#nesta x eris | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

autumnshighlady · 2 months

Text

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 20)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: reader meet's Eris's mother, and Azriel offers a helping hand. An unexpected visitor comes to autumn, I cannot do summaries to save my life

warnings: graphic violence/torture, Cassian slander, tw B*ron sucking but also kinda slaying, implied SA, themes of depression, angst because apparently i can't write happy things

word count: 7.4k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: two chapters in one day to spoil y'all as thanks for waiting so long for part 19 lmao. sorry if this chapter seems slow, but the next two chapters are doozies so gear up!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19

read on ao3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You barely heard the hushed voices of the servants as they fiddled with the wedding dress. Pins poked at your skin as adjustments to the garment were made, but you didn’t care. You simply stood there silently, staring at the husk of a female who looked like you in the mirror. Nobody had asked you anything – not for your opinion on the dress, how it felt, nothing. Not that you expected them to. They were all aiming to please Beron Vanserra, not you.

For the past week, you hadn’t heard from or seen Nesta. Or Eris. Ever since Malgorm paid you an unexpected visit that night, Eris had warned you that it would be too dangerous to meet up for the next while. That Malgorm was likely to be excited about his new bride, and the risk of him showing up unexpectedly was too great. You hadn’t even dared to use the bond to communicate with Nesta, for fear the magic would somehow be detected by Beron’s many complex wards.

Once again, you were completely alone.

It was hard not to fall back into that panic you felt when you had woken up in Rhysand’s dungeons. That same feeling of helplessness washed over you again and again, and you had no idea what to do. Nesta, Eris, and Azriel had all promised you that this marriage wouldn’t happen, but refused to let you in on any of their planning.

“It’s too risky,” Azriel had pointed out to you when you protested. “You cannot know anything about what we are planning. If Beron or Malgorm finds out, we cannot risk you being implicated.”

Naturally, you had bitched and complained about how they didn’t have a right to risk themselves for your safety, but it landed on deaf ears. One hard look from your mate was enough to make you shut up about the matter.

They had promised to do something, yet the wedding grew closer every day. Beron had originally planned for Eris and Nesta to be married first, but whispers from the servants informed you that Malgorm had insisted that his wedding be moved up as fast as possible so he could breed you sooner. The thought made you want to vomit. Shockingly, Beron had agreed, his apparent reasoning being it gave them more time to plan the grand wedding of his eldest son.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you stared at yourself in the mirror. The dress was pretty – a thick satin gown made with the purest of white fabric, with long sleeves and a high neck. Gold thread was embroidered around the neckline, going down the bust and arms like tendrils of flame. It was a suitable wedding dress – definitely not as elaborate as Nesta’s would be, but befitting of a marriage within a royal family.

You had been completely overwhelmed the past week with the amount of servants flocking you to prepare for the wedding. They fiddled with your hair and makeup, poking and prodding you like you were a doll for dress up.

You shuddered to think of how much more chaotic it would be for Nesta and her wedding with Eris, the eldest. After all, Malgorm was only Beron’s second youngest.

When you weren’t being prepared for the wedding, you spent your time alone in your room, laying on the bed and watching the raindrops trickle down the window. You dared not wander the halls to entertain yourself, the fear of running into Malgorm too great. Realistically, he knew where your room was so if he truly wanted to find you, nothing could stop him. But you did not want to take the unnecessary risk.

Every time you slept for the past week, your dreams were plagued by nightmares of Malgorm. You’d wake up in tears most of the time, yearning for Nesta’s comforting presence or Eris’s smooth words to soothe you. You could still feel his hand around your throat, the remnants of the bruises still visible.

Conveniently enough, the neckline of the dress was just high enough to cover those marks on your neck.

A quiet knock at the door snapped you out of your trance. The servants scurried into whatever formation was required of them seconds before the wooden door opened. You tore your gaze away from the mirror to see a petite female with long auburn hair entering your room. Her skin was pale as snow, covered in heavy green robes. A sheer gold veil covered her head, as if meant to hide her from the world. Her russet eyes landed on you and she let out a small smile.

“My lady.” One of the servants said in greeting, bowing her head. The female’s face was unreadable, a mask of boredom so similar to the one you saw Eris wear.

“Leave us, please.” Her voice was weak, as if she was not accustomed to using it. “I would like to spend some time with my daughter.”

Your heart ached at the Lady of Autumn’s words, even though you knew they weren’t entirely genuine. You missed your own mother so terribly, that hearing someone else refer to you as their daughter was bittersweet.

The servants obediently trailed out of the room, closing the door behind them. You bowed your head respectfully, and when you met her eyes again you nearly crumpled. Gone was the Lady’s mask of boredom. It was replaced by one of sadness and pity, as if she were looking at a younger version of herself in the mirror. Lucien had told you about the horror his mother had endured under her husband’s cruelty, his stories making you shudder. How ironic it was now, that you were to be subjected to the same fate it seemed.

“Greetings, (Y/N),” She said. “I am the High Lord’s wife, Lirilla Vanserra. It is a pleasure to meet my son’s bride.”

A single tear fell down your cheek. The heavy fabric of the dress was stifling, and your lungs felt like they weren’t getting enough air. But you were too tired to properly cry. You had weeped for the first few nights, and it seemed your body was drained. All you could do was stand there numbly, letting that singular tear make its way down your blotchy skin.

“It is an honour to meet you, my Lady.” Your words did not feel like your own as you spoke them. “And a blessing to be engaged to your son.”

The look that Eris’s mother gave you was one that could only be described as utterly heartbreaking as she said, “Oh my sweet, I think we both know that is not true.”

You were taken aback by her bold words. Every time you had seen the Lady of Autumn this past week it had been like catching a glimpse of a ghost. She had never spoken, keeping her head down and scurrying around like a frightened mouse. While she still seemed frail, her bluntness surprised you. Perhaps Beron wasn’t the one who taught Eris to put on a mask.

“It’s alright, we may speak freely here.” Lirilla said, as if she could read your expression. “The guards at the door are loyal to me, and the ears of this castle do not reach this corridor. May we sit down?”

You nodded, following your future mother-in-law to the edge of the bed. She sat down elegantly, smoothing her skirts with the poise of a female ready for her appearance at court. You, on the other hand, were less graceful, pins stabbing you as you tried to collect the white skirt.

“That is a lovely dress,” Lirilla said. “Is it to your liking?”

“Yes.” You said. “I’m just not used to this much skirt and heaviness. I pray I do not trip on my way down the aisle.”

The Lady’s expression darkened, melancholic sadness shadowing her face. “I am sorry,” Her voice was quiet and hushed. “That you are to be wed to the cruellest of my sons. I do not know how you ended up in this situation, but it is clear that this marriage is against your will.”

You frowned. “The High Lord did not tell you my circumstances?”

Lirilla smiled sadly. “My husband does not tell me most things. And I suspect yours won’t either. Malgorm was, is, the most difficult of my children. I did my best to raise him to be a good male, but like almost all my other sons, he fell into the clutches of my husband too easily.”

“All except Lucien?” You asked tentatively, unsure if you were overstepping. A grave expression crossed her face for a moment, the pain of her youngest son’s banishment from her court evident.

“He told me about you, you know.” Lirilla’s russet eyes were glazed with the memories of the past. “That's why I came to see you. I had to make sure it was the same female that Lucien had befriended all those years ago. How is your family doing, my dear? Is your mom still baking for the local schools?”

Your heart sank, both at the memory of your family and the fact that Lirilla was so cut off from the events of the outside world. “They’re all dead,” You said solemnly. “Hybern attacked my village, and I was the only survivor.”

Her eyes widened with shock. You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to tell her everything as you remembered Azriel’s words. Begrudgingly, you knew he was right – as much as you wanted to break down and tell the Lady of Autumn everything, it was too risky. The less people who knew the better, and while the female had survived Beron’s cruelty for this long, you couldn’t bring yourself to be selfish enough to burden her with the knowledge of everything else that got you into this situation.

“I am terribly sorry,” Lirilla put a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I wish I could say that things will get easier, but they won’t. Not with Malgorm. I do not wish to scare you, but I will not sit by and let you go into this marriage blind. Malgorm does not treat females kindly, including me. He will humiliate you, and cause you pain in more ways than one. I will do what I can to shield you from it, but I cannot stop this and for that I am sorry.”

You shook your head, fiddling with a pin in the white skirts. “No, I cannot ask that of you, my Lady. This suffering I am about to endure is mine to bear, and mine only. Please, do not put yourself in harm's way to try and protect me.”

Another devastatingly sad smile pulled at Lirilla’s lips. She gently reached up and stroked your cheek. “Oh, my love. I am in harm’s way every day in this castle. That will not change. You are to be my daughter, my first daughter. I may not be able to stand up for you, or even spend much time with you outside of stolen moments like this, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you however I can.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke. “I don’t want to marry him.”

“I know. But outside of this room, you must face it with a stiff lip. Any sign of reluctance will be punishable. Give Malgorm what he wants. He always gets what he wants in the end, and trying to resist does more harm than good. It is unpleasant, but that is the safest way to handle him.”

You shuddered at her words. You knew that she meant more than just fetching the male his afternoon tea, and your stomach churned. The breath you took trembled from effort to not cry. How had everything come to this?

“Oh honey…” Lirilla gently pulled you into her, wrapping her tiny arms around your trembling body as you let out a muffled sob. “Growing up, I always wanted a daughter. Yet now I have grown to fear the day I get blessed with a daughter-in-law, because I cannot bear to see this vicious cycle repeat over and over again for centuries.”

You cried into your mother-in-law’s arms, letting her warm embrace chase away the chill in your bones. You knew that once you were married, Malgorm would likely not leave you alone unsupervised, especially with his mother. This might just be your only chance to receive some sort of wisdom and comfort from the Lady of Autumn, so you held onto her tightly and let her stroke your hair.

“It’s ok, my child.” She soothed. “Be strong. If you are hurt, have one of the servants seek out the healer Doreah. She will be able to take the pain away and heal internal damage while ensuring the external wounds can still be seen by Malgorm. Should you need access to a safe place, take the first stairwell on the left all the way down into the basement. There is a library there with food, fresh clothes, and anything you need. The guards around it are loyal to me and will cover for you if your whereabouts are questioned. Nobody except for me and my most trusted staff knows about that place. I have had it glamoured by an old friend so that if anyone sees you going down the stairwell, it looks like you’re headed to the female-only bathing area. Not even my husband or Melgorm would follow you there.”

You felt Lirilla gently ease you out of her grip, sitting you upright. She pulled out a handkerchief and gently dried your face, muttering a spell and erasing all evidence of your crying. “I can hear Malgorm coming to visit you,” She whispered urgently. “Remember everything I’ve told you.”

The Lady of Autumn pulled away from you just in time as the door swung open, the uninvited visitor not even bothering to knock. Lirilla’s kind, pitying look had swiftly been replaced by her submissive, passive mask. She stood up hastily at her son’s arrival, bowing her head. “Malgorm,” She muttered, keeping her eyes on the floor. “It is bad luck to see your bride in her wedding dress before the–”

“Quiet.” Malgorm snapped at his mother, and she flinched as if she had been struck. You wondered how much of it was an act, and how much of it was genuine fear of her son. Malgorm’s amber gaze fixed on you greedily. “I don’t give a shit about such stupid tradition. I should be able to see my wife whenever I please. Now get out, father wants to see you.”

Lirilla nodded, gathering her skirts and hurrying past him like a ghost. Her feet made no sound on the floor as she left the room without a hint of a glance back. You were nervous, left alone with the cruel Vanserra brother. But you stood up and bowed your head, trying to mimic Lirilla’s submissive demeanour.

Malgorm made a disapproving sound as he eyed up your dress with disgust. “My father wants you to look pure and traditional,” He scoffed. “To have as much of your body covered up as possible. If it were up to me, you’d be walking down that aisle with your tits and cunt on display for everyone to see.”

Your face burned at his words, and you swallowed the bile in your throat and spoke as sweetly as possible, “I shall do whatever pleases you, my lord.”

Malgorm snickered, his dirty hand coming up to roughly yank a lock of hair out of your face. “That you shall. Luckily for you, this wedding is about pleasing my father. So you will be nice and covered up until the event is over.” He chuckled darkly, his hot breath fanning across your face as he leaned in too closely. “But the second it is over, you belong to me. And I will rip this pretty dress to shreds and stuff that tight cunt of yours every hour until you are bred. Understood?”

You nodded, even as the room swayed around you. “It will be a great honour to bear your child, my lord.” The words felt wrong on your lips, like oil had been poured in your mouth and choked you as it slid down your throat. You were saying what you had to say to keep him happy, you reminded yourself. Nesta and Eris would stop the wedding before it got to that point. Eris had reassured you that even Malgorm would respect the High Lord’s wishes to wait until you were wed to him to bed you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Malgorm was unhinged enough to do it anyways.

“I expect you to give me sons.” He said coldly. “If you dare curse me with a daughter, I will tear her from the cord and feed her to my brother’s hounds before you can even see her face.”

You swallowed thickly, fear making the hair on your arms raise at the image. You wondered if Eris had built a reputation that was so cruel his brother was sure he would have no qualms about letting his hounds murder a newborn child. The thought made you shudder. You knew Eris had to play a role to survive his father’s court, but you did not know how far he would go. And while you trusted him, that did not erase the inkling of fear.

“I shall pray day and night that the Mother blesses me with sons.” You managed to get the words out without stuttering, which you were happy with. Luckily, Malgorm seemed satisfied enough with you answer.

“Excellent.” He said smoothly, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a sharp knife. Your blood ran cold. “Now, let’s play.”

*********************

You couldn’t be bothered to try and wipe the blood off your stomach. You had no energy, no strength to even curl your naked, bloody body up into a ball against the cold chill of the room. Your wedding dress was neatly hung up in the corner, Malgorm having been smart enough to get it out of the way before he went to work.

Your body stung with every cut from his blade. Most were shallow cuts that would heal in a day or so, but by the Mother there were so many of them. Your skin felt shredded, like a ruined canvas suffering the wrath of an angry artist. Malgorm had delighted in slicing his blade across your skin, avoiding your hands and face – the only parts of your body that would be visible in the wedding. You could still feel his wet mouth and tongue sliding over the wounds like a venomous snake, the sensation making you want to rip your ruined skin from your body.

Luckily, the male had obeyed his fathers command and not tried to fuck you. He kept his hands away from your centre, seemingly content to ruin other acceptable parts of your body instead. No doubt he wanted everything down there perfect and intact for the wedding night.

A soft shadow grazed your fingertip. It curled up your arm like a ribbon, coming to your face. It seemed to whisper words you couldn’t understand, especially in your lifeless state. “Az…” You murmured, his familiar scent on the small shadow that seemed to inspect your body.

A few moments later, you felt a presence standing over you. “By the Mother…” Came Azriel’s shocked voice. “What did he do to you...”

The shadowsinger emerged from the darkness, leaning down to inspect the dozens of wounds littered across your skin. His hazel eyes were filled with horror as a scarred hand grazed a cut on your collarbone. You watched helplessly as his eyes trailed down to the significant pool of blood beside you that trickled from a deep wound in your stomach.

Right where the letter ‘M’ was carved below your belly button, a few inches above your core.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about your nakedness in front of the shadowsinger. Malgorm had already begun to strip you of your dignity anyways. But Azriel quickly grabbed the blanket from the end of your bed, gently wrapping it around your body and hoisting you upright. You winced in pain. “We have to stop meeting like this, shadowsinger.” You croaked. “With me being tortured and all.”

Azriel snorted. “Stop getting yourself into these situations then.”

“Couldn’t help it.” Your reply was weak, but earned a slight twitch of the spymaster’s lips, a hint of a smile. “How’d you find me?”

Shadows skirted over your skin, their gentle coolness soothing the sting of the wounds and making you sigh in relief. “I was meeting with Nesta and Eris,” He answered. “She could feel something was wrong… through the bond. Eris sent me to see what happened.”

You frowned. The shadowsinger never stumbled over his words in the entire time you had known him. He already knew Nesta was your mate, so his stutter made you ask, “Why’d you say it like that?”

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s expression gave nothing away, but you could tell something was bothering him.

“What, you don’t like that two females are mates? Is that it?”

The Illyrian departed to your washroom, fetching a damp cloth as he responded. “No, no, Mother above, no. I take no issue with that and you know it.”

“Then what is it?”

Azriel sighed, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead as he returned and knelt down beside you. He carefully pulled back the blanket, revealing the bloody ‘M’ on your stomach. He pressed the wet cloth to the wound, gently cleaning it. “Something happened,” His tone was cautious, as if he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Between Nesta and Eris. It’s changed things slightly. They’re still trying to figure out how to end the engagement between you and Melgorm but… it’s difficult.”

“How so?” You frowned, trying to sit up straighter only to get gently pushed back down by Azriel. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Gods, I really do not wish to be involved in this little love triangle.”

“Well too bad,” You snapped, ignoring the sting of your wounds and fixing him a glare. “Because you already are. So tell me.”

“I can’t decide if you’d be the worst interrogator in Prythian or the best.” Azriel grumbled, moving the cloth to begin wiping down the wounds on your left arm.

“Stop dodging the question.”

“It’s really something they should be the ones to tell you–”

“For fuck’s sake, if I have to march out of this room bloody and naked to find Nesta and Eris so help me I will actually do it.”

Azriel glared at you, snarling. “You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?”

You shrugged, tilting your head and waiting for him to tell you exactly what happened. The shadowsinger let out a sigh, and began cleaning your other arm as he spoke. “Remember how you said that Estelle mentioned Nesta had more than one mate, but Cassian was not one of them?”

You nodded.

“I guess that really is true, because a mating bond snapped for her the other day apparently. Between Nesta and Eris.”

Your jaw went slack. You couldn’t describe the emotions that rushed through you at Azriel’s words. It wasn’t the surge of mately jealousy you expected, nor was it anger per se. Sure, Nesta and Eris were a strong political match, but mates? The thought had never even crossed your mind. But it made sense, in some wicked way. Nesta and Eris had similar magic, and could both hold their own in a court of vipers. Perhaps they truly would make strong offspring, which you supposed was the main reason mates were created. Or so you had been told.

Azriel’s brow was furrowed at your silence. “You don’t seem surprised.”

You shrugged, trying to calm your racing mind. “Not entirely. Better it be Eris than someone potentially worse. It will work well in their favour, I suppose.”

The spymaster’s normally unreadable face was riddled with confusion. If you were not in pain, you’d have laughed at his expression. He shook his head, continuing to dab at the wounds on your chest as he spoke. “I do not understand,” Azriel continued. “When the bond snapped between Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and I could barely look at Feyre without him snarling at us. I may not have a mate, but I know mates are supposed to be utterly possessive of one another. Why are you not enraged that your mate has another bond?”

You sighed. Azriel would never truly understand – it was obvious that a mating bond was something he desired greatly. For Nesta to have not only one, but two mating bonds surely brought him discomfort. And truthfully, while you were certainly experiencing a whirlwind of emotions at the new information, none of them were associated with anger or jealousy.

Love comes in many forms and unexpected ways, your mother had once told you. Those words had stuck by you all these years, and growing up in Spring had exposed you to all different kinds of relationships. Males had courted males, females had courted females, and you had often heard stories of an individual having multiple courtings, all of which was done with nothing but love, devoid of possessiveness or jealousy.

“Nesta is someone who has not experienced nearly as much love as she should,” You began, meeting Azriel’s hazel gaze. “She is my mate, and nothing will ever change that. There is nothing she can do that will make me love her any less. But I don’t believe the amount of love an individual can receive should be restricted to one person. If Eris is her mate and can grow to love her, what kind of mate would I be to want it denied from her? Nesta deserves all the love that the world can offer her, and if that comes from both me and Eris then I do not see how that could be a bad thing.”

The Illyrian was quiet for a moment, his shadows swirling around his neck as if they, too, were deep in thought. “You make it sound so simple.” He said after a minute.

“Because it is. Nesta and Eris had a connection before the bond snapped into place. They are good for each other, and you know it. You just need to get past your one sided hatred for the male and see it.”

Anger sparked in Azriel’s face. “And what about Cassian?”

“What about him?”

“He loves Nesta. You claim that the Mother… Estelle… told you that Cassian was not one of Nesta’s mates. But there is something between them, both he and Nesta know it. He loves her.”

You curled your fingers into fists, nails biting the sweaty flesh of your palm. “Cassian is no concern of mine.” You snarled at the shadowsinger. “He is for Nesta to deal with. And he is not in love with her, he loves the idea of being with her. You aren’t a fool, Azriel. Every interaction they have turns into a battle, with Cassian making it his mission to push her buttons and disrespect her boundaries. Can you truly look me in the eye and tell me that they are a better match than Nesta and I? Or Nesta and Eris?”

He opened his mouth as if to instinctively defend his brother, but nothing came out. “Thought so.” You continued. “If Feyre and Rhys were not mates, you all would not be pushing for Nesta to be with Cassian as hard as you have. You act like she has to become worthy of his love, as if he is some perfect male. He’s 500 years old, quit making excuses for him and his shitty behaviour.”

Azriel put the blood soaked cloth down, gently pulling the blanket back over your shivering form to cover your body once again. You pitied the male slightly, guilt creeping in for the position he had gotten himself into. You knew Azriel had been loyal to Rhysand for five centuries, and it was clear that this was the first time he felt truly torn.

“If Cassian and Nesta are not mates, then why did Rhys make such a statement?” Azriel asked, turning his body so he sat beside you. A giant wing gently grazed your blanket covered shoulder, as if to provide some sort of comfort. “Does he truly believe they are mates, or was it a lie? I cannot think of why he would lie about something that big.”

“I can.” You snorted, earning an eye roll from Azriel.

“I will not deny my brother’s horrid actions,” He protested, voice edged with anger. “But he loves Cassian, and lying to him about the mating bond–”

“Would be a way to try and lure Nesta back to the Night Court.” You interrupted the shadowsinger. “A means to control her, and convince her to stay.”

Azriel shook his head, scarred hands fiddling with the hilt of his dagger. “You don’t understand. You know Nesta, but I know Cassian. He’s been acting like a male whose mate has been taken from him. His behaviour is erratic and unreasonable, more so than he has ever been. I cannot think of an explanation for that aside from a mating bond, (Y/N). Besides, he can feel her somehow. There’s something tying them together.”

“I believe the Mother more than your High Lord. If she says that Cassian is not Nesta’s mate, then I believe her.” Truthfully, Azriel’s confession about Cassian’s mood lately unsettled you, having lined up with Emerie and Gwyn’s note about the general being unhinged. You had to admit, they sounded like the actions of a distressed mated male. Azriel was right, something was tying them together. You just didn’t know what.

“Regardless, that bears little relevance to the situation currently.” The spymaster said, echoing your thoughts as he steered away from the uncomfortable topic. “You are set to be married to Malgorm by the end of next week. Nesta and Eris are to be wed soon after. Eris is coming up with a plan to stop your wedding, and I suspect killing his father as well. There is no chance that he will be able to defy Beron and end your engagement and get away with it. Beron has to be eliminated, it is the only way to ensure your safety.”

You felt ill. Killing Beron was something you hadn’t thought of as much in light of the problems of the foreseeable future. It only doubled the risk of everything, trying to execute two life-altering plans within such a short window. You didn’t even know if he and Nesta were ready to take on a High Lord. Sure, they were incredibly powerful fae, but Beron had centuries of experience on them. He was cruel, but not stupid.

Eris was risking his entire plan to become High Lord to ensure you weren’t made to marry his cruel younger brother.

Shadows wisped around your face, as if they could hear your thoughts. Beside you, Azriel remained stoic, but spoke softly. “Eris cares about you, too.”

“Sometimes I think I understand him, and other times I feel like I could not be more wrong.” You sighed, tightening your grip on the stained blanket. “He’s a male whose actions are driven by his own secret agenda. I understand how helping Nesta fits into it, but me? Helping me is a courtesy, a generous one even for him. I… I don’t understand why he’s risking so much for me, unless it’s all because Nesta is his mate too.”

“There might be more to Eris Vanserra than I could have ever imagined. Whether that is for better or for worse, I do not know. I will not lie, it makes me uneasy that your fate will be in his hands. But for some reason you have trusted him this far. Time will tell if that trust has been misplaced.”

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t. Perhaps it was because you shared a mate with him, a commonality that would keep you united no matter what. Or perhaps it was that foolish part of your brain that fancied the eldest Vanserra brother from a distance, who had teasingly called you his little fox on the rare occasion he ran into you with Lucien.

You shivered as another chilly gust of wind seeped into the room through the cracked window. It soothed your still stinging wounds beneath the blanket, but you wrapped the fabric even tighter around you. “Whatever Eris is planning, I hope it works.” You mumbled.

“Me too.” Azriel said dryly. “For all our sake.”

*********************

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you stood on the second step of the dias below Beron’s throne. Grand torches lined the red and gold carpet leading up to the throne, illuminating the tapestries lining each wooden wall.

It had been mid morning when the servants flooded your room, scrambling to get you ready for an appearance in court. When you frantically asked what the fuss was about, you were surprised when you received an answer.

“His Grace has received an unexpected visitor,” The oldest of the servants said in a hushed tone. “You and your betrothed are expected with the rest of the family to greet them.”

It had taken less than five minutes for your hair to be done and your dress to be fitted properly before a set of guards had escorted you to the throne room. Upon entering, you had snuck a glance at the other figures on the dias. Lirilla stood left beside the seated High Lord, her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. Eris and Nesta were on Beron’s right, one step below. Both adorned royal outfits in similar shades of red, each wearing an almost identical mask of boredom. Nesta’s arm was linked through Eris’s as a formality, but you noticed how tense she was. Her breathing was shallow, as if being in such close proximity to Eris was too much. Luckily, it appeared to be something only you noticed. To everyone else, they appeared the stone-cold politically arranged couple they were meant to be.

You had tried to reach out to Nesta through the bond, but were met with a wall of stone. You tried not to let it sting as she shut you out, choosing to focus on keeping your expression neutral as you held onto Malgorm’s arm the same way Nesta was with Eris’s. It felt wrong, and every part of you wanted to recoil at his touch. Your skin still felt flayed from the events of last night, but as predicted the dress that Malgorm undoubtedly chose for you this morning covered up all evidence of his actions.

So you fought through the pain, ignoring the sneering looks of Beron’s other sons whose names you did not know. You were almost grateful when harsh words from the High Lord threatening punishment to his offspring put them in line.

The tension in the room was thick. You hadn’t dared try and look back towards Nesta and Eris, not with Beron breathing down your necks. It was only a few minutes after the Vanserra family had gotten in formation when the heavy doors to the throne room opened, and the High Lord of the Night Court strode in.

Your mouth went dry. Your mind flashed with images of that forsaken dungeon, the dark tendrils of the High Lord’s power carving through your skin like butter. Was he here to snatch you away? Piercing violet eyes landed on you as Rhysand approached the foot of the dias, swarming with a mixture of fury and confusion. Nevertheless, he bowed his head to Beron. “High Lord,” Rhys said smoothly. “You are looking well.”

You weren’t fooled by the feigned respect. Luckily, Beron wasn’t either, and you heard the male scoff. “Do not bother yourself with false pleasantries, we both know you don’t actually mean them.” Beron said coldly, his aged voice echoing through the throne room like the power of an ancient god. “Give me one reason why I should not execute you for entering my territory without permission.”

Rhys straightened his shoulders, cocking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he met Beron’s words with a cool tone. “Last I checked, meetings of diplomacy were still favourable between two High Lords, were they not?”

“And yet you have no excuse for the uninvited part.”

“I fear my concerns were too urgent and important to notify you in advance.” Rhys’s voice was saccharine, a veil to disguise his true intentions. On a younger, more inexperienced High Lord, it may have worked. But once again, you found yourself strangely grateful for Beron Vanserra. The older male saw right through his words, and would not be afraid to challenge him.

“And what is so important you had to barge in on my court uninvited?” Beron growled, the flames from the torches along the carpet flaring slightly.

Rhysand’s face was smug, and he looked at you directly as he spoke. “You have in your midst a valuable asset of mine. I want her back.”

A cold pit formed in your stomach as you met his stare evenly, despite your bones trembling beneath his gaze. You were right – Rhys had come to spin some lie about you that was designed to make Beron hand you over to the Night Court. You were a fly trapped in a web, and your hand clenching nervously around Malgorm’s arm was not entirely for show.

“Do explain.” Was all the High Lord of Autumn said in a bored tone.

“The female standing at the bottom of the dias belongs to me. Your eldest son infiltrated my court and kidnapped her on the full moon. He is holding her here against her will in a pathetic attempt to hold leverage over me. I ask that you punish Eris Vanserra for his insubordination and return Lady (Y/N) to me, so I can bring her home where she belongs.”

Your blood ran cold. Rhys wasn’t just trying to get you back, but Nesta as well. He wanted to take down Eris in the process, which would force Beron to not only send you back to the Night Court, but Nesta too since the engagement would be broken off and she would have nothing tying her to Autumn. Panic began to stir inside you. This couldn’t be happening. You braced yourself for Beron’s wrath, demanding Eris be brought to the dungeons for immediate questioning.

But instead, the cruel male just laughed. A bitter, hoarse sound like a broken instrument. “That was a pathetic excuse of a story, even for you, Rhysand.” Beron said, making the Night Court Lord blink in surprise. “Not even well crafted. How dare you come into my court and attempt to manipulate me?”

You heard Beron rise in his throne, and the torches began to flare angrily as the High Lord’s temper rose. “I am no fool. I know that you are only here because you’re desperate from losing your spy that had valuable intel on you. A spy who fled your clutches seeking sanctuary with me because of what you did to her.”

“I did nothing.” Rhys said, which angered Beron even more.

“You lie again! I am well aware that the girl was trained as a spy against her will to repay her debt to you. You were an immature fool to trust a prisoner to spy for you, which is one of the many reasons your court is run so poorly. I saw the wounds you inflicted on her, boy, when she found out you planned to take the title of High King.”

Rhys’s expression revealed shock for a split second, the loss of composure making you laugh internally. You hadn’t expected Beron to defend you so vehemently, especially against another male. But you still clung to every breath nervously as he continued to speak.

“Have you not considered that this information she so eagerly gave you might be a ploy to get you to wage war on my court?” Rhysand said carefully.

“So you admit then that your story was false?” Beron had impressively backed Rhys into a corner, catching him in his lie. “That she was indeed your spy turned rogue?”

Rhys had the nerve to shrug. “All that matters is that she is a member of my court, and I demand you release her to me.” He kept his tone neutral, but you could feel the desperation coming off of him in waves.

“My daughter is no longer a member of your court.”

Rhysand’s face blanched visibly at Beron’s words. He went utterly still, even the pulsing aura of power that always seemed to be around him quieting. His violet eyes found you again, but you kept your chin high. He glanced down at your arm entwined with Malgorm’s, who was no doubt smirking proudly at Rhys. It was strange, hearing Beron refer to you as his daughter.

“What?” The High Lord of the Night Court said quietly.

“As a reward for her bravery in fleeing your grasp, and for the useful information she so willingly provided us with, I have given her the honour of marrying my son Malgorm. She is my daughter now, and you will not take her from me.”

You felt an invisible hot flame on your arm, undoubtedly the power of the High Lord. It beckoned you, pulling you towards the throne where he had seated himself once again. Malgorm had seemingly felt it too, for he guided you up the steps to where Beron sat. You looked into the eyes of the High Lord for the first time. His hair was slicked back identical to Malgorm’s, but faded to an ashy grey in contrast to his son’s fiery red. His sharp face took you in, amber eyes glowing like a snake in the dark. He extended a hand towards you, fingers clad in rings more expensive than everything your village in Spring had owned put together. You smiled as you took it, ensuring you looked grateful. To further paint the image of Beron’s new daughter, you lowered your head and gently kissed his aged hand as a sign of respect for your father-in-law.

Beron looked at you proudly, pulling you closer so you were standing right next to him. His hand was clammy and his grip was ironclad, but you showed no signs of resistance. Malgorm took up his post slightly behind you, an arm on the small of your back in a display of ownership.

Rhysand’s mask had slipped entirely as you stared defiantly down at him, disgust and shock written all over his features. He had not even given Nesta and Eris a second glance, his fury towards you overriding his diplomatic practices. But you did not feel frightened, not with Nesta, Eris, and especially Beron in the same room.

Nothing would happen to you. Beron would protect you for his own selfish reasons, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

“My eldest son did not kidnap the girl.” Beron said coldly, his grip on your hand never faltering. “The day you claim it happened, Eris was assigned to meetings with my courtiers from sunup to sundown, all of whom can act as witness.”

You pushed down your confusion – Eris was most definitely not in meetings that day, and how he had managed to pull this alibi off was something you would have to ask him about later.

Beron continued, authority strong in his voice. “She came to me willingly, and I have welcomed her with open arms. I know who she is – a girl from the Spring Court whom you rescued then used as a pawn in one of your little games, only for her to outsmart you in the end. Never again will my daughter fall into suffering under your hands, Rhysand. If you try to do anything to harm her or remove her from my territory, I will burn your entire court to the ground. Just as I will do if you ever think of claiming the title of High King of Prythian.”

Beron spat the title out, his power filling the room. “You are an immature boy playing games you don’t understand,” He continued dangerously. “And any attempt at seizing lordship over this land will be met with the slaughter of everything you hold dear. I will erase your name from the history books, and there will be nobody left to remember Amarantha’s Whore. And if you think any of the other High Lords would bow down to you, your arrogance is even more stupid than I thought. Now get out of my court, half-breed. And do not return.”

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees

106 notes · View notes