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ecileh · 2 years

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@nerisweek Day One: Angst/Forbidden Love

Heavy on the forbidden love, this is the longer/uncut/original version (i.e. there’s a bonus apology scene at the end that I cut from the fic) of Eris and Nesta’s first kiss and then some in A Court of Rage and Fire, Chapter 13, but slightly edited to stand alone for Neris Week. Very NSFW

Nesta has accepted Eris Vanserra’s marriage proposal and joined the Autumn Court as they await the wedding date that Beron has set. They have agreed to an impermanent marriage, to last only a year and a day in order to accomplish their goal of unseating Beron. However, if they consummate their union before the ceremony, still several days away, they’ll be forced into a lifelong marriage.

Part One: Nesta’s Fury

Revealing a familiarly-shaped token, Eris asked, “Do you know it?”

“It’s been a long time,” Nesta said, remembering the table with the inlaid marble board at her horrible grandmamma’s house.

“When did you learn?” Eris handed half of the pieces to her and began to set up his own. “You haven’t been in the Night Court so long.”

“As a child,” Nesta said. “My mother made me. Humans play it too.”

Eris tilted his head. “It’s mostly a soldier’s game here. Was your mother a warrior like you?”

Nesta snorted, remembering the way her mother had connived and strategized Nesta’s training and socializing to produce a bride seemly enough to seduce a prince. And here she was, days from marrying this prince. “In the ballroom, sure.”

“Fascinating how differently one game can be played on either side of a wall, separated by a few centuries. Here, we remember the War and the games we played to prepare. And humans, with their short memories and many generations, turn it into an idle parlor game in less than my lifetime.”

Nesta finished setting up her pieces. “Are we not playing an idle parlor game?”

“If you play this one enough, you will learn to see patterns and openings on any battlefield, which may come in handy all too soon,” Eris said, his face cold and pale in solemnity. “But we could raise the stakes if it feels too idle for you.”

“What would you have us play for?”

Eris grabbed two game pieces. “This one,” he said, brandishing the black piece, “for mental stakes, and this one,” he waved the white, “for physical.” He placed both pieces behind his back and said, “Pick a hand.”

“I assume mental is more truths. But physical…you mean, favors?”

“Hardly. I was thinking more of a dare. I told you I would not touch you until you ask me to.”

“You mean unless I ask you to?” Nesta arched one brow.

“No. I mean until.” Eris’s smirk was slight, but the fire glittering in his eyes was positively feral. “I thought we might dare losers to…strip. No touching, mind you. Just…looking.”

Nesta’s stomach fluttered. Plenty of males had seen her without clothes in the bedroom—and no small number of females, either—but the notion of baring herself for this prince, who had kept his word and not even touched her since dancing with her and then winnowing her here, weeks ago now…oh, it was so deliciously unseemly that she just had to lock up the last shred of her human modesty for the night.

Because if there was anything that Nesta Archeron loved, it was wanton indecency. In private, of course.

It wasn’t like she would let it lead anywhere, even if he was unserious about not touching. She would tease him, and send him to the guest room with his tail between his legs.

“Why choose, when we could do both?” she said, not bothering to hide the wickedness in her own eyes. “But perhaps we could relocate. Somewhere without a front door and giant windows.”

“Say no more,” Eris said, lifting the board smoothly so that the pieces did not fall off. “Lead the way. I know you know where you’re going.”

When they were seated on velvet chairs, opposite each other around a small table in the hidden blood-red and golden boudoir, Nesta asked, “So, loser of each game token also loses a piece of clothing, and winner asks a question?”

“Precisely,” Eris said, making his first move. “And we will not stop playing until the pieces are gone, even if there’s no clothes left. We can keep going with truths, but I hate to leave a game unfinished. Especially if there’s a view.”

Nesta glanced down at the board, which held seven pieces on each side, then at their clothes. They each only wore night clothes and a robe. “Someone counted.” She made her first move, a conservative opening that she had learned from her mother as her grandmamma disapprovingly corrected her posture in the chair. Nesta leaned back on the chaise in a way that would have made Grandmamma crack Nesta’s knuckles with a stick.

Two moves later, Eris took Nesta’s first piece. “You really are rusty,” he said. “One of the oldest tricks in the book against that opening you pulled.”

“I should have remembered.” Nesta stood, slowly shrugging off Eris’s silk robe. Left only in her translucent nightdress, she raised her eyebrows.

If Eris had been respectful when he walked in on her upstairs, his gaze now was anything but.

Nesta broke his reverie by returning to the chaise, this time lounging on her side. “What’s your question?”

Eris’s knuckles were nearly white clutching the arms of his chair. “Did you miss me while I was away?” he asked.

Nesta was quiet a moment as she considered her next move. “Unfortunately.”

Eris tutted in feigned shock, though something else that Nesta couldn’t place glinted in his eyes. “How is that unfortunate?”

“Because,” Nesta said, “you’re an arrogant prick who did not need to grow a bigger head.”

The way Eris looked at her then was entirely indecent. “What did you miss about me?”

“Sparring with you,” Nesta said flatly.

“And?”

“And verbally sparring.”

Eris chuckled. Within a move, he lost his robe too. He untied it slowly, his eyes on Nesta the entire time. Her eyes, though, were drawn to the curls of brownish-red hair that thinly decorated the muscles of his chest, then led in a trail below his low-slung, loose pants.

“I’ve seen many Fae without shirts,” she said.

Eris returned to his chair. “Is that your question, or are you bragging of your conquests? Because I wouldn’t mind hearing about the more…interesting ones.”

Nesta ignored him. “You’re the only one I’ve seen with chest hair. Like a…”

“Like a human?”

Nesta nodded. “Is it an Autumn trait?”

“It’s one of Autumn’s best-kept secrets, though at this point it would hurt nobody but Beron’s pride if everyone knew,” Eris said, considering her as he moved a token. “He’s a bastard, but the only child of the last High Lord. His father was Fae, but his mother was a human slave in the Court.”

Nesta blinked. “Beron hates humans.”

“He hates himself,” Eris said darkly. “Pulls his hair back tight so his ears look bigger. He grows a beard, and shaves his face and body every single morning. Used to make me do it, too, but I hated it, so now I just keep my shirt on. Poor Regis and… Regis actually grows a beard, too, and can’t go a day without shaving.” Beron and Regis, easily the two vainest Vanserras—which was saying something—and also, the most visibly human. “But…Beron did banish humans from the Autumn Court as soon as he took the throne, effectively freeing them hundreds of years before most of the other courts, besides Night, which had already done the same. Maybe because he hated them, maybe because he was ashamed, maybe because he loved his mother. I have no idea, and he won’t talk about it.”

“And that’s why you have so many brothers,” Nesta said remembering Ada’s lecture about Vanserra fertility.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Eris sipped his tea. “To be so celebrated for half-human virility, while desperately hiding it. How many High Fae, let alone how many High Lords in all of our history, can boast of si—seven sons? The Vanserras are near-mythical in Prythian for it. I take a tonic, and as long as Beron sits on the throne I won’t stop even if you ask me to. He’d probably kill us both if he knew I even told you.”

“Why?” Nesta asked incredulously. “I was born human.”

“But you’re full High Fae, physically. And the prejudices against Half-Fae are mostly forgotten now, but after the Wall went up, Half-Fae were…outcasts. Unwelcome, the lowest class. Beron was already old then, and his father had been careful to keep Beron’s mother a secret, so he was lucky no one knew or remembered where he came from. Other Half-Fae were locked out of society, let alone nobility. Many sold their bodies to eat, as it was the only way they were allowed most places.”

Nesta was quiet, then. She idly picked at the velvet of the chaise, reminded of her family’s desperation, and how she had swung between the possibilities of watching her family starve just to spite her father, and selling her own body to feed them. But Feyre, all on her own, had kept them alive and prevented both of Nesta’s plans from happening.

“Where did you go there?” Eris asked, genuine concern in his amber eyes. He reached out across the table as if to stroke her face, but stopped and pulled back.

Nesta looked around, then down at the game board. Eris had been distracted by Beron’s story, and his last move had been careless. She took another of his pieces. “I was looking for a way to kick your ass at this game,” she said crudely.

“That’s a lie,” Eris said, his voice low and cold. “What happened to you?”

“Well, I don’t owe you a truth yet, and I hope you don’t waste your last question on something so dull. You owe me your pants and an answer.”

Eris nodded solemnly, crossed his ankle over his knee, and set his pants aflame. Nesta watched as the fabric burned away, revealing the long, toned muscles of his legs, the dark curls that led from his thighs and abdomen to the heavy, semi-hard phallus between his legs.

“Show off,” Nesta scoffed. She could have sworn that she felt the heat emanating from Eris, though he was several feet away. Or was that her? Something about his nudity, his vulnerability before her, while she lounged fully—mostly—clothed, had her feeling powerful.

“I’d love to show you how nice the flames feel,” Eris said, now grinning ferally with fire in his eyes.

Nesta glanced around the room, desperate to look anywhere but besides Eris’s cock. She’d been staring.

Oh, gods. He had fucking completely, utterly seduced her, hadn’t he? Just like he’d promised weeks ago. If Nesta’s arena of seduction had been the dance floor, then she had handed herself to him on his—the world of parlor games, clever conversation, and secret rooms.

Her eyes settled on the wall of glass and wooden and gemstone cocks. At least those were not attached to Eris.

“Tell me true. Which of those cocks gets the most use?”

Eris let out a bark of laughter. “All the questions in the world, and that’s what you want to know? Why, do you want to try one?”

“I owe you no answer, Vanserra.” Nesta lazily adjusted her position on her side, stretching an arm overhead with the knowledge that it made her full breasts look incredible.

“The glass one,” Eris said. “It holds heat sublimely, and you can rather see inside with it. If you’re very, very nice, you can use it on me someday.”

That was more than Nesta had asked for, the thought of fucking this male, laid out before her like a meal, the power over him that he offered her, was intriguing. But that would be for another time.

Nesta made her move. It was a giveaway, a purposeful dangling of her game piece before Eris. He ignored the bait, focusing on defending a different part of the board.

Her seething must have been obvious, because Eris said, “You do realize your dress is already transparent, don’t you?”

She was indignant. How dare he decline to take her piece and her nightgown?

Her next few moves backed him into a corner. He could move nowhere without taking a piece.

Eris met her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

She gave the slightest of nods, and her nightgown went up in flames.

It was utterly, ravishingly delightful. Eris’s fire tickled hotly at her skin, leaving chilled goose flesh in its wake. The flames took their time and burned slowly against her most sensitive parts, brushing like a lover’s hot, whispering breath at her neck and the backs of her knees. She couldn’t help it—she squirmed into the sensation, her back arching like a cat to lean into the fire licking at her shoulders, then her breasts. Her nipples peaked, straining for more heat, more wisps of air rushing to feed Eris’s fire on her skin.

When the flames finally reached the bit of nightgown that had gathered near her core, she gasped. Her thighs squeezed around the last lick of flame, which lingered to heat the bundle of nerves, but she needed more, more heat, more pressure. She writhed shamelessly, the arch of her back traveling down to her pelvis, which she thrust forward to chase the fire, wishing it would never leave her skin. But the last of her nightgown was consumed, and she both heard and felt the wetness between her thighs sizzle against the dying flame.

This male was hellfire.

Nesta propped herself up on her hands, entirely exposed to him. Eris met her eyes, his chest heaving with quick breaths despite his cool mask of conquest.

“Truth. What do you want right now?” Eris asked, the words sinfully low.

“More.” His phallus quivered as the whisper spilled from her lips.

“That’s too bad,” he said with feigned sympathy. “We still have a game to play, and it’s your turn.”

“You mock me.”

“I would worship you, if you would just humor me.”

Nesta sat up then, leaned forward and moved a piece without looking at it.

“That’s an illegal move.” Eris moved the piece back.

“I don’t care,” Nesta said petulantly.

“Please,” Eris practically growled.

The deep rumble in his voice spurred her to consider the board again. She’d already screwed herself, with every one of her pieces still in danger of being taken. She retreated her most valuable piece, and braced for the next truth.

“Do you want to change the terms? Do you want me to touch you?” His deep voice softened to a purr, the low rumble of it sending shivers down her spine.

She nodded.

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Eris’s expression was that of a cat who had caught a bird, and it nearly undid Nesta.

“I want you,” she choked out the words louder, “to touch me…everywhere.”

Smugly, Eris gestured at the board for her move. Arrogant, court trained, fucking bastard.

There was no way she could win, not after carelessly offering all of her pieces as sacrifice. One move, and then another, and Eris would steal her pieces and her truths one by one. It was undignified, and the cruel smirk on his lips showed he knew it. Relished it.

So she did what any king—or any petulant brat—would have done. With a swipe of her hand, the wooden board and pieces clattered to the ground.

Fire and rage simmered in Eris’s eyes as he snarled, “I was going to win.”

Nesta held her chin high, her spine a column of pure steel. “You already have.”

There was a moment where they just glared at each other, chests heaving with ragged breaths, and then Eris leapt at her.

Despite knocking over the table on his way, Eris was surprisingly—no, maddeningly—gentle where his tongue and lips met her neck and his hands lightly grazed her waist.

She leaned into his touch, wrapping her arms and legs around him to urge more, every inch of his skin almost hot enough to burn. But he denied her, keeping his touch light as he raised his mouth to her ear to whisper, “What makes you think I’ll give you what you want after that sort of behavior?”

Fury burned through her as hot as his skin against hers, and she dug her nails into his back. He groaned, and she felt his cock twitch against her thighs.

His hands dropped to her ass, fingers digging into the curved flesh to lift her up and push her against a wall, moving across the room with that unnatural speed. Nesta’s legs were still wrapped around him, and she could now feel every inch of his burning-hot cock sliding against her pussy, though he did not enter the core that clenched tightly for want of him.

His flames caressed every inch of her skin, burning her last shred of dignity away. “Fill me,” she whimpered.

“No,” he hissed, his mouth still at her ear, and she shuddered at the hot breath that tickled the sensitive, inner skin. Then he pulled back, and meeting her gaze, he slipped one hand from her ass to run a single finger against the wetness between her legs. His fingertip paused at her entrance, and she gasped, the pressure even without penetration threatening to undo her.

Leveraging her with one hand and the wall, he raised his free hand to demonstrate how her wetness dripped and stretched clear liquid cords between his thumb and forefinger. His amber eyes did not leave her gaze as his lips parted to make room for his finger in his mouth. His breath caught, shivering at the taste of her on his tongue.

Their eyes remained locked as he began to grind his cock against her wetness, slipping slowly over the bundle of nerves that had her seeing stars. His flames licked at her nipples, her neck, her knees. When her eyelids fluttered at the full-body sensation, he commanded, “Open your eyes,” and when she again held his gaze, she undulated her hips, trying to catch his cock in her hole as its heat swept maddeningly up and down across her pussy.

“I will not have your scent marked by me before we are tied,” Eris growled, pressing his body hard against her to keep her from moving, the heat on her clit bringing her to the precipice of release.

“Just an inch,” she begged.

He chuckled darkly at the pathetic desire he had roused in her, and she could bear no more.

“Please me.” Her voice then was a wanton command, her lip curling into an imperious sneer.

A ragged breath escaped Eris’s lips as he obeyed, pulling back just enough that his cock pressed at her entrance. She moaned and squeezed every muscle in her pelvis, trying to draw him in, but he held her tightly and gave her less than an inch, just enough to open her around his tip.

But it was enough. Her climax shuddered through her entire body, her breath exiting her lips in gasps, her core clenching rhythmically around nothing but the half-inch of fire at her entrance.

Eris, his expression as cool as stone, watched her face the whole time, lightly grabbing her jaw to keep their eyes level when her head tried to curl back in ecstasy. It only made the ripples coursing through her body flex harder.

When she finally stilled, fire roared in his eyes. His lips twitched, and finally, hungrily, she pressed her mouth to his.

As his tongue pushed past her lips, sweeping her mouth, he pulled her back from the wall and carried her. She wrapped her hands around his cheeks, holding his face to hers tightly, and squeezed her legs around him, for stability as much as the hope of slipping him inside her, but he held her strongly away from his cock.

Then, she realized through the haze of her fading climax and the distraction of the kiss, that he was rising a set of stairs.

“Where are you going?” she cried, breaking contact with his lips.

“To bed,” he said, and set her down gently in the great room. At the feral curl of her lips, he shook his head. “You upstairs, and me in the guest room.”

“But—”

“I do not tell you no lightly,” Eris said. “An Autumn handfasting is a temporary marriage for a reason. If you reek of me before the ceremony, we may end up in a less temporary situation. One that neither of us desires.”

Nesta barely registered his words, her gaze wantonly falling to his wet, throbbing cock. Eris exhaled sharply, bringing her gaze back to his cold, pale face, his flaring nostrils. And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared toward the guest bedroom, leaving Nesta naked and alone in the tall, dark room.

Part Two: Eris’s Penance

Nesta sat in the great gilded chair in the boudoir, and Eris lightly ran his hand from face to neck to breasts to infuriatingly close to her pussy.

He placed his hands on her knees, parting them to expose her gleaming cunt. He ran his hands up her spread thighs, leaning in close to murmur in her ear, “I would worship you, until you tell me to stop.”

Full of aching need, she allowed a moment for the frissons from his breath to run down her neck and arms, standing every fine hair on edge. Then she commanded, with all the gravity of a ruler sentencing a traitor to death, “Kneel.”

Eris acquiesced, sinking to his knees like a penitent before his queen. He grasped her by her hipbones, pulling her forward into a slouch that allowed him to place his auburn head between her thighs and kiss everywhere but her pussy. He was maddeningly slow about it, sometimes dragging his tongue up to pay homage to her breasts, and though her abdomen convulsed in pleasure, it was not what she wanted.

“Stop,” she said, and he raised his head. Utterly still, he watched her, awaiting her command. “Go lower.”

Sensing the desire in her words, he obeyed, lightly teasing his tongue across her clit before burying it in his mouth. He sent a wave of heat through his lips, and she moaned with pleasure. He moaned in response, as if he were feasting on the world’s most decadent dessert, and the heat and vibrations nearly undid her. As her breaths quickened, he slipped one hand under his chin and finally some part of him entered her. All it took was one finger, curled to touch the right spot, and she cried out, the force of her orgasm clenching around him. He moaned again wetly, his tongue and finger playing her release like a sustained note of music, riding out her pleasure in waves.

Though Nesta’s muscles eventually relaxed, Eris did not. Unfalteringly, he continued to use his hand and mouth to draw out her pleasure, responding to every gasp to find exactly which sensations would make her positively writhe.

He brought her to the edge once more. Just as her body threatened to lose all control, she commanded, again, “Stop.”

Eris pulled back and stilled, eyes raised to hers in obedience. A thrill shuddered through Nesta at the power she held over the male, who now awaited her every command. “Touch yourself,” she said. His hand wrapped around his cock, though he did not move, waiting for her word.

“Go.”

He returned with gusto to licking and sucking her while stroking his own phallus. The groan that escaped him sent tremors through the entire room, and the vibration pushed her over the edge. His pace on himself quickened as he extracted her climax, and he only moaned louder, as if her pleasure heightened his.

“Stop,” Nesta said breathlessly when her orgasm faded. Eris froze and regarded her with indignance. Good. She stood and bade him, “Rise.”

One last time, Eris obeyed, cock quivering. Nesta smirked as she circled the utterly still male who, despite his fury, did not move to disobey her. She grazed a finger across the back of his shoulders, up his spine, down the midline of his chest and stomach. He shivered, goose flesh rising in the wake of her touch.

Nesta finally returned to face him, and returned his imperious glare as she lightly ran that single finger across the underside of his cock from balls to tip. She stood on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “Go.” Eris gasped and nearly doubled over with the force of his throbbing orgasm, his seed spilling on the parquet.

Silver flames danced in the eyes of Nesta, triumphant in her conquest.

#neris week #neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #nesta deserves better #pro nesta #acotar smut #neris smut #acotar #nerisweek #ecilehwrites

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ecileh · 2 years

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5 chapters of my high stakes nesta/eris rage fic “a court of rage and fire” are now on both AO3 and wattpad

thanks so much to those of you who have reached out and read it, i have had this story burning a hole through me since i first read acosf and i’m so geeked that other people ~*get it*~

✦✦✦

Feyre rose to pour a cup of tea and handed it to Nesta as she settled in next to her. “We have a proposition for you,” Feyre said with a tentative smile that did not reach her blue-grey eyes.

“A job,” Rhysand interjected smoothly as he propped his feet up on a coffee table. “Your first as an Emissary of the Night Court. Though we no longer have need of you in the human lands, with Lucien having taken up residence there, we could use an insider in the Autumn Court.”

Nesta sipped her tea. “Eris proposed.”

“Yes, and—”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking,” Nesta interrupted Rhysand with a tone so pleasant it verged on sarcastic, coming from her. “I’ve already accepted.”

That seemed to take the words right of Rhysand’s mouth. For a mere instant, Rhysand’s impeccably composed features fell into utter shock. Azriel knew Rhysand had expected any number of reactions from Nesta, from her standard cold fury to a relapse in her vices to running away entirely. But definitely not this… Feyre glanced quickly at Azriel. He gave the smallest shrug, as if to say, I have no idea what’s happening either.

“Wonderful,” Rhysand said, his expression sliding back into that of a High Lord. “While you are there, you will find out as much as you can about Beron’s dealings with Keir or anyone else who could pose a threat to Prythian. Amren and Azriel will have more information for you.”

“Will that be necessary? Eris is your ally, is he not? I am sure that he and I will remain as such and tell you everything you need to know. What could be a stronger alliance than brothers-in-law?” Nesta said with all the diplomacy of a queen.

“Don’t get flippant with us, girl,” Amren said impatiently. “It will not be a real marriage. The Autumn Court holds to ancient traditions that allow you to choose, without consequence, to end a betrothal up to a year and a day after the first ceremony. You will remain a member of the Night Court, report to us, and break off the arrangement to return to us when it is appropriate.”

Nesta made a humming sound that indicated she was not convinced. “Well, when I told Eris ‘yes’ it was very real. In fact, I’d better head to the Hewn City soon. Amren will just have to write me a letter about it. I’d hate to keep my beloved waiting to start our life together.”

“I’ll take her to the Hewn City,” Mor said quietly. She had joined Azriel’s side while Nesta and Amren continued their thinly-veiled verbal spar.

“Are you sure, Mor?” Azriel asked, knowing how Keir affected his friend. “I don’t mind, and you—”

“No, I want to talk to her. I have some things to attend to there anyway.”

Feyre was now tactfully interrupting Nesta and Amren, grabbing Nesta’s hand and pulling her toward the stairs. “Let me at least send you off dressed properly!” Elain, who had stayed silent for the entire exchange, followed close behind.

“This I need to be part of,” Mor said before disappearing after the sisters.

Azriel was left with a speechless Rhys and a furious Amren.

Amren whirled on Azriel, who realized he had missed an essential part of the conversation. “Did you hear her say that she refused the fucking bride price?” Amren hissed furiously as Rhys placed a single hand over his face in irritation.

So that had been Nesta’s revenge.

It took every ounce of Azriel’s considerable self control not to burst out laughing.

#a court of rage and fire #acosf #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro nesta #nesta archeron #nesta deserves better #neris #eris vanserra #anti acosf #anti ic #ecilehwrites

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ecileh · 2 years

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yeah i’m writing this with a straight face what of it

(read it here)

#nesta deserves better #azris #neris #you can’t tell me it doesn’t make sense when they’re both incredible dancers #off to write a chapter about them playing strip poker #a court of rage and fire #ecilehwrites

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ecileh · 2 years

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a court of rage and fire

sup nestas and nerises, i’m writing a fanfic that is basically just how i wanted acosf to go (feat nesta rage betrothal to eris). some of y’all might appreciate so i wanted to share here. the first chapters are up on ao3

this is an AU that diverges from canon acosf at chapter 58, beginning with the day after winter solstice. there is no deus ex machina or gaping plot hole coming to rescue characters at the last moment. character decisions have final and far-reaching consequences. some of your faves may die, and they cannot be saved. the stakes are high; proceed accordingly.✨

here’s an excerpt:

✦✦✦

Prythian, the day after Winter Solstice.

Her arms filled with a motley assortment of rectangular packages, Nesta rested a moment on the porch of the River House. Despite her overall glowing feeling of love for the Night Court this morning, she still felt a tiny inkling of anxiety. She had never called on the court unannounced. Even though the last few days had passed rather pleasantly, did they really want to see more of her? Even if she came bearing tokens of good will?

She had passed the morning in the bookshop, spending the first dozen or so of the credits Feyre and Elain had given her on everyone but herself. A thick book of what her human family would have called fairy tales—did Fae still call them fairy tales?—with whimsically painted illustrations, for Feyre and Rhys. Not technically for the baby, as it was ill luck to gift before birth, but she hoped they would read the stories to the child. A guide book of herbs and their magical and mundane uses, so old it was browned by time, for Elain. Fashion history for Mor, though Nesta supposed five-hundred-year-old Mor had already lived through much of it. A gilded stationery set for Amren to write letters to Varian. As for Azriel and Cassian, she was not entirely sure if they read much, other than dull strategy books, of which there were few in the bookshop. They did try to encourage pleasure reading there, after all. But the bookshop had allowed her to use credits toward the confectioneries they sold in the little reading lounge in the front of the store. She had noticed from their meals together in the House of Wind that Azriel had a hearty love for dessert, and if Cassian had less of a sweet tooth, well, maybe he'd be eager to eat a few off her bare skin when she returned. She had asked the bookseller to wrap each item for her, and Nesta had painstakingly written everyone's name on their gift with the beautiful calligraphy her mother had drilled into her so long ago.

Nesta debated leaving the gifts on the porch as if to say, I'm a coward and also didn't have any money to buy Solstice gifts until you gave me shop credit. But then she remembered how lovely it had been to spend time with the court yesterday, and how it had made her a bit nostalgic for the holidays she and her sisters had shared in their human childhood. She expected that Mor and Amren might have slept in after the late night, and that the bat boys would likely still be at the mountain cabin, depending on how quickly the snowball fight had been won. But she at least hoped to see Feyre and Elain.

So Nesta knocked, and waited. No answer. The servants would have the day off since the Inner Circle liked to recover quietly from all the Solstice partying, so she tested the knob. Although Nesta expected it to be locked and enchanted, it turned easily, perhaps having been spelled to allow family members in as they wished. She found an empty living room. Thinking to perhaps find Elain in the garden, where she still liked to sit even in winter with little tending to do, Nesta began to head toward the back door.

But the sound of voices behind an imposing, closed door stopped her. It sounded like everyone was in there, all arguing and talking at once.

Nesta knew the door. It was Rhysand's office, which often was used as a formal, private meeting room. Not so private that she couldn't hear from right outside the door, however. Rhysand apparently hadn't thought to seal the room, with no servants in the house, and the House being enchanted against unwelcome guests.

She might have been added to the list of welcome guests, but Nesta was sure they hadn't expected her.

Imagining her presence would be an unwelcome interruption, she almost decided to take the cowardly route of leaving the presents at the door, so she could scurry back to the bookshop to pick up a book for herself and enjoy the reading lounge before making the climb back up the stairs. But a word caught her attention. Her name.

"Nesta's debts—" came from Amren's voice.

"—her choice—!" Definitely Mor.

"—not having this conversation!" Cassian's impassioned voice roared above the others.

Then, silence, and a rush of air from the small space between the parquet floor and the door. Feyre must have taken the air out of the room to quiet everyone for a moment, so her mate could regain control.

Nesta moved closer to the door as a gaping black hole formed in her chest.

Rhysand's voice came on a thin strand of air through the keyhole where Nesta now pressed her ear. Even with her Fae hearing, the door and walls were thick and well-built, and she did not want to miss another word. Rhysand's was no longer the voice of a male arguing with his family, but the pompous voice of a High Lord speaking with absolute power.

"We will put it to vote."

Calm silence was the only response from all in the room.

"I would hear first from my High Lady," Rhysand continued.

"I-I can't. It's not right. We can't keep voting on the lives of those who aren't present. Rhysand, I forgave you, I forgave all of you for voting on me, but Nesta...she'll never forgive us. It should be her choice." The distress in Feyre's voice was evident, even muffled through the door.

"Is it your choice to abstain from the vote, then?" Rhysand asked gently, but with a distant coolness to his voice that indicated the vote would continue, with or without Feyre.

"No." Feyre's voice was ragged with emotion. "I vote that it should be Nesta's choice."

Mor was quick to say, "I vote absolutely not. We can't even tell her. I won't let you do to her what was done to me."

"No one is going to slice her up and nail a note to her belly," Amren said. The words would have been cruel from almost anyone else, but it was Amren's usual blunt tone. "Eris is our ally. Besides, it's my vote next. Wait your turn, Morrigan."

"We will proceed with order, lest we all end up yelling again. Amren," Rhysand said encouragingly.

"Yes. Nesta should go. The bride price, gold or favors, will pay off her debts, and we will cement Eris's alliance. No one is forcing her to actually marry him—she'll have plenty of chances before the final ceremony to back out for any number of reasons, and in the meantime, she can provide the Night Court with insight into Beron and Eris's dealings, and Keir as their close ally as well. It's not like Eris has exactly given us much on either of them, and if Beron or Keir contacts Koschei..."

"You are suggesting that we send Nesta to spy." Azriel's low voice was careful and steady.

"Frame it as a test of whether we can trust her as part of the Inner Circle," Amren replied. "But yes. You would train her until she leaves, a few weeks perhaps, and check in on her regularly. It will cause less distress for Azriel to be our liaison than Cassian, of course. Less territorial male preening, at least."

A pause while everyone mulled this over, though a growl escaped from Cassian. Nesta's heart was pounding as the realization that they were voting to sell her off in marriage sunk in. Rage flowed from a widening pit in her chest to heat every part of her body.

"This is an intriguing play," Rhysand finally said. "Morrigan, your vote?"

Nesta had never heard so much emotion in Mor's voice. Mor was nearly shrill as she said, "No, no, again no. If not no, then give her a choice for Cauldron's sake, but don't let her make the wrong one where she could land in Beron or Keir's claws. You say no one is going to hurt her, but what is stopping Beron or Keir from getting to her if she is found out?"

"Nesta herself," Elain said quietly, with a small, rueful laugh. "She has more power than any of us, truly. And didn't Eris ensure your freedom, in his own way? He is a powerful ally, and the risk seems worth strengthening that alliance, or at least gathering information on Beron and Keir's dealings. I say yes."

Nesta was sure that Elain was out of order, but no one corrected her. The silver flames began to press at Nesta's internal walls at Elain's betrayal, but Nesta tried to count her breaths in the practice of Mind-Stilling to calm herself, lest she burn the entire house away to nothing.

Rhysand said, "That's two votes for yes, one vote for no, and one vote for leaving it to Nesta. Azriel?"

"It should be Nesta's choice," Azriel said slowly. "Having eyes and ears on the greatest dangers from Autumn and Nightmares would be a great boon, I cannot lie. But for it to work, Nesta has to want it. And I will not condone further forcing her into anything. Moving her to the House of Wind has been good for her, yes, but I am not sure we were right for leaving her no choice between that and certain death."

"And I vote no," Cassian finally gasped with fury. "We are not discussing this. She is mine. I will not again be in comp—"

Cassian cut himself off before he could say more, but Nesta could feel the unfinished thought caught in Cassian's throat. I will not again be in competition with Eris. As if she were the consolation prize for neither of them winning Mor over five hundred years ago.

And that phrase. She is mine. It had been one thing to say it in private, when it was the passionate words of foreplay, but to say it behind her back as if he owned her...that was unforgivable.

She would suffer no male to control her.

Nesta stood on the precipice of that black hole in her chest, filling with silver flames that threatened to swallow her and everything in a mile radius whole. She wanted to shatter, but she did not yet allow herself to surrender to the gaping pit.

"Rhys," Feyre pleaded, her husband's vote now the arbiter of a three-way tie between a choice, a forced betrothal, and yet another secret kept from Nesta, who had asked nothing of most of them except for the freedom to live her own life after twenty-five years of having no choices. Anything but her own choice threatened to break Nesta forever.

Nesta did not wait to hear the vote of the High Lord.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40460172/chapters/101360355

#nesta archeron #neris #eris vanserra #nesta deserves better #ecilehwrites

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ecileh · 9 months

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occasional people in my inbox: your writing is character assassination. you hate everyone besides nesta!

what i actually wrote, having the time of my life writing non-POV elain learning to be resourceful but ok sure being a little shady about it:

Elain might be soft, but there was pure steel behind the roses in her cheeks. If Nesta was the cold, cruel slice of a steel sword, and Feyre the sharp point of an arrow, then Elain was master-crafted chain mail. The sort of dainty strength that could flow and bend and glitter, but would never fail in battle.

(insert “would a depressed person make this!” but it’s “would a hater write this!”)

#a court of rage and fire #ecilehwrites

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ecileh · 10 months

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good news i am writing again

bad news i am convinced that it is absolute garbo

#ecilehwrites

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ecileh · 3 months

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You (Dark!Azriel x his own delusions)

Canon-compliant reimagining of Azriel’s crush on Mor as a delusional nice guy stalker’s obsession. I wrote this a while ago after a silly joke about Azriel being like Joe Goldberg of You (book/netflix show about a stalker/serial killer who’s completely sure he’s just a nice guy) and always meant to give it another chapter or two to round out Az’s pre-ACOTAR backstory. But I reread it and felt like it was kinda alright as is. Intended as a one shot for now but may write the rest someday!

(Also note to Az lovers that this is really not serious, I usually write Azriel completely different and I was just having fun imagining him as an insane freak)

AO3 link

Rating: Mature/not graphic but it’s DARK and UNHINGED Word Count: 2.1k TW: unhinged stalker vibes, no smut just Azriel being insane, sexless but very horny, inspired by Joe Goldberg/You so that should give you an idea of what’s happening here, maybe a little dead dove Relationships: kind of Az/Mor but not really it’s 100% in his head, if anything this ended up giving repressed Az/Cassion vibes

You winnow into the war-camp with your bare arm linked through Rhys’s and you look around, shivering, unsure if you belong here. You don’t. I don’t either. You’re underdressed—a slinky, artful arrangement of glittering black fabric. It’s impossible to know if you’re wearing any undergarments, but I don’t think that you are. Where did you come from?

Your clothes are appropriate for the Hewn City, but you’re freezing in this war-camp, high in the Illyrian mountains. You must be Rhys’s cousin, the one who is Cassian’s age, which is two years younger than me and one year older than Rhys. You are classically beautiful, with golden curls and pleading brown eyes and pale skin that has never seen sun or snow or scars. Shadows, though, you’ve certainly seen in the Hewn City. Maybe you won’t balk from mine. But even as I think that, my shadows shrink away. Maybe they’re just giving you the space to shine.

Look at you, walking right toward me. I’m trembling, and I’d fly away just to show you the power and size of my wings. But I don’t want to fly away. I want to be here, watching the connection dawn on your face when Rhys introduces us. Azriel, you’ll say. I’ve heard so much about you.

You’ll giggle and twirl your golden hair as I say, Only good things, I hope.

You come closer. Your gown tucks between your legs when you walk and you are definitely not wearing any undergarments under that slip of a dress and you definitely wanted me to notice. I see there’s a darkness in your eyes. It doesn’t quite mirror mine, but … maybe you don’t want good.

Scratch out my last line. Your eyes will smolder and you’ll bite your lip as I purr, Only bad things, I hope.

The bad things are what I’ll do to you, you’ll say before running a delicate finger along the waistband of my leathers. Then I’ll sweep you up into my arms and unfurl my wings and fly until we find a spot where no one will be able to hear us. Miles, if I’m right about how loud I’ll make you climax.

Calm down, Azriel. They don’t like it when a male smells aroused the first time you meet, I remind myself. I take a deep breath, taking in the scent of my brother-in-arms next to me. Cassian reeks like sweat and balls and blood and dirt. He really should bathe before dinner, especially since we have all the hot water we want in the cabin, but he grew up half-feral, like a kitten without a mother to teach it how to lick its asshole clean. Some days he’ll train the extra half-hour rather than fill the tub, and sometimes he’ll continue to drill after dinner until he’s too tired to bathe at all. He picked a terrible day to go without a scrub before dinner, what with your arrival, but it’s good news for me. There are many Illyrian females who make eyes at him, the perfect rogue and dashing Illyrian warrior, even if he’s as bastard-born as I am. But your palate is more refined than these brutish Illyrians. You’ve run away from your home and I can’t wait to run away from mine. You’ll understand.

I put my hands in my pockets so you don’t see the shaking or the scars, then tilt my chin up and smirk. It’s what Rhys does when he’s trying to look nonchalant, and he looks damn good doing it so he must be doing something right. I straighten, but Cassian is slouching so we look about the same height side by side. Thanks, brother. He knows, my wingman—he knows you are for me.

But then you sashay right past the pair of us, still clinging to Rhys’s arm, and you glance furtively around the camp, nearly empty with everyone else in the mess tent for dinner, as you accompany your cousin into the Lady’s cabin.

I glance at Cassian, and he shrugs, lifting his shoulder slightly to sniff his armpit. “Should I have rinsed? You don’t think the Lady will scold me since we have company?”

Rhys’s mother, the Lady of the Night Court, is like our foster-mother and used to make us wash before dinner and again before bed if we went back to the training ring, but now that we’re preparing in earnest for the Blood Rite she usually looks the other way when Cassian pushes himself every free minute of the day. She’s Illyrian through and through, and she understands that the rules in the war-camps are different from the rules in the two cities of the Night Court, where neither of us have ever gone but will someday serve at Rhys’s side.

You, however, are High Fae from the Hewn City, and you’ll care about that etiquette. You’ll notice that I’m clean and smell nice and have manners and that Cassian stinks like sweaty balls and looks like hell, and then you’ll surely choose me over him, unlike the Illyrian camp females who like their males brutish and smelly and foul-mouthed.

I smile and slap a hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “If it were important, Rhys or the Lady would have given us a heads-up.” Cassian shrugs and follows me into the cabin.

We sit down at the table with Rhys and wait for him to explain because you’re nowhere to be seen, and neither is the Lady. The shadows whisper to me that she is giving you something warm to wear. You shivering, little thing, I could give you something warm, wrap my wings around you—

You come out of the Lady’s bedroom and I’ve changed my mind, because warm clothes means more layers for me to peel off. Even though I can’t see the bare skin of your arms and sides and legs anymore, I can imagine them with the way the warm Illyrian bodice and fur-trimmed skirts cling to your silhouette. Even better, I can imagine removing each piece one by one, slowly and with care.

The Lady smiles and shows you to a seat the good-smelling side of the table between me and Rhys, just as I’d hoped. The Lady takes the seat next to Cassian, then clears her throat and says, “Cassian, Azriel, you boys have heard us mention Rhys’s cousin. Morrigan is going to stay with us for a few weeks.”

Morrigan. A hard, consonant, ancient name. But your friends—Rhys—call you Mor.

Mor, a sweet sound I can’t get enough of. I need more Mor. Do you even have any other friends besides your cousin? I don’t think you’d be here on this cold, windy, unforgiving mountaintop if you did, Mor. I can see in your eyes and hear in the Lady’s voice that you’re hiding from something and we are the only ones who can save you.

That’s why you followed Rhys here. That’s why the Lady is keeping you here with us instead of sheltering you in Velaris, where the Lady was supposed to move next week, because she’s pregnant and the best Healers are in Velaris and an Illyrian war-camp is no place to give birth to a High Lord’s scion. But she’s changed her plans because she knows we—Rhys and me and Cassian too, I guess—are your protectors. She knows we—I—will keep you safe from whatever it is in the Hewn City that haunts your eyes.

I learn so much about you at dinner, Mor, and most of all, I learn how much you need a male like me: powerful, polite, protective. A strong male. A good male.

You’re quite possibly the most powerful and coveted female on this entire island, except maybe that monster in a High Fae body that the High Lord only tolerates for fear that she’ll waste the entire court, though she is only coveted by those with a death wish.

You’re running from an arranged marriage to some sadistic little teenaged tyrant, the eldest son of the High Lord of Autumn. The whole family has a reputation for torturing small animals and breeding females like livestock—the Lady of Autumn is already on her third or fourth pregnancy in fifteen years, practically unheard of for High Fae, and you swear you’ll never breed which is perfectly fine by me.

My childhood was so fucked up, the last thing I want is to witness someone else have a good one.

Your power-hungry father has traded you for an alliance as if a single court is all you are worth. Everyone here sees your worth is beyond measure and has vowed to do what we can to free you. The Lady is going to beseech her husband to let you take permanent refuge in Velaris. But my brothers and I know he will never listen to her. I notice that Rhys and Cassian both set their jaws and sit up a little straighter because they are ready to stand behind me as I slowly tear your fiancé and your father limb from limb to end this ridiculous engagement.

Once a glimmer of hope sparks in your eyes, Rhys teases and goads you. He knows you, knows that this is the best way to bring you out of the misery that this arranged marriage has caused you. Soon you’re goading him back. Little do you know that this is my and Cassian’s favorite subject. We usually keep it to the training ring and don’t mock Rhys like this at home out of respect for the Lady, but she sees how you start to glow as the jokes start rolling. Because Rhys laughs good-naturedly, so does she and so do you.

Cassian gets some good jabs in but his humor is crude and loud and sometimes surreal and absurdist, and Rhys is appropriately self-deprecating, but you, Mor, you’re more like me. My jokes are dry and wry and quiet and cutting, and though I have fewer of them, they mean more because they make you laugh that much harder than anyone else’s.

I can feel this chemistry between us growing. Like a bond.

At one point, mirthful tears streaming down your cheeks, you hold yourself together by placing a warm, dainty hand on my shoulder. Frankly, it’s a little forward of you, to make me imagine how that hand will feel on my cock or my wings. You are already marking me as your territory in front of Cassian, the only other male whom you might have deigned to touch in this camp but you chose me. I have to stop myself from leaning into your touch like a cat so I don’t come on too strong, but it’s the best feeling I’ve experienced since the first time I flew on my own.

As we clear the table I don’t even mind that you say you’re tired and want to go to sleep early because I can’t wait to learn what secrets the shadows in your room have to tell me.

Will you dream of me and touch yourself? Will you whisper my name in your sleep?

I wish I had known sooner that Rhys’s cousin Mor was you because I would have whispered to the many shadows of the Hewn City and learned everything there was to know before you even got here so that I could have catered to all of your tastes. You probably would have already been in my bed if that were the case, but I don’t mind playing this longer game with you.

Mor the truth speaker and Azriel the shadowsinger.

We’ll be each others’ first and only, and when you’re this well-matched and immortal and powerful—and let’s face it, until Rhys inherits his title and the power along with it, we’re the most powerful beings in this entire Court besides the aforementioned she-monster and the High Lord himself—these things are worth waiting for. Mates.

I barely sleep in the living room where three cots have been set up in order to give you and the Lady each your own bedroom in the little cabin. I try to ignore my brothers’ snores and listen only to the whispers of my shadows as they relay every detail of your night to me. Like me, you’re restless, tossing and turning until your hand slips below the waistband of your pajamas. I listen—respectfully—to the little sounds you make, the way your breath evens out as you finally drift into fitful sleep. As for me, I keep watch all night, my shadows swirling through the corners of your room and around the camp, ensuring that I’m ready to fight if anyone comes.

But no one does. Rhys was right to bring you to the edge of the world, where I can watch over you.

#ecilehwrites #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #dark azriel #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #inspired by joe goldberg

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