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theladyofbloodshed · 2 months

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Chapter 3 - Ruhn: Nesta's 25? she should be at the club

The phone vibrating on the bedside table told Ruhn Danaan three things. One – he was late. Two – the mirthroot that Flynn had bought was more potent than first thought. Three – there was a snoring faun next to him.

Ruhn leaned over her bare body to reach his cell. He’d missed the call. And six others. Plus a couple of texts.

Hunt Athalar.

‘Stalked by the Umbra Mortis,’ he groaned, flopping back against the pillows. Micah’s insistence that heads of the city’s departments should exchange contact information was proving more of a ball ache than anything.

The faun beside him – Ruhn couldn’t remember her name – stirred then blinked at him with bleary eyes. They’d had fun last night. Well, as much as Ruhn could remember.

He hit the shower, hoping she might find her way out to avoid the awkward exchange, but when he came to his room with a towel around his hips, the faun was still perched on the edge of the bed.

‘I have some, er, aux work to do. I’ll pay for your cab home.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘You can’t remember my name, can you?’

Ruhn flicked his tongue against his lip ring, stalling for time.

The doorbell rang. Over and over, somebody was buzzing at the door and Ruhn had a good idea who.

‘Official aux business,’ he said, ushering her down the stairs despite her muttering under her breath about him being an asshole.

A storm by the name of Hunt Athalar loomed on the stoop. He took a step back before the faun barrelled into him.

‘Seriously?’

It wasn’t Athalar who spoke but the pretty blonde that Ruhn had met a couple of days earlier. Her arms were folded across her chest. The fae look of you’re-a-worthless-piece-of-shit had been perfected on her features.

‘I need to work,’ said Hunt, turning to her and grazing his knuckles down her arm.

‘I am not a child, Hunt. I will manage a day without your company.’

He winced. ‘Nesta, you can’t cross a road without help.’

Her expression stiffened into stone.

Hunt’s wings spread out, veiling them, but not muffling the sound.

‘Hey. I care about what happens to you. Danaan won’t let anything bad happen. I’ll swing by when I’m done. Buy more cookie dough. Watch a movie.’

Ruhn couldn’t stop himself from frowning. This fallen angel was better known for gutting his enemies, not getting cosy with females and watching movies.

‘Answer your cell when I call,’ said Hunt, turning to look at him. Lightning wreathed his hands in warning. ‘Put some clothes on too. Ruhn – no shit today.’

In answer, he gave a lazy salute. The angel clenched his jaw, but didn’t pass comment. He turned to leave, touching Nesta on the shoulder as he departed, before bolting into the sky.

‘Welcome to my humble abode, Nesta Archeron.’

The place was usually a mess, but under her scrutiny, it seemed worse than usual. Ruhn was painfully aware of the peeling, graffitied wallpaper, the scrunched-up beer cans littering the stained carpet and the stench of smoke and alcohol clinging to the walls. The ashtrays were overflowing. A photo of a naked female was tacked to the dartboard with a dart piercing her head. Nesta peered over his shoulder to look into the living room where Flynn was naked and unconscious on the couch then her lip curled with disgust.

Ruhn guided her through the house, picking up discarded beer bottles along the way. Well, even if she wasn’t from Midgard, Nesta maintained the same stuck-up aura as other fae. He could imagine her and Sathia Flynn looking down their noses at one of the lace doily infested tea-houses the fae liked to frequent.

‘Do you engage in such activities every day?’

‘Not every day,’ he replied. Most nights though. And most nights Ruhn would wake up with a gorgeous female beside him with no memory of her name – but he usually sent them home happy. He had a reputation in the city, but it wasn’t a bad one.

‘Hello.’ Dec sat on a stool in the kitchen, already clicking away on his laptop. ‘You’re the fae who fell from space.’

‘Nesta,’ she replied tightly.

Dec held out a hand for her which she tentatively took to shake.

The three of them sipped at coffee in a painful silence once Ruhn had dressed. Dec kept throwing glances his way to encourage him to say something but Nesta had already made her opinion of him – and his home – clear from the pinched expression.

‘Do you need sugar for your coffee, Nesta?’

At Dec’s question, Nesta’s lips parted. ‘It can have sugar?’

‘Sure. And milk.’ Dec pulled open the fridge to sniff the milk. He retched. ‘We don’t have milk.’

Nesta frowned again. ‘How old are you?’

‘We’re only seventy-five.’

Her brows raised again. ‘Only.’

For an unknown reason, Hunt Athalar had taken a liking to this female who had a stick up her ass so Ruhn didn’t want a target on his back for cutting her loose in the city. It would be long fucking day babysitting her. Ruhn glanced down at his cell. A message from his father flashed on the screen. As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

‘What do you like to do, Nesta?’

She glanced around the kitchen at the piles of dishes in the sink and the overflowing bin. ‘To read.’

Thank Luna.

‘How would you like to see Lunathion’s library?’

She jumped off the stool as if sitting on it had been a punishment. Dec had probably cleaned them once or twice. He hadn’t. Flynn didn’t know what a sponge was.

Just as Ruhn thought of his friend, Tristan Flynn staggered into the kitchen. To all of their relief, he’d pulled on a pair of grey boxers. His chestnut-brown hair was flat on one side from his sleep. At the sight of Nesta in their kitchen, he pointed to himself then Ruhn, trying to remember which one of them had spent the night with her.

Ruhn cleared his throat. ‘This is Nesta Archeron. And this is Flynn.’

‘Oh. The female with the magic sword. Nesta. Hello,’ he said, winking. ‘I’m Lord Tristan Flynn.’

Her eyes went from his head to his toes then back up again, entirely unimpressed. ‘You need to bathe.’

***

The reek of sex and alcohol lingered even when they were far away from Ruhn Danaan’s pleasure house. The male was patient with her at the roads – no doubt in response to Hunt’s reprimand that she didn’t know how to cross. It wasn’t Nesta’s fault that those metal vehicles moved so quickly. But it was her fault that she forgot to look each time. On the whole, Ruhn Danaan seemed… fine. Not cruel. Not overwhelmingly arrogant even for a prince. He yawned his way along the walk, stopping to greet people he knew. But Nesta could not shake her prejudice because he looked so much like Rhysand. Even the low timbre of his voice was reminiscent of Rhysand’s despite the differing accent.

‘I have to meet my father,’ he explained. ‘I’ll save you from that. He’ll be panting if he finds out about the sword and he’ll want you wedded and bedded to… somebody.’ Ruhn cleared his throat again. ‘At the library, you can read books for free.’

‘I know what a library is.’

‘Alright,’ he said. Ruhn clung onto her hood at the approach to a busy crossing to stop her from walking into the road.

‘I can do the ones with the lights,’ she insisted.

‘Yeah, wait for the green male, good girl.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

His violet eyes alighted with mischief. ‘What should I call you?’

‘My name,’ she snapped.

The idea of Ruhn – Rhysand’s facial double – trying to flirt had Nesta wanting to shrivel up and die. No, it was bad enough having to listen to her sister and her mate’s toe-curling conversations. Nesta did not want fake-Rhysand to turn the charm on her.

‘You, er, you’re really not from Avallen, are you?’

‘I am from Prythian.’

‘You know of Fionn though.’

Nesta shrugged a shoulder as they continued down a quiet street dotted with trees as a warm, summer’s breeze swept through it. ‘It’s a story that I heard.’

‘I like stories.’

‘I’m not a good story teller,’ she insisted.

They stopped outside an elaborate building of white stone, made to look ancient even if it was new. A row of pillars lined the front, holding the overhanging roof up. Many stairs led to the entrance doors which were propped open. Ruhn led the way and dropped his voice as he pointed out places she could visit within the vast library. There were sections for artefacts, an archive, ancient books which were kept in glass cases, and rows and rows of books that were free for anybody to browse. From his wallet, Ruhn pulled out a faded card. The handwritten numbers were almost illegible.

‘This should still work,’ he said, taking to Nesta to one of the screens with portraits.

‘A television?’

‘Computer.’ He gave her a queer look. ‘You don’t have computers in Prythian?’

‘Obviously not.’

His tattooed fingers glided across the keyboard too fast for Nesta to make out what he’d done – so she pressed him on it.

‘I’ve used my library card to log you in. Still works after all these years. Good old public funding. You get three hours browsing then it will boot you out. You’ll have access to news journals, the internet, videos, whatever you want. Alright.’

Nesta nodded, not understanding most of what the prince had said.

‘Keep this,’ he said, pressing the small card into her hand. ‘If you want any books or whatever.’

‘When will you return?’

Ruhn shrugged. ‘I’ll send Flynn along to keep you company.’

‘Not him,’ Nesta said quickly. ‘Why can’t the other one come?’

‘Dec has a job. Flynn also has a job but he never shows up anyway.’

Once Ruhn Danaan’s steps faded from the library, Nesta was left in peace. The tranquil environment created by a library seemed a universal thing. She watched workers returning books to their rightful place and thought of her brilliant friend likely hard at work in Velaris’ library. Had news of her disappearance reached Gwyn and Emerie or would they hush it up?

Out of curiosity, Nesta searched her own name. It took an agonisingly long amount of time to find each letter but it yielded no results anyway. Then she searched Ruhn Danaan’s name and found pages upon pages of results about him. There was a birth announcement then subsequent ones about major milestones in his life. The portraits – photographs, she reminded herself – of him showed his glossy, black hair lengthening in each one with more and more tattoos added to his skin. His father, the king of the fae, reminded Nesta of Eris Vanserra. Both shared shining, wine-red hair and a long, thin nose but there tended to be amusement on Eris’ face like he knew a joke that nobody else did. Ruhn’s father appeared cruel and unwelcoming.

Nesta couldn’t help but think of Gwyn again and how this process would streamline her research. Rather than finding obscure references in books, a simple search could be entered and the hard work had already been done. It was magnificent.

Her fingers hovered over the keys, wondering what to search next.

H-U-N-T A-T-H-A-L-A-R.

Hunt had just as many entries as Ruhn did. Perhaps he was a prince of angels.

There were news reports that featured his name as one of the malakim who’d worked on a case in the city. He’d caught many demons from Hel, but also prevented a lot of crime in Lunathion. There was the odd photograph of him – where he looked entirely unimpressed to be photographed. Nesta laughed at that. He’d endured her experiments with his cell phone in good enough humour.

THE UMBRA MORTIS PURCHASED BY ARCHANGEL MICAH DOMITUS

Nesta sat close to the screen, scanning the lines of text to ensure she understood it fully. Hunt was a slave, as he’d told her. But he’d had many owners. The latest, Micah Domitus, was his fourth owner and the governor of the city. She hated the way those words were thrown around. Slave. Master. Bought. It made him sound like cattle.

She should have stopped delving into this. It wasn’t Nesta’s business to know – but she had pulled a loose thread and could not let it go until it was unravelled.

Hunt had fought in a battle against other angels. The general he had served had been his leader and his lover. And he’d watched her die at the hands of her sister. He had been prepared to die for his beliefs, but instead a slave brand was inked to his forehead. What had he endured for two hundred years? When would he be free?

‘Hello, gorgeous.’

Nesta scrambled to close down her search history as the irritating fae male slid into the chair beside her.

‘The Umbra Mortis? I can tell you what you need to know,’ said Tristan Flynn with an easy grin.

‘Shh. This is a library.’

‘Then lets get out of here so we can talk,’ he suggested.

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. He reminded her of Helion. No amount of charm would work on her.

‘Ruhn said you know about Fionn. I can tell you our version of the story.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper, ‘The fae one that’s not in any book or article.’

***

For a slave, Hunt rarely had interest in his day’s work. It could be made bearable by the company in the 33rd, but today, Hunt’s heart wasn’t in it at all.

He’d fired off a couple of texts to Danaan asking about Nesta. He didn’t trust the fae not to dump her or piss her off – and he’d learnt that Nesta wasn’t shy or retiring when it came to letting her mood be known. There had been no replies so far.

‘Hunt, you’re in daydream land,’ said Isaiah, waving a hand through the air.

Hunt spread out the papers in front of him at the table. ‘Because you’ve given me the driest task imaginable.’

There’d been an influx of demonic activity in the last four years so Isaiah had him searching for patterns – the time, the location, the type – through old reports. It could not have been more boring. Hunt wasn’t made for paperwork. Hell, nobody was.

‘You’ve been keeping tabs on our friend from the sky?’

Hunt raised a brow. ‘Is that what we’re calling her?’

Isaiah shrugged. ‘Micah will be away for another week. I’ve not let the word out yet. We’ve not found anything on the sword except that it’s magic and hated Ruhn Danaan anywhere near it.’

That did make him laugh. ‘He’s on guard duty today. I wonder if she’ll feel the same way as her weapon.’

***

‘This is what we call a liquid lunch,’ explained Flynn, as he insisted on being called.

The pair of them had tall glasses filled with crushed ice, brightly coloured juice and strong alcohol.

‘And it is acceptable here?’

‘Oh yeah,’ he said, sipping through a straw. ‘You’re on holiday from Prythian. Enjoy the delights that Lunathion has to offer.’

It was difficult not to enjoy his company. Nesta knew he was trying very hard to be liked, but also had an aura that he wouldn’t have cared if she didn’t like him either. It was different to be with the males from this land. Nesta felt safe with them. She could not imagine being left in Illyria or the Hewn City without harm befouling her. Flynn was a flirt, but his handsome smile was offered to every female with a pulse.

Money seemed no object to him either, so she had to wonder what he did or what he was a lord of. When her eyes had snagged on a dress, Tristan Flynn had wasted no time in purchasing it. A pastry pumped with cream had also been bought for her to snack on as they walked along the Istros counting the otters. He’d introduced her to one of the Mer who basked on the bank, enjoying the sun streaming upon his glistening muscles, but Nesta had been reluctant to get too close to the edge after Hunt had mentioned creatures called Sobeks. It brought up too many memories of being dragged to the bottom with the kelpie.

‘I can’t pay you for any of this,’ she replied.

Nesta took a tentative sip of her drink – and found it to taste delightful.

‘Wire me it back from Prythian,’ said Flynn, winking.

‘I have no money there either.’

‘A kept female?’

How right he was, Nesta thought. Everything in Prythian came with a condition. Look for these items or we’ll dump you in the mortal lands. Train or we won’t let you out. Her food, her lodging, her clothing, her everything was benevolently provided by Rhysand as long as she toed the line and did as she was told.

A female pulled up a chair at their table. Flynn’s demeanour changed at once.

‘What are you doing to this poor female, Tristan? She looks positively morose in your company.’

‘Haven’t you got a rich male to sink your claws into in The Five Roses?’

The female was as petite as she was, with light green eyes that were at odds with her dark hair. ‘I was actually on my way to have my hair done then I saw you tormenting a female and thought I might offer her a lifeline out of your abysmal company.’

Nesta had been about to offer that Flynn was not that bad – a shameless flirt perhaps who thought money could buy her affections – when he announced that their guest was his sister, Sathia.

‘I’ve not seen you before,’ she said, in a tone that suggested Sathia knew all of the fae worth knowing.

‘Nesta is visiting from Avallen.’

‘Father will be overjoyed to hear that you’re courting her.’

A blush stole across Flynn’s cheeks. ‘I’m not. Ruhn is.’

‘He most certainly is not,’ Nesta shot back.

Sathia took hold of Nesta’s hand to examine it. ‘Your nails are ghastly. Have you ever had a manicure?’

Nesta did not know the word. She glanced to Flynn who was staring daggers at his sister. ‘No.’

‘Then we must remedy it at once. Tristan, go and find another female to pant over. We’re busy.’

‘Can’t. Ruhn’s tasked me with looking after her.’

Sathia smiled sweetly to her brother. ‘Then I suppose you can come for a manicure too.’

***

A visit with Einear Danaan always left Ruhn bitter and broken inside. No matter what he did, he was always reduced to a boy who could never match his father’s demands. Ruhn could shake it off, pretend he didn’t care, but he always left his father’s villa with another splintering crack running through him.

He hadn’t planned to spend so long there, but his father had kept him, demanding information about the wolves and vamps. They’d gone over reports then his father had insisted on showing him his working model of the universe. That had kept Ruhn longer as he tried to wheedle out information about Fionn and the northern rift from his father without exposing Nesta.

It was dark when Ruhn finally left the Five Roses. There’d been a couple of messages from Athalar. One asking how Nesta was and another saying he would be later than planned but to stay with her until he arrived.

Ruhn groaned. If she hadn’t killed Flynn in all the time that they’d been together, it would be a miracle.

‘Dec, where’s Flynn?’ Ruhn asked into his cell. ‘He’s not picking up.’

Music thumped in the background of wherever Dec was. Through the cacophony, Ruhn made out, ‘We’re all in the White Raven.’

Hunt Athalar was going to kill him.

***

Sathia Flynn was going to kill her.

They had managed to lose her brother in a nail salon when his patience frayed. He’d given Nesta a card and said it was for emergencies only. It was not like the library card that Ruhn had given her. This one allowed Sathia to purchase anything.

Both her fingernail and toenails had been trimmed and buffed then painted. They’d gone to another shop where Nesta’s hair had been cut an inch or two shorter, but Sathia had her hair painted too and complained keeping it dark was so much upkeep – whatever that meant. They had gone shopping for heeled shoes and clothes that Sathia used her brother’s card to pay for. Then they’d gone to another place where Nesta had experienced pain like no other. Hot wax had been put on her body to rip out her hair.

‘Is it supposed to be this painful?’

They were in the bathroom of a club. She imagined Rita’s to look similar, but music played so loudly that it made the walls vibrate. They had drunk lots of cocktails. Her favourite – and the most difficult to ask for – was sex on the beach. Sathia and her friends had dusted glitter on to her face – and their own. One, Alice, was applying more make up in the mirror. Nesta barely recognised herself with her hair unbound and cosmetics on her skin too.

‘You can go commando,’ offered Sathia.

Nesta narrowed her eyes. She knew what that meant thanks to Hunt. ‘Do males do the same? The waxing down there?’

One of Sathia’s friends, Prunella, swigged at a bottle of wine where she sat on the sink. ‘You’re lucky if they trim.’

‘That’s why you get a vibrator,’ chimed in Alice.

‘What’s a vibrator?’

Sathia squealed. ‘I just love her.’ She ran her hand against Nesta’s hair. ‘Right. Shots and dancing. Let’s go.’

***

Hunt felt his age when he left the Comitium. A day spent at a desk had left his neck and back aching from holding up his wings. When he landed at Ruhn Danaan’s home, none of the lights were on. He bit back his irritation and dialled his number.

‘Where are you?’

Hunt had no doubt that Nesta would be able to hold her own. The issue was she was naïve in their world and he knew what fae pricks were like.

‘We’re out,’ said Ruhn.

‘Where?’

There was a slight intake of breath. ‘The White Raven.’

Fae assholes.

It was a short flight to the Old Square. The owner of the club was a butterfly shifter who was still on the door greeting patrons. At the sight of Hunt landing, with lightning crackling in the air, his jovial expression changed to one of concern.

‘Not trouble here, I hope?’

‘Off the clock,’ he replied tightly. ‘Come to visit a friend.’

‘There won’t be trouble?’

Hunt threw him a bland smile. ‘Let’s hope not.’

He spotted the three fae pricks drinking amongst other females at a booth near the door with Nesta not amongst them. Hunt worked his jaw as he marched over. One day, Ruhn Danaan would learn to grow up.

‘Where is she?’

‘In my defence,’ slurred Tristan Flynn, ‘it was my sister who brought her here. We’re just on guard duty, doing as we're told, Umbra Mortis.’

Declan Emmett, the most amenable of the three, pointed towards the throbbing dance floor. ‘She’s just enjoying the music.’

The others began peeling away from her at the sight of the Umbra Mortis striding through the crowd, a scowl on his face. Loose and free, Nesta was dancing amongst a group of fae females with her gorgeous hair tumbling behind her, without a care.

Gone was the female in leathers with a sword strapped to her spine. Gone was the female who found jeans uncomfortable. She was lost in the music, utterly free. One of the fae had shelled out on a new wardrobe for her, by the looks of the sparkly, black dress that skimmed her thighs and clung to her narrow waist. A shimmer of pink glitter dusted her cheeks.

When Nesta finally noticed the ebb of the crowd as he approached, she finally snapped her attention towards him.

‘Orion!’

Before Hunt could react, Nesta had moved at preternatural speed – faster than fae in Midgard could move – to throw her arms around his neck and lean all of her weight on him. Hunt lifted her off the floor to steady both of them and Nesta pressed deeper into his body.

Nobody had called him Orion for a long time – and never with such warmth.

She kissed his cheek. ‘Have you come to dance?’

‘No,’ he replied over the thump of the music. ‘To see you safely home. I was worried. Do you want to go with me?’

'I will go wherever you lead me, Orion.'

There was little resistance from Nesta who seemed happy to be led through the crowd towards the exit. From the giddy expression, she’d had a lot of drinks under Ruhn Danaan’s care. Hunt pulled off his jacket to protect her from the chill of the night on the way out.

‘Did you have fun with Ruhn?’

Nesta gave him a funny sort of smile with bleary eyes. ‘The Prince of Pricks.’

‘Shh,’ he reminded her as they passed a group of fae also staggering along the path. ‘You’ll get me into trouble.’

Hunt held out a hand for Nesta to take to steady her clumsy steps. Instead, she fell against him, knocking the air from his ribs as her arms came around his body.

‘Thank the Mother that he isn’t like Rhys even if they have the same face,’ she said.

On the walk home, Hunt hoped the fresh air might sober her up but it only emphasised just how drunk she was. Twice, he’d had to grab her before she planted her face into the concrete then she insisted she wanted to walk along a wall so Hunt had held her hand tightly while Nesta stepped across the crumbling brick in perilously high heels like a wobbling toddler. At the end, she leapt into his arms – before he was ready, so the pair had nearly gone down together.

‘I missed you today,’ she said with colour high in her cheeks.

It was just drunken talk, but Hunt would play that on a loop in his mind until he was dust.

It was too far to her hotel. If they walked, they might be there by sunrise with the pace Nesta was setting and Hunt didn’t want to risk her throwing up on him if they flew. The Comitium loomed on the horizon, still a hub of activity despite the late hour. He’d take her to the barracks. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody had been snuck in, although never by him.

‘Are you going to lock me up, Hunt Athalar?’

He grinned at that. ‘Have you committed an offence?’

Nesta gave him another inebriated smile as she clambered up another low wall to walk along. ‘I used to be a very bad girl. So they locked me in the House of Wind and destroyed my home and made me train until I was very good girl,’ she slurred.

Hunt lifted her off the wall before she fell and broke her neck.

‘Who locked you up?’

‘My family. My sisters. Cassian. Rhysand. All of them.’ She threw out her hands like it should have been obvious. ‘They all sat and told me how useless I am. You have become a pathetic waste of life.’ Nesta gave a low laugh then jabbed him in the chest. ‘Not eating won’t bring your father back, Hunt. And – my personal favourite – we did this because we love you. We ruined your life, ruined your future, but it’s because we love you.’

‘Stop,’ Hunt commanded, holding her still. ‘What are you talking about?’

Then it all came out, as if Nesta couldn’t stop herself. How she’d witnessed her father’s neck snap and retreated into herself because she couldn’t cope with the grief. How she drank every single night and took men to her bed to hate herself more. That her family had staged an intervention and forced her to become a warrior even if she had never wanted it. That her sister’s child would kill her but when Nesta revealed the truth, the male she was entwined with forced her to march until she collapsed. If Hunt ever met him, he’d kill him.

Nesta crawled onto the path then flopped onto her back. ‘The whole world is spinning.’

Despite Hunt’s attempts at trying to lift her up, she’d become a deadweight and patted the ground so he’d be beside her.

‘Nesta, we can’t lay in the middle of the path.’

‘Please,’ she begged, voice full of pleading so desperate that it twisted his heart.

What the hell was he doing? Hunt eventually lay next to Nesta on the concrete. The bright lights of the streetlamps blocked out most of the stars so he had the mad urge to fly her all the way to Mount Hermon for a better view. The night before that final battle, he and Shahar had fucked like animals – but Hunt had gone out to look at the stars one last time before the dawn took them. The stars had been stunning. And he had naively took it as a good omen because they’d made him hope of a better future.

‘I ruin everything, Hunt.’

He laced his fingers into hers. ‘That makes two of us then.’

Nesta closed her eyes, her other hand pressing against her forehead.

‘What did you drink today?’

‘Cocktails. Shots. Liquid lunch.’

Oh, she would need a medwitch in the morning to stop the hangover from hell.

‘They didn’t give you any mirthroot? No lightseeker?’

‘I don’t know what they are.’

When Nesta was ready, she pushed off from the ground and scrambled upright again. In the morning, he’d call Ruhn Danaan to give him an earful about getting a female who was lost in their world blind drunk.

From the bare shoulders that her dress exposed, Hunt could see the tattoo on Nesta’s back again.

‘The male who made a deal with you and made you hike - is he your mate?’

Nesta threw up her hands then flopped onto a wooden bench on the sidewalk. ‘He trapped me in a house and laughed at me when I fell down the stairs. He fucking better not be.’

Hunt crouched down in front of her, touching a length of her hair. ‘Let’s get you to sleep. We will talk about it all tomorrow and see if I can help.’

Although, he doubted he’d get this much truth from her in a sober state.

Her mood was swinging to a different emotion every minute so Hunt wasn’t sure which Nesta he’d see next.

‘I don’t think you’d make me carry a heavy bag and make me walk until I collapsed.’

‘Never.’

Her hand touched his face, stroking it gently. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I did something stupid.’

Hunt caught her hand and kept it cradled to his face.

‘I went to the library and I searched your name. I know why you’re slave. I know what happened.’

It meant Nesta knew about Shahar. Sandriel. The war. The slaughter. Who he was. What he did.

She freed her fingers to touch the witch-ink on his brow.

‘Orion,’ murmured Nesta.

There would come the inevitable revulsion. Some still believed in their cause even if they’d never act on it, but most found it laughable. Each person had a place in life, a standing which would never change. If you were at the bottom, then it was tough luck. Those at the top would always be there. Hunt had been a fool to hope he could change the world. And he’d lost everything as a result.

Tears spilt down her cheeks. ‘I wish there was a Hunt Athalar in my world fighting for people like me.’

‘Nobody wants that,’ he replied, standing and deflecting from the tenderness in Nesta’s voice. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

The bubble of emotion that Nesta had shown to him was replaced for a strange sort of anger where everything irritated her on the final portion of the walk. When she walked into the hedge, despite his best efforts in tugging her out of its path, Nesta kicked it – then told it off for hurting her leg. At the Comitium, Hunt took her in the elevator but forgot how curious it would make her. When he showed her how to press a button for their floor, she pressed every single one then complained that it was a ridiculous invention for stopping at every floor.

There were some battles that Hunt knew not to engage in.

He steered Nesta into one of the kitchens. It was a small, rudimentary thing for snacks with most meals provided in a mess hall. The toaster worked, so two slices of toast were shovelled into her mouth to try and sober her a little before sleep. Her lips glistened from the butter and she ate with her eyes closed.

‘Shall we watch Bangs and Fangs?’ Nesta asked as she tried to throw an arm around his neck, but managed to collide with the wall instead.

‘Fangs and Bangs. You need to sleep. We can catch a Sunball game tomorrow, if you like. I’m not working.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘You’re in for a treat then.’ He unlocked the door and pushed it open. ‘In you go.’

Hunt made a noise at the back of his throat. Nesta had barely even stepped into the room before she whipped her dress off over her head, tossed it on the bed, then staggered towards the bathroom. Half-way there, she bent over – glorious ass on full display in a lacy green thong – to take off one shoe which she threw across the room then stumbled the final distance.

This was going to be a long night.

#hunt x nesta #hutn athalar #ruhn danaan #tristan flynn #nesta archeron #sathia flynn #declan emmett

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wingedblooms · 2 months

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Marked by Wyrd

Long ago, life blossomed from an iron Cauldron and created the world. The three sacred sister peaks—a reflection of Wyrd (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) herself—may have risen from the ground at this time. Three interconnected pieces of a whole. Regardless of when they rose, they are marked by Wyrd physically and magically. The watery veins of the land, flowing from peak to peak, even smell of iron. These sacred sisters hold the secrets of the land and their people, just as their creator carries secrets of the universe in her dark womb.

After thousands of years, Wyrd Made another triad of blessed sisters (and the one most connected to nature even rose from the ground like a sacred sister peak). Three interconnected pieces of a whole. There are signs from the very beginning that they, too, are marked by Wyrd.

The sisters were born in their mother’s enormous ironwood bed (connecting them to witches as well as the iron womb of Wyrd).

When their fortune changed and they moved to the stone cottage, their father made sure they were protected by ward-markings…or were those Wyrdmarks? (@ultadverb pointed this out to me and it’s been on my mind since.)

Whorls and swirls? That’s exactly how Aelin describes them, too. Definitely Wyrdmarks.

Two of the sisters wore iron bracelets for added protection, and Elain was given an engagement ring made of iron.

Not a coincidence, it seems, as they were reborn in Wyrd’s iron womb.

Instead of iron bracelets, they now wear iron crowns, which are magical links to Wyrd and maybe even her protective powers, like the swirls and whorls of Wyrdmarks on their cottage.

Regardless of how they were Made, all three sisters are blessed by fate Wyrd and reborn with unique powers, maybe even Immortal Light…

To match Rhysand, who is ✨Starborn✨.

The Night Court’s insignia honors this Immortal Light: a triad of stars glow above Ramiel, the heart of their court and perhaps even the world, each spring. Three interconnected pieces of a whole. A beacon of light and life for those with the vision and powers to see it. Where Wyrd, blossoming life, once rested.

As though fated, Feyre and Elain encounter a tapestry of this insignia near solstice. They both hear the story of the weaver who made Hope after she mastered Void. Feyre and Nesta have faced their own grief and created a more hopeful future for themselves. They have both also used that iridescent, living light to help others. Elain will soon face her own demons, maybe even the Void itself. She will face it and find her own strength: a living, colorful bloom of starlight. And maybe once she blossoms with her own hopeful light, her sisters—chosen bearers of Wyrd like their mountainous counterparts—will be there beside her, glowing like starfire.

The heart of the world resting in the palms of their luminescent hands. Three interconnected pieces of a whole. Together.

#hofas spoilers #three sacred sister peaks #three sisters blessed with immortal light #a match for starborn power #basically the NC insignia #the heart of the world in the palm of their hands #archeron sisters #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #mother cauldron fate #feysand #nessian #elriel

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justthinkinboutbooks · 21 days

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Elucien and Gwynriel would be way too similar

I was thinking about what the potential conflicts for these couples would be and they have some striking similarities.

First of all, they would be the same as every other SJM couple: fated mates that, for whatever reason, didn't want to be together at first.

That's the biggest thing that draws me to Elriel, the fact that they would be something completely different.

But I digress.

The main conflict for Elucien is already established: they're uncomfy around each other. But I truly don't think that's enough to carry a whole romance. There's not enough feeling, good or bad, between them. So what else could keep them apart?

Elain's trauma. Or the reminder of trauma.

That's one of the first things Elain says to Lucien. "You betrayed us." And while, no, he had no part in the plan that got her and Nesta kidnapped and turned fae, he was an active member of the original plot that directly led to it. He's a contributing party to her worst trauma, the thing that ended her engagement to the man she loved.

Overcoming that would be a big thing. And are those two things together enough to carry a romance? To be fair, yes, I think so. And if Gwynriel (and Elriel) weren't on the table, I may even be for it.

But it is. So let's talk about Gwynriel.

Gwyn and Az have absolutely no external factors that would keep them apart. Like, who would care? No one.

So, what's their conflict.

One facet would be Az himself, his self-worth. But it doesn't matter who he ends up with, that will be a plot point. Considering an Elriel endgame scenario has other conflicts, we have to assume that Azriel's self-worth problems aren't enough to carry a romance.

Also, Gwyn and Az get along perfectly well at this point. They have an amicable trainer/trainee relationship, so how much they like each other wouldn't be a barrier either. So what else could we have based on what we currently know from the books?

Gwyn's trauma.

No, I do not think it should be something that defines her character. But if we have her as our FMC for a Gwynriel story, then it has to be dealt with.

And Azriel is a direct reminder of her trauma. Of course, he had nothing to do with it, but he was there that day. He saw her at her worst moment. And in the BC, when they first meet, they both think about it.

Her trauma that's so bad she lives in the Library and doesn't feel comfortable going further than the training ring. Overcoming her trauma just in general and with the fact that her potential LI reminds her of that would be a massive obstacle.

But it's too similar to Elucien.

And never mind the fact that the things Gwyn uses to heal (training, working in the library, and her friendship with the Valkyries) are the exact same as Nesta's. We've already read that book. We don't need to read it again with the same love story as Elucien.

#acotar #elriel #azriel #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #sjm #lucien vanserra

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cateyesinlove · 4 months

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To my secret Santa, Merry Christmas @sirenarts , haven meeting you is one of the best things this year and I will forever be grateful I get to call you my friend!

AO3

“No” Azriel simply answered while cheeking some paper from a folder, leaning into his desk with ease as if he didn’t have the fiercest of lawyers in the whole New York area in front of him murdering him with her sight, Lady Death herself, Nesta Archeron.

“What do you mean no” she growled, arms crossed and fuming.

Azriel let a sigh out and dragged his hand down his face, “ It means I am not taking time off from my job to go around asking who wants to come with me on an adventure where I follow some influencer girls around like a lost puppy for a beauty brand launch party.” He answered harshly, “ I’ll lose all credibility, Nesta”

Azriel has only felt fear three times in his life, his line of work didn’t necessarily allow him to feel it more often

When his hands were burned

When he almost died

And now watching Nesta smile like the devil herself standing in front of him.

“ Well good thing you need to do neither of those things,” Nesta said smiling scarily chipper, she uncrossed her arms and put them in her waist. “ Emerie has already agreed and Cassian told me you had already taken the week off so you can do your usual brooding in the mountain.”

Azriel was left speechless.

Then he frowned, “ How did you get Berdara to do it, she is worse than me with time off and that is something.” he asked.

Nesta shrugged smirking, putting her hands in her pockets.

“I guess it’s just one of the many perks of being an awesome lawyer who saves your fucking asses all the goddam time.”

Azirel rolled his eyes, being a bodyguard was a great job and it paid well whoever you were also sued a lot depending on the clients you worked with and how much of an assholes they were

“ Well I might still refuse Nesta,” he said defensively

Nesta smile somehow grew bigger and she pulled her phone out showing it to Azriel. “ Oh have I forgotten to tell you the person I need you to take care of is Elain?” she asked, in her phone a photo from the photoshoot of Elain’s new brand; Elain was dressed in a flower gown surrounded by all types of plants and holding some of her products.

He was left breathless.

Azriel’s first thought, as it always was whenever he saw Elain, was that she looked beautiful. There was a shine to Elain that Azriel had only been able to find in the stars in the night. Her glow was incomparable.

He felt his ears and face grow hot and a blush took over his face.

Fuck.

Nesta laid the trap for him and he fell like the idiot he was.

He cleared his throat and scratched his neck with the other, “ Yes, you forgot that very important detail, Nesta,” he scowled

Nesta laughed, “ Well what can I say, it is fun to toy around with you when it comes to Elain,” she said examining her engagement ring.

“ You don’t have to gloat on my misery Nesta,” he said, a sigh of exhaustion scaping him as he let himself fall on his chair.

“ You can always call her Azirel,” Netsa said rolling her eyes at the stupidity of her future brother-in-law.

“Nesta,” he warned with a serious tone.

“Fuck off,” she responded irritated, “ She broke up with that loser months ago Azriel, you could have easily called her and asked her out and-”

“Nesta respectfully fuck off, it’s none of your business.” he cut her off tired of hearing the same thing from the same people.

His brothers.

His sisters-in-law.

And his three-year-old nephew.

‘So, will you do it yes or no?” Nesta asked irked.

“Of course, I’ll do it, Nesta,” he said exhausted putting his hands on his face.

“ I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said walking out of his office with a smile.

_____________________

“ So what exactly does Nesta have on you to convince you to be doing this?” Azriel asked Emerie as they examined the surrounding area where they were waiting for the car with Elain and her friends for the launch party.

“Not necessarily what but who” she grumbled fixing her glasses and walking towards the car that had arrived, opening the door.

“SUNSHINE!” a small ginger woman exclaimed as she walked out of the car, dressed in a modest teal dress and her straight pin hair loose, a small broach with a moon holding it out of her face. The woman threw herself at Emerie kissing her cheek.

Azriel didn’t know what to do, he froze for a moment and when he was ready to tackle the girl he saw Emerie laugh and hold her by the waist hugging her, she kissed the woman and separated from her turning a more professional stand as she could probably see photographers appear, keeping a discrete hang on the back of her wife

“Azriel, this is my wife, Gwyn Berdara.” Emerie introduced with a smile.

Azriel couldn’t help but smile, “ Oh so this is why you accepted the job?” he asked laughing

“ Oh like the reason you accepted was any better?” Asked Feyre as she climbed out of the car with Nesta.

All the girls laughed as Azriel went red, then panicked flooding him as he looked over at the car but the door was closed, he started to look everywhere for another car, Elain’s car.

“Don’t panic,” Nesta said putting the poor boy out of his misery, Elain and the twins are coming in another car.

Ease flooded his body until he saw a white car approaching and off the car came out Elain.

Beautiful, wonderful, splendid Elain, in a beautiful dress adorned with flowers of all types, but all of a pink and white scheme along side with some vines.

As Elain climbed out of the car, the first person she saw was Azriel, extending a hand to her, Like all those years ago.

“Az,” she said his name in surprise, a whisper only for him to hear but with a huge smile on her face.

He took her hand and smiled back at her, “ Elain” he greeted with the same huge smile.

“I- wha- what are you doing here?” she said still smiling and hugged him, she couldn’t keep her excitement, the last time he had seen him was months ago, and she missed him too much.

Which was a mistake, especially with all the cameras around them.

NEWS FLASH!

Icon Elain Archeron seen at her launch debut with new beau?

Who is this handsome mysterious man?

3276 Likes 298Comments Shares

Purpleunicornc

Okay but the sunshine x sunshine protector tropes

Starwhogazes

It’s the pink-and-black aesthetic for me

Jediemma

Okay but Elain the lovely fawn and a man who looks like her protector? Iconic

Nikethestatue to Jediemma

Like death itself?

Jasmineandshadows

OMG death and the lovely fawn? Iconic

Siren.arts

OKAY they are my new favorite couple!

“Let’s go” he whispered holding her waist and shielding her as much as he could from the flashes to the building. “ Oh and,” he started chuckling a bit. “Nesta asked me to keep you safe.” he answered, “ and I will always look out for you.”

Elain went red to the face but gave him a huge smile. “ I know,” she answered as they entered the building.

Cerridwen and Nuala came out of the car and gathered with the rest of the girls as they saw the scene play before them.

“Ugh he is such an idiot,” said Nesta crossing her arms and looking at them.

“Leave them alone Nesta,” Feyre answered laughing, “ They need time.”

“They are both idiots,” answered Nuala rolling her eyes, “They are the only ones who don’t know they are madly in love with each other.”

“It’s going to be a long week,” Cerridwen answered holding her sister by the shoulders and directing her to the building.

“Yes, it will” Answered Nesta walking with arms intertwined with Gwyn who was giggling.

Emerie shakes her head with a small chuckle and follows everyone inside

#elriel #pro elriel #Elriel fic #bodyguard au #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x elain #gwyn berdara #emerie of illyria #emerie acotar #emerie acosf #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #nuala and cerridwen #gwynerie #gwyn x emerie #emerie x gwyn

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nikethestatue · 4 months

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This is my opinion in the subject of Elain's gifts.

Elain, more than anyone (other than Feyre) has received all kinds of gifts, and from 3 different men, no less.

We have Graysen's engagement ring

We have Lucien's gloves and pearl earrings

We have Azriel's rose necklace

Graysen's engagement ring--iron, with a pearl--spoke of his essence. He was violently anti-Fae, he was a warrior and a protector. His ring to his future wife was made of iron (to 'protect' her, to 'ward off' the enemy), had an impersonal, token gem in it, and it was something that Elain loved, just like she loved Graysen. Her hold on the ring, which she refused to relinquish, was her tether to her old life, to her old self. She cried for the ring, and for everything that she'd lost when she was Made, and she felt as emotional about it as she did about Graysen's rejection of her.

The steel that Elain was once so dependent on for protection now forges her. She is not the same girl who was Made. She is more like her sister Nesta--we see that in ACOSF. This new Elain, the Elain who was Made, dumped, who saw the death of her father, who was in a war, and who killed the king, has a new kind of softness. A steely softness. This Elain don't take shit from nobody. Not from her sister. Not from the IC. Not from Azriel.

When Nesta lashed out at her, she lashed out right back. She is still emotional about those she loves--she cried over Nesta, but she also wasn't going to put up with any more shit. It's not Elain trailing after Rhysand. It's the High Lord trailing after Elain, flying her back and forth and giving her the scenic flyby of Velaris. This Elain says 'by using me' and this new Elain is ready to go and look for Trove objects. "Find me when you are ready," she tells them.

So when Azriel gifts her a beautiful necklace that she loves, and calls 'beautiful' and when she tells him to put it on her and when she offers him to kiss her--this Elain knows what she wants. And when he says 'this was a mistake' the new Elain returns the necklace. Why? Because she is no longer a weepy pushover who let her family or her previous men put her in the corner. The return of the necklace is a prideful gesture, but also an emotional one. She is sad and upset, but she is not going to beg or cry. She let's him know everything that she is feeling when she leaves the necklace on top of the pile of all of his gifts. To me, this speaks of her emotional growth. She isn't reactive like Nesta, but her reaction is sharp and telling. It will be Azriel who will be groveling this time.

Which leads me to Lucien's presents. And here, we see the absence of emotion. She doesn't...care. She isn't angry or resentful, she isn't hurt or upset. She. Doesn't. Care. She doesn't use the gifts because she doesn't want to give Lucien any ideas--no notion of interest on her part, no notion of 'acceptance' of him or his bond. But also, indifference. It's not like she is using the gloves or wears the earrings when he isn't around. She put them all in a drawer and forgot about them.

And I think that's what's so telling about Elain's feelings: to those she cares about, she reacts. She reacted to Graysen, to Azriel, to Nesta...Lucien, not so much.

And SJM, who built entire chapters around Solstice and Solstice gifts, around gift giving and receiving, definitely emphasises Elain's reaction to all of them.

#elain archeron #elain #pro elain archeron

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acourtofthought · 6 months

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Tamlin gave Feyre an engagement ring. Something I'm guessing he never gave to anyone else.

It didn't make them endgame.

Az let Elain borrow his dagger. Something he'd never done for anyone else.

It doesn't mean they'll be endgame.

Tamlin gave Feyre jewelry which she accepted but then gave to the water-wraith.

The giving of jewelry didn't make them endgame and Feyre easily parting with it was foreshadowing.

Azriel gave Elain a necklace which she accept but then easily returned (not to be confused with Nessian considering Nesta flat out refused her gift from the get go).

Why can't that also be possible foreshadowing for the end of E/riel? At this point she's got a stronger connection to Graysen than Az considering she refused to return his ring when he demanded it back. To me that demonstrates Elain is the kind of character to hold on to something when it still has meaning to her versus Nesta who refused gifts that had too much meaning.

Tamlin had such lust for Feyre, he told her the magic of Fire Night had him searching for her.

That didn't make them endgame

Az spent a year pleasuring himself to fantasies of Elain, but only in the dead of the night when his shadows were asleep.

If Tamlin being drawn to Feyre during a ceremony which brings magic to their lands for an entire year still didn't make them endgame then why would Elain being Az's dirty little secret have more staying power?

Feyre was frustrated at being expected to wear dresses in the Spring Court.

That was foreshadowing that she wasn't meant to stay there and was only truly comfortable wearing them once she ended up in the NC.

Elain was noted by both Cassian and Nesta as looking bad in black (a Night Court color) and Elain herself refused the Illyrian leathers.

Why can't that be foreshadowing that she's meant to leave the NC just as Feyre left Spring?

Feyre once said the night Tamlin kissed her was the happiest moment of her life. She also enjoyed painting in the Spring Court at one point and felt she found a friend in Ianthe.

We all know how that turned out.

Elain seems somewhat adjusted in the NC with hobbies and "friends".

Is it not possible that just as we later discovered Spring was not where Feyre was going to thrive despite the initial evidence to the contrary, we'll find out the same for Elain but in reverse?

Tamlin only wanted to protect Feyre too, keeping her safe from harm, despite the fact that she told him she wanted to be more involved.

That didn't end up together.

Az doesn't think Elain should be exposed to the darkness of the Trove which is essentially him wanting to keep her safe despite the fact that she expressed the desire to do more.

Why would they end up together when Tamlin and Feyre didn't?

Feyre was initially very afraid of Rhys, to the point she said she'd never want to paint him. He twisted her bone, forced her to dress and dance proactively and manipulated her into a bargain.

Yet in ACOMAF she fell in love with him before hearing his reasoning for his actions in ACOTAR, later listened to his reasonings and the acceptance of the mating bond reigned supreme.

Elain already knows what happened in Hybern was a mistake and not what Lucien intended, she sees that Feyre continues inviting him around for holidays (therefore seems to grasp that no one is holding a grudge over what happened with the king) and her only real struggle in regards to romance at this point is knowing that she lost her fiance because of the mating bond and being turned. Knowing that fate thinks it knows best for her (which tbh, it kind of does 😂).

If SJM worked her magic and had us believing in Feysand, if Feyre could fall in love with Rhys without initially knowing why he scared Tamlin into sending her back to the human lands, got her drunk, forced her to dance in front of everyone, and trapped her into an agreement with him, then why is anyone acting like Elain and Lucien have bigger obstacles to overcome?

I love Feysand and I have no grudge over what happened in their past but let's be honest, what he did to Feyre was 10x worse than anything Lucien has ever done to Elain. The things Feyre had to overcome to end up with Rhys were a much bigger deal than Elain finding out she had a mating bond with Lucien, something Lucien did not do to her but was done by the Mother / Fate itself (and really, the same thing fate did to Feyre and Nesta).

Elain has her own traumas to work through and I'm not saying they're less traumatic than Feyre or Nesta's, they've been / will be equally as difficult for her to work through.

But anyone claiming there's too much water under the bridge when it comes to her and Lucien needs to go back and read how SJMs other endgame relationships started.

Lucien has been practically perfect in comparison to the way Rhys and Cassian acted with Feyre and Nesta at times.

Elain's biggest problem is not going to be forgiving Lucien but letting go of her prideful stubbornness. All she needs to do is stop being put out over the fact that maybe fate did know a bit better than her (because really, she's holding a grudge that she couldn't even get her mother's one expectation of her right by choosing Graysen) and her every single desire will come true. SJM has made it obvious that Lucien is absolutely perfect for her and they could share in a life beyond her wildest dreams.

Right now Elain is her own worst enemy and that's so very Pride and Prejudice of SJM.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #elucien bond #antie/riel #antielriel

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offtorivendell · 8 months

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Elain's engagement ring may be Made; a theory 💍

Does it mean she is a witch? What about Nesta?

🌸 Elain Archeron Week 2023, Day 1 - Seer/Powers

Please don't screenshot or share this post without credit.

Disclaimer: this theory is a bit all over the shop, sort of like my life right now. The textual evidence might be a bit sparser than usual, sorry. 🫠

Spoilers: the ACOTAR, CC and TOG series to date (2023).

This theory probably wouldn't exist without the lovely @123moiaussi, who messaged me after I posted this theory suggesting that Elain may have Made the necklace that Azriel gave her on Winter Solstice in ACOSF. She wondered if Elain had possibly Made her engagement ring, in addition to/instead of her necklace - which is a solid theory and could definitely still pan out! - but a little later I had a thought; what if the Cauldron already Made Elain's engagement ring when she became High Fae?

She was wearing it when she went in, so why not?

It would then parallel other Cauldron Made items, such as Gwydion - and very likely Truth-Teller, if it is fully confirmed to be Made in a future book - which was dipped into the Cauldron by the High Priestess Oleanna. Metal (and pearl) goes into the Cauldron (in this case iron, not meteorite, which could always make a difference in how it reacts to the Void within) and, hypothetically, comes out imbued with the Cauldron's own magic.

Elain's refusal to give the pearl and iron ring back to Graysen then makes a lot of sense in this new context, beyond her understandably grieving the end of their relationship - could a human even hold it and survive? - as she may hear it calling to her, singing to its kin, as I often wonder if she hears Truth-Teller, and possibly even Azriel's "beautiful" siphons (as Bryce from CC hears a certain sword, one of many parallels that exist between the two).

Rhys winked at her. Feyre rolled her eyes. But then she said to Nesta, “Elain will need time to dust off her powers to try to See the Trove. But you, Nesta … You could scry again.” Rhys added, “As swiftly as possible. Time is not our ally.” - ACOSF, chapter 21

When Rhys spoke of Elain needing time* to "dust off" her powers, it sounds like he's referring to an item. Her ring? What might it do? And how?

* As an aside, the wording in this passage is strange. "Time is not our ally" made me look twice this time around. Could Rhys unknowingly be referring to a god of time, similar to Chronos or Aion? From whom Elain may need help with her powers? Both are associated with cyclical time, which brings me straight back to my theory that Elain may need to collect the Ouroboros from the Bone Carver's Prison cell to Look further than she has before, or to even use it as a portal.

There's no confirmation that Elain still wears her old engagement ring either way, at least not since Feyre remarked on it in ACOWAR. Has Elain put it away somewhere safe, possibly not knowing that she is drawn to it, finding herself unable to part with it even though she has moved on from Graysen by ACOSF, as demonstrated by the following quote:

Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up. - ACOSF, chapter 17

Or has the hypothetically Made ring glamoured itself such that it is forgotten, as Made items are able to do, and that's why nobody has mentioned it in two books even though she still wears it? But I digress; if it is now a Made item, what might Elain's engagement ring be able to do?

Trove of Dreams

I mentioned earlier that I have previously theorised that Elain could have Made her rose necklace on that emotionally tumultuous winter solstice night in ACOSF, a book in which Nesta Made her own trio of weapons: sword, greatsword and dagger. Now of course, there is still the distinct possibility that her necklace will go the way of Cassian's Sidra-bound ACOFAS solstice gift to Nesta and barely rate a mention in the next book, but there's also a chance that it's Made (or even came to her with powers already instilled in it, like the knives and necklaces that exist in the catacombs under the Hewn City).

So, to mirror Nesta's Trove of Nightmares, what if Elain will Make a Trove of Dreams? What would such a trove even entail? A rose necklace, possibly a pearl engagement ring*, and another item or two that she'll Make in her own book? Such as:

A staff, to parallel Iris, the messenger of the gods (and provide defence if required).

A ring of light, possibly acting as an external power source or for protection against vengeful Beings; perhaps, as @ladynightcourt reminded me, like Silba's ring protected against the Valg in TOG? Rhys did say that females preferred gold or silver to iron. Maybe that offhand remark contained some hidden depth.

A cuff, spindle, or something else entirely? I'm eyeing her baked goods, ear plugs and possibly some homegrown medicinal powders...

* There's a good chance that a ring Made by being dipped into the Cauldron will be a little different than one Made directly by an elemental faerie, so it may not count as part of Elain's own trove.

Many of us suspect that Elain will search for the illusive fourth part of the Dread Trove, the item that Lanthys showed to Nesta as a bit of age worn bone, half shrouded in shadows. Could pearl be mistaken for age worn bone? Unlikely, but worth a mention. I do think it's tricky, though, as there are multiple ancient Troves appearing, and the Dread Trove is only one of them. Gwydion (aka the Starsword), Truth-Teller and possibly Narben seem to be another trove, though maybe not Made in quite the same way as the Dread Trove (ie. dipped in the Cauldron vs imbued with power by a more elemental faerie).

Protection

We all know that I suspect Koschei* might have used the Cauldron to give Elain a bonus mate bond after orchestrating with Jurian to shoot Azriel with a poisoned ash arrow. And we know that the Cauldron has a dark maker, who made the Book of Breathings. Could there be a light maker, and is this hypothetical being working for or against Koschei? Are they the Mother (and maybe Urd)?

* I really think that Koschei could need Azriel out of the way, and needs Elain as a stand in for the Mother, or someone else important, somehow, in order to work some massive spell.

Could they have gifted Elain her Sight, or any other powers, and even put a little something special in her engagement ring. Something that would provide protection*, as Silba's ring did against the Valg in Erilea? The latter is less likely for an iron ring, but still plausible.

I've said before that I'd love to see the Archeron sisters create their own version of Midgard's Archesian Amulets, with one ring made from each of their magics to protect their loved ones and hide them from danger, and that still stands. This post goes into more about the rose necklace providing protection, if you're interested.

* Unless Koschei, or whoever orchestrated the Making of Elain and Nesta, stored something they needed to access in the ring instead, to free it from the Cauldron's grasp and make it available to them?

Witchcraft

One of the first thoughts that came to me almost two years ago, upon wondering what purpose a Made ring would serve Elain, was the possibility that it could be a focus for her power, something to tether or ground her while she was wandering the murky realm. This is backed up by the witches' use of iron throughout the TOG series, which @wingedblooms has discussed in many of her witchy posts, and I'll mention a little later on.

Could the pearl ring be Elain's focus, and ground her? Or might it function as a siphon or invoking stone does? Given she rubs the ring, I wouldn't be surprised if it helped her focus her being, or control her magic.

Some witches in ACOTAR are said to be able to amass powers beyond their natural capacity.

Nesta drifted toward the desk, the maps atop it. “What is the difference,” she asked none of us in particular, “between a faerie and a witch?” “Witches amass power beyond their natural reserve,” Mor answered with sudden seriousness. “They use spells and archaic tools to harness more power to them than the Cauldron allotted—and use it for whatever they desire, good or ill.” Elain silently surveyed the tent, head tipping back. - ACOWAR, chapter 51

Could the ring "harness" her to an external reserve of powers?

Could this reserve of powers even be the Cauldron itself?

Could the ring provide Elain a living bond to the Cauldron, such as the one Feyre had while she touched it during the battle in ACOWAR, when she witnessed Elain assassinate the King of Hybern?

Iron

In SJM's TOG series, we witnessed iron's ability to both block someone's access to their own magic and provide a grounding point to the witches, who might have otherwise been pulled away from their world. The leader, it was said, was so powerful that she required iron and pain to tether her to their realm. In the same passage, we learnt that pain was a gateway to the divine, which I have theorised may be behind Elain's glove-free gardening habits.

Legend had it that all witches had been gifted by the Three-Faced Goddess with iron teeth and nails to keep them anchored to this world when magic threatened to pull them away. The iron crown, supposedly, was proof that the magic in the Blueblood line ran so strong that their leader needed more—needed iron and pain—to keep her tethered in this realm. Nonsense. Especially when magic had been gone these past ten years. But Manon had heard rumors of the rituals the Bluebloods did in their forests and caves, rituals in which pain was the gateway to magic, to opening their senses. Oracles, mystics, zealots. - HOF, chapter 12

In Seers, Blindfolds and Bloodbane, I posited that Elain - like the Seers in Erilea once did - may be able to open portals to See spirits from other worlds by imbibing in certain hallucinogens (possibly with experiencing pain), and we know from Feyre that witchberries exist in the Spring Court (ACOTAR). Witches, who in HOF were associated with Oracles, mystics and zealots. Elain is 2/3 of those so far, and being the only sister to take an interest in faerie religious customs, she's possibly closing in on the third. But I'm getting off track. If Elain - whose powers have been linked to the same void/murky realm as Azriel's, through which Bryce was yanked to Prythian - has witch-like abilities, then surely she will need something to keep her grounded in her body in Prythian while she traverses the murky realm, searching for visions and possibly help. Especially if Truth-Teller helps her to go further than before, breaking through mist and shadow.

Could the iron engagement ring keep Elain tethered to the realm in which her body/Prythian exists, when her waking dreams threaten to pull her away into the murky realm? Was this why Elain was constantly fiddling with it in ACOWAR, before she learnt how to block her visions with light?

Tharion eyed the bare-bones wooden hallway as he and Flynn strode down the worn planks, aiming for a round door at its far end. It looked like the entry to a vault, solid iron that didn’t reflect the dim firstlights. They’d been halted at the first door by the Viper Queen’s guards. Flynn had snarled at them, but the males had ignored him, their drug-hazed eyes unblinking as they radioed their leader. That Tharion knew of this door at all told her guards he was important enough to warrant a call. - HOSAB, chapter 64

In CC2/HOSAB, we learnt that the Viper Queen had a vault made from solid iron, guarded by males with "drug-hazed eyes"... which sounds too much like a coincidence to actually be one. However, the more relevant point to note here is that the solid iron didn't reflect the dim firstlight (donation of a faerie's soul magic made when taking The Drop). Does this mean that iron absorbs firstlight/magic, rather than reflecting it? Is this how iron functioned to block magic wielders in TOG from accessing their magic when worn?

Could an iron ring function to absorb and hold a charge of power, like the one Prythian witches were known to create?

Following on, we know the Cauldron is made from a dark iron, and it very likely contains the Void. The Book of Breathings considers the Cauldron to be its home. Additionally, Elain fiddled with her pearl and iron ring* constantly in ACOWAR (I've wondered if it was singing out to her, but maybe it has more than one purpose). Does the ring now see the Cauldron as its home, too? Would Elain, and maybe Nesta?

* Azriel's shadows have been described as "rings of darkness" around his fingers, which could tie him into this plot?

In addition to potentially providing a living bond to the Cauldron as I mentioned above - and wouldn't it be absolute crazy if the ring itself was somehow made from the same iron source as the Cauldron, only passed down through human lines rather than Fae - what if Elain's iron ring is a backdoor of sorts that she can use to channel or even control it? Conduits are an increasingly common theme among SJM's work - and I've been harping on for years now that Elain's Sight might be due to her ability to act as a conduit for at least one god/goddess.

If Elain's engagement ring did come from the same iron source as the Cauldron itself, could it act like the One Ring in The Lord of the Rings, controlling the other Cauldron-Made items?

In addition to (hypothetically) allowing Elain to become a conduit for the Void inside the Cauldron, what if Elain's iron ring being Made permitted her to track it easily? "Like calls to like," Made objects Singing to their kin and all that. This could make it a possible target for theft.

Circling back to iron's ability to both dampen magic and ground witches in TOG, I wonder if both stem from the same function; ie. that the grounding of witches in their physical realm is done by dampening their specific type of magic, or their access to it. And considering ACOTAR, where the humans have believed - falsely, apparently - for centuries that iron will protect against the Fae… maybe this was intentionally spread misinformation, and done to convince humans to wear iron in order to block their magic. That would achieve an easier to control populace, all thanks to a little lie. This would mean that - if @wingedblooms, @silverlinedeyes and I are right about the Archeron sisters being descended, albeit distantly, from the Starborn fae - Nesta* and Elain were actually being contained by wearing their iron bracelets. I wonder what effect, if any, that may have had on their mental wellbeing? It could explain why Feyre was considered wild, even.

Could this mean that Elain's ring functions as a tether because it dampens her ability to access the murky realm?

Alternatively, does the iron ring contain the power that the pearl may have absorbed from the Cauldron's endless Void?

Another absolutely cracked theory is that it turns Elain into a walking embodiment of the Cauldron when she accesses the murky realm while wearing the ring, when she is physically contained by the iron. Void inside iron, like the Cauldron.

* Nesta having a Trove of Nightmares should count as an amassed external power source, imo, which also fits the definition of witch.

Pearl

Pearls are said to be associated with water, the moon, healing, honesty and integrity. Apparently they are also useful to centre and calm one's self.

This makes them sound perfect for use in a magical object that is used to ground or tether a Seer while she sails the Void.

Mother of Pearl (which isn't included in Elain's engagement ring, but is worth a mention) is even said to have protective properties, and be able to heighten intuition and psychic sensitivity.

Due to their ties to the moon and moon magic, pearls are said to be both a representation of the moon and linked to Selene and Luna - goddesses that embody the full moon. Apparently they can be made into pearl essences, and can be charged with intent.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she'd placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess-perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn't let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn't just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF

This sounds like a certain effigy next to which Nesta placed the dark wooden rose that Papa Archeron carved for Elain.

The name Selene is linked with Helena, which is a derivative of Elain.

Charged with intent sounds almost exactly like an object being Made. I am desperate to know what Elain experiencedbin the Cauldron, as that may affect the essence that the pearl hypothetically took on.

Pearls are said to be appropriate offerings to spirits, goddesses, and the sea.

"What are you looking at?" I asked Elain, keeping my voice soft. Casual. Her face was wan, her lips bloodless. But they moved barely-as she said, "I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea." - ACOWAR

We know from Amren that Narben was thrown into the sea; maybe a trade will be necessary.

Pearls are said to be useful with transformation magic and associated with wisdom.

I hope we can all remember this brilliant post by @wingedblooms, and note the evidence that suggests Elain may shift.

Mor said, back in ACOWAR, that Elain was wise.

Pearls are sacred to Aphrodite, and can be used in love magic.

Sounds appropriate for someone who may or may not end up Making her own mating bond.

There are a lot of possible uses for a magical ring, whether or not it is Cauldron Made, and I can't wait to see what happens with it!

Thanks for reading!

@elainarcheronweek

#elain archeron #elain archeron theory #elain #pro elain #elain's powers #seer elain #witchy elain #elainarcheronweek2023 #elain archeron week 2023 #elainweek2023 #elain week 2023 #elain week seer #acotar #sjm #acotar cc tog crossover theory #elain's ring #hosab spoilers #acotar theory

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lorcandidlucienwill · 5 months

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Introvert: a person whose personality is characterized by introversion : a typically reserved or quiet person who tends to be introspective and enjoys spending time alone. Note: Introverts are typically more comfortable interacting with small groups of people rather than large groups (as at parties).

The ball my father was throwing in my honor was in two days, and the house was already a flurry of activity. Such money being thrown away on things we’d never dreamed of having again, even for a moment. I would have begged him not to host it, but Elain had taken charge of planning and finding me a last-minute dress, and … it would only be for an evening. An evening of enduring the people who had shunned us and let us starve for years. The ball was a blur of waltzing and preening, of bejeweled aristos, of wine and toasts in my honor. I lingered at Nesta’s side, because she seemed to do a good job of scaring off the too-curious suitors who wanted to know more about my fortune. But I tried to smile, if only for Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all their important sons. “My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.” She had come alive here, and her joy was infectious. InTrOvErT. And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain. Where Nesta had been in contented silence before we found her, Elain’s silence was … hollow. Empty. Her hair was down—not even braided. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it unbound. She wore a moon-white silk dressing robe. She did not look, or speak, or even flinch as we entered. Her too-thin arms rested on her chair. That iron engagement ring still encircled her finger. Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white. The lack of color. Of vibrancy.

The introverted version of her? That's from trauma. The lack of color and vibrancy. At her best, she is an extrovert through and through. Just like Lucien. We start seeing her be a little more assertive in ACOSF and she has two friends in Nuala and Cerridwen but that's not her becoming a part of the IC; that's her making the most of the circumstances she's in. She's not comfortable in the Night Court; otherwise, she would be engaging in parties, and making a lot more friends. How does this post have over 1000 likes? It's not even ACCURATE. @acourtofthought elriels as usual ignoring canon 🤦‍♀️

#pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #elucien #anti azriel #anti e/riel #elain archeron #pro elain archeron

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bittermuire · 5 months

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Divorced rhysta angst plsss 🥺🥺

DIVORCED RHYSTA YOU SAID????

March 15th.

There are seven yellow roses on her desk.

Nesta runs her thumb over her left ring finger, where the band used to sit. She keeps it in a dish with all of the rest of her jewelry. It has little company. She wears little jewelry.

She was waiting in line at the pharmacy when they met for the first time. She’d noticed him blundering around, loitering a bit—it took him fifteen minutes to pluck up the courage to talk to her. But she’d been uncaffeinated and exhausted and he took the brunt of it.

She’d rear-ended him in the grad school parking lot when they met for the second time. She was mortified. He seemed relieved. He was funny. His name was Rhys. He taught in the physics department. She told him her name was Nesta, she taught in the literature department. What do you teach, he asked. She inspected the cars. She inspected him, hands in his pockets, sleeves of his button-down lazily rolled up. Medieval romances, she said.

She wanted tenure, so she was up til two most nights, flipping through worn copies of journals and reviews, scouring the internet.

They were serious by that time. They’d been seeing each other for about a year. She was researching, working on a book, working at coffee shops and the library, and he was sitting across from her, working with equations, working with numbers he kept like magic tricks in his mind.

Nesta’s book was on marriage in medieval romances. Ironically that was when Rhys was looking at engagement rings. They had a small courthouse wedding in January. They moved into a little house, a five minute drive from campus.

She should have seen it coming, really.

She married Rhys, after all. Dr. Rhys Irwyn. He was teaching level 300 or 400 or 500 courses called things like Thermal and Statistical Physics and Quantum Mechanics I and Quantum Mechanics II and Stellar Evolution. Gorgeous things she couldn’t touch, couldn’t conceptualize. And he was tall and handsome. He wore glasses. He wore slacks, button-downs.

Anyway—they’d been married something like seven or eight years when she saw him in the car with the TA for one of his courses. Nesta knew who the girl was. She was a pretty, bright student. Her husband was holding that girl’s face, kissing her like he loved her.

“What’s so special about it?” He laughed. “It’s a day. Neither of our birthdays, need I remind you.”

She sighed. “It’s just nice, don’t you think? March fifteenth. It sounds right. It’s beautiful.”

“Fine. It’s our holiday, then. It’s a day made for you.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“I love you.”

“Be quiet, I’m grading.”

She didn’t bring it up for a while. Months went by. She didn’t acknowledge it but she didn’t touch him, either. He bent his head to kiss her and she looked away.

On some windless autumn day she’d locked herself in a bathroom stall, squatting, hand clenched over her mouth. That evening she handed him the divorce papers and told him to sign. They had a fight. He lost quickly. He signed them by the end of the week.

There are seven yellow roses on her desk.

Nesta checks the calendar on her desk. On her bookshelf she has a small picture of her cat. A rosary, the last gift from her mother. Edith Wharton, Virginia Woolf, Alice Hoffman. Slim volumes of poetry about ghosts, and grieving, stacked atop each other.

She stands there a moment, then grabs the stems, stripped of thorns, and throws them out.

#more nesta centric than angst im sorry #BUT i do have a 2k divorced rhysta smut fic sitting in my drafts she's pretty angsty #to anyone: let me know if you want to read that #because i don't think it will be posted here #thank you for the ask gem💗💗💗

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starsreminisce · 2 months

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I've been thinking more about Darcy's initial proposal to Elizabeth, and while I've covered this topic extensively in previous posts, it took me some time to delve into how Wickham fits into the equation.

In Darcy's proposal, he cited Elizabeth's family as a barrier, which he was willing to overlook against his better judgement. In response, Elizabeth brought up Wickham and his attitude towards those around him, revealing his prejudice.

It took me a while to piece this together, and it might be a bit of a stretch, but hey, it's all in good fun.

If Elain were in Darcy's role, she might bring up Lucien's family and his ties to the Spring Court as a barrier. On the other hand, if Lucien were in Elizabeth's shoes, he might discuss how Elain treats him and Azriel.

I can envision Elain having a similar reaction to Lucien as Darcy did when Elizabeth brought up Wickham because she, too, felt betrayed by Azriel, much like Darcy did with Wickham. She might wash her hands of him by the time this happens between Lucien and Elain. I wonder if SJM would go so far as to put a bigger final nail in the E/riel coffin before this, more significant (and canon lol) than what Azriel did in the BC, pushing Elain to shift her focus from her crush to her mate.

No, I don't see E/riel happening. Azriel decided to keep away from her even before the Solstice, and I believe his offenses towards her will continue to compound. She will discover that he was the main voice against her searching for the trove, and if she was willing to stand up for herself to Nesta, her desire to do more for the IC will overshadow any lingering feelings she has towards him.

She kept her engagement ring for months. She returned the necklace within hours.

I will be screaming if Elain reacted like this when Lucien brings up Azriel’s name

I do believe there are complexities that come with being Lucien's mate, and it would be a disservice if SJM doesn't provide space for Elain to acknowledge Lucien's part in her transformation into fae. This could also serve as an explanation to satisfy the skeptics. We know he had nothing to do with it; Feyre knows he had nothing to do with it; Rhys knows he had nothing to do with it. But this does remain unresolved as all we received was one line where Lucien acknowledges his part of wrong-doing.

However, this is something Lucien can't change, just like how Elizabeth can't change how her family behaves. This is something that Elain, like Darcy, would have to make peace with.

Lucien's arguments towards Elain would be about Azriel, akin to Wickham, though the reasons would be different. Whatever they had discussed in private after their reunion following Hybern's war would likely be the main focal point. Immediately after their cute reunion, we find out that Elain and Lucien have tense interactions, but she still keeps their mating bond in limbo.

Given how frequently Lucien addresses behavior towards those around him, it seems likely that he will do the same with Elain. Two years of silent treatment, combined with the sudden expectation of happiness when she accepts their bond, could prompt Lucien to confront Elain about her actions.

Elizabeth never had a specific issue with Wickham, but she did criticize how Darcy treated him, along with other mistreatments committed by Darcy against him. Similarly, Lucien might not inherently have a problem with Azriel, but he strongly values honesty. If Elain wasn't upfront with him about her feelings towards Azriel, addressing this lack of transparency could be crucial for them to overcome any issues in their relationship.

It's not necessarily about Lucien disapproving of Elain's feelings for Azriel; rather, it's about how her actions affected him. After Graysen, Azriel was the only one towards whom Lucien showed a territorial trait, even though he had not fully acted on it. I wonder if Lucien will call out that he had given her plenty of space and opportunity to reject their bond, and we can finally have a canon answer as to why it took her two years to respond.

I believe Lucien will start to open his eyes to who Elain really is, now that she's becoming more accepting of her circumstances, similar to how Elizabeth began to look past Darcy's awkwardness. Elain, in turn, would start to see Lucien's impact on those around him, especially in Spring, where he is leading rebuilding efforts, and in Autumn, where he had spent the most time among the lesser fae.

Azriel as Wickham is something they dealt with separately. Interestingly, pre-confession Wickham is what Lucien will bring up, but Lydia-arc-Wickham is what Lucien will deal with later in the series.

I admit, I am still unsure about what SJM will choose to do after this revelation, as it remains up in the air.

SJM used Tamlin for Feysand and Eris for Nessian, so it's not out of reach to assume she'll use Azriel for Elucien.

There are some possibilities: she can opt to use Azriel the same way Wickham was used to cement Elizabeth's feelings towards Darcy, but this time, it would be Darcy-as-Lucien and Elizabeth-as-Elain. Lucien doing something to Azriel, either to humble him or surprise him while trying to keep it a secret from Elain, which she finds out secondhand and solidifies that Lucien is the ideal person for her.

The other option is that SJM can save that for Az's storyline and just keep the conflict between Elain and Azriel, leaving Azriel to settle his issues towards Lucien in his POV.

It's a conflicting sentiment, as my preference is for the focus to remain on Elucien, but there's a consideration if it helps definitively close the door on the E/riel ship or establish Lucien as her concrete endgame.

In this proposal scene, Elain starts by expressing her willingness to accept the bond, but Lucien rejects it. This rejection prompts Elain to inquire why, leading to a cathartic conversation where both characters finally release their bottled-up feelings.

After this moment, Elain would find herself in the Spring or Autumn Court through one of two scenarios: either she is left in a melancholy mood, and Feyre and Nesta suggest she visit the Spring Court, assuring her that Lucien is away on a mission or Autumn Court where she can "work" to get her mind off things.

Alternatively, in my hopeful scenario, the emotional intensity of their conversation triggers a surge in their bond, leading Elain to experience a significant vision. They realize that her power is intricately connected to Lucien, and if she wishes to reconnect with her powers, she needs to reconnect with him.

#elain x lucien #elucien #pro elucien #elucien headcanon #pride and prejudice elucien #why no... I haven't spent an obscene amount of time thinking about it #although... still a fave pride and prejudice scene #just azriel kickstarting elain's villain era #long post is long

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lainalit · 19 days

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I like to imagine that Rhys controls Feyre's mind, but sometimes Feyre has these little hiccups where she knows something is wrong. Here is a snippet of the idea (also english is not my native language so I apologize in advance for the writing):

"I bring Nyx to bed, darling", says Rhys. While I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I spit out the toothpaste and answer, "Okay, but make sure he has his little bat plushie."

Nyx loves the plushie toy, which Cassian and Nesta gifted him after his birth. I close the bathroom door and go to my dressing table, where I place my necklace and engagement ring. I look at my tattooed hand, sometimes I still have the feeling that someone is watching me, but then I realize that it's just my imagination playing tricks on me.

As I brush my hair and let my hands go through it, I look at myself in the mirror, and I have the feeling that bigger and stronger hands are going through my hair. A quiet, deep voice whispers to me.

Darling, you look so good on my lap. You like that, didn't you? Being my little plaything?

I jolt right up like I was struck by lightning, my throat tightens, and I can't breathe. Why does the voice sound like my mate? My head hurts suddenly.

Everything is fine

You are safe here

Your mate loves you

You are happy

I shake my head as I sit down on the chair again. I think I need to go to Madja again, the headaches are coming back.

Rhysand comes to the door, "I think we need to tell Nesta and Cassian to buy a couple of these plushies so we don't have to worry when the first gets too worn someday," he says with a little grin on his face. When he sees my face through the mirror, he suddenly has an irritated expression on his face. "Is everything okay, darling? You look a little pale."

He comes behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I look at him through the mirror and answer, "No, everything's fine, I think I'm just getting this terrible headaches again," as I bring my hands to my temples.

His hand slowly moves to my neck, and he looks intensively at my reflection in the mirror and speaks, "That's not good; we'll go to Madja again tomorrow so that she might give you something stronger than last time." I nod slightly.

Rhysand slowly runs his hand along my arm and finally takes my hands and says quietly to me, "Come on, let's go to bed." He slowly pulls me up from the chair, and we move to our bed.

I lay on my side while he lays behind me, holding me tight. I hear his slow breathing in my ear as he says, "Sleep, feyre, everything is fine."

I close my eyes and dream about my beautiful mate and husband.

#Once again proving that rhysand is better as a villain #acotar as a psychological thriller works 100% better #sarah fumbled the ball so hard with rhys character #sjm critical #anti acotar #acotar critical #anti sjm #acotar thoughts #acotar #feysand #pro feyre #evil rhysand #rhysand

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 months

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Assentio Mentium: Chapter 21

Haters said it could never happen. let it be known that sometimes a fic can go on hiatus for 2 years and be brought back to life. I pray the same for some of my faves!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33608452/chapters/135824869

Teaser:

“Careful Cassian,” Azriel raised his glass, “Gwyn might just steal Nesta right out from under you.”

“Thank God I got to her first,” Cassian pressed a kiss to the top of his fiancé’s head. “I couldn’t possibly compete.”

“Engaged is not married.” Gwyn sing-songed. “I’ve got some time yet.”

“Put a ring on her finger right now,” Cassian said to Azriel.

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, only to be cut off by the distinct sound of Brittney Spears’ voice proclaiming a man toxic.

“Don’t you have a life, Eris?” The custom ring tone was, perhaps, a bit petty, but so was his insistence on calling her past 8pm.

“Obviously not, and don’t pretend that you do either.” Nesta normally would have laughed at the quip. Perhaps commiserated with him before getting into whatever oxford comma in a contract he wanted to squabble over. For some reason, sitting here, with her friends and her fiancé … it didn’t seem quite so funny.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #gwynriel #acosf #cassian #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #elucien

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theladyofbloodshed · 6 months

Text

Chapter 9 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

Azriel is just in emotional agony, warring inside his own head

'We appreciate you taking the time to see us again.’

Only two queens had come for their meeting – the eldest and the golden-haired one – although the same number of mortal guards had escorted them. Their keen eyes did not miss Feyre and Rhys’ entwined hands or the matching crowns on their heads signalling an accepted mating bond.

Azriel had taken up a post near the bay windows close to where Nesta stood poker-straight with her shoulders locked. He hadn’t sent any shadows to comfort her, yet one was twining itself around her hand and another had looped around her ankle the moment they had all finished their tea. If she found comfort in his shadows, she would be the first – beside him. They weren’t prone to fleeing from her. In fact, they seemed to bolster their courage in Nesta’s presence. If they were not in the midst of a terse meeting with mortal royalty, the others would surely notice his shadows behaving differently. As it was, nobody noticed a thing. Not even when the shadow looped around his wrist and Nesta’s, tying them together.

‘After being so gravely insulted the last time…’ A simmering glare was thrown at Nesta that had Azriel squeezing his hands into a fist, but the mortal woman next to him levelled her own look of unyielding flame back at her. ‘We debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable.’

More words were batted back and forth between Rhys, Feyre, and the two queens. Insults were thinly veiled behind them.

This close to Nesta, Azriel hardly dared to breathe. That agonising ache in his chest that had been with him for weeks had suddenly eased. More than that, a flood of heat was leaking out from where the pain had been. He felt warm and cosy, like he was being brought in from the cold. A maddening desire to curl his face into her neck had him tensing his legs to stop his wayward heart from daring to do it. He risked a glance to the pale column of her neck, at the space where it met her collar bone. He thought of a kiss placed there – chaste to a degree but also a prelude to more.

What was wrong with him?

Why was he fantasising about touching this mortal female?

Had it been so long since he’d bedded a female that his heart would run away with only a pretty face?

Azriel tugged his wrist free from the shadow binding it and focused on the conversation. If he did not fulfil his duty here – as a result of daydreaming about Nesta Archeron – he would never forgive himself.

‘There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister’s finger – and yet she stands with us.’

The queens’ stare landed on Elain in her pale pink and blue dress. She was uncomfortable under their scrutiny and did a poor job of hiding it. Beside him, he felt Nesta go rigid. How she didn’t snap in two, he did not know.

‘I would say that is proof of her idiocy,’ the golden one sneered, ‘to be engaged to a Fae-hating man… and to risk the match by association with you.’

‘Do not judge what you know nothing about.’ The words came out from Nesta as a hiss, coiled by her anger.

‘The viper speaks again,’ the queen said with a raise of her brows towards Feyre. ‘Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.’

‘She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings,’ replied Feyre fairly. ‘She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do.’

Without realising what he was doing, Azriel reached for Nesta’s hand. Shadows obscured it. Nobody looked their way; Mor was opening the lid of the box where the Veritas orb was stored. Nesta risked a glance to him then down at the layer of shadows masking their entwined fingers. She did not pull away. Her fingers did not go limp against his scarred touch. No, Nesta held on tighter – the first sign of her fear. Likely the only sign she’d ever be willing to show. Azriel had never wished more to be a daemati. He wished he could speak to Nesta, offer her soft, comforting words to soothe the fear masked as vitriol.

Velaris was revealed to the queens but Azriel kept his attention fixed on Nesta, measuring every slight change to her expression as she took in the City of Dreamers. Even the sight of his beautiful city could not persuade the queens. They demanded more time to deliberate. There was no time. The never-ending drumming of war stormed closer each day. It would be on their doorsteps before they knew it.

Even a love letter from Rhysand was read out by the elder queen, imploring them to see reason and save Feyre’s people.

‘Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?’

‘What?’ Mor blurted.

‘A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan. ‘

The fingers cradled against his own slipped free. Nesta gave a loud exhale. Elain reached for her – to stop her. ‘This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools.’ The venom in her voice threatened to buckle the very foundations of the home. The queens stared at her with blinding shock. Even the sentries hadn’t moved to grip their weapons. ‘Give them the Book.’

The queens remained blinking at her.

Nesta snapped, ‘Give them the book.’

Despite the queens’ refusal, Nesta went on. Her arms flung out, brows drawn together with despair. ‘There are innocent people here. In these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book.’

The elder queen averted her gaze as if she could no longer hold Nesta’s burning one. And she did burn with a fury and a passion that nearly brought Azriel to his knees.

‘An evacuation may be possible-’

‘You would need ten thousand ships,’ Nesta said, her voice breaking. ‘You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here.’

The crone gripped the polished arms of her chair as she leaned forward, a cruel smile edging onto her lips. ‘Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl.’

Azriel would. He’d fly across the ocean again and again, saving every mortal he could, until he died of exhaustion if Nesta asked him to.

Nesta’s throat bobbed. ‘Please. Please – do not leave us to face this alone.’

Azriel was moved by her words. Even the stars would move for her.

Just as he made to step forwards, to go to his knees before her and offer his wings, Cassian crossed to her. Azriel stiffened. Nesta lifted her chin to meet Cassian’s blazing gaze.

‘Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house – your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.’

A single tear fell down her cheek at his declaration. As Cassian reached to wipe it away, Azriel turned his eyes to his boots. His chest was caving in. He had been so long without contact that a muted smile from Feyre’s sister had him unravelling. If Cassian wanted to tangle himself with a mortal whose life was limited, that was his brother’s choice.

Nesta did not pull away, did not stop him from touching her cheek with everybody watching.

A shadow burrowed up his sleeve, wending its way towards his chest to lay against his thumping heart. The sooner they were back in Velaris the better. Being in the mortal realm did not agree with Azriel. It churned up his emotions, his sense, his shadows. He wanted to go home.

The queens departed. They would not offer the book nor aid. They would leave the mortal world to rot and ruin.

Nesta stepped away, back towards Elain. A comforting arm went around her sister’s shoulders although she had been the one visibly distressed. When Azriel’s shadows moved to go to her, he called them back. For once, they listened.

‘It will be alright,’ she murmured to Elain though those words were for herself too, he supposed.

Feyre gave a gasp. Beneath her chair was a box containing the Book. Rhys picked it up and veiled it with his magic. They would leave swiftly before the other queens knew it was missing.

Rhys inclined his head to the eldest Archeron sisters. ‘It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here, or come with us. You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation.’ A nod of approval as he met Nesta’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I’d suggest packing now.’

A long beat of silence followed. Nesta looked to Elain, who was still silent and wide-eyed. The latter thumbed the iron ring on her finger. A promise to a mortal male who would likely be a dead man soon too.

‘It is your choice,’ Nesta said with a tenderness that had his shadows yearning for her. ‘I go where you go.’

Elain swallowed like a doe caught in a snare. ‘I- I can’t. I…’

She was choosing love over safety. And that would damn her sister too. Love was a poison that ruined all it touched.

Surely Rhys wouldn’t allow it. They were his mate’s sisters. They should be brought to Velaris where it was safe. Azriel would keep them safe.

Rhys nodded with understanding, his grip tightening on Feyre’s waist. ‘The sentries will be here and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you.’

Azriel would be there for the first night. He would volunteer himself to guard the sisters. He could not conceive of Illyrians or Darkbringers in this place protecting mortals. They were more likely to make them suffer. No, he would guard them. Him and Cass. A bitter taste of jealously slid down his throat at the thought of Cassian being alone with Nesta. Cassian would seize the chance. From the way he lingered near her now, he knew his brother was desperate for another moment with her.

Despair paled Nesta’s face. She looked at them all then to Feyre. ‘That was why you painted stars on your drawer.’

#nezriel #nesta x azriel

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queen--of--shadows · 1 year

Text

The Wedding

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and his half-human mate get married.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2,491

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested this! I had SO much fun writing this scene and loved adding it as a bonus chapter to Healing Shadows! 🖤 Let me know what you think! Xx

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“Her flowers! Where are her flowers!” Mor shrieked from behind you, pulling your head with her as she turned back with a deathly grip on a chunk of your hair.

“Mor, it’s okay. We still have some time,” you assured her, even though there was only an hour left until the ceremony. With an exasperated sigh, Mor pinned the final piece of hair into place and swiveled your chair around to face her.

She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Y/N, you are…breathtaking.”

Not that you would know. She hadn’t let you see yourself since she started the whole ordeal of getting you dressed and ready three hours ago, promising that the final outcome would be worth the wait.

Tears lined Mor’s eyes as she stepped again to block your view of the vanity mirror. “I would give you a hug, but I don’t want to ruin my masterpiece,” she laughed, dabbing at the inner corners of her eyes.

You gave her hand a tight squeeze. “I love you,” you said, a lump forming in your throat. You cherished your friendship with Mor and couldn’t imagine the past year of your life without her. She had been your rock through everything, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, and your mate.

Your mate.

Soon-to-be husband.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married,” Nesta said as she entered through the giant white doors leading from the garden of the River House with Feyre trailing behind her. The two sisters and Mor were dressed in matching silk gowns of midnight blue, tiny beaded stars and moons adorning the train that pooled at their feet. Simple, yet devastatingly stunning.

You had asked the three females to be your bridesmaids after the engagement to honor your half-human heritage. They were overjoyed, since mating ceremonies didn’t involve similar traditions.

“Me neither,” you responded distantly as Mor finally moved out of your view of the mirror.

Your breath hitched as you caught the first glimpse of yourself.

A long silk dress, the color of fresh cream, with small flowers and leaves and vines wrapping across your midsection in glistening jewels and sparkling thread. The soft cowl neckline was held up by two thin pearl straps that plunged down the back, allowing your tattoo to be fully displayed, as per Azriel’s request. Mor had curled your hair into loose waves, pinned back with shimmering diamond clips on both sides. The makeup was simple and elegant—your eyes shone under long lashes and gold eyeshadow, and your plump lips were accentuated with rosewood lipstick. Long dangling diamond earrings almost finished the look, but you knew it wouldn’t be complete without your ring.

As you carefully grabbed your engagement ring from the vanity, you reminisced on the most perfect and beautiful week of your life thus far: the day your mating bond was realized, and a few days later, when Azriel asked you to be his wife.

It had been six days of utter bliss—six days since Azriel revealed he was your mate, and you officiated the bond at the cabin. You hadn’t left the cabin since you arrived, and were finally feeling ready to head back home.

“My love,” Azriel muttered against the back of your head, cuddling you from behind as the morning sun crept up over the horizon. You hummed in response, relishing what you knew would be the last moments of peace and bliss you would enjoy for a long time.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, your eyes still heavy with sleep as Azriel made his way out of bed. You groaned in protest, but he assured, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” with another soft kiss.

You snuggled deeper under the massive pile of blankets and throws, awaiting your mate’s return. But he was taking longer than you expected, so you slowly sat up, wrapping a soft blanket around your shoulders.

“Az?” you called out.

“Close your eyes,” he said from the hallway outside your room.

“What?” You laughed, not expecting yet another surprise from your mate.

“Close them,” he said again with his night-kissed voice, so perfect, even in the early morning. You obeyed.

Azriel’s warm, calloused hand wrapped around yours as he pulled you out of bed. “Come here.” You followed as he positioned you in what felt like the living room, judging by the distance he made you walk.

“Az! It’s cold, come on let’s get back in bed.”

When he didn’t respond, you became impatient and finally opened your eyes.

To Azriel down on one knee, a small black box in his hand.

You gasped as your sleep-riddled brain rushed to make sense of the situation.

“Az…”

“Y/N, I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. I knew as soon as I saw you, you were mine. Made for me, just like I was made for you. To spend the rest of our lives together. I don’t know if it was the Cauldron or the Mother or some ancient God that willed our paths to cross. All I know is that I’m forever indebted to whoever brought you into my life. You are my sun, my moon and my stars, my heart and soul and my every breath.”

You sank to your knees, tears rolling as you cupped your mate’s face.

“We already officiated the mating bond, but I want to honor your Mother, your human side.” He opened the small box to reveal the most stunning ring you had ever laid eyes on: a bright, sparkling oval sapphire, the color identical to his siphons, positioned in the center of a thin gold band, surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds and pearls. You covered your gaping mouth with your right hand as Azriel pulled out the ring and twisted it to reveal a small inscription inside the band. “It says forever. Because you are my forever, Y/N. You are all I need.” Tears lined his hazel eyes. “Will you marry me?”

You pressed your lips against his—your mate, Azriel, the absolute love of your life. You had never known a love so pure, so sweet, so kind. “Az,” you gasped between laughs and sobs. “I love you so much. Of course I’ll marry you.” A shuddering sob went through him as he pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his wings around you. Azriel pulled back to place the ring on your left hand and marveled at the sight.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Az,” you whispered before kissing him again, this time more passionately. Azriel moaned into your mouth, lifting you from the ground and carrying you back into the bedroom, where he began—

“Are you ready, Y/N?” The excitement and glee in Feyre’s voice tore you from your memories and ushered you back to the present. A quick glance at the clock revealed only a few minutes left until you were to make your entrance.

“Yes.” You squeezed her hand, smiling at your bridesmaids. “You should head out. I’ll be there soon,” you promised, following them toward the doors.

“We love you, Y/N. See you outside,” Nesta said with a quick kiss on your cheek.

You were overwhelmed with gratitude, and said a quick prayer to the Mother for blessing you with the most incredible friends and mate you could’ve asked for.

You grabbed your bouquet off the table by the entrance—a marvelous array of white roses, lilies, and peonies, embellished with sprigs of night-blooming jasmine. A steadying breath helped calm your nerves, but you nearly jumped at the sound of a banging knock on the door.

You were ready to assault whoever was outside with a barrage of curses when you opened it to Cassian and Rhys, grinning from ear to ear.

“Y/N, you look exquisite,” Rhys purred as he sauntered over and kissed your hand.

“You know, I think it’s time Nesta and I have a wedding of our own, if she’s gonna look anything like you do,” Cassian said with a booming laugh, kissing you on the cheek. “You look like a Gods-damned angel ascended from the heavens.” He grabbed a hand and gave you a twirl.

“Thank you, boys,” you said, followed by a sarcastic curtsy.

Rhys offered his elbow. “Shall we?”

Cassian linked his elbow with yours, opposite of Rhys. “It’s time to make an honest man of my brother, Y/N.”

Arms locked with the males you considered your own brothers, and hands nervously gripping the lush white bouquet, the three of you paused at the door until you heard the lilting melody of harps, chimes, and bells from outside—your signal to begin the walk down the aisle.

The doors opened directly to the short path through the garden that led to the gazebo where your mate was standing.

And your heart burst out of your chest as you locked eyes with Azriel.

His black suit was cut perfectly to fit his tall, 6’4 muscled body, fashioned around his massive wings. His midnight blue tie matched the bridesmaids’ dresses, and his black stud earrings glistened in the moonlight against his glowing tan skin. Azriel slicked back his silky dark hair, perfectly showcasing those stunning hazel eyes. Shadows danced and twirled around his feet to the rhythm of the music. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, and as your gaze met with his, your core began to warm at the waves of love and awe and affection pulsing down the bond. His eyes watered as they met with yours, setting your feet moving towards your beautiful mate.

His essence bloomed stronger in your core with every step—night and sky and shadow, the taste of a salty breeze and morning dew, raw Illyrian power that melded with your own.

It was an intimate ceremony with a few of your family and friends lining the sides of the garden, tossing white rose petals as you walked down the aisle.

And as you reached the end, you near-choked as Madja reached out for your hand, giving it a squeeze, tears lining her eyes. She nodded in approval, and you knew words could never express your gratitude for her.

You halted in front of the alter where Azriel stood to the right, and Feyre, Mor, and Nesta stood to the left. Gwyn looked like a goddess in the center, holding a scroll of ancient wedding prayers, donning an emerald-green gown and a crown of gold ribbons atop her long, silky red hair.

“And who gives this bride to her mate?” she chimed, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she raised a brow at the males on your arms.

“We do,” Cass and Rhys said in unison, beaming as they helped you up the alter steps toward Azriel, who offered his hand. The brothers took their spot behind your mate, and you turned back to hand your flowers to Feyre, finding all three bridesmaids sniffling with teary eyes.

You held Azriel’s hands as Gwyn recited old prayers of love and worship and devotion. In true Night Court fashion, you both decided to get married after sundown, under the open night sky. The stars twinkled brighter tonight, as if they, too, were showing off for the joyous occasion. The light from the crescent moon blended with that of the faelight bulbs, strung across like a canopy, to glaze the garden in an illuminating glow. Bouquets of white roses lined the aisle to the gazebo, which was adorned top-to-bottom in intricate gold lace.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Azriel toyed with the engagement ring on your finger while you brushed your thumb along the back of his hand. As Gwyn finished her prayers, she gave a short speech about the special bond between mates and how Cauldron-blessed this fateful wedding was.

You were barely registering her words, wondering if there was any language that had a word to describe what you felt for Azriel.

“Az, do you have any words for Y/N?”

His grip on your hands tightened as he began. “Y/N, my beautiful bride, my best friend, my mate. I thank my lucky stars day and night for you. I cannot imagine living a single second without you by my side.” You had never heard his voice quiver before, raw and tender. Tears slid down your cheeks at his love and affection. “I’ve waited my entire life to meet you, and I would wait another hundred years if I had to. I promise to protect you, cherish and honor you. I will be there for you every step of our journey together, to support you, encourage you, and love you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”

“Azriel,” you breathed. “From the second I saw you, I knew in my very being that we were made for each other. My mate, my match, my equal.” Tears escaped his hazel eyes. “Az, you are kind, considerate, intelligent, beautiful. You make me believe in love, that a story like ours isn’t just a fairy tale.” Azriel leaned down and pressed his brow against yours, his tears dropping onto your chest. “Your sorrows are my sorrows, your joy is my joy. If we fall, we fall wrapped in each other’s arms. I promise to spend the rest of eternity proving to you what a light you are in our world. Wherever we go, we’ll go together.”

You stood pressed against each other, hand in hand, when at last you heard Gwyn say, “Azriel, do you take Y/N to be your wife, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” he whispered.

“Y/N,” Gwyn's voice trembled now as tears lined her eyes, too. “Do you take Azriel to be your husband, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?” choking out the last few words.

“I do,” you managed, face gleaming with happiness and joy.

Rhys stepped forward and handed Azriel two sparkling rings atop a small gilded tray. Azriel slid the solid gold band down your finger, and you did the same, his band identical to yours.

Gwyn chimed, with her voice sparkling like a thousand flutes of bubbling champagne, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Cheers erupted from the garden as Azriel pulled you in, pressing his soft lips against yours for a passionate yet gentle kiss. He wiped your tear-stained cheeks, while you wiped at his.

Interlacing your fingers, you gave him a final “I love you,” before he lifted you in the comfort of his strong arms, the arms that would never let you fall, and carried you down the aisle, a shower of petals covering you both as husband and wife, as mates, two flames merged together for eternity.

You were home.

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 7 months

Text

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxii, ao3)

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

All he could think of was that bracelet.

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

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

I love you.

More than anything— I love you.

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

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

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

Waiting.

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

Like a knife through the dark now, Azriel smirked.

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

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

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

Understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

His way of apologising, Cassian supposed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next time.

He’d tell her next time he saw her.

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

He blinked. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spymaster, through and through.

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

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

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

Az quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“No.”

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

“Rhys was. Did you see his face?”

Cassian shook his head.

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

“You love her.”

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

Az smiled. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhys was lucky that Cassian had only threatened the queens.

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

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

But she wasn’t.

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

Weary, he shook his head.

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

Cassian didn’t push.

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

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

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

***

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

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

She was missing Rhys.

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

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

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

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

“What?” she asked.

Cassian shook his head. “Nothing.”

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

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

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

Maybe she could.

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

Feyre cleared her throat now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he said softly.

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

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

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

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

And fucking hell, wasn’t that the truth?

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

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

She’d done it in silence.

And Feyre still had no idea.

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

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

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

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

Cassian stilled. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“Nesta is…”

But Cassian didn’t let her finish.

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

Those weren’t birds.

Not birds at all.

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

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

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

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

Horror sluiced through Cassian’s veins.

Shit, shit, shit.

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

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

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

She shook her head.

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

“Go. Please.”

Because Rhys would fucking kill him.

Slaughter him and make it slow.

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

“Please.”

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

The attackers unleashed their first volley of arrows.

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

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

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

Cassian swore.

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

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

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

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

Again, she didn’t get chance to finish.

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

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

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

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

Hesitated.

Fuck.

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

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

He needed to focus.

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

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

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

And then—

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

“Shit,” Cassian breathed. “Shit.”

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

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

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

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

“Regards of the mortal queens,” it hissed.

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

But, fuck—

Feyre.

He half turned his head, but she shook hers.

“Go,” she insisted.

Cassian nodded sharply. “Go. Home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

“Cass.”

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

“The shield,” Cassian roared.

Az nodded.

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

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

And for a moment Cassian took a breath.

Just one.

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

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

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

But Azriel stood there now, his face cold.

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

There was no escape.

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

And, grimly, Cassian smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—

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

Frantic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he kept that shield up.

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

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

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

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

“Holy fucking hell,” Azriel breathed.

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

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

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

And it was more than that, too.

She was Nesta’s sister.

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

“Feyre.”

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

Right before the pavement claimed her, Feyre winnowed.

The Attor was smashed against the stone, but Feyre…

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

Like the Cursebreaker had no strength left.

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

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

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