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fieldofdaisiies · 1 month

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azriel x eris | 2,9k words | warnings: none | masterlist

“Don’t you like it? Your present.” Cassian claims the spot right next to Azriel on the couch, letting himself slump against the soft pillow and bracing his arm on the headrest behind Azriel. The shadowsinger offers his brother a small smile.

“I do like it, Cass.” He looks at the package of beef jerky in his hands. “I really do like it.

A contented smile blooms on the general‘s face, but Azriel’s gaze strays and—

He feels nothing. Absolutely nonchalance fills his entire being at the scene that unfolds itself in front of him. Just a year ago it would have destroyed him, broken his heart but now…?

Nothing. Indifference.

Elain is seated next to Lucien, a spectacle since she formerly has hardly ever sought him out or chosen to be anywhere near him. But now she is sitting there, next to him, a fine distance between them, but she is still next to him and in her hands there is a present with beautiful green wrapping and a golden bow on top of it.

The look of silent surprise stays on Lucien’s face, eyes solely trained on his mate, almost like the world around them has faded into insignificance, like nothing in this room matters more to him than Elain does.

A pang of jealousy fills Azriel’s heart, and he clenches his jaw. He is not jealous of Lucien, more about everyone who has someone who loves them. He wants someone to look at him that way—he wants to look at someone that way. He wants someone who—

He wants a mate! Nothing has changed about that. He wants love and a fucking mating bond.

“This is for you.” Azriel can’t hear Elain from across the room but he can read her lips well enough and turns away.

“Have you opened Nes‘ present?” Cassian looks so joyful and Azriel wants nothing more than to share this bliss with him, but it is so hard at this moment.

“Loved it.” The shadowsinger forces a smile onto his lips—one that doesn’t reach his eyes but it is the most he can offer his brother.

“She loved yours as well.”

Azriel’s face reveals nothing, but he dips his chin and despite his outer nonchalance, his heart warms. He bought bookmarks for the three Valkyries. Not any kind of bookmarks, but three that specifically represented them. He can’t wait to give Gwyn hers, and see the smile on her face.

Nyx is the one to receive the most presents, no one having been able to resist buying tons of things for him. He looks a bit overwhelmed at one point, just staring wide-eyed at the large pile of all sorts of things in front of him. Nevertheless he seems blissful and content, sitting amidst all his toys and stuffed animals.

Azriel is happy that Nyx gets to experience this sort of childhood and happiness. He is surrounded by nothing but love and joy (neglecting the brewing war and Koschei for a moment). Within the confines of Velaris he is safe and protected and can be a happy child. Something Rhys, Cass and Azriel himself did not have – a happy, careless childhood.

A lump forms in Azriel’s throat and he gets up. He tells Cassian that he will help himself to a drink so he has an excuse to leave the room. He just needs to get out for a moment – needs a moment for himself.

Once in the kitchen, the shadowsinger braces his broad, scarred hands on the sink, staring out of the window into the dark and snow-covered garden, faelight dancing on the endless, glittering white. Tilting his head to the side, he rests it on his shoulder and looses a long breath. Involuntarily, his mind wanders to a certain prince of the Autumn Court and he wonders how Eris celebrates Solstice. Do they even celebrate it in Autumn?

He can’t understand why he kissed him again that night after the ball. What had driven him? What made him kiss the heir again? What is it about Eris that attracts him that much?

Azriel knows that he can’t allow these feelings, but staying away from Eris and trying to clamp down on them, slowly shreds his heart into pieces. As much as he wants to get rid of his desire for Eris, he can’t. He finds himself in a wholly messed up situation, and everything path outwards, turns into a dead end without a hope of escaping.

And furthermore, what if there was more between him and Eris, could he bring him to celebrate Solstice with him? Starfall? Their birthdays?

How would the others react? Would they allow Eris to come here for such a celebration or would there forever be an odd tension? A feeling as is not everything is alright? Of course it would. It wouldn’t be proper. It wouldn’t work out.

But, anyway, it will never come to that, Azriel knows this. Maybe their tension and desire will lead to them eventually fucking one day, but further than that…nothing. They will never end up in a relationship with each other, it couldn’t work out. Not between the two of them. Not with the hate still lingering between them. Too much has happened.

“Thank you for your present.”

Azriel whips around, eyes landing on Nesta who casually leans against the doorframe, her head resting on the dark wood. “I love it, it is wonderful.” A beautiful, warm smile appears on her face.

Azriel bows his head, his shadows swirling around him.

“Especially that it matches with Gwyn’s and Emerie’s.” Her smile brightens.

“I’m glad you like it.” The shadowsinger cracks a small smile and rests his weight against the kitchen counter. In her eyes he sees the silent understanding that always glows within the light blue when she looks at him. Nesta knows that things aren’t so easy for Azriel, and she understands and accepts him the way he is. Respects his silence. Nevertheless, she always looks out for him, asks how he is doing, sits down in the living room with him when he returns from a mission and is just there for him, mostly no conversation passing between them. But Nesta always wants him to know that she is there for him. She is a wonderful friend, and Azriel is happy that he can call her such.

“Do you need anything, Az?” Nesta asks and pushes off the doorframe. “Can I get you something?”

But Azriel shakes his head, shadows gliding down his arms, to his palms and around his hands. “I’m all good. I just needed a moment…”

Her head dips in understanding and with another small smile she slips back into the living room, Azriel’s gaze following her until she is gone.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Where are you going?” A cool breeze weaves its way in through the open balcony door, winding its way across the room until it reaches the general of the Illyrian armies, who stands with his wings folded neatly behind his back.

Azriel takes a step back. “I‘m leaving now.”

Cassian’s puckers his brows. “It isn’t even midnight, Az, why would you be leaving now?”

“I‘m tired.”

“Does this have to do with what you told me the other day?”

Azriel frowns, but then the corners of his mouth turn downward and his shoulders droop. There is no need for him to say yes, Cassian can read him well enough, having known Azriel nearly his entire life, and has already seen the answer in his best friend’s eyes.

“Az.” Cassian moves quickly and reaches for his best friend the moment he is close enough. Despite Azriel’s efforts of shoving his arms away, Cassian pulls him to his chest, and holds him. It is all he does. And all Azriel needs. His body reacts and he slumps against Cassian, the last ounce of energy slipping from his body, exhaustion weighing him down like a heavy cloak. And his restraints loosen, given way to all the emotions he has been clamping down on this evening.

“I fucking hate it, Cass,” he finally admits, each word lifting some of the heavy weight from his heart. “Being jealous of what everyone has. I shouldn’t be, that’s not how friendship or family works. I‘m a fucking asshole for thinking that way.”

Cassian says nothing, but he holds him tighter. Azriel’s chest heaves with a deep inhale.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Azriel trembles. “Every step forward feels like wading through quicksand. Everything is pulling me down, until I‘m swallowed wholly, drowning in my fucking despair. Each and every day more of my happiness slips through my fingers, until one day I know nothing will be left.”

“Az.” Cassian’s hand clasps the back of Azriel’s head, holding him tightly. “Why didn’t you come to me earlier?”

“I couldn’t,” Azriel says in a silent voice. “I didn’t even realise what was going on.”

After a moment they part, but Cassian does not let go of his best friend, he grasps his shoulder tightly and says, “You are not an asshole for wanting what others have. For wanting a mate, or love or happiness.” The general smiles kindly.

“You would be an asshole if you didn’t grant us our happiness, but I know you are happy for us and that can’t possibly make you an asshole.”

Azriel tightly holds onto Cassian until he steps out of his embrace. “It’s just difficult for me right now.”

“I know,” Cassian says and Azriel’s heart feels hollow all of a sudden. Cassian says he knows, but Azriel is aware that it's only a fraction of the truth because the shadowsinger can’t share everything with his brother and it slowly destroys him.

Yes, he is feeling this way, sad and somehow tormented because everyone around him is falling in love and finding a mate. Everyone but him. But Azriel also feels that way because of Eris. Because he slowly starts to figure out what that emotion deep within his heart means. And also what the tug at his chest, the glowing of his soul whenever Eris is near, hints at. He doesn’t want to accept it, tries to push the thoughts away, but at some people he will have to deal with.

“I think I just need some rest tonight. Solstice was beautiful, but I am really tired.”

Cassian understands, and of course gives his best friend the space he needs.

When Azriel returns to his flat only moments later, the place so cold and empty even his shadows seek comfort with their owner, Azriel strips out of his clothes, safe for his underwear and pours himself a glass of liquor. Then he walks up to the window, and longingly stares out into the darkness and nothingness of the outside world. He loves to look out on this side of his flat – no city lights, no people. Where on the one side, his flat is looking down upon the city of Velaris, on the other side there is nothing but forest and mountains.

Azriel rests his forehead against the cool glass after having taken a sip of the liquid that now burns its way down his throat.

"If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her” is what Rhysand had told him the previous year and Azriel also ended up being alone that night of Solstice, staring out of the window for a long time before heading up to the training pitch. He felt so ashamed and annoyed that night, Azriel can barely allow himself to think back to it.

This year it is different. This year he is truly all alone, and despite it being an odd feeling it is simultaneously not unwelcome. The shadowsinger can be alone here with his thoughts that make no sense and his heart that beats an ounce faster when his mind once again strays to Eris.

The Mother isn’t making it easy for him, Azriel knows this. First, Mor. Then Elain. And now Eris. But with Eris it is different. He is a male first and foremost all, and his enemy. Only months ago, he loathed him, hated him so much for what he had done to Mor, what he had said about her.

But slowly realisation is taking root in his brain in that he and the prince to the Autumn Court might have more in common than he used to think.

Azriel releases a pent-up breath and as he holds his gaze through the window, he realises that a darkness gathers in his eyes until it fills them completely.

In the end, it is exhaustion after an emotionally draining day that makes Azriel fall into bed, sheets tucked up to his chin, lids heavy and nothing but Eris on his mind.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The Autumn Court prince’s eyes follow a single droplet that slides down the floor-to-ceiling window before he turns around, knuckles white from how tightly he is holding onto his glass of wine.

“I doubt Kallax is coming for Solstice,” he tells no one in particular, knowing his father doesn’t listen and his mother is heart-broken about it but doesn’t let it show.

Beron snarls, “I couldn’t care less.”

But that is wrong, Eris can see it in his father’s eyes, knows that it bothers his father more than he would admit. Despite not having experienced any kind of love from his father when growing up, he knows that for Beron family was always something important. The picture of their family —mother, father and their seven or six strong, powerful sons— always needed to be perfect. It is the kind of thing Beron values greatly.

Eris moves to the table and sits down in silence, once again mixing together most of the food the sentries have placed on his plate.

“The jacket you have chosen is beautiful,” Imala says in a gentle tone, her eyes moving over Eris’ attire. Has he donned this jacket specially for Solstice? No, he hasn’t. Rather for himself.

“Cobalt doesn’t fit the Autumn Court,” is all Beron says, not even deigning his son a real look, merely lifting his gaze from his plate, his tone a mix of annoyance and mock.

He takes a bite of meat, chewing so loudly, Eris has to cringe. He hates the noise of chewing and especially when it comes from his father. He grinds his teeth hard and then pins the High Lord with a look.

Beron ignores it, but eventually swallows only so he can talk again. “It suits the Night Court.”

Eris’ blood runs cold and he has no idea what his father is aiming at. Can he scent Azriel on him? Can he scent what they have done?

“Which makes me think,” Beron continues, speaking in a low, and slow voice, dragging his fork through his mashed potatoes. “Was Lucien there?” The question does not only catch Eris off guard but also his mother.

Eris decides to act dumb, despite that never being a good idea with his father. “What?” he asks, not lifting his eyes from his plate and scooping up a bit of the mashed potatoes (now) mixed with beans and gravy.

“Spare me with your stupidity, son, and answer my question!” Beron spits, voice dripping with venom. “Was Lucien there?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“He wasn’t there, father!”

Beron shakes his head. “But his pretty, little mate was there.” No question, but a statement.

“I don’t think so.” Eris swallows thickly, the piece of meat nearly getting stuck in his throat. He won’t put Elain in danger. Never and especially not after the kindness she has shown him.

“What does that mean? That you don‘t think so. Was she there or not?!” Beron’s fork clatters to the table, rattling both the plate and his glass of wine.

“I didn’t see her, father.”

Eris doesn’t understand what his father grumbles in answer, but the annoyance and dismissal are loud and clear within the incomprehensible words.

“At least she isn’t inferior scum like Jesminda was.” Beron shoves his plate back, tipping his chin so two of the sentries come rushing to collect his dishes.

Eris veils his face in indifference and says nothing. Everything he could say would lead to a big fight and he is too exhausted to go through this now. And then what follows a fight with Beron – punishment. Whatever he could say wouldn’t change anything anyway – it is useless. With Beron it always is.

Without a word, Eris slowly moves back his own plate, then his chair and gets up.

“Good night, mother,” he says, then turns to his father and dips his chin.

He is alone when he arrives in his room and this is good. He wants to be alone, safe for his hounds, of course, who have already claimed their spots on and around his bed.

He exhales loudly while undressing and untangling his long strands of red hair.

Beron. Lucien. Azriel. It is only males that make his life complicated. Well, not entirely. Mor has also created many complications for him, but still, the great majority of his problems are caused by males, and lie within the males in his life.

He needs to fix it all. He needs to make sense of everything, put things in order. And he will start with Beron. Putting an end to it and then starting anew. Beron’s reign has to end, and it has to end soon. No more time can be wasted.

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshi @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

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aquanova99 · 9 months

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𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕞

Azriel x reader(kinda)

Part 1 Next >>

A/N: okay be easy on me I haven’t written for ACOTAR before. But at the end of the day I always say I write for myself so 🤭

A/N: i do genuinely hope everyone who likes this series enjoys! Have a beautiful day ♥️

➽───────────────❥

The snow was stuck to the ground. It was high time they started. But he was late. The white crystals crunched under Cassian’s heavy pacing. Rhys leaned against a tree, tapping his arm, periodically and pointlessly searching for Azriel’s shielded mind. A mind that had never been off limits to him before. He knew Cassian suspected him of doing something to upset Azriel, and he had in fact used his authority as ruler to forbid him from conversing with Elain. But he could have never imagined he’d go radio silent. And certainly, he would never miss this. It was tradition, what brought them together. He had hoped this day would be what finally allowed him to see his own point. The following weeks after the order was passed had met Rhysand with nothing on Azriel’s end unless there were necessary updates on whatever was happening in Prythian. Any attempts to communicate were met with, ‘anything else?’ ‘Is that all?’

Feyre had finally demanded for him to tell her why Azriel didn’t want to speak to her or Elain anymore. Safe to say if it wasn’t for Nyx, Feyre would be giving him the silent treatment as well.

“Alright. What did you do?” Cassian growled

“Nothing.”

“Rhys.”

“I told him to stay away from Elain. The last thing we need is for a war to break out against Autumn Court. They may just take Lucien sides if he decides to duel him. She isn’t his mate. I thought he would understand. Its been a year. I thought Mor--”

He could see Cassian shaking to control his anger, “Told, as in ordered?”

“…Yes.”

“Because all mated pairs work out so well.” He scoffed. “Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know. He’s only been communicating whatever’s been necessary.” Rhys hears Cassian think about how perhaps Nesta was right and flies off. Rhysand can only sit down, exhausted. It was the winter solstice. They would be exchanging gifts soon, how would he explain his brother’s absence? “Where the hell are you Az?”

➽───────────────❥

He could have easily traveled through his normal shadows, but flying the distance hurt more. And he deserved it. He told himself it was pure curiosity, but he knew he was running. Or flying. He reached Vallahan and still… he kept flying. Wondering what he would find beyond the expansive faerie realms. Maybe more possible allies even further west. Days he flew until his wings physically couldn’t hold him anymore. This was dangerous, he should star flying lower, not so high up. He looked at his hands shaking at the sheer exhaustion of his travels.

Pathetic, he thought. Pining for centuries for someone who showed him time and time again she would never be interested. And why would she be? He was nobody. Strong, sure but what else? His own family rejected him, hated him. Then Feyre came into their lives, and subsequently her sisters did too. Two of the three mated to his “brothers,” the third…the kindest, the only one who seemed to have even noticed him, mated to someone else. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t owed Elain, by any means. But when would he find a mate of his own. Would he even know if he found her? Was he so desperate to have someone he would focus on Elain, so he, like his brothers had an Archeron sister? No, Rhysand was right. He needed to stay away from her. From all of them, until he could figure out what was wrong with him. Maybe he should just disappear forever…save himself any more suffering. Suffering. Endless suffering. He could hardly remember a time where he was happy. Within the Inner Circle, he suffered at seeing Cassian and Mor. Never really forgetting that betrayal. When he was young…

A pain wracked through his body. He’d pushed his body to its limits. He began falling. Making no effort to help himself. Somewhat glad it could all be over. He was falling backwards, not seeing the giant trees about to break his fall. He groaned as his wings took the majority of the impact, vines intertwining and suspending him halfway above the ground. Any movement he made everything hurt. His eyes looked at the sky, his eyelids fluttering shut. Finally giving in to his exhaustion.

‘I’ve never seen wings like that.’

‘Where do you think he’s from?’

‘Both of you quiet. He will be waking soon. Go. We may need to hide.’

He should disappear right now. Use the shadows. But he didn’t even know where he was, let alone where to go. East, he supposed until he reached something familiar. But then he’d have to explain himself. Allies. Looking for allies. Azriel struggled to open his eyes. Worried about what he would see. Or wouldn’t see. The room seemed to glow around him.

“Before you decide to run, or even move. I would suggest you move slowly.”

Even with warning, Azriel’s head snapped towards the voice. He ignored the pain as he took her in. A woman he could only describe as regal. She looked serious, her skin seemed to shimmer in the warm orange glow of the room. Her wings were down but even he could tell they were magnificent. Dark hair flowed down to her waist, different braids woven in and small flowers adorning it. Azriel blinked a few times, trying to get his voice back. Trying to memorize this place. Trying to memorize her, “Where am I?”

“You crash landed in our home. This is Luminia Grove. Now, where are you from?” Azriel grows quiet, “Listen, we took you in, last I checked. If you don’t want to talk, fine. Try not to get tangled in anymore trees, yes?”

“I’m from Prythian.” Azriel spoke softly, embarrassed. Here he had gone crashing into their home, they had taken him in and still he demanded answers.

“Should I know where that is? How long were you flying for?”

“A few days…I think.” How far exactly had he gone? She only nods and leaves the room. When she enters she is followed by two others carrying in plates of food, meanwhile the one who been waiting for you to wake, carried a pitcher of something.

“Eat and drink. We can get you more if you need. You need to rebuild your strength to get home. I’m Callista. These two are Aurora, and Venia.” They both nod in your direction before leaving. She leans down next to him, When he flinches, her voice softens. “I’m just going to help you sit up, okay?”

She is careful about his wings, still healing from the magic she must have used when he slept. “Thank you.” he whispers hoarsely

“If you need to rest longer do so, but only as long as you need to heal.” Azriel nods, and begins eating some of the food he was offered. Before he can thank her again, she exits the room leaving him alone.

You could leave. It would be as if you were never here. He thought to himself, but he also wasn’t ready. He couldn’t go back, continue living in the shadows. Both figuratively and literally, it had drained him. He was so tired. Worthless. Maybe a couple days, if they allowed it. Callista certainly didn’t seem keen on his presence. But her words did not sound impatient, but rather worried. He wonders if she was trying to give him a warning. Azriel decides to shift his focus on the meal in front of him. The food is better than anything he’d ever had anyway, so much so he had to stop himself from licking the plate. The drink seemed to replenish any lasting pain. Reenergizing him. Aurora and Venia entered the second he was finished.

“Would you like more?” Venia asked

“No. Thank you. I was won—” The second they got their answer they left again. Azriel immediately regrets it. In truth, more food sounded wonderful. He got up and stretched his limbs, slowing testing his wings. He could have sworn he heard them crack but he felt next to nothing now. Just some soreness. Azriel realized the room he was in was very simple, a few beds lined up on one side. A couple dressers on the other. There was a single closet, locked. He decided to explore whatever place this was alone, maybe he could find figure out why no one had ever found this place, and if they had why had no one mentioned it? Not fast enough. Callista opened the door as he reached for the handle.

“Escaping already?”

“No. Just…I just wanted to see more. I can stay here…if you need me to.”

“You’re welcome to walk around. You may get some questions. Just so you know, since you don’t seem like the talkative type.” She was right, his lips formed a tight line. When he took a few steps back, she reached for his hand. “I’ll show you around.”

When he grabbed it he glanced down, suddenly ashamed at the sight of them. When she followed his gaze, Azriel pulled his hand back. He didn’t want to talk about them. Callista noticed, but her face remained unchanged. She grabbed his hand again and led him out the door. Azriel’s face felt red. He didn’t pull away this time. He was thankful the lady had said nothing, acted as if there was nothing. The door led directly outside, Azriel realizing he had been in some sort of infirmary. A whole room somehow built into and concealed by trees and foliage. The branch the two stepped on was wide. When he looked up he could only see glimpses of the sky. He wondered how long he’d fallen, how hard he crashed. And how long he’d been out.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you fell all that way. You must have been up pretty high.” Azriel stared, wondering if she could dig into his mind like Rhys could. “It looks a lot better at night.”

“What is this place?”

“A hideaway of sorts. We don’t get many visitors. And the ones we do get…well they can never find this place twice it seems.”

“I could.”

“Maybe. You do have some ability, I assume. There’s a power that surrounds you. And those things adorning you. They give off some very powerful energy.”

“Syphons. They allow me to control my power in battle. Magic.”

“Hm. So do you want to talk about what it is you were searching? Why risk your life flying for that amount of time?”

“I- I don’t know what I was flying for.” This was true, Azriel had decided to start flying. To escape, to find allies, whatever. He figured he could find a reason on the way. He looked back down at Callista. She was studying him, curious. Probably worried about the shadows that never seemed to leave him, he thought. She tilted her head and motioned for him to follow. Her wings unfurled into four beautiful leaf shaped wings, with colors he could only describe similar to the sunrise. Only more breathtaking. Yellows turning into pinks, purples barely touching the edges. Her wings shifted colors depending on where the light hit. He’d never seen wings so beautiful. They were almost translucent, they looked as if they could shatter like glass. His own wings, the same ones that he had always hated seem to pale in comparison. He’d never felt more like an Illyrian. Filthy. Unworthy. A monster.

He followed her down into the deep thicket of the woods. He could see the homes concealed through magic. Still most fae should be able to find this place, if they so desired they should see through the glamour. So how has no one returned upon finding this location? She landed on what appeared to be a giant root, a home hidden on the forest floor. Azriel sat down next to her, face serious, determined to get more answers.

“You carry much pain.”

“Do I? Tell me what you see.”

“I do not know. I just see sadness, pain.”

Azriel scoffed, “You think you know me. You don’t even know my name.”

“I do not need to know your name. You will be gone soon. You have unfinished business. Everyone who finds us, they always have some kind of unfinished business.”

“And if I wanted to stay?” He means this as a threat. He was a stranger, surely they would fight to keep their precious village secret. She pauses but after a moment Callista only shrugs.

“Then you would stay.”

“Wait…what?”

“You will not stay. But if you chose to, we would welcome you.”

“You know nothing.” Azriel could feel his anger rising, his guard up. Years of being silent threatening to spill from his lips.

“Then teach me.” Callista offered, her voice unwavering, “Tell me about your life. From the beginning. We don’t get many guests here. I would love to learn about your life. Learn how others grew up.”

“You cant just dig into my mind?”

“Why would I do that? Your thoughts should be yours and yours alone.”

“So, you have the ability to?”

“No.” She giggles, “It is good to know that there are those with those kind of abilities. Sounds like a nightmare to never be able to hide anything. Besides, what if this person shares secrets that aren’t his to share?”

“It is useful--”

“I’m sure. Listen—you are under no obligation to speak to me. You are more than welcome to fly up to the room you were in when you woke. I would suggest you make your decision soon. Time seems to move differently here, or so I’ve been told. You will have been gone longer than you think upon your return home.”

“Who is the high lord here?”

“High lord?”

“Who rules these lands?” If he did want to make alliances or threats, he supposed it was best to know who he should be directing his questions towards. Azriel was already warming up to Callista, he’d rather not involve her. Of course, as usual, luck was not on his side.

“I suppose I do, along with a council of peers my parents selected before they died. I have no interest in leading, and more voices and ideas are heard that way. Not that we’ve called a meeting in a few centuries.”

“I…apologize. I did not mean—”

“You are avoiding my questions. I don’t find that very fair. I have answered all of yours honestly. Am I not owed the same respect, or do you not do that in Prythian? Is it only High lords that talk over each other?” She smirked, and Azriel couldn’t help return a small smile. It was a habit to go straight into interrogations, he supposed. And if he could really never find this place again, it couldn’t hurt. Maybe she would have advice to carry back to Prythian. He would say the facts, avoid emotion. Make it quick and painless.

“I suppose I’ve been rather rude. Where would you like to start?”

“The shadows. Tell me about them. Are they always there?”

“They’ve followed me since I was a child.”

“Do they hold a purpose?”

“I can travel in them. See and hear things others don’t.”

“So, you were running from something.” She says this so matter of factly it is almost enraging. Callista studies the creature in front of her. His eyes, almost golden seemed so tired. As if he had been tired for far longer than the days he had flown to get here. The despair so evident, she wondered if he had anyone at all. Her words had set something off, “I only say that, because if you can travel in the darkness why fly at all? Does it take a lot of energy?”

Azriel’s shook his head, cursing himself for jumping to conclusions again, “Not anymore. I suppose you aren’t entirely wrong, I wanted to distract myself. So, I just…flew.”

“I would be careful using your gift prematurely here, there is a chance you get lost. And you need at least one more day until you are fully healed to fly the same distance.”

“Has no one really come back?”

“None in my time. There’s always something that they really need to go back to. One had been in a long battle, he was weary…he’d lost so much. He stayed here for years, one day he was suddenly heartbroken about his wife. Swore he would bring his family here, he never came back. He stayed the longest but there have been others. They stay as long as they need and continue their journey. Like you.”

Azriel wanted to argue but she was right. He couldn’t disappear from the night court for long. But this place… something about this place sang to him. He wondered if this is what Callista had meant. The thought of having to leave was becoming more difficult, if there was some kind of enchantment over these lands then Azriel may well have to concede and leave sooner than he’d like. He was likely already wearing down Callista’s hospitality.

“Have you ever left?” Azriel asks, curious of whether she was, in her own way, trapped. His theory was unfortunately, proved right. She bit her lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain her situation.

“For a while, I got so bored I couldn’t seem to care about ever finding this place again. I would fly for miles in one direction, somehow always ending up back here. The people here have had children of their own, and we have expanded but…its like a dome of some kind growing with us but not allowing anyone to escape.” She was right, he could see a faint outline surrounding the sky.

“My home had something similar. A protection spell. Several actually. Kept us hidden for years, only known to those who lived there.”

“By the same person who reads minds, I assume.” When Azriel nodded, she looked towards the sky, with a look he was longing. A freedom so close yet still, out of her reach. “If there is a spell it wasn’t placed by any of us. The elders have mostly passed on, and no one has left me any information. We can only learn so much, many advancements were made by those who happened upon us. Even then, we don’t always have the resources.”

Azriel decided then that he had to go back. He could figure out how to undo the spell, he was sure of it. At the very least he could bring back more books for them to entertain themselves with, he could contribute to their peaceful home. If he could make it back anyway. He enjoyed a good challenge. When Callista looked back at him she smiled sadly, knowing he too would leave, same as all the others before him. They both knew it. A guilt tugged deep at his heart, if he couldn’t return, he would be the same as all the others who had come and gone, she may forget him with time. But he knew he would never be able to forget her… or this place. He wondered if this is what Velaris was to the Archeron sisters.

“Would you really want to know how I can move through shadows?”

“No.” Azriel’s face dropped for a moment, “I want to know why you can move through shadows. That is not something you learn, and I doubt something you’re born with. The magic around you shaped itself that way for a reason, yes?”

“Hm, yes I suppose so.” Try as he might, the words got stuck in his throat. He had his hands clasped in front of him, but now one of his hands began picking at the, pushing back his nail bed. A habit he had long pushed away. His legs shook nervously, and no training could have prepared him for startling at Callista’s touch. Her hand resting gently on his thigh. She smiled, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Azriel forced himself to take a deep breath and recount those horrible early years.

‘Please!’ He screamed into the darkness, ‘Please! It’s too dark!’

‘Please…’ the screams turned into whimpers, ‘I’ll be good. Please…’

‘Please…’ His voice was hoarse by the end of the day. Close to no sound coming out. The following days would be him curled into a ball humming to pass the time.

Then his weekly day of freedom came. His moths arms almost crushing him in an embrace. He begged for her to let him stay. Pleaded for her to run away with him. He had to be dragged away at the end of day, the following day he would worry about possible claw marks on his mothers arms. He was always thankful for their ability to heal quickly if only for that.

The cycle repeated. On and on for years. His pleas went unheard to everyone except himself. His voice bounced of the walls and eventually even his whispers that reverberated back sounded crystal clear. His eyes grew adjusted to the dark, making out every chip on the wall, every groove. An ability others would always be wary of. He didn’t mind, it kept him safe. kept him from feeling the almost endless pit of loneliness and despair. The singular hour he would be allowed out for a meal was often forgotten, but never long enough to let him waste away. No, he would live a long life, his stepmother would ensure that, a long and miserable life.

If they came and got him out it would be at the same time without fail, he could count the seconds of every day and know immediately whether or not he would be allowed to see the sky, the sun, eat whatever scraps they served him. So, when he was blinded nearly an hour earlier than normal he knew it couldn’t be good. His brothers had planned it out so perfectly. The light, unexpected at this time, blinded him, and they all knew the two older boys were stronger, never knowing a day without a full belly. One forced him down onto the ground, the other quickly throwing oil in his direction. Lack of training or not, Azriel had the mind to know he needed to protect himself. His reflexes fast enough to shield his face.

The he heard the match strike and the smell of burning flesh lingered in the room for weeks. At eight years old, a part of him hoping the fire would finish the job. But someone cared enough to put the fire out. Some guard who pitied what they were doing to the child. A child who should have been learning how to fight, how to fly. He had a full day out to recover, his hands now always holding a reminder of where he stood in. He held no hope he wouldn’t be thrown back into his dungeon. But for the following week, at least he got some better food. This incident caused him to try and remain hidden. No matter who was opening the door he focused his entire being on being undetected, and eventually he began to blend into the darkness. He realized his anility to move within the shadows, panicking a few guards into thinking he’d escaped and then suddenly reappearing behind them. He kept silent about this until he was thrown into the Illyrian camp. It became a tool used to not discard him, to continue training him. And he had trained well.

He learned to defend himself. He was sought out by Cassian and Rhysand, at first curious of his abilities and soon after for fighting practice. His memory was foggy on how eventually they all agreed to remain allies, then friends, and eventually brothers. The wars they had fought, the battles they would have to fight…

Had he been foolish to think his friendship would be anything more than a convenient alliance. He knew his ability made him valuable, he didn’t want to let it define him. As much as he tried to rationalize it, Azriel couldn’t help feel as if Rhysand had chosen Lucien over himself. An alliance over his “brother.” He shouldn’t feel this way at all, Rhys was right, everything was in a delicate balance right now. Still, Azriel couldn’t release the hurt, the resentment that had grown in him until he collapsed here. He flinched at the sudden touch, frozen at the hands intertwining themselves with his own. He hated pity. He wanted to pull away but instead he found himself returning the gentle squeeze.

“I could remove them.”

“What?”

“Your scars. I quite like them actually, but I can remove them if it’s something you want.”

“How?”

“I’m not the only one who feels trapped here, nor the only one who has tried to escape. There was a fire. Someone felt death was a better option than an eternal bubble of isolation from the rest of the world. The trees were so bare then…” Her eyes seem to glaze over the memory, as if she remembers an entirely different forest than the one they sit in now.

“Everyone was working to control it, but the damage was done. Many of us didn’t want the reminders of what the fire had taken. For the following years everyone focused on learning and perfecting different kinds of magic; healing, elemental, conjuring, protection.” She chuckles dryly, “All that learning and we still cant figure out how to escape.”

“It helps with ignoring the pain.” He thinks out loud

“Yes. I lost my father then. Got several burns myself trying to drag him out.”

“And you got rid of them?”

“No.” She released his hand and waved it on her opposing arm, the burn marks appearing immediately after her hand passed, it seemed to stretch across her entire arm, like tree roots stretching up to her neck. “ I got off fairly easy. Its just this arm. I had thrown my body over my father once we were out of harms way and shielded my face. They found passed out with my arm and a lot of my hair singed off.”

“I thought you had said you could get rid of it.”

“It used to be worse believe it or not. Had scars on parts of my face and neck, so when we figured out a salve for it I immediately slathered it on those parts first. I ended up regretting it. I only hide my arm so others aren’t so uncomfortable. No one likes to think about those times.”

It was his turn to not pity her. He became even more determined to be able to return. To find his way back. He could technically try and take her with him when he traveled but he only had one day left. Certainly not long enough for her to trust him.

“I’ll keep them.” Was all he could say, he hated the scars but they had reminded him of how far he’d come from those awful years.

“Good.” She waved away the scars and stood up, “It will be dark soon. Feel free to rest some more before you leave. I will ask Aurora and Venia to bring up some more food. Thank you for letting me get to know you a bit more.”

The shadows around him began whispering, Azriel could not tell if it was warning or not. One, she still had no idea what his name was, and two for the first time since he was a child, he was not able to see her glamour. She had told him how many of the people here had studied magic intensely, but even then she had underplayed it. These people would undoubtedly be useful in the war, but their numbers were small. Most courts would rather them all be dead than give another court even more unnecessary power. Azriel would never be able to reveal this location, but unfortunately his High Lord had the ability to drag it out of him no matter how unwilling he would be. His best chance would be Feyre, but ultimately she was loyal to her mate, maybe with enough guilt she would at least tell him to not invade his thoughts. Maybe the fae here would have the ability to make some sort of mental shield or him, or at the very least teach him how to make one himself. He would not give these people up. He flew back in the room he woke up in and decided to try and rest.

Callista gently nudged him, Azriel shot up. He should have heard her come up, been warned she was coming up. Were his own abilities weakening while he was here?

“Sorry, I didn’t want the food to go cold.”

“Its fine. I apologize for being so on edge.”

“You’re in a strange place, far from home. Its normal for you to be more guarded.” Guarded as he may be, he still felt more at peace than he had in months. He had been silent, brooding for an entire year. Claiming to be busy with his duties to Rhys. He had maintained normalcy with Cassian and Nesta but that was about as much as he could manage. He finally felt like he could breathe here. Not so restricted by the formalities he would have been forced to placate during the solstice. He would not be able to stay away for much longer. He would need to head back, assure Feyre everything was fine, assure Rhys that he was only doing as he was told. Continue following instructions. Nyx’s birth was plenty of reason for the Night Court to maintain diplomacy, but it wouldn’t hold out forever. The courts were patient, Amarantha waited ages to win Tamlin over, things had been mostly quiet but they would not remain that way forever. And he couldn’t risk the other’s lives over a petty dispute. He had to remember his place, and his place was an Illyrian bastard who got lucky.

Callista stared at the anguished soul before her, desperately wanting to comfort him. She had already pushed to much in asking him to relive his past. She knew even then he had kept his retelling brief. Whatever was plaguing him seemed to chipping away his own health. He’d healed miraculously quickly with the salves and medicine they had placed on his wings for them to heal. She wondered if whatever healing magic was inside of was the only holding him together most days, surely most people that went through even half of the mistreatment he had would have broken, turned cruel. This man was just…guarded.

Azriel blinks and finds her staring, “Is everything alright?”

“You just seemed troubled. Do you have to leave soon?”

“Unfortunately, I have to admit you were right. I do have to leave soon, I worry in the worst of circumstances others could find this place. You can clearly control magic to a degree even I cannot see through. There are people who would hurt the people here to even get a sliver of it.”

“It is nothing for you to be concerned over.” Callista’s sudden sharp tone takes him by surprise, not knowing his concern for them was making it harder for her to deny any feelings of amicability. She enjoyed his company, and that was dangerous for someone who could never leave her forested prison, and who likely never be able to meet with again. She’d learned early on to never get too attached to those who stumbled into her home. It always ended with disappointment. But it had never felt like this before.

“Perhaps not, but it should concern you. Does anyone here have anything they could do to put a shield of sorts on my mind. I don’t think Rhysand would dig too deep but I don’t want to take any chances. Please, for my own peace of my mind.” Azriel would never be able to live with himself if something happened to Callista because of him. And her people had suffered enough. Callista softened at his genuine concern.

“I can think of something that may work. But I should discuss it with some of the elders. They have all specialized in very specific magic I can only do so much. Please stay here, eat. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Will you join me? I’d like to go with you.” He had to admit to himself that if he was going to leave he wanted to see more of this place. And he had no interest in being alone any longer, he wanted company, her company.

“Of course.” They continued learning about the others lives. Azriel admitted why he decided to fly so long he put himself at risk. How the one who he thought he was in love with continued to disregard him, how he felt constantly used but could never blame her. How when he finally felt like he could move on, he was immediately forbidden from having any communication with. Callista became aware of how serious things were in his realm, it was no wonder he worried it would reach them. She decided she wasn’t fond of his friends at all, his retelling of his life being miserable at camp until the others conceded into an alliance infuriated her. He told her how he had always hated what he was born into, how he hated almost all of his kind. She didn’t want to agree but the hurt they were encouraged to enforce on another was completely barbarian to her.

“Are you alright?”

“You speak about these things as if they are completely normal experiences, I admit I feel… sad for the hand you were dealt. You’ve done quite a bit for others,” she says thinking about Mor and some of the nymphs he saved. “You should be proud. I feel honored to have met you.”

Azriel smirked, she was right in a sense. Her words made him feel, warm? He told himself, it was nothing. He was surely redirecting everything he wanted Mor to feel, and what he believed he should for Elain with her. And he could never do that to her, “Does this mean you’re ready to know my name. I mean wouldn’t you want to know the name of someone you’re so honored to have met?”

“Am I going to regret being nice to you?” She laughed, as she turned to lead him out of the room she tried not to let her disappointment show on her face, “I’ll think about learning it before you go.”

“I could just tell you.” He teased her

“You could, but you would have done that already. Come, I think I know of someone that can help.” She held her hand out, and Azriel only realized he did not hesitate to take it after they landed on the balcony of another concealed home. She called out, “Syra?”

An older woman hobbled out to meet the two of you. “Is this our latest guest?”

“Yes. He has a bit of a possible dilemma,”

“Hm.” Her eye unsettled Azriel. They were a deep set of purple, so dark they were almost ba;cl. He’d never seen a fae age like a human. He wondered if they lived long enough they would eventually get that way. He supposed some of the workers didn’t always appear young but it was something that had never crossed his mind. Guilt crept up inside of him. His entire job was to be aware of everything happening around Prythian, when did he become too good to ignore the lesser fae? Had his powers gone to his head. Callista squeezed his hand, breaking his train of thought. Reassuring him.

He cleared his throat, “I know someone who read into my mind. I’d prefer to keep this place hidden due to some upcoming conflicts. There are a lot of people who would hurt the people here in order to gain a fraction of your magic.”

“They may not be able to take us out of here.”

“Theres some that would die trying.” Azriels mind races to the Autumn Court desperate for power, easily tempted by powers like Amarantha, Hybern, Koshei. Enough power can make even the strongest turn on one another, betray once strong connections.

“Is there anything we can do?” Callista interrupts

“There is always something you can do.” She sits, mixing and grinding various kinds of flowers and herbs hes never seen. A few liquids that look like a mix of starlight and fire. They both hear her mutter something gin a language they don’t understand.

“An ancient tongue,” Callista whispers, “She was one of the few who came from some other land before my people were forced to stay here.”

“Do you know it?”

“No. She refuses to tell anyone what it means.”

Azriels on alert, how could they trust this woman? What if she knew exactly what was trapping them here? Was she the one who trapped them? Voices whispered for him to hush. The shadows reacted similarly to when he would speak to Gwyn. Whoever this woman was, apparently the shadows didn’t perceive her as a threat. If anything they danced around her eagerly, as they were impatient for her to finish with whatever she was making.

“It is ready. I need something from you Callista.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Something to hold this.” The words were slurred. The womans eyes glazed. It was as if she wasn’t fully there but Callista seemed to understand. She pulled a necklace over her head gently, a thin gold chain with a circular pendant.

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked, panicked.

“Trust me.”

Syra took the chain and threw it in the mixture. When she pulled it out, the clear jewel in the circular pendant turned black as night. A shaky hand held it out, her eyes returning to its previous state. “You will wear this.”

“I—” Azriel was stuck on what to say. Should he thank her? Refuse the necklace that belonged to Callista? Be wary of whatever effects the necklace may have? “I cant take this. This isn’t mine.”

“It is only a necklace. Think of it as a parting gift. Something to establish trust or whatever it is you need to explain it. Gesture of good will.” She shrugs. When she sees Azriel’s concern she once squeezes his hand, “I have plenty more just like it.”

“My arm tires, are you going to take the necklace or not.” Azriel finally looks away unable to have read Callista’s face. To figure out whether this is of any importance to her. He grabs the necklace with as much care as he can manage. Syra begins to explain, “When you have this on any nonphysical magic will cease to affect you. Including your friend’s mind reading. Your own gifts shouldn’t be affected. Keep it hidden. Keep it safe.”

“How do you know?” Azriel looked at the older fae’s deep violet eyes. She smiled wryly.

“I simply do.”

Azriel nods, “Thank you.”

He turns to Callista who quickly places the necklaces over him, tucking it into his shirt. “I wish you the best.” She says as she gently taps where the amulet rested.

“I will be back. I’ll figure out how to come back.” He turns to Syra who he can feel studying him, “I will make it up to the both of you.”

“You will not see me again.” The old lady waves him off and he chuckles dryly.

Azriel tries to find the words for the various different emotions bubbling inside him. Callista stops him from saying anything, only echoing her last sentiments. “Best of luck, safe travels.”

She takes a couple steps back, making an effort not to show the jealousy and hurt she feels etching itself in her heart. He smiles, a mischievous smirk growing, “You should know. Its Azriel.”

Callista blinks, not expecting him to say anything more, “W-what?”

“My name. Its Azriel.”

Her face only shows a faint smile as Azriel can only bow his head before easily blending into the shadows of the dimly lit room. Though he had warned her of his ability it was still shocking to see him disappear so easily, mesmerizing. She told herself this was inevitable, that no one ever stays forever. It was wise to have not gotten attached. And while she wouldn’t admit it, it was hard to not be glad to know his name. His departure seemed to steal some of the warmth from the room. She wondered how long it would take him to travel that way. If he maybe could make it back. No one ever had the ability to travel like that.

“You worry too much child, you will see him again soon.”

“Syra, you said so yourself that we wouldn’t be seeing him again.”

“I will not be seeing him again.” She hobbled back to her bed, “You. You will see him soon enough.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

➽───────────────❥

He took a sharp inhale of breath as he arrived at the house of wind. At the training area he had often helped Nesta, Gwyn and Emery. Did he mean to come here? He was barely able to take a few steps as he is almost immediately he is nearly tackled by Nesta.

“You’re back!”

“I am.” He looks around, noticing the lack of snowfall. He remembers Callista’s warning, “How long has it been?”

“You don’t know?” When he shakes his head, Nesta worries of where exactly hes been, “Its been almost three months.”

“That’s…impossible.” How long was he asleep? Did he forget how many days he had been there? How could he forget anything?

Almost immediately everyone had winnowed or flown in. They were all talking at him but he was still getting his bearings. Eventually Amren makes her voice cut through the crowd, “So are you going to tell us where you were?”

“I just remember flying to look for more possible allies.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mor asked

Because I was upset, he thought. “I thought I had. I wasn’t in the mood for another winter solstice at the time.”

He can feel certain faces drop: Elain, Rhysand. He could see the rest of them looking or glaring at the two. Mor tries to lighten the mood again, giving him a hug he doesn’t return, “Well it wasn’t the same without you, we can celebrate late. Right?”

She asks everyone else but Azriel is the one to respond, “No. That’s all right. I think I just need to rest. Nesta can I use a room here?”

“You don’t have to ask.” Azriel nods but he feels numb…empty. When he finally does sleep he think about Callista. Her face, her smile, her scent… He was half tempted to see if he could make it back, but moreso was determined to go back with a kind of solution first.

“Somethings off.” Amren states

“He could just be tired.” Elain tried

“No, shes right.” Rhysand interjects, “Wherever he went, I cant read him. At all. I didn’t even know he had come back. Couldn’t tell.”

“Well, maybe hes practiced blocking you.” Nesta moves her head, daring him to challenge her. “Something’s happened, but we don’t need to accuse him of not caring. We’ll just push him away.”

Feyre flinches, knowing exactly what her sister went through after she finally opened up to her in private. Rhysand is aware of what shes feeling, she wouldn’t speak to anyone for weeks when she found out why Nesta had been so down. She would only talk to Nesta and pretend around Nyx. The rest of time she would be in her room crying about not feeling enough for her sister.

“So what do you suggest Nesta?”

“Watch it.” Cassian growled

“Me and Cassian will be here. Its better if don’t all overwhelm him. Can we at least agree on that?” Everyone mumbled an agreement.

“I should talk to him. Just to let him know we’re here.” Mor states

“No. Nesta’s right. He knows he will have people in this house. Leave him alone.” Feyre voice was steady but everyone knew it was a command. Mor eyes seem to flicker with rage but she nodded. Nesta shooed everyone away, and asked the house to get him some food. Cassian was silent, Nesta squeezed his hand. Leading him to their room.

“Did you see it?” She whispered as loudly as she dared

“What?”

“His shadows.” Cassian shook his head, “When Mor approached him… they didn’t go away this time. They grew.”

➽───────────────❥

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x you #azriel x oc

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danikamariewrites · 10 months

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I would die with happiness if you did Eris x adhd!reader 💕💕💕

Eris x adhd!reader

A/n: I’m so happy that these headcanons are getting some love

Warnings: some angst, mentions of verbal abuse, and mentions of mental health struggles

Growing up in the Autumn Court your parents always expected perfection

You were the oldest of your siblings so you were expected to set the example of how to behave

When your tutor brought up to your parents that you have ADHD and that you should be tested for an official diagnosis they just brushed the tutor off

Your parents refused to believe there was something wrong with their perfect daughter

Growing up when your symptoms would show like zoning out, forgetting things, or blurting things out when you weren’t supposed to speak your parents would become very angry. When you were in private they would yell at you for acting disrespectful or stupid or tell you that you made them look bad in front of the court and worse the High Lord

The only person who wouldn’t yell at you and who understood you was Eris

He understood that not everyone acted the same and some people just worked differently

Masking your ADHD took a lot out of you and you were very anxious that everyone could see through it or were looking at you when you attended parties or dinners

You hated loud noises or certain sounds, they drove you crazy and all you wanted was silence when you got overwhelmed

Eris could tell when you were anxious he would always float over to you and help soothe your worries

“It’s alright little fox, I’m here with you and you can get through this.” He’d coo at you and place his hand on your lower back

Even though the room would be crowded he would walk you through and then take you out into the gardens for fresh air. You’d sit by a fountain and just space out listening to the water trickle as Eris rubbed circles on your back

Fidgeting and being overstimulated were your worst problems and you hated that they would draw attention to you. You hated feeling like people were looking at you with disgust or annoyance because something so small was bothering you

Eris was always there to make you comfortable

Eris would always ask you to hold something for him if you were moving around so you had something to focus on or toy around with

if you were biting at your nails or cracking your fingers too much Eris would take your hands in his and start playing with your fingers and kissing your hands as a distraction, it always made you happy

When it comes to being overstimulated your big thing is usually the texture of clothes or food

You liked simple things, nothing over the top or frilly

When you were at a dress fitting for the Autumn Solstice ball Eris went with you

Your mother had picked out the fabrics and style the dress would be so you automatically knew you’d hate it and need Eris there for moral support

Once you put the dress on you could tell it was too tight and the fabric was too itchy, overwhelming your senses

When you stood in front of the mirror with the tailor and Eris behind you he could tell you were on the verge of tears

Not only was the interior uncomfortable, the outer materials of the dress bothered your exposed skin when you put your arms down. You just couldn’t find a comfortable position in the dress

Eris excused the tailor so she wouldn’t see you break down. “I hate this,” you say with tears forming in your eyes, “not just the dress. Why can’t I just be normal for once.” Eris turns you around to face him. “Hey, you are normal. Just because you feel things differently doesn’t make you abnormal.”

“They’re going to call me difficult and hate me even more than they already do if I don’t wear this.” You cried. Eris pulled you to his chest shushing you. “I’m sorry Eris, gods this is so stupid. I’m sorry I’m just so much.”

“You aren’t too much little fox, your perfect. We’re going to get you a new dress ok.”

It always broke his heart when you talked down on yourself. He thinks that your perfect and he couldn’t believe you couldn’t see it

He would always get you to see the positives about your ADHD like how creative you are, your view of the world is refreshing, and you have this joyful spark in you that makes him forget how awful things are at times

“You are so beautiful little fox, did you know that?” “I didn’t even think of that. You are so smart fox.” “I’m so happy you’re mine, and that I get to be with you.” “You are always the best part of my day, did you know that my love?”

#acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar #acotar reader fic #eris vanserra acotar x reader #eris vanserra #eris fluff #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra x you #eris x reader #eris x you

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fleetinginfinities · 4 months

Text

first ever of these but … the bachelors and my random headcanons/quotes/song lyrics/slices of whatever that fit them 🫶 apologies it doesn’t include everyone, these guys are my favorites and I’m having trouble channeling the others lmao

Sam

- drums his fingers/knuckles on tables, his legs, any surface when he’s anxious or impatient or excited or anticipating something. which, he’s always feeling at least one of the above…so

- his fingers. that’s all

- plays footsie under the table but not in a weird way, in more of a “I literally need to be touching you at all times to ground myself to this present moment and be happy” way

- loves full body contact — huuuge tight hugs, rolling on top of you in bed, pulling you into his chest from behind

- mumbles in his sleep and tosses and turns, constantly reaching for you and pulling you close

- blushes a lot. his cheeks turn the most beautiful peachy color

- talks at the speed of light as his default setting

- speeds when he drives, speeds when he walks, just Does Everything Quickly and with much energy

- is somehow both a morning person and a night owl most of the time

- but when he’s lazy or tired, there’s never been anyone lazier or sleepier

- always answers phone calls on speaker mode

- is unaware of his strength when showing affection sometimes, like an oversized dog

- prominent arm veins. enough said.

- makes you feel so alive. present. his energy is contagious

- there’s not a soul he can’t make friends with

- would absolutely love early/mid 2000s pop punk

- blindingly sunny smile

- beautiful, soft golden hair that he wears messy and literally sticks out every direction but in the hottest way ever

- he’s like the summer solstice. an everlasting day that’s sweet and warm and full of life but also peace. Sam, in all of his chaos, is your peace

- “i’m so in love that I might stop breathing”

- doesn’t ever hold a grudge

- smells like lavender and lemon. no I won’t be taking any feedback with this one

- big fan of flowers

- like, it’s not uncommon for him to show up with a hand-picked bouquet for you he collected on the way over

- could’ve worked in a bakery instead of joja mart and would’ve been much happier. sweet cinnamon roll boy

- is actually the heartthrob of the town

- as sweet and pure as he is, he also has a rebellious side and is often trying to sneak you in his room and toe the line of authority whenever he can

- is quite adventurous and doesn’t really have an ego if he’s bad at things or much fear in general. the results are constant entertainment and occasional catastrophes.

Elliott

- “I dream about you every night now. It’s really quite beautiful”

- is actually strong and built and muscular (totally looks like a red headed Thor in my brain)

- but touches and holds you so gently that it makes you want to cry

- extremely strong jawline

- gives that aloof kind of mysteriousness and quiet confidence that is magnetizing to literally everyone

- doesn’t have a toxically masculine bone in his body

- will talk to you for hours about philosophy, literature, films, art, the meaning of life, etc etc etc

- traces his fingers on your bare skin, lost in thought

- has the most mesmerizing, starry eyes

- being around him makes you feel like you’re living in a dream. everything feels ethereal and hazy

- if Sam is the summer solstice, Elliott is like the peak of autumn, when all of the leaves are at their most colorful and bright just before they fall, and you feel like he’s both the beginning and the ending of something all at once

- as a matter of fact: “is this the end of all the endings?”

- “you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else. you taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else”

- loving him is the most intense, passionate experience of your life

- he would a b s o l u t e l y be the one that got away if you split up

- big fan of candles and crackling log fireplaces

- really enjoys a good row in his boat in the cool, dewy mornings and his back muscles show it

- his emotional intelligence is unmatched. you’ll never meet a more well-adjusted man

- romanticizes life in only the way a writer can

- isn’t just all depth and somber. also isn’t all pizazz and flamboyance. actually has a great sense of humor as a secret third thing

Sebastian

- despite how much he closes himself off at first, you feel an instant connection with him. you just understand him innately. and you feel like he gets you, too

- downplays how smart he really is

- genuinely loves to let everyone else shine. loves that Sam commands all the attention in the room. loves watching others praise you.

- is never competitive with anyone else and absolutely loves when the people around him win. the most supportive person ever

- really has a soft spot for animals

- incredibly intuitive. can read your mind like a book and anticipate your needs

- if he loves you, there is not another person on earth that would ever catch his attention or temptation. 1000% the most loyal boy

- “he looks up grinning like a devil”

- motorcycle rides in the city late at night when it’s raining

- sometimes doing something reckless is the only way that makes him feel alive

- in other words, he’s a closet adrenaline junkie

- can absolutely rival Elliott in terms of being the most romantic with his words sometimes — though it’s few and far between, he will never stop telling you that you’re the first person that he ever did, well, basically *anything* with and how special you are to him and how you’re his one and only

Alex

- it takes a special person to command his attention, he has always had fleeting attractions but he has never felt for anyone what he feels for you

- is absolutely a great person to go to with any problem. he has a clear and straightforward answer or solution

- is the number one person you want to be around if you just want someone genuinely uplifting to spend time with

- *always* notices physical changes and gives fantastic compliments

- is absolutely the dude who keeps his friend group together well into adulthood and middle age and beyond. he’s the one planning beach days, weekend recreational sports and activities, cooking out or tailgating on game days, inviting you for a bite to eat at the saloon if he hasn’t seen you in awhile, etc.

- genuinely loves a good romance or romcom as much as he loves the newest action movie

- fantastic with kids

- is very committed to you from the start

- will go to great lengths to maintain a happy and healthy and successful relationship. it’s the athlete determination in him

- has quite good taste in aesthetics. definitely has an opinion about fashion, home decor, etc

- has perfect teeth and a beautiful complexion in my mind

#stardew valley #stardew valley x reader #sdv #sdv elliott #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #yo what is with all the new formatting options here #they’re a Very Good Thing dont get me wrong #but I haven’t regularly used this site since like 2017 #relearning it as we go!

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ofduskanddreams · 10 months

Text

Pierce The Clouds

for @elucienweekofficial day 2: magic

A/N: I say this is "from the vault" because it's based on part of an old (no longer public) fic that I plan to rewrite if I ever have the time. I wasn't planning on posting anything today, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head so here we are :)

READ ON AO3 | RATED: E | CANON-TYPICAL VIOLENCE | 8.3k WORDS

When Lucien encounters trouble in the mortal lands, the bond draws Elain's shuttered power to the surface. Everyone knows that getting between a Fae and their injured mate is a death wish, but no one, not even Elain, knows just how far her magic is willing to go.

Lucien

He winnowed directly from the entrance of the Hewn City into his apartment in Velaris. He kicked off his shoes and fell back onto his bed, ignoring the slight cloud of dust that puffed up from the duvet on impact.

Two minutes, he told himself. Two minutes to close his eyes and soak in the blissful silence.

Lucien didn’t want to think about that meeting, it all made him too uneasy. Eris had mentioned nothing about a plan to kill Beron, he’d simply thanked Rhys again for hosting him for Winter Solstice again and made a snide comment about how unfortunate it was that Cassian—“that Illyrian brute” as Eris called him—didn’t let him within twenty feet of Nesta this year.

Rhys, looking as bored as ever, had signed his approval on a trade agreement between the Nightmares and Eris’s territory in Autumn: ore for agricultural products. Lucien and Rhys spoke mind-to-mind about how it was suspiciously mutually beneficial, but on paper, he could make no objections.

Dealing with Eris always left him unsettled, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Growing up with his brothers, it was second nature to expect every good deed to have an equally bad counterpart. But with Eris, the shoe hadn’t dropped. Yet. That was the most unnerving thing, what would be the cost of centuries of Eris’s so-called generosity towards him?

With a groan, Lucien forced himself to get up and change. He grabbed the second bag in the line of pre-packed leather duffels lining the wall near the door. It was a system he had developed while working as Tamlin’s emissary. A bag of necessities and appropriate clothing for each of Prythian’s courts, spelled with simple enchantments to keep everything fresh and wrinkle-free. The bag in his hand, for the human lands, was newer than the others yet still worn and marked by a small white leather tag.

Rhys had suggested that Lucien take Eris’s news that all was quiet with Beron and Koschei to Vassa sooner rather than later. The knowing look in Rhys’s eyes made it clear he was offering Lucien an out from family dinner should he want it.

With a wave of his hand, Lucien put out the fire in his fireplace and winnowed to the woods outside the wards he’d placed on Vassa’s manor. The near evening light lacked any sparkle as it filtered through the dull green canopy above him. He was grateful to Rhys; he didn’t want to think about trying to face Elain right now, unsettled as he was. It was hard enough to play that politely distanced courtier for her on a good day.

Lucien was a patient male, he prided himself on his self-control but even he had his limits. Elain wasn’t happy. He felt it through their dulled bond, and his instincts screamed at him to do something about it but he couldn’t. Being around her made it even more obvious and equally more difficult to ignore. Elain acted like she was happy, and was probably unaware that he knew her true feelings. It wasn’t his place to say anything so he’d been distancing himself. It seemed to be what she wanted.

Lucien walked through the manor’s gates and immediately came face-to-face with a flustered Jurian.

Jurian braced a hand on his shoulder as he caught his breath. “Impeccable…timing,” Jurian wheezed.

Lucien’s metal eye whirred in its socket, examining. The wards were fine. Nothing was on fire. There were no screams or clashing blades ringing through the air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Jurian.

“I was just about to send for you,” Jurian began, leading him towards the manor doors. “A few minutes ago, I had a runner come saying that there was a fight on the border. Apparently some of Nolan’s men got into it with a unit of your Prythian Guard.”

“Fuck,” Lucien exhaled, dread simmering in his veins. “Any injuries? Casualties?”

Jurian shook his head as they entered the manor hall. “The poor kid only said one injury before passing out on my office floor.”

“We don’t know if they were human or Fae?” Lucien inquired, dropping his bag and taking out the spare dagger he kept there. He sheathed it next to the short sword he always carried on his right hip.

“No,” Jurian sighed. “Since it could be either, I think it’s best if we both go.”

Lucien nodded in grim agreement.

It took them half an hour’s hard riding to reach the second garrison of the Prythian Guard. The Guard had been one of Lucien’s better ideas, endorsed by Rhys to address Tamlin’s non-existent border security. It was a peacekeeping force made up of Fae representing every court to monitor the border where the wall once stood.

It would have been easy for Lucien to winnow himself and Jurian, but riding in alongside the former human general sent a better message in this situation that and outcomes, could easily escalate into a greater conflict. Riding was also a thrill Lucien had enjoyed for as long as he could remember. He didn’t understand why most High Fae avoided it.

The sun was setting when Lucien dismounted at the wooden gate and nodded to Jurian. He would continue on to Nolan’s outpost and figure out what he could. With both sides of the story, maybe the two of them could piece together what actually happened.

The guard standing watch—Winter Court if his fair hair, skin, and frosty eyes were a sign—opened the gate for Lucien with a deferential nod.

“They’re all in the main hall,” he said, taking the reins from Lucien.

As he crossed the dirt courtyard, Lucien tried his best not to jump to morbid conclusions. The likelihood of this sparking another human-fae war was slim. If he was being honest, he’d poured so much of himself into maintaining peace since the war with Hybern ended that any breach of it felt like a personal attack. He was glad that his magic was still drained from all the winnowing he’d done in the last day and a half. If it hadn’t been, sparks would fly from his fingertips.

The sight that met Lucien in the chamber was far from encouraging. The assembled grave-faced guards stepped aside in a wave of pewter gray to reveal a male laying on a table. For a sickening heartbeat the male’s golden hair looked like Tamlin’s, but as Lucien stepped closer, he saw gray hairs mingled with gold and speckled with blood.

Lucien had to grip the table to keep from falling to his knees, because the male taking wet, ragged breaths was Valin.

“Lucien,” a voice addressed him.

Lucien looked up from the table to find Bron, one of Tamlin’s former sentries standing beside him, the crest of a commander on his gray uniform.

“What happened?” Lucien seethed behind gritted teeth.

“Valin had his unit on their regular patrol when they came across a bunch of Nolan’s men, drunk. They were aggressive, trying to cross the border and hoping for revenge from the sound of it. The unit followed protocol and was working to disarm the group with minimal injury when Valin took a scatter-ash arrow to the chest. Under Valin’s orders, they didn’t retaliate and half of them escorted Nolan’s men back to their outpost while the rest brough Valin here.”

“I should have known the prospect of ordering people around would have drawn Valin out of retirement.” Lucien and Bron exchanged sad smiles. Valin was Andras’s older brother, had been the captain of Tamlin’s sentries since his father had ruled Spring. He retired a few decades after Lucien arrived in the court, to start a family when he found his mate. But they’d stayed friends, Lucien had visited often and written when he couldn’t.

“Talia should be here soon, I sent a winnower to her as soon as I saw him,” Bron spoke quietly.

“He won’t make it?”

Bron closed his eyes and shook his head. “Scatter-ash, it’s Nolan’s latest invention. The arrow heads and lower shafts are made of ash chips somehow melded together so they break into pieces if the arrow hits bone or is removed.”

Lucien’s elbows hit the table as he rested his head in his hands. The sound of running footsteps made him snap upright, just in time to see Talia burst through the doors. She froze, nostrils flaring as she scented her mate’s blood.

“Everybody back to your posts,” Lucien ordered softly, and the room cleared save for himself, Talia and Bron.

In the blink of an eye, Talia was standing beside her mate clutching his hand to her chest. Her translucent wings shivered as tears fell silently down her face.

The room was quiet, save for Valin’s jagged breaths that were slowing by the minute. Lucien and Bron stood together in mute vigil for their fallen friend and mentor as the sun sank beneath the horizon, coloring the room a somber shadow-blue. Lucien would never forget the moment Valin’s heart stopped and his soul crossed the Veil. Talia froze before she began shaking. Then she fell to her knees, hands clasped over her heart and screamed.

That scream of unearthly sorrow and rage and grief hit Lucien like a serrated blade to the gut. He saw Bron stagger as well under the weight of Talia’s pain as half of her soul was ripped out and cast to the void. Lucien had only read about what could happen following the death of one’s mate. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing Elain on that table, dead. The thought of that golden light in his chest winking out threatened the stability of Lucien’s knees.

The wail turned to a choked-off sob. He wished he could go to her, but there was no comfort he could give that would ease the force of her grief. Eventually the sobbing stopped and Talia slowly turned to them.

“Who?” she growled, rage blazing in her eyes.

“Talia, an off-duty human guard shot him,” Lucien spoke carefully with his hands outstretched, palms up in a gesture of peace. “I will meet with Lord Nolan in the morning and demand he turn over the man responsible. His judgment will be yours to give.”

Lucien looked to the side at Bron who gave an imperceptible nod before he stepped forward slowly.

Bron approached her as one might a spooked horse. All Fae knew there were few things as dangerous as a mate seeking retribution—instinct could spark a bloodlust in the most peaceful of souls. Once Lucien felt relatively sure that Talia would allow Bron to help her prepare her mate’s body for the pyre without killing him, he slipped out of the room and down a narrow hall to the guest officer’s quarters.

He wasn’t able to shake the smothering, bone-rending sadness he felt. He couldn’t bear the thought of what Talia must be going through; couldn’t stop his mind from reliving the night Jesminda’s life was stolen by his folly.

Lucien collapsed onto the small bed in the dark, cold room. He couldn’t staunch that gut-wrenching grief he’d buried so deep. He closed his eyes but immediately saw the light leaving Jes’s walnut eyes. When he heard the wet slice of a blade meeting bone, of her head hitting the stone, Lucien’s eyes flew open. He was drowning in grief too long ignored.

He jolted when there was a sharp tug behind his ribs, hard enough that his breath hitched.

Then there was a bright warmth blooming.

Lucien sat up, but no—he hadn’t accidentally started a fire. It happened rarely, when the nightmares were at their worst and he would wake to the acrid scent of burning fabrics.

An image of small hands buried in a white mane flying flashed in front of his mind's eye.

And then he was a youngling hiding in the kitchens while his mother baked apple crumble and he stole as many bites as he could.

Lucien lay back and let his head hit the pillow as he was surrounded by the colors of autumn, shrouded in a blanket of sunset and he felt peace.

It was Elain; he realized with no small amount of wonder. Elain must have sensed him.

All the hollow sadness was suddenly filled with a nervous amount of hope dashed with embarrassment. He was careful to keep his emotions to himself, had never slipped up like this before. Cauldron, she must have felt everything. The hope was a soft glow, Elain had never touched their bond before.

Jurian met him at the Garrison at dawn. From what he heard at Nolan’s outpost, it was exactly as Bron described. Nolan’s men claimed the fault lay with the Fae, but Jurian believed the guard had done everything by the parameters of the treaty.

Jurian agreed with Lucien’s plan to deliver Valin’s assailant to Talia. Then again, Jurian was one of the few humans with firsthand experience of what mates were capable of when truly motivated.

Lucien didn’t waste time setting out for the Nolan’s manor, assured that Jurian would inform Vassa of everything that had occurred. His magic was still somewhat drained so Lucien opted to ride again.

Recalling the memory from the previous night, Lucien smiled to himself. If Elain enjoyed riding, maybe he could ask her to accompany him some time.

Lucien dismounted when the manor’s gates were in sight, leaving the horse to graze on dew-dampened grass. He’d only come to Nolan’s manor on foot before, better to lessen the chances of aggravating anyone. The guards posted on the gate were two Lucien didn’t recognize. He stopped some twenty paces back, their loaded crossbows trained on him.

“Stay right where you are, Fae filth,” the shorter of the two guards called out. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”

Lucien held both of his hands up, showing that he would make no move for his weapon.

“My name is Lucien Vanserra. I am an emissary, I mean no harm.” He choked on his family name but that was how the humans did it and he was here for the sake of peace. “I’ve been here several times before,” Lucien took a careful step forward. His gaze flicked between the short one and the one whose eyes were wide with fear. “Your commander knows me, he can verify my identity.”

“How do we know this isn’t just some magic trick?” the short one sneered.

Lucien took a calming breath, “I am here under the terms of the treaty between our peoples, that includes not using glamours to deceive you.” He took another careful step forward.

Only to be knocked back by a blinding pain near his heart. His ears rang, but he could hear the cadence of conversation.

“You idiot. Set the lord’s hounds on him, leave no evidence.”

Then there was a riot of barking. For half a second Lucien found himself back in Eris’s kennels, the hounds greeting him. But these were not those hounds.

Lucien felt several sets of teeth sink into his limbs. He couldn’t just stay here and die. That wasn’t right. It would hurt her. Elain.

Elain, the name clanged through him.

He needed a chance with Elain, with his mate.

Lucien reached deeply for whatever threads of dwindling magic he could grab and threw himself into the darkness, thinking of the first place that sprang into his mind.

He didn’t remember how he crawled up the steps and through the off-kilter door, but his eyes opened to stare down at the familiar black-and-white checkered marble floors. His eyes closed at the sound of talons clicking against the cracked stone that shifted to familiar footsteps as every thought eddied out of his head and the world bled black.

Tamlin

He scented Lucien long before he saw the male. Tamlin cursed the spark of hope that warmed him at the thought that Lucien might give him another chance. But then he neared the manor and scented Lucien's blood and red stained his vision. He ran.

There was too much blood—the wounds weren’t closing. Cauldron, were those bite marks? Tamlin’s heart was beating too quickly, his hands crimson-slicked as he gently turned Lucien onto his back to reveal the splintered shaft of an ash arrow embedded not a finger’s width from his heart. Tamlin quickly dragged a talon across his ankle; it stung and bled a drop before closing—not a nightmare then.

Fuck.

Tamlin forced himself to breathe. To think. He would lose no one else. There were no healers here anymore. No one was here. So he had to go where healers were. Where there were people who were better for Lucien than he was.

Never again, he told himself. I won’t lose him again.

Tamlin summoned the strength he often tried to forget and, with enough force that the ground rumbled, he spoke from his mind, projecting it far north.

Rhysand. I’m bringing Lucien to you. I mean no harm. He’s dying, he needs a Healer.

Tamlin gathered Lucien into his arms and winnowed. Lucien was the only thing he had left to lose.

Time seemed to slow as the darkness pressed upon him. The first rule of winnowing is to have a clear picture of your destination. Lucien had told him about Velaris before Tamlin had banned him from his court in anger. Centuries before that, lifetimes ago really, the heir of Night and the son of Spring had gotten drunk together. The memory of Rhys’s description was faded but better than nothing, so Tamlin held that image close.

Another image flashed before him, star-tinged—from Rhysand. A wrought-iron fence before the small yard of a home on a quiet street.

Then he was there, shoving aside that gate and bounding up the steps. The door opened for him and Tamlin barely noted the towering Illyrian wings he brushed past as he moved to lay Lucien down on the table. A gray-haired female stepped towards Lucien’s prone form and Tamlin bit back a snarl, at the same time the High Lord of Night’s hand came down on his shoulder.

Madja’s our best healer, she’ll do all she can, Rhysand spoke into his mind.

“It's a new kind of ash arrow. It breaks into shards when disturbed,” Tamlin explained, his long unused voice rasping. “He winnowed from the mortal lands to my manor with that much ash in him. I would have said it’s not possible, but he did it.”

Madja nodded to him and turned back to Lucien. “Sons of fire don’t burn out easily, this one still has a chance.”

Tamlin sagged with relief, then quickly straightened his spine. He’d already let these males see too much of him.

“Here,” Cassian grunted and shoved a glass of whiskey into Tamlin’s faintly trembling hands.

The reality of his situation came into sharp focus as the instinctive drive to protect his closest friend faded. He was in the Night Court. He didn’t exactly ask to come. They had every valid reason to hate him, especially Rhys and Feyre. Cauldron, they were the same reasons he hated himself. He could see Rhysand and Cassian exchanging a look that meant they were mind-speaking. Cassian… Rhysand’s General.

The gears turned. He was a High Lord who winnowed uninvited into another court’s territory. An action any laws of Prythian could construe as an act of war that. Tamlin swallowed the rest of his drink painfully.

There was only one way to guarantee this didn’t turn that direction.

So, Tamlin set down his glass and crossed the room to where Rhys stood. Pride be damned, he had already lost everything at this point. Tamlin took a deep breath and placed his right fist over his heart, speaking the ancient words: “I, Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, thank you for offering me aid in my time of need. As payment for this debt I will grant you, Rhysand, High Lord of Night, a boon. Please accept my gratitude.”

Faint clinks made by ash splinters landing in a metal basin punctuated the silence. Tamlin kept his eyes downcast at the red patterned rug until Rhysand held out a tattooed hand.

Tamlin clasped it with his own.

“I accept,” Rhysand responded, his expression guarded.

A shockwave of magic radiated through Velaris as the bargain inked itself across the High Lords’ wrists, setting the glasses rattling.

Then, the door to the townhouse swung open with such force that the little window in it shattered.

Elain Archeron burst into the room. Her half-feral eyes stopped on Lucien, then flitted to Tamlin as he stood and turned towards her. Her brown eyes turned to silver as she took in the blood staining Tamlin’s clothes.

Her rage was an aura shimmering at the edges of her. She winnowed across the room in a blink, appearing in front of Tamlin and slamming him back into the wall. Her forearm pushed into his throat. She growled, each word dripping with the promise of blood: “What. Happened. To. My. Mate.”

Elain

This wasn’t right. Elain looked around at the bare-boned trees shivering dark against a faded sky.

She was in Velaris. She was staring at a rosebush. There were clippers in her hand.

But when Elain looked down, there were no clippers, and the air was colder and dulled. It took a moment for recognition to set in—she recognized these woods, that far-off stone wall with its grotesque iron gate.

She shouldn’t be here.

Couldn’t be.

That was Lord Nolan’s manor, but she was in Velaris. Feyre and Nyx and Cerridwen were playing on the other side of the gardens. She was listening to them moments ago.

But this world was silent.

She realized it was a vision when her feet began moving against her will.

Suddenly, she stood before the gates staring at two guards in Graysen’s father’s colors. But the vision shattered, cracking and falling like the shards of a mirror.

And then Elain was curled up on the grass of her garden with a searing white pain in her chest. Feyre was screaming.

The world was shaking—no, that was her, shaking. Being shook.

“...lain. Elain, please open your eyes,” Feyre’s voice pleaded.

Elain slowly obeyed, squinting and blinking and trying to adjust to the brightness of the sun above her. It was hard to do anything with the memory of that pain echoing across her skin.

“I…” Elain’s voice cracked, her mind still reeling. “I had a vision, I’m fine,” she said weakly as she let Feyre help her sit up.

Elain realized her mistake when she saw how wide Feyre’s eyes had grown.

“You had… a vision?” Feyre parsed out the words on her tongue, piecing together her elder sister’s lies of the past year and a half. “Elain,” Feyre said with an equal amount of shame and reproach. She took a deep breath, then said more gently, “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

Was this the moment when the world crashed down around her feet? This lie, her secret, no doubt already reaching the minds of the inner circle via Rhys. Because this changed everything. That was part of the reason Elain had hidden it.

Elain nodded and let Feyre tug her to her feet.

She wasn’t dumb, though it made life easier when people thought she was. While the others thought she only read books on flowers or the romances Nesta pawned off on her, Elain had done her research. She knew Clotho had a personal weakness for lemon tarts and that the female was happy to offer her the sanctuary of the Library beneath the House of the Wind regardless of the unseemly times of day she showed up.

Elain knew how rare Seers were. She knew how they were coveted by High Lords and Kings, wooed and worshiped until they were locked up or literally chained to a wall in one case. It was a terrible power, she’d never understood….

Why, in those frozen depths of the Cauldron, when the Mother had examined her soul and somehow found her ‘worthy,’ had she cursed Elain with this ‘gift’ that often drove its bearers to madness?

Yes, the Mother’s gift included many other things Elain didn’t understand, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be a Seer, didn’t want to live with the constant threat of her mind being violated by the past or future. She didn’t want to deal with the burden of trying to unravel all those damned riddles her sight enjoyed laying at her feet.

Swallowing her anxiety down, Elain let Feyre lead her into the house and press a cup of tea into her hands. But that pain was still throbbing—enough to make her feel lightheaded. Elain couldn’t shake off the small voice screaming “something is wrong.”

And then it clicked into place. Lucien. She’d been sensing him through the bond more recently. That must have been his pain. Which meant something had gone terribly wrong… Nolan’s manor. That vision had been of Lucien, or at least what had happened to him.

“Elain, what can I do?” Feyre’s question broke the clamor of her thoughts.

Mate. Protect him. Save him. That inner voice commanded with so much dominance Elain almost leapt off of the settee despite herself.

She couldn’t deny what she saw, what she was feeling. But something stopped her from voicing all of it to her sister.

“I… I think I would like to lie down for a while, if that’s alright,” she answered Feyre in that soft small voice everyone thought was her only one.

Elain lost herself in thought while she allowed Feyre to lead her up to her room. She didn’t understand this thing writhing within her, this bond. Lucien was a stranger. Yet, even as a stranger Elain didn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone—she wanted to help, to soothe, to heal. Those had always been her core intentions. Even before she nearly drowned in the Cauldron and somehow emerged with the gifts of the Mother that made those instincts stronger.

She hadn’t realized it until that fateful day, nearly a year ago when Nesta had sacrificed her magic to save Nyx, Feyre and Rhys. That was when that shimmering well of power sparked. While Nesta had laid herself across Feyre’s ashen form, Elain had dived into that inner abyss—had begged the Mother to let Nesta stay, to see that Nesta’s heart wasn’t owned by the Cauldron’s icy void, that Nesta was just trying to protect everyone, that Nesta deserved to live.

Thankfully, the Mother had listened. Elain had mentioned nothing about that day. She scarcely dared think about it. Nesta would have died if the Mother hadn’t intervened. It was only the second time Elain had ever let that power fill her veins, to sever the Cauldron’s grip of Nesta’s soul—to keep it from killing her. The first had been during the war when she’d somehow winnowed and found her hand clenched tight around Truth-Teller, buried in the King of Hybern’s neck.

Feyre drew the curtains shut while Elain sat on the edge of her bed.

Please leave, Elain hoped as Feyre turned towards her in the dim faelight.

“Do you want to be alone?” her sister asked.

“I think I’ll sleep for a while.” Elain pasted on an encouraging smile.

Save him. Save him. Don’t let it fade. The voice chanted.

As soon as the door shut behind Feyre, Elain moved: out to the balcony, down the trellis of ivy. She knew the way with her eyes closed. She’d spent many sleepless nights watching the Sidra drift by or scanning dusty tomes for answers that didn’t exist.

Elain’s slippered feet hit the frostbitten earth, the voice growing louder. She was tired of fighting it so, for the third time, Elain gave up. She let that shimmering light rise to the surface, allowed that voice to guide her steps. When she reached inside for that golden ribbon she knew would lead her to Lucien, she fell to her knees in the dead grass.

No.

There wasn’t a ribbon. There were only ragged threads. Elain focused her hearing, no matter where he went she could hear it. His heartbeat was there, but it was too slow.

No.

Save him. Save him. Protect. Defend.

Elain let that unknown power force her shaking legs to stand. She could question all of this when she knew Lucien was safe. She’d already broken character, let Feyre see the truth. Pretense was irrelevant now. It was the least she could do after all, for the male whom had saved her countless times without knowing it.

She took a step forward, letting that power fill her vision as darkness pressed in on all sides and then she was standing outside of the townhouse. She’d winnowed again, somehow. Elain would worry about that another time.

The air smelled strange. She could scent Lucien, closely mingled with another of stale flowers and rain and… blood. Icy dread sluiced through her veins at the realization it was Lucien’s blood. All Elain saw was red and light. She felt a pulse of magic, heard a faint shatter of glass.

Mate. Save him. Protect him.

There was Madja, staring blankly at her, bent over Lucien’s body—he was unconscious and covered in drying blood.

“Mate. Protect,” was the last thing Elain remembered hearing before her power consumed her completely.

Elain woke to the sound of hushed voices. She was lying on a hard surface.

“Was knocking her out really necessary?” Nesta quietly snarled.

“I didn’t ‘knock her out,’ I put her to sleep,” Rhys’s voice was calm yet equally hushed. “She wasn’t herself, Nesta. I didn’t want her to hurt anyone or hurt herself.”

“I thought she didn’t have magic anymore,” Cassian said.

“Well, I knew something was still there,” Amren sounded smug.

Elain cracked an eye open, just enough to get a blurry image of the scene. Feyre was slowly shaking her head, looking at the floor. They were still in the townhouse. Her head felt like someone had split her skull with a hammer and chisel.

“I found her unconscious in the garden this afternoon. I couldn’t get into her mind but when she woke up, she said she’d had a vision. I don’t know if it’s happened before, or if she’s aware of this power,” Feyre murmured.

“How long will she be asleep?” Nesta asked, concerned.

“She’s already awake,” a deep voice like honey rumbled from directly behind her, though it sounded strained.

Elain bolted upright, scrambled off the table and nearly head-butted the wall as the room swayed beneath her feet. Her fingertips dug into the molded oak paneling but then Nesta’s hands gripped her shoulders and steadied her. One of those hands moved to her cheek as Nesta turned her face to examine it. Elain shook off Nesta’s hand and turned back to look at the wide dining table where Lucien lay, his hair a sanguine red against a blue pillow.

She took a shaky step toward him before she stopped herself, ignoring that voice demanding she run to him and make sure he’s okay.

“Lucien,” she breathed. Her throat felt raw, like she had been screaming. She swallowed, painfully. “Are… are you going to be alright?”

“Right as rain, Lady,” he said with a smirk that twisted into a grimace as he coughed

Liar.

“He’ll be perfectly healed in a few days,” Madja explained from a chair by the fire. “He’s lucky he got here when he did, a few more minutes and some of those splinters would have reached his heart.”

“How do you feel, Elain?” Nesta asked softly, holding Elain’s elbow.

“I’m fine Nesta.” Elain’s words were clipped. She hated this feeling, that dark gap in her memory.

Lucien coughed again, “She’s about thirty seconds from passing out if her heartbeat—cough—doesn’t slow and she has one of the worst burnout headaches I’ve ever felt.” His voice grew progressively quieter as he spoke.

Elain rapidly snapped up her mental shields, but the exertion made her stumble.

Nesta gently shoved her down into an overstuffed armchair and forced a cup of water into her hand, gray eyes gleaming like daggers as she demanded Elain to drink.

Madja shuffled over and placed a wrinkled hand on Elain’s shoulder, the pounding in her head subsided but didn’t disappear.

Feyre sat down on the ottoman in front of her chair. “Elain, can you tell me what happened? Do you remember?”

Elain looked around the room. Lucien was now half sitting, propped up on a bunch of pillows. Nesta stood behind her chair, Cassian close to her side. Amren perched on an arm of the sofa where Rhys and Madja sat, behind Feyre. Azriel stood near the arched opening to the dining room, his shadows blending into the darkness behind him. What did she remember? What did she want to remember?

Elain knew she should handle this carefully, that she could play it right and keep things mostly the way they were before. But her head was so foggy, everything about her felt sluggish. What she remembered after she left her room were flashes, nothing coherent. Elain remembered the pain on Feyre’s face in the garden, when she’d suspected Elain had been lying.

Pain. She was in pain. Lucien was in pain. There was too much of it. Elain was tired. So very, very tired of pain. Elain took a deep breath and spoke.

“Earlier, I had a… vision.” She tucked her hand beneath her thighs to stop herself from wringing her fingers. “I saw the gates of Lord Nolan’s manor.” She forced her gaze to meet Lucien’s, “I felt those guards shoot you.”

Her eyes closed as her voice cracked. She couldn’t look at him without that voice chanting all the things she should do to those guards. Elain took a deep breath, “I felt your pain, that’s how I knew it was you. I feel nothing in my visions.” Unless they are about you, she finished in her head.

“I remember Feyre taking me up to my room. I remember leaving as soon as she left. I… I just couldn’t let anyone be in that kind of pain when I knew there was something I could do to help. When I tried to find you the bond—it was fading. I panicked, I could sense you were close to death.” Elain swiped an errant tear from her cheek. She shouldn’t be crying over a stranger.

“That thing, that voice panicked and I could feel a sort of light, a power inside me and it wanted to get out. I could barely think straight so I let it—it felt like my best chance to find him. After that, it's just fragments. I remember standing outside of the townhouse. I remember it smelled wrong, like rain and dying flowers and Lucien’s blood.”

Elain noticed Feyre’s nostrils flare, then her whole body went rigid and her face paled. She stiffly nodded for Elain to continue but her eyes glazed over slightly.

“That’s really all I can remember.” Elain looked to the dancing flames behind the grate.

The silence in the room was broken when Rhys spoke a name, “Mor?”

Morrigan winced as she stepped out of Azriel’s shadows. “That's all she remembers,” she said Rhys.

Fuck. They used Mor? Was their distrust in her truly so immense? It hurt, more than Elain expected it would. Not that she could really blame them. Lucien looked shocked, but it seemed the others were aware. Mor, at least, had the decency to look apologetic.

Feyre moved off of the ottoman to sit on Rhys’s lap. Her color was better, whatever they’d spoken about mind-to-mind had worked. Rhys cleared his throat, “Well, let me show you all what I remember.”

Elain was grateful she was sitting down or she might have fainted as Rhys’s experience of events played through everyone’s minds, stopping on an image of her pinning Tamlin against the wall by his throat.

“Fascinating,” Amren mused. She cocked her head, those unholy steel eyes flitting between Elain and Nesta, analyzing them as if they were one of her many puzzles.

Elain’s mind was still trying to catch up with everything Rhys had revealed when she felt a sharp spike of self-loathing. She looked over to Lucien who wore a haunted expression.

“Stop that!” Elain hissed at him.

Lucien’s russet and gold gaze turned sharply on her and Elain clapped a hand over her mouth, felt her eyes widen.

“Sorry I just… none of this was your fault Lucien,” she stammered, warmth rising to her cheeks.

“No, that’s not… never mind. You’re right,” his words were stilted.

Elain noticed the others glancing between them, their faces betraying an odd mix of confusion and amusement.

Before she had time to respond, Nesta snickered “You—you really…. Honestly, I’m jealous.”

Elain was confused.

Nesta sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Just—the next time you nail Tamlin’s balls to the wall—wait for me.”

Feyre snorted softly.

Slowly, Elain turned to Rhys. “I…. Oh Gods… I attacked a High Lord… did I start a war?”

She held no sympathy for Tamlin, but Prythian was still recovering from the last war.

Rhys shook his head with a gentle smile. He asked Lucien, “Are you feeling well enough to head to the River House?”

Lucien nodded once.

“Right then, we will continue this discussion after we’ve all had something to eat,” Rhys concluded.

Cassian mumbled “about damn time,” as he and Nesta made their way outside.

Amren held her hand out expectantly to Azriel who rolled his eyes before winnowing away with the tiny ancient one in tow.

Rhys slung and arm around Lucien’s broad shoulders as he helped him stand. Elain was momentarily stunned because Lucien was taller than Rhys when she saw them side by side. No, that was a dumb thing to realize and why now…. Elain blinked a few times to clear her head.

Feyre and Mor were looking at her, waiting. Elain looked back at Lucien and Rhys, the latter now looking at her in silent question.

She slowly rose to her feet, pleasantly surprised to find her legs steady. Elain took a step towards Feyre but the disquiet in her gut increased and she hesitated.

“I’ll go with Lucien and Rhys,” she found herself saying. The nervous energy settled a bit more with each step towards them.

She didn’t even attempt to decipher the meaning in Rhys’s knowing gaze. Elain took his arm, and they winnowed to the lawn of the River House. Cassian was waiting for them by the door, taking over as Lucien’s support and disappearing into the house. Elain made to follow them but Rhys gently stopped her.

“What?” Elain cocked her head at the High Lord of Night. For that definitely was not the expression of her smartass brother-in-law.

“I will allow you into this house if you swear to do no harm to my mate, my son, or any other members of my inner circle or guests of my household.” Rhys’s voice was the deep cold of a midwinter’s night.

Elain took a step back, eyes stinging. Did Rhys really think she would hurt her sisters, hurt Nyx?

His expression softened slightly, “The vow is a formality, Elain. I don’t think you would intentionally harm anyone but you… you weren’t yourself this morning. It will give you peace of mind as well, a guarantee that no one you care about would get hurt if you lost control again.”

That would be true, she supposed.

A part of her bristled at the ultimatum, that Rhys—the champion of choices—didn’t give her one. Another part of her was grateful, she didn’t trust herself. Hadn’t since she’d come out of the Cauldron. She’d buried her powers so deep because they scared her—that potential loss of control was absolutely terrifying.

“I swear to do no harm to my sisters, my nephew, or any members of the inner circle or guests of your household,” Elain repeated as she held out her hand.

Elain didn’t realize she was freezing until Rhys’s hand wrapped around hers, the warmth and the zing of magic pulsing through the air gave her goosebumps. She looked at their clasped hands and saw a tiny star tattooed on the inside of her right wrist. It was… cute.

Elain paid little attention to anything during dinner. Thankfully, everyone seemed happy to carry on their conversations without her. She wasn’t surprised, they normally were. She downed her first glass of wine and spent an hour picking at her food. Elain was grateful to be sitting next to Mor. In quiet solidarity, Mor kept pace with Elain. When the meal ended the two of them had finished a bottle.

She followed the others through to the sitting room, every sense softer—and she was delightfully warm. The events of the day felt less world-shattering. Elain’s mind was still drifting when Rhys called for everyone’s attention. Only then did the room come into focus. Amren, Feyre, and Nesta were giving her odd looks. She glanced down to see if she’d accidentally spilled wine on her dress only to meet Lucien’s russet-gold stare, not a foot below her.

Elain wished the floors would open up and swallow her. Apparently while her mind had wandered, her feet had carried her to stand halfway behind the chair where Lucien sat near the fire.

Good. He is still healing, watch over him, the voice said.

Elain almost jumped at the sound, it hadn't spoken in hours.

To move away now, after everyone else had settled would be even more awkward, so Elain stayed.

It’s just the bond. Just my instincts — it means nothing. They all know that, she talked herself down before she could feel too flustered.

“Alright Amren,” Rhys said coolly, holding his palm out in an invitation to speak.

Elain’s heart jumped into her throat. She felt like a child again, waiting for her mother’s tongue-lashing.

Would they ship her away like Nesta, or worse? At least Nesta hadn’t tricked everyone. She’d lied, but the lies were obvious. Elain had manipulated her family’s goodwill against them, for her own selfish comfort. She knew her powers could make a profound difference in the world… if she could bear to face them.

She wasn’t like her sisters. She wasn’t a warrior; she didn’t want to lead people; she didn’t even want to be here half of the time. Elain missed being human, she missed the life Hybern and the Cauldron had stolen from her. She didn’t want this power in her veins so she’d done her best to ignore its existence.

Amren looked at Elain, her bobbed hair swaying as her head again tilted to the side, assessing. “This isn’t the first time. Is it, girl?”

“No,” Elain hated how meek her voice sounded.

“Well?” Amren motioned for her to elaborate.

Elain took a deep breath that did nothing to steady her so she gripped the back of the chair, low enough that no one could see how weak she was. Feyre had no trouble commanding a room of faeries who hated her, but Elain was not her sister.

“I… um.” Elain stuttered.

Lucien shifted in front of her, crossing his arms and her breath hitched when she felt warm fingers brush against hers. The contact grounded her.

She swallowed and spoke. “The first time was during the war. I was pacing in camp when I saw Nesta’s blast. Felt it. I could sense something beneath my skin, like I was burning from the inside.”

“I knew something bad was happening, could feel it in my bones. And then I heard a voice, your voice.” Elain looked at her little sister. “You begged me to save them.”

“I begged the Cauldron to save them,” Feyre explained. “How did you hear that?”

“The Cauldron and its power answer to ultimately to her, at least in this world. She knew you needed help,” Elain replied.

“Her?” Feyre asked.

“This world?” Rhys spoke at the same moment as his mate.

Elain blushed, she definitely said too much.

“Don’t get distracted, girl,” Amren chided.

Elain nodded and continued, “Well, I don’t know what I did. I just… let go. Let the light burn. And the next thing I can remember is my hand covered in blood holding Truth-Teller’s hilt in that King’s neck. I don’t know how I got there. I panicked when I realized what was happening—what I did. And well, Nesta took over then.”

Lucien’s fingers twitched against hers, the slight touch doing more to comfort her than was logical.

“The second time was different, internal. It was when Nyx was born,” Elain explained. Everyone in the room sat up a little straighter at that.

“What I saw,” Cassian blurted out, “that was you? You stopped the Cauldron from taking all of Nesta’s power.”

“Not exactly me, but yes. I… well, it’s hard to explain since I don’t really understand it.” Elain paused, she really didn’t know if this would make any sense.

“Just tell us as best as you can,” Lucien spoke for the first time since they’d gathered.

“Well Nesta, remember the terms of your bargain? I’d seen what would happen, only I didn’t realize what the vision meant until you first said ‘I give it all back.’ The vision was a phrase: one life for three, moonlit death, what a bargain.”

Elain saw Cassian stiffen as the meaning of the words hit him, he drew his wing closer around Nesta.

“Nesta, when you told the Cauldron you would ‘give it all back,’ you bargained away your life. I couldn’t let that happen so I reached out—reached down maybe, into the power. It’s kind of like a well right, so I dove to the bottom—to the heart, the source.”

“The source?” Amren prompted skeptically.

“The Mother,” Elain replied.

Amren’s gray eyes went wide.

“The Mother,” Elain continued, her voice more confident now, “is the only thing who can truly influence the Cauldron. She gave the Cauldron purpose when she created this world, the Cauldron loves her because of it.”

“What does the Mother have to do with Nesta’s bargain? How do you have a connection to her?” Feyre asked.

“Well,” Elain swallowed, trying to ignore terror brought on by the memories of that day in Hybern. She hadn’t realized her eyes had squeezed shut until another faint brush of Lucien’s fingers made her open them.

“When I went into the Cauldron,” Elain stared into the fire, “I was drifting for a long time until the Mother’s hand took hold of me. She said something about being pure of heart and told me the Cauldron would bless me with great gifts. And that she would always walk beside me.

“When I met her again, trying to save Nesta’s life from that bargain, I offered her anything she wanted as long as she made the Cauldron alter your bargain to let you live, to let you all live. She made me vow I would never seek to rid myself of my powers. I don’t know how much you all know about Seers, but it’s usually a cursed gift. They lose their sanity or become slaves and prisoners, often both. The Mother knew I didn’t want that. She knew it would be harder to keep the gifts than trade them for you. And well, here we are.”

The typically loud group of Fae were silent.

“If you don’t believe me, that bargain is inked in gold on my spine,” Elain shrugged, trying to lighten the mood, her gaze still fixed on the fire. She could have sworn she saw a forest in the flames, a fox running between the trees. Then again, she’d had a lot of wine.

This world was bizarre, magic didn’t follow logic or reason. Compared to some stories she’d heard from this group—this might not even be the strangest. She felt light. Freer than she had felt for many years.

“Elain—” Nesta’s cracking voice drew Elain’s gaze. “You saved me. Twice. You saved Cassian’s life, too.”

“Considering how many times you’ve saved me over the years, Nesta, it was the least I could do to pay you back.”

Elain took a deep breath and addressed the room, breaking contact with Lucien and stepping away from the chair. “I’m sorry for keeping this all to myself. What I’ve told you all tonight is just a fraction. I was terrified—am terrified by all of this. It was too overwhelming, so I shut it all out. I know it was selfish. I’m sorry that I lied to you all, that I abused your kindness to shield myself from having to deal with any of it.”

Elain kept her eyes on the floor, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.

Nesta’s arms wrapped around her, squeezing. Feyre’s arms wound around both of them a second later. Warm tears tracked down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I made you feel you couldn’t talk to me about any of this,” Feyre mumbled into Elain’s shoulder. “I hate that you’ve been dealing with this by yourself.”

“If anyone was selfish, it was me,” Nesta sniffed. “You were right that time at the River House. I was too consumed by my shit to realize you were going through it too, that you needed someone just as much as I did.”

Elain pulled away when it got hard to breathe, wiping the tears from her eyes and grinning at her sisters. Rhys cleared his throat. Elain saw Cassian wipe away a few tears of his own. She didn’t know why but she turned back toward Lucien.

He was smiling at her, his russet eye held a mix of wonder and pride. It was like Elain had spent the last three years under the clouds. Finally explaining part of what had been haunting her had revealed scraps of blue sky, but that one look from Lucien banished the rest. Like that smile was the sweetest ray of sunlight to ever shine. And maybe it would be okay.

tagging: @ablogofbipanic @damedechance @octobers-veryown @panicatthenightcourt @moonpatroclus @vulpes-fennec @krem-does-stuff @areyoudreaminof @spell-cleavers @fieldofdaisiies @foundress0fnothing @kingofsummer93

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #pro elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain x lucien #lucien x elain

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saphirered · 6 months

Note

I saw the Autumn/Winter prompts and i have to.

So how about Solstice Kiss with Mollymauk preferably Spice and Fluff. I am a sucker for Molly (is it obvious?)

I’ve been dying to write for the M9 again! Especially after having been to the Live Show 😩Fluff with some spice coming right up! Hope you enjoy! 😘

The party rages on. Whatever solstice celebrations this village takes to are very much enjoyable. It’s a refreshing delight to see such peoples take to such debauchery without eye for consequence or modesty. Drink flows a plenty, delicious foods are shared graciously, and the company, the company does not judge. It indulges. When the carnival stopped here for their last show of the year they did not intend to stay this long but the snow kept them. A gift from the gods themselves according to some because they were welcomed by the locals and are more than happy to enable every poor life choice made on this eve for the sake of everyone’s enjoyment. No one would be left out. No one would feel sad or alone on this night. Tonight they are all among family and friends and lovers. It is a good night.

Mollymauk watches as you dance with Bo the Breaker. You’re spun into the arms of Gustav next who offers you a cup you take to your lips. You’re dressed to impress. While he might be a little biased he dares say you are the most beautiful creature to be seen. While you danced he had occupied himself telling some fortunes here and there. He’d have done it for drink and trade but these people offered generously, even more so when their cups kept refilling. Pockets heavy they kept coming to him still and he would tell them their fortunes. They’d eat up every word but despite his nimble fingers pulling forth the cards he searched for, he was slower than usual. You caught his attention, distracted him whenever you entered his peripheral vision and you knew it too. Little minx you are.

And then you disappeared into the crowd. His focus returned. If only for a little. Molly finishes up yet another fortune, reshuffling his cards how he always does, assuring they’re in the right order. He has a moment of respite and expects the next farmer to come chatter any moment. The chair opposite of him is not occupied but in front of him he finds a cup of questionable looking liquid. Arms drape over his shoulders sliding down until they link together over his chest. You perch your chin on his shoulder after pressing a quick kiss to his neck. He’s sure you can feel the goosebumps spread across his skin. Your lips are cold. He’s got every intention to change that now.

“So everyone is having a good time and you are reading fortunes? We closed hours ago.” You chirp letting your cold fingers trail along the exposed skin of his chest. More goosebumps. He can feel your smile when your lips brush so close to his ear. Molly takes the cup in one hand, putting his cards away with the other before he turns to face you better. You take the opportunity to slide into his lap and take a sip of his cup.

“What’s a little overtime for these good people.” He takes the cup from you. “I thought that was meant for me?” Teasing as ever. He takes a sip. Gods that’s good. Before he can ask you answer.

“Apparently they call it apple crumble mede. It sounds disgusting but tastes like apple pie. They also have cherry, chilli and whiskey but I’m particularly fond of the chestnut one.”

“So exactly how much did you have to drink?”

“Not nearly enough to be even remotely tipsy.” You’re truthful. You’d only had a single sip of those before you settled on this one. You’d barely had one cup. Molly shakes his head.

“Such a party and such little drinking? What has become of our reigning champion?” He jests and chuckles when you go to reach for the cup. He holds it out of your reach until you give up with a roll of your eyes. Only then does he feel safe to actually drink more. You clutch your hands together rubbing them for warmth and subconsciously move yourself closer into him.

“Cold?” He asks. You don’t even make a point to deny it. Instead you curl closer to him.

“I’m warm when I’m dancing. I feel like the dead of winter when I stop moving.”

“So what you’re saying is we got to keep you warm somehow?” Molly gives you the most suggestive look he can muster just to humour you.

“But what about the midnight dance?” You groan throwing your head against his shoulder. His fingers gently dance up your side, brushing up and down at an even pace. They slip under the fabric of your shirt. Molly is making it very hard for you to focus and he knows it.

“If you insist. I’ll never say no to a dance with you.” You make no move to get up just yet. “Come on… It’s tradition after all.” He lifts you to your feet until you stand on your own, then takes a step backwards and with a ridiculous bow extends to you his hand. Your freezing fingers touch his and he instantly brings them to his lips, shiver running down his spine as the cold hits him but he doesn’t let it stop him. Despite his warmer body, Molly still very much is susceptive to the cold, perhaps even more so than you.

Mollymauk leads you to the dance floor, where the commoners dance their commoner’s waltzes and let’s be honest, these are probably the only dances the carnies actually know. It’s something to bond over, to finally fit into the chaos that allows for mistakes and choses fun over perfection. The musicians play an upbeat tune while the locals sing the song in a chorus of dancers. Everyone seems to know the song, or at least enough to hum along where the words are but foreign to them or their ability to form coherent sentences, be they out of breath or too intoxicated. You spin under his arm, link your arm with his, close in, then apart, side to side and twirl around each other. You sway and sway, close in, a hairs breath away, and then too far. Repeat.

It’s the midnight dance, following the patterns of the stars and skies and constellations long lost to Exandria but it matters not. You feel alive, so incredibly alive. The dance is a short, too short but when you see that burning in those scarlet eyes, see that love and admiration, that joy, you know it’s just long enough. You know how this dance ends. You’ve heard the locals talk about it when you ran your errands. And so when the last note strikes and the cheers erupt, you step in close within Molly’s embrace. You look him in the eye, then down to his lips and place yours against his in a feverish kiss. His response is quick, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, the other at the back of your neck tilting your head ever so slightly to gain better access to you. You feel his lips part, his tongue brush against yours and you invite him wholly. Perhaps time slows, or perhaps it moves all too fast because when you part you want more, so much more and when you look him in the eye, so does he.

Taking his hand you pull Mollymauk along away from the dancing and feasting people. Instead you make for a barn. Perhaps not the most glorious place but you’ve found yourselves in far worse. You quickly pick the lock and slide into the barn, Molly following behind. When he enters you quickly close the door and push him against it. Your lips are on his, hands sliding up his chest until you cup his cheeks. He takes a moment to recover but quickly his hand settle on your hips and in one swift motion he lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you along to the piles of hay. As you’ve done many times before, you push the coat from his shoulders. Begrudgingly he sets you down so you can take it off and without breaking contact once, place it down behind you. You use this moment to change places, urge him backwards and onto the coat.

You are the image of seduction and you bring him to his knees with but one wanton look; your lips are slightly parted, your pupils dilated. He can see your breath rise and the twitch of your fingers. All it takes is a gentle push of your guiding hand and he is at your mercy as you crawl on top of him, legs on either side, fingers in his hair pulling at the roots ever so lightly. Your lips meet once more, tongues dancing together, but a taste of what’s to come, of what you are setting out to do. It’s safe to say those solstice kisses are intoxicating but you can do so much more and you intend to prove it. He all but whines when you trail your kisses down his neck, being sure to leave many a mark there, and go down further and further until you feel him. You look up at him when you reach for the buckles of his belt, teasingly slow to undo them.

“Say the word.” You croon looking up through your lashes. You could have him undone right then and there. When he doesn’t respond thinking about what you’ll do to him, you let your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his trousers. The sweet noises he makes when he’s at your mercy.

“Please.” Begrudgingly he speaks but is cut off by his own mewling sounds when he feels your tongue circle him, then your lips wrap around him, just the once before letting your hands take over, stroking so slowly.

“That’s a good devil.” You grin and when you see the flush to his skin, feel his fingers lace in your hair you go down again. This will be an eventful solstice. One to remember for sure.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #mollymauk x reader #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #mighty nein #the mighty nein #critical role mollymauk #mollymauk

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dottielovegood · 1 year

Text

Anything. Everything.

@elriel-month : Happy Solstice

This fic is based on the following prompt from @freepandahugs:

elriel with secret messages, where elain keeps sending little dirty messages to azriel while he is away in the cabin for the snowball fight 🤭 bonus points if smut ensues once azriel gets back

(I obviously went for the bonus points) Warnings: Explicit. NSFW. See tags on AO3 Word count: 6738

Azriel

When Rhys told Azriel to stay away from Elain, he really did try to follow the order. He didn’t do so gladly, but he did it nonetheless. He might have filled a few snowballs with rocks during their annual snowball fight, but if Rhys understood why he did that, he didn’t let it show. And later that same day, he gave away the necklace he had bought for Elain, even though he regretted doing so just moments later. He just couldn’t keep it. He just couldn’t have one more thing reminding him of her. The vial of headache powder on his bedside table was enough of a reminder of what, and who, he so desperately wanted.

It took him one week to grow resentful and one more week to question why Elain couldn’t choose her own fate. He didn’t really care much about himself – he never had, but Elain deserved better. She deserved a choice. It took a few more weeks to gather the courage he needed to talk to her about that night. He had behaved like an idiot and was fully expecting Elain to tell him so, but she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Because she knew. She had seen it. She had seen that he would come back to her.

“I see many things, Azriel,” she had told him when he came to her room that night. “I just never know exactly when they will happen, so I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting for me to beg your forgiveness?”

“There is nothing to forgive. Even though I am angry at Rhys for taking away my voice, I do understand him. He is afraid, and he needs to know that we will be here if anything were to happen to him. I don’t know Lucien very well, but I do not think that he would ever do anything to harm me or anyone in this court because of tradition, especially not an Autumn Court tradition. But if it will lessen the burden that Rhys has to carry at this moment, I am fine with keeping us a secret. For now.”

“You are a much kinder soul than I will ever be,” Azriel had murmured as he took her face in his scarred hands. “I might have filled my snowballs with rocks during our Solstice snowball fight.”

Elain rolled her eyes and placed a hand over his heart. “Now I understand why Feyre calls you Illyrian babies.”

Ever since that night, they had spent as much time together as possible. It wasn’t easy, seeing that they had to hide their relationship. After a few months, Elain moved into the Town House under the disguise of wanting more independence. In reality, it was the only way they could see each other without risking anyone finding out about them.

It was now one year later. One year, and no one knew about them. Well, the twins knew, and Azriel was quite certain that Cassian was getting suspicious, but apart from them, they had managed to keep their relationship hidden.

This Solstice, they hadn’t been able to spend the night together either. Everyone had stayed at the River House and they had been forced to resort to stolen glances and careful touches all night, something so familiar yet foreign to them now. Azriel couldn’t wait to have Elain in his arms again. He had been away on a mission and had arrived home in Velaris just in time for Solstice dinner and even though it had only been little over a week since they last spent a night together, it felt like a small lifetime. Every single moment without Elain felt like an eternity. His life was better, brighter, with her in his life. So yes, he was aching to go to her, but first, he had a snowball fight to win.

Azriel hadn’t thought much about that first message.

When he woke up in the guest room in the River House, he found a small handwritten note on his bedside table. It smelled like jasmine and honey and he was quite impressed that she had managed to get it into his room without him noticing. During the last couple of months, she had been training with him and the twins and she often joked that she would steal the title of spymaster from him soon. Azriel had never felt more proud.

I can’t wait for you to come home to me. My bed feels so cold when you’re not there. I miss you.

He smiled at the note. Home. She was his home now and there was no place he’d rather be than with her. His entire soul was begging him to go to her room and take her away so they could be together. If it had been any other day, he would have done just that. It might seem silly that a Snowball fight was one of the most important days to three Illyrian males, but it wasn’t just a snowball fight. It was tradition. It was family. When Rhys had gone under the mountain all those years ago, Azriel and Cassian hadn’t been able to keep the tradition alive. They had gone to the cabin once, but it had felt all wrong without Rhys there. Everything had felt wrong when their brother had sacrificed himself for his court. Azriel and Cassian had left the cabin after just a few minutes and promised each other that they would stay away until Rhys came back, and that’s what they did. For almost fifty years, they waited for him to return, and when he did, Azriel promised himself to never miss a single snowball fight ever. What had once started as a silly game between friends, had now become one of his most cherished traditions. Even when Rhys pulled rank and meddled in other people’s lives, Azriel still showed up, and this year would not be different. Yes, he wanted to spend time with Elain and yes, he was aching to feel her soft body against his, but he also wanted to spend time with his brothers.

And, in all honesty, he wanted to win. No, he needed to win.

He couldn’t imagine a greater feeling than returning home to Elain after winning the game.

It should be easy to win, Azriel thought. Rhys has a small baby and Cassian can’t spend more than ten minutes away from Nesta. Part of Azriel’s strategy this year was to play to their weaknesses - they would surely be tired and distracted.

However, Azriel hadn’t accounted for Elain and how distracting she could be, even when she wasn’t there.

The second message was not as subtle.

Somehow, Elain had managed to put a small package in his bag that contained a cinnamon roll (his favorite) and another note. Luckily, he found it when he was alone in his room.

I hope this tastes as sweet as I do.

There he stood, next to the bed he had slept in so many times over the centuries, holding a cinnamon roll, thinking about the taste of Elain. He wanted to send her a message back telling her that nothing could ever come close to being as sweet as her. As so many times before, he wished that he had daemati powers, even though he probably wouldn’t be able to reach her when she was so far away. And once again, he hoped that the day would go by quickly. He was already planning on tasting her thoroughly once he made it back home.

The third message wasn’t really a message, unless you knew what to look for.

Elain had been given a book on the language of flowers for her birthday that year and, after reading it, she’d decided to teach him about how people used to send secret messages through flowers once upon a time. It had started out as a sweet way for them to send each other secret messages - a pink camellia to express longing when they hadn’t been able to see each other for a while, a white tulip to ask forgiveness when he had done something stupid, a bouquet of yellow flowers to show how happy he was that she was in his life. It was sweet and innocent most of the time.

This flower was not innocent though.

As he crouched down behind the wall of snow he had built to cover himself, a small, white flower fell out from somewhere in his clothes. He had no idea where it came from, but there was no question about whom it came from.

Jasmine. The scent of her. The scent of home.

In the snow, the small flower was almost impossible to see, but Azriel saw. He noticed. He knew. Not only was Jasmine the one flower that reminded him of Elain - of home. It was also the flower that represented love and desire. It was the flower Elain would give him when she wanted him to take her to bed.

The small flower made him lose his concentration for just a moment, but a moment was all it took for Cassian to sneak up and hit him square in the face with a massive snowball. Roaring with laughter, he ran away just as Azriel bent down and crushed the flower into a giant snowball of his own. It was only fitting to aim for Rhys.

–-

Azriel lost the snowball fight. He hadn’t been able to get Elain out of his mind. He really should have insisted on them spending the previous night together because now he was not only aching for her, but he was also in a pretty bad mood since Cassian had won the snowball fight twice in a row now. Last year, he only had himself to blame but this time, Elain was definitely to blame. At least a little.

He couldn’t wait to get home and take his frustrations out on her.

Only a few more hours, he thought to himself as he undressed and reached for a towel.

Once again, he was very happy that he had decided to go to his room before joining the others in the birchin. Cassian had shouted something about being a sore loser and licking his wounds, but in all honesty, Azriel just needed a moment to himself in order to try to get Elain out of his thoughts. He couldn’t very well sit in the birchin while thinking about the fact that Elain desired him and wanted him to come home and taste her. He couldn’t sit there, naked, while imagining how he would get down on his knees and worship her body for hours as soon as he got the chance.

The fourth message, if one could even call it a message, was everything but subtle.

When Azriel unfolded his towel and a small piece of lilac fabric fell to the floor, he knew that he wasn’t joining his brothers anytime soon. He bent down to pick up the lacy underwear Elain had somehow managed to sneak into his bag. It was the underwear he had bought her a few weeks ago on a trip to the continent. The underwear she had worn for approximately five minutes before he ripped them off her body and fucked her on the bedroom dresser. And against the wall. And on the bed.

It had been a great night.

Azriel curled his hand into a fist around the lace. “That little tease,” he muttered under his breath as he promptly started to dress again. Elain had him wrapped around her finger, and even though Azriel would never admit it, he loved it.

She had sent him a very clear message, and Azriel was not going to make her wait for a response. So without saying goodbye, he stepped into a shadow and winnowed back to Velaris. Back to Elain. Back to his heart. Back to his home.

Elain

Elain was curled up in her green velvet armchair in what had once been her bedroom at the Town House. She now shared this room with Azriel, even though no one knew about it. They usually kept to this room, just to make sure that his scent didn’t linger if someone came to visit. She was reading one of Nesta’s books - the ones no one thought a good girl like her would ever enjoy. Except for Azriel, that is. He knew what she liked. He might have even known her preferences better than she did. Ever since that night when he had come to her to beg her forgiveness, he had shown her that she had no idea how good she could feel. Had shown her just how attuned to him her body was. Just thinking back on that night had her toes curling.

She missed him. She hadn’t spent a night with him in far too long and her body was aching for him. She missed his touch, his tongue, and all the wicked things he did to her. She missed the way he could make her forget about all her troubles and the way he took care of her - not only sexually. When he was gone, she felt like a piece of her was missing. She knew that he felt the same, which is why she had left a few messages for him to find. Just the thought of him finding all of her little notes and gifts had her grinning to herself. Gods, she couldn’t wait for him to get home.

Little did she know that she was about to him sooner than she thought.

She felt him before she saw him. There was something tickling her foot and when she looked down, a single shadow had curled itself around her ankle. She smiled at the unmistakable proof that he was nearby, though she didn’t move. She didn’t greet him. No, she only continued reading. Or she tried to, at least. It was a bit difficult to concentrate on the words when her entire body was suddenly more awake than it had been in days. She had to resist the urge to drop the book and look to the balcony where she was certain she would find him watching her.

She could almost feel his eyes on her and when he sent another shadow to caress her hand, she couldn’t hide her smile any longer. “You’re home,” she said without lowering the book. She knew that he could tell that she wasn’t reading. She hadn’t turned the page since the first shadow had curled itself around her. Elain heard him come into her room, but he stayed by the balcony door. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, he was leaning against the door frame, his eyes set intently on her. She tried to ignore the fact that a lacy piece of fabric hung from his fingers.

“I just came to return these,” he purred and lifted his hand. Elain had to bite back a grin.

She eyed the underwear that she had put in his bag a few hours earlier. “I’m glad you received my messages,” she said sweetly.

His eyes were burning into her and she could almost feel the heat as he dragged his eyes over her body. “And what message was it you were trying to send?”

“I thought it was obvious.” She tried to play it cool, even though she felt everything but. Her entire body screamed at her to go to him. To press herself against his body and beg him to touch her. She needed his hands on her more than she needed oxygen.

“Was it now?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “I would say that the messages were somewhat conflicting. So please, indulge me.”

“I just wanted you to know that I missed you.” It was the truth, even though she had wanted to tell him so much more.

“Uh, huh.” His shadows seemed to vibrate around him. He closed his hand into a fist around her panties.

Elain swallowed, “And that I was waiting for you to come back,” she continued.

“And?” Azriel took one step toward her and sent another shadow to slide along her body until it came to rest around her neck. Suddenly, she forgot how to breathe. She had to press her thighs together to relieve the ache building there.

“And that I wasn’t wearing any underwear.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. He held her gaze as he stalked over to her. She had to crane her neck to look at him when he stopped in front of her.

“Did you win the snowball fight?” she asked with feigned innocence.

He regarded her for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. When he spoke, his voice carried a tone of warning. “I did not.” Elain could feel her smile waver. “In fact,” Azriel continued, “I received one of your messages during the fight.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. That hadn’t been her plan. “Oh?”

“Don’t act all innocent.” Azriel bent down and put one hand on the armrest. His face was so close to hers she could taste his breath. “You made me lose the fight, Elain,” he whispered and Elain could feel a shiver run down her spine.

She had no idea why he cared so much about a snowball fight. Where she came from, only children played in the snow. But she knew that he was competitive, almost to the point of obsession. No matter the game - Azriel needed to win. He needed to be in control. Elain hadn’t imagined him losing the fight. When she prepared her gifts for him, she had counted on him winning. She was so certain that he was going to win, and that he would want to celebrate his victory with her. In bed. She had imagined that he would find her messages sweet, if maybe a bit cheeky. But if she had made him lose the fight - she was quite certain that he didn’t find them endearing.

“And these,” Azriel continued and held up her panties in front of her. “They made it quite impossible for me to join the others in the birchin.” For just a second, Elain let her gaze drop. In the darkness, she couldn’t see if he was hard, but she knew that he had been. That just the thought of her had made him leave his brothers and come back to her hours earlier than planned. She had made him lose control.

Azriel didn’t like it when things didn’t go according to plan. Suddenly, Elain didn’t feel as confident. She had known exactly how this would play out if he won – but now, when she knew that he lost because of her – all bets were off. She felt nervous, although part of her felt excited. There was a thrill in not knowing what Azriel would do with her. To her.

Azriel had never been a gentle lover. Ever since their first time together, it had been obvious that he needed to be in control even in the bedroom. Elain didn’t mind. Gentleness was not something she needed. People had always been gentle with her; her sisters, her parents, Graysen – they had all treated her like a flower made of glass. Too delicate, too fragile – that’s all she was to them. Azriel was the first to truly see her. He was the only one who understood her needs, even before she understood them herself. She had come to crave his control – his darkness. The way he would devour her with his eyes and then worship her body until she was begging him for more or mercy – it was better than anything she could have asked for. Outside the bedroom, Azriel was a gentleman. The same could not be said when they closed that bedroom door though.

“My eyes are up here, angel,” he mused and Elain felt herself blush. He put a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him again. “Always so desperate for me to touch you. Couldn’t even wait until tomorrow.” His lips ghosted over hers. “Do you think you deserve to be touched? You did make me lose the snowball fight, after all.”

Elain wanted to roll her eyes, but she also wanted to come tonight. Sometimes, when Azriel had his wicked way with her, he could keep her on edge for hours and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for that tonight. Instead, she decided to play along.

“Are you going to punish me because you lost a snowball fight?” she tried to make her voice a bit breathy – hoping to sound innocent.

There was a hint of a smirk playing on Azriel’s lips. He knew what she was doing. “Do you think you should be punished?” he asked, his lips just out of reach. She wanted him to kiss her. She needed him to devour every part of her.

“If that’s what it takes to get you to touch me.”

When she finally felt his lips against hers she wanted to sigh in relief. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and pull him down to her. She could feel him smile and she parted her lips for him, but he never kissed her. He just kept his lips on hers, barely even touching. It was maddening.

“Please,” she breathed. She didn’t know what she was asking for, she just knew that she might die if he didn’t kiss her.

“Please what?” he teased. He always did this. Always made her use her words to ask for what she wanted.

“Please, anything just– I’ve missed you. I need you.”

“Need me to do what?”

Frustrated, she put her hand over his heart and fisted the black fabric of his shirt. “Anything. Everything.”

Azriel chuckled and grabbed her wrist. “Dangerous words, love.”

“Please,” she begged again. She licked his lower lip, hoping to finally get a reaction from him.

“So desperate for me,” Azriel teased. With a firm grip on her wrist, he loosened her hold on his shirt. “Always begging for more.”

Elain just nodded. Yes, she wanted more. So much more. She was going crazy. How could he be so calm when she was burning up?

“Go stand by the bed.”

Before the words even had a chance to register, he had pushed himself off the chair and was once again standing over her, his arms crossed and his expression serious. She knew that they were playing - that this was part of the game. Yet, when he looked at her like that, she wanted nothing more than to please him. When he looked at her like that, she would do anything just to try to get him to lose control. Anything. Everything.

Elain stood up on shaky legs and walked over to the bed. When she turned around, she found Azriel leaning against the wall again. He still had her panties in his hand.

“What now?” she asked.

“Strip.”

Elain started sliding the straps of her nightgown down her arms. Slowly, enticingly. Her eyes never leaving his. When she let the fabric fall to the floor, Azriel lost his control for just a split second. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of her and his eyes burned a path down her naked body.

“Well, you weren’t lying,” he murmured, his eyes focused between her legs. Elain fought the instinct to wrap her arms around her body.

“Get on the bed.”

Elain quickly did as she was told. She lay down on top of the covers and kept her eyes on him the entire time. She felt exposed. She needed him to cover her. “And now?”

A smirk played on Azriel’s lips as he watched her. Her heart was beating fast and the anticipation of what was to come made her even more desperate. She kept her legs pressed together and her arms lay stiff at her sides. She expected him to come to her now, but he stayed exactly where he was. He did nothing, said nothing. Elain could do nothing but wait.

Azriel’s was covered in shadows and Elain could see a dark tendril slithering over the floor. She shivered when it reached the bed and started to make its way up her body. The feeling of his shadows on her skin was foreign yet familiar at the same time. They were neither warm nor cold, neither smoke nor solid. Yet she could feel them twist and curl around her legs, her arms. Her neck. One shadow came to rest around her neck and Elain arched into the feeling, letting her head fall back into the soft pillow. Azriel had always loved her neck. Always made sure to give it extra attention whenever they were together. On more than one occasion had she been forced to wear a scarf to hide the marks he so lovingly left on her skin.

Elain tore her eyes away from Azriel for just a moment and looked down at her body. She was covered in shadows. When she tried to move her arm, she was surprised to find that she couldn’t. “Azriel,” she gasped when she realized that the shadows were pinning her to the bed.

“You look beautiful like this,” he said, his voice low and full of wicked promises. “Covered in my darkness.”

Elain whimpered when she felt one of his shadows move up her inner thigh. She had no idea what his shadows were made of, but they seemed to be vibrating against her already sensitive skin. They had never done this before. His shadows were usually nowhere to be seen when they were together like this. She didn’t know what to make of it, she just knew that her body was begging for more.

“Please,” she breathed, her eyes pleading with him. This was the sweetest form of torture.

Azriel’s eyes darkened and she could see him reach for something on her dresser. “Already begging?”

“Yes.” If it pleased him, she would get down on her knees to beg him to touch her. She would do anything if he just made her feel good. Azriel walked over to the bed and Elain breathed a sigh of relief. He was finally giving in. Finally giving her what she needed.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. She turned her head to the side and opened her mouth, expecting him to unfasten his trousers and put his cock between her lips. She held his gaze as he stroked a finger over her jaw and caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “So eager,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

A shadow slipped over her eyes just as Azriel’s fingers left her skin. She didn’t have time to feel surprised before something was pushed into her mouth. It was soft. Some sort of fabric. Maybe…

Elain could feel herself blush when she realized what Azriel had done.

Her panties. He had put her panties in her mouth. She couldn’t speak. He had gagged her with her own underwear. If she hadn’t been so turned on, it would have been humiliating.

At the same moment, he put something cold in her hand. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that it felt like her hairbrush. “If it’s too much and you can’t speak, just let go of the brush and we’ll stop.”

Azriel removed the shadow over her eyes and Elain found comfort in the warm brown eyes looking down at her. “Nod if you understand.”

Elain nodded and hummed.

“Do you want to stop?”

She shook her head.

“Good girl,” he purred, and Elain almost moaned at the praise. If someone would have told her a year ago that Azriel had the dirtiest mouth in Velaris, she wouldn’t have believed them. Nor would she have believed that she would melt like butter every time he praised her.

Azriel took a step back again, his eyes ravenous as they took in the way his shadows slithered over her body. When his eyes found hers again, he smiled at her. It was a wicked smile and Elain loved the promise behind those dark eyes of his. He was giving her exactly what she asked for.

The shadow between her legs started to move again and Elain pressed her head back into the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to savor the sensation.

“Eyes on me,” Azriel commanded. “I want to see what I do to you.”

Elain whimpered as she met his gaze again. “Don’t forget, drop the brush if you want to stop.”

That was all the warning she got before she felt another shadow at her entrance. She was so wet, so needy. When the shadow pushed inside of her, Elain gasped in surprise. She had no idea how this was happening. She didn’t understand. All she knew was that she was covered in Azriel’s darkness and that she was, quite literally, fucking a shadow. The shadow filled her slowly and the sensation of being so full while the other shadows caressed her body had her moaning. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All she could was feel. She felt the shadow move inside her while another shadow tightened its grip around her throat. The sensations were both too much and not enough. She wanted to beg again but she had no words. He had taken her words and her body and all that was left was him. His shadows. His darkness. His eyes staring right into her very soul.

She had no idea how much time had passed when Azriel finally spoke again. It could have been minutes or hours - she didn’t know. Didn’t care.

“Do you enjoy getting fucked by my darkness?” his voice was dark, almost sinister.

She nodded and tried to answer but all she could manage was a muffled sound.

He chuckled and reached into the shadows. She felt his fingertips on her knee. It almost burned her skin. “I was going to come to you tomorrow,” he said and moved his finger slowly up her thigh. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed and fuck you slowly for hours.”

Elain moaned again when she felt his fingers tease between her folds. “But you couldn’t wait, could you?” Azriel stroked her clit with two fingers. “You had to send me that flower.” His fingers traveled lower. “You just had to put your panties in my bag.” She tensed when his fingers circled her entrance. “Were you trying to get me to come home early?”

Again, Elain tried to answer but the words never made it out of her mouth.

Agonizingly slowly, Azriel pushed one finger inside. The shadow that had filled her disappeared and she whimpered at the loss and the new sensation. The shadows spread her legs to give him more access and Elain wanted nothing more than to move into his touch.

Azriel’s finger stilled and he slid one knee between her thighs. His other other hand came to rest beside her head and Elain reveled in feeling his weight on her. She breathed in his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. He smelled like home. Azriel dipped his head and she could feel his breath on her ear. “Message received,” he whispered just as he pressed another finger into her aching core. She moaned around the lace. The way he curled his fingers just right had her seeing stars. Azriel groaned and lifted his head again. His hazel eyes focused on her for just a moment before he leaned in and took the lacy fabric that hung out of her mouth between his own teeth. He held her gaze as he slowly pulled them out of her mouth. He dropped them beside her head and Elain managed to take one single breath before his mouth was on hers. She could feel him growl as he deepened the kiss and started fucking her with his fingers. She moaned into his mouth and felt herself clench around him. She wanted more. Wanted all of him.

“Please,” she begged breathlessly against his lips. “Please, I want all of you.”

“You have all of me. Always,” Azriel murmured against her lips. He teased her lower lip with his tongue and she parted her lips to let him in. She melted into his kiss – into his touch. Azriel’s fingers brought her to the edge over and over, but every time she was close, he slowed his movements or changed the angle. She knew he was doing it on purpose. Elain let out a frustrated growl and fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t even realize that she had moved until she heard the brush she had been holding fall to the floor.

The shadows disappeared and Azriel stopped his movements immediately. He withdrew his fingers from her, which was the opposite of what she wanted. She hadn’t meant to drop the brush, it had just been too much and not enough and she needed him closer.

“Are you okay, Elain?” He asked, concern painted all over his beautiful face. “Do you want to stop?”

Shaking her head, Elain pulled him down until she could whisper in his ear. “I don’t want to stop. I want more.” Her voice was low and full of desperation. She was quite certain that she would go mad if he didn’t let her come soon. “Please, Azriel. Make me feel good.”

With a growl, Azriel crashed his lips to hers again and moved his body over hers. He was still fully clothed but she could feel just how much she wanted her. Elain reached down and palmed his cock over the leather. Azriel grabbed her wrist and pulled away from her. When their eyes met, she could see both fire and shadows in his. She loved everything about Azriel, but there was something so wonderfully forbidden when he was like this. Here he was, the spymaster, the male who never showed his emotions, burning for her. She had never felt so powerful before.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Azriel stood up next to the bed and Elain let out a shaky breath before pushing herself up to a sitting position. She watched as he reached behind him and unfastened the clasps on his shirt. He let the dark fabric fall to the floor and now it was Elain’s turn to devour him with her eyes. Gods, he was gorgeous. She couldn’t believe he was hers.

“Angel, don’t make me wait,” Azriel said and reached for the fastenings on his trousers. “I really don’t like waiting.”

“Or losing,” Elain muttered under her breath and turned around. She placed her knees on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, balancing herself on her hands. She tried to ignore the fact that Azriel could see everything from his position behind her. She held her breath in anticipation as she waited for him to touch her.

“Az–” she began, but his name died on her tongue when she felt a sharp pain on her left buttock. She gasped in surprise. He spanked her. He actually spanked her.

He had never done that before. Elain had no idea why her body seemed to sing from the pain. She couldn’t understand how the feeling was so similar to pleasure. Azriel had always said that there was a fine line between pain and pleasure, but Elain had never experienced that for herself. Now though, she was beginning to understand what he meant.

“That’s for being a brat,” Azriel said. When his hand came down on her ass a second time, Elain closed her eyes and let herself really feel the sensation of it all. She didn’t dislike it as much as she thought she would.

In fact, she didn’t dislike it at all.

“And that’s for making me lose the snowball fight.”

Should she ask for forgiveness? Should she tell him that she was sorry?She had no idea. She just knew that she didn’t want him to stop.

He spanked her one more time and Elain couldn’t help the moan that left her lips. “And that’s for making it impossible to join my friends in the birchin.”

Elain smiled but kept quiet.

His hand came down a fourth time and Elain could feel herself get wetter. Gods, she was really disturbed, wasn’t she? Who enjoyed getting spanked?

As if he could read her mind, Azriel stroked his hand lovingly over her ass. “And that one was just because you seemed to enjoy that.” Elain could hear the smile in his voice. She turned her head so she could look at him over her shoulder.

“What does that say about me?” She worried her lip between her teeth.

“That you’re perfect for me.”

Azriel moved his hand over her back until it rested between her shoulder blades. He pushed her down until her breasts were pressed against the bed. She heard him shift behind her and she resisted the urge to look back again. She felt something warm between her legs and Azriel’s hand was once again grabbing her ass, holding her open for him. He stroked his cock between her folds. “So fucking pretty for me,” he said as the head of his cock pushed inside her. With his other hand, he grabbed her hip and without warning, he drove his hard cock into her warmth. She fisted the sheets and moaned as he started to fuck her. Hard. Azriel was not holding back as he drove into her again and again.

“Such a good girl. Taking everything I give you,” he all but growled. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too,” she managed to gasp between moans. She met his thrusts, her body begging her to take him deeper. She felt something wet between her cheeks and then Azriel’s thumb was there, massaging her asshole. She was too lost in pleasure to care about the fact that she should feel mortified. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” Azriel said, his breathing ragged and his voice dripping with lust.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Elain moaned when his thumb pushed inside. She had never been this full before. They had spent so many nights together, but it had never been like this. Never this intense, this raw.

“You like being filled like this, don’t you?”

Once again, Elain moaned into the sheets and pushed her body back against his, making his thumb slip in further. “Oh, gods,” she whimpered. “Azriel– oh, fuck…”

“You’re doing so well, Elain.”

She felt a familiar sensation as he sent one of his shadows to massage her clit again. She had to bite the sheets to keep herself from screaming. “Don’t,” Azriel grunted. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

And Elain did. She had no control of her body and Azriel didn’t let up. He kept fucking her. Filling her. Using her. He gave her everything and she gladly took it all.

“Az, I’m gonna– Oh, gods, I–”

“Come for me, sweetheart. Go on, come on my cock.”

She felt herself clench around his cock and his thumb. Her legs started to shake and she was glad Azriel was holding her up because she was falling. She came with a scream and she could feel Azriel fill her just seconds later. He fucked her through her pleasure. “Fuck,” he grunted as he pushed himself into her once last time before he stilled.

They were both trying to catch their breaths. Azriel pulled out of her and covered her body with his. She could feel his seed run down her thighs. He kissed her shoulders, her neck. Licked that sensitive spot just below her ear. She barely even registered that they had moved until her head was resting on Azriel’s chest, her fingers following the path of his tattoos. Elain had done this so many times, she was certain that she would be able to trace the swirls of his tattoos in her sleep. She had spent every moment they had together memorizing his body and he had done the same with hers.

“Can we stay like this forever?” She asked and kissed him over his heart.

Azriel tightened his grip on her and kissed the top of her head. “Anything you want. You are my everything, Elain.”

“Anything and everything,” Elain said. “Dangerous words.”

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #elain archeron #elain x azriel #elrielmonth23

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miniscrew-anon · 5 months

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Ranking the boys in ease of gift shopping for because I can:

Wild - He likes a lot of things and doesn't care about the cost. $100 dollar bottle of wine? Awesome dude! $3 keychain? Sick! Now he won't lose his keys! (he still will) He's also super open to trying new things so even if you accidentally buy him knitting needles this boy will happily try his hand at knitting. He'll never finish the project, of course, but he'll still be stoked that you got him something.

Four - He emails everyone his wish list as soon as Autumn ends. No, Wild, he doesn't care that it won't be a surprise when he opens his gifts. He's not taking any chances with this group.

Hyrule - He's easy because he's always needing something. He's so busy he barely has time to go shopping for himself so at the end of the year he's got a huge backlog of things he wants. As long as you pay attention to him during the year and take note of times he say "I wish I had (blank)", you'll be golden.

Twilight - He doesn't care much about physical items but he'll be happy to receive usable things like soap refills and lotion. It's boring to buy for him sometimes but at least you know what to get him if it comes down to the wire. Although if you do branch out and get him something more risky, he'll be just as gracious. He's just a good boy who's happy to get what he gets.

Legend - Despite his prickly demeanor, this hoarder will take anything. So he's not hard to shop for, per say, just tricky. If you want to give him something he'll actually use, it'll take some research. You might even need to study all the contents of those mason jars he leaves all over the place. But even if what you give him isn't to his liking he'll at least be able to sell it. Or, you know, just add it to the growing pile of crap in his room. Either way, your gift will be happily accepted.

Sky - Sky's a bit of a mixed bag. He'll like anything he gets but he also doesn't really need anything. So yo have to put in more thought. Or, you know, ask him. He'll pick up on any subtle attempts to ask and just as subtly direct you to something affordable but nice enough that you don't feel like a cheapskate buying it for him. And he'll even act surprised when he unwraps it on Solstice morning.

Champion - Another one with a wish list. The only problem is that Champion doesn't usually want many things so it's a big rush to claim an item before everyone else. And if everyone gets to the list before you? Good fucking luck my guy.

Warriors - He would be higher because he also provides a wish list, but everything on his list is expensive. Either be ready to pool your money or empty your pockets because Wars isn't above exploiting the holidays for profit.

Wind - A little shit who loves to complain about everything and also, thank to Time, has newly discovered expensive tastes. Even moreso than Warriors because he mostly wants tech. Truly, shopping for him is a nightmare because if you get him the wrong thing, Wind isn't above asking for a gift receipt straight to your face.

Time - What do you buy for a guy with such deep pockets? Whatever it is, it has to come from the heart, which makes him the hardest to buy for.

Bonus:

Dark - Easy-peasy, this guy will take anything and be actually kind of touched you got him anything in the first place. Especially if you actually put thought into it and it isn't just a gag gift (not to say he doesn't appreciate a good gag gift)

Shadow - Also pretty easy. Food and fancy little bath bombs. Also foreign goods he can't just casually swipe off a shelf is also prime gifting material for him.

#townhouse au #hsh au #st0rmyverse #literally christmas eve and just now starting to feel it #enjoy some random hc

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chunkypossum · 5 months

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Azriel x Eris

4112 words

Part One of Three || or… Read on AO3

1 2 3

- Happy Holidays! Special thanks to my favorite little urchins and gremlins for throwing an eye on this and helping me. Love y’all!! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Winter Court for Solstice, Autumn for the Equinox, Night for Starfall. While every court had their own holiday they celebrated with the rest of Prythian, these three were the most anticipated.

The purpose of these holidays, officially, was the promotion of peace and goodwill between courts. The idea was that everyone had a chance to show off their hospitality in the wake of the age of war ending with the fall of Koschei. Feyre Cursbreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and first High Lady of Prythian, spearheaded the campaign that quickly caught fire among the direct allies of the Night Court. With the help of her sisters and the High Fae that owed her a life debt many times over, she managed to construct a simple but elegant way forward. Officially, that is.

Unofficially? A true High Lord is nothing if not incredibly vain. Not only did the courts try to one up each other with their respective holidays, they also tried to beat out their own parties from the year previous. Fae lived a very long time, which meant this could get out of hand quickly and three years into the new tradition, it had already started to.

On an unused piece of property, deep in the arctic wilderness, Kallias had constructed a massive five-story ice castle just for the evening. In the way that only high fae can be dramatic, winnow points were erected outside in the blistering cold. That way, when guests were received into the foyer, they could bask in awe and warmth under the cathedral ceilings laced with the ethereal blue light of glow worms. The space was dripping in frivolous luxury. A massive fireplace was situated on the right hand side, its mantle and threshold also seemed to be made of ice, though more opaque than the shining floor and ceiling with its sparkling icicle stalactites hanging from intricately carved beams. The spelled fire within changed colors every few minutes to the delight of those mingling in the space before entering the main hall. Elaborate designs were carved on the surface of the walls from floor to ceiling. They depicted great winterscapes, forests of life size, towering pines, bear drawn carriages sledding through the snow, and so much more.

On the left side of the room were ornate, magically formed displays. Wilderland beasts made of ice carrying trays on their backs or in their paws holding layers and layers of glasses filled with sparkling liquids in bright blues, puffy pinks and simmering champagnes. The displays had tailored cards to match each type of drink with tiny descriptions in the corners and important disclaimers that stated each spell's expiration times and who exactly to find if you needed one immediately removed. Most were labeled alcoholic and not suitable for children warning teenagers of the dire consequences for trying to sneak one away. All of them had fantastical sounding magical effects and despite the warnings, more than one teenage youngling was seen skirting away various drinks to try with their friends.

Navy blue and glittering for staying light on your feet and moving with the grace of a swan on the dance floor. Cerulean for side stitching fun as you become the funniest person in any given crowd (what happens when two or more people drink it in the same group? Well, that’s probably what the emergency instructions are for). Bright pink for adding a layer of glamor over yourself and getting anyone you want to beg you for one dance. The more curious ones had simple labels with seemingly higher alcohol content. Rose for bubbles, glitter or flowers, champagne for weather, baby blue for … hair? From there, they only got more ridiculous with the most absurd listed on a sign by the doors leading into the grand space. It promised floating bubble shots that would do anything one could think of from making you glow in the dark to giving you a high, squeaky voice.

After guests warmed themselves and chose their drinks they were ushered through a set of carved, ice doors at least 25 feet tall and marked with thousands of stars. The foyer was impressive to say the least but the sight that greeted people as those doors opened onto the rest of the castle left many breathless.

Winter, besides being fucking freezing all the time, was known for the animals that eagerly worked alongside the High Lord. There was a special understanding between the Court and the creatures that inhabited it. So much so, that one could often see snow white hares delivering mail or great polar bears donning armor for battle. This year, Kallias and his Lady Viviane had employed every manner of beast to take part in the festivities.

Caribou sentries flanked every doorway, adorned with crystal collars and antlers that shined like freshly fallen snow. Arctic foxes, hares and little ermines jumped, ran and skirted around the ballrooms, playing with the fairy children and earning more than a few giggles from the adults as well.

The first floor was nearly completely overtaken with a dance floor. At its center grew a live evergreen tree which the castle had been built around. The floors above had been cut to accommodate the height which could have been 100 feet or more. Its boughs were laden with snowflake garland and colorful bubbles of ice. Where it wasn’t crusted over with the gem like baubles, snowy owls sat perched in masse. As they preened and fluffed their feathers, shaking the branches, the snow and orbs, lit from within with their own special magic, shook and shimmered, clinking together like little diamond bells.

Polar bears with golden harnesses offered sled rides around the ribbon of ice on the outer edge of the dance floor and white wolves heralded important arrivals with their haunting calls. Spelled against the animals, everything was pristine and smelled like iced cranberries and supple, fresh winter evergreens.

It wasn’t hard to tell who had tried what drink, the evidence of the spells wafted around each person and through the air. Much to the horror of the teenagers who had snuck drinks, not only did the magic sense their age and nullify the alcohol, but once drunk, it made them confess one of their most embarrassing moments to anyone that was near. The space was full of bubbles, and tiny storm clouds that spat soft snowflakes. Some fairies were trailing glitter or flowers in their wake while others were running around chasing their friends to touch their hair and turn it pink or make them grow a temporary beard. Squeals of delight could be heard from every corner.

Eris was eternally grateful for his own foresight as he pulled a flask of whiskey from an inner pocket of his velvet lined coat. He had declined to choose from one of the prepared cocktails, refusing to look too foolish, at least this early in the night. Having stopped reading the information cards after hair, he didn’t dare go near any unfamiliar bubbles floating in the air.

Though Eris would never admit to it, secretly, he thought some of it looked quite entertaining. Namely, he would love to send a little rain cloud over the top of Helion’s head.

“So that’s what ‘hair’ meant.” A gruff voice sounded next to the Autumn Prince where he had taken up residence at one of the tall tables near the sidewall.

“Lucien.” He greeted, without turning. Eris kept his eyes trained on the dance floor, inclining his head only slightly.

“Don’t drink those.” Lucien said with a shudder as they both dodged a violet bubble with liquid inside. “I’m not sure what all of them do but I’m pretty sure the purple one makes you sound like a mouse.” Eris raised a well manicured eyebrow at his brother before turning away, dismissing him.

Unbothered by Eris’ obvious snub, Lucien asked, “Where‘s dear old dad?” He noted Eris curiously tracking his tumbler of clear liquid as he set it down on the table top and added, “Vodka. There is a normal bar on the second floor.”

“Father sent me alone to represent the Autumn Court this evening. He was feeling rather ill.” Eris took a sip off his flask before returning it to his emerald coat's inner pocket.

“Is that so?” Lucien said suggestively, turning to face Eris fully.

“Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with it.” Eris replied simply. Normally, he wouldn’t bother engaging Lucien, even at these more relaxed events. His brother, who learned well from Eris himself, was just looking for information he could exploit. Lucien didn’t actually care to talk to Eris otherwise. Pretending it was any other way would only lead to heartbreak down the line. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

“Suppose I do believe you. Would you return the favor and trust me about something I’m about to say against my better judgment?”

Eris didn’t turn to him. The only sign of his curiosity was the slight twitch in the tip of his pointed ear.

“Depends.” He murmured.

“You know brother, as much as you piss me off, when it is time… I’ll be there.” They both stiffened at the words, too close something they both needed but neither was willing to properly provide just yet. Lucien added in a barely audible whisper. “Somehow, I’ll always end up in your corner.”

Eris huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head slightly. He didn’t have it in him to hash anything out with family tonight. This evening was meant to be about the absence of family, at least the one he was born into. So, he let the words go as if he hadn’t heard them. Giving Lucien and himself the benefit of ignorance for a little while longer. If he hadn’t, there would likely be a brawl before midnight.

As it turned out, Eris, even without the help of a special cocktail, was in a rather good mood that he didn’t want spoiled. His father really was sick and with any luck, the cold he caught would kill him. For the present though, it just meant that Eris was allowed to come to a party, unescorted. Any excuse to be out of the damn forest house without his father was good enough, but one with the promise of something more was especially exciting. Eris’ eyes roved over the dance floor, lingering in the darkened corners of the room, searching.

“Looking for someone?” Lucien asked just a bit too casually. Eris finally turned his eyes towards his brother. It had taken every ounce of his grace not to bite his head off for presuming they could have a brotherly chat like Lucien hadn’t spent the last few centuries dragging his name through the mud. It would take a whole lot more patience than he had to continue to provide him with that kind of privilege.

“What do you want?”

Lucien shrugged before turning to watch the dancers once again. His smirk was anything but innocent. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Why?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hmm. Quite.” Eris hummed, turning away again and taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Fine, I’ll take the hint, but after you’ve had time to imbibe a little more, I expect you to be nicer to me.”

With a wave of Lucien’s hand, a tumbler full of whiskey appeared in front of Eris. He took it gingerly in his hands and before he could react, Lucien used his own glass to toast them both before sauntering off into the crowd. Unable to help himself, Eris smiled after his brother. He was so used to having to keep a tight leash on his emotions that he sometimes forgot that he could talk to Lucien again. Even though the male didn’t actually want to have anything to do with Eris, at least not anything real, it was still a nice feeling, if not a strange one. One day, he would get used to it. Someday, it would feel natural.

The more Eris drank and the longer he stood there at that table, the antsier he became. He was a social creature after all and sitting idly by while a party went on around him did not suit him well. After nearly an hour he began to make the rounds.

The host and hostess were out mingling with their guests and when an alcohol soaked Kallias spotted Eris he clapped him on the back and invited him to join the conversation he was having with Thesan. The conversations flowed easily enough and the company was pleasant but the longer Eris was at the party, the more irritated he became. It seemed like every time he turned around, there was another face greeting him and never the one he wanted.

After Kallias had been beckoned away by his wife, Thesan and his lover had taken Eris onto the dance floor which he tried heartily to decline. They weren’t hearing any of it and just when Eris thought he might be able to get away, Elain of all people cornered him and asked him for a dance as well. Lucien may not have wanted a real relationship with him but his mate still tried very hard to include Eris. To anyone else it might have felt like a sweet gesture. Eris just tried very hard not to be rude about how suspicious it actually made him. It wasn’t her fault after all.

Chatting with him idly, Eris got the feeling that Elain was not exactly there just to keep him company. She kept him busy well past what would be considered appropriate which is why he almost didn’t feel the eyes on him. Almost.

Towards the end of their third dance, Eris sensed that someone had been staring at him. The back of his neck felt hot and he swiveled the two of them expertly around the dance floor in search of that stare.

“I’m boring you.”

“Hmmm.” Eris agreed, completely distracted by his search.

Elain giggled softly, breaking Eris out of his trance and he looked down at the small female and flushed.

“Oh, no. No I -” He blew out a breath and tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted this evening.”

“I was told you might be.”

Eris raised a brow in question but Elain just shook her head and smiled.

“Very well then.” Eris grinned down at her. “You have my full attention for the rest of this song.”

“How generous.” Elain replied, the sarcasm sounded unfamiliar on her tongue.

“I did apologize.” He joked.

“Well, make it up to me properly. Tell me something embarrassing about Lucien.”

Eris’ heart panged in his chest when he thought about his brother in that way, like they were still family.

“You know little Archeron…” Eris began as those wide doe eyes looked up at him in question. “Lucien and I, we’re not -“

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand in his face making him blink. “He will come around, just leave it to me. You’re my brother now too, whether that sardonic grump likes to acknowledge it or not. I promise to always help you two find common ground.. And… I’d like to be your friend too.”

She looked away sheepishly and Eris, despite himself, smiled at her earnesty.

“I’d like that.” He replied gently.

“Besides, I think the pair of you are far closer to being what you would like to be to one another than either of you idiots are willing to see.”

Eris looked at her in surprise and laughed. Elain was turning pink around the tips of her ears. It dusted the tops of her cheekbones prettily and Eris sighed. He knew Elain was trying and it was a gesture he appreciated so he obliged. Just this once, he told himself.

However, the bastard’s ears must have been burning because as soon as Eris uttered the words “Have you heard about the time he tried to impress a date by putting on my mother’s-” Lucien appeared out of thin air and cut in to sweep his mate away. With a wink towards Eris’ they turned into the crowd of other dancers and were gone. The slightly annoyed and crestfallen look on Elain’s face made him laugh softly to himself as he turned to leave.

Of course he couldn’t be that lucky.

Eris spent the better part of another hour being twisted and turned by what felt like every pair of hands in the room except the pair of roughly scarred hands he really wanted.

Per usual, Eris was pleasant enough, able to fake his way through niceties, even going so far as to actually enjoy himself more than once. Helion even managed to get a light laugh out of Eris when he grabbed the wrong drink and accidentally turned his hair fuschia.

Finally spotting a pair of leathery wings headed straight for him, Eris’ eyes narrowed. They were entirely too small to be the ones he was really looking for but they would lead to the bigger version all the same.

“Hello little prince.” Eris crooned, smiling. He crouched down to eye level with the 6 year old.

“Momma told me to come find you.” Nyx said in a practiced way that made Eris laugh with disbelief. No wonder he could feel eyes on him all night. Eris was being baited.

“Oh she did now. Well, if you want me, you’ll have to catch me I suppose.” Eris tousled the little guy's hair and stood up swiftly, gaining a few feet in retreat before Nyx caught on.

“Wait! Come back!” He giggled, nearly tripping over himself to catch up to his target. Eris, careful to keep a balance between staying ahead of Nyx’s grabby hands and not losing him in the crowd, wove in and out of the dancers towards the giant tree in the middle. Because he wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, Eris nearly careened right into someone carrying a tray of those spelled cocktails. He quickly ducked around them, snatching one of the rose colored ones, downing it in one gulp.

Eris, smiling, made a show of tumbling backward before sitting with his legs crossed under the tree. Nyx came barreling towards him, the look of concern from Eris’ fall quickly turning to a toothy grin. When he collided into Eris’ lap the elder male broke out in a fit of laughter. Accompanying the sound, his laughter was made of pink and gold bubbles spilling out from between his lips. They tasted like sugar. Nyx squealed in delight trying to catch as many of them as he could.

The laughter felt good and Eris knew that it meant he had already had entirely too much to drink but he was safe here tonight and could indulge in the things his heart yearned for. Playing with this child that he hoped someday would be a real part of his family, was one of those things. Nyx was the easy one in the family, as was his mother. Eris enjoyed their company plenty and didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of them. He sighed as those deprecating thoughts wound their way through his brain. That was ok, it’s not like he needed everyone’s approval. Eris was used to having a certain version of himself attach to people in a way they couldn’t easily shake.

They all lived such a long time. Maybe someday it would be different.

Animosity aside, incredibly the only actual unsafe people in all of Prythian were Eris’ father and some of his brothers. Perhaps there were a handful of spies watching the soft way Eris played with the youngling that would love to sell this kind of information back to Beron but Eris couldn’t be bothered to worry about them at the moment. When his family was absent he felt free to goof off and enjoy himself. No one at the party paid him any mind except for that incessant pair of hazel eyes he could feel boring into him but couldn’t yet see.

“You caught me!” Eris exclaimed, making a show of covering his wounded heart. Every word was laced in bubbles and Nyx couldn’t stop laughing. When the bubbles began to coat only every other word, then once a sentence slowly ebbing away, Nyx finally had a chance to calm down. The tiny sprite stood up with all the audacity of his Night Court heritage and grabbed a hold of Eris’ wrist.

“Come on. You’re my prisoner now.”

“Well, fair is fair I suppose. You caught me so I must go with you.” Eris groaned as he stood up, his movements purposely sluggish. Nyx was not impressed and tugged hard on Eris’ arm, grunting with the effort it took to pull him along.

“You let me catch you.”

“Did not.”

“Yes you did.” The little terror sounded smug about his catch either way. They went back and forth like this all the way across the dance floor where Feyre was waiting, drink in hand. She was holding back a smile and winked down at her son who beamed proudly as he presented his prize to his mother.

“I see you’ve finally deigned to make an appearance.” Eris said, bowing to the High Lady of the Night Court. When he stood back up he looked around the room for the rest of the Night Court, for one person in particular.

“Oh.” She smiled wryly right back at him. “We’ve been here the whole time, we were just ordered to stay quiet and hidden.” She glanced casually down into her glass before bringing it up to her lips, her smile widening.

Eris' mouth fell open slightly. “That little-”

“Language.” Feyre chided, glancing down at the little boy still attached to Eris’ wrist. His mouth popped closed and Eris huffed through his nose instead picking up the runt by the ankle and holding him upside down.

He scrutinized the dangling child, squealing his head off and poked him in his stomach where his shirt had ruched up. “Well, do I get the privilege of his company? Or do I need to take a hostage?”

“Put me down!” Nyx swung a fist out in vain, giggling through his aggression. “Momma Help!” He added when Eris did not immediately put him down and began tickling him instead.

Eris smiled gently as he pressed Nyx into his mother’s reaching arms. “Well, “ He sighed. “There goes my bargaining chip.”

“Uncle Az is-” Feyre pressed a hand against Nyx's traitorous mouth and laughed.

“Nyxie! Your uncle has worked very hard this evening. Don’t spoil anything.” She laughed. The image of this tiny fae female wrestling her, not so tiny 6 year old made Eris wistful with longing for his own mother, who had never had the chance to play with her children in that way.

It was a reminder at how different things were going to be for the next generation of fairy children. Eris knew he would make sure his own children would never have to endure the psychological and physical abuse that he had to grow up with.

Feyre glanced up from the mass of wings and giggles that was her son and saw the bittersweet look on Eris' face. She smiled softly at him and set Nyx back on his own two feet.

“Ok my Nyxie, time to go keep auntie Elain company.”

“Wait!” The little imp yelped, running over to Eris. He gestured for the male to bend lower so he could whisper in his ear. Feyre eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to continue.

Eris bent low and winced when the prince’s secret was not as quietly whispered as Eris was sure he intended. “I promise to help you gang up on uncle Az forever.” Feyre grimaced slightly but quickly smoothed over her features into a simple smile. Eris on the other hand grinned like a wildcat at the little one’s promise.

“I’ll hold you to that child.” He told him, rapping a knuckle lightly on Nyx’s cheek before standing tall once again.

“Ok Nyx, let’s go.”

“But momma!” He protested, stomping his feet. “I wanna go with you.”

“No darling. You know the plan.”

“Oh so there is a plan.” Eris cut in, glaring at them both. Feyre and Nyx gave him identical guilty faces and quickly sealed their lips. Well, Feyre did anyway. Nyx’s silence was only temporary. He inhaled deeply about to spill another secret when Feyre pressed her palms to his cheeks, squishing his little face in admonishment and they disappeared in a puff of star flecked night.

#acotar #azriel x eris #so fluffy i wanna die #light angst #eris my beloved #he is very weary #IC being menaces #but in a cute way #acotar fic #winter solstice #azriel acotar #eris acotar #nyxie being adorable #uncle Eris #acotar fanfiction #lucien vanserra #feyre cursebreaker #nyx archeron #elain archeron

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evermore-grimoire · 2 years

Text

✨Happy Summer Solstice✨

I just want to stop by before I head off to work to wish those of you living in the northern hemisphere a Happy Summer Solstice as well as a Happy Winter Solstice to those in the southern hemisphere. It’s strange to think we are now at the halfway mark of 2022 and that from here on out we slowly descend back into darkness and towards (in my opinion) the best season of the entire year... Autumn!

Anyway have a wonderful and peaceful day everyone and as always thank you once again for choosing to follow either or both of my Evermore blogs. Blessed Be. 💜

artwork by moonchild_soph

#Personal #Summer Solstice #Winter Solstice

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year

Note

Elucien drabble ideas:

Elucien spooning. Just some pure cuddling with an abundance of affection.

Lucien teases Elain for something and she gets all flushed and embarrassed

Please, for all that is good and mighty, we need more Lucien with babies in this fandom. Lucien holding his daughter when she’s really young would be cute because I imagine he hasn’t even put much thought into fatherhood but he would totally want a child with Elain. I’m just imagining his copper hair with Elain’s brown doe eyes on a tiny little baby girl 🥺

Sharing clothes. I’m a sucker for Elain wearing Lucien’s jacket, and often (a cute parallel to him protecting her in Hybern)

Elain gifts Lucien something for Solstice. Maybe an autumn court trinket or food or something he likely hasn’t seen or eaten in a while

In-love, mated Elain reflects on the time she spent ignoring Elucien with regret, but Lucien reassures her that although it did hurt, that he wouldn’t change anything (bc they’re in love and happy)

Anything with their height difference. Elain is the shortest sister I believe and I love height differences. Or, to combine the teasing prompt, you could have Lucien give Elain forehead kisses and Elain tries to reach him on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, but she can’t reach and Lucien teases her before kissing her like she wants

Lucien with babies? Say less, Anon! Say. Less. And this is of course perfect for Day 3 of @elainweekofficial because nothing says family quite like Momma Elain. Hope everyone enjoys! :)

“Carefully now.”

Elain gently cradles the small hands in her palms, helping to guide the egg balanced in the spoon into the deep green colored water of the teacup. She pulls her hands back slightly, just hovering now, and of course, that’s the exact moment the egg drops into the water, sending dark green droplets flying up and across the table.

“Oops,” Poppy offers, turning toward Elain with a sheepish smile.

“That’s alright,” Elain assures her, grabbing a tea towel and wiping the green from Poppy’s fingers first then gathering up the mess on the table. “Now we have to let it sit for a few minutes so it becomes nice and colorful, okay?”

Poppy nods her head, leaning over the table to peer into the cup with her wide, brown eyes. She’s leaning far enough forward that Elain is certain she’ll be scrubbing green dye off of her daughter’s face before bedtime later. With a fond shake of her head, she runs a hand through the strawberry blonde curls tumbling unruly down Poppy’s back.

“Momma, is my egg ready yet?”

Elain turns to another pair of bright, brown eyes, identical to her twin sister. Lily’s smile is wide, showing off the missing tooth, her little body practically vibrating with excitement in her seat. With a soft, fond laugh, Elain steps over behind Lily’s chair, pressing a sweet kiss into another head of unruly strawberry blonde curls.

“Should we check it?” Elain asks, already picking up the spoon to scoop the egg out.

Lily eagerly nods her head up and down, so Elain reaches into the red water, carefully lifting the egg up and out, the shell now a bright pink color. Lily lets out a quiet gasp once the egg comes into view, clapping her hands together.

“It’s pink!” Lily declares, drawing even Poppy’s attention with her excitement.

“It is,” Elain agrees, feeding off Lily’s excitement and laughing lightly. “Are you happy with the color or should we let it soak a little longer?”

“I’m happy with it. I want to do blue next.”

Elain sets the now pink egg in the carton they’re using for the finished eggs before grabbing a fresh hard boiled one. She places it gently in the cradle of the spoon, prepared to help Lily lower it into the teacup full of the blue dye, but Lily snatches the egg with her fingers, plopping it right into the teacup. Elain winces as blue liquid goes everywhere, sending Lily into a fit of giggles. Jaz gives her own snort of amusement from across the table and Elain looks up and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her oldest.

“Don’t you even start, young lady,” Elain chides lightly, earning an eye roll from the preteen.

“I don’t know what we’re feeding Ash, but maybe we should stop,” Lucien declares, stepping into the kitchen with Ash cradles in his arms.

Ash has Lucien’s long, red hair curled around his little fist, blinking big, sleepy eyes up at his father, but as soon as he spots Elain, he starts to wriggle. Elain coos at him as he points at her with his free fist, blabbering away adorably, but when he tries to practically launch himself from Lucien’s arms, Elain takes him. Ash curls up happily against her chest, and Elain presses a sweet kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’m serious,” Lucien continues, his nose scrunching up as if remembering the disgust. “I don’t think I’ve ever cleaned up a mess quite like that.”

“You want to talk about a mess,” Elain mutters, looking pointedly at their kitchen table now covered in dye and eggs alike, at Poppy and Lily’s hands that are now as colorful as the eggs, at William who has decided to place all the stickers meant for the eggs on his face.

“I suppose that’s what we get for having five kids.”

“Maybe that’s what we need to stop doing then.”

“I’ll stop doing that when my wife stops being so hot,” Lucien tells her, his voice low and suggestive. He wraps an arm around Elain’s waist and tugs her close, careful not to crush Ash between them. His smirk is wide, russet eyes alight with mischief as his gaze sweeps down over Elain’s frame.

“Gross,” Jaz mutters, making a gagging sound.

Lucien opens his mouth, but before he can respond, Poppy lets out a whine, crying out, “I want my green egg.”

It’s a temper tantrum waiting to happen and Elain braces for impact. Lucien is quick to intervene, crouching down beside Poppy’s chair and soothingly brushing her hair away from her face.

“How about we check your egg, okay?” Lucien offers, his voice soft and gentle.

Poppy nods her head, so Lucien picks up the spoon, dipping it into the teacup and fishing out the egg inside. When he pulls it out, it’s a soft pastel green. Elain expects Poppy to smile at seeing her now green egg, but instead her bottom lip continues to wobble.

“It’s not dark enough,” Poppy whines, eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“It’s okay. We can get it darker,” Lucien assures her, setting the egg back in the teacup. “We just have to let it sit for a little bit longer, okay, sweetie?”

Poppy concedes with a nod, sniffling quietly and rubbing a hand under her nose. Lucien presses a kiss to her cheek, and Poppy’s expression finally eases, the tantrum staved off for now. Lucien turns over his shoulder to smile at Elain, that small smile that she knows is reserved just for her and always has her heart bursting into a flutter of butterflies. She doesn’t even bother trying to bite back her own answering grin. Their life certainly might be messy, but it’s full of so much joy, so much love, that Elain knows she wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

—

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 @cassiansbigwingspan @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #elainsweekmarch2023 #elucien fanfic #elucien fic #pro elucien #my fic

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therhythmafterthesummer · 6 months

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I have more question and would like to hear your thoughts on some what ifs

1) do you think autumn wouldn’t have stayed in Chan’s pack if there would have been specific rules for omegas, even if they were ones to actually protect them? Ex: when close to your heat let others know when you are going out and request of someone else go with you

2) thoughts on if Changbin just so happened to find himself in a dark alley with Autumn’s ex and he knew there would be no consequences. Mine are I doubt the guy makes it out alive

3) like how Chris in the actual band doesn’t care about seniority and let’s IN do things like hold the trophy first, get first bites ex, does this happen in the actual pack?

4)if it was just mitten and Sir P/future cats for the rest of ever by themselves, do you think he’d suffer from lone wolf syndrome? Do you think he’d notice if he did get it?

5) are lunar eclipses and solstices also important for the wolves for runs and celebrations?

6) what if instead happy zoomies from Chris when he finally learns he’s gonna be a dad, he actually gets so excited and worked up he passes out? Thoughts? Cause like tbh it would be so cute.

7) for soulmates/truemates, if one of them were to pass would the other likely die of a broken heart? If so, does it ever happen to just other mates/packmates?

-🥝

love these so much, you already know.

she could've dealt with rules for omegas depending on what the rules were. if they'd been something like "omegas tend to the household while their alphas work" or "omegas must obey higher designations" she definitely wouldn't have stayed.

wr!Changbin has had his fair dose of anger issues, and i feel like all those would resurface if he saw Hyunwoo lol. he'd definitely try to fight, and at the very least, he'll get him unconscious..

yes, yes it does. Chris just wants his pack members to follow the very few rules he's put in place (help each other out when needed, speak out if you're uncomfortable, protect each other, anyone that's coming to the building must be introduced to Chris, and he will decide whether or not they can come into the den, etc). other than that, everyone's pretty much equal.

he wouldn't notice if he were suffering from lone wolf syndrome, at least not for a while. but, kitten and sir p are part of his pack, so he wouldn't get it anyway. in this universe, lone wolf syndrome is more about the pack than it is about being surrounded by other wolves. it's also why, when jisung found them, minho was fine. he wasn't alone, he had kitten (and his mum, and sir P, and kitten's dad).

yes, yes they are! i just haven't decided how they affect werewolves in this universe ahhaha. anything related to the sun, the moon, and the stars can affect them in one way or another.

awwwww, that's cute. i don't think he'll fully pass out, but i'm sure he'll be really close to hahah. he'll either try to go on a run to let those feelings out, or not detach himself from his prettiest for a second (aka, enters annoying protection mode).

yes, soulmates/truemates would die if the other passed. we know chris x pretty are soulmates, as are hyunlix x moss. with hyunlix and moss, if two of the throuple remain alive it's very likely that they'll survive for much longer, since they have each other, you know? if two of them die, whoever's left will die of a broken heart. same thing with pretty x chris. i feel like it's obvious that if pretty died, Chris would 100% die of a broken heart. what people might question is what would happen to pretty if Chris died.... pretty is human, but the universe has tied her to Chris, so she'd also die of a broken heart if he died. regular mates wouldn't necessarily die of a broken heart, but it's very likely that they wouldn't mate ever again (it'd depend on the relationship they had, honestly). pack mates usually wouldn't die of a broken heart if one of their own passed.

hope these answer your questions and that they make sense sjkdfhskjf feel free to let me know if they don't

#🥝 anon #ask #wereroomies ask #wereroomies headcanons

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danikamariewrites · 6 months

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Hello!! If you are still taking requests I would love to request an Ithan X reader where they watch scary movies together (and maybe one or both are low key freaked out)! The Halloween season has got me watching so scary movies but now I’m freaking out a little when I try to sleep 😭😭 BUT that was random and I just wanted to say that you write Ithan so well (and all of the other SJM characters) and i would love to see more of your fics no matter what they look like!

Scream

Ithan x Reader

A/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!!!! I hope you all get to eat candy today and watch scary movies 🧡🖤🎃 And thank you sm anon 💕

Warnings: jump scare (not rlly lol), weapons, fluff, allusions to sex

You loved watching Ithan interact with kids on the Autumn Solstice, better known as Hallows Eve. He was always the fun one when handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters. And when kids dressed as Sunball players noticed him their faces lit up and he was always so kind to them.

Leaning over the back of the couch you rested you cheek on your fist. Ithan set the candy bowl down as he made his way back to the couch. Placing a kiss on your head he flopped back down next to you. Resting his arm around your shoulders Ithan pulled into his side as you clicked play on the horror movie you were watching.

This one was your pick. It was a cheesy, animated movie from when you were a kid. You picked this one to recover from the clown thriller Ithan chose.

You two decided to stay in tonight for a scary movie marathon. It had been a long week so any parties seemed unattractive to you. Besides, someone had to hand out candy at the house and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Flynn.

Once the movie ended Ithan picked up the remote to scroll through the other spooky picks. “Oh I love this one.” He clicked one of many serial killer options. You groaned, hiding your face in his neck. “Another murder psycho? Haven’t you had enough murder for the rest of your life?”

Ithan let out a small chuckle, pulling you on to his lap. “It’s a good movie. And if you get get scared again you can look away.” “Can I hide in your hoodie?” “Always baby.” Ithan left a long, loving kiss on your head.

Halfway through the movie you just couldn’t watch anymore. It was far too gory but you didn’t want to shut it off. You liked cuddling your boyfriend too much. You finally heard the end credits and lifted your head from him.

“Hey we haven’t had any trick-or-treaters.” Ithan let out a hum, “You think Hallows Eve is over already?” Your hand finds its way under his shirt, stroking his chiseled abs. He looks down at you with a smirk on his face. “Should we…go upstairs? Maybe you can put that mask on, hhmm?” Ithan brings his lips to meet yours in a slow, languid kiss.

Opening your eyes to break apart you catch movement outside one of the windows by the TV. placing a hand on Ithan’s chest you push back. He gives you a questioning look following your stare to the window. “What is it y/n?” “I thought I saw…”

Suddenly a person in a mask holding up a knife flung himself against the window. You let out a piercing scream as Ithan throws himself in front of you. He fumbles around for the hidden gun under the coffee table. Before he can grab it the person rips of the mask and starts laughing.

“FLYNN! What the fuck man, not cool.” Flynn is cackling to himself, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “Sorry, I had to.” Dec comes up next to him and punches his arm. “Ow!” “I told you not to do that you ass.”

Ithan looks back at your anxious face that you’re trying to calm. You meet his gaze and instantly relaxed. “Can we go upstairs now?” “Of course baby.” He scooped you into his arms carrying you to his room. Maybe you would go without the mask tonight.

#crescent city #crescent city imagine #crescent city fanfic #crescent city x reader #crescent city fluff #crescent city fanfiction #crescent city Ithan #ithan holstrom fluff #ithan holstrom x reader #ithan holstrom x you #ithan holstrom

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

The Kids Aren't Alright

And in the end, I'd do it all again. I think you're my best friend

Summary: Set twenty-eight years after Call It What You Want To, Day Court Prince and Princess Ivy and Soren Spell-Cleaver are left to deal with consequences of their parents decisions.

Note: ACOTAR next-gen. Every odd chapter is Ivy, every even is Soren. This is chapters 1 & 2 combined, you can read them separated on AO3

Chapter 1 & Chapter 2

IVY

PROLOGUE:

Lucien walked the quiet, dark halls of the Day Court palace uneasily. He was unsettled after Helion, the father he’d only just reconnected with a decade earlier, had beckoned him. Elain lay asleep in their bedchamber curled around one of their children. Soren, his son, was a good sleeper. Lucien had lingered for only a moment, drinking in the mop of red curls and the little thumb suckled between little, pink lips as the boy lay passed out beside his mama.

Lucien only had to open the doors of the bedroom to find his daughter staring up at him with those big, contemplative eyes. A cascade of messy red curls tumbled down her little shoulders as she raised her arms.

Up.

Ivy always knew when he was awake, just as she knew when he had business he needed to take care of. While Soren was content to sit in his mothers garden and listen to her talk, Ivy liked to watch. She’d sit in Helion’s lap while he met with his advisors, so still and silent it unnerved the courtiers around her. What was she learning? They all wondered it. Sometimes, Lucien thought Ivy would have been better off in Autumn Court with his brother and the other crafty people his brother ruled.

There was no mistaking Ivy for Day. She was the little beacon of light guiding him as he made his way to Helion’s study. Ivy squirmed the moment she realized where Lucien was taking her, slipping from his arms to stand just beside him, her little bare foot tapping on the marble floor. Lucien almost chuckled. It might have been funny had Ivy not been such a serious little girl. She was two.

He pushed open the arching, golden doors and Ivy launched herself inside with a breathless, “Papa.”

Helion turned in his chair, arms outstretched to catch Ivy before she tripped over the edge of the white rug in his study. Hauling her up in his lap, Lucien watched the way Helion studied her. Ivy was glowing just as Helion did, that golden sunlight pouring from beneath her warm brown skin. Helion brushed a little curl off Ivy’s face.

“Don’t you sleep?”

She nodded, smiling sweetly when Helion kissed her chubby little cheek.

“Tell me,” Lucien murmured, sitting across from his father. Helion was still gazing down at Ivy with open affection.

“How many High Lords get to witness how their line will survive?” Helion murmured. “To have a son and a granddaughter…” he trailed off, still stroking Ivy’s cheek. She laid it against Helion’s bare chest, curling closer. She’d be asleep in five minutes—sleeping on Helion was Ivy’s favorite place to be. It had once been him, when she was a tiny baby. Elain had complained about it endlessly.

Lucien understood how she felt, now. Replaced by his own father.

“You’re stepping down.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your mother has agreed to join me,” he whispered, running his fingers through Ivy’s curls. “She doesn’t want to be Lady of Day Court. I…” he trailed off helplessly. Lucien couldn’t blame Helion, though the thought of becoming High Lord made his stomach wither into nothing. He would have done the same thing for Elain. Would have done anything for her.

“When?”

“Solstice,” Helion murmured. “I’ll begin warning the courtiers so anyone who wants to leave…” Not everyone was happy that an Autumn Court prince and Night Court princess had been crowned Helion’s heir. As if he or Elain had never had any say in where they’d first started out.

“It won’t be forever,” Helion added, turning his golden eyes back to the now sleeping child in his lap. “Is Soren…?”

“No,” Lucien replied. Soren—his sweet, soft son. So unlike his older sister. Ivy had been born five minutes before him but might have been five years for how different they were. Soren was all Elain and what did that make Ivy? Lucien was certain he’d been a more difficult child.

“She might be the first magically chosen High Lady we’ve seen in…” Helion blew out a breath. “Ten thousand years.”

Feyre and Rhysand had woken something when he’d shared his magic with her. Lucien didn’t think Ivy would be the last. He’d been leaning hard on Kallias over in Winter, but if his daughter was also showing the usual signs, the High Lord wouldn’t say. Lucien didn’t blame him. Guarding heirs wasn’t uncommon—a rival might try and kill a child in order to subvert the magic to a more favorable family or child.

Lucien and Helion hadn’t said a word about it—not to each other or anyone else. They merely watched, comparing her to Nyx in Night Court and Alexander in Spring. Lucien had met both boys numerous times given Nyx was Feyre’s eldest son and Alexander the first male born in Spring in over five hundred years. Both of them had all the marks of a future High Lord. Powerful and all but leaking magic, even as toddling babes. Lucien recalled the way shadows used to trail after Nyx’s wings as he learned to fly and how Alexander had spent a year with his claws protruding from his knuckles.

And then there was Ivy, radiating sunlight and destroying Helion’s carefully laid wards and spells with very little thought. One temper tantrum risked all of Rhodes if Ivy was truly in a mood.

“We tell no one until she comes of age,” Lucien all but whispered. “Let them assume its Soren. Let them think it’s only me.”

Helion nodded. It would have been dangerous to come after Ivy–Lucien could call on Eris and Elain, her sisters. Spring would stand with them as well…but no amount of armies would bring back his daughter should someone decide to kill her. And Lucien knew all too well it would be one of his own courtiers that did it. No outside influence, but some jealous lord unable to tolerate Lucien’s daughter had been chosen over their spoiled son.

“You’ll make a magnificent High Lord,” Helion whispered. “I am proud to see you take the throne.”

His throat tightened with emotion. Lucien only nodded before rising from his chair.

“She can stay with you tonight,” he murmured, taking one last look down at his sleeping daughter.

Helion held a protective arm against her little body.

The future High Lady of Day Court.

----

Ivy’s very first memory was of him. Four years old in Spring Court and made to bow before the High Lord’s heir. Alexander had been six. Blonde hair, green eyes, and tan skin on a little boy with a scowling face. Her parents had bowed to the High Lord and Lady of Spring Court and they had done the same. Her father and Tamlin had been friends and still were, in a way. Perhaps not as close, but friends all the same. They wanted their children to get along.

Alexander had a brother just like Ivy did. Finn was more tolerable and only a year younger than her and Soren. Unlike her twin brother, Alexander and Finn were obnoxious. So utterly dull and infuriating. She had bowed, annoyed she was required to when Alexander refused.

He merely stared at her face. Like he’d never seen another person before.

Their interaction hadn’t gotten better over the years. Ivy did her best to avoid him and Alexander didn’t speak to her unless there were no other options. While Finn and Soren smoothed out their differences in favor of wreaking havoc, Ivy and Alexander seemed to grow more oppositional by the day.

It was one sentence from Alexanders lips when he’d been fifteen and her thirteen that had cemented her lifelong hatred of him. Traipsing through the garden sullenly, he’d trotted just behind as he always did. His father insisted he show it to her because, as Elain Archeron’s daughter, she must love plants.

Ivy had been struggling to keep her magic in check that year and somewhere between a trellis of roses and bushels of begonias, it had slipped out. Sunlight radiated around her, betraying her to the Spring Court’s heir. He’d watched, arms crossed over his chest.

And said the one thing she thought everyone must have thought.

“A shame about your brother.”

Of course he thought so. Of course the male dominated Spring didn’t want to see any lady—especially one so closely associated with the Archerons—ascend into power. And Ivy, irate and already out of control, had sent a bruising gust of wind at Alexander. He was already built like a grown male by then, muscular and a good foot and half taller than her. She’d delighted hearing him groan when his body slammed into the side of his fathers estate.

And her father, trying to control the damage done, started forcing them to see the Spring Court heirs less and less, until it became just once a year at the annual High Lord’s meeting.

She came of age in Autumn that year. Eighteen was a big deal to any prince or princess and Ivy and Soren would be spending theirs with their Uncle Eris. Their mother was pregnant with a third child, long-hoped for after nearly two decades of trying without success. It left their Aunt Arina and the High Lord of Autumn—Uncle Eris, to plan on their behalf.

It was the first year her father ever made mention that it wasn’t Soren who would inherit. There was always the possibility that the new babe her mother carried might usurp Ivy. She’d thought of that often, trying so hard not to let fear contaminate her happiness. She wanted to love the new baby and knew if they came out glowing and strong and Ivy’s own magic dimmed, she would be disappointed and resentful.

Especially if that baby was a boy.

She wanted to ask Eris about it. He’d grown up with six other brothers. How did he stand seeing new ones born knowing the mother might change her mind? It felt selfish and Ivy was ashamed. It sent her to the woods and the treehouse Eris had built for them. It belonged to his own daughter now. Sienna was seven and as far as Ivy could tell, her cousin lived in it.

Ivy climbed the well worn rope ladder with shaky feet, swaying in the cool, autumn air. Swaying treetops waved cheerfully, raining a sea of jewel colored leaves onto the floor beneath.

The treehouse itself truly was something from a dream. Eris, who didn’t think he’d have children, had gone all out for her and Soren. A palace in the sky was how he’d described it and it had certainly felt that way when she was a little girl. Her and Soren had spent almost every night they visited with Eris and Arina giggling out here and listening to the wolves howl nervously, hoping they’d venture down so the creatures might have a meal.

Standing on the deck to survey her uncle's domain, Ivy saw him.

Alexander wasn’t like the other heirs to other courts, except his father and brother, of course. Alexander was big—there was no other way to describe him. Spring Court bred warriors and as the future High Lord, Ivy knew Alexander had been given a sword just as soon as he could stand. It showed in his form—he rivaled her Uncle Cassian in terms of the musculature on his body.

Muscles that she was given a front row seat for when he pulled his green tunic and the white shirt beneath up over his head. Shoulder length blonde hair fluttered in the breeze, caressing his broad, tanned shoulders. He was making his way towards the river bank, hand sliding down his toned stomach.

Ivy sucked in a breath. It was wrong to watch him and yet despite her courts reputation, she was forbidden from the orgies and watched like a hawk by her protective father and her overbearing grandfather. No male could approach her without having to face down the High Lord and the former High Lord, let alone get close enough to take off their shirt.

She told herself she just wanted to look. Just to see.

He had his broad back to her, those golden muscles rippling as he removed his pants to get into the water. Ivy’s heart pounded in her chest.

Look away look away look away—

He kicked off his boots and then tossed away his pants and there he was. His front was hidden from view which was just as well. Ivy didn’t think she wanted her first cock to be Alexanders, no matter how nice his backside was. Still, she kept her eyes on him as he slipped into the water, letting that clear, cold rush over him until only his face was above.

“IVY!” Soren’s voice pulled her from her thoughts and not a moment too soon. She’d been all but hoping he might turn around anyway, just so she knew what they were supposed to look like. Alexander turned sharply, every inch a predator in that stream.

“IVY!” Soren shouted again and Gods if Alexander realized she was up here he’d know she’d seen him. She couldn’t stand the humiliation. Quickly, Ivy scrambled down the ladder and ran, catching her brother just at the edge of the woods.

“Don’t make me cut that fucking cake without you,” Soren said when she scrambled into view. “Up in the tree house?”

“Yes,” she agreed, hands on her knees as she gulped down air.

“C’mon,” Soren murmured, hand on her back. It annoyed her that he was so much taller, so much steadier. He was supposed to be the wild child and she the steady one. Soren just understood her the way she’d always understood him. There was some secret language between them. He knew where she was hiding and when she stood fully, her lungs no longer burning, the look on his face told her he knew why she’d been hiding. Ivy slipped her arm through her brothers with a sigh.

Soren might have understood.

But Alexander didn’t. And she knew, when he returned later that night, that he knew she’d seen him. Those piercing green eyes had cut right through the crowd of dancers and revelers, pinning her in place. They burned with condemnation. She couldn’t look away just as she couldn’t deny the truth in his gaze.

His mouth curled into a cruel smile, his broad, tanned hand sliding down his tunic-clad chest. It was an invitation.

Did you like what you saw? Those eyes seemed to demand.

Ivy turned her back, heart pounding.

Because yes.

She’d liked it very much.

ALEXANDER:

Alexander had been dreaming about Ivy his entire life. Forced to grow up along side her as their fathers worked together, all Alexander had known was Ivy Spell-Cleaver. She’d been his childhood fascination in her pretty, poofy dresses and her waist length, red hair. He’d spent more time than he’d ever been willing to admit planning a future in which she became his Lady of Spring.

Back then, Alexander just assumed he’d be High Lord. He’d given very little thought as to what that might entail. As a teenager, burning hot with the resentment that came with those expectations, Ivy became a more fascinating figure to him. Did her father and brother not realize she was oozing with the same magic he was? That she’d been so clearly chosen only the willfully blind couldn’t see? Those russet eyes of hers caught everything, could pick things apart that Alexander wouldn’t have thought of.

He wanted her still.

He wanted her when he caught her in Autumn Court standing on that treehouse balcony, eyes unfocused on the trees beneath her. Had wanted her he’d so stupidly stripped himself to nothing—he’d been planning to, regardless—and even moreso when he realized she’d taken him in. Alexander would have bet all the treasure in his fathers trove that Ivy had never seen a naked male before. Lucien Vanserra and Helion Spell-Cleaver guarded her like near-feral dragons and her brother and cousins made her a terrifying prospect.

To warrior born Alexander, Ivy was a perfect choice.

He didn’t want to be High Lord. She wanted to be High Lady. There would always be people holding a knife against her throat. Who would make a better consort than him? He could keep her safe and stay out of her way. He could be her sword, would make any male thinking to unseat her and put her brother on the golden throne of Day reconsider.

Of course, Ivy didn’t want him. Ten years had passed between that afternoon in Autumn and that very moment. Another High Lord’s meeting meant a week of watching Ivy utterly ignore him. She’d become more sophisticated with it over the years when it came to avoiding him. No longer petulant and childlike, Ivy was merely gracious and utterly disinterested. When he stepped inside the ivory columns of the Day Court palace, Soren and Ivy were waiting with twin smiles of amusement on their faces. Just beside Ivy was Sage—ten years old, and the spitting image of the two of them. Lucien and Elain Vanserra had merely remade their eldest, though little Sage hide behind the white skirts of Ivy’s dress as she looked at them.

He knew without even asking with his own ten year old sister Aine was already wondering if this girl was a friend or if she’d be someone to push around. Selene, over in Night Court, was Aine’s favorite playmate. Sage was kept away from the rest of them and Alexander understood why. The pretty little girl seemed as if she were made of spun glass.

“Welcome,” Soren murmured, bowing to the High Lord of Spring and his wife. It was strange to see Soren take on any responsibility when it came to delegating or politics. He typically left that up to Ivy in favor of chasing females and causing problems. Soren had friends in every court and would have made a decent emissary if he’d ever had the inclination.

Finn grinned at Soren, nodding towards the door they’d just come out of. Alexander suspected he’d be dragging his younger brother back up, drunk and reeking of sex before the week was through. Soren looked well enough in his buttoned up white and gold toga but it was Ivy, in a matching two piece dress, that made Alexander’s legs shake.

She offered him little more than a nod of her head before offering his little sister the biggest smile. Ivy crouched, pushing Sage gently towards Aine while Alexander’s whole family watched. Aine’s biggest joy in life was transforming into a bear and chasing her friends around. Selene, with her wings, didn’t mind but Sage was little more than sugared candy. She looked as if a light breeze might sweep her away.

“Do you want to show Aine your toys?” Ivy asked, pressing her pink mouth against her sisters golden brown cheek. Sage shook a head of bouncy curls.

“Do you want to show her the pool?”

Sage hesitated and Aine pounced. “I’d like to see the pool.”

Beside her, Saorise put her hand on Aine’s shoulder in warning. Be nice. They were all thinking it, but no one dared to say it.

Sage nodded. “I can show you the pool.”

“She’s got a lot of swimsuits, if you want to borrow one,” Ivy added, rising gracefully back to her feet. Alexander didn’t dare let himself think about those movements, the fluidity of her body.

Sandwiched between his father and his younger sister, the last thing he needed was to flood the foyer of the Day Court palace with his arousal.

“Father is this way,” Ivy told Tamlin once her sister took off, walking so utterly proper. Just the way a princess ought to act.

“And our rooms?” his mother asked softly, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear.

“Unchanged, lady,” Ivy replied without looking at any of them. Alexander understood what that meant. He would be far, far away from her. For one stupid moment, Alexander wondered if she’d found some other male. He spent a lot of time thinking about that.

Ivy took them directly to Lucien Vanserra, the one male Alexander was endlessly afraid of. That golden eye unnerved him, not because it was so out of place on his otherwise good natured face but because he swore it gave the High Lord the ability to see every lurid, filthy thought Alexander had ever had regarding his daughter.

“Keep an eye on your brother,” Tamlin ordered Alexander.

And that was it. Like cats, the three of them scattered into Day Court, looking to cause mischief or—in Saoirse’s case—catch up with friends they didn’t get to see very often. Alexander took after Ivy. Enough time had passed, he reasoned. Surely whatever bothered her about him could be overcome simply by getting to know him.

“Ivy!” he called, eyes narrowed on the brown expanse of skin visible between the top and bottom of her dress. Ivy’s steps halted, her hair swinging like a curtain down her back. She looked over her shoulder, those russet eyes narrowed. She was so fucking pretty that Alexander forgave her for it.

“Yes?”

Alexander didn’t know what to say to her. His heart pounded in his chest. “I…”

She arched a brow. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Did your father tell you about the humans?”

Stupid. Of course he hadn’t—he didn’t know. Tamlin was likely telling Lucien as they spoke. Still, it stopped her in her tracks. Ivy’s mother had been human once and Alexander was betting she still cared.

“What’s happening?” she asked, taking a step towards him. It was a mistake, in retrospect. She came just beside an open window and bathed in the late morning glow made her more ethereal, so impossibly beautiful that his whole body tightened.

He cleared his throat. “They ah…” fuck.

Ivy waited, taking another step closer, until he could scent her soft citrusy sunshine smell. Alexander had fucked up.

“Are they being hurt?” she asked. Russet eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, probed his face.

“No,” he said gruffly. “No, they are doing the harming. They’ve been conducting raids on the villages between our two boundaries and they have a lot of fae bane.”

A wrinkle formed between her eyes. “They’re harming your people?”

He nodded. All her usual animosity vanished as she considered this, lips pressed together.

“I should talk to my father,” she murmured, stepping around him. Alexander caught her, holding her wrist in his hand. The contact dredged something old and ancient in his chest, rattling like a bird trapped in a too small box. She looked up at him with wide eyes, sucking in a sharp breath.

She felt it too.

“Come see for yourself,” he offered. “I know what they mean to you.”

Her expression shifted into discomfort. Ivy pulled her wrist from his and stepped out of his personal space.

“I should talk to my father,” she said, firmer this time. Ever the future High Lady—she’d do this by the book.

He nodded.

“As you say, lady.”

Her eyes flashed, but no other words were exchanged between them. Still, it was a start. Alexander would take what he could get. He turned, meaning to head to his room and work out his frustration when it came to her on his cock. Soren and Finn rounded the corner, clearly up to no good.

It was the Day Court prince who paused, though. Russet eyes held him for just a moment, and then– “Want to come with?” Soren offered.

Maybe for the first time ever.

“Blow off some steam before Night Court arrives?” Finn added. Whatever rivalry Ivy imagined she had with him was nothing on the actual rivalry Nyx and Alexander had. Nyx would never stop punishing him for the sins of their parents, just like his stupid fucking father.

“C’mon,” Soren cajoled, his expression light despite those serious eyes. He had the gift of sight, or so they said. Helion’s court seemed utterly stacked with magic and two seers were rare. What did Soren know?

“Yeah,” Alexander agreed. “I could use a drink.”

“You could use a little pussy, too,” Finn joked.

Alexander couldn’t disagree with that.

IVY:

Ivy hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with her father. He’d been in closed door meetings with Tamlin, and later Rhysand and Eris, just as soon as they arrived. Instead, Ivy got to play babysitter. It irked her knowing that while Soren was drinking himself stupid down in Rhodes, she was keeping Aine and Sage from drowning in the pool.

Ivy didn’t know what to make of Aine. Selene liked her, but Selene was an Archeron through and through. Brash, bold, so utterly fearless. Just like Aine, who had turned to a bear in the shallow end, causing Sage to scream and scream. Sometimes Ivy wondered where her younger sister had come from. She was nothing like them—so wide-eyed and nervous. Like the whole world terrified her.

Ivy tucked her in bed before stomping into Rhodes to ruin Soren’s fun. If she had to be responsible, so did he. Besides, nothing gave Ivy more joy than ruining his fun when it came to sex. Soren was the whole reason her little dalliance with a Day Court courtier ended with their father banishing the entire family to another city. Soren swore she’d thank him for it one day with a wink.

“There’s a better male out there, Ives.”

Easy for her brother to say. He burned through females like it was his job and if she complained to her parents about it, Lucien merely chuckled and tried to reminisce over the good old days. As if Ivy ever wanted to think about that. Everyone was too cavalier about sex except when it came to her.

And Soren, with his fucking visions, had convinced her parents it was fine to all but sequester her away until whatever male she was destined to be with just waltzed on in. Like she was some sort of prize to be won. Ivy was five minutes from spending the summer in Dawn, the one place her brother had never quite managed to get a foothold. Their males had white wings and who knew–maybe she’d like that.

Maybe she’d take Auden up on his offer to train in Windhaven and meet the Illyrians.

Maybe—

“Just like that,” a masculine voice murmured, pulling Ivy from her thoughts. Rhodes was the sea of Day Court’s ruling family and the sprawling city, set atop a hillside, was buttressed just against the lavish palace her family lived in. Soren had a favorite tavern just outside the square and for a horrible second, she thought she was hearing her brother seduce a female.

Ivy glanced into the dark alleyway.

“Spread your legs, baby,” Alexander murmured, running on his large hands over some random female's bare leg. He was on his knees before her, tongue sliding up her thigh. Ivy froze, unsure what to do. She couldn’t take her eyes off his muscular form, still dressed in his fine blue and silver tunic and his well-fitted black pants.

Unaware they were being watched, Alexander pushed her skirt up over her hips. Running his nose through a soft thatch of curls, he groaned. “Lift,” he whispered, helping her drape her knee over his shoulder. He held her in his hands before burying his face against her cunt.

Ivy clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. It was so obscene the way his jaw worked, how his tongue slid between her folds. Eating like this was his favorite meal and he was starving. Ivy backed up before she did something stupid—like betraying her own arousal at that moment. She turned entirely, trying so hard to ignore the whining moans from the female in ally, pinned against the brick by Alexander’s hands and his body and his mouth—

“My name—”

“Don’t tell me,” Alexander growled. “I don’t need to know it.”

“Please,” that female begged, though if it was to tell him her name or something else, Ivy didn’t stick around to find out. Already, her scent was a mess. She couldn’t see Soren like this. He’d take one look at her, guess what had happened, and interfere in his obnoxious way. Ivy was a disaster by the time she retreated to her bedroom, messy and almost frantic. She couldn’t stop thinking about Alexander, about that female he had his mouth on.

Just like that.

What was wrong with her? She was coming out of her skin, practically burning as she paced the floor. Ivy’s bedroom overlooked the sea and yet that night, all she wanted was to stare out into the city and see when he’d return.

If he’d return. After all, wasn’t that what all males bragged about? Keeping up their respective females all night? She heard the way they talked, bragging through the halls for anyone to hear. Ivy knew if she walked out of her bedroom, she’d find some kind of party thrumming in one of the smaller ballrooms, one where no one wore clothes and everyone touched.

She was tempted—fuck, but Ivy was tempted. Everyone else was allowed to be physical except her. Why not her? She worked herself up until she finally pushed open that door. Her father would be in bed by then and if Soren managed to stumble home in time to greet the arriving Dawn Court, it would be a miracle. She was alone.

They couldn’t stop her. Ivy could do what she liked. Ivy made her way through the halls illuminated only by the faintest of faelight. Her body cast long shadows over the marble, making interlopers seem as if they lurked around every corner. Ivy’s heart pounded in her chest—her father would kill her, it seemed to best. Some courtier would brag about seeing his daughter naked and Lucien would kill the male, and then kill her. He’d be disappointed, he’d—-

A hand on her waist whirled her around. Another pressed her into the wall, caging her against a familiar body. Ivy recognized that faint scent of lilac and something so distinctly masculine, mingled sweetly. Green eyes all but glowed in the gloom, set in a beautiful face.

“There’s a naked male just beyond that corridor,” Alexander breathed softly. “You’re better off taking another route.”

She didn’t know what to say to any of that. Ivy merely stared at his mouth long enough for him to notice. It was the same pair that had been against that female in the ally.

“Go back to bed, Ivy,” he whispered, lowering his face until she could practically feel his stubbled jaw against her cheek. Ivy’s hands shot to his chest, intending to shove him away. She did managed to grab his tunic…but she did little else. Instead, Ivy panted, her mind struggling to come up with some eloquence.

You hate him.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

“I saw you,” she said instead, the absolute idiot. “In the alley.”

A soft growl escaped his throat. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“And did you like what you saw?” he asked, pressing closer. “Did you wish it was you?”

“I felt sorry for her,” Ivy lied as Alexander ran his nose over the side of her neck. He could scent her want, could like tell just how desperate she was.

“All you have to do is ask.”

A shrieking laugh just down the hall told Ivy that whoever had been lurking had caught his prey. It was a clanging bell, dragging her back to reality. She was so stupid. She’d been about to let him fuck her up against the wall. She still wanted to, even as she shoved at him.

He smiled just as he’d done in Autumn, well aware her protests were pathetic and feeble.

“Your still have another females cunt in your mouth,” she snapped. Alexander was unrepentant, so utterly pleased to know she wanted him.

“I can wash it out.”

“You’re disgusting,” she informed him, dismissing him with a toss of her hair. Alexander laughed.

“Not half as disgusting as I bet you are. Hm, Ives?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Her heart was an out of control mess as he approached. Fingers brushed the hair off her neck, drawing goosebumps in their wake. He lowered his mouth, lips ghosting over her skin. “When is the last time someone touched you?”

She couldn’t answer that without betraying herself. It was practically unheard of to be as old as she was without any sexual experience. She’d been kissed, had been touched through her clothes, but nothing else. Ivy remained utterly still in that hall, all but whimpering when he pulled back.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said. “It’s just a week.”

She turned to look at him, warring between the out of control desire she felt and her usual disdain and dislike.

“Then what is it?”

He shrugged those broad shoulders. “It’s just sex, Ivy. However you like it.”

She didn’t even know. Alexander mistook her silence as indecision.

“Think about it,” he said, putting a healthy distance between them. It did nothing to dampen his own arousal, the thick scent of it all but drowning her. One day, Alexander would be High Lord and she would have to look at him at these very meetings. He’d know what it was like to have her and if Ivy knew anything about High Lords, it was how absurdly possessive they were. What would he do when she took a consort?

What would his future wife think of her?

Ivy nodded, and for the second time, Alexander mistook her ascent as indecision.

“Let me know.”

But she already did. If he was offering, Ivy was going to take him up on it. She almost floated back to her bedroom. It was an elegant solution to her problem, all things considered. He would leave, would return to Spring.

And no one would be any the wiser.

ALEXANDER:

He didn’t sleep. Not with Ivy’s scent burning in his nose. It was better than he’d ever imagined, punctuated by her very obvious arousal. She’d seen him in that ally—hardly his intention, though she had been the inspiration. If Ivy had looked at that female at all, she might have noted her hair was red (a softer, blonder shade), her skin that warm gold, her eyes brown. He needed to thank Soren for letting him tag along…though he didn’t think the Day Court prince would appreciate hearing Alexander was thanking him for the potential to fuck his sister.

He was restless, his blood racing, body pulled by a million little strings. He’d been tempted to just track her down, to slant his mouth over hers and let his body say all the things he’d never quite figured out how to form his mouth around. Alexander didn’t want to ruin his chances, so in the morning he took his cock in hand and worked himself over twice, just to put a damper on his need.

He hadn’t come just to fuck the princess. Alexander had a practical concern and Day Court was the only place that could answer the question that had plagued him since he was a teenager.

How to abdicate the throne.

Helion Spell-Cleaver had done just that almost two decades earlier, stepping down in favor of his son. Alexander was too young to remember it, though it had caused chaos in Day Court for a solid few years. Even then, he knew Lucien Vanserra lost sleep worrying someone would try and kill his entire family.

It wouldn’t be like that for Alexander. There was still Finn.

There was Aine.

He privately thought, if the magic skipped him, it would slide right into his youngest sister. She had all the same tells he’d once had, but her use of the magic was far more elegant. Better trained, since no one expected her to be a warrior. And maybe the tides could shift. Between Winter’s princess and Ivy, perhaps Spring, too, could add another magically chosen High Lady to Prythian’s ruling elite.

He was the first up, and one of the first people in Lucien’s personal library. The Sun Palace held all the coveted knowledge in Prythian, jealously guarded. He couldn’t ask someone to look it up for him, not without risking gossip that would almost certain get back to his father. Tamlin was so proud of him, which made everything worse. His first born son, an obvious leader—Alexander’s warband rivaled the best, most elite units in Prythian and everyone knew it—and the future of Spring. He knew his father hoped he’d marry one of the ruling families daughters and usher in a golden age.

How would Alexander ever explain he wanted a female from another territory? The daughter of an Archeron, no less. Day Courts future High Lady, which his father wouldn’t understand. None of them would. He knew what his warriors would think, which ones would join him here and the ones that would remain behind, disgusted he chose to stand behind a female when he could have put one behind him.

The library was six stories tall. Alexander had never seen anything so large, so grand. It was the only place in the Sun Palace not immediately filled with light, he supposed because sunshine might damage thousands of year old texts. Instead, carefully placed sconces and overhead chandeliers replicated the look of outdoor light, bouncing off the white marble and the winding staircase that led up each new story. Set in one of the towers, each level looked down on the bottom-most one, where scholars and other academics could pick a table or a nice chair to do their work. Already, he saw one female in golden robes painstakingly transcribing something from a yellowing scroll to a new sheet of paper.

“Can I help you find something?” a male asked him, wearing that same gold robe as the female at the table.

“The magic that governs High Lords,” Alexander said after a moment's thought. “I have questions.”

“There is a scholar—”

“I would prefer to find them for myself,” he interrupted. That was hardly strange. Every High Lord in every territory was possessive over their magic. The scholar didn’t blink as he gestured upwards, offering Alexander the floor and the section.

Fourth floor, section eight. He made his way upwards, hoping to the mother he could find the exact spell or offering that might absolve him from ruling. And for three hours, Alexander poured through books written in long dead languages. Philosophers and historians alike all postulated on who and what governed a new High Lord. Was it the great mother herself? And if it was, was it wrong to interfere with her will? Did the cauldron? Or the land, blessed by the cauldron itself?

Alexander was frustrated by the time he emerged back into blinding daylight. He wanted to eat and think about what he’d found, which wasn’t much. He found Finn lounging on one of the open patios overlooking the sea, his face contemplative.

“Rough morning?”

“Father is in a mood,” Finn grumbled. “Apparently Aine tried to drown Sage and Elain Vanserra is furious. Who knows how true it is—Sage might have been splashed in the face, for all her hysterics.”

Alexander dropped into the nice, ivory chair beside his brother. “Is that all?”

Finn’s handsome expression darkened. He ran a hand through his golden hair, green eyes narrowing as he peered out to the sea. “No. Nyx is of course being…” Claws poked from Finn’s knuckles, sharp and lethal.

Alexander knew that feeling well.

“How long do they mean to punish us for father?” Finn asked, just as he always did. “Not just Nyx, but all of them.”

“Soren doesn’t,” Alexander reminded Finn. Soren and Finn were friends, maybe better friends than Tamlin and Lucien had ever been. Certainly Finn’s friendship with Soren trumped whatever relation he had to Nyx.

“Soren,” Finn scoffed. He turned his gaze to his brother, his face so like their mothers despite their fathers coloring. “Do you think we have mates?”

Alexander’s stomach knotted. He hoped not. After a lifetime of wanting Ivy, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to get her only to be hit with a mating bond for some other female. It sounded like a nightmare, no matter how romantic his father made it seem.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “They’re rare.”

“Yeah. Probably because our mates are scattered through other courts. Soren met his this morning and nearly caused an inter-territory incident. Thesan is furious…or so they say.”

“Dawn Court? For Soren?” Alexander almost laughed. “Good luck to her.”

“All this over Nyx and Soren’s mate?” Alexander questioned his younger brother. “Nothing else?”

Alexander could guess. He’d seen the way his brother often looked at the General of the Night Courts eldest daughter. Elyn, he thought, though he couldn’t be sure. She was the spitting image of her mother save for those dark wings at her back. Alexander had never thought much of it, but perhaps he wasn’t the only one who longed for something—someone—he couldn’t have.

And if Nyx ever guessed Finn liked anyone in his court, well…

Maybe he and Alexander would come to blows over it. And maybe being the High Lord’s heir would serve him well, in this instance. It would feel so fucking good to humble the prince of the Night Court, who, as far as Alexander could tell, was no more magically powerful than the rest of them.

Finn only shrugged. “What were you doing in the library today?”

Their eyes met again and fuck he wondered if his brother hadn’t guessed. “I like to read.”

“Yeah,” Finn rolled his eyes. “You should find father. Everyone is worried about the human raiders. I’ll bet Ivy Spell-Cleaver is being a dutiful daughter instead of wasting her morning skulking through the library.”

Alexander scowled. “Do you want to have this conversation? Or—”

“No,” Finn said quickly. “But you should go anyway, if only to keep Nyx from dominating the conversation and insisting he come and oversee Spring like his know-it-all father.”

A fair point.

Alexander made his way down after eating, pleased to see Ivy herself walking the halls with a truly exhausted expression. She held Sage in her arms despite Sage being entirely too big. Behind her, Aine and Selene trailed with angry expressions.

“She’s sensitive!” Selene declared, tucking a piece of that raven’s black hair behind her arched ear. Sage wailed, earning an eye roll from Aine.

“Why can’t you be nice?” Ivy demanded, halting when she saw Alexander step into frame..They hadn’t seen the other since the night before when she’d been in that little slip of a night dress and he’d reeked of another female. He was momentarily stunned by the blue gown draped over one of her tawny shoulders and the way the fabric hugged against her breasts and waist before falling in pleated fabric to the floor. One side of her hair was swept back with a golden barrette and her usual curls had been brushed into elegant waves.

“Alex!” Aine pulled his focus back to the scene at hand. “Tell Ivy that Sage–”

“Listen to Ivy,” he interrupted before Aine could go on some spoiled rant that would fuck his chances up. “What did you do?”

Aine crossed her arms over her chest with Selene openly sneered. It was Sage, sniffling, who said, “She chased me through the garden as a bear. I thought she was going to eat me!”

“I was going to eat you!” Aine declared with a high pitched scream. “I’m definitely going to—”

He caught Aine as she lunged, holding her in one arm while Ivy watched wide-eyed and upset.

“This is no way to treat friends,” Alexander hissed. “Or for a princess to act. Do you see Ivy chasing people through the garden?”

“She’s not any better!” Aine insisted, earning a look of surprise from the typically stoic Ivy Spell-Cleaver. “She hates us just like everyone else does! Why do I have to be nice when they all act like I—” he clapped his hand over Aine’s mouth before she could cause a true problem.

“Do not finish that sentence,” he hissed against her ear. Both Selene and Sage watched Aine’s furious outburst with curiosity but it was Ivy, setting her little sister on the floor, that came towards him.

“I’m sorry, Aine,” she murmured, brushing a piece of Aine’s golden hair from her ruddy, furious face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel as if I don’t like you.”

Alexander dropped his hand. “You don’t like my brother,” she whispered, his voice wavering. “And if you don’t like him, you don’t like any of us.”

Ivy met Alexander’s gaze. “Of course I like your brother,” she replied, the pretty liar.

“Do not,” she whispered.

“Of course I do,” Ivy insisted. “Why else would he be accompanying me to Solstice?”

Alexander dropped Aine so she could twist, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. Of them all, the strained relationship between the former Archerons and Alexander’s family hurt Aine the most. Maybe, Selene, too, whose every brother only heightened those tensions. It was almost impossible for the girls to be together outside of these yearly gatherings.

Alexander nodded, not daring to contradict Ivy. Aine looked at Sage, squared her shoulders, and said, “I’m sorry for trying to eat you. I won’t do it again.”

And Sage, wide eyed and clinging to her eldest sister's skirts, nodded nervously. Ivy shooed them off with a sweet smile, exhaling when all three girls ran off together. It left them alone in that empty hall, suddenly forced to make small talk after he’d had his fingers all over her body.

“Solstice, huh?” he tried to tease. His words sounded too serious to be playful.

“I just assumed you weren’t taking anyone,” she replied, eyes sliding to his feet.

“Good guess. Thank you for Aine. I know she can be a lot…she means well. She just…she has a heightened sense of justice.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing, Ivy replied. He shook his head.

“She’d make a good High Lady,” he murmured, daring to add, “Just like you.”

Ivy’s head snapped upwards, those russet eyes filled with disbelief. “You think I’ll be a good High Lady?”

He only nodded, not trusting himself not to ramble out his stupid feelings. Ivy bit her bottom lip, holding his gaze.

“I hope you know how to dance,” she finally said.

“I dance just fine,” he grumbled, turning his back to her. He meant to go find his father and waste an afternoon thinking about what it would be like to hold her for an entire night without having to admit he wanted to.

“Hey,” she called after his retreating back. “I’ll see you this evening, too?”

Alexander’s whole body ignited. He turned slowly, grateful the space between them hid his rapidly shifting scent. Her eyes were entirely too wide—too innocent. Alexander was desperate to know what the princess of Day Court was like in the bedroom. Was she mean? Sweet? What did she like, he wondered?

“Sure,” he agreed, like it was just one more thing he could be nonchalant about. “Your room?”

“My room,” she agreed softly. He nodded, turning again though instinct screamed at him to go get her, to drag her away and guard her like some long forgotten beast of old. He shook his head. It was the years of wanting her that was making him act this way, he told himself.

She surged forward, catching him by the arm before he could retreat. Her scent was an odd mixture of that tropical coconut and pineapple and salty fear. He looked down, brow furrowed.

“You should know,” she breathed softly, unaware of how his skin was rippling with the urge to shift into a beast and trot at her feet, snapping and snarling at anyone who got too close. “Maybe it’ll change your mind—”

“Nothing will change my mind, Ivy,” he murmured darkly.

“I’ve never…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. Alexander’s knees trembled.

“Never?” he whispered incredulously. In Day Court? He’d just assumed she had the same reputation as her brother, just better managed. “How?”

She scowled. “My father and my brother are busybodies,” she told him.

Alexander didn’t dare let himself think about what Lucien Vanserra would do if he realized his daughter had been defiled by the likes of him. Suddenly, it seemed risky to walk into Ivy’s bedroom and divest her of her virginity.

And he knew he would, regardless. He could hardly stand the thought of another male touching her. It had tormented him all these years, what she got up to in Day Court while openly hating him. And to know…fuck, he wished he could say the same.

“I just…”

“It changes nothing,” he lied. It changed a lot of things—like how he was supposed to leave her here knowing he’d had her first. Knowing he wanted to have her last. The only thing it changed was how he meant to approach the night.

She exhaled. “It’s just for the week,” she told him, reminding him she didn’t belong to him.

But as he nodded, Alexander couldn’t help but think that maybe it would. Maybe, if she got to know him, she’d like him as much as he liked her.

“Just the week.”

SOREN- TWO

Soren knew everything about his older sister. Ever since he’d had an awareness of Ivy, he knew about her. His mother called it his knowing when he was a little boy, but Soren thought it was just a product of living so closely with her his entire life. Ivy was serious, was committed to picking up after their father and embodying everything Day Court was proud of, that she often paid herself no attention at all. She was merely a vessel for which other people projected their hopes and dreams onto.

And Soren was the one who kept who she actually was secret in his body. He held no resentment towards her. Not when Ivy would have gone to war for him—if he’d ever needed it. Ivy had half-assed her training with Uncle Cassian but Soren never had. Someone needed to watch his sisters back and the courtiers in Day sure as shit never were. For all their talk of progress being inevitable, Soren knew they’d plunge a knife in her throat if they ever got half the chance, hoping the magic might pick him—or one of their terrible sons.

For twenty eight years, Soren had been all too happy to be her blade. He knew it’d be short lived. Ivy had a mate, and he’d known it since he’d been six years old. Standing in Spring Court, watching the way his sister and Alexander scowled had been enough to trigger a rare, unbidden vision. He’d confessed the whole thing to his father, who had ordered him to keep it quiet. Ivy didn’t need to be burdened with that information.

And as Alexander got older, Soren knew his father began separating them, afraid the bond would snap before she turned a century old—before she had a good sense of her place in the world and was tempted to let Alexander drag her into Spring to be his Lady.

And as always, Soren was forced to know exactly when it would happen. This time, this place. The gift of sight was tricky—fickle. He knew it happened this year, sometime during or after solstice. He knew Ivy would go to Spring though he didn’t understand what purpose, and he knew Alexander would pick up Soren’s duty as her consort. Knowing the warrior of Spring would one day love his sister enough to be willing to lay down his life for her, should it ever be necessary, was the only thing that offered Soren’s approval. Alexander was the spitting image of his father, though more muscular and far more terrifying. A beast draped in fine clothing was how Soren thought of him.

Soren had kept Ivy away from lesser males whose dalliances might have trapped her in a political marriage, only a little sorry for the double standard foisted upon her. She’d figure it all out eventually—and he knew she’d forgive him for it.

He didn’t need foresight to know that.

He considered that a life spent peeking into his sister's future had kept him from looking into his own. Of course Ivy had a mate. It seemed so obvious to him. If he did, Soren hoped to never know. He wasn’t interested in settling down, in being so focused on one being that it distracted him from his true passion in life—fucking.

Case and point—Soren woke to Ivy pounding on his bedroom door, startling the females in his bed awake. Three, to be exact.

“Dawn is going to be here in thirty minutes!” she called from the other side of the room. “You swore you’d help me greet people, Soren!”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he replied, grinning at the sleepy eyed females. It was a slow process convincing them to get up and sidle past his sister as he paraded through the room naked and on display. Their eyes slid all over him with appreciation and fuck he regretted this promise to his sister.

She waited for him to bathe and dress himself in the traditional Day Court attire. Soren liked the way the white panel of fabric, trimmed in gold, highlighted his warm brown skin. He also liked having his chest on display, though that was another matter entirely. He slid the snake arm cuff over his bicep just in time for Ivy to barge in, looking every inch a princess in that blue dress. She wore a similar gold band against her arm, shaped like crowning laurel leaves. Helion had given it to her with a wink.

Soren sat in a chair casually, lacing up his sandals of her shins with an unrepentant grin. “I’m going to tell mom you’re having orgies in your room again,” Ivy threatened.

“Are not,” Soren retorted.

“Will so,” she replied, reverting to a nine year old version of herself.

“You’ve never tattled a day in your life, Ives. You’re not gonna start now. Tell me you’re disappointed in me when we both know you’re just nervous about greeting all these High Lords alone, so we can be done with this.”

“You’re a prick,” she informed him, tossing a long wave of auburn hair over her shoulder.

“Can’t argue with that,” Soren said with a smile. He caught sight of himself in a mirror, pausing to adjust a loose curl flopping over his face so it fell exactly right over his forehead. Effortlessly messy, despite the effort it actually took, was his whole aesthetic.

Personally, Soren thought he was the best looking member of his family. Unlike Ivy, who was all their father, he was a better blend of both their parents and it showed, despite that same auburn hair and the russet eyes. He ran a hand over the bare part of his chest before following Ivy into the hall with five minutes to spare.

“Thesan is bringing a court as large as Uncle Rhys’s,” Ivy told him as they made their way down towards the entrance. “Since Tamlin says the humans have faebane, we might need another antidote.”

Soren blew out a breath. Better Ivy than him dealing with this. He knew it was weighing on her heavily, just as their mother was worrying. Humans attacking faeries was of course a problem…but faeries seeking retribution would always be so much worse. Ivy could walk into a human city and wipe them out with a snap of her fingers if she truly wanted to. Ivy was the best advocate the humans could hope for in terms of not being systematically destroyed. She carried their mothers legacy in her bones in a way Soren never had.

“The more, the merrier,” Soren agreed. He’d never quite managed to get a foothold in Dawn like he had in other courts. His father had Nuan, but Soren, a natural emissary though he wasn’t interested in picking that up anytime soon, had no one. Dawn was a different sort of place and his brash, chaotic nature wasn’t welcomed. Not by Thesan, especially, who seemed to tolerate his family at best.

They made it just in time. He could see Thesan and his white-winged consort Usilith. Ivy grabbed his wrist, squeezing just like she always did. I’m nervous.

He laced his fingers through his sisters.

You’ll be fine.

Soren’s eyes swept over the courtiers accompanying Thesan. Usilith was Captain of the Guard and though he wore no weapons—as they were not permitted during the week-long summit— he was dressed like a warrior in a uniform of purple and white. There were others there, clearly meant to protect the High Lord.

He caught Nuan grinning, winking when she saw him. Ivy greeted the High Lord with her usual charm and as Soren had been about to offer up his own welcome, his eyes settled on a female towards the very back. Unlike the others in their dreamy, flowing gowns, she was dressed in dark slacks and a rosy pink shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. One of her hands was golden, a match for the same magic that had given his father back his sight.

Her hair fell in a silken black sheet down her back and her warm, brown skin all but glowed with the bright, inner light all of Dawn Court courtiers seemed to possess. Their eyes met—her almond, near black eyes brimming with curiosity.

A violent snap reverberated in his chest, smacking him so hard it was as if someone had physically struck him. Her eyes went wide with shock as Soren stumbled backwards, his thoughts empty save for one word.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

“What did you say?” The High Lord’s voice drew Soren to the present. Hand against his chest, Soren looked between Thesan and his stunned sister. Her gaze begged him to stop talking. Not here, not like this.

“Tell me your name,” he said instead, looking at that female. He needed to know.

“Say nothing,” Thesan insisted, looking at the female and her rapidly rising and falling chest.

“I’ll get my father,” Ivy said, tugging on Soren’s arm. He yanked out of Ivy’s grip, unable to help himself. That was his mate and instinct demanded he go get her, that he take her away, that–

Arms wrapped around his chest, dragging him backwards.

“It’s just new,” Ivy was saying by way of explanation. “He’s not himself, I’m so sorry.”

“Cousin,” Nyx’s voice breathed as Soren struggled. “Take a breath. You’re scaring her.”

He whipped his head towards her again, inhaling sharply. Fear permeated the space and yet Soren couldn’t stop himself. Nyx and Ivy had to physically carry him away, all but locking him in their fathers study.

“Don’t let him out,” Ivy instructed Nyx. “I’m getting dad.”

Soren lunged after his sister, who had the audacity to spell and ward the doorway before slamming it shut. Soren shattered it with a near violent snarl, taking down all of them with him.

“You’re not the only Spell-Cleaver, Ivy!” he roared, kept in the room by Nyx and his wall of shadows. “Let me out.”

“Be reasonable,” Nyx warned, those blue eyes flashing dangerously. “You don’t know her and she’s already afraid of you.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“You need to sit down,” Nyx replied, pulling out the chair opposite his fathers desk and all but forcing Soren into it. “You need to take a deep breath before you start an incident.”

He couldn’t though. Soren paced viciously, eyeing that door and his cousin standing against it, wings flared in warning. All he could think about was his female.

His mate.

MEI:

“Are you okay?” Thesan asked, pacing the lounge Ivy Spell-Cleaver had offered up in the wake of her brothers outburst. Mei rubbed at her breast, terror and want warring in her chest. She’d seen Soren Spell-Cleaver before—always from afar. She’d always found him absurdly handsome with his chiseled face and those floppy curls. Good looking the way most males were.

And now, as she sat in that leather chair, Mei wondered if she hadn’t thought so because instinctively, she knew what he was to her.

Mate.

“I’m fine,” she managed, her voice wobbling. This was not how the week was supposed to go. She’d been cajoled out of her lab to help Lucien Vanserra with an antidote for the unusual type of faebane the humans had managed to create. An aerosol that, when sprayed, took down any fae within its cloud. It was inhaled, which meant it took effect rapidly, and they weren’t sure if their antidote from years past would be helpful.

Creating antidotes was her speciality. She’d heard the Day Court garden housed rare and deadly plants and outside of wanting to spare Prythian—and the humans—a bloody fight, Mei had hoped to see their collection.

Maintained, she knew, by Soren Spell-Cleaver. Gods, but she almost laughed when she thought about it. Almost. Because she’d seen the wildness on his face and how it had taken Nyx and Ivy all their strength to contain him. She had no doubt Thesan would have killed him had he come any closer but did Soren know that? Or had he merely not cared?

Lucien Vanserra swanned in, eyes falling on her before he ever said a word. She could see his surprise, the way he clearly wouldn’t have guessed. A Day Court prince…and her? Ivy was just behind, wringing her hands nervously.

“Your wards are down,” Thesan said dryly.

Lucien only nodded, jerking his head towards Ivy. That mechanical eye looked her over, clicking and shuttering even as the rest of him looked at Thesan. “Ivy is restoring them.”

“It won’t take long,” she swore, running her slim hands over the blue of her dress. Ivy was doing a better job of not looking, but her lips were also moving silently, presumably fixing what her brother had destroyed.

“Your son almost attacked one of my courtiers,” Thesan said, holding Lucien’s gaze. Lucien looked away from her, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“He was merely overwhelmed. He is spending the day composing himself. It won’t be a problem moving forward.”

“And if he’d reached her—”

“He didn’t want to harm her,” Lucien all but snapped. “It’s just shock. He’s young, he didn’t expect…”

“It’s fine,” Mei interrupted softly. “Don’t punish him on my account.”

“You’ll keep him away from her unless she seeks him out,” Thesan whispered, his voice final. “She came here to offer her assistance, not to be accosted.”

“You have my word,” Lucien swore. Behind him, Ivy nodded.

“You can spend the week with me, if you—”

“No Spell-Cleavers,” Thesan interrupted. Ivy’s pretty face fell, her disappointment palpable. “Or Archerons, or Vanserras or anyone married into your family. If I catch a hint of coercion, there will be sanctions the likes of which your court has never seen.”

Lucien’s expression tightened. It was hardly a secret that a lot of courts resented the Vanserra influence in the courts. Thesan and Helion had been friends and the rise of Lucien had interrupted a decent working relationship. Mei felt overwhelmed at the threat. After all, all fae hoped for a mate—their other half, their cauldron blessed match. Making an enemy of Soren’s family would make it twice as difficult to assimilate, assuming she accepted their bond.

“I’d like to see your garden, actually,” Mei said softly, looking over at Ivy’s hopeful face.

Thesan closed his eyes, exhaling softly. “I mean it.”

“If you think so little of us, I don’t know what else there is to say,” Lucien murmured.“What male has ever had a reasonable response to the violence of the mating bond?”

“You would know,” Thesan replied.

The Day Court High Lord barred his teeth, silenced by his nervous daughter.

“Soren isn’t going to do anything,” she breathed, looking directly at Mei. “I’d stake my life on it.”

“Care to make a barg—” “Don’t,” Mei breathed, before Thesan and Lucien truly came to blows. “Show me the garden. It’s fine. I’m fine,” she added, pressing a hand to her High Lord’s arm. She knew why he was so protective of her. She’d already lost her hand as a result of aggressive, overly possessive males. A casual fling taken too far by a much older male who assumed too much. Thesan had punished that male with his life and given seventeen year old Mei a place to live, to work, to find happiness again.

She understood why the sight of wild, uncontrollable Soren had shaken him deeply. It was a replay of before, only this time with another High Lord’s cherished son and heir. Who would hold Soren accountable if he had harmed her. She was no one, after all. In comparison to Soren Spell-Cleaver, who would never be made to face consequences, who would have been protected by not just Day, but Night and Autumn, too.

All of it made Mei nervous, and still she stood, running sweaty palms over her pants. Ivy offered her a slight smile, taking her hand and squeezing. “I will chaperone, if you want to meet him,” Ivy offered, speaking as if it were merely the two of them alone. As if both Thesan and Lucien weren’t watching with hawkish eyes. “And my Uncle Cassian can, too.”

Mei didn’t know if any of that made her feel better, but she nodded all the same. “I uh…maybe tomorrow?”

Ivy shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to her either way. She was clearly trying to do a little damage control, which made Mei feel slightly better. She wouldn’t foist her brother on him, of that Mei was mostly certain.

Ivy opened the door, head held high as she pushed through Usilith and his guard. Everyone watched, eyes narrowed, bodies tensed. There was a skill to how Ivy pretended not to notice, how she kept her own posture relaxed and easy. Mei was practically sweating, clinging to Ivy’s hand like a lifeline. She wanted to crawl into the ground, to vanish from sight.

She hated the attention more than she hated everything else. If Soren hadn’t made the snap between them so obvious, she thought they might be speaking instead of hiding from him. She didn’t know anyone who had a mate. Mei was too curious about her own.

So curious that when the humidity of Day Court hit her in the face, she turned to his sister and asked, “What is he like?”

“Soren?” Ivy replied, eyebrows raised. “He’s…” she trailed off and Mei wondered if it was truly that hard for his own sister to think of something nice to say about him.

“Charming,” Ivy finally said. “I know he didn’t come off that way but when he calms down he’s going to be thrilled. He’s been trying to make a friend in Dawn Court for a while now.”

That was not what Mei had expected. “Oh.”

“I’m really sorry about that, by the way,” she added, dropping Mei’s hand as they stepped onto a stone path leading through a winding hedge. “He’s not usually so stupid.”

She nodded. “Violent?”

Ivy laughed without meaning to. “Soren? No,” she added hastily. “I’m not telling you to meet him. I don’t think I’d want to meet a male who acted like that, either…shock or not. But if you do decide to, Soren is really decent.”

Mei sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“It would be nice to have another sister, though,” Ivy murmured, eyes alight with mischief. “Just between you and me.”

“And you don’t have a mate?”

She laughed, throwing her head back so the sun warmed her skin. “I doubt it.”

But Mei didn’t.

SOREN:

“Well?” he demanded that afternoon, pacing his bedroom when Ivy came in. She looked so smug and Soren, like any good little brother, wanted to wipe it off her face. He could have ruined her serenity in one fell swoop, could have told her about Alexander. Knowing Ivy, she would have banished Spring Court entirely and merely avoided the snap and after that morning, Soren wanted nothing more than to make her feel it.

“You fucked that one all up,” Ivy told him, closing the door beind her. “Thesan is irate and Mei—”

“Mei,” he breathed, settling at the sound. Her name was Mei. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to know until Ivy spoke it aloud. Mei. Mei. Mei.

“Yes, Mei,” Ivy agreed, flopping on the middle of his bed with a sigh, “Is afraid of you.”

“Of me?” he asked with disbelief. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

“Well I know that,” Ivy agreed, tracking him as he came to join her on the bed. “But she doesn’t. What were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” he admitted, looking up at the ceiling as his regret washed over him. “I didn’t expect her.”

“You never thought to look into the future and see your own mate?”

“Would you want to know?” he asked her, drawing her attention. Ivy shifted uncomfortably, doubt crowding in her eyes.

“Do I?”

“Of course you do, Ives. Everyone does. That’s not what I asked. I asked if you wanted to know who yours was. If you could see the future, would you look?”

She bit her bottom lip. Probably. Ivy could be such a control freak. She shook her head all the same, smart considering how willing he was to ruin the whole thing for her.

“Does she want to see me?” he asked, suddenly nervous. If she was afraid of him to the point of not wanting to talk to him, she’d retreat to Dawn and he might never see her again. He had to swallow the inclination to pace, fisting his hands at his sides as he worked to master instinct.

“She asked me what you were like,” Ivy admitted.

“Did you tell her what I skilled lover I—ow, fuck, Ivy.”

Ivy slapped him hard in the chest. “Of course not. Why would I tell a frightened female her mate was a skilled lover? Why would I ever say that about you? I told her you were charming and decent. Things that would make her want to have a conversation with you.”

Ivy could be so calculating at times. Soren appreciated it. “And her? What’s she like?”

“Quiet,” Ivy offered. “She wanted to see the poison garden. I showed her, but I don’t know anything about what’s growing over there. You should take her, and be normal about it.”

“I can be so normal,” Soren swore, not sure if he really meant it or not. Ivy smiled, exhaling a breath.

“I know you can. Treat her like any other female–”

“Maybe a little better,” he admitted ruefully. “Since she’s my mate and all.”

“I just meant to get out of your head,” Ivy murmured. “And swallow instinct. Ask dad how he did it—”

“I don’t want to talk to dad about this,” Soren mumbled. “Is he pissed?”

Ivy laughed. “Of course he is. Thesan threatened to slap sanctions on him if you displeased him.”

“Great,” Soren grumbled. “Terrible timing given mom—”

“Don’t you dare,” Ivy interrupted softly.

“Is pregnant again,” Soren finished, looking at his sister. He’d spoiled Sage’s pregnancy, too. He knew why Ivy didn’t want anymore siblings, why she warred with the love she felt for her family and her fear a new child would usurp her. No matter how often Soren swore up and down Ivy would sit on that throne someday, that fear lingered deep in his sisters gut. That feeling that she was somehow unworthy, that someone better was merely waiting and she was but a placeholder. As if the magic worked that way. It would have simply chosen no one.

“Does mom know?”

He nodded. “I told you there would be eight of us. You’ll still be High Lady, Ives.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “Another baby…Sage still feels like an infant.”

“She’s gonna have to grow up,” Soren murmured. “Nyx thinks we should ask dad to train her. Toughen her up a bit.”

Ivy laughed again, her pretty face splitting with amusement. There was something inherently funny about imagining delicate, sweet Sage holding an Illyrian blade. She wasn’t built for it, which made her an easy target for anyone hoping to harm their family. He knew Ivy worried about it, too.

Ivy worried about everything and Soren worried about nothing. Not until that moment, anyway. He sat up, hands on his bare thighs, as he reflected on what a mess things were. Humans invading Spring. A mate that was afraid of him. Two sisters with targets on their back and another baby on the way. Resting his chin on his shoulder, he waited for Ivy to sit up, too.

“It’s only been a day,” he grumbled. “Too much is happening too fast.”

“Is this a bad time to mention I’m going to solstice with Alexander?” she asked him. Soren turned to look at her, unable to contain his laugh.

“I didn’t know you liked him,” Soren managed, pulling her against his body for a hug. “Should I start practicing my bow to the future consort?”

“Shut up,” she retorted. “Aine thinks we hate Spring—”

“You do hate Spring.”

“And was punishing Sage for it. So I said I’d take Alexander to Solstice as a truce.”

“What did he ever do?” Soren asked, unable to help himself. “To make you hate him? What did he do?”

“He doesn’t think females should be High Ladies–”

“Alexander?” Soren interrupted, disbelief lacing his words.

She shrugged. “I thought so, anyway. But he said something this morning and…” whatever Alexander said had softened some of that long-standing hatred. It was wrong to wish a brutal snap on his sister and yet Soren did wish it, knowing she’d be happy. Deep, deep down, he thought it would be fun to watch Ivy come unhinged, if only a little.

Soren huffed a breath while Ivy stood, tugging at his arm. “No more of this. Get out there, and show your mate what the prince of Day Court is actually like.”

“I don’t think she wants to see me naked just yet–oh Cauldron, Ivy, stop hitting me!”

“I mean it,” she all but snarled. “Be charming.”

He scowled. “I can be so charming.”

But from the skeptical look on his sister's face, Soren could see Ivy didn’t believe him.

MEI:

Ivy returned that afternoon, arm looped through her brothers. She was flanked by their cousin Nyx, his violet gaze all but pinned on Soren. Mei had gone still at the sight of him stepping into the large ballroom they were currently gathered in, waiting to see him come barreling over like before. His russet eyes swept over the room, landing on her only seconds later.

She’d never been more nervous in her life. Soren wasn’t like any male she’d ever seen in her life. He was impossibly tall—nearly as tall as the male from Spring court. Muscular, too, and that gleaming, bronzed body was all but on display thanks to the ceremonial dress wear that was popular in Day Court. A thin strip of white cloth draped against his chiseled chest and the fabric that covered his waist showed of toned thighs. He looked like a warrior, which was so at odds with what his sister had said.

Court trained emissary. That had been her description of Soren’s talents. Just like his High Lord father, currently sitting atop a golden throne, leaned over the arm to speak with his wife. Their court was so much larger than Thesans, and less structures. Casual in a way that seemed to invite chaos. Mei had seen a small, brown bear running the halls while another Spell-Cleaver and one of the children from the Night Court squealed with laughter, chasing after it with open delight.

But children were already rare in Dawn Court. Mei couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen one, though she was only twenty six, so it wasn’t as if she’d been waiting centuries.

Twenty six. Mated.

Soren kept his eyes on her until his sister tugged him towards another red haired girl that was clearly more Vanserra than Spell-Cleaver. She didn’t know the royal children well enough to know the girls name, only that it softened her to see him lift her up in the air with an easy smile. The female screeched, her pleasure open and evident.

She wanted to speak to him. Maybe just once, she reasoned. Just to know what he was like. Taking a deep breath, Mei slipped from the spacious room for the patio, pushed open the gate, and began walking towards the garden. She didn’t have to ask if he saw, or look back to know he was following behind. Some new sense had been created when that string tied itself to her rib, all but vibrating his steps.

“Hey,” his warm, masculine voice murmured. Fingers brushed her elbow, sending a shock through her entire body. “About this morning. I’m sorry.”

She turned to look up at him, squinting against the unrelenting sun. “Oh,” she murmured, taken aback by how much lovelier he was in person. Beautiful, really. Unfairly so, even without the mating bond overriding her good sense.

“Forgive me?” he asked, unguarded hope on his face.

“Maybe,” she agreed.

His face split with a smile. “Ivy says you like poison.”

“I like antidotes,” she corrected. Soren nodded, some of his red curls flopping into his wide eyes.

“Well, I like poisons,” he informed her, hand on his bare chest. “And I’m not so ignorant I can’t at least show you the different ones we cultivate here.”

Behind them, Ivy’s soft voice spluttered, “Ignorant—”

“My sister is chaperoning us,” he whispered, offering her his muscular bicep. Mei didn’t take it, though she was tempted.

“She promised me she would,” Mei told him, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from giving in to the urge to touch him. Gods she wanted to. Mei swallowed hard. How was she supposed to survive a week of this male when every little piece of her was ready to feed and fuck him?

It’s just the mating bond, she chanted. Over and over, as they turned down a familiar path in his mothers garden. Ivy had taken her earlier, pathetically pitiful when Mei asked her about the plants. Elain Vanserra was supposedly a master gardener and her own daughter didn’t seem to know the difference between a petunia and a daisy.

Soren did, though. She’d lapsed into silence, working furiously not to let him know she was attracted to him. And the silver tongued prince had merely upheld the conversation on both ends by pointing to each flower, shrub, and herb they came across, along with its origins. Mei didn’t quite know what to make of that—it seemed like a female pastime and Soren seemed like a warrior. And yet he spoke so easily of each bloom and which court his mother had pilfered it from that Mei finally broke her silence.

“You like to garden?” she asked.

Soren’s whole face lit up with a sunlit glow. The light radiating from his golden brown skin had nothing to do with the sunlight over head—it was all him. It reminded her that his family was magically powerful. His mother, Cauldron-blessed with magic people only whispered of, and his father born of both Day and Autumn court. What lurked in his veins, she wondered?

“I was born in a garden,” he joked. “Practically, anyway.”

Stealing a glance and regretting it when she found he was just as handsome as he had been before, she asked, “Is it true you’re a seer?”

He seemed to tense beside her. “Want to know your future?”

“No,” she breathed, shaking her head quickly. “Cauldron, no. I just…seers are rare, right? And you and your mother are one?”

He relaxed. “Yeah. It’s not all its cracked up to be.”

“You didn’t see us?” she asked him without thinking, reflecting on how feral he’d gone that morning. Hardly the behavior of a male who expected to meet his mate. Soren frowned.

“Would you want to know ahead of time? Everything? Every tragedy, every death, every little moment that might give you joy? Spoiled for sheer curiosity's sake?”

“I guess not.”

“Me too,” Soren agreed with a soft exhale of air. “I regret this morning, though. I just…I guess…I didn’t expect you. I’d like a chance to redeem myself.”

“Isn’t that what this is?”

“No,” he said quickly, stopping her before a series of trellises draped in violet lavender. “This is just a walk in the garden. Redemption would be taking you to solstice at the end of the week. Courting you,” he added pointedly. Mei didn’t know how to respond to that. She had never been courted in her life. His eyes slid down her body, landing on that golden hand. She was such an oddity for it, was all but shunned anywhere but inside Thesan's palace.

The fae were supposed to be beautiful—unblemished. Her arm was proof she was different. Strange. Standing beneath Soren’s russet eyes and his perfect frame, she felt that old insecurity magnified.

He brushed long fingers over her cheek. “You look like Day Court feels,” he murmured, dropping his hand before she could pull away. She was far too afraid to ask him to follow up on that thought.

She wondered if, given his own father had a Dawn Court eye, if her arm hardly registered for him. “The solstice ball?” she clarified.

Soren nodded, curls bouncing around his face. “Just the week. And if you decide, at the end of the week, you don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll walk away.”

“Just like that?” she practically whispered. Soren nodded, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Just like that,” he agreed. He wouldn’t like it—the expression on his face made that perfectly clear.

He held out his hand and Mei was dazed to realize he meant to make it a bargain between them. “No forcing me to accept the bond,” she said, straightening her spine. Soren’s eyes widened and too late, she realized that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. It had crossed hers, though. There were males who would try and find a loophole in this arrangement, who would make it impossible for her to let him leave.

“It’s a crime, in my court,” Soren told her gravely. “To force a female, mating bond or not.”

She blinked, nodding as she banished the thought of that other male. Dead—he was dead.

She took Soren’s hand. Calluses scraped over her skin, catching softly.

“It’s a deal, then.”

Soren’s smile was breathtaking.

“It’s a deal.”

#jesus this is so long #acotar next gen #it felt weird to make two separate posts #ivy and alex are back at it #soren and mei too #this is like one of those spot the differences #i added a bunch of new shit #but the plot remains the same.#im going to costco now #for a hotdog

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