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mermaidsirennikita · 2 months

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Do you have any queer historical romance recs? Are there any upcoming 2024 queer historical romances that you’re excited for?

Absolutely, I have recs! As for 2024 books, I'm currently most looking forward to You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian, which is an m/m romance set, I believe in the 50s, set around the world of baseball.

I also just read A Sweet Sting of Salt by Rose Sutherland (out 4/9) which I SUPER recommend if you want a f/f romance set in the 1800s, with a touch of fantasy. It's about a prickly midwife who finds this mysterious woman in the middle of the night, literally about to give birth. She helps her, and her husband turns out to be a local fisherman. But... something isn't right... both with the husband, and with his wife's origins. And when the husband realizes the women are falling in love, he only becomes more possessive. I promise it's romantic and has an HEA and doesn't feature overwhelming sadness (there is domestic and sexual violence alluded to, but it's brief and off the page).

As for historicals otherwise...

M/M

We Could be So Good by Cat Sebastian--set in the same general era and space as the 2024 release, I think, about a pair of reporters slowly and sweetly falling in love, especially after they become roommates (and they were ROOMMATES).

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by KJ Charles--about a guy who moves to the marshland after he becomes a baronet, and has to take care of his estranged father's family left behind. He finds out there is a crime family of smugglers controlling the area, and he rats on them after seeing something sus... But when he goes to testify, who's there to stop him but the guy who he used to anonymously hook up with! JOSS DOOMSDAY. Joss Doomsday is amazing I love him. Super sexy, funny, and definitely focused on a side of England you like, never see in historicals.

The Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ--the standalone followup to the last book. In this case, another title is inherited, and this time the lord's this gruff former soldier. His cousins or something contest his inheritance, and he hires this young, charismatic secretary (especially important because our lord has a hard time reading, which I felt was done in a really touching way). Anyway, the sexual tension boils over and they start hooking up on the low, but there's a SECRET. (Also, the lord is very like "I'M ABUSING MY BOSSLY POWER" while the secretary is like "I mean... abuse it some more.....")

Band Sinister by KJ Charles--kind of a queer sendup of gothics, this is about a young guy whose sister is like, always spying on their scandalous neighbors who hold orgies and shit for the sake of writing her novels. Then she breaks her leg and ends up laid up in the orgy house, and he rushes over like NO ORGIES FOR HER, but he realizes the group of friends is actually super cool, especially the verrrry siiiiiilky smoooooth one who's just soooooo suave. So good, and especially interesting in that, while I would definitely not call this a poly romance, it does explore the complexities of open relationships and polyamory.

The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian--Kit is a retired highwayman running a cafe, and suddenly this vERRRY pretty nobleman comes in flashing his very nice ankles and asking Kit to steal this mysterious book from his dad. Kit refuses, but agrees to teach Percy how to steal. Both are great, but omg PERCY is AMAZING. He's kind introduced as somewhat like... conventionally more on the femme side, but he's like a secret swordmaster, and also takes the lead with Kit sexually a lot. One of my favorite moments in this book is when he's blowing Kit and Kit thinks he's gone too deep and is like "SORRY" and Percy rolls his eyes and makes Kit grab his hair and start facefucking him lmao. Also has nice demi rep in Kit.

Something Fabulous by Alexis Hall--A frosty duke proposes to a woman he was always supposed to marry, and she subsequently goes on the run. He then has to pair up with her dramatic, fanciful twin brother. It's a really funny romcom, with a ridiculous duel that had me wheezing. Plus a semi-cultlike group of lesbians? Also, enthusiastic ass eating.

F/F

An Island Princess Starts a Scandal by Adriana Herrera--A cold vamp widow wants this business deal with a fun and flirty heiress, and the heiress agrees to make the deal... If the vamp agrees to show her LESBIAN PARIS. Hot, and both of the leads are Latina.

Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall--Adding this even though it definitely has a good dose of fantasy, because it's like... Jane Austen meets a Midsummer Night's Dream, with an emphasis on the fairies. This young deb ends up hexed so her dress is unraveling at a ball, and as she hurries into the pushes, she meets the mysterious Lady Duke, who's rumored to have murdered her brother and father. They begin this push and pull of seduction. It's both funny and kind of dramatic.

Trans/Nonbinary

Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall--the standalone followup to Something Fabulous. The runaway fiancee's ex, the genderfluid Peggy, is roped by said ex into attending an opera. The ex wants to seduce Orfeo, this gorgeous castrato soprano, and when they open their mouth to sing Peggy, who's very gruff and in control typically, faints. Orfeo is naturally like "WHO'S THAT" and begins pursuing Peggy rather than the ex. One of my favorite books, so funny (at one point they accidentally incite a gay orgy) with a hint of melancholy and great sex. Also, it has one of the most unique sex scenes I've ever read.

Unmasked by the Marquess by Cat Sebastian--a bisexual marquess makes a new friend in this young dandy in town. They kiss, and he thinks his friend is going to blackmail him... But the friend, Robin, turns out to be chamber maid in disguise! Except they're actually not a man or a woman, and don't want to live as a woman. It becomes as an FWB thing, but naturally our romantic hero falls in love and things become Fraught. Has one of my favorite "resentfully horny" moments, when Alistair is watching Robin from across the ballroom, and they pull a glove off with their teeth, and he's like "THAT IS IMPROPER" and wants to fuck them so bad.

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall--Viola faked her death at Waterloo in order to live as her true self. Years later, she's pulled into helping her old best friend, the Duke of Gracewood, who's suffering from a chronic injury and severe depression following the battle. At first he doesn't recognize her... at first. Has an absolutely INCREDIBLE moment of recognition, and I really like that it's this romping old school type romance with a trans heroine.

Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa--this one is actually a YA Pride and Prejudice retelling, highly recommend if you're open to it. In this case, the Lizzie character is actually Oliver, a trans boy, and he and Darcy fall in love--molly houses are included in this, which I really like. It's not super about historical accuracy, which I personally dgaf about, and it's very sweet and funny and warm. Also, the author is a trans man.

Queer Polyamory

Scandalous Passions by Nicola Davidson--FFM. A king's former mistress is sent away because the queen hates her, and is also asked to care for the king's ward. She and the ward begin to give in to their attraction, and at the same time their escort is this much-feared knight (who's really quite subby) who's been in love with the older heroine for years. And then he begins falling for the ward as well.... Super sexy medieval, with Dom/sub overtones.

Their Marchioness by Jess Michaels--A playwright is asked to a marquess and marchioness's home... Turns out he and the marchioness were in love before she was forced to marry the marquess. Fortunately, she and her husband are now very much in love, and he's basically gifting her a tryst with her old love for her birthday. Then he joins in... and it begins being more than sex. Has some bi awakening stuff.

M/F with Bi leads

The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian--a standalone followup to Kit Webb. Percy's stepmother Marian is having a correspondence with a blackmailer, who unbeknownst to her is her odious husband's secret son. He ends up falling in love with her as they go back and forth with letters, so when she ends up in trouble and on the run, he comes to "save" her, only to find that Marian ain't that girl. Both leads are bi, and the sex is really cool and interesting because Marian doesn't like penetration due to trauma surrounding her pregnancy and labor. So she penetrates him (among other things) instead.

Hugo and The Maiden by S.M. LaViolette--a successful sex worker ends up being transported and washing ashore after a shipwreck. He's very snarky, but finds himself up against the vicar's uptight and uncompromising daughter--but he still has enemies lurking. Hugo is openly (for the day) bi and services both men and women. I really liked that even as he fell in love, his bisexuality wasn't like this background thing--he sees a guy he likes at one point and is basically like "if I wasn't taken......."

Any Duke in a Storm by Amalie Howard--a spy (who's also kind of a lady pirate) ends up being attracted to her super rakish and slutty first mate. She's bisexual, and one of the women on her ship is her former hookup (still her friend), which I like.

Melissa and The Vicar by S.M. LaViolette--a madame goes to a small village to recuperate and de-stress, and ends up falling in love with a virginal vicar she's so sure she can't have. Melissa is bisexual, and I thiiink a woman she used to be involved with is on the page? Her hero, Magnus, kind of has a "oh shit am I bi?" moment when Melissa tries to fake him out by pretending she's hooking up with Hugo. To be fair, everyone wants to fuck Hugo.

In Which Margo Halifax Earns Her Shocking Reputation--a scandalous woman begins chasing her sister (who ran off with a Bad Man) along with her brother's best friend, who's secretly in love with her. Margo is bi, and her relationships with women are one reason why she's considered scandalous~.

#romance novel blogging #romance novels #book recs #i wish there were more f/f recs :/#that's not by design but f/f romance is verrrrry much underrepresented and a lot of the f/f historicals i've read are just...#light on plot #and i'm someone who needs conflict

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 8 months

Text

Semper Eadem (iii, ao3)

If there’s one thing any self-respecting Elizabethan looks forward to, it’s a jousting match. Be a shame if someone got hurt, wouldn’t it? (Presenting chapter three for @nessianweek day 4!)

(chapter one // chapter two)

Another letter waited when she woke.

Pushed beneath her door as she slept, it lay in the small patch of golden sunlight that filtered through her chamber windows, and Nesta knew before she plucked it from the ground that it was from Cassian. From the crisp, straight edges of the parchment, she knew that this wasn’t a letter that he’d carried with him from his ship. No— this was a new letter, and as she thought of the way she’d smiled deliberately at the Duke of Northumberland last night, she had a feeling she knew exactly when Cassian had penned this particular piece of correspondence. Exactly why he’d penned it, too.

Her name had been written in that grand, sweeping cursive of his, but his pen had stumbled a little at the end, like his hand had quaked. It shouldn’t have been endearing. Shouldn’t have had her fighting a smile, but—

Damn him.

She weighed the letter in her palm, turning it in hand, and found Rhysand’s seal keeping the edges together. A mountain crowned with three stars was embossed in the dark red wax— some symbol of the Welsh peaks Rhysand’s ancestors hailed from. Nesta fought the urge to roll her eyes, and did not mourn the way that seal cracked as she opened the letter— didn’t mind as the mountain cleaved in two.

Dearest Nesta, his letter read.

The hour is late, and I know that you will be abed already, but I find myself longing more than anything to hear your voice. I confess, sweetheart, that you left me rather desolate tonight as you left the great hall, and I wish it were not so— that things were not so fraught between us. I wish, too, that I could speak these words aloud to you, but alas, I think the Queen would have my head if I came to find you at such an hour. I will merely have to settle for this— ink and paper and distance. It is a sorry substitute for your sharp tongue, but perhaps if I happen to give myself a paper cut I suppose the end result will be the same.

I had half a mind to spout some poetry - my heart bleeds for you, et cetera, et cetera - but truly I am not very good at it. My tutors as a boy bemoaned it often, and always said that I was a pale shadow in comparison to Azriel who, irritatingly, is very good at spouting poetry. All I can offer instead is my most heartfelt truth— that I missed you during those days at sea more than anything in the world. Trust, sweetheart, that every word I wrote in my previous letters was the truth, and had I only the opportunity to send them to you, I would have.

I regret no more now for lack of time, since it is surely not long now until dawn. Sleep well, dear heart, for I trust to see you at breakfast, where I live in hope that you will grant me your favour for the day’s joust.

Ever yours, C.

Nesta blinked, folding the edges of letter together again, brushing a thumb over that broken seal. Her heart fluttered, ever yours resounding in her head, clanging through her chest and ringing like a church bell. Something uncomfortable gathered in her stomach as she thought of the way she had taunted him, the way she had smiled at Eris as her eyes had passed over Cassian entirely. Letting out a bitter huff, she looked to the sun limning the windowpanes, knowing it was only a matter of time before the Queen called for her. She had wanted to make Cassian jealous, and clearly she had already had considerable success but—

Her resolve was cracking.

She had only wanted to give him a taste of what it had been like for her— a sample of the agony she’d felt with every day she’d waited for word from him, not knowing if he was dead or alive. She wanted him to ache the way she had ached for months, but— God’s wounds, did he have to make it so bloody difficult?

She huffed once more, tossing the letter onto the sideboard. Swiftly she dressed— in the finest gown she owned, no less. It was a pale blue and embroidered with silver thread, shining delicate in the morning light. It had been a gift from the Queen, the bolt of fabric so frightfully expensive that even Nesta had been shocked by the generosity. Her father was a duke, and so Nesta fell into the rather slim category of individuals who could wear the colour without breaking the Queen’s sumptuary laws, and it was lucky, because if Nesta knew one thing with certainty, it was that Cassian enjoyed the sight of her in blue.

The first time they had met she had been wearing a dress made of a pale grey, so pale it was almost blue in a certain light. He’d told her then that the colour brought out her eyes.

Perhaps that was what gave her pause before she left her chamber— the thought of him that very first day, glancing up at her with an easy grin and a boyish charm, an irreverence that had made her want to smile. Perhaps it was that memory that had her lingering by the sideboard, studying his letter anew, like it might give her whatever it was she’d been searching for. She couldn’t say, wasn’t certain, and she didn’t know why, but before Nesta left that chamber—

She took up that letter and tucked it inside her bodice.

***

Nesta loved a joust.

The brightly coloured pennants fluttered in the gentle breeze, and beneath the Queen’s canopy the golden tassels hanging from the royal standard gleamed a bright yellow, with three golden lions looking out over the tiltyard, mouths open in silent, embroidered roars. The standard hung above Elizabeth’s chair, taller than the rest, and like the lions on her crest the Queen seated cast her eyes over the yard too, humming in approval as the tournament inched closer.

A long wooden beam ran horizontal through the centre of the yard, and on either end men were preparing— donning armour, feeling the weight of a lance. The stands were already filled with spectators, and somewhere along the other end of the yard minstrels and musicians had taken up, the sound of a lute filtering through the morning air. Greensleeves— they were playing Greensleeves, but Nesta was only barely listening, scanning the yard instead for dark hair and a wicked smile. At the far end, she had glimpsed Rhysand ducking beneath the awning of a tent to ready himself, and a moment later she’d seen the spymaster enter too. Cassian was in there, she was certain of it, but since the Queen had spent so long that morning readying herself for the day, Nesta had missed him at breakfast and hadn’t caught sight of him, much as he’d hoped she would in his letter.

She glanced down at the ribbons on the sleeve of her dress now.

Cassian had asked for her favour, but had yet to come and claim it. Mildly, she blinked.

She was wondering why - wondering what had changed his mind - when she caught sight of him at last. He exited the tent Rhysand had entered, already wearing plate armour that had been polished to a high shine, gleaming in the sunlight and moulded perfectly to every swell of muscle, every powerful inch of his frame. A helmet was tucked beneath his arm, and from such a distance Nesta couldn’t hear the way his spurs clattered against his silver plate as he walked, but she could imagine it so vividly it was as though he were already right beside her. He caught her eye— from across the yard, even with so much yawning distance stretching between them, he found her and grinned, raising one hand in greeting as he handed his helm to a passing squire.

He was entirely devoid of jewellery now.

No rings shone on his fingers, no pearl dangled from his ear. His hair was tied back, not a single strand straying, unruly, into his face. He looked ready for battle, a warrior through and through, bedecked in a staggering expanse of shining steel, and Nesta felt her heart kick behind her ribs at the sight— the traitorous thing. Caught somewhere between a scowl and a sigh, she watched intently as her knight stepped forward, and she knew with certainty that he was going to approach her now, that he was going to ask for her favour.

And she’d give it.

God help her— she’d give it.

The damned letter had crumbled her resolve, and her eyes were fixed on him now, on that effortless smile that graced his face, on the way he looked so at home in steel. Her breath caught in her throat, her bottom lip finding a home between her teeth as he flexed his hands, pulling on his gauntlets.

It was its own kind of lunacy, how good he looked in armour. She dragged her eyes over the width of his shoulders, over the broad, hardened span of his chest, and down— all the way down to those shapely calves of his, brought into stark definition by lines of solid steel. She half felt as though the air had been drawn from the tiltyard with the way it refused to fill her lungs, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him, like he had suddenly become her world, that which her sun and moon and stars revolved.

A great deal of the Queen’s ladies thought Azriel was the most attractive knight in the field, but as Cassian stalked slowly towards her from the other end of the yard…

Nesta couldn’t for the life of her understand why.

It was Cassian who held her attention— that imposing frame of his, lined head to toe with cold steel, had her heart fluttering inside her chest as he looked at her with purpose, like she was the only one in the world he saw. It was almost enough to make her dizzy, and—

“My lady,” a voice said, dragging her attention away from the corner of the yard, where Cassian had stilled. Nesta blinked. “I beg for your favour— a token of your affection so that I may compete in your honour.”

Looking down over the wooden railing of the stands, Nesta found the Duke of Northumberland staring up at her, a knowing smile curving his lips.

She hesitated.

Eris was handsome, even she could not deny it. The sharp cut of his jaw was elegant and fine, and his hair was a richer red than even the Queen’s, much to Elizabeth’s chagrin. His dukedom stretched halfway along the Scottish border to the coast, a once-volatile territory more settled in recent decades than ever before, and with the size of his estates and coffers, he was hardly a disappointing match for a woman of her standing. Indeed, if her father went through with the betrothal, Nesta could hardly complain that her husband wasn’t attractive, nor could she find issue with the scale of his wealth.

Elizabeth looked at her now, amusement glittering in her dark, unforgiving eyes— so much like her father’s, as sharp and as cutting as the eyes of ravens housed at the Tower. This was the Queen’s favourite game— this dance of chivalry and courtly love, and as Nesta looked down at her wrist, at the ribbons decorating her sleeve, her stomach sank like a stone dropped into a wishing well. She dared to glance beyond Eris— to Cassian, where he had halted at the end of the yard. Even with so much distance between them, Nesta could see how his face had darkened, the murderous tilt to his head and the way his fingers had curled into a fist. She might have laughed at the hardness that had settled over his features - after all, wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted when she’d smiled at Eris in the chapel? In the hall? - had there not been something inside her whispering that this was one step too far, the cut a little too deep.

Because Cassian came no nearer, only watched from afar as Eris extended a hand, dipping into a smooth bow as he lifted his gaze to his monarch and his potential bride.

If only you had come to me sooner, Nesta thought ruefully as she turned her attention back to Eris, still waiting for her to bestow her favour. Didn’t you learn that lesson from all those months away? That no matter how much I want to, I can’t spend my life waiting for you?

Because she couldn’t refuse. The rules of the game forbade it, and all of it - all of it - was a game. It was one the entire court played day in and day out, one of gentle flirtation and chivalric romance, where a courtier wooed his lady with pretty words and grand gestures, and Nesta was powerless against it. A knight had asked for her favour, and it would have been remiss of her not to grant it, especially when the knight in question was a man who might very well wind up being her husband.

No— as Nesta rose smoothly to her feet and untied a single ribbon, she knew she had no choice.

Eris bowed his head as she handed the ribbon over, taking it in hand and pressing it to his lips with a flourish, as if he were crafted from Arthurian legend. When he lifted his eyes, he gave her a winning smile, smooth and charming and effortless.

“For your honour,” he said grandly, holding that ribbon aloft, gripped between his thumb and forefinger. The Queen tilted her head in something akin to approval as Eris backed away slowly, retreating to his end of the tiltyard. Nesta nodded once at the man her father wished her to marry, but she couldn’t help but wish it had been another knight to take that ribbon, another that had lifted it to his mouth. But he was too late— once again, Cassian was too late.

“Well little dove,” the Queen said in a whisper as Nesta sank back into her seat. “You have snared a fox.”

Nesta let out a soft little laugh, but it was hollow through its falsity. She let her eyes dart back towards the corner of the tiltyard, finding Cassian’s attention still fixed on her. She tilted her head in something like a challenge, and briefly he glanced straight ahead, to where Eris was now preparing to mount his horse. Even from the stands she could see the feral glint in Cassian’s eyes, and the murderous smile as he folded his arms across his broad, silver-plated chest— issuing a challenge of his own.

***

“I want the duke,” Cassian demanded hotly, marching over to where the marshall of the joust stood behind a wooden table, parchment and ink laid out on its surface.

A middle-aged man, well versed in the rules of the joust and the tourney, he only blinked lazily at Cassian. “Sir, you are to run first against the earl of—”

“I want Northumberland,” Cassian cut in flatly, looking across the expanse of ground between them, watching Eris tie Nesta’s ribbon to the end of a lance. Cassian gritted his teeth and beside him, Rhys laughed. He had yet to finish donning his own armour, but was testing the weight of a lance in his hand— eight feet long and crowned with a dulled metal tip. It had Cassian suddenly wondering if he would have time to sharpen the tip of his own lance into a fucking spear.

“Oh, let him have it,” Rhys said airily, waving the hand that wasn’t holding the lance. “I was supposed to be up against Northumberland first but I’m happy to exchange to give Cassian what he wants.” He rolled his eyes. “Terrible temper when he doesn’t get his own way, you know,” he added, almost conspiratorially, to the marshall.

Cassian scowled.

But the trumpets began to sound, and the marshall sighed at length before nodding, scoring out Rhys’ name on his list and writing Cassian’s beneath. Rhys’ coat of arms were rendered in elaborate colour there too, right across from Eris’, and the marshall only looked pointedly at Cassian before crossing that out too, a dark line of ink cutting right through the shield decorated with a Welsh mountain crowned with stars, a nod to Rhys’ ancestry. Rhys rolled his eyes, and the marshall gave a tight hmph before turning from them entirely, striding briskly towards the tiltyard entrance, where he found the herald to inform him of the change of plan.

“You’re welcome,” Rhys said blandly, clapping Cassian on the shoulder before setting down the lance he’d been balancing in his palm. It was Cassian’s turn to roll his eyes now, rolling his shoulders inside his armour and hearing the satisfying clink of metal plate as he shifted. Rhys snorted, turning away and beginning to head for the tent to continue readying for his own match.

“Do me a favour Cass,” he said wryly, turning his head as he lifted the tent flap. “Don’t kill him. You’ll start a civil war in the north if we have to find a new Duke of Northumberland.”

Cassian grinned wickedly. “He has a brother to replace him, does he not?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “A brother who is happily occupied by his post in Spain, if I recall correctly. Don’t forget that Nesta’s sister is his wife. Lady Elain won’t be happy if they’re dragged back to England because you put your lance through her brother-in-law’s neck, and if I’ve learned anything over the past few years, its that if there’s one way to piss off Nesta Archeron, it’s to make her sister unhappy.”

Cassian grumbled, and Rhys only gave him one last looked before ducking back inside the tent. Cassian might have marched back in there to argue the point further, but his squire rounded the corner with a horse in tow— the one Cassian had picked out that very morning when they’d marched down to the stables to choose their mounts.

She was arrayed in red and gold, and he’d known from the moment he’d seen her that she was the horse he wanted today. A deep brown destrier, she was named Minerva after the Roman goddess of war, and across her back she sported a black leather saddle and a ruby-red caparison edged with embroidered black roses. She was beautiful, and as Cassian approached and stroked a broad hand down her nose, she nudged the centre of his palm. He grinned.

“I’ll fetch your lance,” the squire said, bowing his head as he handed the reins over. Cassian nodded, wrapping the leather around his fist as the horse whickered.

“We’re going to win today, aren’t we girl?” he said softly. Minerva whinnied. “We’re going to win back the affection of Mistress Archeron and knock the Duke of Northumberland from his horse, aren’t we?”

He patted the horse on the nose, nodding to himself.

Oh, yes.

He was going to win today. Eris had already taken Nesta’s favour— he wasn’t about to take Cassian’s victory too. Cassian hadn’t even bothered asking any other lady for a favour. He didn’t want to tuck another’s glove into his breastplate, didn’t want to ask another lady for anything. All he wanted was one of those damned ribbons from Nesta’s sleeve, and yet she’d given it to fucking Eris.

Not that she’d had much choice.

Cassian knew the rules of this game as well as she, and it would have caused a stir if she’d turned Eris down.

Still, he thought as the squire returned with his lance, it didn’t make it any better. Cassian mounted his horse, still thinking of the way Nesta’s ribbon fluttered as Eris tied it to the end of his own lance.

Bastard.

With a snap, Cassian closed his visor.

He could see nothing but right ahead, the tiltyard and the long wooden beam. Eris waited at the other end, similarly visored and gripping the lance with Nesta’s fucking ribbon dancing in the breeze. The visor restricted his vision, but the one and only time he’d gone without it, he’d earned the scar cutting through his eyebrow.

He’d been jousting against Azriel, and his lance had split in three places. He’d worn his helmet but not closed his visor, preferring the wider field of vision, but a shard of his lance had been thrown backwards, cutting through his skin. He’d almost lost an eye, and even though he had no doubt that it would have made him even more dashing, he had no wish to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life— even though, at the time, Azriel had taken pains to remind him that not only had handsome Lucien Vanserra lost an eye in such an accident, but in the Queen’s father’s time, there had been a knight who lost an eye at a joust in Greenwich too, and the eyepatches of both attracted the ladies wonderfully.

But Cassian didn’t want to attract the ladies, he thought darkly as he studied the tiltyard ahead. He wanted Nesta, and none other.

He gritted his teeth as the herald took up a place in the centre of the yard, his voice echoing through the steel of Cassian’s armour as he announced the beginnings of the tournament. The trumpets sounded a fanfare, and the rumble of the drums clapped through the air like thunder as the energy in the yard began to build, turning frenetic, frantic, as Cassian manoeuvred his horse into position, armoured thighs gripping her flanks tight as he brought her to the starting line. At the other end of the yard, Eris mirrored Cassian’s movements.

A moment passed, then two, three—

Cassian’s heart hammered in his chest, anticipation thick on his tongue as he waited for the herald to call for the joust to begin, to say the words that would have him surging forwards—

“Laissez aller!”

It was a phrase from Old French, used to signal the beginning of a match. Rhys had told him once that it meant let them go, but Cassian hadn’t ever really cared for the intricacies of language or translation. All he cared for was how he lifted his lance higher now, spearing it towards the sky the moment the words left the herald’s lips. He kicked his heels in hard, setting Minerva lurching forth, racing along the tilt at a breakneck speed.

Her hooves were thunderous, an unwavering and uncompromising beat as the world went by in a blur, and with each thud of her feet against the tiltyard ground, Cassian felt his armour reverberate— felt the rattle right the way down to his bones. With one hand gripping the reins and the other holding his lance aloft, the world beyond simply fell away, the cacophony of cheers and shouts and music drowned out, eclipsed, as Cassian’s horse neared the centre of the tiltyard.

A pleasance, the herald had declared that morning, before the festivities had begun.

It was a phrase used customarily at a joust, one that let them know this was a friendly match— done not for war, but for fun. But as Cassian raced towards that pale blue ribbon…

He didn’t echo the sentiment.

He lowered his lance, keeping his elbow tucked to his side and his grip tight as he extended his arm, holding the lance straight and sure and steady— aiming right for Eris’ heart. He didn’t just want to break his rival’s lance or knock him from his horse. He wanted to kill the bastard. At sea, there had been skirmishes. Drunken brawls in port towns that had turned nasty. Cassian had ended lives beneath his bare hands, and Eris hadn’t seen a day of battle in his life, the sheltered little nobleman that he was. He’d never had to fight a day in his life for anything. The Queen’s reign had been easy for her nobility. Unless they were sent to Ireland or the Netherlands, they had no knowledge of war, no experience with strife. Cassian snarled softly behind his visor. This was not the days of the Queen’s father, when war had raged with France. This was not even the days of her grandfather, when civil war had made a solider of every nobleman.

No— men like Eris had become complacent, and as Cassian seethed, his fingers tightened around the base of his lance.

In the wind kicked up by Eris’ horse, Cassian saw that fucking ribbon flutter— taunting him, mocking him.

It should have been his.

He’d asked for it first, had wanted her first, and now Eris thought he could ask for her favour, could wear her ribbon, just because there was talk of a match between he and her? A match that Cassian would let happen over his own dead body?

Once more he snarled inside his armour, keeping his arm straight as his horse barrelled forwards.

He was going to knock Eris off his fucking horse for even presuming to approach Nesta, for daring to ask for that fucking ribbon. He was going to land a blow so fucking fierce the Duke wouldn’t ever joust again—

The distance between them continued to shrink, and it all moved quickly - so quickly - that Cassian didn’t dare blink. Eris was a hundred paces away— fifty— twenty—

There was a deafening crack as his lance split, connecting right with the centre of Eris’ shield.

A perfect score.

The audience applauded, cheers rising from the stands, but Cassian didn’t turn his head.

He only kept his pace, galloping to the end of the yard and extending a hand as a squire handed him a fresh lance. At the scoreboard, a large III had been written in chalk beside his name. The space beside Eris’ name remained blank. He hadn’t managed to hit Cassian at all, his lance missing him by an inch.

But Cassian didn’t smile, didn’t feel satisfaction burning through his veins— not yet. Eris remained atop his horse, entirely unharmed, and as Cassian reached the end of the yard and spun his horse, already he was preparing to go again, and go again harder. They would run three times against one another, with the highest scoring knight declared victor. Three points were awarded for a hit to the shield, two for a hit to the chest, one for a hit to the arm. Cassian had had the rules memorised since he was a boy, knew them inside and out, because he’d spent years training for this— spent years running against his brothers, rarely losing unless he was up against Azriel. He’d broken Rhys’ arm in this very yard once— shattered the bone beneath his brother’s elbow and sprained his wrist.

And that was entirely by accident.

He smiled grimly now as he set his sights on Eris anew.

But God had damned him, it seemed, for in the moment his lance crossed the tilt, the sun shone vicious on Eris’ armour, the glare so blinding it forced Cassian to blink, to shield his eyes as his aim slipped. Instead of landing a hit to the shield attached to Eris’ armour at the shoulder, the tip of his lance connected only with Eris’ arm— earning him a single point. In contrast, Eris landed a hit to Cassian’s chest, the blow damn near knocking the breath from his lungs and scoring the duke two full points he didn’t fucking deserve.

Cassian growled in frustration, a roar building in his chest like he was nothing but some feral creature, and when Eris reached the other end of the yard and flipped up his visor, shooting a dazzling smile to the stands where Cassian knew Nesta sat watching…

Well, his fury was stoked to an almost dangerous fervour, so lethal and so potent it had him practically trembling inside his armour, the breath stuck in his throat as it caved beneath his wrath.

He remembered again how he’d broken Rhys’ arm jousting when they were boys. How, once, he’d managed to make a dent in Azriel’s breastplate with the force of his hit. Eris might have been as learned as Cassian in the sport but Cassian knew he had the edge. Because he wasn’t afraid to spill blood, not too shy to break bones in order to prove to Eris and the Queen and every single one of them watching in the stands that Nesta was his lady, the woman he had once been so certain he would take to wife.

He was still determined to put a ring on her finger someday.

So as Eris turned his horse, set his lance straight and aimed, Cassian took a breath— deep, filling his lungs as he felt the muscles of the horse shifting beneath his thighs. The herald called the final laissez aller, and Cassian wasted not a single second. Before the crowd could even begin their cheering, he set Minerva to a fierce gallop, even faster than before. The air whistled through his armour as he gained momentum, and still he pushed her further, faster— faster, faster. He held his arm steady, his grip tight as he clenched his jaw, knowing that this was the run that would decide the match, that would have him standing as either a proud victor or a sore, sore loser.

He didn’t look to the stands. Didn’t search for her face amongst the crowd.

But it was for her— every pounding beat of his heart, every single piece of him that urged that horse forwards…

For her.

Eris was close now— so, so close. The tip of his lance neared, and Cassian redoubled his grip on his own, fingers straining, knuckles white beneath his gauntlets.

And still he urged his destrier faster, determined to get as much brutal, crushing force behind this hit as possible— determined to make it a final, shattering blow that would make the duke think twice before daring to even look at Nesta ever again.

Meters became feet became inches, and suddenly Cassian could see the whites of Eris’ eyes, the way they narrowed as Cassian checked his aim, braced himself for the impact—

And with an almighty clash, the tip of his lance shattered entirely as it made bruising contact with the centre of Eris’ shield.

The force of it knocked Eris sideways off his horse, sending him crashing to the tiltyard floor. His armour clattered, the pauldron at his shoulder cracking with the impact, and the lance Eris had been aiming at Cassian’s chest scored only a glancing blow on his shoulder before it, too, fell loudly to the floor. The Duke was winded, lying still on the ground, and for a moment Cassian thought he really had killed the bastard— but then Eris was rising slowly, pushing up on his elbows and removing his helmet. A thin ribbon of blood streamed from his nose, whilst another wound bled far more profusely at his temple, staining his auburn hair scarlet. And as the chips of Cassian’s own broken lance lay scattered in the dust, he smiled— a victors smile, vicious and cold and utterly without mercy.

Because no other man got to ask Nesta Archeron for her favour— not peasant nor knight nor king.

No. Other. Man.

Cassian hoped he’d broken a few of Eris’ bones at least. Hoped he’d shattered something vital, because Nesta was his— for fucks sake, she was his, and he wasn’t about to let some ridiculous betrothal stand in his way. And as he slowed Minerva from a gallop to a gentle trot, spectators rose in the stands, cheers and applause all. With his heart still still racing and adrenaline coursing through him like a torrent, he brought his horse to the end of the yard and dismounted, sliding from the saddle and pulling off his helmet in one smooth, practised gesture.

He had won— and even though he looked to the stands and saw the Queen clapping enthusiastically, it wasn’t her approval he sought. Not her smile he looked for.

It was stupid— reckless and unheard of, but Cassian found himself marching towards the covered stand where the Queen watched. He bowed deep when he stood before her, arms extending wide at either side, helmet hanging from his fingers. A thin sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, his muscles burning from the exertion, but he cared not— not as he lifted his gaze and caught sight of Nesta - his Nesta - with her lips parted, a flush touching her cheeks as one hand lifted, all smooth grace and easy elegance, to rest above her heart.

Mother of God, she was beautiful.

Her dress was a pale shade of blue, the kind that brought out her eyes, and the low neckline was cut square in the French fashion. The bodice was tight and threaded with silver, and as Cassian dragged his eyes over her middle, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was tight, clinging to her waist, and though he knew that she would be wearing a shift beneath, he wondered how, given how tightly the bodice hugged her frame. His fingers slackened, and he almost dropped his helmet.

Was there anything in the world more wondrous— more stunning?

He didn’t think so, and though he still didn’t say a word, he gave her a small nod, one he hoped would let her know that all of it was for her, every moment of that display. She met his eye, and he swore he saw some of her ice melt a little. The marshall of the joust began calling across the tiltyard for the next round to begin, but before Cassian could leave—

Nesta smiled.

Just a little, only a tentative curving of her lips, but suddenly Cassian felt like he was the one who had been knocked from his horse. It was the most beautiful thing in the world— and confirmation, he supposed, that all wasn’t lost between them.

That she hadn’t given herself over to marrying Eris completely.

The marshall began shouting in earnest now, his irritation rising, and Cassian shot the Queen and Nesta both a daring grin, dipping his head in another bow that he hoped the Queen thought was charming rather than irreverent.

He made his way back to the tent at the end of the tiltyard. Eris swore at him as he passed, spitting blood onto the ground as a squire checked his injuries, and even though the duke cursed Cassian’s name, his mood was so much more vastly improved by that small, infinitesimal smile Nesta had given him that he could do little more than grin.

Fuck Eris and his dukedom— fuck all the riches in the world. Cassian had the greatest treasure of them all.

He reached the tent and found Azriel waiting to clap him on the back as Rhys mounted his horse - a black destrier aptly named Erebus after the Greek god of darkness. He couldn’t see his brother’s face, hidden as it was beneath his intricately patterned visor, but Rhys nodded, tilting his brow forwards as he said a match well won, brother, in a voice that echoed, low and resonant, through his armour. Cassian merely patted Erebus’ flank as he passed, wishing his brother luck as Rhys made his way to the tilt, and as Cassian pulled at the ties on his greaves, letting them fall away from his calves, Azriel took a step forward and held out a hand to take the armour he began to shed.

A squire stepped forward to help, but Cassian stopped the boy with a hand on his shoulder. He could have been no older than fourteen, all gangly limbs, but he was eager, eyes alight as he reached for Cassian’s helm. Cassian shook his head, pulling away just enough to reach for the doublet he’d cast off earlier, draped across a bench beside the tent. He pulled out a leather purse from a pocket inside it, retrieving a single golden coin.

“I need you to do me a favour,” he said, holding up the coin. “Don’t worry about the armour— Azriel will help me remove it.” Az raised a brow, but didn’t contradict him. “I need you to go out there and find the end of Northumberland’s first broken lance. There was a ribbon tied around it. Bring it to me.”

If the boy seemed confused, he didn’t show it. He only nodded, taking the coin before scurrying away, heading to the yard to find the ribbon before Rhys’ match could begin.

Azriel shook his head, a wry laugh leaving him as he began to help undo the ties keeping Cassian’s armour together. The vambraces came off first, falling away from Cassian’s forearms. Then the pauldrons at his shoulders, the cuisses at his thighs. Finally Azriel loosened the ties on the breastplate and Cassian slid it over his head.

As they finished, with Cassian standing only in his tunic and breeches, the boy returned, sky-blue ribbon in his fingers.

Cassian took it with another grin, the softness of it sliding against his skin as he tied it gently around his wrist for safekeeping. Az looked at him pointedly, both eyebrows raised so high they almost touched his hairline, but Cassian merely shrugged, tracing a finger across the ribbon now encircling his wrist as he looked at his brother, no small sense of satisfaction curving his lips into a smile.

“A memento of my victory,” he said simply.

Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn, @sunlightsage, @burningsnowleopard, @asnowfern

#nessianweek2023 #semper eadem #as always theres an authors note on ao3 filled with historical tidbits #featuring a brief lesson in Elizabethan conflicts and the rules of jousting #amongst other things

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