down so fucking bad

Keir hadn’t said much this morning—just that the heir of Autumn would be joining him for “a conversation of mutual interest,” whatever that meant. You hadn’t asked questions. You’d learned by now that curiosity only invited irritation.

But still. Eris Vanserra didn’t come to the Hewn City for polite formalities. No one did. And Keir had been in a mood ever since the messenger confirmed the High Lord had set the meeting. He’d spent the morning stalking the halls like a male preparing for war.

Which meant you were walking in late to something very, very important.

You swore softly and slipped inside.

You hesitated at the heavy double doors of the Council Chamber, the low murmur of voices inside fading the moment you stepped over the threshold. The scent of burning incense mixed with cold stone filled your lungs. Your footsteps echoed softly on the polished floor as you moved forward, eyes deliberately fixed on the ground. As you crossed the room, the tension prickled at your skin. 

“You’re late,” Keir’s voice was calm but sharp enough to cut through the hum of conversation. 

The room quieted around him.

You stopped just shy of your chair, spine straightening instinctively.

You’d expected the reprimand. The public humiliation. He rarely missed an opportunity to remind you who held the reins. 

Keir didn’t motion for you to sit. “Late,” he repeated, the word twisting with disdain. “As though your time is more valuable than mine. Than the court’s. Than our guest’s.”

You kept your gaze low, jaw tightening. 

Keir rose slowly from his seat, not to tower but to command. His voice stayed even, deliberate. “I give you responsibility, and this is how you meet it? I allow you opportunities I would grant no other female. Not even your mother.”

You flinched. 

“Do you think we can afford such carelessness?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer—there never was room for one. 

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Eris with an open palm. “Beron sends us his heir, a rare opportunity for diplomacy. And you walk in like a distracted servant girl, too absorbed in your own little errands to arrive on time.” 

You felt the heat creeping up your neck. 

“I bring you here to observe, to learn,” Keir continued, each word striking like a lash, “and instead, you’ve set an example I’d be ashamed to see from one of my lowest courtiers.” 

Still standing, still silent, you braced yourself for the worst of it. 

Keir waved a hand. “Apologize,” he said simply, resuming his seat. “You’ve made a spectacle of yourself. You will not make one of me.” 

Only then did you finally allow yourself to move. 

You turned—slowly, deliberately—your movements stiff with the effort of keeping your expression blank. You didn’t rush, though your stomach twisted with the burn of humiliation. You kept your chin high anyway. You’d learned that from Keir: if you must be dragged, at least look like you walked of your own will.

You faced the heir of Autumn like you were stepping into a performance you hadn’t rehearsed.

Eris Vanserra.

He was exactly as you’d imagined—sharp angles and cool composure, seated like the chair belonged to him. His golden-red hair caught the torchlight, flickering like open flame, but his posture was still and unbothered. One ankle crossed over a knee, a single finger resting against the corner of his mouth. His gaze was unreadable. Not cold, but closed. Guarded.

He said nothing. Only watched.

And when your eyes met his—

Not gently. Not like the brushing of threads or a soft breath of recognition. It hit like a tether pulled taut all at once, yanked from the depths of your chest, snapping into place so violently it nearly knocked you back a step. Something inside you reeled, flinched—like a door long rusted shut had been forced open from the inside.

Your breath caught, too sharp, too sudden. 

The world narrowed.

You felt it everywhere—like heat blooming low in your stomach, like your lungs weren’t your own, like your pulse had been dragged into rhythm with someone else’s. It was not pain, not exactly. But it was overwhelming. Terrifying. Your heart scrambled to understand what your body already knew: something irreversible had just happened. Something ancient and final.

It was as if an unknown magic inside you had reared its head for the first time in your life and whispered, there you are.

And he was the answer.

You couldn’t look away.

Didn’t dare blink. Not yet.

Eris’ posture didn’t shift. Not even a flicker of recognition across his face. He sat still as stone, gaze steady, unreadable. A master of silence. If his eyes were a fortress, his control was the outer wall—built stone by stone over years, and just as immovable. 

But you—

Your face betrayed everything.

Your lips parted before you could stop them. Your breath stuttered once, then again, too shallow. The blood had drained from your fingertips and rushed to your throat. You felt your lashes flutter, a single blink too slow, too stunned.

And from the corner of your vision, you saw your grandfather’s head tilt—just slightly.

He had seen it.

And you knew, before you even looked at him, that he understood exactly what had happened.

The silence in the chamber stretched thinner than glass. A breath, then another. You could feel the air shift—not with magic, but with attention. Every gaze in the room was waiting. Watching.

Then Eris stood.

Not abruptly. Not with surprise. But like he had been planning to stand all along. Like your new bond had changed absolutely nothing.

You barely stopped yourself from stepping back. Your throat bobbed, dry.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He looked at Keir first, his expression unreadable. Not quite expectant—no, it was cooler than that. Measured. His eyes lingered a beat too long. Like he was assessing your grandfather, weighing something invisible.

Then he turned his gaze to you.

Slowly.

And for a moment—just a moment—you wondered what he saw.

Not the expression you’d failed to mask. Not the shock still ringing in your bones. But you. You. The girl your grandfather had hidden behind a hundred veils of courtly obedience. The girl who’d never, in all her fifty years, breathed real air or touched soil or seen the sun. Did he see that? Did he see a possession, or a person?

What does a male like that think when a bond snaps into place?

What does he do with it?

He turned back to Keir.

You braced yourself—he would speak now, you were sure of it. Would begin the negotiations, would play whatever game the two of them had arranged behind closed doors. You knew how this worked. You knew how your story was supposed to be told.

But he didn’t go to Keir.

He came to you.

You froze.

He crossed the room without hesitation, the distance vanishing beneath the sure, easy weight of his steps. And then he was before you—taller, closer than you’d ever expected.

His fingers found yours, gloved hand brushing bare skin. And without asking, without hesitating, he lifted your hand to his mouth.

And kissed it.

Slowly. Deliberately. His gaze never leaving yours.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You couldn’t answer. Your voice stuck behind your teeth, behind the shock, behind the weight of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure your lungs had remembered how to pull air.

Then he turned, your hand still in his.

As if you had already agreed.

As if your silence meant yes.

As if you were already behind him.

“I’d like her hand,” he said, gaze returning to Keir. “Formally. As mate. As future lady of Autumn.”

The words didn’t seem real.

You heard them. You understood each one. But they landed out of order, scattered, like someone had tipped your mind sideways and let your thoughts spill into a pile.

Her hand. Mate. Lady of Autumn.

Was this—was this a proposal? A declaration? A transaction?

Your heart was still beating too fast. Your palm still burned faintly where his mouth had touched it. The bond hummed along your spine and through each rib like a second heartbeat, louder now, more insistent, as though it was pleased with itself for being named.

But your body hadn’t caught up with your brain. You felt removed from it—like you were standing in the wrong version of yourself. The version that would have looked to her grandfather for approval. That would have nodded, smiled, curtsied, spoken her lines.

You weren’t smiling now.

He had asked for you. Claimed you. Not in metaphor, not in theory, not in the slow-burn romantic sense you’d once imagined while reading contraband books in the dim corners of your room.

No—he had asked for you like you were an estate: measurable, ownable, transferable. 

You opened your mouth. You weren’t even sure what you meant to say. Maybe No, maybe What are you doing, maybe just your own name to remind the room you had one.

But whatever it was, it didn’t make it past your tongue.

“Vanserra,” your grandfather said smoothly, eyes narrowed just enough to reveal his doubt. “You expect me to believe you would bind yourself, your future court, to someone you’ve not yet had a full conversation with?”

His voice was amused. Skeptical. But not insulted.

Not dismissive.

And that, somehow, made the panic press tighter behind your ribs.

You’d thought—naively, maybe—that your grandfather would laugh. That he’d bristle with offense. That he’d dismiss Eris’s request outright, just for the insult of asking.

But instead, Keir was considering it.

That amusement in his tone wasn’t mockery—it was interest, cloaked in skepticism. Testing the weight of the offer. Looking for the angle.

Your fingers curled in on themselves slowly, like your body was trying to reclaim what had been taken, as if you could reverse it, undo it, pull back from the moment and make it a mistake someone else had made.

Eris didn’t flinch beneath Keir’s scrutiny. His stance remained relaxed—too relaxed. He finally released you in favor of clasping both hands behind his back, chin slightly lifted. 

“Curious choice,” Keir mused, voice light with false interest. “Hardly the most advantageous offer on the table.”

A pause. Your face heated. 

“I don’t make decisions I haven’t already considered in full,” Eris said. “And I don’t waste time asking for what I don’t intend to keep.”

A faint smirk touched his lips, but it wasn’t cruel. It was worse than cruel—it was calm. Certain.

“Let that be answer enough.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

That was the story, then. That was how they’d frame it. As strategy. As inevitability.

Your mouth parted again, and this time, words came. Shaky, quiet.

“I haven’t—”

“Be silent,” Keir said, without looking at you.

And just like that, your voice vanished again.

Not by magic. By command. 

By obedience. 

You looked at Eris then. You wanted to see something—anything—in his face. Doubt, maybe. Hesitation. Some flicker of recognition that this was wrong, or too much, or too fast.

But there was only stillness.

Keir leaned back in his chair with the ease of a male who had just found himself holding the sharpest blade in the room.

“And here I thought,” he said, almost idly, “you’d come to posture and circle, like every other male with a title to defend.” His fingers drummed once against the armrest. 

Eris didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Keir let the silence settle before continuing, voice shifting—cooler now, more precise. “She wasn’t part of the original arrangement. Not in any meaningful way.”

You flinched, barely, at the word meaningful.

“She’s young. Inexperienced. Untried in court or politics. I wouldn’t call her… an asset.”

Your stomach turned.

“But,” Keir went on, tone sharpening, “it seems the bond has given her value. At least to you.”

He smiled then, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes.

“So let’s discuss what her hand is worth.”

It was like being stripped bare in the center of the room—like the torchlight itself was meant to spotlight your stillness, your silence, your helplessness. You didn’t know if they saw you blush or pale or tremble. You didn’t think it mattered.

They weren’t looking at you anymore.

Only at what you could buy.

“What do you offer, Vanserra?” Keir asked, gaze gleaming. “Because I can promise you, I don’t sell cheaply.”

The faint flicker of torchlight caught the sharp angles of Eris’ face, casting shadows that made him look almost carved from stone. His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest curve touching his lips—not quite a smile, but close. He leaned forward, his voice low, measured.

“You won’t find a more valuable alliance, Keir.”

He let the words hang between them.

“I offer the full backing of Autumn once I am its High Lord—its armies, its resources, its influence. A bond with me is a bond with the power of my court.”

His gaze flicked briefly to you, cool and appraising, then back to Keir.

“This union will strengthen your hold on the Hewn City, and send a clear message to any who would challenge you.”

He paused, voice dipping with a quiet threat.

“Turn away from this offer, and you risk everything Autumn’s power can undo.”

The room grew heavier with unspoken implications.

Your grandfather’s smile was thin but sharp. “Bold words. But fitting for the Vanserra heir.”

Keir leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he studied Eris for a long moment. Then, at last, he nodded slowly, the hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.

“Very well,” he said with deliberate finality. “The alliance is formed. The hand is promised.”

His gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding. “You have thirty minutes.”

The weight of his words fell like a stone in your chest.

There was no room for protest. No space to bargain or plead.

This was not a question.

This was command.

Keir rose from his chair, gathering his cloak with a casual authority that brooked no argument.

“Leave us.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve taut, as you turned on unsteady legs, the silent watch of Eris burning at your back.

The path ahead was certain. And terrifying.

You closed the heavy chamber door behind you with a muted click, but the weight of the moment pressed against your chest so hard it felt like stone. Your knees wobbled, breath shallow and uneven, as you leaned against the cold wall just outside the Council Chamber.

The words kept spinning through your mind, relentless: You have thirty minutes. You have thirty minutes. You have thirty minutes. 

Your mind scrambled to make sense of it all. You’d been dealt like a pawn, bargained over like a piece of trade—no voice, no choice, no say. And yet, beneath the shock and numbness, something deeper roiled. 

Not just because Eris had asked for your hand without so much as a conversation, but because your grandfather had agreed so easily, like you were a thing, not a person. Like your life, your future, was a token to be wagered.

You hated the quiet calm in the chamber, hated the way Eris had kissed your hand like it was a prize, hated the way you’d frozen when you wanted to scream.

You wanted to yell. To fight. To rip the whole arrangement apart.

But mostly, you hated the emptiness.

When you finally reached your chambers, the door swung open to reveal the room you had grown up in—familiar, but suddenly stripped bare of comfort.

You stared around at your belongings. A handful of dresses neatly hung or folded, books lined on a shelf, a worn cloak hanging by the door. Nothing worth packing.

What was there to take with you when everything you were about to leave behind was all you’d ever known?

You sank onto the edge of your bed, hands clenched in your lap. The silence screamed louder than the council ever had.

You forced yourself to stand, to move, to do what you had to do.

First, you found your friends. You avoided their eyes at first, unsure how to explain what was happening—or how to bear the pity you already saw lurking there. But they hugged you tight, whispered promises and farewells. 

Then, you made your way to the cremation grounds—an austere place carved into the stone, where your parents’ ashes rested beneath a polished granite marker.

You knelt, fingertips tracing the cool surface, and whispered a goodbye you hadn’t dared to say aloud until now. The names carved into the stone were tethers, memories heavy as iron. 

They had never seen the surface. Never felt true sun, never lived anywhere but in this damn mountain. Born, bound, and buried beneath it. Your chest ached at the thought.

You closed your eyes, let the silence stretch—let it echo with everything you couldn’t give them. Everything they should’ve had. The dust of their memory settled quietly around you as you rose, a small flame of resolve kindling in your chest.

“I’ll wait, if you need more time.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as turn to look at him. His voice didn’t startle so much as settle—low and composed, like the rest of him. But still unexpected. 

For a long moment, you just stared at the stone. At your parents’ names carved into it, slightly worn by time and your fingertips. 

“I can’t say I expected you to be here,” you said quietly. 

And then—because curiosity always got the better of you, and because something in you bristled at the fact that it was him standing there—you turned. 

He was standing a careful distance away. Hands clasped behind his back, gaze on the marker like he owed it something.

“I would have brought flowers,” Eris said after a beat. “If I’d known.”

“They weren’t the type.” Your voice cracked a little. “Anything sentimental would’ve embarrassed them.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Practical, then. Like you.”

You bristled. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he conceded, meeting your eyes. “Not yet.”

Something in the way he said it—not with the arrogance you heard before, but something quieter, steadier—made your throat tighten.

“I’m still angry,” you admitted, folding your arms like you could hold the feeling in place. 

Eris nodded once, slowly. “You have every right to be.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared at the stone again, at the faint lichen creeping over the edge. It unsettled you, how easily he’d said that. How quickly he’d handed you that piece of ground to stand on. You weren’t used to your feelings being named, let alone validated. It felt like a trick. Like something sharp might be hidden beneath it. 

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” he said, voice low. “But it was the best way to get Keir to let you go.”

You glanced at him, wary. “You bought me.”

His jaw tensed. “No. I negotiated a release. From a court that would never stop holding this bond over our heads.”

Your silence stretched a little too long. 

“I know,” he went on, quieter now, “that Rhysand wouldn’t have allowed me to set foot in the Night Court again if it meant keeping me away from you. Not if Morrigan had anything to say about it.”

You blinked. 

And then—gods. Morrigan.

Your aunt Morrigan. Your father’s sister. 

This was the male she’d been promised to. The male she’d “sullied” herself to escape. Your whole life, your family had cursed her name. Called her tainted. Faithless. A disgrace to her bloodline. Whispers you’d grown up hearing, sharp as knives tucked behind closed doors. That she’d betrayed her own. That she’d been ungrateful for the match.

But now… after having to stand in silence as you were bartered… 

Now you finally understood.

What kind of cruelty had she been trying to avoid?

Surely not worse than what you’d seen in the Hewn City. Surely not worse than what you had endured under Keir’s thumb.

But the question clung like smoke, refusing to leave you.

“So this is it, then?” You gestured to the empty stone corridor. “This is how it starts?”

Eris didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he studied you, the weight of his gaze something you couldn’t quite avoid. And then, as if the weight of it had become too much, he said, “No. This is how it was forced to begin. What comes next… that’s something we decide.”

You believed him. And it infuriated you. Because believing him meant accepting that this—this loss of control—had been the cleanest option. That all the quiet fury in your chest had nowhere to go.

After a long pause, Eris stepped forward. “Take my hand,” he said quietly, extending his gloved fingertips toward you. His tone wasn’t gentle—merely firm, as if it carried the weight of inevitability. “It would be my pleasure to welcome you to Autumn.”

At those words, your heart lurched. You had never stepped beyond the Hewn City, never ventured to the surface where a world existed beyond cold stone and perpetual shadow. The thought alone made you shudder with both apprehension and a spark of fragile hope.

Before you could protest, Eris murmured, “Please. Trust me—even if you can’t fully do so right now.”

And then, his hand pressed to your arm. At his command, your surroundings began to shift. At first, it was subtle—a soft darkening of the edges of your vision, as though a veil were draped over the world. The corridor’s harsh, angular stone and the ever-present damp chill faded into a deeper gloom, the familiar replaced by an almost dreamlike dusk.

The subtle shift in sensation, like the brush of silk over your mind. The way color and texture pulled away from you slightly—not gone, not dulled, but… filtered.

Your stomach clenched.

“What did you do?” you demanded, already blinking hard against the strange dimness. “You glamoured me.”

“Yes.”

“Why—”

“I didn’t want it to overwhelm you,” Eris said, voice steady but not unkind. “You’ve never seen the sun. Not really. I thought easing you into it might be… gentler.”

It should’ve infuriated you. It did—for a breath. But even through the soft, unnatural dimness, you could feel something shifting in the air around you.

Your eyes dropped to the ground.

Leaves.

Thousands of them, scattered in every direction, mottled gold and rust-red and brown. Some crisp, curled in on themselves; others flattened by the damp, pressed into the dirt like forgotten pages.

The ground was dirt. Dirt.

And you were standing on it. Not stone. Not carved, cursed floors. Just—ground.

Your knees wobbled.

You tried to look up—to follow the drifting fall of a leaf—and froze again.

The glamour had begun to lift. Slowly, gradually, but it made all the difference. 

Light filtered through in ribbons. Warm and golden, but not the artificial flickering of faelights or the guttering orange of torches. It hit the edge of your face and you jerked away, blinking rapidly, hand lifting on instinct.

You turned, staring at the strange, living world around you. Everything moved. Not like it did in the Hewn City, where the only shifting things were people and shadows and smoke. Here, even the air moved. The trees swayed. The grass trembled. Light dappled and danced without ever once flickering out.

There were no books about this.

Why would there be? 

What need would any of you have to understand this, when you were never meant to leave? 

The surface was spoken of in fragments, in dismissals wrapped in soft smiles. Your parents had told you once—when you were young and asking too many questions—that they’d gone up, years ago. That it was nothing special. More stone. More dark. Just bigger. Emptier. That the Hewn City was safer, more efficient. Cleaner. The lie had worked for a while. You were a child who still believed adults wouldn’t lie for no reason. 

But you remembered their faces when they eventually admitted the truth: they’d never been above ground. 

Not once. 

But oh, how they’d wanted to. 

They didn’t know what waited for them up here. Didn’t know what the air felt like when it didn’t cling. Didn’t know that cold could come from something other than absence. They didn’t know what it was to hear the earth breathe. 

They never got to find out.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and uneven. The glamour loosened its hold over your sight like fingers unthreading from your hair, slow, gradual, calm. You were starting to see more, now—color edging its way in around the world. 

Something darted between two tree trunks ahead. You flinched. It flapped.

A bird. Not like the crows some kept in the Hewn City—those clever-eyed, miserable things bred for messages and menace. This one was bright. Red all over. Smaller, rounder. It seemed… unnecessary. Beautiful in a way that served no purpose at all.

And the air. You hadn’t realized before—it was scented. Not perfumed, not thick with the smell of candles and sweat and opium or whatever poison the courts were drinking. This was sharp. Crisp. Like snow, but not quite. Like spice, but not any kind you’d tasted. It filled your lungs, slid into your mouth and over your tongue. It was—

Alive.

So was the cold. Not the heavy, hollow kind that leached from stone walls and seeped into your bones while you sat still for too long. This cold had movement. It brushed your cheekbones, bit at your fingers, made your teeth press together—but the sunlight, wherever it touched you, answered it. Like they were playing. Like they were supposed to exist together.

The light was almost fully clear now.

You squinted up, following the glow that filtered through high branches, and—

“Ow—fuck,” you muttered, jerking back a step.

Eris shifted in front of you before you could blink. “Yeah,” he said, amused. “Don’t look straight at the sun. Even mortals know better than that.”

You rubbed your eyes, half-glaring at him. “Thanks for the tip.”

But even now, blinking past the blur, the world stayed. The trees. The grass. The slow roll of clouds, and the strange freedom of air that didn’t sit stale and pressed against a ceiling. It was too much. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to do with it all.

A whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure at first if you imagined it: “Turn around.”

You did. Slowly. The way he’d said it—low, reverent—it pinned you still.

“And don’t make a sound,” he added, barely audible. “Just look.”

You turned.

And the world opened again.

A small clearing spread before you, rimmed by trees. And in it—movement. Dozens of them. More. Creatures you couldn’t name. Slender, long-legged, soft-eyed. Some with antlers that curved like branches, others smaller, delicate, trailing behind.

Eris leaned in close, voice barely more than breath. “The ones with antlers? Those are bucks—the males.” You watched as they stepped, and grazed, and flicked their ears. 

“The others are does. And…” His smile warmed his words. “Looks like they’ve got fawns with them. Babies.”

They didn’t look real.

They looked like myths given flesh—gentle and silent and unreal in their serenity. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t remember how.

One of the younger ones looked up, ears twitching. It stared directly at you.

And for one impossibly long second, you felt seen in a way no one from the Hewn City had ever dared to look.

Not as something to be shaped. Not as a petulant granddaughter. Not as a tool.

Just… someone standing in the woods.

Alive. 

The fawn blinked. Its ears flicked once more. Then it turned, unafraid, and trotted after its mother through the trees.

You didn’t realize your fingers had curled into Eris’s sleeve until he shifted to glance down at them. You let go at once, heart lurching, but he said nothing.

The clearing quieted again, the herd melting into the underbrush as if they’d never been there at all. But the stillness they left behind was different. Settled. And full.

“I didn’t think anything like that could exist,” you whispered, like the words might scare the memory off too. You looked back to where the deer had vanished. “They weren’t afraid of us.”

“No,” he said. “They didn’t need to be.”

A breeze stirred the trees, and sunlight flickered between the leaves like rippling gold. Somewhere overhead, a bird you didn’t know the name of called out—sharp and clear and free.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. Not because you were cold.

There was moss, impossibly green, clinging to the north side of the trees. Clusters of wildflowers pushing up through soft earth, in shades too delicate to name. A squirrel—tiny, absurdly fast—scrambled up a trunk nearby and vanished into the leaves with a rustle. Even the rocks here didn’t seem lifeless. Sun-warmed and dappled in lichen, they felt like they belonged to the scene, not just cluttered it.

And when you turned back, Eris was looking at you.

His smile was soft. Crooked. Lit not by torchfire, but something gentler. And his eyes—amber, bright as honey in the sun—sparkled with it.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He tilted his head, just a bit. “You’re smiling.”

You were.

Big and bright and wide and completely unrestrained. Not the practiced curve you offered at court. Not the polite, tight-lipped expression your family had called pretty when appropriate.

This was something else. A whole-body kind of smile. A laugh trying to form even though nothing had been said. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Heat crept to your cheeks. “Oh.”

Eris didn’t tease you for it. Didn’t smirk or say something sharp. He only studied you, as if trying to memorize the exact shape of it. 

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. Not uncertain, exactly, but… careful. Like the words mattered more than they usually did.

“Would you…” He hesitated, just a beat. His gaze flicked away, then returned to yours. “Would you like to see more? Take a walk?”

He said it like he wasn’t sure if you’d want to go—with him, specifically. Because it hadn’t occurred to him, maybe, that someone might say yes to something like this. To him, like this.

The breeze rustled again, lifting strands of his hair where it had slipped loose from the ribbon at his nape. In the sunlight, it was all shades of flame—copper and gold, a glint of red. His coat had caught some of the forest too: a few leaves clung to the velvet near his shoulder, unnoticed. His collar was slightly askew.

He looked nothing like the High Lord’s heir here. Nothing like the snarling, coiled force you’d seen before.

He just looked… warm. And waiting. One arm extended in quiet offering, elbow bent like some chivalrous male out of an old tale. Like he meant to escort you, not lead.

You slipped your hand into the crook of his arm. 

He didn’t start walking right away—just stood there a moment, like he was letting you decide when to begin. And when you finally did, your steps slow and quiet beneath the trees, he matched them without question.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The woods did enough talking for you.

“There’s no rush,” Eris said, softly. “Take it as slowly as you like.”

You glanced up at him, but his gaze stayed ahead, following the winding path.

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

It sounded like he meant the walk.

At first, the accidents drove him mad. He would turn around for one second and something would clatter in the distance. A rather sharp whip of his head would find you sheepishly staring down at whatever you had been holding, and Azriel would hold his breath as his eyes inspected every inch of your body. He would stand beside you in the kitchen, pressing his hip to yours to find closeness, and you would hiss out a quick breath, crimson sliding down to your wrist. 

Gods, Azriel hated knives around you. And he hated ladders, moderately tall stacks of items, broom cupboards; Azriel quickly became wary of anything that had caused an accident in his presence

He had let it consume him into madness—at first. Azriel turned into an unreasonable force in your life, whisking you up over small holes in the ground and banning window locks unless he was the one operating them. He’d press the blankets back from your neck as you slept because cauldron boil him he was sure you’d find a way to die on them, and you couldn’t even get him started on the gardening tools you kept in the yard. Your propensity for befriending wild animals had his shadows angrily hissing in his ears and he feared the day you’d finally attempt to hang the art in your closets when he wasn’t there. 

At the beginning of loving you, Azriel considered bringing you to Velaris so many times the idea became like a mantra in his head. But then—after witnessing the casual way you went about each action that sent his heart into his throat—Azriel began to calm. And adapt. Almost instinctually. 

Soon, it became second nature for him to place a hand at the back of your head each time you exited the depths of your kitchen cabinets. With time, Azirel learned to simply catch your waist each time your steps became unsteady instead of lifting you from the ground. He wouldn’t speak to you as you made dinner, content to watch your careful ministrations with the knife—concentrated, without pause. 

Azriel would allow you to stay bundled up in your blankets and bring you closer to his chest instead, using the subtle brush of your breath against his skin to calm him. He saw things falling before you even noticed them, catching them above your head, as they fell to your feet, closing the distance to jam your fingers; he was still vigilant, but some of the fear dissipated. 

It never got easier to see the repercussions. 

Even the slightest injury made Azriel’s chest twine uncomfortably, because they always stuck around far longer than they would on any fae. A cut on your hand, a bruise along your leg, or—the worst, in Azriel’s opinion—the busted lip you got from tripping in the forest when he was away. 

He had been angry when he first saw it, and then he had been afraid. Afraid to see how delicate you were. Afraid that he hadn’t been there to stop whatever had happened. 

But then you grinned at him, so happy he was there despite the reminder of your impermanence in this world glaring and angry and red on your face, and Azriel realized this was something he needed to accept. You being in his life would include tragedies and injuries and heartbreak, and he was okay with that—the visual representation of such a truth was found in his lips lightly pressing to the split skin. 

Azriel still cataloged each disruption of your skin. He still soothed aches and pains with balms you probably shouldn’t have access to but that Madja wouldn’t miss in her clinic. When tears escaped past your lashes—rare from physical pain alone—he still wiped them from your cheeks and prayed to the Mother that he could continue to do so until his last breath. A fruitless prayer, but one he still made at the salty scent of your emotion in the air. 

Sometimes you teased him about his lack of clumsiness. You’d poke fun at the graceful steps he made around your house and the silence that accompanied his movements. The jokes were usually at your expense, something Azriel did not love, but he’d crack a smile all the same. 

He’d started knocking his wings into things on the odd occasion—catch his foot on a rug or cram his finger into a drawer just so you’d look at him with that baffled expression that made him actually burst with laughter. He loved catching you off guard, but he loved making you feel with him even more. You weren't less than him because you were human. The uncoordinated movements that made you mortal weren’t something he looked down upon. Sure, he would do away with the pain that often followed, but Azriel loved everything about you. 

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part One] ✨

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part Two] ✨

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part Three] ✨

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part Four]

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part Five]

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part Six]

‎♡‧₊˚ [Part Seven]

Current Word Count: 53,102

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The thick, worn leather settled over her frame, far too big for her, practically swallowing her whole. Cassian had barely pulled his hands away when she let out a soft, content sigh, her fingers curling into the lapels.

And then she looked up at him.

Not just looked.

Glanced at him through her lashes, her lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip, the kind that felt too easy, too familiar.

Something tightened in his chest.

A feeling he couldn’t name, didn’t want to name.

His hands lingered a second too long—just barely brushing her shoulders—before he forced himself to step back, clearing his throat.

“You need to start remembering your own jacket, sweetheart.”

Y/N grinned, tugging the collar up around her face. The tip of her nose was still pink from the cold, and fuck, she was cute.

“Why would I, when I can steal yours?”

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it.

“Because one day, you’ll push your luck, and I won’t give it up.”

She snorted. “You would literally freeze before letting me get cold.”

Cassian sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I’m too nice.”

Y/N beamed, looking far too pleased with herself, and then—

She curled into his jacket, her arms wrapping around herself like she belonged there. Like it was hers.

Like she’d been wearing it her whole life.

And something inside him—something vital—gave out.

Cassian swallowed hard, a slow, creeping realization settling over him.

He didn’t mind.

Not even a little.

Actually, he liked it.

Liked seeing her wrapped up in his things.

Liked knowing that when she smelled the leather, she was smelling him.

Liked that it was his jacket she reached for—not anyone else’s.

His pulse thundered in his ears.

Shit.

His friends had teased him for years—for the way he always lingered a little too close, for the way he gravitated toward her in a room, for the way he’d drop anything the second she called his name.

He’d denied it, every single time.

Because it was just Y/N.

His best friend.

Right?

But standing there, watching her disappear into the warmth of his jacket, looking so effortlessly his—

Cassian realized, with sudden, irrevocable clarity—

They had never just been friends.

And maybe, just maybe—

He didn’t want to be.

───────────────────────────────

Somewhere along the way, their hangouts had started to feel more like dates.

Cassian didn’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the nights spent lingering just a little too long outside her door, the way their conversations stretched until dawn, the way he always wanted to be near her.

Like now—sitting across from each other in a quiet little café, the candlelight flickering between them, bathing her in soft golden hues.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing the delicate way Y/N stirred honey into her tea, slow and unhurried.

She always did this—added the perfect amount, stirred just so, then took a sip like it was a ritual. He’d seen her do it a hundred times before, but tonight… tonight, it felt different.

Maybe because he was watching too closely.

Maybe because he couldn’t stop.

“You’re staring.”

Cassian blinked.

“Am I?”

Y/N arched a brow, the candlelight making her eyes shine.

“Yes.”

She was so fucking pretty.

Cassian grinned, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. He wanted to be closer, needed to be.

“Maybe I just like looking at you.”

It wasn’t supposed to sound that genuine. That raw. But the truth slipped out before he could catch it.

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. But—

She didn’t look away.

Didn’t brush it off like she normally would.

Didn’t deny it.

“Please.” She stirred her tea again, but her fingers weren’t as steady. “You like looking at everyone.”

Cassian smirked, because yeah—he was a flirt. A shameless one. But—

“Not like I look at you.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Before he could think.

And just like that—

Her fingers stilled against her cup.

Silence stretched between them, thick and weighted.

Something unsaid—but not unnoticed.

Cassian felt it in his chest, in the air between them, in the way Y/N’s throat bobbed as she slowly, carefully, took a sip of her tea.

Something had changed.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He should’ve laughed it off, made a joke, turned it into something light and meaningless.

But it wasn’t meaningless.

And that was the problem.

Because sitting here, across from her in the dim light of their definitely-not-a-date dinner, watching the way she tried so hard to pretend his words didn’t affect her…

Cassian knew.

He felt it in his bones.

That maybe—just maybe—his friends were right.

That maybe, he wasn’t just her friend.

That maybe, he didn’t want to be.

His pulse thundered in his ears, his mind revolting against the thought.

He couldn’t be in love with her.

He would have noticed.

Right?

But then Y/N cleared her throat and muttered, “You’re impossible.”

Cassian tried to smirk.

Tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t threatening to crack his ribs.

But he knew.

Something had changed.

───────────────────────────────

Sharing a bed wasn’t new.

After long nights spent drinking or training, it was easier to crash together than be alone. They never questioned it—never overthought it. Just two friends who happened to end up in the same bed more often than not.

That was all.

But waking up tangled in each other?

That was new.

Cassian’s first thought upon waking was that he’d never been this warm in his life. The heat was all-consuming, wrapping around him like a second skin, and he almost groaned at how good it felt.

His second thought—the one that sent a sharp jolt through his system—was that the warmth came from her.

From Y/N.

From the woman curled against his chest, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, her breath fanning across his skin in soft, even exhales.

His arms were locked around her waist. Their legs were tangled. Their bodies were pressed together in a way that was decidedly not friendly.

Cassian barely dared to breathe.

His mind rebelled.

This isn’t anything. It’s just how you woke up. You’ve always been tactile with her. This doesn’t mean—

Y/N shifted, pressing closer, her fingers flexing slightly against his bare chest.

Cassian’s heart nearly stopped.

A slow, sleepy sigh left her lips. Then—soft as a whisper—she nuzzled into him.

His entire body went rigid.

Fuck. Fuck.

This wasn’t just friendly.

Friendly was sleeping side by side. Friendly was a casual arm slung over a shoulder, a teasing shove, an occasional hug.

This?

This was something else.

Cassian squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to be rational.

Except rational didn’t exist when Y/N was tucked into his arms, when her scent was filling every inhale, when the first thing he had felt upon waking was her warmth, her touch, her fucking everything.

Shit.

Then—

“Cass?”

Her voice was soft, thick with sleep, and it sent an unholy shiver down his spine.

Cassian swallowed hard. “…Yeah?”

Y/N blinked up at him, her lashes still heavy.

A pause.

“…Are we cuddling?”

Cassian’s throat locked.

Lie. Say something sarcastic. Make a joke. Don’t let her realize—

“…I think so.”

The words came out unbidden, his voice hoarse.

A beat of silence.

Y/N groaned and buried her face in his chest.

Cassian stopped breathing.

Because she didn’t pull away.

Didn’t shove him off.

Didn’t recoil.

She stayed.

Cassian’s mind raced, his heart hammering so hard it was a miracle she couldn’t hear it.

This means nothing. It’s fine. You’re fine.

Except his body was betraying him—his arms refusing to let go, his fingers twitching with the urge to trace over the delicate curve of her spine, his head tilting slightly as if it belonged there, right against hers.

This is normal. This is—

He was in so much fucking trouble.

Because if he moved—if he so much as breathed wrong—he might do something reckless.

Like tell her he loved her.

Like admit that maybe he had been lying to himself this entire time.

Like pull her even closer and never let go.

But he didn’t move.

Because neither did she.

───────────────────────────────

Their friends had had enough.

It started with a sigh. Not just any sigh—Mor’s sigh.

It was long, dramatic, and laced with the kind of exasperation that came from watching two people be so willfully blind that it physically hurt her. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and swirling the wine in her glass before pointing an accusatory finger at Cassian and Y/N, who were seated—as always—side by side.

“You two are so in love it’s disgusting.”

Y/N, mid-sip of her own drink, choked, coughing into her sleeve. Cassian reached out instinctively, rubbing her back, his touch warm and soothing.

“We are not,” Y/N finally gasped, thumping her chest.

Azriel, who had been watching the interaction with the kind of quiet amusement only he could pull off, arched a brow. “You’re wearing his jacket right now.”

Y/N blinked. Then, as if just realizing, looked down at herself. Cassian’s well-worn leathers were draped over her shoulders, the scent of pine, cedar, and him embedded in the fabric. The sleeves practically swallowed her hands.

“…So?” she muttered, shrugging deeper into it like that would somehow make her point more convincing.

Nesta rolled her eyes, sipping her own wine. “So, everyone knows you’re together except you two.”

Cassian let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back against his chair. “For the love of the Mother, we’re not together.”

Rhys leaned forward, a slow, amused smirk curling his lips. His violet eyes gleamed with trouble. “Funny, because if I asked Y/N on a date right now, you’d rip my throat out.”

Cassian’s body went still.

The flicker of irritation was there—subtle, but there. His jaw tensed, his easy-going demeanor slipping just enough for anyone paying attention to see the territorial glint in his hazel eyes.

“Try it,” Cassian said, voice low. “See what happens.”

Y/N glared at Rhysand, unimpressed. “You’re mated, you ass.”

Rhys grinned, unfazed. “That’s beside the point.”

Mor groaned loudly, slamming her glass onto the table. “It’s actually exactly the point! Cass, you’re literally ready to fight Rhys over a hypothetical date! If that’s not proof that you’re in love with her, I don’t know what is.”

Cassian scoffed. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being an ass for sport.”

Rhys spread his hands innocently. “I do enjoy a bit of chaos.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “And just because Cassian doesn’t want me dating you doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.”

A collective groan swept across the table.

Nesta pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mother above, I cannot handle this level of stupidity.”

“It’s truly painful,” Amren murmured, still reading but clearly listening.

Mor pointed at Y/N this time. “Okay, fine. Then explain this. Why do you always wear his clothes? Why does he always bring you an extra meal when we go out? Why does he always find a way to be touching you? And why, for the love of all things holy, do you both look at each other like you personally strung the stars in the sky?”

Y/N sputtered. “I—That’s just how we are! We’ve always been like this!”

Cassian nodded in agreement, throwing an arm over Y/N’s chair in an instinctive, familiar motion. “Exactly! This is just us. We’re comfortable around each other.”

Rhys snorted. “Yeah, too comfortable. So comfortable it’s actually uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

Azriel smirked. “You do realize, don’t you, that half the people in Velaris already think you’re together?”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “What?!”

Cassian frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mor laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, please. Do you know how many people have asked me how long you two have been dating? You should hear the rumors.”

Y/N turned to Cassian, utterly baffled. “Did you know about this?”

Cassian shrugged. “I mean... yeah? But I just correct them.”

Y/N blinked. “And how exactly do you ‘correct’ them?”

Cassian smirked. “By telling them you’re still single.”

Mor gasped, scandalized. “You ass! You say it like you’re keeping your options open! No wonder no one else has ever tried asking Y/N out!”

Cassian had the audacity to look pleased with himself. “Well, it’s true. She’s single.”

Rhys’ brows lifted. “And you don’t like that, do you?”

Cassian went completely still.

Y/N, who had been flustered beyond belief, also hesitated, turning to look at Cassian more closely.

A muscle feathered in his jaw.

Nesta was smirking. Amren smirked. Rhys, Mor, and Az were grinning wildly.

Y/N’s heart started to hammer.

“…Cass?” she asked quietly.

His hazel eyes darted to hers. They were unreadable—guarded.

Then he gave an easy, lazy grin. “What? I just think anyone who wants to date you should be able to beat me in a fight first.”

Y/N gaped at him. “That’s the most ridiculous—”

“That’s the most Cassian thing I’ve ever heard,” Azriel muttered under his breath.

Nesta groaned, slamming her palm on the table. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m done.”

Rhys just grinned, stretching out comfortably in his chair. “You two are exhausting. Just thought you should know.”

Silence settled between them.

Y/N turned to Cassian. Cassian turned to Y/N.

Neither of them spoke.

For the first time, they didn’t have an argument.

For the first time, doubt—or something suspiciously close to realization—crept into their eyes.

Their friends had had enough.

And, maybe, it was time they finally figured out why.

───────────────────────────────

Cassian hated seeing Y/N with other males.

It was irrational. Utterly fucking irrational.

He had no claim on her. Had no right to feel this way. But that didn’t stop the ugly, clawing jealousy from curling in his chest whenever some charming bastard thought they had a chance with her.

Like now.

The air inside Rita’s was thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, the bass thrumming through the floorboards. Laughter rang across the room, glasses clinked, and—

Cassian’s grip on his drink tightened.

Some Illyrian asshole was standing too close to Y/N.

He didn’t even know his name. Didn’t care to. All he knew was that the male had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after her like a lost, love-struck puppy, smiling a little too wide, talking a little too much, and now—

Now, the fucker was leaning in.

Cassian could hear the conversation even over the music.

The male’s voice was smooth, laced with something smug, like he truly believed she’d be honored to entertain him.

Cassian’s jaw locked.

Y/N, to her credit, didn’t encourage him. She was polite—offering that diplomatic smile of hers—but she wasn’t leaning back in. Wasn’t laughing. If anything, she looked vaguely bored.

Didn’t matter. Cassian still wanted to punch him in the fucking throat.

It’s not your business.

That’s what he told himself. He had no right to feel this possessive, no reason to care so much. They were just friends.

Even if he thought about her at night. Even if he felt better when she was around. Even if she was the first person he sought in any room, the first one he wanted to tell things to. Even if—

No. No, it wasn’t like that.

You’re not in love with her. You’re just—

The male reached for her hand.

Something inside Cassian snapped.

His drink was abandoned before he even registered moving. His wings flared slightly as he crossed the room in a single breath, shoving his way between them.

His voice was low, lethal. “She’s taken.”

The male blinked, startled. His gaze flickered between Cassian and Y/N, confusion evident.

“By who?”

Cassian bared his teeth in something almost resembling a grin. “By me.”

Silence.

The words had come so easily. Like they were truth.

The male stiffened, eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t realize—”

“You do now.”

Cassian’s tone left no room for argument.

The Illyrian took a step back, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “No offense meant, Commander.”

Cassian didn’t blink, didn’t move until the male was gone—until he had slunk off to some other corner of the club, wisely deciding that Y/N was off limits.

Then, and only then, did Cassian turn to face her.

Y/N was watching him with something unreadable in her gaze.

Not annoyance. Not frustration.

Something… else.

And then—

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips.

Cassian’s heart stumbled.

Y/N stepped closer, deliberately closing the distance between them. Her fingers trailed over the edge of his armor, slow and teasing. Testing.

“Guess that’s true.”

Cassian swallowed hard. His pulse was thunderous.

It wasn’t the first time she had touched him—not by a long shot. But this? This was different.

His world shifted on its axis, the air between them turning thick and charged.

And then—

The pull.

An invisible thread wove through the air, wrapping around his ribs, his heart, her heart—

Cassian sucked in a sharp breath.

It was like the entire club had vanished. Like the music, the laughter, the people didn’t exist.

Just her. Just them.

Y/N’s fingers curled into his tunic. Her breath hitched.

“…Do you feel that?”

His hands found her waist, gripping tight. He couldn’t let go. Didn’t want to.

His voice was hoarse. “The bond.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. “We’re mates.”

Cassian’s world tilted.

His mind reeled, a thousand thoughts colliding all at once—

No. No fucking way. This isn’t—

Except it was.

It had always been.

He thought of Mor’s exasperated sighs, of Nesta’s unimpressed glares. Of Rhys’s teasing smirk, the way Azriel only ever raised a brow when he protested that they were just friends.

“You two are so in love it’s disgusting.”

“So everyone knows you’re together except you.”

Cassian had scoffed. Had brushed them off, had rolled his eyes.

But they had been right.

Every second of his existence had been leading to this moment. To her.

To the realization that he was irrevocably, obsessively, helplessly in love.

And he had been blind to it.

His throat was tight, his chest burning with something too big, too much—

“Y/N—”

But she was already moving, already rising on her toes, already pressing her lips against his.

Cassian broke.

A growl rumbled low in his chest as he crashed into the kiss, gripping her as if she might disappear if he let go. His hand tangled in her hair, the other fisting the fabric of her dress at her lower back, yanking her closer.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, and Cassian swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until he felt dizzy.

It was raw. Desperate.

It tasted like every moment they had spent in denial. Every time he had swallowed down his feelings. Every second he had convinced himself that she wasn’t his to have.

But she was.

She always had been.

The bond thrummed, golden and right.

Y/N pulled back just slightly, breathless, dazed. Her forehead rested against his, her fingers still gripping his tunic like she needed something to hold onto.

Cassian cupped her face, his thumb stroking along her cheek.

And for the first time, he let himself admit it.

“I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Y/N’s eyes softened. Her lips parted.

“…Good.”

Cassian blinked.

Then, she grinned.

“Because I’ve loved you for just as long.”

And Cassian—Cassian—

He kissed her again.

Because, maybe, just maybe, he had been waiting his whole life.

And he wasn’t waiting another damn second.

The faint sound of your baby’s cries tugged you from sleep, sharp enough to crack through your haze. You barely shifted, but the warmth of Azriel’s side of the bed was already gone.

The cries softened almost instantly, replaced by the quiet creak of floorboards down the hall. You waited, listening, and soon his voice drifted back to you—low, warm, and steady. The lullaby was unfamiliar, some half-remembered tune he must've learned long ago, the words barely more than a murmur. He wasn’t just soothing the baby; he was pouring every ounce of comfort he had into each note, like he could will peace into the air itself.

When the cries stopped, you expected him to come back to bed. Instead, you heard the soft shuffle of his footsteps pacing back and forth, rhythmic and slow. Curious, you dragged yourself out of bed, following the faint glow down the hall.

Azriel stood in the middle of the nursery, your baby cradled against his bare chest. His hair was a mess, falling over his forehead in dark, unruly strands. Those plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips, and the dim light carved out the hard lines of his back, shoulders, and wings as he swayed side to side. There was something about him in that moment—his strong frame, the quiet patience in his movements, the sheer devotion in the way he held your child—that left you breathless. Love swelled inside you, tangled with a heat that caught you off guard, fierce and undeniable.

He must’ve felt you watching because he glanced over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still warm. Wordlessly, he shifted the baby to one arm and crossed the room to you. He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm, his breath brushing soft against your skin.

"I’ve got it," he murmured, voice rough from sleep.

You lingered for a moment, heart full, before padding back to bed. The scent of him clung to your pillow—cedar, smoke, and the faintest trace of milk from where the baby had nuzzled against his chest.