#prythain

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader)

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

AN: Sorry  I’ve been a little MIA recently. I was pretty busy last week, but I’m back now and I’m so excited to be writing this series! 

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexisim, trauma from under the mountain, Rhys isn’t the nicest in this but he has his reasons. 

Word Count: 3,458

As I sauntered down the hallway towards my brother's study, I couldn’t help but feel my palms sweat and my heart race. It was the first time he had ‘summoned’ me in such a manner since we had escaped from under the mountain. That was a year ago, and ever since we made it back to Velaris he had been different. Colder. Not that I could ever fault him. Rhysand and I’s time under the mountain was grueling, but it was far worse for him. First he sacrificed his freedom to save Velaris, then he sacrificed his body to save me. 

My whole life I had been told I beheld a beauty that was otherworldly. However, I had no powers to go alone with my looks. Once I got older rumors across Prythain grew of two siblings of night. Rhysand, who would be the most powerful High Lord to ever grace the land, and me, his younger sister who was born without magic but given the most coveted gift of all. Some even said that Rhysand stole my magic away in our mothers womb, making him the most powerful high fae alive and leaving me with nothing but a pretty face. 

At first I loathed the idea of being powerless, but I soon realized the power my beauty had over others. High Lord’s begged for my hand left and right, males of reason and education would lose all inhibition around me. I quickly became The Jewel of Prythain, a name that was used far more often than my own. The second Rhysand and I’s mother and father realized that, they locked me away. Me and my virtue were far too good a bargaining chip to be let loose into the world. At first it was jarring, having all my freedoms taken away. But Rhys would always come home and tell me the tales of him and his new friends Cassian and Azriel. In a way I got to live through him and I was forever thankful for it. 

When our parents died Rhys gave me more freedom but I neglected to take them. I became close with our cousin Mor and even spent time with his friends Cassian and Azriel, but that was the extent of it.   I had grown so used to living in solitude that I didn’t long for much more. His time as High Lord was short lived, soon after the death of our parents Amarantha came into power and Rhys was to be taken under the mountain. As the princess of the night court, I had no other option but to go with him, or risk Velaris. 

The second we were down there Amarantha sunk her claws into him. Rhys fought and resisted her, and for a few weeks he had been able to keep her at arms length. All of that changed when Hybern came to check on the state of things. He took one look at me and ordered Amarantha to hand me over to him, to be his whore. I had never been so scared in my life, and I had no idea what to do. Rhys spoke up and told Amarantha that if she kept me safe he would go to her bed willingly. It was enough for her to spare me, but it never spared me from the grief of knowing what Rhys was putting himself through to protect me. 

50 years came and went until we were finally free from under the mountain. I remember the smell of night blooming jasmine gracing my nose as Rhys winnowed us home. Mor was the first to greet us, then Amren. Finally Cassian and Azriel flew to the townhouse and the sight of all of our old friends was almost unreal. As I watched them all embrace us, my eyes couldn’t help but float to Cassian. Had he gotten taller since I last saw him? Bigger muscles? More handsome? 

After settling in Rhys changed. He was harsher, colder, no doubt the things he experienced under the mountain still plaguing him. He stayed in the townhouse while I took up residency in The House of Wind, both of us needing time to ourselves to process what had happened. 

I had lived in the House of Wind for a year now, only seeing my brother once a month for family dinners, and I suppose today.  I approached his office doors and knocked quietly.

“Come in,” his voice boomed, more High Lordly than I had ever heard before. 

I step in the door and shut it quietly. For what reason? I’m not sure, there was just something about this new Rhys that made me feel so small, especially now. 

“You wanted to see me?” I ask my brother, standing before his desk. 

“Yes I did,”  he started, sifting through papers. “I wanted to tell you that I finally read fathers will and there’s something in it that concerns you,”  he says. 

“What?” I ask in disbelief. While our father wasn’t a cruel man he never paid much attention to me, focusing all his attention on Rhys, his male heir.  

“He has it written in his will that he struck a deal with Beron and Eris Vanserra years ago.” Rhys says sliding a paper over to me. “The Autumn Court will give us their armies if you marry Eris.”

I glance at the paper Rhys has handed me. Sure enough in fathers hand writing is a contract signed by all three parties. An agreement I was never told about until now. 

“Hybern is on the move and Azriel say’s that he will dock on our shores when he arrives. I think now is as good as ever to call in the contract.” he states leaning back in his leather chair. 

“You want me to marry Eris?” I ask, hoping it wasn’t true. I knew very little of the Prince of Autumn, except that he was a sadistic brute who had a way with women. 

“Not just me sister,” Rhysand drawls sensing a fight. “It was our fathers will as well. I have every intention of finishing what he started. We leave tomorrow for the Autumn Court. You will meet Eris, and Beron and I will go over the details once more.”

Part of me boils at the idea of what my brother is saying but then I remember why our mother and father locked me up. Why every High Lord thirsted for me under the mountain. I could still hear their voices uttering, “There’s The Jewel of Prythian” and, “The most beautiful female of Prythain,” completed with, “I heard that Rhysand stole her power in the womb leaving her with nothing but her beauty” 

This was my fate from the moment I came of age. A bargaining chip to whatever High Lord or Prince was willing to pay the most for. I wanted to scream and cry and beg Rhys not to make me do this. But then I thought of  all he sacrificed for me under the mountain. I could do this for him.

“Then I’m excited to meet him brother,” I said, giving a fake smile. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Rhys smiled, the tension from his shoulders dissipating at my words of cooperation. “You are dismissed to begin preparations for tomorrow.” 

I nod my head and take it as my queue to leave his office. The second the double oak doors close I feel my heartrate pick up and I’m suddenly dying for a breath of fresh air. I walk quickly to the front door, my dress billowing behind me as I try to keep my tears from falling. I sit down on the front steps of the townhouse and let the spring air blow across my face. My tears fell slowly but surely as I let all my composure go. 

My mind raced with thoughts of Eris, all the terrible things I had heard of him over the many years. How other High Lords were terrified of the day Beron passed and Eris took his place. If they were terrified of him as a ruler, how scared should I be to have him as a husband? 

A shadow slammed into the ground outside the townhouse pulling me from my thoughts. I tried to wipe my tears away and act like nothing was wrong, but I knew better than to think I could fool my Spymaster for one moment. 

“Hey are you okay? What’s wrong?” Azriel cooed. Azriel and I had gotten close since I came back from under the mountain as he and Cassian also lived in the House of Wind. He had taken on the role of big brother since Rhys was battling his own demons. 

“I just got done talking to Rhys,” I sniffled, feeling the large Illyrian sit next to me. “He says I have to marry Eris.” 

“Vanserra?” Azriel clarified and I nodded. “He can’t be serious, Eris is a monster.” 

“Apparently our father had it arranged years ago, but I didn’t know about it till now. We’re going to the Autumn Court to meet him tomorrow.” I explain,  wiping my eyes. 

“Well I guess that explains why Rhys called me down. Do you want me to talk to him? Maybe I can stop this.” Azriel says, taking my hand in his. 

“No it’s okay. Rhys is right, war is coming and if this marriage can protect you and Cassian as well as our people then I’ll do it. Besides, Rhys sacrificed so much to keep me safe under the mountain, I owe it to him to do this.” I sigh, feeling my breathing calm down as Azriel rubs circles on my hand. 

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself for Velaris and you shouldn’t be trying to even the score with Rhys. Rhys did what he did because you��re his little sister and he loves you, not because he wanted an IOU,” Azriel explains, continuing to rub circles on the tops of my hands. His scared and calloused hands soothing me. 

“Maybe, but I’m going to do it anyway. I won’t let this city down or my brother,” I say, taking a deep breath. 

“Then you are the bravest princess I know,” Azriel says, kissing my brow. “Not that I haven’t always known.”

“Thanks Az,” I smile, bumping my shoulder into him. 

“I’m sure this meeting won’t be very long, want me to fly you home when I’m done?” Azriel asks.

“That would be great, thank you,” I smile, even though my eyes are still glassed over. 

With that Azriel went inside to talk to Rhys, leaving me outside to take in the fresh air. I sat watching the people of Velaris going about their daily lives. Couples holding hands on the Sidra, children playing in the streets. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Autumn Court would have a place like this, and even though I was still here I couldn’t help but feel a bit of prophetic homesickness. 

The next morning was full of primping and trying on a million gowns. Rhys had sent ​​Nuala and Cerridwen to make sure that I was groomed to perfection. Even though they had taken hours I couldn’t help but fuss over every detail while looking in the mirror in the living room of the townhouse. After I  made sure that the pins holding in my crown were secure I smoothed my hands over my dress a million times, trying to wipe the sweat from my palms. 

“You look beautiful,” crooned a deep voice. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin, bumping into the table under the mirror and knocking over a vase. I turn to find Cassian standing next to me, red siphons faintly glowing and looking handsome as ever. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you,” he smiled, picking up the vase and turning it back upright. 

“It’s okay,” I smile. “It’s my fault for being so lost in thought.”

“Everyone ready?” Rhysand asks stepping into the room where Cassian, Azriel and I have been waiting for him. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I sigh, stepping towards him so he can winnow us to the Autumn Court. 

The second we arrive I’m greeted with a cold chill running up and down my arms. The smell of wet leaves and woodsmoke surrounds me, and if I wasn’t being brought here to be sold off like cattle I might even say that I liked this place. Rhys led me up the stairs to the palace, Azriel flanking Rhysand’s side while Cassian flanked mine. The closeness of him almost made my skin buzz with excitement. I mentally slapped myself, reminding my brain that I was about to meet my future husband.

The palace of the Autumn Court is beautiful to say the least. The marble floors are bathed in amber light from the various chandeliers that hang from the ceiling and swaths of deep red and golden fabrics are all over the rooms. A set of large oak double doors opens before us and I’m greeted to the sight of Beron Vanserra sitting atop his throne, his eldest son Eris standing at his side. 

Eris was tall and lean. His eyes were like molten fire and his mouth turned up at the sight of me. If I didn’t know a thing about his character I would’ve said he was handsome. The throne room was intimidating and I couldn’t help but notice that only one throne sat atop the dias. Apparently The Autumn Court didn’t believe in High Lady’s.

“Rhysand, welcome to my court,” Beron greeted us, stepping down to walk towards Rhys. 

“We are honored to be invited,” Rhysand smiled with a charm that only he could possess. 

“This must be your sister y/n,” Beron smiled. “Step forward girl.” 

I wasn’t sure if Beron’s voice was like a spell that propelled me forward or if I was just so scared my body was acting on instinct. But the second the command left his mouth I took two steps toward him. 

“Very nice,” Beron drawled as circled me like prey making my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I see that all the stories of her beauty are true. Can you vouch for her purity, Rhysand?” 

“I can assure you that she remains untouched,” Rhys says and bile nearly rises in my throat.

“Wonderful,” Beron claps his hands together. “Eris why don’t you and y/n take a stroll around the terrace while Rhysand and I finalize the details.” 

“With pleasure father,” Eris says, stepping down from the dias towards me taking my hand in his. “You are even more beautiful than the stories say,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my hand. 

“You flatter me Prince Eris,” I smile, allowing him to lead me outside. 

“I’ve been told that flattery is one of my many talents,” he smirks as the fresh Autumn air hits my face. 

We walk until we reach the bannister of the terrace. I lean against it, peering out over the valley below us. Bright bursts of reds, oranges and yellows flow throughout the land, the setting sun making the scene picture perfect. 

“Over there are the kennels where I keep my hounds,” Eris tells me, pointing to a large red barn off to the left. 

“That’s right, I’ve heard you’re a magnificent hunter,” I smile, craning my neck to see more of the barn. 

“It’s true, I’ve been hunting for years. I’ve tried thousands of other hobbies but nothing gives me quite the thrill that hunting does,” he explains and I can sense the double meaning in his words. 

“What’s that over there?” I ask, pointing to a patch of land riddled with targets, bows, swords and what appears to be a fighting ring. 

“That, my dear, is where my brothers and I train, and that’s where our sons will train once they can wield a sword,” he explains and his words make me sick. 

“And if we have a daughter?” I tease trying to keep the conversation light. 

“Then she will be a pretty little wall ornament for a future High Lord, just like you are,” he says brushing a hand down my bare arm. “But know this, you will bear me a son.” he growls and it feels like an order.

I swallow hard trying to keep the tension rolling through my body from gracing my face, “Of course my prince,” I say turning towards him. 

From the corner of my eye I see Cassian leaning against the door watching the two of us, and I wonder if he has been here the whole time. 

“Who are you?” Eris sneers. 

Cassian straightens up, a playful glint in his eye, “I'm merely the humble guardian of your future wall ornament, ensuring she remains as exquisite as she is now." He says with a charming smile that would normally bring me to my knees. Instead it was taking everything in me not to laugh. 

Eris’ jaw ticks at Cassian’s tone but he remains ever the calm and collected prince he was brought up to be. “Very well then.” was all he could say before we were interrupted by my brother and Beron. 

“Look at them, they already make a very handsome couple,” Beron says to Rhysand. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Rhysand smiles. “Come sister we’re going home, you and Eris will have time to talk later this week.” 

I don’t argue or ask questions as I am dying to get out of this wretched palace as soon as possible. I bid my goodbyes to Eris and take my brother's hand as he leads me out of the palace and winnows us away. It isn’t until the scent of jasmine fills the air that I let myself finally take a deep breath. I barely have a moment to think before Rhys speaks up. 

“Things went well, but Eris has asked for the contract to be changed,” Rhysand states. 

“In what way?” I ask, fearing the worst. 

“He wishes for you two to court for a month, if at the end of that month he finds you agreeable you will become his wife,” Rhys states.

In a way part of me is relieved, if at the end of the month Eris decides he doesn’t want me anymore I’m free. Free from this marriage, free to stay home with my family.  

“Then I guess I’ll have to continue to spark his interest,” I say, my words betraying me.

“Precisely,” Rhys nods. “Azriel come with me I have a mission to discuss with you, Cassian fly y/n to The House of Wind.” 

“On it boss,” Cassian replies jokingly, turning to me. “Ready to go?” he asks me.

“More than you know,” I sigh, tossing my arms around his frame and letting him fly me out of the townhouse. 

I had always loved flying, I remember when Rhys first summoned his wings and was learning how to use them. He would come home with cuts and bruises all over him that Madja had to clean up. She always joked that he spent more time being bandaged up than he did in the air. But the day that Rhys finally learned how to fly he rushed to tell me all about it. Later that night he snuck me out of the townhouse and took me on a flight around the city. I had never felt so free in my life. 

I felt the same way now as the wind whipped my hair behind me, Cassian’s warmth seeping through my clothes keeping me from getting cold. I tried to not breathe in his scent of cedar and leather, but with my face so close to his neck it was hard to ignore. 

A sudden gust of wind had us blowing sideways and I gripped his neck tighter, peering down at how far the drop would be. 

Cassian chuckled, “Don’t worry princess I got you,” he assured me, holding my body a little closer to his own just to ease my worries. 

“I know you do,” I laugh nervously, trying to act unaffected. 

“Are you sure? Because you’re still gripping my neck like you’re going to topple out of my arms.” Cassian chuckles again. 

I loosen my tight grip,  feeling embarrassed. “Sorry,” I murmur, trying to cover my blushing cheeks. 

“No need to apologize,” he laughs, touching down on the balcony outside of the living room.

“Thanks for taking me home,” I say softly, turning towards the door. 

“Of course, anytime,” he smiles before taking off into the sky again. 

I watch his form disappear into the clouds and as I make my way into my room I can’t help but long for that smell of cedar and leather.

Part 2  

Taglist: @crystalferret202, @nickishadow139 ,  @graceshifts , @writeroutoftime , @heyyitsnat21,

#cassian x reader smut #cassian angst #cassian smut #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #cassian x you #rhysand acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader smut #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel smut #rhysand smut #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff

[nestaarcheronweek]

♕ Announcing Nesta Archeron Appreciation Week 2024 ♕

Join us in celebrating Nesta Archeron from April 21 through April 27, 2024!

Welcome to Nesta Week 2024! Feel free to participate in any way you can, from headcanons, fanart, moodboards, fics, drabbles…. no matter how big or small, anything celebrating Nesta is welcome!

Please tag @nestaarcheronweek and use the tag #NestaWeek2024 so we can see all your lovely posts!

This year’s prompts are as follows:

Day One: Queen of Queens ♕ Nesta has accumulated many titles, but one of our favorites is Queen of Queens! How do you see her living up to this title?

Day Two: Metamorphosis ♕ Nesta has undergone many changes during the series — physical, mental, and emotional, just to name a few! How do you see some of the changes she’s gone through?

Day Three: Self-Care ♕ Nesta has experienced a lot of hardships during the series, making it all the more important for those moments of self-care. How do you see her taking care of herself?

Day Four: Lover ♕ Nesta has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship her with? Cassian? Emerie? Eris? Gwyn? Azriel? Cresseida? Any and all ships are welcome!

Day Five: Wolf ♕ “So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally.” How do you see Nesta using her teeth and claws?

Day Six: Birthday Girl ♕ While Nesta doesn’t have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?

Day Seven: Free Day ♕ Any topic of your choosing!

A huge shoutout to @dustjacketmusings, @c-e-d-dreamer, @talkfantasytome, @kale-theteaqueen, @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk, @melphss, and @podemechamardek for helping to organize this event!

Please contact @moodymelanist with any questions. We can’t wait to see what you all create!

#NestaWeek2024 #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #acotar #acosf #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses

[the-lonelybarricade]

TheLonelyBarricade Elucien Masterlist

All works excluding drabbles are available on AO3

🌶️= Smut/Works with explicit content

They Are the Hunters Series Masterlist 🌶️ - Little Red Riding hood retelling featuring fox!Lucien (Completed)

A Blaze in the Dark Masterlist 🌶️ - A regency fated mates story ft. extreme idiots to lovers (WIP)

La Vie En Rose Masterlist 🌶️ - Book 1 Elain meets Book 1 Lucien, set in ACoFD universe (WIP)

My Kingdom Come Undone: Part I / Part II / Part III🌶️ - A princess/royal guard romance (WIP)

You Look Like Bad News: Part I / Part II 🌶️ - Elain hated living next door to Lucien Vanserra, almost as much as she hated the girl he was fucking. (Completed)

Breaking & Entering: Part I / Part II - The story of how Elain discovered that Lucien Vanserra sleeps naked. (Completed)

You Would Be There, Too - Elucien Modern AU Christmas fic

In Silent Screams - Elain volunteers to look after her nephew so that Rhys and Feyre can get some much needed sleep

Flowerplay 🌶️- Smutty colab with @velidewrites

I've Given You Sunshine 🌶️ - Lucien VanTree Or; An attempt at a Prythain Little Shop of Horrors AU

In the Middle of the Night - Elain keeps dreaming of herself and Lucien in... compromising positions

I've Got a Hundred Thrown Out Speeches - The fourth solstice where Elain ignored her mate

Don't Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy - Elain's sisters take her drinking to forget her ex

#I think this is everything #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

[redbleedingrose]

🧠 eris 😘😈

I cant believe it took me this long to write one for my main male <3333

Maybe I was saving the best male for last, as per usual, SFW stuff first

Eris is the perfect mate. And I mean the perfect mate. He is so attentive, caring, loving, adoring, just everything under the sun that he could do to make you smile, he will. 

I want to start off by saying, I don’t think that there could be any other trope besides best friends to lovers for Eris. It takes so much for him to trust anyone, and he was definitely a loner before he met you. 

You basically forced your way into his life and his heart. 

And oh my god, the pining that he had for you. I mean constant flirting that he thought surmounted to nothing, but secretly had your heart fluttering. 

He could talk to you for hours about any topic and would never get bored. You could be talking about the most mundane thing like shopping or laundry or something complicated like politics or socioeconomics, and the conversation would just be so lively. 

Eris loves your laugh. It is def one of his top favorite sounds that you make, and he is constantly whispering snarky remarks or sarcastic comments to get you to laugh. 

Constantly buying y’all matching clothes so you both are known as the best dressed couple in Prythain. 

He also gave you access to the Autumn Court jewels when you were only friends?? He basically just nonchalantly handed you the key one breakfast morning to the safe, and said, “Have at it babe” 

And you were just shook??? 

And obviously you didn’t take anything, so when the next ball happened and you came in without any autumn jewels, he was like, “What happened? You didn’t like it?” and you are like “No, no, no. Er, they were stunning, but shouldn’t you save this for your future mate?” 

And he kinda just shakes his head and grabs you by the hand and takes you back to the safe. And then he picks out the jewelry himself for you. 

And he adjusts you in front of a mirror, and then puts the necklace on you. And his warm hands brush against your neck making your arm hair stand up and he leans in to press a soft kiss at the juncture between your shoulder and neck. 

You both are silent as he reaches down and pulls up your left arm, gently locking in the emerald and diamond bracelet before pressing a gentle kiss on your wrist. 

When his amber eyes meet yours, you feel it. And he feels it. That golden thread that ties your hearts together becomes alive and alight with a fire that only belongs on Eris. 

Anyways, y’all don’t make it back to the party 

Now he loves buying you jewelry, and he especially loves when he gets to play a part in designing it and picking out the certain jewels that will be used. 

Other things that are small but so romantic, he will hold your hand always. His warm hands always enclose yours wherever you are, in whatever setting. He needs to feel your touch to feel settled, and if you aren’t around, it usually sets him off in the wrong mood. 

He also does this thing where he wants to make sure that you are never cold. Constantly blowing warm air into your cold palms, letting you slip your fingers into his jacket pocket, he is constantly taking his cloak off to wrap around you, constantly taking off his sweaters before bed so you can go to bed in nothing but his warm clothing. 

OMG can we talk about his hounds for a second?? 

These hounds are supposed to be deadly. They are supposed to be scary and barking at you and chasing after you. 

But they are the sweetest, omg they literally love you more than they love Eris. They are constantly fighting to rest their heads in your lap even though Eris’ is wide open. Eris likes to act exhasrabated and annoyed but you know deep down that he loves it. 

He also loves going horse back riding with you, and having you sit in front of him so he can cuddle you close and hold you. 

You guys also love to explore autumn together and have absolutely gone skinny dipping and have fucked in the forest. Y’all are wilding. 

He was gifted the Vanserra Family Library, and it is only supposed to be kept within the family. For your 10 year anniversary, this male gave you the keys just for you. He had it rennovated just for you. 

Eris loves kissing your palm and the back of your hand before smooching all the way up your arm and into your shoulder and neck. He loves the giggles and squirming it illicits. 

He loves feeding you. This male will literally hide spoons and forks just so he can use his to feed you. He gets this smug smile lilting his face, as he tilts his head and holds out his spoon for you.

He def has a secret stash of gourmet chocolates that he only lets you have access too 

He is very insecure about the scars that have been left on his body by his father. His back is practically littered with scars from the whips that Beron used to use on him. He only begins to like it because you are constantly running your fingers up and down his spine and tracing the scars and kissing them whenever you have access. 

He loves napping with you, especially outside on the balcony hammock. He loves to pull you down into his lap and tuck your head under his chin and just stroke your waist and hips and squeeze at the flesh before he falls asleep 

Eris gets cuteness aggression with your cheeks and is constantly sucking or chewing at them. Like you can’t even be mad at the hickeys he leaves all over your neck because there are straight up hickeys on your cheek from the male. 

Definetly takes you out to vacation all the time. He just adores spending time with you, so he is taking you to cabins that are deep within the forest or the cottage on the seaside or treehouses that are literal houses. 

He also takes you out on dates all the time. He loves supporting the small busniess of Autumn and anytime he hears of a new restaurant, he is taking you there and tips sooo much. 

Dancing. 

You guys have danced in the rain, in the moonlight, on the beach, in the forest, in your room or library or his office. He is wordlessly pulling you in to sway with him without any music. Sometimes, if you are lucky, he will hum some autumn hymns for you. 

Sitting by the fireplace and reading your books together in silence while holding hands is one of Eris’ favorite past times. 

Okay some NSFW headcanons so MDNI!

I think Eris has the filthiest mouth. Some of the stuff he has said has had you cumming instantly on his cock. “such a dirty whore for your high lord” and “you are mine to use whenever I please” and “tell me who makes you feel this good?” and “Beg” or “Say please” and “Don’t cum unless I tell you to or else” and “Bend over or get on your knees” and “Gods, the amount of times I’ve fisted my cock to the way you moan” 

He absolutely loves fucking you with his tongue, he will tongue you until you have orgasmed 3 or 4 times before he even thinks about stuffing his cock inside. He also loves to finger fuck whatever cum is dripping out of your cunt after he is through with you. 

This male also is very exhibitionist. You love riding him while he is seated on his throne. He loves fucking you wherever and whenever. He has fucked you in the hallways, in the bath, in the stables, in the conference room, in the piano room, in the ballroom, in the throne room. Basically any and all surfaces that are sturdy enough in your home has been used. 

At this point, everyone is used to walking in on you. They just roll their eyes and quietly shut the door as they walk out. 

He absolutely has used his fire to tie you to the bed. 

He loves the feeling of overstimulating you until your legs are shaking and your body is convulsing with pleasure and feeling your core tighten around his cock, almost till he feels like he could get stuck in its warmth.

Mother forbid you try to close your legs and yank at his hair as he sucks and flicks your clit, he is spreading you back open with a slap to your inner thigh, “I wasn’t finished beloved, you have one more in you.” - obviously this is consensual, he would immediately stop if you safeworded. 

You love teasing him and he loves teasing you. Sometimes, you will only wear his sweater with nothing else and walk into his office to ride his thigh without even saying anything. Sometimes, he will slide his fingers up and down your inner thigh while you are in a meeting with other high lords, having a full conversation with Helion as though he isn’t cenimeters away from brushing your clit. He doesn’t even need to turn to look at you to know the effect that he is having on you. 

Ugh the way he moans when you suck him off, my goodness, you are constantly on your knees to hear him moan 

Breeding kink?? Need I say more???

Sometimes, Er will spit on your clit and rub it in. 

instant orgasm 

You love ripping his clothes off and he loves doing the same to yours. Ultimately, you are going clothe shopping maybe 4-5x/month because all your clothes end up shredded. 

OMG also??? He loves when you are only wearing a necklace or bracelet that he bought you while he fucks you. 

I get the feeling that he loves to creampie you, but also he loves cumming on your tits and then using his fingers to wipe it off, slipping them into your mouth and ordering you to suck. 

Hearing your laugh is one of his favorite sounds... hearing you screaming his name in pleasure IS his favorite sound. 

Anyway... your panties are constantly wet for this male and he doesn’t forget it. 

Sorry, this was all over the place but I just have so many thoughts for this male I cannot breathe frl. 

#rose rambles #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #head empty only eris

[cassianappreciationweek]

Announcing Cassian Appreciation Week 2023!

Join us in celebrating our favorite bat boy from July 30 through August 5, 2023!

Welcome to Cassian Appreciation Week 2023! Feel free to participate in any way you can, from headcanons, fanart, moodboards, fics, drabbles…. no matter how big or small, anything celebrating Cassian is welcome! 

Please tag @cassianappreciationweek and use the tag #CassianAppreciationWeek2023 so we can see all your lovely posts!

This year’s prompts are as follows:

Day One: Brother ⚔︎ Cassian has a unique bond with Rhys and Azriel, but he's always ready to slip into the big brother role with anyone who needs it. How do you see him as a brother?

Day Two: Gentle ⚔︎ When it comes to those he cares about, we all know Cassian has a big heart (and big hands). How do you think he shows his gentle nature to those around him?

Day Three: Illyrian ⚔︎ Cassian's love of his homeland is well-documented throughout the series. How do you see him celebrating his culture?

Day Four: Lover ⚔︎ Cassian has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship him with? Nesta? Azriel? Eris? Lucien? Any and all ships are welcome!

Day Five: Lion Hearted ⚔︎ Although we don’t know Cassian’s official birthday, we know how much Fire Sign Energy he gives off. How do you see Cassian celebrating his birthday and channeling his inner Leo?

Day Six: Lord of Bloodshed ⚔︎ Cassian is one of the most powerful Illyrians in history. How do you think he earns — and continues to earn — his unofficial title?

Day Seven: Free Day ⚔︎ Any topic of your choosing!

Thank you to @talkfantasytome, @dustjacketmusings, @c-e-d-dreamer, @isterofimias, @melphss, @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk, and others for helping to plan this event!

We can't wait to see what you create!

#cassianappreicationweek2023 #Cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #pro cassian #sarah j. maas #illyria

[jellisdraws]

Baron Prythain Dragomir

An upcoming NPC in the dnd game I’m running.

#Joe draws #JellisDraws #dnd #fantasy art #illustration #character art #drawing #dungeons and dragons #vampire #character portrait #vampire lord #oc #he’s gonna be an… antagonist? #been a while since I’ve rendered like this #I’m out of practice #fantasy character #dnd5e #homebrew dnd #pathfinder #ttrpg art #The Eldritch Soul Campaign #my art #if I was to touch this up more I’d add some additional texture #but I quite like how this looks

[bagelfyre]

For Your Consideration: Filling in the gaps SJM leaves for us

Listen. Sarah says “Worldbuilding? Not for me, babes, what if I want to put leggings in my fantasy aesthetic later? Don’t let anyone hold you back, not even your past!self.” Which… bummer. Also? Opportunity.

I, personally, cannot imagine Rita’s without it being a modern club with 25 subwoofers and a lighting budget that puts the Night Court’s sky to shame. Quaint, idyllic fantasy street outside with flickering lamplight, worn cobblestones, and twinkling stars? Booming bass from around the corner. Lines around the block. Yeah, the opera in the Rainbow is nice, but some of us were meant for the Velarian Sangrias and backalley baddies, okay? It's the Pleasure Hall, baby.

Besides, what the fuck is a Prythain pleasure hall? We don’t know. Which means we can DECIDE.

• Rita, herself, brought EDM to Prythian • Karaoke with songs that shouldn’t exist but do because I need Azriel belting out Adele biweekly • Taking shots off wings • Every year they collect the sky juice during Starfall. For what? ☆*:.｡.glow sticks.｡.:*☆

My fave and reason this godforsaken post exists

Open Pole Night:

Open pole night!AU concepts:

Cazriel gets competitive— it’s Magic Mike with wings and more “they’re not supposed to use those outside of combat” leather straps

Who is this mysterious ginger man that has captured the citizens’ hearts with his chair body rolls routine?? If Elain does have spy abilities, she’s using them to sneak out for one of his Friday night shows (they’ve taken him on as a regular, he’s got big pull in all of Rita’s core demos)

Viviane stimulates the entire Court’s economy via singles (Bills? Coins? Don’t they have checking accounts? Do you see what I mean, Sarah?!) Kallias hasn’t seen his wife in weeks. Mor writes to him on occasion to avoid any inter-Court incidents.

Maybe they go Masked Singer with it for anonymity and the surprise element that gets big money in the doors.

And so many opportunities for more at…

Rita’s Pleasure Hall: where pleasure is subjective and making it is our objective

#There’s no wrong answer #we don’t shame here at Rita’s Pleasuremporium #this is all the theorycrafting I care about now #are you happy now #this prob should be a cry for help but I’m being enabled at every turn #acotar #meta #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #mor acotar #viviane acotar #there’s no good way to tag this shit but I’ll be damned if it’s not categorized properly on my blog #daily motivation #acotar theory #analysis #🔥✨😌✨🔥 #can’t even imagine the eldritch typos in this splendiforous bitch

[whisplion]

Bryce in Prythain playing 20 questions with the inner circle

Meanwhile in the Asteri’s dungeons:

Pollux: *starts playing “these dreams” to drown out the screams of people dying and torture*

Hunt:”Just kill me already”

Ruhn:*still processing that Lidia is the hind*

Baxian:*regretting his life choices*

#crescent city incorrect quotes #cc hosab #hosab spoilers #hosab #cc3 #crescent city #acotar spoilers #acotar #cc hoeab #sjm multiverse #hofas

[acotar-fanns]

A Court of Thorns and Roses Mini Fic

this is how I imagine the batboys eating together everyday before UTM happened.

Summary: Set before A court of thorns and roses and UTM. Rhys struggles with the idea of a someday mate and has breakfast with 2 Illyrian warriors.

I think about it more than I should. I wonder what life would be like, if I ever found my mate. Would she want a traditional mating ceremony? Or just friends and family? Would she like the company I keep? Would she even want to be mated to me?

I always have said, even from a young age, that whether she be my wife,mate, or both, she would be High Lady if I was to become the heir. My father never liked the idea, said it has always been consort, said that it was what our ancestors chose, so it would remain that way. I never had an argument to hold against that, so I buried that notion deep, contending against my father was a death sentence. Everyone in Prythian knew that, knew what happened when they messed with the High Lord of the Night Court.

Now I am the High Lord, and especially since my father is not here to object, there will be a High Lady, if she is ok with the responsibilities that will come with the title.

I get these visions sometimes, not even really visions, just fragments of an image. At first I thought it was of Velaris, the stars that so closely resembled the stars I see every night before sleep. But the closer I looked, I noticed they looked less like a picture of the stars, but a painting of them. I see slender and practiced hands, painting on to a canvas with simple paints, each stroke of the brush a deep breath out as I continue to watch through my mind.

Other times I see a beautiful woodland, one that looks nothing like the woods I have seen in Prythain. It’s got this quality about it, something I can’t explain. I’m almost drawn to it.

I wonder if she is from Prythian,or Hybern, or any sister continent. A part of me knows none of these are true. Where else could she be? I know the answer:

𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌.

But a Human and Fae? That hasn’t happened for years. A Hybern solider, in the War fell in love with its opposing human leader. Jurian betrayed Clythia, as all Fae knew he would,humans were not to be trusted. After Clythia was killed, her sister Amarantha, was furious. She killed Jurian and all his human army, but kept his eye and finger, wears it as a ring, so he may live on, inside that ring, forever watching the Fae he hates.

Their story is one that is told to all Fae youth, a story to remind our kids that humans are to not be trusted, all are vermin. But what if my mate is human? Could I move past it? Could she move past her quarells with us?

“Dreaming of a girl, Rhys?” My brothers voice pulls me from thought.

“Nah, dreaming of all the ways I’m going to destroy you tomorrow.” I quip back. Tomorrow marks our annual snowball fight at my mothers cabin in Windhaven. Something we started as kids and have continued yearly. Azriel has been the reigning champion for 10 years but Cassian and I have been plotting our victory for nearly 8 months now.

“You know I always win,” Az responds, no doubt planning our collective demise.

“Don’t be so cocky brother. After all, that is what lost Rhysie here his victory 11 years ago.” Cassian entered the dining room, plate full of breakfast from all over Prythian, his new favorite way to start the day. Aside from admiring himself in the mirror that is.

These guys sitting to the right and left of me are the most feared Illyrians in history. These guys who have to wear seven Siphons each just to contain the power they hold, the guys who have saved my life on more than on occasion. These guys, —and Mor, who could forget her?— are my family. They will never be able to be replaced, ever. I would cleave this world in two before I allowed anything to harm them.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Az chuckles, “ I don’t plan on developing a boulder sized ego,” A look in my direction from both.

Cassian throws his head back in a laugh only Cass could ever replicate. The laughter is contagious, as always. The three of us sound a chorus of laughter that I’m certain bubbles all the way up to the Mother.

“Haha.Very Funny.” I said, feigning annoyance at my brothers words. Cass only sat down, still giggling like a toddler, grinning ear to ear. You would never know the Illyrian brutes often seen in public even have a funny bone in their body. We have all been taught the mask. The one we wear in throne rooms and stores. The one that is cold, unfeeling. The one everybody else expects us to wear. The Night Court. Court of Nightmares. The two are synonymous to everybody not in Velaris. For Velaris. Its safety. That is the only thing that matters.

Smirking, I leave Cass to his meal made for three horses. Az already left, no doubt checking in on the Illyrian armies for me. I never have to ask him, he just does it. I would never blame him if he never wanted to set foot in an Illyrian territory again. Cauldron knows he has suffered to much at those camps.

Shaking my head and letting my wings out to play, I leave the House of Wind and soar over this city that so unexpectedly became mine to rule.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #rhysand #acotar fic #utm #cassian #azriel #illyrian #illyrian war camps #mate #feyre archeron #this took longer than expected #i didnt edit this so sorry for typos #archeron sisters #this is how i imagine it #batboys #bat brothers #wings

[nikethestatue]

Questions

1. Bryce staying in Prythain for a while or briefly?

2. We see Nesta’s mating ceremony or Not?

3. Some of the Acotar characters go back with Bryce or Not?

4. We find out the next Acotar5 MC or wait till book?

5. An important character dies or side character dies?

6. Elain is the one who saw Bryce coming or Gwyn read it in her library book?

7. Elain and Azriel are already together OR wait for their book?

8. Amren OR Mor?

9. Brownies or cupcakes?

10. Fries or salad?

11. Rainy day OR sunny day?

1. Not too long. Maybe 3 months?

2. We won’t see it directly. Maybe is flashbacks.

3. I don’t think anyone will go to CC from ACOTAR. Except I leave the door open for Lucien and Vassa. I think she might be à thunderbird.

4. We might get hints/build up for next book MC. I think it will not be announced in a way that we won’t have people arguing for the next 2 years.

5. Someone in CC might die. Not sure who.

6. Elain Saw something. Gwyn MIGHT help Merrill but I’m not sure if there is space for all that.

7. Wait till Elriel book

8. Amren. She is interesting.

9. Brownies

10. Salad

11. Sun all the way.

[nestaarcheronweek]

♕ Announcing Nesta Archeron Appreciation Week 2023 ♕

Join us in celebrating Nesta Archeron from April 23 through April 29, 2023!

Welcome back to Nesta Week 2023! We decided to move the event up sooner in the year in honor of Nesta being born sometime in the spring, so we hope you're ready to celebrate our queen a little sooner than expected! Feel free to participate in any way you can, from headcanons, fanart, moodboards, fics, drabbles…. no matter how big or small, anything celebrating Nesta is welcome!

Please tag @nestaarcheronweek and use the tag #NestaWeek2023 so we can see all your lovely posts!

This year’s prompts are as follows:

Day One: Sister ♕ Nesta has a unique bond with her sisters, whether that's with Feyre and Elain or Emerie and Gwyn. How do you see her interacting with them?

Day Two: Sharp ♕ Nesta's wit — and her love of pointy objects — has been well-documented across the series. What's your take on how this word applies to her?

Day Three: Valkyrie ♕ Nesta trained hard to earn the title of Valkyie in A Court of Silver Flames. How do you see her embodying the title of Valkyrie?

Day Four: Lover ♕ Nesta has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship her with? Cassian? Emerie? Eris? Gwyn? Azriel? Cresseida? Any and all ships are welcome!

Day Five: Birthday Girl ♕ While Nesta doesn't have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn't mean we can't celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?

Day Six: Lady Death ♕ After surviving the Cauldron, Nesta became one of the most powerful characters in Prythian. What do you think Lady Death's magic looks like?

Day Seven: Free Day ♕ Any topic of your choosing!

A huge shoutout to @dustjacketmusings, @c-e-d-dreamer, @talkfantasytome, @isterofimias, and many others for helping to plan this event!

Please contact @moodymelanist with any questions about the event. We can't wait to see what you all create!

#nestaweek2023 #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sarah j. maas #a court of thorns and roses

[the-lonelybarricade]

I've Given You Sunshine - Elucien Oneshot

Lucien VanTree Or; An attempt at a Prythain Little Shop of Horrors AU

CW: Monsterfucking, Tentacle Sex, Blood Drinking, and Violence

A 13k word fever dream as a Halloween treat!

Read on AO3

-

Red and gold leaves crunched underfoot as Elain dashed through the Autumn woods. She was panting—quick, shallow gulps of air that clawed down her throat. She could taste copper on the back of her tongue, but that was the least of her concerns.

Her attention fixed less on the blur of skeletal branches she ducked and weaved around, and more on the furious clop of hooves at her back, stamping and pushing from the dirt with far more power than her aching legs could muster. They were gaining on her too fast.

A river cut haphazardly through the land ahead, where it led down to a nearby farming village. There was no time to turn for one of the bridges. Elain vaulted herself over the edge of the bank, trusting the momentum to carry her past the coursing water.

Not quite. She landed with an inelegant splash in the frigid, waist-deep water, slowing her down as she waded the remaining distance. But it would slow them down, too. And she needed to only buy herself enough time to climb up the bank.

Horses whinnied. Elain turned her head to spy the cloud of dust where the riders had ground their chase to a sudden halt. They dismounted at the same moment she grabbed a fistfull of grass and pulled herself up.

The riders didn’t pursue. They waited at the bank, watching as Elain scrambled to her feet. The air here, on the other side of the bank, felt different. Crisp as the Autumn wood, with none of the rot. She took a heavy exhale, scenting the pollen carried on the wind. Even the breeze itself was different—lighter, more playful, tugging at her long hair as if to say welcome. She smiled, taking a step forward.

Or, rather, she tried to.

Glancing down, Elain could see that below the knee, her right leg was solid wood, sprouting roots into the ground. She stumbled back, losing balance, and as soon as her left foot touched the soil it, too, became rooted. She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat was now hollow. Only the whistling brush of wind was left to convey her horror.

All she could manage was to turn her head, glancing back across the river, her eyes begging for help as her arms sprouted branches and her hair turned to vines. The man leading the pursuit—a tall, lean man with a stern face and long, scarlet hair—only crossed his arms and frowned. Watching, face tightened with disapproval, as Elain’s body turned to living wood and she became one with the earth.

-

Elain sat up in bed, hands flying to touch her face.

Her fingers met the soft flesh of her cheeks. Though flushed and dampened with sweat, she was still human—thank the long forgotten gods.

Scrambling out of bed, Elain padded across the floorboards to pry the rusted latch of her window open. She greedily swallowed the cool, night-kissed air that rushed in, allowing it to soothe the heat still smothering her.

It was a few hours off from sunrise—though Graysen often left before the sky lightened. Elain glanced over her shoulder, towards the empty half of the bed. There was a time in their marriage where she used to wake up beside her husband, but that was before his father had passed away and Graysen inherited the Nolan estate. Now, he slept in the late Lord’s chambers, and she warmed their marital bed alone.

Today, Elain was grateful for it. Graysen would have asked what had frightened her from sleep and Elain did not know how to describe the dream that she’d had, not without courting paranoia from her husband.

What could you possibly have to run from? He would ask, thinking logic would calm her. Why would the fae be chasing you?

“Maybe because I’m married to a faerie hunter,” she muttered, gazing towards the direction of the Wall that separated mortals from the faeries. Not that she could see it. From here, the only wall that Elain could see was the thick iron rampart boarding their land, rising like a black tidal wave on the horizon. So tall that not even the tops of the trees could reach it.

The Nolan estate was built like a prison.

Nesta had said that to her. Once.

At the time, Elain brushed it off. Of course Nesta, with her guarded heart, would look upon the walls surrounding the estate and see a fortress. At the time, Elain chose to see a man dedicating his life to the safety of his family, his village.

“If you spent your life making an enemy of the fae,” Elain said to Nesta, “You would choose to live behind walls as well.”

“And when you marry into Graysen’s family, you will inherit those enemies.”

A frightening thought, but not frightening enough to dissuade Elain from marrying Graysen. Love could do that to a person—conquer not just their fears, but their entire sense of reason. Elain had believed that Graysen would keep her safe, secure.

And, truthfully, he did.

It was everything her sisters dreamed when they’d been living in the cramped cottage of their youth. After so many years of hunger, she no longer worried where her next meal was coming from. Only that she might have someone to share it with. Dinners with her husband did not count. She might as well have been the embroidery on the tablecloth, for all he took notice of her.

That was another thing he’d inherited when his father passed. The Graysen she’d married had been kind, forthcoming. But it was as if some curse had been triggered when Lord Nolan died, as if when he and his father before him had chosen to encase their home iron and rock, they’d accidentally locked away their hearts, too. Graysen’s heartbeat—the heartbeat of the man she loved—was now the faintest echo through the stone. If she held her breath, she thought she could sometimes hear it. Calling to her, begging her to set him free.

From below the open window, the front door creaked its greeting to the night. Elain turned her head, watching curiously as her husband snuck out the front door. He always made an effort to be quiet, unaware that Elain was often awake by this time, roused by the strange dreams that so often plagued her.

Graysen didn’t so much as glance towards her window as he ambled down the front steps of the manor, headed towards the stables where he would mount his horse and rendezvous with the other fae-hunters of the village.

Despite their five years of marriage, Elain had never seen any evidence of her husband’s enemies or the so-called threat of the fae. Every morning, her husband went into the woods armed with iron weapons and ash wood arrows and every evening, he returned with a great tale of heroics and the same number of arrows in his quiver.

Sometimes, she wondered if he exaggerated the danger of the world as an excuse to keep her inside the walls.

That was an ugly thought. One she tried not to think very often, but it loomed, flickering in the back of her mind like the candle she kept on the side of the bed that he no longer slept on. Maybe it was envy that stirred her thoughts bitter—that Graysen had become far more consumed in his hatred for the fae than in his love for his wife.

But if he wanted a pretty wife to stay cloistered behind his mighty fortress while he prowled the woods for an imaginary threat, that was just fine to Elain. She liked the estate best when her husband departed for the morning.

And now that he was gone, she turned from the windowsill to begin dressing.

The land had finished thawing into spring two weeks prior, though the crisp air lingered. Elain took a deep inhale of it as she stepped out through the manor’s large wooden door. Graysen had left for the woods an hour earlier, before the sun peeked open an eye. Now that golden light was breaking past the horizon.

Silver-tipped in morning dew, the long grass glistened beneath the rising sun, swaying as they brushed and splattered against Elain’s skirts. She made an effort to lift them, if only out of consideration to the exasperated housekeeper. Elain’s skirts rarely returned from these outings unscathed—Unlike her husband, who returned from his daily excursion still impeccably dressed.

Birds chittered overhead, singing greetings to each other, to the morning, to their lady, who hummed as she made her way towards the estate’s private woodland, empty basket perched in the crook of her elbow. It was too early in the season for the strawberries she was allegedly on her way to gather, not that anyone in the estate had stopped her. Elain learned early on that if she put the right amount of vacancy into her smile, her husband and his servants would believe that she was simply vapid and misguided, and would indulge her whims so long as they were founded in the barest truth.

Good job, they would tell her when she returned with a handful of under ripe berries. We shall bake these into a pie. Elain would beam and pretend she was nonethewiser when the pie served that evening tasted nothing of strawberries. If her husband was permitted his fictitious fae-hunts, then she was allowed to wander the estate to gather fruit that wasn’t in season.

The still-waking sun disappeared as Elain stepped beneath the canopy of trees. Graysen’s men largely neglected the woodland on this part of the property—it was on the opposite side of the estate from the Wall that severed the mortal realm from the fae, and thus was deemed a much smaller concern. No human could climb the imposing rampart that cut across the woods, and even if they somehow managed to scale the smooth iron and evade the defensive spikes, they certainly wouldn’t survive the fall.

Which was just as well. It meant that Graysen’s men never bothered to pay much attention to the woods on their patrols, and that no one insisted for a guard to accompany Elain. Otherwise, they might have found it imposing how the shadows loomed when the angle of the sun wasn’t quite high enough to scatter through the canopy. At this time in the day, the trees were little more than silhouettes, and Elain, too, became one of the shadows as she weaved through them. Birdsong still drifted overhead, but it was quieter, like they knew something rested here. Something that should not be disturbed.

Yes, it was a fortunate thing that Elain was alone this early in the morning. Otherwise, they might have seen the silhouette lounging comfortably on the low hanging branch of the largest oak tree. A man, with one hand tucked lazily beneath his head, the other casually outstretched toward her. He had one knee crooked, the other following the curve of the tree.

“Good morning,” Elain chirped to the sleeping figure.

He didn’t respond, which was no surprise to Elain. She stepped closer. The underbrush hissed beneath her feet, as if warning her not to come any closer. Gradually, the silhouette became more distinguished—the proud nose and the full lips, the long vines of hair that spilled over his shoulders and onto his strong chest.

She liked coming here in the mornings, before the light hit, because it was when he looked the most human. When the sun rose, it would illuminate the bark of his skin, the twisted wood of his bicep, the hollow of his just-parted mouth. And she would remember that he was just a tree branch with unnervingly human-like features.

“I’m to collect strawberries today,” she told him with a soft laugh. She hoped he would think her excuses to visit him were amusing, too.

The first time she had seen the tree, four years ago, the silhouette of the sleeping man had startled her, and yet—she hadn’t fled.

She’d only called to him, hello? Who’s there?

There had been no response, of course. Save for the small, inexplicable tug in her chest that practically begged her to stay. To go see. Elain could feel that same tug now, once again luring her closer and closer. Sometimes she woke to it, yanking her so violently that she sat up from bed, gasping with the urge to go to him.

It was loneliness, she’d long since concluded. Her husband was inattentive and the tree, for all its silence, was an excellent listener.

“Is this for me?” she murmured, noticing the flower that bloomed from the outstretched branch. The one that attached to his would-be shoulder, stretching towards her like an arm. “How kind of you,” she said, reaching for the stem.

It was not a flower typical of an oak tree. Large pink petals curled away from the bright yellow stamens in the center, dusted with pollen. She cataloged it in her mind, trying to match the shape and colors to the flowers she was familiar with. A camellia, perhaps? Elain could not make sense of how it had grown here. She hesitated, not wanting to hinder the flower’s unusual growth, but she felt the strange tug again.

The leaves of the oak tree rustled.

It’s for you, she swore they whispered to her.

Mouth feeling oddly dry, Elain plucked the flower from the sleeping man’s grasp. As she ducked her head to place it gently in the basket, she could have sworn his smile broadened. But she snapped her head up and those wooden lips were still softly parted from sleep. If she held her breath, she imagined she might hear his steady exhale at any moment.

There was only the wind, dancing through the canopy and batting at her hair.

“Thank you,” she said. To him, or the flower, or the woods, she wasn’t quite sure.

The servants expected her to return with some attempt at picking strawberries, so she set the basket around his would-be wrist.

“You don’t mind holding this for me, do you?” Silence. “Good.”

She hooked the basket around the branch, smiling to herself at the exasperation she could imagine radiating from the tree. Elain knew precisely how frustrating it was to not be able to speak one’s mind. She had endured as much for five years, from the moment her husband returned from the woods until they parted for the night in their separate bedrooms.

“My mother used to tell us a story,” Elain said, idly searching the nearby brambles for berries. “I’d nearly forgotten it, but last night it came back to me in a dream. Do you mind if I tell you?”

After a moment’s pause, Elain felt compelled to explain, “I’m not allowed to speak of these things, you see. Not in this estate. You’re the only person I can share it with.” She slowly lowered herself to the dirt floor, squinting through the darkness to search the brambles in front of her. “Last night I had a dream that I was running through the woods. Something was chasing me, something dangerous.” Elain shuddered as she recalled those menacing amber eyes. “I knew I had to get to where it’s safe, that I needed to cross the river. But once I did, my legs turned to wood, and my hair to leaves. And when I woke up, I remembered a story that my mother used to tell us—that if you crossed into Faerie without permission, the land would trap your soul in a tree as punishment, keeping you for eternity. I think it’s a story meant to stop children from wandering too close to the Wall, but I wondered if that might have been what happened to you.”

She glanced up considerately, studying the man’s relaxed posture. “You don’t look like you were running from something, though. And the only place you would have been trespassing was the Nolan estate. They prefer pointy weapons to curses.”

Dawn was creeping through the forest, now, breaking past leaves and timber to cast the sleeping oak tree in shafts of gold. The male features faded again into wood—knots and curves and slits that seemed far more natural beneath the light of day.

This was usually when the embarrassment set in for talking to a tree like it was truly a man. And after her mother’s bedtime story had resurfaced, Elain felt doubly foolish for hoping that it held some kernel of truth. That magic was truly capable of turning someone to solid oak.

With five green strawberries in hand, Elain lifted to her feet and deposited them into the hanging basket. As she lifted her arms to unhook the handle, prepared to return to the manor where she would spend the rest of the day convincing herself that she wasn’t some sad, delusional girl making friends with trees to soothe her lonely heart, she noticed something in the filtered light that she’d missed earlier.

Nestled in that outstretched branch, like it was being held in offering, was a small round seed. Elain’s hand retreated from the basket. She carefully picked up the seed, holding it to the light so she could examine it closer. It was slightly larger than her thumb, with a small green sprout already budding from its splintered side. An oak seed? Elain didn’t think so. It was too early in the year. There were no other seeds on the ground to compare it to, and it lacked the distinctive cap-like shape of an oak seed. From its size, larger than the width of her thumb and equal in length, it had to have come from a tree of some description.

Pursing her lips, Elain added the seed to her basket before slinging the handle into the crook of her elbow.

“Thank you for the gifts,” she said, because it always felt rude to leave without saying something in departure. “And for lending me your ear. I hope you enjoy the rest of your nap.”

She turned, quickly enough that she questioned why she was embarrassed at all. It’s not like the tree could witness that she was talking to it like a person. And if it could, then there was no cause for embarrassment at all. Even so, she continued walking, not daring to glance over her shoulder.

Even when she swore she could feel a pair of warm eyes laughing quietly at her back.

-

Elain spent the remainder of the day crouched in the flowerbed outside her window. The early spring meant the perennials were already regrowing—poppies and peonies and daylilies that would soon become a vibrant mesh of colors, though for now they were a cluster of green leaves and budding stems. Even the foxglove she had planted two years prior was beginning to grow back. She’d gasped when she’d seen the small stalk rising between the rosette of large, downy leaves. Legend whispered the plant only flowered when the fae were present, and when they had not flowered last year, Elain had decided anything associated with the fae simply wouldn’t grow on the Nolan estate.

But if the foxglove could bloom on inhospitable land, then she hoped that meant the seed from the sleeping oak could, too. She planted it in the soil beneath her window, where she could easily monitor its growth. If it was a tree, there was a chance it would not reach adulthood in her lifetime. Oaks could grow for centuries, she knew, and she wondered how long the oak in the forest had sat on this estate. Had it existed before Graysen’s family claimed this land, before the humans and faeries were separated?

Maybe it had known a time when the fae owned the whole of Prythian.

“Lady?”

Elain turned her head. A servant stood behind her on the stone-slab garden path, offering a strained smile. “The Lord will soon be returning from his hunt. Would you like to have a bath?”

The servant’s eyes flickered to Elain’s soil-covered hands. The servants were well aware that Graysen didn’t like to see dirt beneath Elain’s fingertips. He claimed it was unbecoming of a Lord’s wife, that his mother’s hands were always pristine, uncalloused. He never mentioned the bruises that once decorated his mother’s skin. Neither did Elain.

But in their silence, those violent memories lingered. Elain could see it—in the careful distance the servants kept when Graysen was in the same room, in how they jumped when he stood up too quickly. And now, in the shadow that passed over the servant’s eyes as she examined Elain’s dirty hands while they defiantly gripped a pair of iron shears.

Elain understood the wariness in those eyes, even as she restrained the urge to insist that Graysen was not his father. He had never raised a hand to Elain. And despite his judgment of it, Graysen let her garden. So long as Elain was clean by supper.

“Just one moment,” Elain said. She was trying to prune back a rose bush to ensure the seed would have ample room for growing. Using her free hand to position the rose stem, Elain resolved to cut back just one more before she returned to the task tomorrow.

Perhaps it was her awareness of being watched, but as Elain cut the stem from the root system, her sure grip faltered, and she winced as a rose thorn sliced against her skin. She snapped her hand back with a sharp hiss.

“Are you alright, lady?”

An innocent, well-meaning question. But Elain feared the servant would report back to Graysen, who would claim she was too ill-equipped for gardening. Recently, he’d been pushing for Elain to take up playing his mother’s harpsichord instead of spending her time in the flower beds.

“I’m fine,” she said, staring at the welling blood in her palm. She squeezed her hand into a fist in an attempt to hide the wound from sight. “It’s just a small cut.”

The servant didn’t look convinced, but she politely ignored the blood dripping down Elain’s wrist, splattering into the soil below. “Let’s get you cleaned up inside.”

Elain’s shoulders slumped, but seeing as she needed to clean the wound before it became infected from the soil, she obediently followed the servant back into the house. It didn’t occur to her to glance over her shoulder. Why would she? The gardening tools would be collected by a servant, or otherwise left for her to find tomorrow.

And the blood would already be soaking into the earth, undetectable by morning.

-

Elain was running through the forest again.

Light burst through the gaps in the trees and smeared the passing leaves in the honey gold of the rising sun. There was nothing pursuing her—aside from that light breaking at her heels. But it moved altogether much slower than the men and the horses, more like the slow drip of thawing ice, creeping steadily through the waking, lethargic earth surrounding her. She managed to evade its touch as she wove deeper into the woods, where wide tree trunks guarded the shadows and morning fog.

Here, she was welcomed. Embraced, as the shadows folded around her, concealing her for however long the trees could ward off the light.

Elain knew this place. It was a different woods than the one she fled in her dreams.

And she knew the sleeping man cradled on the branch of a sturdy oak.

He sat up, cutting a familiar figure through the wafting mist and shade, though she had never seen the full shape of his shoulders. Never seen his head tilt, as though in recognition.

She stopped running.

Her bones cried in protest at the sudden loss of momentum. She stumbled, betraying a single step as everything in her body, in her blood and bones and every ravaging breath, fought to hurdle her forward.

Through all these years of running, had she always been fleeing towards him?

“Elain,” he said.

His voice was…

Elain shut her eyes as that rich voice wrapped around her, evoking images of a crackling hearth and sun-warmed apples and the buttery sunlight that kissed her shoulders in summer. It did not match this place, this nestle of darkness.

“Who are you?”

The figure shifted back, as if affronted by her question. He was so alive here, his hair spilling over his shoulder, moving with every subtle shift of his head. She wouldn’t risk moving closer to discover whether he was still mounted to the oak.

“You know who I am,” he said.

Then he leapt from the branch.

Even the leaves beneath his feet whispered their astonishment, rustling as he walked around her in a wide arc. His movements weren’t stiff or rigid, as she might have expected from someone who had been embedded in wood not a day prior. Each fluid, calculating step made her feel more as though she were being circled by a mountain lion.

A dormant instinct was screaming at her to run. And not away from him.

He maintained a careful distance, keeping his features obscured in shadow. But he could walk. He could talk.

“Granted, you don’t know my name,” he said. “But I’m what greets you every morning, what calls to you at night.”

“A faerie,” she whispered.

There was no other explanation.

He paused, inclining his head. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

Elain knew was a fool not to be, moreso to admit it outloud, lest he perceive her composure as a challenge.

“Good,” he said, sounding sincere. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Elain swallowed. She didn’t know how, but she could feel the truth of it, taste it on her tongue as she whispered, “I know.”

She thought he might have been fighting a smile as he added, “You are the one who sought me out tonight. For a married human, you seem to have fascinating difficulty with staying away from me.”

Absently, she pressed her fingers to her ribs, feeling for the phantom tug that had initially drawn her into the woods.

“What’s your name?” She blurted.

This, too, seemed to delight him. “Lucien.”

Her heart constricted. She mouthed it—Lucien—searching her memory for any person she’d known in passing. Any story or myth or whispered rumor in the village. His name was so familiar it could have been her own. And yet, she’d never heard it spoken until this very moment.

“You’re a… tree faerie?”

“Presently,” he said, voice dripping with a wry humor she did not understand. She took it this was not his usual form.

“What are you doing on the Nolan estate?”

“You have a lot of questions, lady.” Though she could not see his eyes, she could feel them trailing over her. Heat prickled over her skin, and she shifted, struck with the awareness that she was in nothing but her sheer nightgown. “Allow me to ask you one in exchange.”

Elain nearly agreed, before Graysen’s warnings clawed at the back of her mind. Never tell a faerie your name. Never eat their food. Never agree to a bargain.

“I don’t make deals with faeries,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“Y-you…” She stumbled over her words, only realizing at this moment that Graysen had never truly explained why. The children’s rhymes were vague, the stories all exaggerated—peering at this faerie, she saw no claws that could strip her to ribbons, no rows of teeth to grind her to dust. If he wanted to eat her, he surely would have gone about it sooner. “Because you’re experts at crafting clever words and exploiting loopholes. You’ll trick me into agreeing to more than I intend.”

Lucien laughed, soft as the wind swirling through the trees. It carried towards her, brushing against her neck, teasing goosebumps that rippled down her spine. “It’s true we excel at tricking the common human fool,” he conceded. “But I expect you and that sharp mind will not be so easy to trick.”

He would be the first to hold that opinion.

Elain yielded a step to that deep, intrinsic pull. He took a sharp breath, holding himself still as she took another. And another. It was all there—the nose and mouth and jaw that she’d always felt the strangest temptation to run her fingers along. In the dim light, she swore that was flesh on his cheek, the color of brown oak, but now soft and smooth and warm if she dared to venture close enough to touch it.

Did she dare?

“What’s your question?” She asked, stopping an arm’s distance away.

He considered her for a long moment before he asked, softly, “Are you happy?”

The thrall that tugged her was severed abruptly. Elain took a sharp breath, like she’d been smothered in icy water and the cold had only just broken through the numb. She knew the honest answer, and she knew how to split it from her words, leaving behind a carcass of the truth. She’d been letting her shadow speak for years, and this was no different.

“I am a Lord’s wife,” she said. “I am never cold, never hungry. I have endless time to garden. How could I deny that I have every comfort?”

“Every comfort but love,” he said quietly.

The ice in her chest splintered. Cracked. From the way he said it—not with anger or pity, but with a bleak sort of understanding—she wondered if what beat inside his chest wasn’t a mirror to hers.

She hadn’t married Graysen because he was a lord’s son. She had never cared about the money, not really. Her family had been wealthy once, too, and she’d enjoyed the comforts, the parties, the clothes. But when their family lost their wealth and they’d been impoverished, she had not mourned the luxuries as much as the friends she had lost, who’d pretended they did not know her. And during those years in the cottage, even with the hunger and cold, things had never felt so unbearable with her sisters and father always close by. Somehow, despite the nights she’d shivered in bed with her sisters, those years were colored in her memory with far more warmth than her time at the Nolan estate. And she found she missed them, longed for them.

She supposed that without love, every lavish comfort felt meaningless.

“I’ll ask you again, Elain. Are you happy?”

Maybe not presently. But that didn’t mean the path was barred to her, that she might never find happiness again. She reasoned, “I might have children one day. They will love me.”

This time, Lucien was the one to take a step forward. “What if I could offer you a husband who would love you? Who could give you every comfort, and as many strong, healthy children as you so desired?”

Elain thought that the promise sounded familiar. Graysen had promised to love her, too.

“I suppose you’re referring to yourself.”

His final step planted him right at her feet. She could not resist lifting a hand to his chest, awed by the heat he emitted and the steady beat under her palm. The same as any other heartbeat, she supposed, and yet she heard the echo of it in her ears, like she was finally unlocking the rhythm to a melody she’d sung all her life, never quite right.

Until now.

The world tilted and sunlight burst past the treeline, filling the space around them. She could see the rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch. He was unclothed, revealing every inch of smooth, human skin that practically glowed against the light haloing his back.

Exacting a great deal of restraint, Elain tipped her chin up, and found her head emptying of every thought as she glimpsed his face for the first time in the full light. She had always known his features were handsome, as a tree. But now, in the flesh, he was the most beautiful man—male—she had ever laid eyes on.

Mischief sparked in the russet and gold eyes that watched her.

“Would you deny me, if I was?”

Yes, she thought. She should. But she was finding it hard to form sentences as he stared at her, radiant as the gods they had surely once worshiped.

“I wonder.” He gripped her chin and leaned forward, his scarlet-silk hair falling against her cheek. He whispered, “Do you hesitate because I’m fae or because you are already married?”

His breath ghosted over her lips. Elain licked them, hopeful there might be some lingering taste of him there. She did not miss the way he laughed, a soft caress of air against her face. Or how his eyes darkened.

Elain managed to find her voice long enough to answer, “Because I am uncertain if this is a dream. Are you real, or will I wake tomorrow to find that you are a tree, and I am again a lonely creature inventing you in my mind?”

“This is a dream and I am very, very real.” He laid a large hand over the one she braced against his chest and guided it down. Over hard, coiled muscle. “Would you like me to demonstrate how real I am, Elain?”

She could not remember the last time Graysen had kissed her and meant it.

This was just a dream, wasn’t it? It would carry no weight over into the real world. She could indulge in the fantasy of him and know that when she woke, he would be just a tree in the woods. And she could finally feel warm again, if only for the night.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

He was already halfway there, his thumb propped beneath her jaw, tilting her face higher. Their eyes met as he leaned in, as their breaths mingled. He paused when their lips were centimeters apart.

“Only you can wake me,” he said.

Then he surged forward, kissing her before she could ask what he meant. And the second his lips slotted over hers, she decided it hardly mattered. He groaned, a gratified noise that lit a fire in her blood. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted, desirable.

Lucien banded an arm behind her back to bring her closer, so their bodies were completely flush. The material of her nightgown was thin, leaving her completely exposed to the heat flooding against her, blazing in every place they touched.

Her mouth parted open for him, an offering which he greedily accepted. His tongue swept into her mouth, and she moaned, relishing the taste. Was this what they meant, when they spoke of the intoxicating fae wines? She felt drunk, her head spinning, as she clawed blindly at his back, his hair, needing him closer.

Lucien indulged her by grabbing her hips and hoisting her up without breaking the seal of their lips. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, not caring that her nightgown was riding up, or that his hands were creeping beneath it.

She liked this angle, she thought with a contented sigh. There was more of him to explore—the broad shoulders she wrapped her arms around, the strong muscles of his back that flexed and shuddered beneath her nails. But her favorite of all: his erection, pressed deliciously between her thighs.

“Oh,” she gasped, as she moved curiously against it and felt his arousal grow in answer.

He made a rough noise in the back of his throat that sounded vaguely like a laugh, already knowing what she had just discovered—that he was obscenely large, and that she was already wet where she was rocking her hips against his.

Not to be outdone, Lucien threaded his fingers through her hair, creating a handle from her locks that he could pull until she arched her neck, her back, her entire being into him. With a low hum of approval that churned low and warm in her blood, he brought his mouth to her throat, teasing her skin with playful nips as he used the new angle to grind his hips harder.

Elain was panting, utterly lost to the rhythm as she swore she’d never felt anything so good, so right, so—

Rough tree bark scraped against her back. She hadn’t realized Lucien had been walking them backward until he flattened her against the oak tree she visited every morning, an extension of his body once again as he trapped her between the harsh wood and his warm skin. She didn’t care about the sting, not as he tore her undergarments away and braced each of her knees beneath his elbows so he could open her legs wider, push himself closer.

She was pinned under his body, unable to move and entirely content not to.

“Could we have been doing this all along?” she whispered.

“No,” he said, that smooth, deep voice now guttural. “No, only tonight. I needed—fuck,” he hissed, cutting himself off as he guided his hips forward enough that his cock slipped over the seam of her cunt, gliding and covering himself in her arousal.

When his thick head nudged against her clit, Elain pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth, trying—and failing—to contain the whine building in her throat.

“Elain,” he sighed. With no gods to celebrate in the human realm, it was the closest thing she’d ever heard to prayer. He dropped his head to her shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses that started tender, before he followed the slope of her neckline. Somewhere between the valley of her breasts, his touches became frantic. Feverish.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you,” he said, his words muffled in her chest and nearly lost to her soft, hitching whimpers. He was still rubbing his cock against her, offering just enough friction to leave her frazzled in sharp, aching pleasure. His mouth closed over one of the nipples poking through her nightgown, and she cried as he lashed the sensitive bud with his tongue.

Her body felt ignited. Burdened with light and heat and pleasure, building the more he touched and licked and tasted her. She needed more, even if she wasn’t sure if she could survive it, if what she yearned would destroy her in the process.

“Please,” she whispered, tugging his hair in an attempt to lift him off her chest.

He complied, raising his head to meet her eyes. And offered her a slow, utterly male grin. “Please, what, lady? You want me to put you on my cock, is that it? Fuck you against the tree?” He flashed his teeth at her silent nod. “Say it.”

Elain scrambled for the part of her brain still capable of forming sentences. “L-Lucien, please—”

She watched his eyes shutter at his name. If he intended for her to say the rest, he didn’t give her a chance to. Instead his mouth slammed against hers, smothering her voice alongside the grunts of pleasure vibrating in the back of his throat.

The kiss was claiming, mostly teeth and tongue and she lost herself to it, melting into his touch as he repositioned their hips and finally aligned himself against her entrance. Despite his frenzied touches, Lucien was surprisingly gentle as he pushed his hips forward.

It had been years since Elain lost her maidenhead, but it had also been months since Graysen last visited her bedroom. And even so, Lucien was thicker than she was used to. She winced at the stretch and he stilled, giving her a moment to adjust. She clung to him, breathing heavily around his lips and tongue. Aware, with every rapid rise and fall of his chest, that he was doing the same.

He forged another inch, breaking their kiss for a sharp exhale as her body clenched in protest. She’d never felt so full, and he only pushed further—in and in, demanding more space than she’d thought possible.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes were blazing, holding her still as he thrust the rest of the way, forcing her body to take it.

Elain left out a soft cry, stranded between the discomfort and the confounding rightness settling around them like a blanket. Sunshine poured over his back, against her face, and she wondered what he saw as his lips parted open, and he ground into her slowly, watching every shift in her expression in unrestrained reverence. “You were made for me, Elain.” He kissed her slow, soft. “My sweet, beautiful mate.”

“Mate?” she repeated.

His eyes glazed a bit.

“Mate,” she said again, watching the way it stirred him, how his whole body shuddered and his eyes became half-lidded in desire. He mouthed the word back at her—my mate.

She didn’t know what it meant, not fully.

She did know that when he thrust his hips forward, and his cock dragged against a spot inside her that had her vision erupting into stars, that her whole body—every part of it that could move, that wasn’t held open by him—curled forward, around him, chanting inwardly: mate, mate, mate.

It was too much and not enough and just right, and she thought she might truly be torn apart by his slow, steady dismantling. Their hips flush, he ground against her, against that spot, intent on seeing her unravel in his arms. Elain’s head lulled back against the tree, not caring if the rifts in the bark caught at her hair, clawed at her back.

Lucien bowed his head to kiss her neck as he continued canting his hips. “That’s it, Elain,” he said, feeling her walls flutter on his cock. He bit her neck, and she felt his smile warm her skin when she keened. “Does your husband know that you like being fucked in the woods? In the dirt?”

“No,” she managed to choke through her cries. Fire licked up her spine, uncontrollable, insatiable. She could feel herself teetering on an edge as a golden light wound tight in her chest, coiling until it hurt.

She couldn’t breathe as Lucien said, “I’m the only one who can give you what you want, Elain. Who can make you happy.”

“Yes,” she babbled, “Yes, yes, yes.”

His thrusting picked up pace, velocity, punching the air out of her lungs. All of her awareness narrowed to that golden light, banding and tighter with each decadent drag of his cock.

“You’re my mate,” he said.

“Yours,” she gasped. “Yours, Lucien—”

Then he was kissing her again, like he couldn’t stand breathing air anymore. She felt her inner walls tighten around him as that pleasure built to unsustainable height, and then she was drowning in him, wrecked—utterly devastated by every touch as she forgot the world around her. Forgotten anything had ever existed before him, that anything would exist after.

There was only Lucien. Lucien and that light threading them together, yanking her over the edge. She thought she might have been screaming, chanting his name—or maybe he was. His thrusting faltered into deep, erratic grinds that kept their bodies flush, preventing any air space from invading their connection as the world fractured and rebuilt around them.

She couldn’t say for certain how long they stayed like that. Frozen, apart from the slow movement of their lips. Their bodies were a permanent addition to the forest, another branch of the oak tree.

“Forget about the plant,” he said, once he finally found the strength to sever his lips from hers.

Elain already wished he would forget about speaking and just kiss her again. “What?”

He kissed her forehead. “Let it die,” he instructed. “It was enough to have this.”

She blinked, not understanding what he meant. But before she could demand clarification, before she could memorize his face or the feeling of his body pinned against her, the sun rose high enough to break through her window pane.

And she sat up, gasping, in bed.

-

The window in Elain’s bedroom was open.

That was the first thing she noticed, as the world slowly reoriented, and she was reminded that she was in her bedroom. That she had gone to sleep with the window closed, that she had a terribly vivid dream, and that now the window was open, inviting cold air that she was not quite ready to confront.

Just a heartbeat ago, she’d know warmth beyond any blanket or hearth or raging forge.

Now, her fingers were ice as she pressed them to her flushed cheeks.

The sunlight pouring into her bedroom was a strange sight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past sunrise, the last time she hadn’t jolted awake from her nightly terrors. Graysen would have long since departed for the day. Would the servants think it was odd that she had slept in, too? Or would they be grateful that their lady was at last keeping herself inside? Well, not for much longer.

Elain dressed quickly, throwing on clothes without much thought. The servants spared her odd looms as she rushed through the house and out the door, but she didn’t care about those, either.

It was unusually cold today. Or perhaps that was still the remnants from her dream scrambling her perception of warmth. Everything would feel cold in comparison to Lucien’s touch. But the breath clouding in front of her face as she stepped into the forest—that told her it was not just her heart playing tricks on her mind. The air grew colder, heavier, as she wove the familiar path through the dense thicket. Birds chittered overhead, unfettered by the cold or the rustling wind.

The ancient, silent oak waited for her in its usual position. As a whole, it looked unchanged. Its roots dug deep into the earth, splitting in various directions, many of them spanning wide enough to reach Elain where she paused several yards away.

Sunlight poured proudly through the canopy, dashing any chances of seeing the familiar silhouette. It was always harder to see in the daylight, but she swore as she squinted at the lowest hanging branch, that the human profile was gone. No notches in the branch that could mark a nose or mouth, no offshoot for his tucked arm or crooked knee.

Lucien wasn’t here.

Had she imagined him entirely?

She ran her fingers over the curve of the branch like he might emerge from her touch. Coarse bark scratched her fingers in answer. She listened for the whisper of leaves and when she heard nothing, she called for him.

“Lucien?”

Nothing.

Clinging to the impossibility of it, Elain stumbled through the woods, searching every tree as she called his name. He’d walked in her dreams, she rationalized, what was to say he hadn’t simply walked out of the forest? It was more conceivable than having made up his silhouette. She had traced those perfect lips too many times with her eyes to believe that they were an illusion.

When there was no sign of him in the forest, she returned to the house, thinking maybe he had left in search of her. Maybe they were simply on opposite sides of the estate, searching for each other.

“Lady!” A servant gasped as Elain rounded a corner too quickly, nearly colliding with the poor woman holding a pile of folded sheets.

“Apologies,” Elain said with a hand pressed to her chest, pretending that her racing heart was from the fright.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, not at all,” Elain rushed, though she knew she must have looked a mess. Flustered and red-cheeked and half-delirious.

“Let me get you some tea, lady,” the servant said, placing the sheets aside. “You look as if you’ve been terribly frightened. Was it the tree in the garden? The Lord was worried it would startle you.”

“The…” Elain allowed the servant to place a delicate, guiding hand on her back. “The tree in the garden—”

“Frightening isn’t it?” the servant cooed sympathetically. They turned down the hall into the kitchen, and Elain numbly sat at the kitchen table while the servant took to boiling a pot of water. “We all swear it cropped up out of nowhere. And with the foxglove blooming around it…” she glanced over her shoulder, face pinched in concern as she studied Elain. She pursed her lips. “Well, it’s an unsettling omen to say the least.”

“Tis,” Elain said, numbly. She was glancing toward the window overlooking the garden. From her vantage point, all she could see were the artfully trimmed hedges and the stone and mortar exterior of the house.

Bubbling water stole her attention back to the kitchen. She watched the servant ladle several spoonfuls of hot water into the prepared teapot, steam now billowing from its stout. “Here you are, lady,” the servant said, placing the pot and a cup before her. She curtsied. “Please, take as much rest as you need.”

She said nothing else before scurrying from the room, returning to whatever task Elain had interrupted. Only once the door firmly shut behind her, and the sound of footsteps retreated down the hall, did Elain stand up from the table and cross the room to the window.

Across the garden, she could see the flower beds she was working on the day before. The peonies and poppies and daylilies still blooming, the rose bush pruned back. As the servant had mentioned, the foxglove—which yesterday had barely been a stalk peeking out of the rosettes—bloomed in vibrant pillars of blue and purple. Situated between those pillars of foxglove, there was a tree unlike any she had seen before.

Tea on the table forgotten, Elain dashed for the door to the garden.

“Lucien?” she called.

If there were any servants close enough to overhear, Elain didn’t pay them any mind. All she could see was the tree rising from the ground—a familiar torso flexing upwards, one arm skyward and the other behind his neck, as if he were stretching out of a yawn. His head was tilted back, exposing the column of his throat, face basking in the sun like he hadn’t felt it upon his skin in years.

She supposed, tucked away within the shaded forest, he wouldn’t have.

Now within earshot, she pitched her voice lower. “Lucien?”

He did not move when she called. No twitch of muscles, no ripple of emotion across his face. If he could not move like he had in her dream, there was no explanation for how he was here.

Aside from the seed she had planted the day prior.

Elain glanced at the soil he emerged from. The shears from yesterday were exactly where she had left them, and as she opened her palm, she could see the puncture from the rosebush.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Elain dodged around the foxglove to study the back of the tree. Predictably, he was naked in this form. It was while she was admiring his beautiful backside that she noticed his roots sprouting into the earth. They managed to tear her eyes away from his muscular form as she noticed they spread to the edge of the house—and up, under and over the trellis, artfully obscured by the hanging wisteria, leading all the way up to her bedroom window.

She hid a smile as she recalled the open window. “So it wasn’t all a dream?”

No answer, of course. She ran a finger up his spine anyway.

Humming, she asked coyly, “Can you feel what I do to you in this form?”

In case he could, Elain brushed her lips along his neck, just to give him a reason to visit her dreams again. She didn’t linger, aware the servants were wary of the tree and were likely monitoring it. Would they tell Graysen she’d touched it?

“My husband’s paranoid,” she told him, stepping away from his figure. Giving herself an excuse to stay in his proximity, she sat in front of the rosebush to resume her task of pruning. He’d need the room at any rate. “If I’d know you’d grow where I planted the seed, I would have chosen somewhere more… subtle.”

Could he will it, she wondered? Or had he been forced to grow at Elain’s whim? She had so many questions, and was becoming increasingly frustrated there was no way to probe him for answers. She should have demanded more from him last night, but she had been too distracted by his—

She yelped as something brushed against her inner thigh. She swatted, thinking it was a bug, only to find it coil around her leg in retaliation. Elain moved to shoot to her feet, to flee, but her other leg became ensnared faster than she could react. She squirmed against her restraints, but found them ironclad. Pulling up her skirts, Elain saw it was vines chaining her to the earth. Firm, smooth to the touch, impossible to snap no matter how hard she clawed and tugged.

Elain turned, throwing a scowl toward the kneeling tree. She swore his smile had not looked so smug before.

“Lucien,” she said sternly, “I—”

Her words trailed off as one of the vines climbed higher up her thigh, sweeping lazy circles along her inner thigh. Her breath caught. Encouraged, the vine creeped higher, until it teased at the seam of her underthings.

A reluctant moan broke from her lips, but Elain shook her head. “Not here, Lucien.” A flush crawled up her cheeks at the mere thought, the scandal, of letting another man—male—tree—whatever—touch her in the garden where anyone could see.

The vines twining around her thighs forced them to spread wider, bearing her to his seeking touch under her skirts. Elain fell forward onto her palms, digging her fingers into the dirt trying to hunch with the illusion of working in the flowerbeds while she caught her breath, steadied herself.

“Is this revenge?” She demanded. “For a small kiss on the neck?”

As if in answer, Lucien swatted her cunt. Elain’s entire body bowed forward. Her thighs flexed against her restraints, trying to close her legs, but they remained pried open. The vine soothed away the sting with slow, decadent circles over her clit.

Elain sank her teeth into her bottom lip. Could he feel through the vines how wet she’d become already? Against her better judgment, Elain rocked her hips forward, encouraging the vines to increase their pace. Lapping and flicking and circling her clit until she felt drunk on the friction.

“Lucien,” she gasped, swallowing down a moan. She grappled at the dirt, feeling it come away in clumps as the pleasure overtook her. She was aching, lost in visions of how he’d pinned her to the tree in her dreams.

The vine snuck beneath her underthings, slicking itself through her arousal so it could slip easier against her skin. She gasped as it toyed at her entrance before refocusing at her clit, repeating the pattern again and again, until she felt frayed, like a dancer atop a music box whose winding key had been twisted too far.

“Please,” she whispered to the earth. “Please, Lucien, I—”

Elain held her breath as the vine dipped to her cunt again, this time taking mercy by sliding inside. She nearly sagged in relief, feeling her body clench around the intruding object, filling her pleasantly as it dragged against the same cluster of nerves he’d discovered last night.

She gasped, cradling a babble of words on her tongue—please, yes, more, Lucien. As she was nearing the precipice, the vines stilled inside her. At first, she thought, to tease, but then—

“Elain?”

She turned her head, barely containing her horror at the sight of her husband, face drawn tight from where he stood before the tree.

“Graysen!” The vines kept her rooted to the ground, one of them still inside her, moving just so. Enough that Elain had to swallow her moans, though her lips remained parted, her breathing far from even. “You’re back from your hunt already?”

“We didn’t go very far today,” he said. If he noticed her cheeks were unusually bright, he didn’t comment. His eyes slid over her entirely, as they usually did, in favor of scowling at the tree. “Did you plant this?”

What was the right answer? She couldn’t think beyond the vine writhing inside her, or the second one that had appeared to rub her clit in tandem. Tears sparked behind her eyes from the pure frustration of keeping her voice from trembling.

“I did,” she said. “I found the seed on the estate. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“It wasn’t here yesterday,” he said, as if he were debating stabbing it.

“I’ve been—” her breath hitched, drawing Graysen’s attention to her face. She plastered on her best vacant smile, trying not to shift her hips as she took a heavy swallow. “I’ve been pruning back the roses. Maybe it was just a bit obscured before?”

This answer subdued him enough to turn his head back toward the tree. He stalked forward, leaning to study Lucien’s face with a severe frown. “None of the servants recall seeing it.”

“I’m out here every day,” she said. Lucien flicked her clit and her entire body shuddered. Desperate, she reached over and grabbed one of the rose stems, squeezing to fight the pleasure back with sharp, blistering pain.

“And the foxglove?”

“I planted that two years ago,” she said, weakly now. She withdrew her wounded hand, cradling it in her lap. “It’s a biennial plant.”

She wasn’t certain he knew what that meant, but he didn’t demand clarification. He only offered her a subdued hmm, before turning on his heel and walking back into the house.

“Lucien!” she hissed, the second he was gone.

The vines uncoiled from her thighs, and she stood up, drawing her bleeding hand protectively to her chest. The vines pawed at her, distressed.

She kicked at them. “We could have been caught!”

One of them snatched her skirt, pulling her towards his kneeling figure. The sight of his handsome face subdued some of her temper. With a sigh, she placed her uninjured hand on his cheek. “I need to go inside and clean this up.”

But the vine was still nudging at her skirt, saying, Don’t go.

“I have to.”

Not yet.

She swore his lips parted open. For a kiss? Her eyes darted to his mouth, then to her bloody hand. And it was only then that she remembered the cut she’d received yesterday, how it had dripped into the earth.

Only you can wake me.

“Is it blood?” she asked. “Is that how I… free you?”

Again, the vine tugged at her skirt. Yes. Seeing no harm in trying, Elain lifted her wounded hand to his mouth, smearing the blood against his lips. When nothing happened, she immediately felt foolish. Until the abrasive, dull coloring of his cheek turned into ruddy flesh. And his parted lips stretched into a smile.

“Lucien.”

An arm fell over her back, tugging Elain to his solid torso—still partly encased in wood. Petal-soft lips parted against her hand, lapping at the wound on her palm. His eyes were fluttered shut, long lashed skimming his cheekbones, his brows pulled tight. She was so relieved by the sight of him, she didn’t even mind the blood on his mouth, his chin.

He grunted, pulling away from her hand. “Stop.”

The strain in his voice tightened something in her chest. Her hand fell away, but he caught it before it dropped to her side. His grip on her wrist was firm, all that predatory focus narrowed on welling blood. She could feel the puncture wounds throbbing, each a small echo to the roar in her ears. She thought Lucien might raise her palm back to his lips, but he held unnaturally still. A metallic scent twisted in the air, and the pain ebbed like a wave pulling back from the shore, before it vanished entirely.

Magic.

Lucien didn’t release his grip. She wouldn’t mind, if his fingers hadn’t tightened hard enough to bruise. But he couldn’t move them, she realized. Elain tore her eyes from her miraculously healed palm to the fingers curled around her wrist—once flesh, now once again wood.

Her eyes snapped to his face. Sweat was gleaming on the strong column of his throat. His lips were parted, panting softly.

“It taxes you,” she said.

Lucien leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It takes a great deal of magic to stay in this form, even partially.”

“The blood helped you.”

What had he taken, a few mouthfuls? It wasn’t that much, really. She could afford to give him more—

Lucien shook his head, already seeing the plan forming in her mind. “No, Elain. It’s not enough—it never will be. The curse is degenerative. Every day I’ll need more.”

Would it make her mad for trying? She could find blood from other places. Feyre used to venture out into the woods to hunt. Elain could learn, too.

“Does it have to be… human?”

Lucien gave a small, dismayed nod.

She swallowed. “Does it have to be mine?”

He shook his head. She searched for relief in that small comfort, but all she could find when she hauled the truth to the surface was that she had her arms wrapped around a faerie who ate humans. It was every horror story she’d been told as a child, where she at best played the maiden fallen into his trap. Or worse, the villainess who lured other humans to their doom.

“What happens if you don’t get blood?”

He grimaced. “It will take centuries, but I’ll eventually wither and die, like any tree would.”

“Not if Graysen has any say,” Elain said bleakly. “I don’t think he believed me earlier—and even if he did, he wouldn’t take the risk. Not for a tree.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her cheekbone, catching a tear she didn’t know had escaped. “Let him kill me, Elain. There’s not much alternative.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking. “How do I free you?”

“You can’t.”

“Liar,” she hissed. “I thought faeries couldn’t lie.”

But they could—he was. Not just a half-truth, but a blatant, outright lie. She could tell by the way his jaw clenched, how he glanced away, mentally deliberating. Then he sighed. “Elain.”

“Tell me.”

He narrowed his eyes. If his arms hadn’t returned to their wooden state, she had a feeling he would have crossed them. “You are not a killer. I do not expect you to become one for my sake.”

“But that’s what it would take.”

No answer.

“How many?”

“Elain—”

“Curses are specific, right?” Every curse she’d ever heard of had stipulations. She knew they needed to be specific to prevent any exploitation of the wording, as the fae were prone to do. “What is it? A blood sacrifice from a virgin, a dozen maidens—”

“Just one person.” His lips curled back into a snarl. “Either my mate, or someone she has killed and offered to me in her place.”

“An innocent person?” She pressed.

Lucien released a long exhale through his nose. “Anyone, Elain. By four faerie lives it was done, by four human lives it must be undone.”

Just one to free him, but four humans in total? Did that mean that other humans had already been killed? Or… were there other faeries like him, cursed into this state? She was consumed by questions—what had been done, what would be undone by freeing him? Who, or what, had cursed him in the first place? Those nightmares she had of running through the woods, of turning to wood the second she crossed that immortal border… were those dreams, or memories?

She opened her mouth to demand more answers, but was cut off by the sound of the kitchen window creaking open.

“Elain!”

Graysen was staring at her, mouth set in anger. Her heart sunk into her chest, realizing they’d been caught, but when she glanced towards Lucien, she saw that his appearance had reverted to a tree once again.

One wood eye—the one that was ordinarily gold, slashed with a terrible scar she would one day ask him about—winked at her.

She would have smiled, if not for the burden of all she had learned.

“I need to go,” she whispered.

The grip of his wooden fingers around her wrist hadn’t eased. Elain wasn’t certain he had control over the limb, and she was given no choice but to wrench herself free. The momentum caused her to stumble back, and she rubbed mournfully at the scratches left behind by the bark.

If Lucien was capable of any parting words to her, he kept his silence.

-

Sleep eluded Elain that evening.

She’d gone to bed earlier after a tense supper with Graysen. He’d said very little, electing to communicate through the tinctures of his fork, stabbing and scraping against his plate with far more force than was necessary.

Elain had excused herself early. She knew there would be no persuading her husband out of whatever he’d concluded about the tree and her involvement with it.

He hadn’t asked her what she’d been doing and she hadn’t offered any details.

Tomorrow, she’d think of something. Maybe while Graysen was away, she could uproot Lucien and replant him elsewhere. In a nice grove, maybe by the ponds, where he could soak in the sun and watch over the ducks. If she gave him enough blood, he might even be able to walk the distance himself. She would mourn having him so close to her window, though.

A cool, floral-scented breeze wafted in through the hatch she’d deliberately left open, hoping that he might pay her another visit.

Maybe that was why she was restless. Her anticipation was keeping her up. Like clockwork, she kicked off her blankets and rolled toward the window in search of those overly-friendly vines. And when she found none, she would turn back over, readjust her flimsy nightgown, and scold herself with the reminder that he ate people.

Not necessarily by choice, or so he told her.

It did occur to Elain that she might be falling perfectly into the faerie’s trap—as naive and gullible as Graysen always made her out to be. Spin her a tale of a tragic prince with a cursed fate and she, his true love who could save him, and that was all it took for Elain to melt in his hands… and vines. It helped that those hands and vines knew all the right places to touch her, and that they held her like she was precious without being delicate.

Elain chewed her lip as she thought about it—murder. Lucien had said it did not necessarily need to be someone innocent. She could find someone grotesque, someone worthy of the fate, who had stolen life and would be receiving a fair retribution. Could she sneak to the gallows and find someone waiting in line? Could she steal one of the dead, or did the sacrifice need to be killed by her hand? Nesta and Feyre might help. Not that Elain had seen them very often in recent years. They never sent any letters, nor responded to hers. And leaving the estate to visit them… Elain hasn’t left the estate for years.

So Grayson would certainly notice if she left and returned with a dead body.

And—oh, what was she thinking? Elain scraped two hands down her face, like she might pry the grotesque reality away. Two days ago, her only concern had been whether the handsome tree thought she was foolish for talking to herself.

Elain rolled onto her stomach and threw a pillow over her head in a last show of defeat. That ever-distant heartbeat was stronger than ever, either agitated by her moral quandary, or simply intent on contributing to the ever growing barrier that kept her from sleep.

Whenever she willed her mind to quiet, it became louder.

Once, a soft song, drifting to her through wood and iron and stone. Gentle, seductive, lulling. Now, it was violent.

Thud—

Thud—

Thud—

It reverberated through her skull. Urgent, panicked. Something was wrong, something was…

Thud—

Thud—

Thud—

Even the house shook with the force.

Elain’s eyes snapped open.

Flying out of the bed was a matter of instinct. Something else has taken control of her body, ignoring trivial things she might have otherwise cared about, like grabbing a robe to cover herself or shoving on slippers.

She threw herself down the stairs, landing with such abandon that the whole house might have heard her. Only if they didn’t hear the thudding first.

Not a heart, and not a thud, but a—

Thwack.

Elain screamed as the garden came into sight. She didn’t even realize it was in the shape of a name until that sharp metal paused over Graysen’s shoulder, raised so that it glistened silver beneath the moonlight.

He turned his head to her.

“Graysen!” She screamed again.

Those blue eyes trailed over her, a little stunned, as if he’d forgotten what she looked like in her nightclothes.

Quelling her hysteria, she tried to appeal to that gleam she saw in his eyes. The desire, hidden beneath the anger and hate. She stretched her arm to him, voice lilting, “Come back to bed.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. He shook his head, like he’d been abruptly doused by the reality that they didn’t share a bed. And if that reminder caused him any anger, he directed it again towards the tree, scowling as if he understood the infidelity that occurred here. Or rather, the disobedience. That Elain stood against him, defended the tree despite its potential association with the fae.

Graysen motioned with the axe as if preparing to deliver another blow. Elain didn’t think—she just ran, throwing herself in front of the tree.

Her husband swore, just barely readjusting so that the axe swept the air in front of her stomach instead. The axe clattered to the ground.

“Fucking hell, Elain!”

Now it truly was her heart beating loud enough to shake the earth. She spread her arms in a pathetic blockade, knowing that Graysen was both taller and stronger than she was.

Still, she snarled at him. “You will not cut down this tree.”

Her head snapped to the side before she registered the blow, or the sting of her cheeks. Elain raised her fingers to her face, feeling at her heated skin in astonishment.

Graysen had never hit her. Had sworn he would never be like his father.

His chest was puffing, and he was gulping air in great, gulping swallows. “I am your husband,” he seethed. “I am the lord of this estate. You will do as I say, and you will go back inside!”

“No!” She screamed.

Graysen stared at her, menacing, expecting her to cower. And she stared right back, reminding herself that she was an Archeron. She was fire and thorns and wild. She had weathered winter and hunger and ruin, all with a smile on her face, and she could weather him.

“I am your wife,” she said levelly. “And I will not yield, not for this.”

There was something like surprise that faltered in his expression. He had not seen his mother push back, did not know how to mimic his father in response. How far was he willing to go to assert his control? She could see that question wavering behind his eyes.

“You want to stay?” He said, pushing her aside. Elain stumbled, then fell. “Then stay.” He picked his axe off the ground. “You can watch your precious tree fall.”

Elain couldn’t describe what came over her. All she knew was that Graysen raised that axe over his head, every ounce of his razor-sharp hatred fixated on Lucien, and something frozen and ancient and vicious slithered into her veins.

Then she was on her feet, barrelling towards him with a screech that set even her hair on edge. Graysen saw her coming, but she did not give him time to react as she hurled her body against his. He stumbled back at her momentum, and his leg caught on an upturned root, sending him sprawling onto his back with Elain atop, screaming as she thrashed like a feral animal trying to tear the axe from his grip.

Graysen, wisely, chucked the weapon away before she decapitated one or both of them.

“Elain!” He said, grabbing her wrist.

But when he restrained her wrists, she took to kicking, and leaned forward to bite one of his arms until she tasted copper.

With a string of filthy curses, Graysen flipped them over. “Shut up!” He shouted over her unyielding screams. “Shut up, shut up, shut—“

A hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing until her screams choked and sputtered off. Graysen’s grit teeth flashed in the moonlight.

“That’s better. Now are you finally going to listen to me, Elain? Or do I need to hold you like this until you pass out?”

Elain clawed at the dirt, desperate for something to cling to as black dots spotted her vision. Vines flicked in her periphery, and she thought she might have heard the whisper of a heavy object dragging over dirt.

“The fae can’t have my land and they sure as hell can’t have my wife.”

She tried to protest, but the sound was squeezed and guttural, little more than a hitch of air. And as the world began spinning, cool metal kissed her palm. She closed her fingers around it. The fight was rapidly draining from her body, but she summoned all of her remaining strength into swinging her arm up, jabbing the iron gardening shear into Graysen’s neck.

Blood sprayed, coating her face, her mouth. Graysen’s fingers released their death-grip on her throat. He flailed back, falling with a heavy thud against the earth. Elain couldn’t summon the strength to check if he was dead as she sputtered. Blood was rushing back into her skull in a violent tide that crashed and throbbed against her temples. She groaned, even as her body relished the unobstructed blood and airflow.

“Lucien,” she rasped, turning her head to look towards the tree.

Graysen was dying. How fresh did the blood need to be? She could taste some of it on her mouth and knew that as her husband slumped over, his blood was slicking the earth, pouring onto Lucien’s roots. Would that be enough?

“Lucien,” she repeated, trying to sit up. The world blurred into a smear of colors and shapes, like she was again in the forest admiring only his silhouette. Elain reached blindly towards the flowerbed, searching for his familiar figure. “Lucien?”

“I’m here.”

She jumped, his voice closer than she expected. Elain turned her head to see Lucien crouched over Grasyen. She knew, without demanding clarification, what he had been doing as he lowered Graysen’s limp body back to the ground. The gardening shears had been removed from his neck, and if that wasn’t evidence enough, then the blood smeared over Lucien’s mouth was sufficient.

Their eyes met, and he hesitated, as though unsure if he should approach her. If that would be welcome, while her husband’s death still stained his chin. Maybe the horror was clear in her expression, because he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

All it did was smear the blood.

Oblivious, he rasped, “You saved me.”

“He was going to kill you.”

A mechanic answer. All she was truly capable of in this moment. But it was as simple as that. Between her husband and her mate, she had made her choice.

“What happens now?” She asked.

Slowly, Lucien stood from his position in the grass. “You broke my curse,” Lucien said, walking towards her one step at a time, as though she were an animal he was trying not to spook. “You saved me, and claimed me as your mate. I will do whatever you ask of me, Elain. I can take you to Prythian and fulfill every promise I made to you, or we can stay here—”

“The servants will report us to the authorities,” she protested. “They’ll have us hung.”

Lucien fell to his knees in the grass. He gave Elain ample time to move away, but she did not flinch as he reached forward, caressing her face in both his hands. She felt him wipe away the blood, the strangest affection in his eyes. “Thanks to you, my magic is restored. I can ensure the servants wake up tomorrow believing I am your husband. They will never know the difference.”

“I will not call you Graysen.”

“No,” he agreed. “You call me Lucien—or mate if you’re feeling affectionate. Ass, if I’ve infuriated you, which I inevitably will.”

A laugh burst through her trembling lips. Lucien looked relieved at the sound.

“Is it truly over?” she asked. “No more turning into trees?”

He nodded before leaning down, capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted too metallic for her liking, but she melted into his warmth, into the knowledge that she got to keep him in this form.

Though, admittedly, she would miss the vines.

#Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

[bloodycassian]

CRESCENT CITY SPOILER WARNING!!!!

trying to get a gauge on this idea from you guys... please like/reply if this sounds like something you’d be interested in reading. This would be a VERY LONG multi part story that would end very similar to ACOWAR

READER IS A COCKY 319 YEAR OLD STARBORN FAE IN PRYTHAIN IN POSSESSION OF THE STARSWORD. UNWANTED TO BE THE STARBORN, SHE RESENTS IT BUT DEALS WITH IT. SHE IS ALLIED WITH THE NIGHT COURT AS BRYCE WAS THE ONE TO PASS THE STARSWORD DOWN TO AZRIEL. AZIREL WAS THE ONLY ONE ABLE TO TRAIN HER. 

THE RAVINE IS A CHASM SO DEEP NO ONE ACTUALLY KNOWS HOW DEEP IT GOES. IT IS WHERE THE WALL ONCE WAS. DEMONS CRAWL OUT OF IT AT NIGHT THAT CAN ONLY BE KILLED BY THE STARSWORD. 

READER AND (NYX OR AZ) ARE TRANSPORTED TO CRESCENT CITY VIA THE RAVINE BECAUSE OF THEIR POWERS AND HAVE TO FIND BRYCE AND GET BACK TO THEIR DIMENSION. 

NEW ENEMIES ARISE AND FORCE THE FOUR MOST POWERFUL BEINGS (READER, BRYCE, RUHN AND (NYX/AZ) TO WORK TOGETHER TO TRY TO DEFEAT THE ASERTI. IT’S NOT A TERRIBLE IDEA BUT WITH SO MANY STARBORN WORKING TOGETHER…IT’S BOUND TO GET MESSY.

[jellisdraws]

Haven’t done any really clean linework in a while so here’s something to remedy that

Baron Prythain Dragomir, Consul of the Cursed Blood.

Reminder that you can now find me on Patreon and Ko-fi!

#my art #jellisdraws #fantasy art #dnd #illustration #character art #drawing #dungeons and dragons #He’s just a guy #totally not a vampire cmon #relax #character portraits #wip #work in progress #vampire #dhampir #noble #dnd 5e #homebrew dnd #my oc #NPC #Joe draws

[freefallers]

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”    -Edgar Allan Poe, Eleonora

ACOTAR Courts (Night court, Day court, Dawn court, Autumn court, Winter court, Spring court, Summer court)

#acotar #acotar edit #acotar aesthetic #acotaredit #acomafedit #acowaredit #acofasedit #acowar #acomaf #acofas #day court #day court aesthetic #day court edit #prythian #prythain edit #prythian aesthetic #prythianedit #yalit #yalitedit #yaliterature #yadaily #dailylit #dailylitedit #dailyliterature #fandomaestheticnet #fandomsaestheticnet #fandomsaestheticgang #highfaedaily #theacotarnet #bookclubnw