls and furniture, perfuming every corner of the house as it did once. The place was quiet, lifeless without her running around, indulging Nyx’s caprices while Feyre taught her classes. The River House was not as bright as it once was. At least, not for him. Azriel stood in the farther corner of the office, arms crossed, face blank, shadow vexing out and about, veiling his frame in such dark mist his brother could barely see his body.

"You cannot release them from duty, Rhysand."

Azriel gave his brother an icy stare.  Unbelievable. Did Rhys honestly believed he could control Azriel now because he was staying away from Elain? Control his spies? He wanted to laugh. The only reason he was following the idiotic command was his oath, his loyalty binding him to the High Lord’s command. Truth be told, the order alone was not strong enough to keep him from seeing Elain, the order could be interpreted in many ways, ways that allowed him to breach it. It was a simple game of literal meaning and loophole and telling Rhys to fuck himself. The only reason he had entertained his brother so far was because of Elain, he had hurt her deeply that night, broke her trust. Sometimes sleep would not come to him when the memory of her sad eyes did. Azriel didn’t know how to turn back, to fix his stupid mistake. He should had kissed her and to hell with it.

Rhys flicked an invisible fleck of dust from his shoulder. "I have no use for those who don't follow my orders."

"They are my spies. Not yours. Mine."

He almost laughed at the irony of the words so similar to the ones Devlon spat at him earlier. His brother glared at him.

"And you are my spymaster. Serving in my court."

Azriel was fuming. First his brother interfered in his relation with Elain, now he tried to fire the twins because they refused to spy on her, making Azriel realize that Rhys was really growing old, old and insane! Thinking too high of himself. Drunk on power.

Azriel followed a set of rules in his life, not fully trusting High Lords being one of them, way high on the list. The problem was he didn’t think his brother would be in the middle of the untrustworthy. His mistake. He should have known better than trust family.

"You're not sovereign.” Azriel scoffed. “I serve a High Lady. Shall I petition to her? Ask for an audience and deliver my worries in letterhead? Maybe just come to family dinner will do the trick."

"You think you're funny?"

"I think you are a dick." shadows coated his knuckles, sliding between his hands, squeezing. "They are allowed to refuse a mission that involves personal targets."

"Will you report in their place, then?”

“Fuck you!” The words were angry, harsh, siphons atop of his hands flared, the shelfs rattled. Rhys merely shrugged.

"I can forget this incident if you take their place. I need someone I can trust on this. Someone who cannot be bribed."

"Why would she bribe your measly roaches?"

"Not her. Someone more intimidating. Someone interest in keeping her business private."

"She has the right to her privacy."

"Not if she put my court in danger. She doesn't."

"Do you hear yourself?"

"I do. My problem is that you don't listen to me."

Azriel tried to keep calm, be reasonable, keep Rhys calm, away from the madness eating his brain. When did his brother turned into an asshole? Azriel took a deep breath, fighting to keep his shadows in check, feeling the fucking Shadowsinger clawing to be free and challenge his brother, wipe the idiotic fake smile from his face.

"All of this because she is moving out? Really, Ryshand?” His brother relaxed further on the chair, crossing his hands. "You only have one child, a male one. If you have so much fucking free time to be thinking bullshit, think about him, and leave Elain alone, let her live her life.”

Azriel whirled around, crunching the doorknob under his flaring palm, almost pulling the door out of the hinges. He would not shadow-walk away like a little boy throwing a tantrum. He would leave by the door and spit in Rhys’ doorsteps on the way out, like a grown male.

"What of you Az. Are you leaving her alone?"

He stopped.

"That's what you asked me to do, isn't it? No. You ordered me to do it."

"You think I don't know why she is moving out? Dare I say, for who."

"Elain is her own woman, her life doesn't revolve around anyone but herself."

"You expect me to believe that Elain moving out have nothing to do with you trying to sneak her out on Cassian’s mating party?"

Azriel huffed, shadows dispersing in the room. "The tales are true, then, is never late to learn something. I, for instance, am learning that having I child means your brain pass on to the next generation."

His brother sighed.

"Az,"

"Rhysand." He scorned. "Let her be. Let her live her life. Elain is not your nanny."

Rhys adjusted himself, shaken.

"I'm never said that."

"You didn't have too. Did you think she stayed in this house to nurse your child forever? She saw her sister die, she stayed behind for her, to nurse her back to health, to make sure Nyx was okay, watch his mother be back on her feet. She’s back."

"Are you her messenger now?"

"If Elain has a message for you, she will relay herself. In the meantime; Leave. Her. Alone. Or I will make you."

"Are you threatening me? My own brother?"

"I don’t make threats. As my brother, you should already know that." He slammed the door on his way out.

#elriel fanfic #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elain and azriel #rhysand #nuala and cerridwen #fucking devlon #TTYLTOYD #my writing #i tried to be my best misogynistic self to birth devlon #did it work? #being in his head is exauting for my brain cells #my eyes rolled so far back they are yet to return #enjoy :D #no more tags in my mind

[bookofmirth]

Thank you for answering!

I didn’t want to come off judgy of the book I was just confused as it seemed out of character. But I just weighed it more as her going through the process of thinking through Rowan’s idea

No worries! I hope my answer made sense, it's been a while since I reread or engaged with the fandom. I know that in the past it's been controversial that she said that, people who dislike Aelin took it as evidence that she's a bad person. And yeah, colonizing and taking over lands - not great!

I can see how people would take it as a negative on top of the way she's already acted and treated certain people, like... not Devlon. Not Declan. That guy who had been running Terrasen and then got bitchy about her coming back? (And accused Aelin of not having been there for her country when she was a literal child but whatever.)

Aelin has a lot of swagger but IMO it's not always genuine. Yeah she's confident, and sometimes she's irreverent and treats other people like they are beneath her. But sometimes that's an act, it's calculated. Imagine if she'd cowered in front of Lorcan, or gone to that dude whose name I can't remember and acted like a scared little girl asking to run her country again. To some extent, Aelin has to act brash and confident, because that's part of her role as a leader. She has to inspire confidence in her leadership, or people won't follow her. So this whole thing with playing with the idea of being a conquerer, to me it's an extension of that persona. The person she could be, and sometimes the person she's trying to be.

And also - she's like 18? 19? I didn't feel confident in who I was and what I wanted until I was in my 30s. I played with plenty of personas and identities while I was trying to find myself.

I know you didn't technically ask for more thoughts, but I had them! :)

#aelin #tog #ask #anon