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summary; feyre has her first visit to the night court and cassian just has to tell his best friends all of the gossip, even if it means interrupting their morning plans...
word count; 2951
notes; honesty, this was just a cute little mindless idea I had. no relevance or anything, honestly. dedicated to @azsazz.
It was unusual that you were the first to rise in the mornings. Azriel’s shadows tended to wake him several times during the night, whether he wanted them to or not, with little alerts and updates, which only became more frequent in the mornings. This morning, however, was one of those rare times you were. One of the few times when the halls in the House of Wind were quiet, the street and roads at the bottom of the mountain silent, barely even a breeze blowing from outside or a bird chirping.
Many times, your love had woken you with kisses and sweet words, rising you with the rays of the sun and sleepy smiles that threatened to shine even brighter, so it only felt fair to return that favour now. With one arm still slung over your waist, wings slumped happily behind him across the ridiculous expanse of the comfy, luxurious mattress, Azriel was a slight to behold. With tousled hair, lips forming a sweet pout, hardly visible freckles glowing in the morning sun and long lashes that fluttered with his dreams, he was like artwork.
You only wished you were skilled enough to paint this, or knew somebody who could capture the image for you. Instead, it would live only in your memories.
Leaning close enough to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, it scrunched, twitching lightly in his sleep when you repeated the action, before moving to the cheek that wasn’t pressed into the pillows. A soft kiss right in the centre, one on his cheekbone under his eye, another over his brow. More kisses, several to follow across his forehead as he began to stir, up to his hairline as that pout became a soft smile.
The sheets rustled around you both as he stretched, legs that had been tangled with yours flexing out to their full length, the hand that had been sitting idly over your body now pressing warm and flat to your lower back. He let out a grunt, a garbled sound that you were sure was supposed to resemble a ‘good morning’ of some kind, to gravelly and deep to make out. As your lips pressed again to his closed lids, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose and the tip, his hand from your back began a languid trail up your body and over your shoulder.
As your lips met his warm cheek once again, long and calloused fingers pinched your jaw on either side, a strong grip, to tug your chin down until his lips met your own. The moment your mouths brushed, a soft sigh was leaving your lips, spilling across his own as his lashes now tickled your cheeks when he pressed in. Lazy and slow and sweet, his mouth moved over your own in deliberate strokes, his tongue sweeping an unhurried lick along the seam of your mouth. Another greeting, one of actions and not words, as his hand slipped back under the covers to squeeze at your hip encouragingly.
You took a breath, barely, his lips dragging over your chin in hardly-formed kisses before your mouths were meeting again, his tongue sweeping happily into your mouth, and the groan he gave was swallowed by your gasp at a sensation that never grew old. Raising a hand to tangle into his hair, the covers dragged, your back now meeting the mattress as he rolled you over slowly, noses bumping together in uncoordinated and clumsy movements, the glorious haze of sleep still clinging to you both like the warmth of whiskey on hazy nights at Rita’s. It was like being drunk, utterly intoxicated on one another.
Azriel’s mouth detached from your own, a series of kisses growing wetter and hotter as they were trailed across your jaw, your neck, one of Azriel’s thick thighs slotting between your own as he shifted full over you now. Whispered words that ranged from ‘good morning’ to ‘you’re beautiful’, whispered into your skin like reverent praises, like holy prayers, even though everything on his lips sounded like sin.
With a single sharp tug on his hair, his head rose up, glistening and swollen lips parted for shallow breaths, honey-eyes shallowed entirely by the dark as his gaze met your own, knowing exactly what you wanted. Surging forward, your mouths collided once again, your whimpers crashing against his breathy moans, his weight all but collapsing down against you and wings flaring as your bodies pressed together.
It was hot, and tender, and needy, the hand that wasn’t holding him up now sliding over your hip, down over your bare thigh, to hitch it up around his waist for his body to slot between and-
“Good morning!”
A yelp almost tore from your lips, a spike of adrenaline setting your heart racing for an entirely different reason. You recognised that overly enthusiastic chirp, the deep and rumbling voice it had come from, and Azriel’s usual frown was replaced by a menacing scowl, as he reluctantly rolled his body off of your own, draping a wing over you as he shifted to sit propped-up at your side instead. He barely had time to retract that wing any further before Cassian was all but throwing himself down onto the bed beside you both.
“Get out.” It was the first real, discernible words Azriel had spoken yet this morning, not including the ones he’d whispered into your skin minutes prior, and a snicker of a laugh left your lips.
“How are my two favourite sickeningly in-love best friends doing, this morning?” Cassian crossed his legs at the ankles, obviously far too comfy as he toed off his slippers, still clad in his own pyjamas. You raised a brow, and Azriel only growled a menacing sound.
“Get out.”
“Oh, Az,” Cassian tutted, and you sighed, hauling yourself up from where you’d been lay in the pillows to sit a little more comfortably, leaning forwards long enough to let Azriel begin to situate himself first. It was clear that the General had no intentions of leaving any time soon. “I’m just preparing you for what it’ll be like when you two eventually have kids.”
“No, because my kids will be well-trained.” As he settled comfortably, one arm looped around your shoulders, over your collar to tug you back into his body, stretching out across the pillows, and the other landed on your thigh under the covers. A reassuring squeeze, a stroke of his hand above your knee. You smiled. “My kids will know not to burst into the room when daddy is lay on top of mommy, or else he’ll be in a bad mood all day.”
“Nope.” Cassian offered no explanation, popping the ‘p’ just to rib Azriel a little more. “Don’t care, and neither will your kids.” He shifted, your eyes widening a little as Cassian snuggled down happily, fluffing the pillows behind his body and tucking his legs under the covers, tugging on them until he could get enough from you both to cover himself.
“Cass, why are you in our bed?” You questioned, your friend’s head turning to you both, a wicked glint of mischief and excitement in his eyes.
“Well, you two were taking too long to invite me into it, so I invited myself.” He wiggled his brows teasingly, your laughter bouncing off of the walls. Azriel’s hand slipped back up from the cushions, cupping over your mouth to muffle your amusement as he tipped your head back onto his shoulder.
“Stop laughing, you’ll encourage him. He’s like a rash, he’ll keep coming back.” That only furthered your amusement, and despite his groan, a flare of matching entertainment from him tugged in your chest, and he placed a kiss on your temple, before slipping his hand away from your mouth. “So, why are you here, ruining our morning?”
“I happen to have some very important information, and I thought the spymaster of the court ought to know about it.”
“You’re here to gossip.” Azriel deadpanned, dropping his head down until his nose was brushing your hair, to hide the smile you knew he would be wearing. Despite all his constant complaining and the tone of his voice, Azriel loved gossip.
“Precisely.” Cassian seemed to know it just as much as you did, because as he shuffled onto his side, head supported on his fist as his elbow dug into the pillows, Az’s grip on your thigh tightened subconsciously with excitement. “It’s gossip about our beloved High Lord.”
“Even juicer.” You settled a little further back into your lover’s chest, his lips brushing a series of soft kisses along your temple as you did, both of your attentions now fixed gleefully and expectantly on your unexpected guest.
“So, today Rhys had told me to ensure my evening was free, because he wanted me to stop by so we could crack open a few bottles of his best whiskey and get, in his words, ‘rip-roaringly drunk’. He didn’t say way, I figured he’d just tell me when I got there, so-”
“Why wasn’t I invited?”
“Shh.” You mumbled, already invested in the story just from the sheer enthusiasm Cassian was telling with, and you received a pinch to your thigh in response, a giggle falling from your lips as you slapped his hand away from over the top of the covers.
“As I was saying,” He huffed, and Azriel didn’t bother to interrupt again. “So, I was just minding my own business, on my way to get some breakfast and try to plan what to do with the day before that, when Rhys shows up in my bedroom.”
“His poor eyes, your morning hair looks like a bird’s nest.” You muttered.
“His poor nose, your morning breath is awful.” Your friend only shot a growl at both you and Azriel, even as you reached out to pat down some of the ridiculously messy locks of hair that were tangled atop his head.
“I doubt he even noticed, because he was freaking out. He was frantic, like I’ve never seen him. He all but threw a suitcase at me and told me to pack a week’s worth of stuff and to come get you guys, before giving this weird, patchy speech about why.” Cass shrugged, your brows shooting up your forehead as he just stopped talking.
“Well? What was the speech?” The words burst out of Azriel behind you, as though he’d read your mind, both of you pinning him with matching stares as you awaited more.
“Something about a wedding and a bargain and finally having his shot. All I know is that we have to clear out for a week to the townhouse.”
“Oh, my Gods..” The puzzle pieces all seemed to click together, your mind whirring into action as your sleep-addled brain started to catch up with the day. “Feyre, the girl Rhys made a bargain with. The Cursebreaker. He never cashed in on that bargain, I never really questioned it because it’s been so busy around here since he got back. But, she’s marrying Tamlin. Today.”
Cassian’s jaw dropped into a wide O-shape, thick brows shooting up, and the rumble of Azriel’s contemplative hum buzzed against your chest. Dipping down, he left a soft kiss in the crook of your neck, and another over the shell of your ear, just to mumble; “It’s hot when you do clever spy work and deduction, my love.”
“Stop flirting! I haven’t even gotten to the best part of the story yet!”
“So, I packed my bag and all, and I was on my way down to see you both when I heard shouting. I investigated, and you’re right. I have never seen such a hideous wedding dress. It was all ruffles and puffed-up lace and she had these gloves on.” Cassian pulled a face, his nose scrunching up as he recalled whatever monstrosity the poor girl had likely been forced into for a big Spring Court tradition. “She was arguing with Rhys for finally coming to cash in the bargain, and then when he walked away from her, she took off her shoe and threw it at him.”
“Mother above..”
“Did it hit him?” There was something hilariously cheeky laced through Azriel’s question, the kind of joy only true brothers can get at the idea of one another being hit by flying footwear.
“Right on the back of the head.”
“Good shot. Go Feyre.” Cassian only laughed his agreement, and you huffed, shuffling onto your side to press a little further into the warmth of your mate’s body, the chill in the air from Cassian’s constant shuffling was making a breeze sweep in under the covers. “Twenty gold marks says they’re fucking by the end of the year.”
The vibrations of his voice were a steady thrum under your cheek on his chest, and you swatted idly at his side, a scoff tumbling from your lips as your eyes closed happily once again. Cassian’s laughter only boomed, and he cupped a hand over his mouth to muffle it, not wanting to give his presence away to Feyre, wherever she was currently hiding out in the mountaintop palace you all called home.
“They won’t be fucking!” Azriel’s laughter was hidden in your hair as he dipped his head down, arms tightening around your body to squeeze you close as he shook beneath you in amusement. “It was literally her wedding day! To Tamlin! Gods, what a mess that’ll be when she goes back… What do you think will happen?”
You couldn't help it, slipping into a slight bit of gossip and hypothesising; Cassian had always been so good at dragging this devious side out of you both. It was shameful, really. It was even more shameful how much you secretly loved it. The two males fell silent around you, mulling it over slowly, and you could practically feel the energy change in the room, picturing Cassian’s shit-eating grin before he even spoke.
“Forty gold marks says they’re fucking within three months.”
Azriel broke out in fits of very un-warrior-like hysterics with his best friend once again, bursts of joyous laughter filling your chest and plucking the bond with so much warmth that eventually giggles fell from your own lips too. “You two are awful.”
“Oh, c’mon, my love…” Azriel places a sweet kiss on the edge of your temple, smoothing one hand up and down your spine, twice, before resting it again just above the curve of your ass under the covers. “Think of the fantastic date we’ll be going on with Cassian’s money when he loses.”
“When you put it like that…”
“Oh, my. Where will we be going on this fancy date?” The bubble popped once again, with Cassian holding the metaphorical needle, wielded proudly like the greatest sword.
“Somewhere you’ll never find us.” He scoffed at Azriel’s words, and you twisted enough to press a kiss over the thudding heart contained under golden skin and thick muscles where you rested.
“Don’t be so mean to me! I’ve already been made temporarily homeless, and now you’re rejecting me? I can’t bear it.” He folded his wings in tight, only shuffling down even more into the pillows that you’d once called your side of the bed, now resting happily atop Azriel as you crowded into his side.
“So, you’re not leaving, then?” You fired back.
“Preferably now,” Azriel added with a mutter, fingers inching a few millimetres further down, just enough to hint to you that he had absolutely not forgotten your activities before Cassian had arrived.
“Of course not. I’m not going anywhere.” Twin groans from you and Azriel made Cassian laugh. Finally, you turned back to face him, eyes cracking open to observe. He was now laying on his back, settled in and looking cosier than ever amongst the blankets and pillows, truly and completely making himself at home. Uninvited. “Can’t go anywhere ‘til Rhys says we’re clear of bumping into the Cursebreaker in the halls. Then, we all get kicked out to stay at the Town House for a week. Doesn’t that sound great? Might as well get used to it, it’ll be fun!”
His tone change at ‘fun’ had Azriel’s breath holding in his chest, eyes narrowing at Cassian’s wiggling brows, and your stomach dropped at the thought.
“We’re not gonna’ have any alone time for a whole week.” Azriel was exasperated, as though finally realising that it wasn’t going to happen, his hand sliding back up to sit at a safe space. All the way up, until he was threading it into your hair instead, fingertips kneading your scalp subconsciously.
“I have nothing to do except make sure that by this time next week, your balls are so blue they could disappear in the night sky, Az.”
Your mate’s body tightened fractionally underneath you at the threat, squirming a little as though he could already feel the frustration and cock-blocking his best friend would unleash upon him. Cassian, the complete opposite, was looking ridiculously proud of himself, and you hoped your smile at the pair’s antics wasn’t showing.
“Don’t worry, Az,” You reached up, dragging a finger down your lovers’ jaw, his fingers twitching on your body as you did. Layering on the seduction in your voice, just to make a point, “I’ll take real good care of your balls, honey.”
His head twisted, nipping at the tip of your finger playfully, and Cassian made a show of clearing his throat in a rather disgusting and pointed series of spluttering coughs.
“So, who wants to hear about the time my big toe got infected because of a splinter?”
Hiiii! Hope you’re all well! Sorry this one took a bit longer to get out. This week has been a mad one, and this is another long-awaited chapter that @greeneyedivy and I have been discussing for agessss, so I wanted to get it just right! We hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻
Warnings: Violence. Bit of blood and gore.
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The old orchard — that was where Lucien and Tamlin would meet them. Once a place that held memories of boyhood. Chasing each other amongst the trees, the air tinged with the sticky-sweet smell of apples. Eris didn’t feel quite so light as he once had. And the air — the air now smelled like—
The oldest Vanserra came to an abrupt stop, his entire body turning horribly, deathly cold.
Smoke was swallowing up the horizon.
Black, rippling smoke as thick as fog, commanding the sky and painting it night-dark.
There was only one place that that smoke could possibly be pouring from.
“No.” Eris breathed — barely. “Mother above, no.”
Linden slowed to a stop beside him, clutching hard at his horse’s reins. “What the—”
“That’s the manor. That’s…you need to go. Quickly. Now.”
“But—”
“Listen to me. Lucien sent Y/N back to the manor to wait things out with our mother. There’s a chance they’re in there.”
Something fierce and feral sparked in Linden’s dark gaze. Horrific understanding passed between them, left unspoken.
“I’ll go get Lucien.” Eris announced.
Linden merely nodded, digging his heels into his horse’s sides and taking off without a word.
Smoke. Fire. Eris could barely keep up with the thunderous pace of his thoughts. What had his father done? What had he finally, finally done?
The old orchard wasn’t far from here. Lucien and Tamlin would be winnowing there any minute. Would see the smoke—
He reached the orchard at lightning speed, the fact that he’d arrived first the only small mercy. He needed to be there for his brother, to calm him, to…to brace him. For whatever they were walking into. Perhaps not walking out of.
Eris strode through the lining of trees, leaving his horse grazing behind him. There was barely a breath between him passing through the leafy archway, and Lucien and Tamlin appearing out of nowhere.
Lucien didn’t need to glimpse the smoke eating up the sky. He need only take one look at Eris’s ashen face to know.
“What.” Was all the younger brother managed to gasp out. Even Tamlin had paled beside him.
“Fire.” Eris shook his head, somewhat dazed. “I—I think he’s set the godsdamn place on fire.”
Those words were all it took for the three of them to become nothing but a smoke-choked breeze as they winnowed straight home.
What had once been their home.
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Lucien stumbled to a stop on the front lawn. The place was…chaos.
For a split second, it was all he could do to gawk up at the manor, now completely engulfed. Great, evil flames seemed to spit from every direction, reaching up and out. His eyes scanned the lawn — dotted with servants and staff who had escaped — in search of Y/N. Just one glimpse to know she was okay.
He could find none.
The stifling heat, the churning smoke…it was too much. Too much. He couldn’t think.
“Mother.” Eris yelled from behind him.
Lucien spun around to find his brother running towards Catrin, sat up and hunched over on the lawn, blood dried to her head and face, a maidservant at her side. His legs were suddenly moving him in the same direction. He’d told Y/N to stay with Catrin—surely…surely she would know where she might be.
“What happened?” Eris dropped to his knees, gently grasping their mother’s face and tilting it up.
“The place just…caught fire.” The maidservant answered for her. “The Lady wasn’t inside. Nor the High Lord. He came running in to help us, get us all out. I overheard someone saying this is payback — from the villagers.
“Where is Y/N.” Lucien said too quietly. None of them seemed to hear him.
“And where is the High Lord now?” Eris asked.
“Where,” Lucien repeated, louder, “is Y/N?”
Only then did Catrin look up — as though the mention of the female had reminded her of her existence. She blinked up at her son. “I…I don’t know. Your father sent me to the market. I came back to find the place on fire. He—”
Lucien didn’t stick around to hear the rest of the sentence. He had no control over the noise of utter despair that broke from his throat. Nor over the way his legs began to carry him in a sprint, towards the heart of the smoke and the heat that breathed out at him. He would go into that blaze — would run through flames to find her.
But he only made it to the bottom step at the front of the manor when a figure came stumbling out of the door, hauling something — someone — with him.
He saw nothing — nothing — besides the limp body of his mate. Not the strong, muscled male that carried her out of the building or the destruction that they escaped from. How close the flames were to claiming them.
His legs threatened to give out from beneath him as he tripped up those steps and collapsed at the same time that the male — Linden — gently laid Y/N down on the front veranda, before he could no longer hold off the coughs that were choking him.
“Y/N?” With trembling hands, Lucien gently turned her face, his palms becoming coated with blood. Nothing. Not a flinch. “Y/N?”
No, no, no. He tugged on that golden cord between them, their bond, begged for her tug back. But she was so limp, so still—
Lucien didn’t even realise the screaming was coming from him until heads began to turn in his direction. And then Tamlin was running over. Eris, too, with Catrin clinging to him.
“She’s alive.” Linden panted around his coughs. “She’s—she’s alive. Her head—”
“Somebody get a healer, now!” Lucien bellowed, the words tumbling into sobs. He paid no mind to the chaos around him as he clutched Y/N to him, resting her bloodied head in his lap. “My love. My love. Open your damn eyes.”
A strong hand touched his shoulder. “A healer is coming, Lucien.” Tamlin. “We need to move Y/N out of the way so the fire can be dealt with.”
No words were making sense. He couldn’t move, could do nothing but cling to her and cry.
“Come, brother.” Eris said gently. He reached for Y/N, pausing at the growl that ripped from Lucien’s throat. “…no one’s going to hurt her, Lucien. We need to help her.”
Yes, somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew that. He forced himself to push to his feet, not once letting go of his mate, even as his body tried to buckle and fall.
They could barely withstand the heat that pulsed out at them. And from inside — popping and creaking. Wood was starting to give way.
Catrin hovered beside Lucien as he stumbled down the steps, just able to lay Y/N down on the lawn before he collapsed once more. And still he didn’t let go. Didn’t acknowledge anything but the female — his love — in his arms, even as people began arriving, the thunderous clopping of horses’ hooves growing closer and closer. Some to help heal, others to help with the fire.
Eris turned to Linden, studying every inch of the male for any sign of injury. “…were—are there any casualties?”
Linden’s face was grave as he gave a single nod. “A couple of maids I couldn’t save.”
“Did you see the High Lord?” Eris had studied the chaos once, twice, three times, searching for any glimpse of his father. His father, who had allegedly run towards the danger to help.
He’d found none.
Linden shook his head. “The High Lord isn’t in there. I can tell you that for certain.”
And if he wasn’t in there and wasn’t out here—
He’d set the fire. Played the hero. And got far, far away before anyone could find him.
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It was like waking up with a mouthful of ash, so painfully arid that you choked around the sensation. You couldn’t get enough air down, couldn’t godsdamn breathe. You lifted a hand, clawing at your throat as though the action would somehow help you—
“Oh no you don’t.” A cold, withered hand enclosed around yours, tugging it away from the assault it was committing. “Don’t add to the injuries you already have, girl.”
Your eyes flew open. You didn’t know that voice, and the unfamiliarity frightened you. Your gaze found nothing but a canvas ceiling above you. A tent — a healer’s tent. The air was unbearably thick, stung with the smell of smoke and burning.
“What—” you tried to speak; it only served to bring about another outburst of coughs, and they were painful, splintering through your body like shards of glass. You tried again, weakly, “what happened?”
“The manor caught fire.” The healer stopped at your bedside; a severe-looking woman who reminded you of your old school mistress. “The worst of your injuries is the gash on your head. I’m assuming you were hit by something falling in the fire.”
You stared back at her as though she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. And like the mention of your injury brought your memories to the surface, you were pelted with images in your brain; flashes of the last thing you remembered. Beron dragging you into a room, the two of you exchanging sharp words, him grabbing you by the throat and lifting something above your head—
And then blackness.
And then…what? He’d set the manor on fire?
He’d actually tried to kill you. Had actually crossed that line.
“It’s alright if you can’t remember.” The healer patted your hand. “All you need to focus on, now, is recovering.”
Indeed, the ache that was rapidly beginning to rip through your head was almost unbearable. There were so many things you wanted to think of, to ask, and yet the only thing that stopped you screaming in pain was closing your eyes. You lay still, trying to ignore the panic that was rising in you.
“I’m going to fetch some more supplies. A tonic that will help with that pain.” The healer announced. “Do not move.”
There was no danger of that. You could barely breathe without the ache worsening.
And yet, as you listened to the sounds of the healer pushing out of the tent flaps, and the deep lull of an approaching voice, you found yourself on high alert. All you knew was that you were in a healer’s tent — still closeby to whatever wreck the manor was in, going by the smells in the air and the sounds; dripping water and hissing cinders. But…nothing else. You knew nothing of what might exist — or not — outside of that tent.
“I need to get some more supplies.” The healer repeated to somebody. “You’ll need to stand guard and make sure that nobody tries to enter. I won’t be long.”
“Of course.” A male voice responded — Eris. “...how is she? Will she—will she be alright?”
“She’s regaining consciousness. Although, I wager she’ll want to be knocked right back out, with the headache she’s bound to have. The most severe injury is the wound to her head. But yes, she’ll be fine. Provided that your brother doesn’t bother her when he wakes.”
“I’m sorry,” Eris said. “Truly. I apologise, on his behalf, for his rudeness. He’ll be mortified. He’s just…she’s his mate. He thought she…”
The words trailed off, but you didn’t need Eris to finish the sentence to know what he was thinking. Which meant Lucien was here…somewhere. Lucien had seen you, the state you’d been found in, and had assumed the worst. The thought made your heart twist inside your chest. You wanted to get up, to find him, but you couldn’t make your body move.
“Believe me, boy, I understand.” The healer said. “But if he causes another scene, I’ll have no problem sedating him again. His mate cannot heal while he screams and cries outside the tent.”
He’d done that? How had you not woken up? You must have been out cold. The thought of him crying out for you, and you not responding—
You sunk further down into the cot, wincing at your worsening headache. So much, too much, had happened too fast. And if Beron had set fire to the manor in his attempts to wipe you out, had he harmed others? Staff and servants and Catrin…
You forced your eyes open. Tried to push yourself up. You needed to find out the breadth of the destruction for yourself — damn resting and healing.
But movement limned your periphery, and turning your head, grasping the figure that had appeared out of air and shadow, had every part of you locking up.
It was as though the mere thought of Beron had summoned him. He stood a mere few strides away, studying you with what you could only assume was uncontainable rage.
Because he’d failed. He’d tried to get rid of you — his little problem — and he’d failed.
Was he here to make another attempt? The crazed flash in his eyes made it seem like a distinct possibility. You weakly tried to move back, tried to open your mouth and scream—
“I wouldn’t bother.” He said. “I’ve cast a silencing glamour.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A pathetic whimper was the only sound you could produce as you tried to push up onto your elbows.
“You’re not an easy person to get rid of, I’ll grant you that.” The High Lord strode closer, stopping just beside the cot. That smell of smoke and fire grew stronger, almost suffocating you as he lowered a hand and pushed you down into the hard mattress. “Shh, shh. There’s no need to make a fuss.”
“Get the fuck away from me.” You choked. You resented the tears that sprung in your eyes, but you were so weak, so defeated. You wouldn’t be able to fight anymore, not like this.
Beron had the power. Had always had the power, and the control. And now he would exact it, and Lucien’s worst fears would come true. There would be no future, no other side to this nightmare. You’d be one of many killings Beron Vanserra had made — and would make — in his reign as High Lord. You would be a name one day forgotten.
And your father would have to live with the fact that he’d contributed to that. That he’d mixed you up in all of this. Your blood was as much on his hands as it was on Beron’s. Had your mother known, also? What would your sisters think? Would they miss you? Was Willow still alive to miss you, after whatever had happened in Rask?
“You know, Y/N,” Beron’s hand moved up, up to your neck, the skin still sore from his last assault, “despite the bad feeling between us, do not think that I don’t admire your efforts. Truly, I do. You have a rare determination.” Dirt-crusted nails grazed your skin. “You would even have fit well amongst my courtiers, if you’d played on the right side of the game. But alas, you were hindered by weaknesses. Morals and conscience. As you can probably tell, I despise both.”
“You’re incapable of both.” You spat.
His lips twitched. “You’re not wrong. And you’re incapable of keeping your mouth shut. Your father sent you here to marry my son and be a quiet, docile female like your air-headed sisters. Such a shame that you couldn’t honour that arrangement. Instead, you had to go snooping in my business and fooling around with the wrong son. Lucien—”
“Lucien,” you cut him off through gritted teeth, “is my mate. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
His face flickered. Darkened. And gods, it became abundantly clear how viscerally he hated such a fact. Lucien was your mate. You were his. A bond even Beron couldn’t overrule—
“No, you’re right.” His mouth lifted into a sneer. “I cannot change that such a bond exists between you. Even I don’t have that power.” His fingertips dug in, just slightly, to the skin of your throat. “But the issue, dear Y/N, is not whether or not my son is your mate. The issue is that you are his. That as long as you are around, you pose a threat to me. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“That you can burn all the evidence you want, but you still have a great many people who know who — what — you are, and what you’ve done—”
Your words fell short as he grabbed your neck in an ironclad grip and squeezed. “And you’re the loudest of them all. Like a damn wasp that won’t stop buzzing around and getting in my way. A silly little girl who thinks she’s smart enough to play my games and not receive the consequences.”
He squeezed tighter, tighter, and you were thrashing, your pain taking a backseat as you fought to claw at his hands.
“But do not worry, little wasp.” He barely budged through your pathetic fighting. The air was leaching from you, try as you might to gasp. Your head pounded, your vision faltering— “Your death will not be in vain. It’ll send a message to anyone who’s willing to try crossing me. They won’t win. You. Will. Not—
It all happened so fast. So, so fast.
For a split second, you were aware of nothing but the relief of being able to breathe. Swallowing huge gulps of air and—
Something else. Something else sprayed your face, coated your tongue. Warm and metallic. Beron’s eyes widened, a gruff noise huffing from his throat. He was gasping, just as you had been gasping, gurgling…
And then slumping over. He collapsed forward, his body toppling onto you, hot, sticky blood immediately soaking through the sheet, your clothes, covering your skin.
And behind him stood Eris. Eris, holding a blood-soaked sword. Eris, who was wide-eyed and trembling.
Who had just stabbed his father through the heart. Who had just killed the High Lord.
The sword fell from Eris’s hand, clattering to the ground. He opened and closed his mouth, not a single word escaping his lips. His skin had turned so incredibly pale.
You didn’t know how he’d found out about Beron being in here. Whether it had just been a sheer fluke…whether he…you didn’t know, couldn’t think.
All you did know was that Beron Vanserra was bleeding out on top of you. A deathly pallor had already taken over his face. His blood was warm, and you were cold, and—
You screamed. Screamed to the high heavens. Your throat felt like it had been sliced to ribbons, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself screaming, couldn’t stop your weak body trying to push Beron off of you.
“Gethimoffgethimoffgethimoff—” You screeched. Cried. Sobbed. You were soaked with blood, and in pain, and—
Eris seemed to jerk into action. He blinked out of his shock, lugging Beron away from you. The High Lord slumped to the floor. And didn’t move.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Eris was pulling you to him, his own body trembling so hard, he couldn’t keep hold of you. He didn’t stop you as you leaned over the side of the bed and vomited through your sobs, spitting blood onto the floor.
And what had happened…what Eris had done…it must have severed the silencing glamour that Beron had cast. Your screams and cries must have been heard for miles and miles. You were vaguely aware of people pushing into the tent, a frenzied panic filling the small space. There were voices, their volumes raising as their owners beheld what was in front of them.
“...He’s dead...” Someone spoke. The voice was familiar, warm and comforting, but you couldn’t place it. “The High Lord is dead.”
You passed out again before you could hear anything else.
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The daylight was weak and watery, pouring into the tent in dull hues of grey.
But you would not let the healer — Ornella, her name was — close the entry flaps. Even as the rain came, pouring down and making the view even bleaker.
Not that it could get much bleaker than the burned and sodden ruins of the Vanserra manor. But...you needed to look. To remind yourself of what had happened.
There had been no brief moment of clarity upon awakening. It had been the early hours of the morning, and you’d jerked into a sitting position, despite every part of your body protesting the movement. You’d checked for the pool of blood that was soaking you, the dead body of the High Lord on the floor—
All you’d found was a clean bed shift covering your body. No traces of what had happened. No body and not a single speck of blood. And at the end of your bed — your mate. Lucien had been waiting for you to wake up.
He’d held you while you’d cried. Rocked you and stroked your hair and promised you that never, ever would Beron be able to hurt you again. And when your exhausted body had begun to weaken again, your eyes growing heavy once more, he’d laid you down and held you. Stayed with you while you slept.
He was catching up on his sleep, now. The cot was too small for the two of you to sprawl out, so he’d curled himself up in a chair by your bed. His hand was still in yours, his breathing deep and even. His braid hung down by his face, and you reached out, pressing it between your fingers.
There was too much to think about.
Eris…Eris had killed Beron. The High Lord of the Autumn Court was dead. He’d killed him to save your life, and now he…he would be High Lord.
“He hasn’t left your side once since he managed to get in here.”
You jumped at the intrusion of a deep, smoky voice. A voice you knew by heart. The lingering accent of a Montesere native who had spent a long, long time away from home. Your heart skipped a bit in your chest.
You sat up — and there, in the entrance, stood Linden.
Just as you remembered him. His wonderful face and sure, confident figure. The warmth of his eyes. His braids.
You opened your mouth to say…something. But it was only a strangled cry that came out.
Lucien was immediately jolting awake, throwing himself in front of you and looking around for a potential threat. Linden snorted softly.
“Down, boy.” He said to your mate, a lick of fondness in his tone. “It’s just me.”
Lucien relaxed, turning to face you. His hands gripped your face, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Calm, my fireling. You’re still healing.”
Linden strolled further into the room, a smirk on his lips. “Am I truly so hideous that you cry upon seeing me?”
“I’m happy, you ass.” You managed to choke — causing both males to laugh. “I’ve missed you.”
Your friend’s face softened. “And I’ve missed you.” He perched on the end of the cot. “How are you feeling?”
“...Shocked, I suppose. Sore. I can’t…is the High Lord really…”
“He’s dead.” Lucien answered coldly. “And may he burn in hell for eternity.”
Indeed. It seemed his father’s death didn’t aggrieve him in the slightest. Nothing but fury — laced with hard satisfaction — lay on his face. He turned that face to you, his eyes immediately softening.
“If Eris hadn’t killed him,” he said, “I would have done so myself.”
“And I would have damn well helped.” Linden added.
You stared between them; knew they both meant the declaration without a lick of doubt. Not just for your sake, but the sakes, also, of everyone who had ever been caught up in Beron’s games.
“The fire…” you breathed, the thought suddenly dawning on you. “Was anyone hurt? Catrin…”
“My mother wasn’t in there, thankfully.” Lucien brushed your hair out of your face. “But there were a couple of maids who sadly perished.”
“I wasn’t able to save them.” Linden’s voice quietened. “I couldn’t…once I’d gotten you out, it was too dangerous to go back—”
“You did everything you could.” Lucien cut him off softly, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. “My father is to blame, not you. We’ll be having a memorial service for the lives lost, later on today.”
Linden nodded…but you could see the regret and agony in his eyes. That this was a burden that nobody’s reassurances could lighten. You wished there was something you could do, some way to help.
“What of Eris?” You asked, sitting up. “Is he alright? Where is he?”
“He and my mother are getting settled into the Roselands — another Vanserra residence. It’s where we’ll be staying while the manor is rebuilt. He is…understandably shocked. He doesn’t regret what he did, but…he’s High Lord now. It’s a lot for him to take in.”
Of course it was. And he’d saved your life without thinking twice about it. You wished you could talk to him, thank him, hug him. “And Willow? Dion?” You stared at your mate, trying to tamp down on your panic.
“Are both fine.” He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. “No harm came to them. They returned from Rask without so much as a scratch. Barric fled — I’m assuming when he heard about my father. And Jareth and Rian are being detained and interrogated. Whatever punishment Eris decides to mete out will be well-deserved.”
“Agreed.” Linden said. He reached out, clasping your leg. “But none of these things are for you to worry about right now. You should focus on recovering.”
You couldn’t suppress a small smile, your heart pinching at his words. Nothing had changed. He was still the same caring, fussing mother hen that you loved so much. You clasped your hands on his and squeezed.
“...How about I fetch some food?” Lucien slowly let go of you. “Give you two a chance to catch up. You must be starving.”
You were — but you knew it was ruse for him to give you and your friend some time to talk alone. You smiled gratefully up at him. “Don’t be too long.”
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.”
“And I love you.”
With a smile of pure elation, he turned and pushed out of the tent, his hair providing a little bit of colour to the grey landscape.
And then it was just you and Linden. Your friend through so much. Someone who truly did love you unconditionally.
“Oh,” he smiled wickedly, “the two of you are positively sickening.”
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You spent the day catching up with Linden, just…just glad to be back by his side. Even if the general mood was a solemn one, and the mark that Beron had left hung over all of your heads, it was just a comfort to have him in your company again. Lucien, too. The two of them hovered around you so much that Ornella eventually had to order them out so that she could see to your head wound and pour tonics down your throat.
She was insistent that you get more sleep, but…as the day faded into a murky evening, you knew that people were beginning to venture from all over the court for the memorial service. And you wanted to go, too.
So you’d climbed the hill on which the many gathered, Lucien and Linden supporting you at your sides. Catrin was already waiting at the top, along with Dion and Willow and staff and servants and their families that had also come. Tamlin, too, stood in the circle, staring at the faelights that lit up the hilltop.
But no Eris. Eris was nowhere to be found.
As soon as Catrin’s warm eyes fell on you, they filled with tears. Of love…of relief…you weren’t sure. But she reached out for you, pulling you into her side. She wrapped her arms around you, as though shielding you from the brisk night air, and pressed a kiss to your head. And Dion and Willow joined, too, their scents mingling as they embraced you.
Linden came to a stop at your other side, but Lucien — Lucien stepped into the centre of the circle, amongst the flickering faelights. You knew, immediately, that he was stepping in for Eris. His hair moved gently with the breeze as he bowed his head, and silence fell amongst the gathering of people. You could only watch.
“We gather here, this eve, to commemorate Rowara and Shea — two kind, hard working females who should still be here with us. With their families.” Lucien spoke clearly, his words answered by a pained sob amongst the people. No mention of Beron, and rightfully so. “Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain.”
There were murmurings — an echo of the prayer, similar sentiments breathed through cries and whispers. And you watched, tears forming in your own eyes, as magic lifted the faelights into the skies on a phantom wind, like souls floating off to a better place.
“They are gone, but they will never, ever be lost to memory.” Lucien said, and repeated, “Fear no evil. Feel no pain.”
The words were spoken back to him, a chorus of many different tones and pitches, all bound together in the same, slicing pain that they each felt.
Lucien stepped back, and Linden made room for him. And in nothing but a heavy, eerie silence, everybody watched. Watched those faelights float and disappear into the distance.
You stood there as night swept in. Stood there as the temperature dropped, biting at your skin. And as people began to descend the hill once more, you still stood, held by both Catrin and Lucien. You wished Eris was here. Wish he could feel their embrace, too.
Finally, you loosened your arms, straightening yourself out. You wiped your eyes as you turned to Catrin. “Why did Eris not come?”
“He couldn’t face it just yet.” She gently clasped your cheek. “He stayed behind, at Roselands.”
You needed to see him, to talk to him. You turned to Lucien, your determination the only thing keeping your tired eyes peeled. “Will you take me there?”
“Aren’t you ready to rest?” Lucien tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You look exhausted. You’ll see Eris soon—”
You shook your head. “Please. Just—please. He saved my life. He did…what he did, for me. I need to see him.”
It was only a second longer that he studied you, before he nodded and took your hand in his, winnowing you off that hilltop. And as you ripped through air and nothingness, you didn’t care that you were tired and freezing cold. You needed to see him. Your friend. Your brother.
The two of you staggered to a stop on the gravel front of a much smaller residence — though still large. And the sea of different-coloured roses was where, you supposed, the house had got its name from.
The place was quiet and in darkness, but you could almost feel pain pulsing out of it. Bleakness.
You turned to Lucien at the front steps, and he seemed to just know what you needed without you saying a word.
“Just tug on the bond, when you’re ready.” He said, and you felt the strange sensation of a cord being pulled, deep in your gut. “I’ll come get you.”
You nodded, pushing up on your toes to kiss him. And then he was gone.
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No lights had been lit indoors.
You felt strangely bare and vulnerable as you slowly made your way through the house, searching for Eris. You weren’t sure where he might be; asleep in bed, or drowning his sorrows, or—
It was on the second floor, down a narrow corridor, that you heard a splash of water come from a room at the very end. Its door was cracked open, and a sliver of dim lighting peeked out. You strode over slowly, raising your hand to gently rap on the door.
“Eris?” You called.
A pause, and then another ripple of moving water. A raw, rough voice called out to you. “In here.”
It was permission enough, you pushed your way in, your eyes immediately landing on the bathtub. Eris sat within it, hunched over, his knees pulled into his chest, his chin resting atop of them. His hair hung limply around him.
He looked…haunted. Tortured.
You used the single, winking faelight in the corner to guide you across the room, until you were coming to a stop beside the tub. Beside Eris’s hunched body.
“Hey…” You whispered, kneeling down.
He shook, shivered, and you dipped your hand into the water — still pretty warm. And yet goosebumps covered his skin. Goosebumps and—
And scars. All over. Some big, some small. Some a silver-white, others pinker, newer. And three great, old scars that crossed his back. Faded with age, and yet still clear as day. The scars of a lashing, with a whip or a rope, or…something. Something barbarous. It knotted your stomach as your eyes caught on them.
“He did that to me when I was just a boy.” Eris croaked. You didn’t need to ask to know he was talking about Beron. “He’d taken me with him into a village he was visiting, and I shared my food with a boy there. When we got home, he made an example of me. I couldn’t move for three days after.”
You flinched, slowly raising a hand to brush your fingers over those scars. He seemed to tense for a split second at the contact, and then relaxed, exhaling a shaky breath as you gently traced his skin.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “For all that he did to you. I’m so sorry.”
You knew, from the way his shoulders shuddered, that he’d choked out a silent sob. And you didn’t know how to help him, what to say. There was nothing, no words, that could possibly make any of this better.
“Eris, I…what you did for me…” You swallowed. “I would have died if not for you. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“I’d never expect you to.”
No, he wouldn’t. You knew that. Because he was good; the complete opposite of his father. A true High Lord.
But right now…right now, titles were the least important thing. Because he seemed so small, so vulnerable, curled up like that. Like a scared, lonely child.
You couldn’t bear it.
You needed him to know that you were here with him. Would always be.
You reached to the side of the bath for a washcloth, and Eris made no protest as you dipped it into the water, lathered it with soap, and began gently washing his skin with it. He was still covered in blood and dirt; still marked by the events that had passed.
But you cleaned every bit of it away, and he let you. There was no awkwardness or embarrassment. You were taking care of him, and though he trembled and cried and curled in tight, he allowed it. Appreciated it.
You washed his hair, massaged his head, kneaded his shoulder muscles. And when you moved down to clean his hands, to scrub the dirt and grime away from his nails, only then did he grab hold of you. Your eyes shot to his to find them already staring at you.
“I’d do it again.” He rasped, the bleakness in his eyes utterly heartbreaking. “I—I would. A thousand times over.”
“I know.” You whispered.
Tears spilled over, rolling down his cheeks. “I killed him.”
Your eyes shuttered. “I know.”
“How—how am I supposed to be a High Lord, Y/N? How can I—”
“Hey.” You cut him off. Allowed the washcloth to drop into the water as you grasped his face in both of your hands and forced him to look at you. “You have always been a High Lord, Eris. Always. Because you’ve always been what a High Lord should be. Your father is — was — an abomination. But you…you are kind. You’re noble and real and honest and thoughtful. You fight for what’s right. You’re good. And I will be honoured to call you my High Lord. Even more so to call you my brother.”
He stared at you, that last little tether on his emotions snapping. It all began hitting him full-force, and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a small sob.
“But none of that needs to matter right now,” you continued quietly. “It does not need to matter now, or tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that. It can matter whenever you’re ready. Because right now, you’re just Eris. You’re my friend, and my brother, and I love you. And I will forever be thankful for what you did for me.”
Pressing his forehead against the lip of the tub, Eris cried. You soothed him through it. Stroked his hair and held his hand. Let him know that you were there, and always would be. Not his subject or courtier. Not a pawn in a game. A friend — a true one.
It seemed like hours before his sobs lessened into the occasional snivel. But you didn’t force him to speak or move before he was ready.
The water turned from lukewarm to cold, and finally he looked up at you through red-rimmed eyes.
“Thank you for coming.” He whispered. It was clear that the act of crying, of being soothed, had lessened some of the weight on his shoulders. He was a little bit brighter as he reached out and tugged your braid once. “I love you, too.”
“Thank you for coming.” You murmured back. “I wouldn’t still be here if you hadn’t.”
“Life would be very, very boring without my favourite little shit around.”
You gaped at him — and then smiled. And it felt good to do so. Even better as he gave a quiet laugh.
You joined in, the laughter a little hollow, a little strained, but still there. And when Eris relaxed once more, he was still smiling. Somewhat.
“...are you alright?” You asked him.
His eyes met yours. “Better now. After being bathed by you.”
So he wasn’t too upset to tease. You rolled your eyes, but nothing besides relief filled you as you pushed to your feet. “Don’t get used to it. This is a one-time thing.”
“Shame. Are you leaving?”
“Just to get you a towel.”
You stepped forward — but his hand was grasping yours again. Stopping you. You glanced over your shoulder.
“Seriously…thank you.” He swallowed. “Thank you for coming here. I…it was you I needed to see.”
You dipped your chin, shoving down the emotion that climbed up your throat. “Of course.”
With a soft smile, he squeezed your hand once and let go. You strode over to the door in search of a towel—
“Y/N?” He called after you.
You turned again…and the slight glint in his eyes told you that the Eris you knew and loved still lurked beneath the pain somewhere.
“I promise not to tell Lucien about you ogling my cock.”
Hi! Here’s Part Twenty! @greeneyedivy and I love you all and hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Some violence.
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“I knew it. I fucking knew she couldn’t have received those letters.”
Eris watched Linden pace before him, arms of pure, corded muscle rippling as he clenched his hands at his sides. The male was…certainly a presence. Domineering.
“She’s been missing you.” Eris said. “She thought…”
“That I hadn’t bothered to write? I should have tried harder.”
The two males had spoken for barely an hour, Eris sharing details as promptly as he could, but the short conversation was confirmation enough that Linden adored Y/N just as fiercely as she did him. A conflict had shadowed his dark eyes, and he looked…regretful. Troubled. Eris didn’t know what to say to make it better. Or whether it was even possible to do so.
“It isn’t your fault that my father intercepted the letters.” He’d try, anyway. “None of us could have known what—”
“Except I did know.” Linden cut him off, whirling around to face him. “I did.”
Eris stared back at him, waiting for the explanation that lay behind the haunted expression. He’d told Linden everything there was to know, but there was a stark sense of…something else. It seemed to fill the room, rob it of air.
Or perhaps that was just the male’s exquisite build—
“I should have stepped in sooner. Warned Y/N when I had the chance.” Linden’s words snapped Eris out of his thoughts. He shook his head. “…her father came to me, about a year before she was informed of her engagement. It was when the family business had truly gone under, and Jesper was becoming desperate.” He stopped his pacing, slumping into a chair. “You see, my family is…not good. They’re scum of the earth criminals. They peddle things like Faebane knowing damn well what damage it can do. I got away from them because I wanted nothing to do with it. But Jesper found out somehow. He started asking me questions. How these substances were created, what kind of profit they made. I told him I had nothing to do with it, but he still continued to ask. I knew. I knew he was up to something. I should have told Y/N right away.”
Eris knew all too well how easy it was to fall into a churning cycle of should haves. But it was equally pointless. It couldn’t change a thing.
“Be that as it may.” He said quietly. “You couldn’t have known the true scope of the situation. None of us could. All we can do, now, is try to fix it.”
Linden studied him. There was something so endless and assessing in those dark, uptilted eyes. It left Eris feeling strangely…bare. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the heat that spread over the back of his neck.
“What do you need me to do?” Linden asked. “Whatever it is…for Y/N, I’ll do it. No questions asked.”
Eris didn’t doubt it for one second. “We’re working on how we’re going to take down my father. Tamlin is gathering information. Lucien is meeting with Y/N to tell her everything. All I know, right now, is that she’s going to need you. This isn’t going to be pretty.”
It was without hesitation that Linden rose from his seat, once again seeming to command the light and air in the room with his broad figure. He stood tall, meeting Eris’s gaze.
“Then we’d better get moving, lordling.”
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It was a rather intimate thing, Eris had surmised, travelling closely side-by-side, just his companion and the stretch of road for company. A way to truly get to know someone. Mere hours had built a rapport between him and Linden that was…new to him. Exciting.
They’d ridden for an entire day, and Eris was physically done-in. He wanted to be back on home turf, to bathe in an actual tub rather than in a stream. To eat proper food. It would be a bare-faced lie to say that he hadn’t been tempted to take the easy route and winnow himself and Linden back to the estate, but…whatever they were to face when they got there, he wanted every bit of his magic reserve intact. And if that meant another day or two of monotonous travel on horseback, then so be it.
They’d stopped for the night under a canopy of trees, hoping to catch at least a few hours of rough, restless sleep before they set off again. Eris had thought that he was well accustomed to nature, to camping amongst the elements, but Linden…there were no words for the refined ruggedness of both his appearance and personality. A male who could truly take anything in his stride.
Footsteps approaching from behind roused Eris slightly from his fatigue. He glimpsed up as Linden rounded the fire, returning from his wash in the lake. Eris’s heavy eyes became a tad more alert as they landed on the male. The glorious sculpt of muscles, the brown skin nicked and marked with scars, the rivulets of water running down his chest—
Godlike — the word bleated in Eris’s mind. Linden was godlike.
He couldn’t force his eyes away as the male grabbed a discarded shirt and used it to mop up the lingering water droplets that rolled down, down his pectorals and over his abs, further still until they dipped beneath the vee—
Linden’s dark eyes flicked up, and a smirk toyed with his lips. He knew the redhead was staring; had been doing a lot of staring, in fact. He may have deliberately stretched his arms over his head as he faced him properly.
“See something you like, Vanserra?”
Eris greatly resented the dusting of pink that he knew had appeared on his cheeks. He’d never been with a male — and that wasn’t for lack of fantasising about doing so. There was just…so much pressure on him to be the perfect male; the perfect future High Lord that would produce just-as-perfect heirs. It was that snag which had stopped him having the courage to explore such desires.
But here, alone with Linden under the expanse of towering trees…surely he could give in and flirt, at the very least. He was good at flirting.
So he sat back, resting on his hands, and shrugged. “What if I do?”
Linden’s head fell into a tilt, his braids following the movement. “Have you ever been with a male?”
“I haven’t.”
Full lips kicked up into a half-smirk. “Not your bag?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Silence snaked around them as the two of them stared at each other, challenge appearing to spark in both their gazes. There was a beat, a pause, and then Linden let out a deep chuckle that skittered over Eris’s skin like a chill.
“Interesting.” He commented simply.
Eris sat up, curiosity piquing. “Have you?” He asked. “Been with a male?”
“I have.” Linden confirmed. “I enjoy both males and females. But I have a preference for males.”
It was strange — the pinch of thrill that shot through Eris. To hear somebody talk about such matters so openly, so proudly — to talk about it without glancing over their shoulder every few seconds. It made him feel…dangerous. Alive.
Perhaps that was how he found the courage to press, “what do you prefer about them?”
Linden glanced up at him through dark lashes, his body going still. And for a moment, Eris wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. He wanted to kick himself, to take it back—
But then Linden moved. Slowly. Traipsed round to the side of the fire on which Eris sat. Took a seat in front of him.
He smelled like a heady mix of earth and woodsmoke and moss. The scent hit Eris in a pleasant wave, and he tried not to inhale too sharply at what that, alone, did to him. Tried not to stare too closely at the bare, muscled chest that was now mere inches from his touch.
“Do you really want to know?” Linden asked gruffly. The grit in his voice was like an awakening for Eris.
Eris swallowed. Sat up straighter. “Sure. Why not?”
Linden’s lips twitched, and Eris tracked the movement, wondering what they would feel like against his. He had a full mouth, lips generous and divine-looking. He had to be an excellent kisser.
“Okay.” The general hummed, edging slightly closer. “I like the responses I can elicit just from blowing on a male’s cock. They try to maintain control, try to rein in their pleasure. But lick just the right spot and they’re begging for more. Begging to cum.”
“…oh.” Eris breathed. He was most definitely hard as a rock, straining painfully against his breeches. He tried to adjust himself, and Linden watched, his smirk widening.
“I find,” he said, his eyes fully on the tightening of Eris’s breeches, “that there’s an area that most males enjoy. Just below the head. Something about it is so sensitive that you apply a little pressure, and it feels good enough for them to forget their own name.”
Eris’s eyes almost rolled back into his head. Gods, that sounded good. He didn’t know how he’d gone all these years without giving in and exploring such things. He wanted them all, wanted them now. He wanted to pretend that he wasn’t a future High Lord with expectation and propriety weighing him down. He wanted Linden’s lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him dry until even the leaves on the trees knew precisely what responses he could elicit.
And Linden knew that. Could see it on the male’s face. He smiled. “Would you like me to show you, lordling?”
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You could stay here forever.
Forever, in this gamekeeper’s cottage, you and Lucien hiding from the rest of the world. No Beron. No faebane. No forced nuptials to worry over. Just…love. Bliss.
It had hurt to see the first shafts of daylight pouring through the window. The night in Lucien’s arms had gone too fast. The hours of warmth, of security, were fleeting.
But he was your mate. And this would all be over soon. Soon, the first signs of a new day would be exciting.
Mate. The word had entered your mind as you’d sat up in bed. You’d smiled, touching your fingers to your lips, your chest. The cottage was empty and silent around you — Lucien had woken you briefly not long before, whispering that he was going to find some manner of breakfast for the two of you. He’d kissed your head and left you to lightly snooze a while longer, which you had, the ghost of his lips still on your skin.
You rose, now, with a lightness you hadn’t had this same time a day earlier. Mate, mate, mate. Lucien was your mate. Your love. Your soul.
You briefly readied yourself in the washroom, listening out for the click of the front door. Your lips tugged into a smile when the thud of footsteps carried through.
“Y/N?” The deep caress of Lucien’s voice followed it. Hearing it felt different, somehow, to all the times he’d spoken your name before. Like an oath. A promise.
You dried your freshly-washed face, hurrying through to greet him. It would be an effort not to launch yourself at him.
You stopped in the doorway, just…just taking in the sight of him, bathed in the morning sunlight. He was resplendent. Exquisite. His hair cascaded like waves of fire around his golden face. Your eyes snagged on the braid you’d given him, and you smiled.
“Good morning.”
He may not have even heard your greeting. He was staring at you, too, russet eyes full of unbridled emotion. He loosened a breath. “You are so godsdamn beautiful.”
Colour touched your cheeks. “I just woke up.”
“I know. I think this may just be my favourite version of you.”
You smiled, lowering your eyes to the floor as he slowly approached. He placed down two wicker baskets before he stopped in front you. His hand gently clasped your jaw, and he ran his thumb over your lips.
“Good morning.” He murmured. “My mate.”
Your breath released with a shudder, and there was no stopping you as you pushed up onto the tips of your toes and kissed him. Happily. Gladly. Freely.
His arms immediately snaked around you as he leaned in to the kiss. There was no happier place, no better world, than in his arms. That you’d tried to ignore your feelings for him, tried to force a future where he wasn’t yours and you weren’t his—
You shook those thoughts off, pulling back and smiling at him before you could start crying again. You wouldn’t waste precious moments on thinking of what had already passed.
“I hope you’re hungry.” Lucien chuckled softly, reaching for the baskets he’d set aside. “I walked to the nearest market. Got just about everything you could possibly want.”
Indeed, there were fruits and cheeses and meats and a loaf of freshly-baked, crusty bread. Your stomach rumbled at the sight, and you reached for the first basket–
“I got you something else, as well.” Lucien said, a soft smile on his lips.
You cocked your head. “Oh?”
“At the market, a couple of young girls had a stall. They were selling these little flower chains they’d made. Or rather, trying to sell them. I couldn’t resist buying one.”
You chuckled, watching as he produced a circlet of daisies from a small paper bag. He was grinning as he fastened it around your neck.
“There.” He hummed. “Fit for a queen.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t buy one for yourself.” You smiled. “You’d look so pretty with daisies around your neck and in your hair. I’m not sure I could keep my hands to myself.”
“Oh really?”
He leaned in, his scent enveloping you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his lips brush yours — before your stomach decided to announce your hunger again.
Lucien chuckled, pressing a quick peck to your lips before pulling away. He grabbed both baskets, carrying them over to the kitchenette. “We should really eat.”
And as much as you wanted to eat him in that moment, you were just as content to sit yourself at the small table and watch, basking in the domestic bliss of Lucien cutting up the fruits and cheese and slicing the bread and meats. He poured you both a drink of juice and carried the assortment of food — far more than you could possibly need — over to you.
“For my love.” He kissed the top of your head. “Enjoy.”
A gentle, comfortable silence swathed the two of you as you dug in, savouring the tastes coating your tongue. You would remember these tastes — associate them with Lucien, with this moment, forever more. You were happy.
But it was halfway through your meal that you realised that Lucien didn’t seem quite so comfortable. You studied him, a kernel of worry in your gut as you reached out and wrapped your leg around his.
“Hey.” You spoke softly. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Lucien chewed slowly. A moment passed before he lifted his gaze to yours, and he grabbed your hand. “I need to talk to you about something—tell you something we discovered in this…mess.”
And that kernel inside you grew instantly. Not just worry, but…doom. Doom, as you shifted in your seat. “Okay…”
“…Eris discovered some hidden letters in our father’s office. Letters from Linden. He’d written to you during your first couple of weeks at the estate, but they were intercepted and hidden from you.”
Your body stiffened. Lucien’s thumb brushing over your hand was the only thing keeping you grounded. “…But why? I know your father is a callous bastard, but…why bother? They’re just letters from my friend…”
Your words trailed off as Lucien shook his head. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back. Still gripped onto your hand. “They weren’t just any letters. Linden alluded to the fact that he had important information he needed to give you. He wanted to meet with you so you could talk.”
“Information?”
“You see…there were other letters, too. Addressed to my father…from your father.” His fingers gripped tighter. “…the whole thing, Y/N — you and Dion getting married — was all a part in some twisted, convoluted plan that our fathers cooked up together.”
“I know that. My father wanted me to marry a high-standing male to save our reputation—”
“No, Y/N/.” Lucien cut you off gently. “Your father arranged for you to marry Dion as part of a bargain with my father. Your father had begun peddling faebane because of the gambling debts he’d racked up and the risk of what they could do to your family’s reputation. He…he essentially gave you to my father, to Dion, to get you out of the way. So that they could negotiate their sales without you finding out and trying to put a stop to it.”
You weren’t sure you were breathing.
Your entire body had gone ice-cold. Stiff. A strange sensation of pinpricks crawled over your skin.
No. Surely your father wouldn’t stoop so low. He’d undoubtedly changed since the family business had gone under, but he wasn’t a bad male. Wasn’t someone who would bring harm to anyone’s door — much less his own children—
But despite your pleading, whirring thoughts, you knew damn well that Lucien wouldn’t be telling you this without reason. Without evidence.
You tried to swallow the lump that had grown in your throat, and the tears that rolled down your cheeks were starkly warm against your frozen skin. You were only just able to croak out, “you’re sure about this?”
“I wish I wasn’t, my love.” There was a rustle, some movement — and then a pile of envelopes was placed in front of you. “Eris made copies of all the letters.”
For a moment, you just…stared at them. You didn’t know if you had the courage to read the truth. But some small part of you knew that you needed to. That you needed to finally put the puzzle pieces of this entire bizarre situation together. To step back and look at the picture they created.
With shaking hands, you reached out. And you forced yourself to read.
Every word was like a punch to your gut. Like wiping clean what you thought you knew of the man who had raised you. You didn’t…didn’t recognise the person who had written these letters, who was doing these things. And to essentially sell you to the Vanserras — to get you off his hands…
You tossed those ones aside before you could finish reading them. But it was Linden’s letters — his tone and his manner in writing — that truly finished you off. Your tears splashed against the pages, blurring your eyes and making it impossible to read. But you could hear his voice in your head. Warning you. Telling you to stay strong. And the idea that he’d thought you hadn’t wanted to write to him—
The letter drifted from your hands, onto the table, just as a sob broke from your throat. So many emotions were warring inside you at once. You didn’t know which to focus on, how to process them.
Lucien was immediately pushing out of his chair, rounding the table to where you sat. With utter ease, he was scooping you up into his arms and lowering himself into your seat, securing you in his lap. You clung to him, the front of his shirt, as you gave in to another onslaught of tears.
“It’s going to be alright.” He soothed you quietly, pressing his lips to your hair.
You cried harder, barely able to get your words out. “My father—the hamlet fire—”
“I know. I know. The whole thing is fucked up. But they’re not getting away with this, I promise you.”
You pulled back, just enough to stare at Lucien through your teary eyes. “How can you be so sure? No one has ever stopped Beron before—”
“It’s different now. We have more people on our side than our fathers do on theirs. And he’s been rapidly losing support as High Lord for a while, now — particularly since the Harvest Festival last year, and then the hamlet fire. He’s losing his power. And we’re going to leach him of every last bit of it and expose him for what he is, what he’s done. We’re going to take him down.”
“But—but how do you outsmart and take down pure evil?”
“Tamlin has had his people watching him while I’ve been away — gathering information and evidence.” Lucien leaned down, his lips brushing away each tear on your cheeks. “That’s why I have to return to the Spring Court for the time being. To find out what he knows and help him. We’ve already learned that my father is meeting with yours today, all the way in Rask — Dion is going to use his skill and follow them. Spy on the meeting. My mother is willing to help any way that she can. And Eris…Eris has gone to track Linden down. To bring him back to our court. There is…no way, Y/N, that our fathers are getting away with this. Not once we’re finished with them.”
The information — all of it — was swimming in your head, clashing against each other like waves against rocks. You half wanted to slam your hands against your ears and hide, to reject everything you were hearing, but—
“Eris is bringing Linden back?” You sat up — and paused. “…Your father is meeting with mine today?” So many questions, you couldn’t ask them all at once.
“Yes.” Lucien studied you cautiously. “But Dion is dealing with that. You’re not to go anywhere near that meeting, do you hear me?”
You heard him. But that impulsive, furious part of you wanted to damn it all to hell and go storming straight to your father. To confront him face-to-face.
“Y/N.” Lucien dragged your gaze back to this. “We’re doing this the proper way. Believe me, I want nothing more than to confront both my father and yours, and gut them both. But that isn’t the way to solve this. We can only win this with information and evidence. By outsmarting them and exposing them.” His arms tightened around you. “I want you to go back to the estate and stay with my mother. Alright? Promise me that you will.”
You stared into those deep, russet eyes, reading the emotion, the pleading, that lay there. Everyone knew you could be foolish and ruled by your short fuse, but…but the only way of getting what you wanted — of seeing a happy ending with the male you were so in love with — would be by following their leads. This was an intricate game that they were far more well-equipped to play than you were. You wouldn’t destroy the outcome for everyone by being impulsive, reckless.
“I promise.” You said, and you meant it with your whole heart. “I’ll go back to the estate and stay with your mother. Just…just be careful. Please—”
Your worries were smothered by Lucien’s lips slanting over yours, the kiss hard and promising. He cupped your face, and it was though he was committing the feel and taste of you to memory as he claimed your mouth with his. He only pulled away to suck in a deep intake of breath.
“This’ll all be over soon, my fireling.” He breathed against your lips. “We’ll be together soon.”
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Rask was a wise territory in which to meet. Rask was so preposterously big that even the High Lord of the Autumn Court could stroll through its packed streets without garnering attention.
Dion understood the logic behind Beron and Jesper agreeing to meet here, but that didn’t make the stifling heat any more pleasant to endure. To any innocent bystander, he and Willow were just one of many wealthy couples strolling through the streets with parasols and hand-held fans and clothes so expensive they could feed an entire village for a year. But though Dion was by no means a honed, seasoned spy, not at all confident in his abilities – his skill was in conversation, in charm – he would sooner throw himself into the centre of the action than have Y/N do so – again.
He and Willow had been here for a day already, a happy, young couple — for all intents and purposes — simply holidaying on the continent. But they’d familiarised themselves with landscapes, learned exactly where this meeting was to be held. They were leaving nothing to chance.
Dion hadn’t even wanted to bring Willow with him, but…as his brilliant, wonderful love had pointed out, they were far more likely to blend in as a couple, than a lone male would, scoping out the streets. And blend in, they did.
It was mid-morning, the sun already unbearably hot, when they glimpsed Barric through the cafe window they were sat beside. Indeed, the male, striding along alone, did look rather misplaced amongst the couples and groups. The mere sight of him had white-hot rage building in Dion that he had to tamp down on. Willow kicked him beneath the table for good measure.
Right. He needed to focus. The timing had to be perfect. They’d learned, through Tamlin’s sentinels, that Barric would be disembarking at the docks at ten o’clock – which he had. He would make his way to the public gardens and be joined an hour later by Beron and Jesper. A perfectly reasonable place for three businessmen to take a leisurely stroll whilst holding an inconspicuous meeting. Nobody would suspect anything untoward, or even pay them any mind.
Dion and Willow waited until Barric was firmly out of sight before they rose from their seats, paying for their breakfast and returning to the busy Raskian streets. They kept to the darker corners of the city, the alleys and more impoverished areas – places in which they knew they weren’t at risk of running into the High Lord’s advisor. They retraced the route they’d planned in the room at the inn the night before, thanks to the map Tamlin had provided them with. It was certainly not as pleasant a walk as they would have taken on the main streets or the promenade, no – but through the winding, cobblestone paths of the city’s underbelly, they could find their way to the public gardens more or less unseen and undetected.
They arrived around thirty minutes before Beron and Jesper were due to. Once again, they blended in with the various other couples who were strolling the paths that wended through the hedges and bushes. Rather bold, really, for the High Lord to conduct such discussions in such a public place – but the coded, secretive language would mean nothing to these people. No one would know what the males amongst them were capable of.
No sign of Barric, yet, but Dion wasn’t concerned. He need only place himself in his father’s mind, think like him. He tucked Willow’s arm within his own and guided her around, pretending to peruse the flowers and shrubs. But he was looking for quiet, shaded alcoves. For somewhere Beron might stand and talk whilst maintaining a picture of ease and utter casualness.
The pair were just rounding a large conifer hedge when Dion yanked Willow back with him, pressing her against the wall of shrubbery. Barric approached from the other direction, hands in his pockets and his shoulders rolled back. He headed to a stone pavilion at the back of the garden. A quiet corner, indeed.
They kept their footsteps light as they followed the line of hedges that encased the pavilion in an almost circular formation. There, they could wait. There, they could listen.
Sweat rolled down Dion’s neck, his hair sticking to his skin. The heat was truly unbearable, and even more so with he and Willow squished so closely together. A rustle had him pressing her even closer against him, and she shoved a hand over her mouth, stifling a yelp as he stepped on her foot. There was no comfort in spying, in being discreet – his thoughts flitted momentarily to Azriel of the Night Court, and he wondered how the male did it with such ease.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. It was unbearable. But with every passing minute, the other members of the public had steered well clear of that quiet corner of the gardens. Perhaps Barric had spoken to the staff ahead of time, insisted that they not be disturbed—
Chimes peeled nearby, announcing eleven o’clock. Beron and Jesper would be here any moment. Beron Vanserra despised poor time-keeping. Was never, ever late.
The sound of footsteps scuffing on the stone path had both Dion and Willow tensing. He pushed her closer against the hedge, tempted to hold his breath, to not make a sound as he listened to the approaching people – no, he realised, approaching person. That was only one pair of footsteps. And not headed towards the pavilion, but rounding the corner—
He turned just in time to come face-to-face with Barric. Barric, who merely smiled at the two of them, unsurprised. He took in the sight of Dion and Willow with a strange look of amusement in his eyes. There was no Beron. No Jesper…
Alarm bells began ringing inside of Dion’s mind. He stood up straight, angling himself in front of Willow as Barric began to stroll towards them.
“Oh, dear me.” He purred, a figure of pure assuredness. His eyes flicked over Dion, and his lips twitched. “Does Y/N know that you’ve taken to rutting among the conifers with the younger, prettier sister? I can’t imagine she’d be all too thrilled.”
Dion’s jaw clenched. He had no words. The situation was suddenly clear as day before him.
The whole thing had been a fucking trap.
“What a coincidence, that we should end up in Rask at the same time as each other.” Barric clicked his tongue. “Except, of course, it’s no coincidence at all, is it?”
Dion swallowed. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to–”
“This was a fun little experiment. So rarely do I get to visit the continent.” He leaned past Dion to shoot a positively lupine smile at Willow. “I take it this is your first time here? Beautiful weather, no?”
“What,” Dion gritted out, “experiment?”
Barric rolled his eyes. “I must say, Dion, I’m a tad disappointed. I thought you were smarter than this. You didn’t actually think that Beron could be spied on without finding out, did you? He suspected for weeks that he was being watched. This was just a fun way to confirm it. Though, I’m a little annoyed – I bet ten gold marks that your feral fiancee would be the one to follow us.”
Dion clenched his fists at his side. He wanted to throttle him, to kill him. He’d been so fucking stupid.
“My father’s not here?” He asked.
“No, Dion, your father’s not here. Do you truly believe he has time to go gallivanting around Rask when there’s work to be done? You made a wasted journey, I’m afraid. But at least I can go back and tell him he was right — that he was being spied on.” He tsked sarcastically. “And by his own son, no less. I’m sure he’ll have a small amount of leniency for his kin, but…well, Tamlin’s sentinels didn’t have the same kind of luck.”
“You killed them?” Willow finally spoke on a breath, staring wide-eyed over Dion’s shoulder.
“Me?” Barric scoffed. “No. I was on a ship to Rask by then. But I believe the High Lord had a fun time doing so. And he’s even being generous enough to return their bodies to the Spring Court – well, their heads, anyway. On spikes.”
Dion…Dion needed to get Willow out of there. Now. If she didn’t vomit, he may just do it for the both of them.
He grabbed hold of her hand, tugging. He could barely get his shaking legs to move as he snarled, “Come on.”
“Oh, are you leaving?” Barric tilted his head. “That’s a shame. These gardens are so beautiful. I do hope I didn’t ruin your experience. If I were you, I’d make the most of your trip — give Beron some time to calm down before you return home.”
Dion didn’t deign to respond. Every part of him trembled, but he pushed himself forward. Pushed himself to hold Willow close and hurry past. To…to go back to their inn, or…or wherever. He didn’t know. His head was swimming, spinning. He needed to get them out.
But Barric called after them one more time.
“Dion?” His lips twitched upwards. “You can’t win, you know. There’s no use in trying.”
Again, he didn’t bother with a response. Didn’t even look back.
But as he hurried himself and Willow out of there, feeling like he was wading through mud, he couldn’t help feeling like Barric’s words rang true.
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Go back to the estate and stay with my mother.
You would do just that. Whatever Lucien needed you to do. You could still feel him on you, smell him on you, and that in itself gave you the strength to just sit tight and wait.
You couldn’t help feeling unease, though, after you’d returned your horse to the stables. As you climbed the steps up to the front door, the place felt…wrong. As though you were walking straight into a trap.
Paranoid. You were simply paranoid from all the information you’d learned.
Still, that paranoia kept you on high alert whilst you began travelling the winding corridors of the house, in search of Catrin. You knew that the High Lord and Barric were still away from the estate, as were most of the other Vanserras, but…something felt off. Even with the usual servants milling around and completing their jobs, it felt almost as if the entire property was…was holding its breath. Waiting.
“Catrin?” You called softly, opening the door to the sitting room she favoured. The area was empty, dark. No teacups or open books or signs that anyone had been in there recently.
You pursed your lips, shutting the door again. Maybe you should try the solarium; she often enjoyed watching the evening sun pour through the windows in various pastel hues. You could sit with her, and tell her that she was right — that you were going to fight for your love.
You turned, rounding another corner – and smacked into someone.
Not Catrin. The figure was far too big, far too imposing. Tall and muscled and firm. Your stomach bottomed out as Beron Vanserra’s spiced scent filled your nose.
Slowly, you stepped back. Swallowed. The High Lord cocked his head at you, not unlike a curious cat.
Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous, a voice bleated in your head. Watch yourself.
“Apologies, my lord.” Your voice barely came out, a mere rasp. “I didn’t see you there.”
His lips jerked into an unkind smile. “Snooping about the halls? Have you nothing better to do?”
“I was looking for Ca—Lady Autumn. I thought we might have tea together.”
Your quick correction clearly wasn’t enough. Realisation crossed his face, swept away by thunder. You’d given away that she’d shared her name with you — and he hated it. Hated her having an identity, something besides the title he’d stamped to her. Hated that things went on beneath his nose.
But he schooled his features into neutrality. “Interesting,” was all he offered.
You dipped your chin, stepping aside. “Excuse me.” Go back to the estate and stay with my mother. Go back to the estate and stay with my mother. You couldn’t get yourself into trouble if you simply…avoided it. Did as you were told.
But the High Lord’s arm was whipping out, blocking your path so quickly that you walked into it. It was firm, like a true barricade able to hold you back. You stiffened.
“Lady Autumn,” he said, his tone dripping with distaste, “is at the market, where I sent her. I needed you and I to be able to talk in peace.”
You swallowed, your eyes not moving from his arm. “What could we have to talk about?”
He moved so fast, there was no chance for you to even register that the strong, muscled arm was scooping you up and shoving you into the sitting room, slamming the door shut behind you. You winced as he pinned you against the wall, barely a space between you. His scent was too much, too strong.
“You’re posing a great deal of problems for me, Y/N.” He murmured lethally. “And I don’t like it.”
You didn’t—couldn’t—raise your eyes to his. You honed in on an insignificant, dark blot on his collar. So unusual for the High Lord to be anything besides pristine. To have carelessly allowed his crisp tunic to be stained with ink, or—
No, not ink. Blood. That was blood.
Only then did you meet his gaze, your voice like steel as you gritted out, “what have you done.”
Not Catrin. Please, please not Catrin. Had he somehow found out about your little trip outside the estate, your conversation? Had he—had he hurt her?
The High Lord glanced down at the stain of blood on his tunic. His lips twitched. “I merely doled out a justified punishment to Tamlin’s sentinels. I don’t like being watched, Y/N.”
Your stomach turned. You were going to be sick. “Seems to me that hiding that big cache of Faebane has turned you paranoid—”
You flinched, words cutting off as his hand rose. But he merely lowered it to your hair, his fingers sinking through the strands and…and finding your braid. Toying with it. His eyes studied it, and he seemed to smile knowingly.
“Do you know what I find mighty curious, Y/N?”
You didn’t miss a single movement of his. “What?”
That small, barely-there gap between your two bodies was closed as he leaned in. You stiffened, not daring to breathe as the ridge of his nose coasted along your throat, and he inhaled.
“I can smell my son all over you.” His voice was too close, too much, a scrape against your skin. “Over every. Single. Inch of you.”
You tried to back up, to no avail. “Dion and I never swore an oath of celibacy before the wedding. What of it?”
“Dion,” he spat, his hand snapping up to wrap around your throat, “is in Rask with Willow. Because the two of them went there to spy on me, didn’t they? And fell flawlessly into my trap. Barric is dealing with them as we speak.”
Every word eddied from your mind. Every word except your sister’s name. Willow, Willow, Willow. You hadn’t known she’d gone with Dion, hadn’t known that—
Fell flawlessly into my trap.
Barric is dealing with them as we speak.
“What are you—” You managed to gasp out around your quickening breaths. “What have you done?”
“You are the traitor.” You snapped. “You and my fucking father. Betraying your people. Harming them.”
The High Lord chuckled — chuckled. And it was enough to incense you. Enough to spark that fury inside of you that gave you enough strength to shove him away from you.
“You’re sick.” You sneered. “You’ve done so much damage — to your own people, your court — and you don’t even care. But rest assured, Beron, you won’t get away with it. We will destroy you, just as you have destroyed so much. We’re going to expose you, and—”
Your words must have hit a nerve. Because Beron struck.
One moment, he was sneering at you. The next — in a flash of movement so fast, you barely had time to register it — he was grabbing you by the neck, raising an object over your head.
He squeezed hard, and you clawed at his hand, fought and fought to rip it from your skin.
But then his other hand was slicing down. Something hit your head with a thunderous blow.
You knew nothing more than the darkness that seeped in.
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The High Lord stood over the female, his breaths heaving.
She didn’t move.
Crumpled on the floor, blood seeping from a deep gash on her head. He could hear that she was still breathing — just about. For now.
He’d known he’d have to deal with her eventually.
He nudged her with the toe of his boot. It only caused her arm to flop back. Good. She wouldn’t wake any time soon — not before it was too late.
Everything had got too close to comfort. Watchful eyes everywhere, whispers amongst his kin. There was evidence — evidence he needed rid of.
Y/N being the most glaring piece of evidence.
He would raze this place to the ground before he’d allow his secrets to be exposed. Words were nothing without proof — and this manor was full of the stuff.
He stepped over Y/N’s crumpled body. She didn’t so much as twitch. Didn’t stir as he slipped out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him.
He felt nothing as he walked through the halls of the manor, towards his office. That was where the bulk of the proof lay.
And so that was where the heart of the destruction would begin.
He flung the door open wordlessly. The guards were with Catrin, accompanying her to the market, just as he’d instructed. The servants never dared spare him a glance. Perhaps they’d feel differently after today.
His eyes took one sweeping look of his office, and still, he felt nothing. Wasn’t capable of feeling anything. He’d always been cold, stoic. Always needed to be.
There was no flicker of emotion for the wealth of possessions he’d accumulated over the years. No emotion for the proud domain of a High Lord.
And no emotion for his two sons who lounged on a couch, lying in wait. Jareth and Rian glanced up upon his arrival, waiting dutifully for instruction.
“You called for us, father?” Jareth sat up, eagerness shining in his eyes.
Beron strode to the desk. The desk that would be ashes within the hour. “The time has come for the two of you to prove yourselves to me.”
Both males immediately straightened where they sat. They were different to their brothers — had none of Catrin’s softness, and all of Beron’s cunning.
“What are we to do?” Rian asked.
Beron stared into space, as if seeing something no one else could. “I want every room on this level burning within minutes.”
His sons stilled, sharing a glance. It was Jareth who repeated, “…burning?”
“I want you to set fires. As many as you possibly can without being seen.”
“…to the manor?” Rian stared at him.
The High Lord’s eyes shot to him. “Yes, you imbecile, to the manor. The whole place needs to go up in flames. You know of the discourse amongst the court — that villagers have been steadily turning on me. The fire will be blamed on them. On an uprising of brutes. And I, their High Lord, will be running straight towards the danger and rescuing innocent servants and staff from the blaze.” While vital evidence is burned, he didn’t add. “No one will dare question their loyalty to me after today.”
There was clearly a moment of hesitation between the two sons. A part of them that wanted to argue that this was their home, these were their things, that they loved it here.
But their father was their High Lord. And with a scathing last look from him, they rose and slunk from the room to follow orders.
Beron stood from the chair at his desk. Took one last look at the study.
He glanced down at his hands, summoning flames to his fingertips. Strode towards the door.
And with one jerk of his wrist, the entire study became an inferno. The heat was stifling, the flames spreading, eating up the carpet and furniture. The evidence. He shut the door behind him with barely a glance.
He backed away, not at all hurried. But as he strolled to the exit, he tuned in to the sounds of similar fires bursting through rooms. Destroying things.
And soon, the most vital things would be gone.
Soon, there would be nothing of Y/N and the evidence, besides a pile of ashes.
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He took a back exit, into the gardens, and followed the path to the front. By the time he’d strolled there, black smoke was already churning out of the windows and doors. Panicked cries had begun to seep out from inside. He wasn’t worried that any of the staff would find Y/N; very few of them ventured to the lower areas, the personal areas, without express permission.
He rounded the corner just in time to see Catrin approaching, Beron’s two guards at her sides and pure horror on her face. The basket she’d taken to the market was tossed aside, and she grasped the skirts of her gown, running towards the manor.
Beron shot into her path so quickly, she stumbled into him. He barely glanced at his guards, ordering them with a jerk of his chin. “Go and help. Quickly.”
The two of them took off in a sprint, running for the manor. Shouts carried out to them – and heat. Unbearable, stifling heat.
Catrin attempted to sidestep Beron, her entire body visibly shaking. “What is—”
“Don’t,” The High Lord cut her off menacingly, “you dare.”
But she was panicked, trying to push past him, to see past him. “What happened? How many people are in there? Beron—”
He was tired of dealing with hysterical females. He gripped her with one hand, so hard that he knew it would bruise. Used the other hand to unsheath his dagger.
She was far too preoccupied to notice as he drove the hilt into the back of her skull, and she crumpled just as Y/N had.
He laid her down on the lawn. By the time she awoke, it would be too late to help.
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Hello! Hope you're all well and having a good week. @greeneyedivy and I have been super excited about this chapter since...well, since the beginning of Fireleaf really. We're so excited to finally be posting it!
We hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for all the lovely support!
Warnings: Smut. 😏🌶️
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For the following three weeks, keeping busy was Lucien’s sanity.
While Tamlin had his people covertly keeping an eye on the Autumn Court, on Beron’s movements, Lucien was researching until his eyes felt like they were bleeding. Reading the old laws of Prythian.
Three weeks. Three weeks had passed without him seeing Y/N. Almost three. He’d ticked every day off with an ache in his heart. It hurt more ferociously than anything he’d ever felt before, but he would face it, endure it; make sure it was worth it in the end.
That didn’t stop him thinking constantly about her, though. Which he was doing, right now, whilst he was supposed to be studying the book in front of him.
He rubbed at the ache that was building between his eyes and loosely tied his hair back. It had been early morning when he’d carried the pile of books into Tamlin’s office and began reading. Hours had passed since — it must have been noon, by now, at the very least. He would grab a quick lunch and get right back to his reading.
It was as he stood and opened the door that voices floated up to him. He frowned to himself — beyond the Spring Court staff and sentries he saw coming and going, it was relatively quiet here. Any High Lord business tended to take Tamlin into the villages rather than him receiving an audience here.
But it was a lilting male voice that was lingering with Tamlin’s, and — Lucien realised, as he descended the staircase — a familiar one at that. He stopped in the doorway of the dining room, taking in the sight of Tamlin engaging in conversation with Eris.
Eris looked up upon Lucien’s arrival, his hand naturally rested on the hilt of his sword. He looked…different, somehow. Older. Stronger.
“Brother.” He dipped his head at Lucien. “You look positively awful.”
Lucien pursed his lips, anxiety roiling in his gut. What would bring his brother here, besides bad news? He studied him, looking for some indication that something had happened.
“What are you doing here, Eris?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I was waiting for your return so I could tell you what I discovered.” The oldest Vanserra said. “But it would seem you’ve taken to wallowing.”
Lucien supposed he couldn’t blame him for thinking that. He looked a mess, with his crumpled, unbuttoned white shirt and loose trousers. But that was because his self-care had taken a backseat whilst he’d thrown himself, morning and night, into whatever research and work he could find to…to fix this. Of course he didn’t look his best.
“So I’ve come, instead, to give you a brotherly pep talk.” Eris finished.
“Eris—”
“Hear me loud and clear, Lucien.” Eris stepped forward — and rather comically tightened his grip on his sword. “I know everything. Dion told me. And running away is not the answer. Quit your damn wallowing and get back home.”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t think you understand. You are the only person who can fight for the female that you love. What good is it going to do, holing yourself up in another court? She needs you. And you need her—”
“Eris, will you shut up for five fucking seconds?”
Eris faltered, cocking an eyebrow. From across the table, Tamlin watched. “So he does still have some fight in him.”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “That’s why I came here, you ass. Not to wallow. To figure out how to fix all of this. Tamlin and I have been working together.”
Eris went still, studying his brother. Within seconds, his stance relaxed. “…Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well…good.”
Across the table, Tamlin seemed to be stifling a laugh. Eris shot him a look, lowering himself into a chair.
Lucien, though, remained standing, his hands nervously clenching at his sides. “You said you discovered something?”
Eris nodded. “I did. Well — two somethings, actually.”
Tamlin rose from his chair, hastily grabbing for a decanter of whiskey and three glasses. He placed them on the table, watching as Eris dug into the inside of his jacket and produced a small pile of envelopes.
“First of all,” he said, chucking them onto the table, “Y/N’s friend Linden? He’s been writing to her since she first came to the estate. Father has been intercepting those letters and hiding them from her. Allowing her to think he hasn’t bothered to be in contact. These are the copies I made.”
Lucien frowned, reaching out and grabbing the envelopes. “For what reason? Besides being a cruel bastard.”
“Because — as you’ll discover from reading them — Linden had information that he wanted to tell Y/N that could have compromised father.”
Tamlin kept an eye on Lucien as he repeated, “information?”
Eris nodded. “The entire thing…the engagement between Dion and Y/N…was all cleverly calculated. Even though Dion did nominate Y/N’s name himself, he would have found himself engaged to her anyway — because it was all part of a deal between Y/N’s father and ours.”
Lucien was hardly listening, his nose buried in the letters. His stomach churned with every word he drank in, every bit of information that took root in his brain. Letter after letter, he read and chucked onto the table, his expression hardening, hands shaking.
“What would Beron be getting out of a deal with Y/N’s father?” Tamlin asked.
And it was Lucien who answered. Lucien, whose voice was so cuttingly cold as he bit out, “Faebane.”
Eris nodded in confirmation. “Y/N’s family’s business had been going under for a while because her father gambled away pretty much everything they had. His reputation — their family’s reputation — was at risk of being destroyed as thoroughly as their fortune. And so to bring some money back in, Y/N’s father began dealing in prohibited chemicals and substances such as Faebane. Our father got wind of it, and instead of putting a stop to it, he saw a way to use it to his advantage. Together, they cooked up an agreement — Y/N’s father would provide ours with any of these substances that he desired, free of charge, so long as their reputation was kept intact. Part of that deal was getting Y/N away from their family estate, because her father knew she would intervene if she heard of what he was doing. Which was how they agreed on her being sent to our estate to marry Dion.”
“And Linden somehow found out.” Lucien murmured, staring into space. “Which was probably why he got sent away. Going by these letters, he wanted to meet with Y/N and warn her.”
“But father put a stop to that.”
Lucien swallowed. “Does Y/N…have you told her? About her father?”
Eris shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to track Linden down first. Speak to him and find out everything he knows. This…this is going to be hard for her.”
Yes, it was. Lucien’s eyes shuttered, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow. He swiped out, pouring a measure of whiskey and knocking it back. Both Tamlin and Eris watched him.
“How is she?” He rasped, as desperate for the answer as he was scared of it.
A look of concern passed Eris’s face. He gave a half-hearted shrug. “About as well as can be expected. She’s drowning in wedding preparations and is all the more miserable for it.”
Of course, it was the answer Lucien expected — and yet it didn’t make it any easier to hear. He slumped into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He despised the thought of her being there…thinking he’d given up—
“It won’t be long, Lucien,” Tamlin said quietly. “You’ll be back with her soon. This—this information is good. This can be used against Beron.”
“I know. I know.” Lucien stared down. “I just…I miss her.”
“And she misses you.” Eris supplied. “As does mother. She keeps asking after you — asking what the hell is going on and when the hell you’ll be back.”
Fuck. Lucien hadn’t even considered what his dear, sweet mother must be thinking or feeling. What she must have made of Lucien disappearing without a single goodbye. He loved her dearly, hated keep things from her—
“Tell her.” He blurted, not sure he really meant to. “Tell her everything.”
His brother studied him. “You’re sure?”
“The more people we have on our side, the better.” He shrugged. “She may not be able to do much, but…we have a greater chance of protecting her from whatever’s coming if she knows everything that’s going on.”
Eris seemed to consider it for a moment, before he nodded resolutely. They loved their mother dearly — would spare her from being caught in the crossfire as well as they reasonably could.
“Then I shall.” Eris stood from his chair, tucking it in. He reached out, knocking back his measure of whiskey before brushing himself down. “I’ll return home and speak to mother. And then I’m going to find Linden. You…you shouldn’t wait to see Y/N, Lucien. She needs you.”
He’d barely taken a step forward before Lucien was gripping onto his arm. “Eris.” He stared up at him. “When you find Linden…bring him to the old orchard. Father won’t look for us there. And send for me immediately. I’ll find a way to see Y/N. And…thank you. For everything.”
A moment passed of the two brothers just staring at each other — a moment of solidarity and understanding.
And then Eris was dipping his chin and squeezing his brother’s hand.
And in a flash, he was gone.
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Quiet, uneventful days had become a rare commodity.
The subject of your wedding was a dull, monotonous entity that seemed to follow you around everywhere. Day in and day out was filled with some sort of preparation, some situation that you had to meet with a false smile. You were sick of being poked and prodded and pulled and pushed like a damn doll — and all when you just wanted to curl up and cry, too. When heartache was a splintering thing inside your chest that never lessened.
But today, at least, there was nothing in the calendar. Perhaps you’d be able to have a cry in peace.
You’d woken to a heavy silence, and it hadn’t taken you long to learn — through asking servants — that most people were gone from the estate for the time being. Beron and Barric away on business, Eris having left on his own. Dion had a particular set of errands to run, apparently, as an upcoming groom. Where Jareth and Rian were, you didn’t know nor care.
You were just relieved to drop the false smile for a bit. You curled yourself up in an armchair with a book that you knew you wouldn’t able to concentrate on.
You weren’t sure how long you sat there like that, watching shafts of sunlight cast across the lawn, when the door opened behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, taking in the brilliant, vibrant hair and skin like finest porcelain. Lady Autumn’s concerned eyes roved over you.
And just like that, you were slamming that smile back onto your lips, forcing the corners to lift up no matter how much they protested.
“I didn’t realise you hadn’t left with the High Lord.” You said.
She inclined her head. “He allowed me to stay — with the wedding being so near and details needing to be fine tuned. I thought you and I might spend the day together.”
You fought to keep your reluctance from showing from your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t like her, or even enjoy her company – on the contrary, you’d found her to be a pleasant companion over the past two weeks, someone who came alive when she wasn’t being watched and analysed. She was kind-hearted and soft…and a constant reminder of the future you were unable to escape.
She read the hesitation on your face, stepping further into the room. “I know life has been pretty constant recently, but…humour me. There’s…there’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”
Not, exactly, what you’d been expecting. Lady Autumn rarely said or did what was beyond expected of her. It was so out of the blue that it had a slither of intrigue snaking its way through the blur of negative emotions that so heavily weighed you down.
Perhaps…perhaps it was better for you to go with her. To do something, anything, to occupy yourself. Surely it had to be better than sitting and ruminating on what you couldn’t have.
You set your untouched book aside, rising from the chair. “Of course I’ll spend the day with you.”
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With a hamper packed with food, the two of you each took to a horse and rode away from the estate. It was like…like breathing for the first time in a long time.
You rode in companionable silence for a while, following in her direction. Only when the peaceful autumn landscapes began to shift and change did your curiosity pique. You knew Beron wasn’t due back to the estate for at least a couple of days, but…to travel so far away without his knowledge–
“Where are you taking me?” You asked, more worried about the consequences Lady Autumn would face than yourself. “Lady–”
“Please—call me Catrin. And you’ll see.”
Catrin. Was that the first time you’d ever heard her name? You couldn’t recall anyone ever having spoken it. The High Lord had pretty much given her a title and stripped her of any other identity.
You couldn’t bear the thought of a similar fate. No matter how worlds apart Dion was from his father in personality, in values…just knowing that others would simply see you as his wife, his lady…a lump rose in your throat. You tried to shake the thought away and focus on the journey ahead.
You’d lost track of how long you’d been riding by the time you came to the opening of a sprawling forest. The trees seemed to naturally part as though they’d been expecting you.
Catrin glanced over her shoulder at you. “We’ll dismount and continue on foot from here.”
With a nod, you followed her lead. You couldn’t help subtly studying her as you climbed down from your horse and rubbed at his neck soothingly. Away from Beron, even her hair seemed more vibrant. A slight pink dusted her cheeks, and her brown eyes seemed to beckon the sunlight towards them. She was beautiful, anyway, but…truly breathtaking, when she wasn’t being stifled.
Retrieving the food hamper from her horse, she met your gaze and gestured to the forest opening. “This way.”
You hesitated. Beautiful as it was, the whole thing felt…bizarre. You didn’t know what or where this place was. Why she’d taken you here in particular. And lovely as she was, you knew how firmly she lived under Beron’s control; you couldn’t stop paranoid thoughts pelting you of this being some sort of trap. Of Beron having got his sweet, docile wife to lure you here to finally punish you somewhere where nobody could hear you scream–
“You needn’t fear me, Y/N.” Catrin said softly. “There’s something I want to show you. Something very few people know about. Especially my husband.”
The bite in her voice was enough to convince you of her honestly, at least. You took a step forward, towards those strange, shimmering trees that seemed to be listening to you. “Where are we?”
“The Otherlands.” Catrin told you; your sparse knowledge of Prythian had certainly never touched on that name. “It sits just outside the Autumn Court, but it’s governed by no one. Whatever takes place here…the High Lord has no jurisdiction over it. Nor does he have any interest in it.”
It was certainly beautiful – and empty. Quiet. A place where nature was allowed to thrive without the intrusions of manmade structures and smoke polluting the air. No wonder the trees looked different. The air smelled different.
“It’s stunning.” You answered earnestly. “But…why have you brought me here?”
“As I said — to show you something.”
Without sparing any more information, she turned on her feet and began to walk. You followed – and then stopped to blink. Your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you; those shimmering trees were truly parting to let you through. With every step forward, a path seemed to reveal itself before your very eyes. Rare, rare magic, like nothing you’d ever seen.
You’d lagged behind enough that you had to jog to catch up. You fell into step with Catrin, your wide eyes focused on every inch of smooth pathway that appeared out of nowhere. Catrin watched you with a smile.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” She said softly. “I never get tired of it, even after all this time.”
“I…what magic is this? Whose magic is this?”
A faraway look entered her eyes, though she didn’t falter a single step. As if she’d walked the hidden path a thousand times before and knew it by heart.
“The magic of somebody I love very much.” She answered quietly.
You watched her, waiting for more. A strange shadow had crossed her face that was so at odds with the landscape, it was almost frightening. Darkening.
There was no doubt in your mind that she absolutely was not talking about Beron.
“Do you…” You spoke. Swallowed down your words. You weren’t sure what to say. “Is he not alive?”
Catrin’s eyes danced over to you. “He is alive. Which makes it worse, somehow, don’t you think? For them to be there, and for you to still be unable to have them.”
Such true, painful words. They fit your situation so perfectly that you winced.
Catrin stopped, and the path forked before you. You followed her lead as she took a left, the trees parting and forming a perfect clearing. You stood at the edge as you watched her step in. She seemed to be taken somewhere else for a moment. Another time. A happier time.
But then she shook it off. Turned to you. “I brought you here to talk about Lucien.”
You felt stillness prickling over your body, your mind emptying of all thoughts. Nothing but bleating panic existed about you as you stared back at her.
You could see — in her face, you could see that she knew. How or why, you weren’t sure. But her eyes held the truth; your truth. She’d found you out.
You swallowed, still attempting to slam up your perfected facade. “Lady—Catrin…I’m afraid I don’t know why Lucien left—”
“You do.” She cut you off gently. “We both do.”
There was no anger evident on her face or in her voice; although, you couldn’t picture her parading such an emotion. She almost permanently wore that blank, vacant expression that you’d begun to master yourself these last few weeks.
Now, though, there was fire in her eyes.
“Lucien left because he loves you. And you love him.” She said.
Your eyes shuttered. “Listen—”
“Eris told me. Yesterday. Although…I suspected before then. I know what love looks like. I’ve seen how Lucien has come alive since you arrived.”
The words — those damn words — were torture. What good could they do you now? Love couldn’t prevail. It couldn’t solve everything. You could love Lucien for the rest of your existence, but that didn’t mean you could have him. And he could see as much himself; had left because of it.
“I’m marrying Dion.” You whispered, begging your voice not to crack. “I have no choice—”
“Listen to me, Y/N.”
Catrin stepped forward, her soft, gentle arms gently landing on your shoulders. Nothing but sincerity sat in her eyes as she stared at you.
“I brought you here,” she said. “Because I cannot see history repeat itself. I won’t. Not for my children.”
“What—”
“A very long time ago, I fell in love with a wonderful male. A kind male, who is good and noble and gentle. I would happily have spent my life with him, but only a year later, my family married me off to Beron. For their sakes — their social standing. They knew he wasn’t kind, and they knew I wasn’t happy, but that was not important to them. It was all about appearances. Reputation.”
Again, your eyes shuttered. Appearances. Reputation. Just like it was with your family. This alliance between your family and the Vanserras was simply about rebuilding what you’d lost. Your happiness didn’t come into it.
“I relented.” Catrin’s eyes stung with tears. “I was weak and not at all brave. I told myself that I had no choice. That it was my duty to be Beron Vanserra’s wife and bear his children, even though I loved another male so ferociously. So completely. Even though I always have. Those feelings do not go away. I spent twenty years without my love before I saw him again. He rescued me from harm, and it took one look at him to realise that I loved him just as much as I had two decades earlier.”
You wanted to slam your hands over your ears, to hide from her words. It wasn’t helpful to know that your feelings would always linger. It didn’t…it didn’t help.
And yet you did want to hear. You wanted to know how it had ended. How it might end for you.
“What happened?” You croaked.
“We began an affair. On and off for decades. This is where we would meet.” She gestured to the surroundings around you. “If Beron were to ride this way, he would see nothing but plain woodland. This was our place — mine and my love’s. His magic allowed us to be here together. Even if years went by of us not seeing each other, this was where we would come. On the other side of this clearing is a cottage — Dayview Cottage, he called it. It still stands today. And that is all I have left of him. When I was pregnant with Lucien, Beron found out about the affair. It stopped after that. We haven’t been together since.”
Such raw, visceral emotion coated her voice that you had to take a step back, to turn away. Because you knew that was what your own voice sounded like. You knew that you held the same look of utter turmoil and heartbreak in your eyes.
“Y/N,” Catrin whispered, “I don’t tell you this to hurt you. But the second Eris filled me in on what had been going on, I knew I had to speak to you. It got too late for me. I had children to think about — a family. I had duties that went beyond what I, myself, craved. Your only duty is to yourself. Do not make the same mistake I did. Do not give yourself regrets. Have the bravery and strength to fight what is expected of you. You cannot doom yourself, or Lucien or Dion or Willow, to a life of misery, because you’ve been told that you must.”
“It isn’t that simple.” You choked. “Beron—”
“Beron,” she cut in her, her voice uncharacteristically cold, “will be dealt with.”
Such confidence in such a weighty statement. You curled in on yourself, wiping at your eyes. Your entire body trembled.
“My children are the only thing I live for now, Y/N.” Her arm came around you. “And you…I consider you to be the daughter I never had. I see so much of my younger self in you. And I’m telling you what I wish I could tell the younger version of me. I will not see any of you resigned to the same fate that I was unable to escape.”
That was it. Your tether snapping, the dam breaking — you buried into your hands, and weeks and weeks of pent-up emotions came storming out in a pained, keening cry.
Catrin’s arms snaked around you, and you felt yourself slump against her, bringing you both to the forest floor. Somehow you ended up in her lap, her arms rocking you like a child while you sobbed and sobbed. For the male you loved more than you ever could have imagined. For the future you so wished you could have with him.
“It’s such a beautiful thing, Y/N, to love.” Catrin whispered, pressing a kiss atop of your head. “Grab it with both hands and don’t let go.”
She said nothing more as she held you. Nothing more as you cried until your throat was scratchy, your eyes raw.
But her words stuck with you, right where they’d slammed into your heart.
Grab it with both hands and don’t let go.
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The two of you shared the hamper of food, words laying heavy around you as she told you more of her younger self. Who she was before she became a Vanserra. The woods continued to shimmer and dance in your presence, and right before you left to find your horses, she led you to the other side of the clearing and showed you — Dayview Cottage.
It was beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way. The magic that belonged to the unnamed male she loved — the same magic that enchanted the trees and the forest floor — kept it nicely preserved and untouched, no matter how many years it watched pass by. But its emptiness was bleak and lifeless, and it left a similar look in Catrin’s eyes.
Just as the first signs of evening began to show, Catrin ushered you onto your horse with a simple “it’s gotten late. We need to leave.”
Your head ached as the two of you rode back, and your full, swimming mind made it feel like mere minutes before you began to recognise villages and landscapes. You knew your surroundings enough to recognise exactly where you were — a couple of miles from the hamlet that had been destroyed by the fire.
Catrin glanced at you somewhat knowingly, and it was the first time she spoke since you’d set off as she said, “There’s one more place you need to go. But I can’t come with you.”
You frowned back at her, the action in itself self causing a twinge of discomfort to ripple behind your eyes. “What?”
“I’m heading home. But there’s a gamekeeper’s cottage around here, I believe. One you might be familiar with. Somebody is waiting for you there.”
You stared at her, knowing exactly what she was inferring without saying the words. The gamekeeper’s cottage – where you and Lucien had headed after the hamlet fire. Where you’d first ever given over to passion and found release in each other’s bodies. It seemed so long ago now.
And he…he was waiting for you there? It had to be him…the significance of the place.
Anxiety and anticipation and excitement hit you all at once. So, so desperately you wanted to see him; to see how he was doing after a few weeks in the Spring Court. To see…to see whether he missed you as much as you missed him.
But could it truly be that easy? Catrin’s words, her story, had certainly left a lasting effect on you, got you thinking. But thoughts of Beron, of Willow, of danger…they still plagued you. Still had you slamming that wall up and not allowing yourself to consider that you might have a different outcome than the one you’d been forcing yourself to accept.
“Why?” You rasped quietly. “Why is he there?”
Catrin studied you. “Because he needs you as much as you need him. This is hard for him, also. Don’t think for a second that fleeing to the Spring Court was easy for him, Y/N. He’d have come back far sooner if he had it his way. But he asked me to help you see each other; at least spare him a conversation.”
Of course you would. She didn’t need to convince you. Even if your body was taut as a bowstring and fear was in your eyes…even if you refused and began your journey home…you knew damn well that you would have turned back and ran straight to that gamekeeper’s cottage.
You wouldn’t leave him there alone, wondering if you were ever coming.
Catrin knew it, too.
“Go to him, Y/N.” She said, reaching out to press a gentle hand to your cheek. “Go to him, and let him speak.”
You’d thought you were all cried out, and yet as you nodded, tears welled in your eyes. There was nothing but a field that lay between you and that gamekeeper’s cottage. Nothing but a stretch of grass that lay between you and the male you loved. Missed. Wanted.
Catrin, herself, looked like she was on the verge of shedding a few tears. She plastered on a beautiful smile and straightened in the saddle. “Go,” she said. “And give my boy my love.”
Before you could thank her, she was digging her heels into her horse’s sides and taking off with a soft command. You watched as she rode into the distance, her red hair like a burning flame on the landscape.
And then it was just you and that stretch of field. The cottage that stood on the other side of it. The other half of your heart that waited within it.
You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Tried to calm your thudding heart. With chills spreading across your skin that had nothing to do with the fresh evening air, you guided your horse across the field.
Every travelled inch that brought you closer had your ears ringing, head spinning. And when you saw the cottage, slightly hidden amongst the trees, it was an effort to keep yourself atop of your horse.
You slowed to a stop, taking a moment to just…breathe. Every part of you shook as you dismounted and secured your horse to a tree, leaving it to graze the forest floor. There was no sound inside the cottage. No light that peeked out.
This cottage — this cottage that had been a harbinger of change; a painful one at the time. One that had set the wheels in motion for what was to come. Yours and Lucien’s own version of Dayview Cottage, you supposed.
You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. Knock? Open the door and stride right in? Your hands twisted around each other, your mind ticking away at a pace you couldn’t keep up with—
But the door opened without any intervention from you. And there Lucien stood, the light of the cottage fire seeming to offset a glow around him as his eyes met yours, and he swallowed.
He was…glorious. Breathtaking. You didn’t have any words, try as you might to muster some.
He swallowed again before his lips parted, his eyes scanning your face.
“…Hi…” was all he said. But he could have spoken any damn word in the common tongue. It wouldn’t have mattered.
It was his deep, lilting voice that destroyed your resolve. Before you knew what you were doing, your body was colliding with his, your arms snaking around his waist. A cry tore from your throat.
He wrapped himself around you immediately. And pulled you into the cottage.
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
You didn’t know how long the two of you stood in the entryway, silently holding each other. Long enough to shed more tears and soak the front of Lucien’s shirt.
But once your cries had drifted into just the occasional snivel, he pulled back to stare at you. His hands brushed the wet strands of hair that stuck to your cheek.
“You’re okay?” He murmured, and his voice threatened to end you all over again.
You could only nod, your voice not quite strong enough, yet, not to break.
He’d placed a kiss against your forehead before pulling away, murmuring about preparing you both a warm drink. Which left you to drift around the space in silence, rebuilding your composure, your strength. You kept a little bit of a wall in place, not knowing what the hell to expect. Lucien’s pottering around the kitchen was a soothing background noise as you studied the random assortment of things around you.
And then, so naturally at the same time — as if your bodies mirrored one another’s — you were turning to each other. Lucien studied you, two mugs in his hands.
“You look well.” You croaked, your eyes drinking him in.
His lips twitched, and he placed the mugs down on the small dining table. “You don’t need to lie. I look like a mess.”
A soft laugh left your throat. You glanced down, rubbing your arms, giving your hands something — anything — to do. “As do I.”
Silence filled the space between you. And then slow, thudding footsteps approached. “You could never look like a mess.”
So, so not true. You were aware of your sallow skin, the dark smudges beneath your eyes. That you’d lost a little weight. And yet you also knew that Lucien spoke with such sincerity. He meant it, even if you didn’t believe it yourself.
Your eyes remained on the scuffs of your boots as he continued to approach. He stopped a hair's-breadth away, close enough for his scent to smother you. Your eyes shuttered as you breathed it in greedily.
“Y/N.” He whispered, his voice skittering over your skin. “Look at me.”
You weren’t sure you could. Your hands gripped your arms hard, the nails digging into your skin. It took you a moment to steel yourself enough to reopen your eyes and lift them to Lucien’s face. Nothing — nothing — could have prepared you for the emotion that lay there.
Love. Pure love, and adoration. Heartache. Despair. Somehow, you read it all. Somehow, you knew you looked the same.
The volume of the emotions threatened to bowl you over. You took a step back, clearing your throat. “Why—why did you want to meet?”
Lucien stared at you, pursing his lips. Because to question why he would want to see you was so ludicrous to him. But he followed your lead, straightening himself up a little.
“To talk to you.” He said. “To ask you — beg, if I have to — not to marry Dion.”
You swallowed. “Lucien—”
“Please just hear me out.”
You stared at him, every self-preserving instinct screaming at you to push past him and run the hell out of there. Because Catrin’s story, her words — hard-hitting as they were — didn’t change that it wasn’t as simple as just not marrying Dion. They didn’t change that there was danger involved. Real danger. Lives at risk.
But Lucien’s eyes were pleading. And you relented, relaxing your stance enough to show him that you were open, at least, to hearing what he had to say.
A moment passed of nothing. You wondered if he might not speak at all. But as you met his eyes in question, you found tears there. Found that he was struggling to speak around his emotion.
“Lucien…” you sighed softly. You reached for him, your hand lingering in the air. Would it make it worse to touch him?
His eyes shuttered, tears spilling down his cheeks. And then he was stepping towards you, cupping your face in his broad, warm hands. Tilting it up to look at him.
“Listen to me. Please.” His voice shook. So did his hands. “I am in love with you. So…so in love. I didn’t know it was possible to love anyone or anything this much. I didn’t know I was capable.”
You blinked away your own tears. “You said you were done fighting for me. I don’t blame you for that.”
“I said that to make it easier to turn around and walk out. But I went to the Spring Court to ask for Tamlin’s help. To find a way for this to work — for us to be together.”
Hope threatened to bloom inside you. You shoved it back down; couldn’t let it take root. Not for it just to be yanked out again.
“It isn’t that easy.” You whispered.
“Of course it isn’t.” His rough, calloused thumbs stroked your cheeks. “It’s love. But I will never stop fighting for you. Never.”
“Lucien—”
“Please, Y/N.” He stared down at you. “I need you to trust me.”
You placed your hands over his, brushing your thumbs over his knuckles. “I do trust you. With my entire soul.”
“Then please, my fireling, hear me when I say that there’s a way out of this, I just— I need you to choose me.” His eyes held something so familiar and yet so unknown to you — a glint of gold in a sea of russet. “I’m already yours. So claim me.”
You broke.
There was no staying strong beneath the weight of those words. Those emotions. You couldn’t.
You reached up, taking a strand of his hair in your palm.
His breath stalled.
You parted the strands of hair, keeping your eyes fixed on the pattern, as you began to twine them together. To braid them.
“What’re you doing?” He whispered, as if afraid that you’d stop if he spoke too loudly.
“Giving you a braid.” You answered and fastened the braid.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed — hard.
“There. You’re mine now.” Your eyes met his russet ones. “I’m in love with—”
Your words cut off as you felt it.
A resounding, earth-shattering snap, deep in your heart, in your soul.
It was like the sun breaking through clouds. Like warmth encasing you. It spread over your body, over Lucien’s, like golden rays of sunlight combining you as one. Twining your souls together. And as if those rays could speak, could whisper to you, you heard it. One word. One word that changed everything.
Mate.
You blinked up at him, so many words in your mind, your throat, on your tongue. So many things you wanted to say, and yet none would come to the surface. The world was shifting, altering your body to fit like a perfect puzzle piece with his. Your mate.
“You knew.”
“Y/N—”
A cry tumbled from your lips, and you were once more throwing yourself at Lucien, wrapping your arms around him. But it was different this time.
It was…it was you giving up the fight. It was you refusing to fight your feelings any longer. No matter what it may mean. No matter what it might bring to your doorstep. You couldn’t fight off your love any longer.
Lucien’s arms came around you, pressing you so close against him that it lifted your feet slightly from the floor. He held you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Y/N—”
“I love you.” You choked, cutting him off. “I fucking love you, Lucien.”
He went so, so still. You’d only ever said it once, sobbing into his chest. He didn’t even know if you were aware of it. But this — you said the words with such utter conviction he knew his mind couldn’t have conjured up the emotion in your voice.
And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. There was fire in his own.
“Say it again.” He said roughly. “Please.”
“I love you.”
You surged up on the tips of your toes, capturing Lucien in a hard, bruising kiss.
He seemed to just blink for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite keep up. And then he was folding, breathing a cry against your lips, like they’d brought him home.
Mate. Of course he was your mate. You should have damn well known. You’d never been able to stay away from him, never been able to fight the intrigue. Even when he’d been rude and standoffish and arrogant, you’d wanted more, more, more. You’d wanted Lucien Vanserra entirely.
You wanted — needed — him now.
Your kiss was hard, desperate. It was with the force of your feelings, your bond, that you urged him backwards, back and back until you were at the bed. His legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he toppled down, dragging you with him.
You tore your lips from his. Stared down at him.
“I love you.” You said.
He pushed up and kissed you again.
Both your hands and his began fighting to desperately remove clothes. They were ripped from you, from him, tossed across the room. You kissed every inch of bare skin that was revealed; Lucien’s golden, muscled chest, his stomach, his arms, his hips—
But he wanted those lips of yours on his. He pulled you up. Stared into your eyes for a moment. And then he was kissing you again.
You didn’t know at which point you both ended up completely naked, your skin pressing against his, but the feeling of it alone could have brought you to release. It felt so right. So complete.
There was no fooling around. There would be time for that — a whole future’s worth. But you needed him inside you. He needed to be inside you.
He made to flip you over, but you were pressing his chest down, pushing him into the bed. He stared up at you, watching intently, hungrily, as you lifted your hips.
Your hand reached down, wrapping around his firm, hard cock. A grunt left him as you pumped him once, twice, and then lined him up with your entrance.
“Wait.” He breathed, and you paused. He sat up, bringing his body closer to yours, your faces inches apart as he said, “I love you too.”
The words were pleasure in their own right. You moaned. Captured his mouth with yours. And then you were slowly, gently, sinking down onto his length.
The two of you gasped against each other’s mouths. Lucien’s arms came round to fasten around your waist, and he held you to him, his hand landing on your hip and beginning to rock you gently.
He filled you so perfectly. You weren’t sure there was a more complete feeling than your bodies being as flawlessly aligned as your souls.
Every movement and moment was slow, unhurried. You couldn’t possibly get any closer as he kissed you and gently rocked you on his cock. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Gods,” he breathed, his hands moving up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms. “Gods, I missed you. My mate. My fireling.”
That fucking nickname would destroy you. You moaned against his mouth, rolling your hips faster. His brow furrowed in pure, unbridled pleasure as he pulled his face back and glanced down at your joined bodies.
“Look at us.” He groaned, his hand guiding your face down, thumb slipping between your lips. “Look how perfectly we fit together. There’s no one else for either of us.”
You were also groaning, whimpering, moaning, your tongue swirling around his thumb as you watched. Watched you fucking him and him fucking you. Your mate.
You weren’t aware of when, exactly, your bodies began to move faster, harder. The two of you were nothing but dancing souls as Lucien flipped you over, not once pulling out of you as he hovered over you.
But his hips ceased their movements. He stilled inside you. Stared down at you, his eyes like pools of endless, churning emotion. His hand brushed your cheek gently.
“Say it again.” He whispered, his breath fanning your face. You knew exactly what he meant.
“Lucien Vanserra, my mate,” you breathed. Your hand trailed down his body to find his. You laced your fingers together. “I am in love with you.”
It could have been a cry or a groan that left his lips. You weren’t entirely sure. His mouth met yours, and you knew your words had set you both on the home stretch. That this was how you would finish — together.
He moved in you and on you, his hands always gentle, his hips not stuttering once. Your soft “I love yous” mingled with one another’s until you didn’t know which was yours and which was his.
And then he was picking up the pace. You moaned against him, and you could feel him throbbing inside you. You wanted to feel his release.
“Come,” you whispered against his lips. “Come for me. Please.”
“Gods.” He choked. His hand reached down between you, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing at your clit, sending a white-hot sting of pleasure splintering through your body. “Come with me.”
His deft fingers left you no other choice. You were light as air as you went tumbling off that edge into oblivion, your pleasure overpowering you entirely. Lucien was falling right along with you, his cock spilling every drop inside you. While his mouth spilled nothing but love into yours.
And then he was pulling back just a little. He trembled against you, his head falling to your chest, his breaths heaving as much as yours. Your fingers threaded within his hair, soothingly massaging the area. It took you a moment to notice the wetness that trickled down between your breasts. You frowned, gently lifting his face.
Tear-filled eyes met yours. Lucien squeezed them shut, the droplets rolling down his face. You reached out, brushing his hair back.
“Hey…” you spoke softly. “Look at me.”
He did. He allowed you to see every emotion on his face. You leaned in, kissing his wet, salty lips.
“Promise me, Y/N.” He whispered, his arms pulling you against him. “Promise me we won’t be apart again. I couldn’t bear it.”
You didn’t know much. You didn't know what would happen the next day, or the day after that — or the year after that.
But you knew that you loved Lucien Vanserra more than you could possibly put into words.
And you knew you damn well meant it, with every piece of your heart and soul, as you stared into his eyes and spoke those words.
“I promise.”
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
You’d never felt so serene, you realised, as you did while watching him sleep.
You knew you could happily lay there forever, your body slanted over his as your fingers absentmindedly played with the braid you’d put there mere hours ago. You didn’t once tear your eyes away from the smooth, unworried sight of his face. He was beautiful.
So, so lucky you were, to have this male. To love him. He’d given you so much already. Hope. Bravery. Strength.
Your mind gently thumbed through your memories of him. Your lips twitched at the thought of that first encounter in the woods — how unnecessarily rude he’d been. How he seemed to dislike you for no reason.
And yet — and yet — look at the two of you now. In love.
The backs of your fingers brushed gently against his cheek. It was then that Lucien stirred, sucking in a slow, deep breath. His eyes fluttered open, immediately finding yours. A smile tugged at his lips.
“Were you watching me sleep?” He blinked at you sleepily, a lazy smirk replacing the soft smile.
The morning rasp in his voice turned something molten in your lower belly.
“Maybe.” You conceded, shrugging as best as you could laying on your side. “I might’ve been playing with your braid, too.”
His eyes snagged on your hand — your fingers — as they still traced the intricate design. “It’s addicting, isn’t it.”
A hum was your only response.
Both of you remained quiet and blissful, basking in each other’s company, until Lucien noticed the corners of your mouth lifting up in a soft smile. His heart went a tad wobbly in his chest.
“What is it?”
“This braid is special.”
He studied you closely, that brilliant smile widening. “Oh?”
“It signifies another thing, now. Not just Linden, but…you, too. Us. It signifies our strength. Our love.”
You heard the slight hitch of breath in his throat. Like your words would start him off crying again.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that.” He whispered.
You smiled and leaned in to brush your lips against his.
“These strands of hair,” you murmured, gently tugging, “are our souls. Twined together. Always.”
He kissed you, somehow both hard and soft. And then his forehead was pressing against yours. “Always.”
You smiled. But there was no chance to breathe another word as his arms came around you, and he was flipping you over just as he had earlier.
And as he slid into you, he gasped that same word against your ear, his braid tickling your face.
Always.
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The training barracks, as it turned out, were a bitch to find.
Sweat smattered Eris’s forehead and rolled down his neck as he slowed his mount to a stop. His eyes scanned the huge, imposing building before him, and with the unexpected silence that met him, it was hard to believe the place housed a troop of guards in training.
Though, if he listened harder, the sounds of clashing metal and light-hearted banter danced over to him on the soft breeze. Guards were training somewhere on the green that was big enough to rival the Vanserra Estate.
This was where the letters had indicated. And so this was where he would look.
He dismounted, shoes hitting the dirt path. He patted his horse’s neck as he strode towards the barracks. What was the etiquette here? Did he knock? Just stride in like his father would? He wasn’t sure—
He didn’t have to worry about it, though, as a sound caught his attention. He turned, eyeing the smaller — but still considerable — building to his right. A sturdy wooden building whose door was open just a crack. Curiosity piqued.
Before he could take a step forward, the door swung open wider, and a tall figure emerged. A naked, muscled torso of sweat-slick brown skin glinted in the sunlight. The male was huge, all defined, corded muscles and rugged handsomeness. He wiped his brow with a rag as he studied Eris curiously. And then stilled, recognition dawning.
But it wasn’t the sculpted body Eris’s gaze snagged on, no. His eyes scanned the brilliant, intricate braids that were currently tied in a knot atop of the male's head. The uptilted, dark eyes that were slightly feline. Cheekbones that could cut through stone.
“Eris Vanserra?” The male spoke — and if his appearance hadn’t been a giveaway enough, the smooth, lilting accent most certainly was. “Can I help you with something?”
Eris inclined his head, taking a step forward. “I sure hope so.”
Intrigue crossed the male’s eyes, and he stood up straighter.
“Finally we meet.” Eris said with a vague smile. “You must be Linden."
When Azriel had pictured his future, it had never featured this kind of happiness. His brothers, their families being his family too, sure, but he never expected someone of his own. He certainly never expected the preppy, yoga-teaching, freelance writer who lay in his arms. He never expected someone who liked late nights to his early mornings, someone who danced in their underwear around his apartment, someone who made him drink green juice smoothies and practice stretching.
summary; what happens in vegas? what happens in velaris. or, what happens the morning after two blind-in-love best friends get married while black-out drunk at a starfall party?
word count; 6733
notes; okay, I know starfall week is technically over, but the end of my week got real busy unexpectedly, so there are another few fics to come which we’ll technically count. shhh.
summary; rhys and nyx are a family of two, but they're both pretty hell-bent on making it into a trio, with you.
word count; 12,151
notes; I have no idea how this got so long? I planned for it to be like 4-5k, and @azsazz can vouch for that. also big shout out to @acourtofwhatthefuck for proofreading this for me when I just had no motivation, but I needed this one to be perfect.
Fate had always seemed to have the worst timing for you.
Whether it be relationships, the sunny skies turned to rain, or simply this; balancing precariously on a stool and getting startled by your own phone, which you could have sworn was on silent mode.
Blaring out across the shop in a sudden burst of cheery notes and tones, you almost dropped the stacks of books in your hands, cursing a little as it vibrated in rhythm in the back pocket of your jeans. When the call persisted after the usual three rings signalling a cold caller or market salesperson, you sighed.
Shifting the books to one arm, you fished the phone out before it could go to voicemail, wondering just who would be calling you so urgently at this time of the day. The question didn’t linger for long, though, as your eyes widened at the caller across the front of the screen.
‘Velaris Young-Education Prepatory School’.
A ridiculously fancy name for an elementary school, you thought it every time you saw the name, and yet right now, your heart skipped a beat as you pressed answer. Bringing it to your ear as you shuffled the books in your arms more, you lowered yourself down from the ladder carefully.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hello! Is this Nyx’s mother, (Y/N)? It’s V-Y-E Prep.”
The woman on the phone sounded somewhere between relieved and panicked, and your heart leapt into your throat a little at her tone. “Well, yes, that’s me, but-”
“Oh, good, we weren’t able to get in touch with dad, I was worried I wouldn't be able to get a hold of either of you.” She cut you off before you had a chance to finish, your lips clamping shut as she let out a sigh of a laugh. “I’m Nyx’s class teacher, but he’s had a little bit of an accident today, do you think you’d be able to come and pick him up from the reception?”
Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest entirely. “An accident, what kind of accident, is he okay?”
“Oh, he’s fine! He had a fall during playtime, and he bumped his head. There’s a mark, and a scratch we’ve cleaned up, but he’s understandably a little shocked and upset. We know dad can get… concerned,”
Understatement of the century, you wanted to butt in, because Rhys was more than just concerned. He was overprotective, in an endearing way, but he tended to freak out over the smallest things. Then again, it didn’t help when teachers said things like ‘accident’ when it’s not so serious. Perhaps it was a good thing that they got you, not him.
“So, we thought we’d give you a ring, and see if you could pick him up?”
Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. You still had four hours left of your shift, and you felt terrible just ducking out, even if the store was dead, excluding the few people idling over lukewarm coffees in the connected café. “Sure, yeah, of course. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Wonderful, we’ll see you then.”
The line clicked dead, your eyes sliding shut as you let out a slow breath. You could have just said no, that voice in your head taunted, he’s not your child to fret over. And yet, the thought of his sad face lingered in your mind, triggering all those maternal instincts inside of you and sending them into overdrive.
“Sounds urgent.” Somehow, despite walking with a cane and always wearing heeled boots that clicked on the floorboards, Margaret had managed to sneak up on you. When you turned, the seventy-something-year-old was standing with a smile on her face behind you, eyeing the phone in your hand.
“I’m sorry, Margie. It’s Nyx’s school.” You grimaced, lips pressing together into a thin line. She only laughed lightly, waving a frail hand idly in the air as if to bat the moment away.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I know what it’s like to have your child’s school call you up in the middle of the day.” Her smile only widened, her eyes glazing over a little. “Our Tommy was a terrible little troublemaker, I had constant calls about his behaviour. And our Jenny, well, she was the clumsiest kid you ever saw. Tripped over thin air.”
A wistful sigh escaped her, and your lips flicked up at the edges. You’d met both Thomas and Jennifer, lovely people, but just as she’d described. Jennifer seemed even more prone to bad timing than you, and Thomas had turned all that troublesome energy into bad flirting and a heated temper.
“You do what you have to for your kids.” She’d finished her recollections, her voice snapping you from your own, and you could only nod.
“I know, but he’s not my kid. Not biologically, or in any way that matters. It’s not the same, and-”
“Hon, if I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.” Her words made a lump in your throat that was impossible to speak around, a quick flash of emotion swelling up that you were quick to fight against, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she’d seen in. “He may not have your genes, but he’s yours. So, go get your son. The store will still be here when you come back on Monday.”
“Are you sure-”
“Don’t make me force you out of this door.” She tapped her cane at your feet, just close enough that you could feel the floorboards vibrate under the harsh taps, a wordless threat, and a grin broke out on your lips to hide the blush on your cheeks.
“Alright, I’ll see you Monday, then.”
She gave a curt nod, and you were flying through the store. Grabbing your bag and coat from the backroom on the way, you were out of the back door and at your car in less than a full minute. Only when you’d put your bags onto the seat and checked the car seat permanently attached to the back of the car did you get into your own seat.
How you’d gotten to this point, you had no idea. It hadn't been your intention four years ago when you’d first met baby Nyx, to end up with a box of his things in your trunk for emergencies, a child seat of your own in the back of the car and your name registered as a parental contact. Yet, as you stared, twisting to look at it and brushing your fingers over the fabric, you didn’t have a single regret about it.
In fact, only a smile pulled at your lips as you thought about him. Him, and his father. Rhysand had been your best friend for many years, and his baby only seemed to bring you closer. You’d never have wished Nyx’s mother to have abandoned him, you loathed the woman every day for what she did to them both, but it had created a space in their lives that you’d somehow patched a part of up.
When Rhys had needed support and guidance, you’d been there.
Now, you’d be there for Nyx, too.
As you started the car, flicking a glance back to check the mirrors on the seat were still aligned, Margie’s words flickered through your mind.
If I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.
They lingered on your mind for the entire drive, hanging over you like a cloud on an April day, unsure if it was going to rain, or simply pass by. Until you were parked outside of the school, hands still clenched tightly on the steering wheel as you stared up at the tall glass entryway only a few paces away. You couldn't see Nyx yet, not with the doors on the other side that truly sealed off the building, but you could make out figures and shapes on the other side.
Your eyes moved to the clock, the digit clicking over another number, and your fingers felt numb when you finally released them from the wheel. With another sigh, you released all thoughts about mothers and genes and Rhys.
One day, perhaps, you’d confront them. Today wasn’t going to be it.
Stepping out of the car and swinging the door shut behind you, you didn’t even bother to lock it, as you took a slow jog up the main pathway before the school. The doors hissed open automatically before you, the smell of fresh cotton coming from the air freshener in the corner of the office, and the receptionist behind the desk looked borderline bored as she glanced up.
“Hi, um- Hi. I’m here for Nyx.”
Her eyes widened a little, looking significantly more interested now as she took your name, and called through to the classroom. The thought almost amused you, had you not been so concerned. Rhys had quite the representation around here, the big checks and hefty donations gained him and Nyx quite the special treatment, one that clearly seemed to pass onto you, too.
The doors to the school buzzed open a second later as the magnetic locks released, and you stepped through. Sitting in one of the large plush chairs lined up along the wall of the office was Nyx, looking utterly swamped as his feet swung in the air, head bowed and hands clutching tightly to his backpack in his lap.
At the scuffing of your shoes, his head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful, turning to relieved as he saw you. He dropped his bag to the floor, moving to slide out of the chair but you were faster, dropping down to kneel before him. Up close, you could see more, enough to break your heart.
His eyes were red, cheeks pink, tear-marks tracked into the smears of playground dirt and classroom muck on his face. When you brushed the edge of his inky hair back from his forehead, it was to reveal a cut across his forehead to his temple, bumped and bruised, growing into a lump on his head. His bottom lip wobbled, eyes growing shiny again.
“Oh, Nyxie, did you get hurt?”
“Yeah…” His voice trembled as he spoke, sniffling lightly and wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. Patting his hair down once again, you tried to choke back the emotions clogging in your throat as a tall shadow fell across the both of you. With a glance, you confirmed that it was his teacher, looking more than a little nervous as she watched you take in Nyx for yourself.
“We just have some forms for you to sign, and I can tell you a little more about his injury, and then you’re good to go.” At your nod, she let out a heavy breath, wiping her hands down subtly on her skirt.
“Nyxie, I’m just going to go sign some forms for you, okay? Do you want to wait here?” He shook his head, eyes widening a bit as his little hand clamped down onto your arm, gripping tightly and shuffling across the seat closer to you. “You want to come with us?”
“Can I have cuddles?” His voice was low and shy, your heart swelling a little more.
“C’mere.” Opening your arms up for him, his damp cheek fell to your shoulder, nose tucking sweetly into your neck, and you scooped him up, his legs dangling on either side of your body as he slumped against your chest happily. Standing up with a little more effort than usual, Nyx’s hands patted idly over your knitted jumper, body bouncing with each step you took to follow her inside of the office.
The forms were already laid out, four to be signed, and she pushed the first one over to you. “This one is just to state you acknowledge the injury, the second is a copy for you, because dad requested always having a copy of forms.” Her cheeks flushed with a little colour, the edges of your lips flicking up at Rhys’ quirks. “The third is just an injury form, that you know we’ve given you all the information, and you’re satisfied. The fourth, another copy.”
You quickly signed your name on the first two, pushing one over to her and keeping the other on your side. The pen hovered over the paper of the third, your fingers clenching a little on it, eyes flicking over the page. “What did happen, exactly?”
“Well, uhm…” You rubbed a hand over Nyx’s back, a soft affirmation that you appreciated how patiently he was waiting. Putting on a smile, you tried to put the woman at ease, not having meant to sound quite so… pissed.
“I know kids have accidents, I didn’t mean to sound so… well, let’s just say, be glad I’m the one that picked up the call. Dad can be overprotective.” The boy in your arms giggled a little, and you placed down the pen, using your hand to now cup his head and rub at his hair lightly.
“He was playing on the climbing equipment. I think he went a little too high, because he couldn't climb down. Another child was trying to help him, but before anyone could get over to him once we realised he was stuck, he fell off.” Her voice was a lot more confident now, and you were glad you’d been able to ease just a little of that tension. “I can take you out to the equipment and show you what happened, if you’d like?”
“That won’t be necessary.” You grabbed for the pen again, signing both pages, and she pulled one over towards her files as you gathered the other two.
“Nyx was so brave, weren’t you, huh?” She swiped a finger over his cheek as she passed by to get the door for you again, and he nodded slowly against your body. “And he was so excited when he found out his mommy was coming to get him.”
There was that word again, all of those thoughts coming swarming back in a dizzying rush as you followed her. A hot blush settled on your cheeks, your mouth opening to correct her, before Nyx’s hands were bunching in your jumper as he let out another little giggle, making your lips snap closed again. He hid his face deeper in your shoulder.
Stooping down to pick up his bags, his teacher placed it over your arm, swinging as you gripped paperwork in one hand and Nyx in the other. “I put all of his schoolwork in his bag. We’ll see you again tomorrow, Nyx!”
She held the door open for you, waving her goodbye as she watched you go, the receptionist looking far more alert now than she had earlier, smiling widely as the two of you left, and you could feel their gazes on you all the way to the parking lot.
Putting down the paperwork and his bag on the top of the car, you opened it up, leaning in to settle him was like muscle memory now. No longer an awkward act but a practised one, as he slid from your arms and into the chair. Fastening the belt across his middle, you did the ones over his shoulders.
Eyes that were the same incredible shade of near-violet as his father’s were watching you, a ridiculously adorable smile on his face as you leaned in to press a kiss to the uninjured side of his forehead. Tucking his bags on the other side of him, you checked all his straps, not realising you were frowning yourself until his little fingers pinched at your nose.
“Got a nose!” He whispered excitedly, waving his fingers in a way that was supposed to mock his uncle’s, the way Cassian would always tease that he’d ‘stolen Nyx’s nose’ to cheer him up. When you smiled at him, he pushed his hand back against your face, giggling to himself as he continued to imitate his uncle. “You can have it back!”
“Well, thank goodness for that!” You teased, rubbing over the bridge of your nose and taking him in. Once you were happy with his safety, you closed the door, taking only the paperwork with you and folding them in half, tucking them into the glovebox of the car for safekeeping. When the car turned on, your fingers went to the radio, and a single button pressed had some of Nyx’s favourite songs pouring from the speakers as the kiddie-CD in the player came to life. “We’ll go and see your daddy now, hopefully, he won’t be too upset about your head.”
The boy only hummed to his song, leaning to stare out of the window, breath fogging it up and one hand resting on the windows he watched his school be left behind. “Daddy will be angry with us?”
For all the fresh set of worries now swirling inside of your head at Rhys’ reaction, you’d never considered how Nyx would interpret your words. “Oh, no, of course not, baby. Never us. We make daddy smile, not frown!”
Reaching behind yourself as you came to a stop at the red lights, you squeezed at his knee lightly, retracting it only when the light went yellow. Another few minutes of quiet went past, the roads clear for the middle of the day as you drove, and Nyx was happily taking in all of the Velaris scenery as you passed by.
From the small town outskirts and into the city centre, it was when you were almost there that Nyx stopped singing and decided to speak again.
“I heard daddy tell Uncle Azzy on the phone that you make him smile like nobody else ever has.”
Your eyes widened, your foot nearly slamming onto the brake a little too hard as you turned a corner, and Nyx went back to singing his song. Your heart was picking up speed in your chest, the traitorous organ fuelled on hope reacting in a way you tried to resist. Your head was empty, it took a full minute to form your response, and you gave out a croaky laugh. “Were you being cheeky and listening to your dad’s private phone calls again?”
“No!” His voice sounded indignant, but with a look cast in the mirror onto him, you could see the cheeky smirk on his face. “He answered it at dinnertime! I got to say hi to Uncle Azzy. He’s in a whole different country right now, did you know that?”
You could only smile at the excitement in his voice as he spoke all about Azriel’s current escapades in Spain, or at least, the version that was completely safe and child-friendly. Soon, though, his distraction was over, and he was circling back to a topic you had hoped he’d forgotten.
“Daddy loves you. He told Uncle Azzy. And Uncle Cass, and Auntie Mor.”
“Well, now I know you’re telling me fibs.” Releasing your hand from the gearstick at the next red light, you reached it behind you, tickling at his tummy until he laughed loudly and kicked his legs, slapping at your hands weakly as he wriggled in his chair. “He would never tell Uncle Cass about his feelings, because Uncle Cass would tease him!”
“I’m not telling fibs, I’m not!” He gasped the words between breaths, face growing red, and you almost forgot you were sitting at the lights until a car honked behind you, forcing you to pull away. His laughter died down as the car started again, but he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He did tell him. He said that he loves you, and he thinks that you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”
Your lips pursed, your heart betraying you once again, stomach joining as butterflies erupted until you felt lightheaded, and the weight of his stare on the back of your head was obvious without you even needing to turn.
In a far less sure voice now, “Do you love daddy?”
You had no idea how to answer that question. You’d known he’d get curious about your friendship with his father soon, you’d just been foolish and selfish enough to hope it was his father that he asked, and so you wouldn't have to handle it.
Of course you loved Rhysand, but that didn’t make it easy to explain.
Rhys could never know, the wound of Feyre running away with Tamlin and abandoning Nyx was sure to still be raw, Rhys hadn't been on a date in four years, and if this conversation had confirmed anything, it was that Nyx wasn’t the best secret-keeper.
Your words had to be chosen carefully.
“Your daddy is my best friend, so, yes. I do love him.” You thought you’d done well, until Nyx made a non-committal sound, another question all ready to go.
“Does he make you smile?”
“Yes.” Your teeth gritted, the looming office building of the company HQ filling the sky as you pulled up to the security box, not even needing to roll the window down before the gates were buzzing open for you.
“And, do you think he’s the prettiest man in the whole wide world?” His arms flew as wide as they could, and you ignored how endearing it was, choosing a parking spot instead and focusing on your alignment.
“He’s very pretty, Nyx. Just like you.”
“Then why can’t you be my mommy?” That question felt like a punch to the gut, the car shutting off, silence filling the cabin around you as the engine stopped and the singing CD paused. He was waiting, playing with his fingers and staring at you when you turned to face him. His eyes were wide, confused, and you hated that he felt that way.
“Let’s clean up your face, huh? You’re all dirty.” The words were pathetic, you hated yourself, because avoiding his question meant avoiding your own. You were taking the coward's way out, pulling two wipes from the packet in the dash to wipe at his face. He stayed silent, lips pursed in an unhappy pout, but he didn’t push it. The next time he spoke, it was as you were unclipping him from his car seat and lifting him towards the ground.
“No, no, no.” He clung to you more, jutting out his lip and putting on puppy eyes he knew worked every time. “More cuddles?”
If it kept him effectively distracted, that was more than enough. Settling him in your arms and locking the car this time, the two of you set off towards the building, Nyx babbling in your ear about everything he could see around him so far.
Upon entering the lobby, his chatter cut off, head lifting from your shoulder to wave excitedly at the assistant behind the main desk. Long ago, you’d felt insecure stepping into this building in nothing but your jeans and a hoodie as everyone else wore dresses and suits and polished heels. Now, even as the elegant woman stood in her pencil skirt to lean over the counter to greet him, you felt at home. “Hi, Ana!”
“What are you doing here in the middle of the day, little mister?”
He only laughed, leaning out proudly to wave at her, and a new receptionist you didn’t recognise. “We’re here to see Daddy!”
She offered a knowing smile when you pushed his hair back just enough to show off the growing bruise, and turning to the intern beside her. “Take them up to the boss, and let him know.”
With a shaky smile and a polite introduction, she led your group over to one of the elevators, Nyx pulling faces and giggling over your shoulder at Ana the whole time. The ride up to the top floor consisted of Nyx counting the numbers off loudly, tickling them off on his fingers until he couldn't count anymore, and the doors chimed open at level twenty-six.
Guiding the both of you toward the boardrooms, you stopped outside of Rhys’ preferred meeting room, the one with ‘the good coffeepot’ he claimed, a smile flickering on your lips as you spotted his silhouette through the frosted glass while she knocked at the door.
As she entered, you could hear his voice pouring out, the back end of a speech on this year's profit margins that he’d practised on you a hundred times before today, only going quiet as all attention fell to her. “Sir, your wife and son are here.”
Your brows rose at her wording, still sitting high on your forehead as Rhys appeared, closing the door behind him and dismissing her thankfully. Left alone, his gaze flickered over you both, an emotion you still didn’t understand settling on his face when Nyx sat up in your arms, still cuddled against you.
“Hi, daddy! I got a bump on my head, look!” Pushing his hand over his hair, he moved his fringe out of the way, Rhysand’s eyes going comically wide as he stepped closer to get a look at it. “I fell off the climbing frame!”
His frantic gaze swept to you as he ran a thumb over his son’s forehead, the other hand settling on your hip subconsciously, but all your attention seemed to fix on the way his thumb swept over your waist in a matching way.
“I took care of it all, don’t worry.” You mustered the best smile you could, getting a whiff of his expensive work cologne when he dipped down to press a kiss to the same spot you had when tucking Nyx into the car. He examined the cut a little more, frowning at the mark on his son’s face, and you wanted to say something, to reassure him, to quash the thoughts about being a bad father that you knew were flying through his head. Before you could speak, though, he was acting once again.
He nodded, seeming to have already fought the war inside his own mind, and if the way his shoulder’s slumped from their tightened position, he’d won this one. Leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead too, your breath caught in your throat at the intimate brush of his lips over your skin. Rhysand had always been affectionate, this part of your friendship was nothing new, but somehow, it had become so much more than a flirty comment or wink. Your eyes fluttered shut, pressing selfishly into that hint of affection as it dragged on just a second too long, warmth coating your cheeks when he pulled back.
“Give me five minutes to finish this meeting up, wait in my office.” His attention moved to his son. “You can get one toy out, just one.”
At the mention of the toy-box tucked away in the back corner of the office, Nyx’s face lit up, hands clapping together excitedly, and Rhys chuckled at him. “Do you need anything?”
“We’ll be fine.” You’d been to his office more times than you could count, knowing the building like the back of your hand. “Go finish up, gods know you didn’t make me suffer through your rehearsals a thousand times just to mess it all up now.”
He only smirked, adjusting his blazer and ruffling his son’s hair, cautious of his injury. “I’ll be with you soon, darling.” Before you could respond, he was placing a quick kiss on your cheek, and backing away and returning to work, the door closing behind him.
When you stared at his empty space a little too long, Nyx let out an impatient sigh. “I want to play with the racing cars, darling.”
“Hey, now, cheeky! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were feeling absolutely fine, and perhaps I should take you back to school!”
Nyx burst out into more laughter, shaking his head and clinging to you. Even if his movements did make it harder to carry him, you didn’t care, grinning at the enthusiasm and excitement on his face. As soon as you had the office door open, he was squirming in your arms to get down, racing over to the box in the corner the second his feet were touching the floor.
Tearing off the lid, you flicked the light on, shutting the door and frowning as he began to pile toys up all along the floor. “Nyx, your dad just told you only one toy. Pick one, put the rest back.”
“But the cars all count as one, I have to get the whole set out!”
“Nope. You know that’s not how it works.” He scowled, but remained silent, making a point of pulling out the black truck with flames on the wheels, the one you hated, because it made terrible sound effects of grating engines and monster trucks. Piling the rest of the toys back inside haphazardly, the lid remained off the box, and he switched the volume up, glancing at you as he did. You only granted him a sigh, collapsing down into the plush leather chair of Rhysand’s desk.
Five minutes of watching Nyx push the truck around the floor and over every surface as he made car sounds himself soon slipped into ten. He changed toys to a small fluffy dog, and at fifteen minutes, an action figure. Just as he was setting up for his meeting with the plastic army man, Rhys appeared at the door, tugging his tie loose and smiling when you straightened in his chair.
Tucking the tie down into his suit pocket, he circled the desk, eyeing Nyx on the floor, who didn’t even bother to look up from his life-or-death mission. Taking a seat in one of the cushioned meeting chairs on the other side of the desk, he turned a questioning gaze to you, raising an eyebrow.
“He climbed too high on the climbing frame at school, and slipped when another kid tried to help him down. He got all checked out by the school first aid, he’s totally fine. No dizziness or headaches or nausea, nothing wrong. Just a bruise and a bump.” It didn’t stop Rhys from worrying, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze moved back to his joyfully-distracted son. “Rhys.”
He didn’t look up, biting down on that lip harder. With one hand, he popped free the button on his collar, and the one below, taking a deep breath.
“Rhysand.” With a firmer tone, you managed to gain his attention, a reluctant stare shifting to you, and you held your hands out across the desk, palms up. Wiggling your fingers, he placed one hand in both of yours, sighing sadly at the look on your face as you squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Nyx is fine, I made sure of it. I checked him out myself, signed the forms after reading them, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Look at him. He’s perfectly okay.”
“I’m sorry you had to leave work.” He whispered, ashamed gaze trailing to your joined hands, the edges of his lips barely flickering as you smoothed your thumbs over his knuckles. He squeezed a little harder, tugging a little closer, ensuring you weren’t letting go just yet. You’d had no intention to, anyway.
Tugging on your hands a little more, he guided you around the desk, back to your feet until you were standing before him, between his knees, and he could tip forwards to brace his head against your ribs. He still held tight to one of your hands, running his fingers over your skin now, but you managed to fight one hand free. With it, you patted his hair softly, smoothing over it until he let out a shaky but light breath.
“Thank you.”
“You know I’d do anything for you two. Absolutely anything, you have nothing to thank me for, or say sorry for.” He only nodded, tipping his head up enough that the tip of his nose dragged over your skin, until his chin was propped there instead, glancing up at you.
“Not true, I’m thankful for you every single day.”
You willed your body not to react, not to give you away, other than the small smile you offered him, settling with your hand on the nape of his neck for a second. It was intimate, romantic, far too much for friendship, and the sudden flash of thought made your spine stiffen, and your hand retract down to sit safely on his shoulder instead. “Rhys?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Why does Nyx’s school have me listed as his mother?”
He blinked, once. “What?”
“When they called, they asked me if I was his mom, and I never got a chance to correct her before she was telling me everything. Then when I got there, she said it again.”
He was silent for a moment, before sitting up once again, disentangling himself from you and putting on an easy-going smile to match his shrug as he slumped back into the seat. “I have no idea. Maybe she just got confused, or forgot.”
“Okay…” You gave only a moment's pause, leaning yourself on the edge of the desk beside you, and crossing your arms. “Well, why does your receptionist think I’m your wife?”
“She’s new.” The words rolled off of his tongue so fast it was like he’d planned them, your brows shooting up a little. “I mean, you come in here carrying Nyx, and what else would she know?”
Despite his casual demeanour, a soft layer of pink tinged those tan cheeks, so faint you’d hardly notice it if you weren’t so good at reading him. His eyes studied you for a second, a deep look as he stared, gaze taking you in just as much as you seemed to take him in. There was a lull, a pause, like so many moments lately where the air seemed positively charged between you both, lingering on an adrenaline-filled precipice and just waiting for something to happen.
Rhys broke it, just a second before it would have become too much for you, too. Clearing his throat, he caught Nyx’s attention. “Why don’t we go and get some ice-cream, buddy? Put the toy away and we can go right now.”
“Before dinner?” The child’s eyes widened, throwing the army man into the box without a care for the way he slammed off of the wall, all love gone now at the mention of ice-cream. Clicking the lid back into place, you watched them interact in a daze, the joking and chatter becoming background noise.
You’d never given yourself a chance to think before, too scared to get your heart broken and to lose them both, but a small flame of hope in the back of your heart had been steadily growing bigger and brighter, and it was starting to become hard to ignore.
Only when a small hand slipped into yours did you snap out of it, Nyx swinging happily with one hand in yours and the other in his father’s, telling him all about the school work he’d done as Rhysand grabbed for his briefcase and coat. Once he’d acquired them, you were on the move, trailing through the building in much the same way, swinging Nyx between your bodies and letting him bounce excitedly at the prospect of frozen sugar before a healthy meal.
As you wandered through the lobby, you took stock of yourselves, noting just how much the three of you really did resemble a family. The receptionist would be right to assume, simply from what it looked like. And, even if the teacher did know you hadn't been, from the number of mornings you’d dropped Nyx at school or picked him up at the end of the day, it could easily be misread as merely a development in a complicated relationship.
Perhaps, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, and Rhys was right.
The butterflies in your stomach died down to a heavy weight. One of both relief, and disappointment you refused to acknowledge, the hot flush of anxiety cooling into a steady calm, and you were finally able to take a deep breath once again as you reached the car.
“We just need to grab his bag and forms from my car, and-”
“You’re not coming for ice-cream?” Rhys’ head snapped up from where he’d been looking down at his son, brows furrowing at you, and Nyx fell silent, turning to stare up with an identical look of confusion.
“You don’t like ice-cream?” He echoed in his father’s tone, the two were far too alike for your good, and Nyx was nothing if not a clone of his father. One silver lining had always been that Nyx seemed to be 99% Rhys, only getting 1% from his mother. It was the smattering of freckles over his nose that only came out in the summer.
“Of course, I like ice-cream.” You tapped at the tip of Nyx’s nose and he beamed.
“So, you’re gonna’ come with us, then?” Your gaze moved from him, to Rhys, whose brows only furrowed further.
“What’re you lookin’ at me for? You know you’ve always got a place with us. Frankly, if you decided to move in tomorrow, I wouldn't bat an eye.”
Your eyes rolled, and when you were looking back at him, he was grinning. “What about my car?”
“I’ll drive you back here to get it.”
“What about work?” You motioned to the building behind you, and he opened his car door, motioning for Nyx to hop up into the back.
“I own the company, I can take off an afternoon to be with the people I care about.”
“What about-” He leaned in close enough that your noses almost brushed, a smirk forming on his lips at the hitch in your breath, cutting off your words.
“Shut up, get in the car, and let me take my family for ice-cream.”
You couldn’t breathe, never mind form a response, that word ricocheting through the inside of your skull like a bullet. Nudging you to the side, Rhys opened the passenger door, motioning you too, until you were sinking into the spacious car and letting him close the door behind you.
By the time he’d strapped in his son and gotten into the car himself, you’d regained your calm and your ability to speak. “You’re bossy.”
“I’m the boss.”
“Not in this car, you’re not.” You muttered under your breath, his chuckle only dulled by the purr of the engine as the SUV roared to life. Setting the car into gear, he cast a cheeky look in your direction.
“Oh, I know. You’ve been calling the shots here since the day I met you, and I’m just fine with that.”
He settled a hand on your knee, innocently enough, after turning on kid’s songs to match your car to keep Nyx happy. He never flinched, never even glanced at his hand on you, like it was the most normal and natural thing in the world. The scariest part, was that it felt exactly that way to you, too.
Nothing about it seemed wrong, or off, and the longer you stared at his hand, the more you wanted to take it. To lace your fingers together, set your hands in your lap after kissing his knuckles. Despite your attempts to push it down, it was seeming more and more like your ignorance of your situationship with Rhysand was making itself known.
It didn’t make sense. You were perfect together, in every other way, so why had he never made a move in this way? The spike of confused pain through your chest stung like a needle through the heart.
The drive to the ice-cream parlour didn’t give you much time to think, everything today was too fast, not enough time to think or clear your head. Before you knew it, you were pulled to a stop, Rhys climbing from the car to release his son who was practically tearing out of his car-seat to get to his favourite dessert store. He could have done with the run, the walk, anything to burn off some of that energy, but Rhys scooped him up into his arms, pressing several kisses to his son’s head, who only moaned and pushed at his father’s head.
He didn’t want kisses, he wanted sprinkles.
Too bad Rhys was beating himself up again about it all. Freeing yourself from the car to alleviate his worries, you squeezed his arm as you stepped out, shooting him a look to tell him that Nyx was more than okay. “One bumped head does not make you the world’s worst dad. Kids have accidents all the time, but look how happy he is right now.”
He didn’t need to look, shuffling his son to his hip and reaching out for your hand instead as he nodded. Lifting it up, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before lacing your fingers together.
There was a bell tinkling over your head as Rhysand guided you into the cold store, looking for all the world, once again, like a real family, and you allowed yourself a few selfish seconds to eat it up. Finally, Nyx gained his freedom, darting over to the large glass display cabinet and plastering himself to the front of it as he took in all the flavours available today.
By the time the two of you had reached the front of the queue, he’d seemingly made up his mind, turning to stare at you both with a look on his face that could only mean trouble.
“You pick what you want, bud?”
Rhys’ cautious tone meant he’d picked it up too, his hand squeezing a little tighter around your own when you chuckled, cutting you a glare as Nyx rolled on the balls of his feet and nodded. “I want the chocolate fudge, two scoops,” He held up two small fingers, for emphasis. “With chocolate sauce and the little fudge-chunk sprinkles.”
The woman behind the counter only laughed, staring down at him adoringly as he placed his hands on his hips, expectantly. Rhys’ eyes widened, his head shaking a little. “How about vanilla, with strawberry sauce, and rainbow sprinkles?”
“Ew, yucky, no.” Nyx’s face crumpled, and Rhysand’s jaw dropped, glancing from his son to you, and back.
“It was your favourite last time.”
“But, this time my favourite is chocolate fudge with chocolate sauce and fudge chunks, Daddy!” Nyx stated it like it was obvious, and you tugged on your connected hands to bring an indignant Rhys’ attention to you.
“Oh, let him have his chocolate-fudge extravaganza, he bumped his head.” Rhys’ only scowled, muttering under his breath about being ‘ganged up on’, before nodding to the woman behind the till but indicating for only one scoop.
“You’re putting him to bed when he gets a sugar rush.” Was all Rhys could snipe back with, a smile forming on your lips against your control once again, letting him lead you over to the display stand as Nyx watched his ice-cream being constructed with rapt attention. Turning from the cabinet to you, he nudged his nose lightly against your temple, a feeling that had blood rushing to your cheeks and your head spinning at the intimacy. “The usual?”
“Yeah.” Your voice broke a little as you spoke the single syllable, and had you been capable of speaking properly at the time, you were sure you’d have been a little more embarrassed about it.
“One raspberry victoria-sponge chunk ice-cream with, two scoops, and one triple-scoop rocky road.” He added to the order, the woman only nodding, piling them up on top of the counter as Nyx tried to reach for his, sparkles in his eyes as he stared at his sickly-sweet monstrosity in awe.
Lifting it down for him, you stuck a wooden spoon into the cardboard cup holding it, a soft ‘thank you’ tumbling from his lips as he accepted it, cradling the pot patiently in his hands like it was a rare treasure. You remembered the same look being on Rhys’ face when he’d first held his son, the same tender and gentle astonishment, the shock in his eyes at something so special. You could only smile.
“Darling,” Rhys tugged on your arm, your head snapping up from Nyx to look at him, only to find both his eyes and the servers on you. You hummed, brows raising, and watching Rhys balancing two ice-cream cones in his hand. “I said, can you get my wallet? It’s in my jacket pocket, your side.”
“Oh! Right, sure.” Twisting to him, he smoothed his thumb over your hand in silent appreciation as you rooted around the inside of his pocket, fingers brushing across worn black leather, and pulling it free.
You were more than familiar with Rhys’ money and his cards, he often handed you a small fold of notes or one of his shiny cards whenever you took Nyx out or needed to buy something, refusing to ever let you pay, but you rarely held the whole wallet.
Flipping it open, your eyes scanned over the folds inside to search for the right card, but your gaze snagged on the fold of an image inside. Pinned lightly behind clear plastic, the image preserved perfectly, was a picture of you and Nyx. You remembered the moment clearly, you’d been out with the whole family, one of the rare moments that Azriel had been home at the same time Mor was back from travels and Cassian had a day off. Amren even freed the day up to sit in the park with you all, celebrating Nyx’s third birthday. Mor had been on her Polaroid camera hype, and you didn’t even know she’d snapped this picture.
Nyx’s hands were on your face, pushing your sunglasses on upside down after he’d finished playing with them. He was stood between your legs, the sundress you’d worn that day still had small stains from the muddy bottoms of his shoes, but the smile on his face that was caught in the picture was worth it. You rubbed a hand over the plastic protecting it, treasuring that day with all of your heart, and uncovering Rhys’ writing at the bottom as you did.
‘My loves’.
“Darling, the purple card. C’mon, the ice-cream is getting warm.” He nudged you again, Nyx staring pleadingly from the ground below as he clutched his treat, still waiting, and you slipped the purple card out with your thumb. Tapping it against the car reader and being sure to add a tip to compensate for your daydreaming, you slid the card back, sliding the wallet back into his pocket as the three of you found a table.
Just because you could no longer see the picture, didn’t mean it, and, more importantly, the caption, wasn’t seared into your mind. My loves. If he truly felt that way, why hadn't Rhysand ever made a move? It didn’t make sense, you’d been here since before Nyx had even been born, almost a decade of best-friendship and flirty comments that never became anything more, while secretly harbouring a picture of you in his wallet and holding your hand, kissing your forehead and smiling in a way that read as far more than just friends.
You’d barely even settled into the booth before Nyx was digging into his ice-cream, and your hand finally being freed and you were given your cone. Twisting it around and towards yourself, your eyes narrowed a little on the chunk missing from the side, somewhere where an obviously large piece of cake had been pulled out, and your glare turned to Rhys.
“You ate some of my ice-cream?”
“We always share, stop acting so surprised about it.” He grinned, taking a large scoop from his own, and you scowled at him.
“I hadn't even tried it yet, and you ate the best piece of cake!” He only smirked.
“Do you want to try my ice-cream?” Nyx offered, and you turned to look at him across the table. His hand was gripping the spoon like he was stirring in a cauldron, the contents inside had been churned up into a gloopy mess, and he held a spoonful of it out to you, chocolate and fudge-covered cheeks stretched in a smile.
“That’s okay, Nyxie, it’s all for you.” You passed your cone back to Rhys after unwrapping the napkin from around it. “Hold this, and don’t eat any more.”
He nodded dutifully, but eyed another piece of cake hidden within the ice-cream nonetheless, as he ate his own. There was a particularly large piece of dark chocolate with a marshmallow on the side of his own that he’d yet to notice, and you stored that away for revenge. Reaching across the table, you wiped at Nyx’s cheeks, unsure why you’d bothered since he was only going to end up in the same state again soon, but you did your best with the sticky mess anyway.
You gave up when he got ice-cream on your hand too, refusing to pause eating even when you tried to clean him up. Leaving the scrunched-up napkin on the table, his father only chuckled in your ear and handed you your cone back. Turning to him, you held out your other hand. Wiggling your fingers, his face pinched for a second, before he sighed, giving in. He pulled that same face every time, despite being right that you always shared, a victorious smile on your face.
You made a point of turning the cone, flashing the delicious chunk of chocolate and marshmallow to him, watching his jaw drop to stop you, but not fast enough. Clamping your mouth down around it, you pulled the chunk free, chocolate melting across your tongue as you let out a moan of appreciation.
His eyes flared, leaning in and snatching his cone back, but leaving his face close enough to your own that when you licked over your lips, you almost licked him too. “You’re so cruel to me.”
“Payback is a… well, you know the saying.” You smirked, ensuring not to swear in front of the child across the table from you both, and he only growled a little. His eyes flickered over your face, every spot his gaze touched made your skin burst out with heat, lingering for a moment on your mouth. He smirked, raising a hand, and brushing his thumb along the edge of your mouth as he pulled back a fraction.
“You missed a spot.” He breathed, thumb slipping to settle on your chin instead, and his eyes found yours once again. The air between you both crackled like it never had before, electricity sparking between you both again, but so much more intense. “I, uhm, I’ve been meaning to talk to you lately...”
“Yeah? Well, we never see each other, I can see how it’d be hard to find the time.” You teased, his softly sighed laugh brushing over your face as his gaze held yours. Smoothing his thumb along your jaw until he was cupping your face, it was only when a drop of ice-cream dripped from your cone and onto your finger, the cold sending a jolt through you that made you gasp and snap back.
Glancing down at it, you winced, licking away any more drops that looked like they may fall, and using Nyx’s napkin to wipe your fingers. When you turned back to Rhys he was facing the table again, eating his ice-cream and acting as though nothing had happened. The bubble was broken, whatever he was going to say he clearly wasn’t planning on anymore, and so you let it pass.
You ate your ice-creams together, conversation steadily flowing onto other topics, far safer ones, no doubt, and you did your best to clean up Nyx’s face once again. Smears of chocolate covered his cheeks, and you knew Rhys would have to scrub it off later before bed.
The ride back to the office was where you grew to regret convincing Rhysand to allow Nyx’s choice, his sugar rush beginning to kick in at full force. He screamed his songs at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make you both wince as you drove, bouncing chaotically in his seat and threatening to break right out like a miniature beast.
The hand, now sitting on your lower thigh rather than your knee, squeezed at a particularly loud shriek as he played with the window settings, up and down, up and down. “This is your fault.”
“I know!” You wailed, glancing back at Nyx, who was all but vibrating as he rocked side to side, giggling hysterically to himself. “I figured the sauce would be sugar-free, and fudge isn’t that much sugar, it’s like-”
“It’s half sugar!”
“What?” Your eyes widened a little, turning to look at Rhys with wide eyes, and he contained his laughter as he watched the road, trying to tune out the din from the backseat. “Regardless, I apologise for this.” There would be no calming him now.
Rhys rubbed his hand up and down your thigh softly. “I already told you, that's your problem. You think I’m going to let you go home and leave me with this?”
“I have some very important work to do-”
“Liar.” He called your bluff, and you scowled, turning your glare on his hand as it set warmth firing along all of your nerves.
When he finally pulled back into the parking lot, it was considerably emptier than it had been when you’d left, and he spun to park across two full spaces into place beside your car. He left the car with a happy sigh, closing the noise that his son was making inside the vehicle, and rolling his neck from side to side. Finally, he opened his son’s side, lifting the boy from his chair and setting him on the concrete, where he immediately began to jump up and down, holding onto his dad’s hand.
The pair accompanied you to your car, retrieving the school bags and taking them back to their own while you gathered the correct forms from the glovebox, meeting him by the back of the SUV that made your car look tiny in comparison. You pressed them into his hands, and he tucked them into the front pocket of Nyx’s bag, setting his son off to put the bags away, who remarkably, did as told.
“I know you said no thanks, but, thank you for today. I mean it, you were so wonderful. You’re always so wonderful, I couldn't do any of this without you.”
“Any time, Rhys. You know that.” He shrugged, hands tucking into the pockets of his smart pants, leaning against the side of the car only a foot away from you.
“I know, but that doesn’t make me any less lucky to have found you, and to get to keep you in my life.”
Small padding of feet came rushing back, bags no longer in sight but a picture clutched in his hands to be held up in the air as he came to a stop. It was decorated with pieces of glued-on dried pasta, glitter and sequins, and some splatters of paint. The most important part, though, was the drawing at the bottom.
You’d grown used to his style of drawing now, easily able to pick out what each scribble was supposed to be, or rather, who each scribble was supposed to be, and the attempt at writing underneath. It didn’t matter, though, because he was quick to enthusiastically point it all out.
“Look, look! It’s us! This is daddy, in purple. And this is you in blue, because it’s your favourite colour. And this is me! I’m wearing a crown.” His chest puffed up proudly, the broken piece of pasta on his head acting like a crown, and you traced the words written in matching colours under each figure.
Daddy. Nyx. Mommy.
Casting a look up, Rhys was staring at the paper, a horribly crushing mix of longing and pain in his eyes as he stared at it, throat bobbing in a swallow, before he was blinking it away. He’d always been good at playing another role, hiding his feelings when he needed to, but you’d caught him too many times.
All the pining and want, you’d always assumed it had been for Feyre, for the missing woman who had birthed his son, but when his eyes met yours, the façade cracking just a touch, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe it was for you. Whatever it was today, this last few months, it was something new. It was like those walls you’d built up were finally crumbling, he was fighting through his own, and he let out a shaky sigh.
He let Nyx lower the photo, occupied with admiring his artwork. He leaned down, lips finding your cheek and lingering there in a soft kiss. You hooked a finger under his chin, twisting his head up until your noses were brushing, his eyes snapping open wide before you, as your lips brushed lightly. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I was thinking about kissing you.” You whispered, your voice shaking as you second-guessed yourself, second-guessed it all. His hand found your hip, smoothing around to sit on your lower back and tugging you close enough that your chests pressed together, his forehead resting on yours.
He didn’t pull away, he didn’t stop you, he just gave you your chance to decide.
So, you did.
You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a delicate kiss that set your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and drew a soft noise from Rhys as he tightened his hold on you. After only a second of hesitation, he kissed you back, a push and pull with his lips that was as intoxicating as it was grounding. You felt like you were floating, tethered only to him as you gave into a desire you never thought you could have, his lips melding to yours in slow drags.
It felt like it went on forever, and you were certain that you could easily have stayed there, just like that, for the rest of your life.
When he let you breathe, when your mouths fell only an inch apart, you wanted to nudge closer to him once again, to seal yourself back to him, to sink into him wholly and entirely and never come apart again. If the tight grip he had on your hip was any indication, Rhysand felt the same way.
The fog cleared after a few moments, and he shifted back some more, eyes fluttering open once again, and this time, they were filled with questions. Swirling in the violet like a storm brewing at dusk, and you lifted a hand, running a finger over his cheek lightly, and smiling when his head tipped into your touch.
“I’m so telling Uncle Azzy that you kissed Daddy.”
You practically jumped out of your skin, having forgotten about the babbling little boy at your feet, who was now staring up at you both in nothing but shock and smugness, one hand planted on his hip as the picture that had sealed the deal hung limply from the other.
“Daddy and-” You scooped him up before he could even get started into that little riddle, the taunting making your cheeks warm, even if he was only four, and making your way back toward the car. Rhys shuffled along behind you in a silent daze, holding the door open for you and standing by as you tucked Nyx back into his car seat. He never gave up on his childlike-smirk.
“How about some dinner, huh? A little someone can have his favourite mac n’ cheese.”
“It's me! It’s me!” He cheered happily, and you took the opportunity while his arms were raised to strap the belt around his waist, sealing him back into the chair as his arms strapped through the other two. “I’m calling Uncle Azzy tonight. And Uncle Cassie.”
“You do that, Nyxie.” You bopped the end of his nose, switching on the small TV set that was attached to the headrest to face his way, and watching it load up. You could feel Rhys’ stare burning into you, like a fire crawling along your skin, impatient and needy and desperate for answers, making you grateful for this small distraction as you scrolled the shows on the tablet.
Like a warning, a warning not to make him wait much longer, Rhys settled one large hand over your hip, squeezing tightly and tugging you a fraction out of the car towards him, a shiver travelling down your spine. You hit play on the first show up.
Backing out of the car to close the door, you didn’t get far, Rhys didn’t move, only pulling your body back into his with the grip on your waist, slamming the door shut for you and leaving you pressed to him. In a quick spin, he had your back pressed to the cold metal of the car, out of sight of his son and closed in by your own, the cold metal making for a relieving contrast to the heat.
“Do it again.” There was a pleading note to his voice, his sights fixed entirely on your mouth now as he bit down on his lower lip, his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Kiss me again.”
You took your time, teasing him just a little, by running your hands up his arms, over his shoulders as he tensed, until you were holding his face. He sagged closer to you, like he couldn't even hold himself up anymore, pinning you between his body and the car. With a sweep of your thumbs over his cheeks, his eyes closed, noses brushing in sweet motions until he gave an aggravated breath at the waiting.
At long last, you gave in, closing the gap between you both once again. This time, he let out a soft moan when your mouths connected. He kissed like a man starved, like a man who had waited every moment of his life for this. It was like your first taste of air after being underwater, his mouth insistent and unrelenting, like he was memorising the way it felt to kiss you.
You gave him all you had, committing every part of him to memory too. Every sound he made, the way he panted against your lips before diving back in, teeth scraping your lower lip and sucking softly, before following it with a sharp nip. He ruined everyone else, no kiss you’d ever had compared to this and nothing else ever would.
When his tongue smoothed over your lower lip, you were forced to pull back, to try and think somewhat clearly, one of you had to, because if you let this go on anymore, you weren’t sure you could stop. His hand was already shifting, exploring, dragging his fingertips up your spine to tangle in your hair, and you lowered yours to his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to take a breath that didn’t taste like him.
He groaned, licking over his swollen lips to take away the taste of you, his eyes darker than before when they found you again, and you pressed your lips together to fight temptation. “You should… you should get our boy home.”
At that, he blinked, his gaze softening endlessly at the endearing claim, and his hand let your hair go to slip back to your back. Pulling you closer, he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, nodding against your temple as he left a kiss there too. When he pulled back, it was to simply stare. There was nothing hidden now, the kind of dumb-in-love look shining in his eyes that you couldn't miss. Had it always been there, and you’d just never seen it before, or had he just stopped hiding it?
“You okay, Rhysie?”
He melted into you at the nickname you rarely brought out, eyes shining as he continued to stare. “So, so very okay, darling.”
Silence lingered between you both, the same comfortable quiet it had been since day one. No matter what, no matter how anxious or nervous or rattling, Rhys always had a way of making you feel at ease. You felt so vulnerable, and yet so safe with him, voice coming out in a whisper to speak into the gap between you both, “Can I ask you a question, Rhys?”
“Are you going to ask me if we can have carbonara with chicken for dinner again?” He teased, putting your nerves even more at ease, or maybe it was for his own, by making a joke.
You indulged him, “It’s a classic for a reason, because it’s so good. Besides, who said I’m coming for dinner, anyway?”
“You think there’s any way I’m going to be able to let go of you now?” He mumbled, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder instead, and you chuckled, feeling his lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder through your jumper. “What did you really want to ask?”
That brought the nerves back in full force. “Why did nothing ever, y’know, happen between us?”
His head snapped up, eyes widening to look at you, but no words came from his parted lips.
“Don’t you ever think about it, Rhys? I mean, look at us. There’s so much that would work, and I guess-”
“Of course I think about it.” He breathed the words in a rush, and your jaw snapped shut as words finally began to pour out of him, unrestrained and uncontrolled. “I think about it all the time. Every minute of every day you’re on my mind.”
“Rhys…” He let out a slow breath, but there was no stopping him now. You’d uncorked the bottle, the contents unable to be stopped from spilling.
“Since the day I met you all those years ago, I knew that I would hold onto you for the rest of my life. I couldn't let you go. But, I was a stupid kid who just inherited a company, and I was terrified of that. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. You just dropped into my life and filled holes and cracks I didn’t know I had, you made me feel complete. I fell for you, so hard and so fast, and I was so godsdamned scared of that.” He looked away, unable to look at you any longer, and swallowing thickly.
“So, we became friends…”
“So, we became friends.” He repeated, sighing like he couldn't hold the weight of the world anymore. “I thought, selfishly, that I could hold onto you as my best friend, until I was ready for more. That it would be fine. I was too slow, though, and you started dating Lucien.”
Your mind flickered back, hardly remembering the man you’d been with for only a couple of months almost six years ago, flashes of red hair and tanned skin in your mind recalling it.
“He was good to you, and I hated that. I hated him, but I wanted you to be happy. But, I was so miserable. I was so sickeningly, maddeningly, obviously in love with you, and I had to do something before you noticed. So, I dated Feyre. It wasn’t… we moved too quickly, too fast. I threw myself into it and then she got pregnant. Nyx came along, and she abandoned him. I thought I’d lose you too. I was scared again, but you stayed. You helped with everything, you made it better.”
His voice started to crack, and so your arms raised, looping around his neck, pulling him in until his forehead was pressed to your own.
“I wasn’t scared when you were there. You taught me everything, you stayed for every step. I knew within days that you should have been Nyx’s mother, that being with you like this was all I’d ever want, I started to want everything cliché, a white picket fence and a little house of our own and a street where Nyx could learn to ride a bike with us. I mean, I picked out the house you liked best from the viewings even though it was gonna cost so fuckin’ much to renovate and repair and clean, but it was so worth it.” He laughed emptily, and you sniffed back tears.
“I had no idea.”
“I know, I never told you. I wanted you to see your dream house without the guilt.” He rubbed at his nose, and you kissed his cheeks, feeling him smile under your lips as you did, stopping the tears clinging to his lashes from falling. “But, you were still with Lucien, so I settled to take what I could get. If having you as my friend, helping me raise him like this, was all I could ever have, I’d take it. Then, you weren’t, and I thought maybe you’d be heartbroken about your break-up, or sad, and I wanted to give you time. I gave you too much time, I was a coward, I was nothing but a lonely man who already had a son. I couldn't offer you all the things you wanted anymore. I couldn't travel or go out and party or do anything. I’m always working or with my boy, and I didn’t want you to be forced to take that on.”
You were shocked, his candour had left you breathless, and he sniffled lightly, blinking away the tears he was unwilling to let drop. “We broke up because of you.”
“What?” He let himself look up, to you, of all the expectations he’d seemingly braced himself for, this obviously wasn’t it.
“Lucien and I. He- he said, understandably, that it felt strange to have a relationship with a woman who was practically a part of another family. It made him feel like some sort of home-wrecker. He didn’t say it, and he never would’ve, he was a good man, but it was a choice. You and Nyx, or him.” Giving the best smile you could despite the emotions overwhelming you, he matched it with a watery laugh. “I didn’t even have to think about it. That’s why I was never sad.”
“You chose us.”
“I’ll always choose you.” Your smiles were real this time, shared and intimate and frighteningly tender. “So, the real question, is whether you’re still sickeningly, maddeningly in love with me?”
“You forgot ‘obviously’. I can’t believe you don’t know it, I haven’t been subtle. I tell everyone you’re my wife, and let them believe you’re Nyx’s mom.” Your scoff only made him smirk, smacking at his shoulder lightly, pushing him away only to have him grip you tighter, tugging you closer to him.
“I knew those weren’t ‘little mistakes’, or miscommunications!” He only shrugged, dipping back in, every intention clear as he moved slowly.
“I intended to tell you today, and so many other times, but I was always so scared of losing you.” The confession hung between you both, the unspoken promises and words as he tried to give you a chance to leave, to back away, to call it too much, but you didn’t.
You let him kiss you, let him kiss you until your lungs burned for oxygen and your head was spinning, and it felt like hours had passed by as you learned one another’s mouths. You let him kiss you until you were sure he understood that you felt the same, that you always had.
“I still love you. I will always love you. You don’t just get over this kind of love.”
You could only grin at him, cheeks aching but you didn’t care, because you couldn't have contained your happiness even if you’d wanted to. “Good, because it would have been horrible if my feelings were unrequited.”
“Never.” A few more stolen kisses, mumbled promises between them. “So, you’ll follow us home for dinner?”
The leap in your chest at the word home was enough to make you breathless, the knowledge you now had that he’d chosen it just for you, in hopes you’d one day live with them. It was almost too much to bear. “Only if you’re making carbonara. And garlic bread.”
“I’ll make you anything you want if it means you’ll keep kissing me.” You hummed, pressing another peck to his lips before managing to disentangle yourself, despite his complaints and tight hold.
“I’ll see you soon, where we can continue this.”
“Don’t take too long, I’ll miss you too much.” He winked, looking messy and kiss-ruined as you stepped back to fully take him in. His shirt was rumpled, his blazer was a little askew, and his cheeks were flushed red, swollen lips to match.
Hiiii! @greeneyedivy and I collaborated and wrote this piece for @azsazz's and @writingsbychlo's Starfall Week! This was SO much fun to write and we really hope you enjoy it!
The prompt we used was "Character A and Character B meet at Starfall"
Summary: Nesta doesn't care for Starfall and just wants to get away from the Inner Circle...which subsequently leads to an encounter that changes her life.
Word count: 5006
Warnings: SMUT! 🌶️
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *
Starfall.
It was all anyone had been talking about for weeks, and Nesta was sick of it.
There was no escaping it. If she wasn’t being subjected to the Inner Circle’s excited preparations, then walking the streets of Velaris was a sure way of reminding her of the occasion. She couldn’t turn a corner without seeing posters of businesses offering promotional offers, or catching a glimpse of the storefront decorations that had been hung. The entire thing was giving her a headache.
No, she didn’t care to watch the stars crash into each other, and no, she didn’t care what everyone would be wearing while they did. Even Elain had been sucked into the allure of the whole thing, but Nesta — Nesta saw it for what it was.
Unnatural. Just as unnatural as going from human to fae. She felt such a visceral hatred for the entire situation that it ached her bones.
She may have had no choice but to live on the other side of the Wall, now, but that didn’t mean she had to partake in the foolish traditions that existed there.
You’re still welcome to join us, Feyre had said, dressed up to the nines alongside the others. They were all heading to the House of Wind — the best place, apparently, to witness what was about to happen.
No, was all Nesta had responded, and they didn’t push any further, even as her sisters left with disappointment on their faces.
Nesta would create her own plans, she’d decided. And that was how she’d ended up in quite possibly the seediest tavern she’d ever seen, far across the other side of Velaris.
Her shoes had stuck to the floor as she’d traipsed in, and the groups of punters dotted about the place all looked up, drinking in her appearance, the chatter lowering a little. She lifted her chin, ignoring them as she took a seat at the bar, aware of hungry gazes that studied the outline of her figure in her dress. She could just as easily leave and find somewhere more upbeat and alive, but this…this was what she wanted. A place that could be any dingy, old tavern in the human lands, if she ignored the fae features around her. A place where she could pretend, at least for one night, that her new life was just one big nightmare.
So she ordered herself a drink and focused on the sensuous strum of a lute across the room.
The notes were charming and beautiful, soon transporting her to another life, another world, entirely. Nesta loved music — it was one of the very few things she still could love, and the setting didn’t matter as the tune climbed and fell, one song trailing off into the next. Her plans to down drink after drink seemed to fall to the wayside as she instead became distracted by the music.
Time ran away with her like that. She found herself able to push her thoughts away for the first time in a long while, and she nursed her drink and focused on anything but reality, and the dull sounds of soaring stars outside. Perhaps that was why she didn’t catch the sound of approaching footsteps, nor the fact that the music had come to a stop. The male voice that spoke to her was an unwanted obtrusion.
“Can I buy you another drink?”
She glanced up, finding a mildly handsome face smiling at her. The mess of blonde hair on his head and the piercing blue eyes did nothing for her. She stared back at him blankly, forcing herself to be polite.
“No,” she responded. “Thank you.”
“Come on.” The male persisted, sidling up to her. “There’s no sense in sitting there with an empty glass. Same again?”
“She said no, Mallas. Piss off.”
Both Nesta and Mallas looked up upon the third voice that was injected into the conversation. A female voice, slightly smoky and raspy. The sound seemed to skitter over Nesta’s skin like chills.
Her eyes took in the female that stood there, holding a lute as she stared down the male. In the dim faelights that lit the tavern, she looked…ethereal. Like the music she’d been playing moments before. Nesta couldn’t help staring.
“I was only offering.” Mallas mumbled, pushing past her. “Bitch.”
“Kiss my ass.” Her eyes watched him closely, tracking him as he returned to the group of deadbeats he mingled with. Only once he was sat back down did she turn back to Nesta. “You shouldn’t be here, Nesta Archeron.”
Nesta blinked, caught off guard for once. And then frowned at her. “Do I know you?”
“No.” She leaned against the bar. “But everyone here knows you. The sister of our High Lady should not be keeping company such as the dregs of society that loiter in this dive. And I would know — my uncle owns the place.”
Nesta lifted her chin. “I’m not some silly little girl. I can choose, for myself, whose company I keep, thank you very much.”
The female’s lips twitched into what appeared to be amusement. “Well, then.” She said. “Have a good night. And happy Starfall to you.”
With that, she turned, sidling around the bar. Nesta couldn’t help watching every tiny movement as the female hung her lute over her shoulder, whistling a merry little tune as she headed towards the door at the back.
“Wait.” She found herself blurting, and the female turned curiously. “I—you play the lute.”
The musician stared back at her, that same look of teetering amusement seeming to pass across her face. Nesta thought she might die from humiliation — beg the ground to swallow her up, or something. You play the lute. As if that wasn’t already obvious.
She just…she felt intrigued. Maybe even a little awed. Her body and mind felt more alert than it had in months — and that was just from a few seconds of conversation. She…she wanted more of it.
“I do.” The female answered. She angled herself back around, studying the oldest Archeron. “…you like music?”
“I love it.”
Chewing her lip, the female seemed to consider that for a moment. What, exactly, she was thinking, Nesta wasn’t sure. But she liked the way she looked at her…assessing and curious. Not the contempt she’d become used to. It made her body feel hot and cold.
“…Okay.” The female eventually said. “Then I have something you might like — if you care to see it.”
Nesta didn’t even hesitate. She shrugged, forcing nonchalance that she didn’t feel. “Why not?”
“Indeed.” The female’s hand shot out in offering. “My name is Y/N.”
Nesta shook that hand, entirely aware of the lightning strike that, in that moment, seemed to bring her back to life.
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“This is my home.” Y/N held a chipped, dented door open, stepping aside.
Nesta tried to school her expression as she wandered in. Not that she wasn’t used to small, modest houses, of course, but after months in Rhysand’s luxury, this place was…definitely not that.
A soft snort came from behind her, and Nesta glanced over her shoulder, kicking her shoes off. “What?”
“It’s no High Lord’s house, I grant you.” Y/N said, throwing her keys into a bowl beside the door. “But it’s home — my space.”
“I like it.” Nesta said, and she realised she was telling the truth.
With a smile, Y/N led her through to a small sitting room. The place was…colourful. Vibrant wall hangings and beaded curtains in doorways that led off to other places. Patchwork throws were draped over the sofas, and there were piles of books — titles that Nesta recognised, some she didn’t — and plants hanging from the ceiling and perched on shelves and standing in pots on the floor.
“You live here alone?” Nesta found herself asking, drinking in every detail.
“I do. My family is…complicated. I’d genuinely go insane if I didn’t have my own space.” Y/N hung her jacket up, and Nesta glimpsed the pretty, dark peplum blouse and tight breeches she wore. “Drink?”
She tore her gaze away. “Yes. Thank you.”
Y/N pushed through one of those beaded curtains, drifting into what Nesta assumed was a small kitchen. The sounds of cupboards opening and glasses clinking travelled through as Nesta slowly approached one of the sofas and perched down. She studied the coffee table before her — covered in pages and pages of parchment. And on them, she realised, music. Compositions.
The beads rustled again, and Y/N sat next to her, handing her a small glass of amber liquid. “I write it all myself — the music.”
“That’s incredible.” Nesta reached out, her fingers brushing over the indentations of ink on the pages. She couldn’t read any of it for the life of her, but…there was something beautiful about just studying the notes. Words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. “Music is…an escape for me.”
“I get that.”
The two females had known each other barely an hour, and yet Nesta just knew — knew that Y/N did get it. That there was some sadness in the confession that she could relate to.
“Do you write just for yourself?” She asked, sipping her drink.
“For now.” Y/N nodded. “But I’d like to perform in the Rainbow one day — or at least hear my compositions being performed there. That’s my goal. To…to be different to what my family are. To break from that mould.”
“And what are they? Your family?”
With a soft laugh, Y/N placed her drink down and rose once more. “Well…that actually brings me to what I was going to show you.”
Nesta waited patiently, watching as the female strode over to a cabinet and rifled through. She was…beautiful, her hair flowing down her back, the cut of her figure through her clothes. For a moment, Nesta found her thoughts emptying, her mouth drying. She quickly looked away.
“This,” Y/N said, slumping back down with a small box in her palm, “is a Symphonia. Go ahead — take a look.”
Nesta stared at her for a moment, their gazes meeting. She cautiously outreached a hand, opening the box and peering inside. Her brow furrowed at the small, silver ball that sat within.
“You can take it out. I promise you’ll like it.”
Nesta’s long, slender fingers dipped into the box, carefully pulling the ball out. She set it down in her palm, realising that while the top was curved, the bottom had a smoother surface — to be set down without rolling, she supposed.
“What does it do?” She asked.
Y/N reached out, and Nesta jolted as she gently took her free hand. The two females stared at each other again, gazes not once faltering as Y/N guided her fingers to the top of the Symphonia.
“Just tap it.” She murmured, giving a light press. “Like this.”
Nesta jumped, her lips parting in pure astonishment as music suddenly filled the room, the small object breathing notes and symphonies into the air. She knew there was a whole wealth of magic that she was yet to encounter in Prythian — and had been hesitant to ever do so. But this…she never would have considered anything like this.
“How does it do that?” She breathed.
Y/N smiled. “It uses magic to trap the music inside so that it can be played back to you. Everything you hear is being played by me. I use it for music composition. It’s…a very rare object.
“Where did you get it?”
“…that’s where my family comes into it.” Y/N shifted a little uncomfortably, pulling her hand away. “I come from a family full to the brim with criminals. One of the things they deal in is rare magical objects. Usually, I try to distance myself from them and have nothing to do with them. I’d like to get away from them completely. But this…the Symphonia…it was the last thing my father gave me before he was killed.”
It was an effort for Nesta not to flinch, not to return to those harrowing thoughts of her own father. She swallowed, forcing herself to focus on the music.
“Stolen or not, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.” Y/N said. “Even if that makes me a terrible person.”
Nesta glanced up through her lashes, meeting her gaze. “It doesn’t.”
Again, the two females found themselves locked in their staring, the music floating around them. Unsaid words seemed to intertwine with it. Words that Nesta thought she might never have the courage to speak, but that made her skin tingle.
Eventually, Y/N smiled, prising the Symphonia from Nesta’s palm and placing it onto the coffee table. She held out a hand once more.
“Would you like to dance, Nesta Archeron?”
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They did dance. And danced and danced and danced until their feet hurt. Until Nesta felt like a different person. And even as the stars completed their journeys across the skies, the two females showed no signs of tiring.
Nesta was drunk – not really on alcohol, no, even with the glasses they’d knocked back. She was drunk on elation. On…happiness. She’d never felt so on top of the world.
The Symphonia had given them three run-throughs of every piece of music before they were slumping back onto the sofa side-by-side, their heads swimming and eyes smiling, lips laughing. Their arms brushed, that zipping energy that had been sparking between them all evening still very much present.
It was enough to slow the pace down, to ground Nesta.
Her head still tilted back against the sofa, she angled it to find Y/N already gazing at her. Studying her. There had been a lot of glances like that as the night had wore on, only seeming to grow more heated and honeyed with every passing touch and word.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Nesta asked, not minding at all.
Y/N’s eyes traced the sharp, flawless lines of her face. A face that so many would deem cold and unfeeling, albeit beautiful. But there was more behind that facade…layers that Y/N wanted to peel back.
“I’m seeing you.” She replied.
The response wasn’t exactly what Nesta had been expecting; an odd, puzzling answer. She stared back at her, feeling strangely naked as she asked, “what are you seeing?”
“I’m seeing,” the female shifted, somehow inching closer. Their faces were mere centimetres apart, breaths mingling, “someone who is scared.”
Nesta didn’t react. Right – she was so damn right, it was painful. Nesta hated it, how vulnerable it made her. Still, Y/N went on.
“I’m seeing,” she continued, “someone who feels a huge volume of things, all at once. Someone who doesn’t know what the fuck to do with those feelings, but is expected to have it all figured out. Someone who desperately wants to let go and lose control, but is equally scared of doing so.”
The words were so accurate, hitting so close to home, that they robbed Nesta of breath. She’d spent months feeling isolated and alone and misunderstood, angry and hurt and like nobody fucking saw her.
And yet, she’d met a complete stranger who had managed to sum her up perfectly within hours of their first words.
It made her…made her want to keep feeling. No matter how terrifying that was.
She didn’t know what to say, how to respond. It seemed a bit strange to thank someone for accurately reading her, seeing her. There weren’t really any words–
So she gave in to the urge that had been building in her all night, as their bodies had danced closer and closer until they were moving in one, fluid unit. As their scents had mingled, and Nesta had got drunk on it.
She leaned forward, cupping Y/N’s cheek, and slanted her lips over hers.
It was like two puzzle pieces locking into place. Y/N didn’t hesitate to lean in to the kiss, reciprocating with as much enthusiasm. Her own hand moved up, tangling in Nesta’s hair.
They both tasted like the honey wine they’d been drinking, their tongues sweet as they began to explore each other. It was the first time Nesta had ever kissed another female, and it was different. Exciting. Right.
Their lips didn’t separate, even as their bodies began to move. Y/N was inching closer, angling herself over Nesta, and Nesta tentatively placed her hands on her waist, hoping it was the right thing to do, wondering if she was allowed to explore further.
Realising she wanted to.
Y/N nipped her lip gently, and then pulled back just slightly to study her face, their breaths hot and fast.
“I think that you’re probably used to being dominant, Nesta Archeron.” Her smoky voice caressed Nesta’s ears, her skin. “And I think you want to give up that control for once. That you’d like to know what it feels like to submit.”
A quick, short breath escaped Nesta’s lips. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm.” Lips coasted over her lips, her jaw, down to her neck. “Do you want to let go, Nesta?”
“Yes. Yes.”
Y/N smiled against her skin, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Very well.”
Nesta didn’t know what to expect, but she knew her skin was deliciously on fire. Wetness was already pooling between her thighs, and the sure musk of arousal began to mingle with the sweeter scents in the air. Not just Nesta’s arousal, but Y/N’s too – and it only made Nesta wetter to know she was the cause.
“Relax.” Y/N whispered against the shell of her ear. “I’ll take care of you.”
It was only then that Nesta realised how rigid her body was – how she naturally tensed and threw her guard up to ward people off. But she didn’t want to do that. She wanted…wanted to let go, and experience everything that accompanied that bravery. To feel.
She forced her limbs to loosen into the sofa, the feeling in itself strangely pleasurable. Was this what it was like to experience pleasure for pleasure’s sake? Y/N was right – Nesta was used to being dominant. Every sexual encounter she’d engaged in had been about exacting control, feeling powerful. Having the command of things, as she did so rarely these days, in this new life.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to let go. And letting go was…euphoric.
“That’s it,” Y/N encouraged, as Nesta’s limbs loosened more. Her fingers began to skim over the buttons at the bodice of her dress. “Can I undo these?”
Nesta nodded once, quick. “Yes – please.”
If Nesta’s skin was fire, Y/N’s fingers were contrasting, delicious ice, as though one offset the other. Y/N didn’t fumble with the buttons like males always did. She undid them one by one, torturously slow, until the two halves of the dress were parting and exposing Nesta’s full, generous breasts to the cool air, her nipples immediately hardening.
And then Y/N was rocking back on her legs, hungrily drinking in the sight. She swallowed, glancing up to meet Nesta’s eyes. “You’re fucking exquisite.”
Nesta found herself blushing. But there was no time to feel coy as Y/N leaned in, capturing her lips once more.
The kiss was hungry, fierce, and even as Nesta’s body tried to take control, she gave over to the need to stop and feel. She cupped Y/N’s face in her hands, her thumbs stroking her cheeks as they kissed and kissed and kissed until they were both breathless. An ache was already building between her legs, and she pressed them together, moaning softly.
Y/N smiled, lips pulling away from hers to trail down and down, just as they had before. But they continued on further, brushing over the swells of Nesta’s breasts. One of her hands came up to knead one breast while her lips fastened on the nipple of the other.
The sensation was…unreal. Nothing like anything Nesta had felt before. Males had paid plenty of attention to her breasts, kissing and sucking and touching, but none of that came close to the feeling of Y/N’s tongue flicking over her nipple, her teeth grazing just slightly. Another, louder moan fell from Nesta’s lips, and her head fell back, her eyes screwing shut.
“Look at me.” Y/N hummed, moving to pay the same attention to the other breast. “I want to know that you’re enjoying this.”
Nesta’s chest heaved as her breath hitched. “I am. Gods, I am.”
Y/N smiled, and Nesta began to wonder if it was possible to come from the treatment her breasts were receiving alone. The sensations…every lick and suck, the bites and the subsequent kisses to the hurts they left behind…it was possible she might combust.
But then Y/N lips coasted further down, still. As far as they could go with Nesta’s gown still on. She pressed quick, gentle kisses to Nesta’s stomach, glancing up at her. “Can I take your dress off?”
“I think I may rip it off myself if you don’t.”
Y/N’s breathy laugh was music to her ears. A strange thought popped into her head that she’d happily trap the sound of that laugh within the Symphonia and listen to it over and over again. But all thoughts emptied from her mind as she lifted her body from the sofa, and deft hands and fingers were pulling the fabric away from her body, leaving her utterly exposed.
Nesta was a confident woman, well aware that she was beautiful, that her body was the envy of many. But as she slumped back down, her underwear the only thing left covering her, she found herself…worried. Worried that she wouldn’t be to Y/N’s liking.
She’d never once cared nor considered that with anyone before.
But the way Y/N stared at her put all those worries promptly to bed. That was fierce hunger in her eyes, her tongue swiping at her lip as her gaze trailed down and down, over Nesta’s breasts, her toned stomach, her sensuous hips and slender legs. And between those legs, the pulsing wet heat beneath her underwear. Her arousal drifted up to smother Y/N in its essence, and her eyes almost rolled back into her head.
“I repeat,” she said tightly, as though she was trying to hold herself back from devouring Nesta whole, “You’re fucking exquisite.”
Nesta swallowed, studying her just as fiercely. “Why don’t you show me what you look like under those clothes?”
“There’s plenty of time for that. But this is about you. All you.”
And Nesta couldn’t deny that she loved the sound of that. Even though she found herself strangely nervous, her body trembling slightly, her arousal only built and built as Y/N stepped closer again.
And dropped to her knees before her.
“Anything you don’t like,” Y/N said, her hands gently trailing up Nesta’s legs, “you tell me, okay?”
Nesta nodded. Swallowed. “Yes.”
“Good.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to one of those long, luscious legs. Her lips coasted over the skin, smiling as Nesta seemed to gasp at the sensation. “Pretty as this underwear is, I’d much prefer it off.”
Nesta would much prefer it thrown out of the window, far out of sight. It was nothing but torturous friction rubbing against her. She gladly lifted her hips as Y/N’s hands climbed up, gripping the fabric with nothing but gentleness.
And then she was tugging them down, down until they were gone, discarded somewhere behind her.
The heady scent of Nesta’s arousal hit her like a wave; a wave she’d happily drown in. The scent was mouthwatering, and she had to steel herself, gather her thoughts before she unleashed herself on her entirely and drank in that wetness she so badly wanted a taste of.
“You smell incredible.” Y/N breathed, swallowing at the sight of her exposed, dripping centre. “I bet you taste even better.”
Nesta tracked every movement. “Are you going to find out?”
“Would you like me to?”
“Yes. Gods above, yes.”
“Then I will.”
The confirmation in itself had Nesta moaning – or perhaps it was the way Y/N hoisted one of those legs over her shoulder, her fingers gently dancing over her calf as her lips pressed small, quick kisses over the skin. Nobody had ever paid such attention to her like this. She wasn’t sure she’d ever let anyone do so.
But as Y/N lifted the other leg, allowing them both to rest on her shoulders, Nesta felt nothing but a potent mix of excitement and anticipation and bliss. She sank into the sofa, lifting her hips as Y/N kissed and nipped her way up to her thighs.
“You have such pretty thighs.” Y/N hummed, kissing the inside of one, and then the other. “Your skin reminds me of cream.”
Nesta released a breath, head falling back.
“And with every little mark I leave,” She nipped, nibbled, leaving trails of faint red marks that weaved a path right up to her centre. “It’s like strawberries and cream. Beautiful.”
Her lips, her tongue, were so close to where Nesta wanted them. To where Nesta wanted all of her. She was filled with new, frenzied thoughts, wondering what it might be like for them both to be naked, skin to skin, bodies moving in tandem with each other, Nesta’s sex rubbing against hers. She moaned, instinctively dragging a hand down her body, desperate for some sort of release.
“Pretty, pretty Nesta.” Y/N gently grasped that hand. Laced their fingers together. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Please,” Nesta begged softly, and Y/N struck.
Her face lowered to Nesta’s soaked sex, the grip on her hand immediately tightening as she breathed in her scent, her nose nudging her clit. She glanced up, drinking in the sight of flushed cheeks and parted lips and the firm, furrowed brow. And then she dipped, licking a stripe up the centre of her.
Nesta immediately gasped, her hips lifting off the couch. Again – that contrast of ice and fire. Y/N’s tongue was an inviting trail of coolness as she lapped at the damp heat of Nesta’s cunt. Nesta’s hand was clenching around hers, and her nails dug slightly in as Y/N’s tongue reached the apex of her thighs, swirling around the sensitive bud of her clit.
“Oh, gods,” Nesta moaned, throwing her head back. Every little lick and lap was like being touched for the first time. Attentive and giving and raw. Her heart moved at a thudding gallop inside her chest, seeming to jerk at every sensation.
“Is that good?” Y/N hummed against her, her teeth lightly grazing her clit.
“Yes. Fuck, Y/N, yes.”
Nesta could feel Y/N’s lips smiling against her. Her body trembled, fighting with the urges to both give and take as Y/N licked and nipped and sucked. But this was about giving over control – about taking. And as Y/N used her free hand to slowly slide a finger into her, she was happy to do just that.
“Doing so well for me.” Y/N breathed, pumping her finger in and out as Nesta’s juices coated her tongue. The taste had every one of her nerves alert and craving, and the moans she let out were certainly not for show as she fucking devoured. “Gods, you taste like sunlight.”
Never would Nesta have believed that anyone would describe her as sunlight. The praise felt just as pleasurable as the sensations as she reached out, threading her empty hand within Y/N’s hair. She gave a gentle tug, and Y/N grinned, sliding another finger into her.
She curled those two fingers inside of her, and the delicious ache that was beginning to build and pique, the feeling of those fingers and her tongue working inside her and against her–
“Fuck, I can’t–” Nesta’s hips lifted off the seat again, her head thrown back.
“You can let go.” Y/N lapped against her, pumping her fingers faster, harder. “Let go, Nesta. I’ve got you.”
Nesta did just that, a shout breaking from her throat as release overtook her body. She was nothing but pure, shaking, feverish pleasure as she came, hips bucking and legs trembling. She gripped onto Y/N’s hair, riding her release against her face.
Incredible, really, that Y/N didn’t falter once. Even as Nesta’s centre was grinding against her, practically smothering her, she seemed hungry for the whole thing, continuing the expert strokes of her fingers and tongue. And as Nesta’s trembling legs buckled and had her tumbling back onto the sofa, Y/N held her, kissing her thighs and stroking her hand still intertwined with hers.
Seconds or minutes or hours could have passed, and Nesta’s heart was still thudding, her ears ringing. When she’d regained enough sense to speak, she was weakly pulling on Y/N’s hand, tugging her up, up towards her. As soon as their faces were close enough, Nesta captured Y/N’s lips in a kiss, moaning at the taste of herself that lingered there.
“I want you.” Nesta breathed, pulling back just slightly. She stared at Y/N, swallowing, wondering – and knowing, deep down – what the fire was that had been lit inside of her. “I want — more.”
Y/N studied her face, the flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Nesta’s mouth, and then she was tugging her to her feet. “So stay.” She said.
Nesta didn’t need to respond – not as Y/N pulled her from the room on shaking legs.
She felt more alive than she had in months. Than she thought she might ever feel again.
And for the first time in years – perhaps for the first time in her life – she felt like she’d found home.
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summary; azriel loves starfall, but you? not so much.
word count; 5465
notes; I have no idea how this got so long, I honestly intended for it to be like 2000 words! but, happy starfall day number two, I hope you all love this one too!
Hiiii! A little piece for @writingsbychlo and @azsazz brilliant idea of Starfall Week!
The prompt I used was: Character A has been waiting alone for an hour and Character B is nowhere to be seen.
This was fun to write! I hope you like it, and Happy Starfall Week!
Word count: 1968
Warnings: None.
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He wasn’t coming.
Cassian clearly wasn’t coming, and you felt fucking stupid.
I’ll meet you by the clock tower at eleven, was what he’d said. Eleven had come and gone, the chimes booming above your head. The Starfall celebrations had promptly swept through Velaris, and you — here you were stood, waiting for someone who you should have known would never give you the time of day.
You knew Cassian to be swaggering and cocky and teasing; the Mother knew, you’d seen that side to him more than any other since he’d come into your family’s store and asked why he’d never seen you before. His visits had become more frequent over the last month and a half, and when he’d asked you to meet him on Starfall, your stomach had flipped and sang like the damn skies above you currently were.
But perhaps it was all a cruel joke. Perhaps Cassian had never been interested in you at all. You hadn’t met his Inner Circle, but you knew how greatly they celebrated the holiday. Of course he wouldn’t want to meet you on Starfall.
Your arms chilled by the air, you felt like nothing but a fool as you descended the stone steps of the clock tower and began your walk back to your home. You’d bought this dress especially for tonight, a pretty cream number that you thought made you look delicate and soft. You certainly didn’t feel delicate and soft as you tore your heels from your feet and carried them as you walked, bare soles slapping the pavement.
You were almost back at your little cottage when you caught the sound you’d so eagerly awaited earlier — the thunderous boom of wings above you. You didn’t even bother looking up at the sky, knowing that whichever of the Illyrian males it was would be by your side before you had a chance to clock them. Perhaps Cassian had been a true fucking coward and sent Rhysand or Azriel to let you down gently on his behalf. Gods, you hoped not. You weren’t sure you could deal with the humiliation. You turned into your street—
And stumbled to a stop to avoid barrelling into the figure that swooped down, landing in front of you.
Cassian grinned. Grinned, and shook the wind from his hair. “That was close.”
You stared at him, your lips not even slightly twitching into a smile. Your face was entirely deadpan as you took in the clothes he’d swapped his usual Illyrian leathers for — the fitted burgundy shirt and dark breeches. His hair was left down about his face, and he looked…playful. Damn handsome, but playful.
Too bad you felt anything but playful in that moment.
Cassian’s eyes swept over you, then, and his grin softened into something different. You’d be forgiven for thinking it was a little coy, flustered. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Your response was clipped. You stepped past him, beginning your walk once more.
“Uh…” Footsteps approached you from behind, and he was darting into your path again. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“We agreed to meet.”
Finally, you stopped. Finally, you allowed your eyes to meet his hazel ones. A look of pure confusion shadowed his face.
“We agreed to meet almost an hour ago, Cassian.” You said. “I got cold and tired of waiting.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I was late.” He stepped towards you, his brow furrowing. “I was just…sorting something out. Time ran away with me.”
“Sorting something out.”
He nodded.
You shrugged. “What were you sorting out?”
“…I can’t tell you—”
You cut him off with a sigh, stepping past him again. You weren’t doing this — couldn’t do this. He could return to his friends and laugh at your expense if he wanted, but you were going home.
“Hey, wait.” He grabbed your hand. “Y/N, will you stop?”
“No, Cassian, you stop. I’m not playing your little games. You can find some other female to do that. I know it doesn’t make any fucking sense for you to like me, but I genuinely like you, so kindly leave my feelings alone.”
Your impassioned speech had utterly silenced him. He blinked at you, realisation seeming to wipe the confusion from his face. He studied you once more, frowning.
“Is that what you think?” He asked. “That I’m pretending to like you as some sort of joke?”
You shrugged, lifting your chin. Refusing to flush with humiliation. “You may have only noticed my existence in the last month or so, Cassian, but I’ve seen you around Velaris for years. You have a type — I am the furthest thing from that type. And I am perfectly comfortable with my soft stomach and thick thighs and all the other things I’m expected not to like about myself. That doesn’t mean I’m going to allow those things to be the butt of the joke for the High Lord’s general.”
You pushed past him again, but he was having none of it. He yanked you back to him, both gentle and firm. “You are way out of line, Y/N. You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with males like you, Cassian—”
“Males like me?” He stared down at you. “Bastard-born brutes? A nobody with the title of Warlord slapped above his head? Don’t make assumptions about me, sweetheart, because you couldn’t be more wrong.”
You held his gaze, searching the sincerity in his eyes. Perhaps you were being unfair — perhaps you had jumped the gun a bit. You just…you’d been taken for a fool too many times. And you liked Cassian so much that you didn’t think you could take it from him.
You lowered your gaze, glancing down at your feet, but his warm, callused hand was gently gripping your face and forcing your eyes back to his.
“Don’t group me in with those assholes that have treated you that way. Please. I’m not them.” His voice was far softer, gentle. “I like everything about you. Especially your soft stomach and thick thighs. I like you so fucking much, and that is why I asked you to meet me tonight. Because Starfall is special to me, and I think—I think you might be, too.”
Guilt sliced at you as you stared up at him. You definitely should have listened to him before making assumptions. You relaxed your body, showed him that you were open.
“I’m sorry I was late.” He said again. “I said I couldn’t tell you why because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. I wanted to show you. If you’ll let me.”
You sighed softly. “Of course I’ll let you. I’m sorry, Cass—”
“Don’t worry about that. Just…do you trust me?”
Yes, you realised, you did. You nodded.
He smiled, lacing your fingers together. “Just a quick flight, and you’ll see why I was late.”
He was already lifting you up into his arms. You blinked, glancing up at the sky. “Is this safe? With all those stars zipping about?”
Cass smirked down at you. “It is — so long as you don’t fly too high. It’s a damn beautiful sight, too.”
Before you had a chance to consider, he was holding you tight to him and launching into the air, your scream swallowed by the wind. Your nails dug into him as you buried into his chest, vaguely aware of the whooshing above you — the sound of passing stars.
“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.”
“Yes, well, some of us are used to being on the ground.” You cracked an eye open, daring a look. “And stop smirking.”
“You’re not even looking at me.”
“I can tell.”
A great, booming laugh left him as he swooped and glided with expert ease. You couldn’t bring yourself to drink in more than a few glimpses at the iridescent trails of light that exploded around you. You clung tight to Cassian’s firm body, burying into his shoulder.
“I’m going to land now.” He warned you. “Just a heads-up.”
You felt your stomach flip as he banked hard, the sensation of falling making you want to scream right into his ear. But it was over within seconds, Cassian executing a flawless landing that you barely felt as his feet planted on the ground.
You didn’t let go. Didn’t look up.
“…we’re back on solid ground, Y/N.” He squeezed you. “You can let go. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
A soft laugh was breathed against your hair, and you felt him peeling your hands from his body and setting you down on the ground. You swayed, feeling your legs wobble. Cassian was clearly trying not to laugh as he steadied you.
You scowled. “Sorry that we’re not all overgrown bats accustomed to flying.”
“I’m sorry.” He grinned. “You just look so wide-eyed and bewildered. Like a little squirrel, or something.”
“Just show me where you’ve taken me, bat-boy.”
Within seconds, it was as though all the swaggering cockiness had leached from his body. He seemed to steel himself with a calming breath, and then he was stepping aside, exposing you to the view before you.
“This is why I was late.” He said quietly, grabbing your hand.
You sucked in a gasp. Words completely failed you as you drank in the sight of the private hilltop viewpoint he’d created for the two of you. Faelights flickered and glowed around piles of blankets and cushions, and there was food — far more food than was necessary for two people. Plates and plates of fruits and cheeses and meats and desserts. And bottles of juices and wines, with two chalices set beside them.
Your lips parted, you angled yourself towards Cassian. “I…you did all this?”
He swallowed nervously, nodding and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Do you like it?”
“Cass, I—this is amazing.”
You went to take a step forward, but he stopped you, gently tugging you back by your hand. He turned you to face him, and your eyes met, him staring down at you and you up at him. His thumb brushed the back of your palm in gentle sweeps as he swallowed again.
“I…really like you, Y/N.” He said quietly, a soft pink hue touching his cheeks. “Since the day I walked into your family’s store, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. That was why I wanted to do this — to show you that you’re special to me.”
Your mouth went dry. And all you’d done was jump to conclusions and accused him of being an asshole. With a frown, you stepped closer, snaking your arms around his waist. He immediately folded you into him, pressing his chin atop of your head.
“I’m sorry, Cass.” You murmured, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Really — I am. Thank you. This is…nobody has ever done anything like this for me before.”
“Well.” He smiled softly. “I’m honoured to be the first. Maybe I’ll be the only one.”
You truly hoped so. Nothing but pure, unadulterated love shot through you as you pushed up onto the tips of your toes and kissed him. You loved him. You fucking loved Cassian.
He kissed you back for a moment, cupping your cheek. And then he gently peeled his lips from yours, smiling. “Want to eat while watching the stars?”
You nodded vigorously, taking his hand in yours. “Anything with you.”
As he led you over to the blankets and cushions, you heard the distant boom of the Velaris clock tower chiming twelve, and the burst of stars colliding above you.
Cassian sat, pulling you onto his lap, and stardust rained down on you as you ate and talked and laughed.
The most memorable Starfall you’d ever had. One of many to come, you hoped.
“if i offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss too?” THIS IS MY FAVOURITE LUCIEN LINE OF ALL TIME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REWRITE IT WITH HIM AND THE READER BCUS WE ALL DESERVE THAT LOOSH SPICE
MINE, TOO! I hope I’ve done this justice and that you enjoy! 🥹
Some young, fun, cocky Lucien to warm us this Wednesday!
Here you go! 💕
Warnings: Just a very light sprinkle of smut 🌶️
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The Moon on a String - (Lucien x Reader request)
Energy was heavy in the air, thick on your skin and tasting like moss and woodsmoke.
You felt beautiful. In your gown that flowed around you, with the flowers pinned in your hair, the curls cascading freely about your shoulders…you could well be the poster girl of Calanmai. A true embodiment of the start of spring.
Excitement rose in you as you travelled, on foot, with your small group of friends from your modest Spring Court village. You could see the lit fires from miles away, hear the sensual thudding of drumbeats that seemed to snake over your skin. You couldn’t wait to drink and dance the night away, to laugh and see familiar faces—
One face in particular. Golden skin framed by bright red hair…
“Lucien won’t be able to take his eyes off you tonight.” Your friend said from beside you, as if she’d read your thoughts. Or glimpsed the blush colouring your cheeks.
You rolled your eyes, slipping your shoes off and sinking your feet into the soft grass. “Lucien and I are just friends.”
“Well.” She smirked. “He’s a mighty good friend, considering the efforts he makes to stop by the village to see you so often. You know — considering he works for the High Lord and has a great many important matters he probably has to attend to.”
It was true, Lucien had built up quite the habit of visiting you at your village, distracting you from your work by chatting with you and making you laugh. And blush. And feel giddy every time you were in his company.
He may have been the sole reason behind the heady anticipation building through your body. That, or the charge of lust snaking through the air.
You and your friends crested the hill, coming face-to-face with the celebrations. The ground vibrated beneath your feet with the force of the drumbeats, and you felt yourself being lulled towards the heart of the festival. People were already dancing, their faces tilted to the skies and their bodies moving in tandem with each other. Moans of pleasure were a lilting song caressing your ears.
Immediately, your small group of friends was dispersing, finding familiar faces or being pulled into dances or heading for the tables of food and drink. You headed to one of those tables yourself, your eyes darting around and, not-so-subtly, searching for a certain redhead.
You grabbed a chalice of faerie wine. You wanted to dance with him, to feel his hands on your body. It had never gone beyond lingering glances and flirtatious comments. You wanted — needed — more. And tonight, the festival, was the perfect occasion to take that step.
But as the first hour pedalled on, the wine soaking into your body, Lucien was nowhere to be found. You tried not to think too deeply into it as you mingled with friends and allowed yourself to be tugged into a couple of dances. Pathetic, to measure your good time on whether or not you saw him — and yet, you’d been so looking forward to it. You couldn’t deny that your enthusiasm dipped a little with every passing minute that held his absence.
Breaking free from a circle of dancers, you floated over to another table, intending to chase your restlessness away with more wine. It was as you reached for a bottle that a pair of hands enclosed over your eyes, blocking your vision. A familiar, earthy scent invaded your senses, and your body was immediately on alert.
“Evening.” Lucien’s deep, caressing voice reached your ears. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
And just like that, a genuine smile was tugging at your lips. Your limbs relaxed, and you turned in his hold, your body brushing his as you faced him.
“You can’t have been looking that hard.” You jibed. “I’ve been dancing.”
His deep russet eyes immediately drank you in, floating from the gentle curls in your hair, over your pretty face, down over your dress and all the spring-themed adornments you’d accessorised with. He licked his lips, meeting your gaze again.
“You,” he hummed, “are a vision.”
And he was looking mighty resplendent, too, decked head to toe in tailored Spring Court attire, different shades of greens and browns suiting him perfectly. Your eyes snagged on the brilliant burst of red hair that fell about his face. So, so badly, you wanted to run your fingers through it, find out if it was as silken and soft as it looked.
“You clean up nicely yourself.” You returned. “I’ve been looking for you, too, by the way. I wasn’t sure if…”
Your words trailed off, a light blush heating your cheeks. You’d almost shown your hand; revealed the envious thoughts that had begun to claw at you, of Lucien spending the festival with a female that wasn’t you.
His head tilted, the gesture not unlike a curious fox. “You weren’t sure if what?”
The wine — it was the wine that made you so honest. You calmly replied, “If you’d already found yourself company for the evening.”
And Lucien fucking Vanserra saw it for the jealous, insecure worry that it was. His eyes studied your face, and his lips twitched.
“No, madam, I have not.”
The relief that filled you was shameful, but you didn’t care. You smiled up at him, simply happy that the evening wasn’t a lost cause after all.
“I was actually hoping...” He tucked a curl away from your face. “That you might do me the pleasure of keeping me company tonight.”
Trying to keep your smile from splitting your face, you glanced down. “I’d like that.”
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The two of you danced and drank and laughed until the first sprinkles of daylight began to bleed through the night sky. You didn’t think you’d taken your hands off each other once, even as you’d stopped to refill your glasses and talk to people.
In the blink of an eye, the festival had reached the point of slowing down — the time when people exchanged dancing for kissing and touching, and the music was drowned out by pleasured moans. Lucien took your hand, dragging you past numerous public displays of affection, and though the boldness of it made a thrill shoot through you, you were excited to be alone with Lucien — uninterrupted.
On legs tired and achy from hours of dancing, you climbed a hill a short walk away from the festival. Lucien led you to the top, the grass soft against your bare feet. The peak gave you a perfect view of your surroundings, and Tamlin’s sprawling estate in the distance.
The two of you laid back in the grass, staring up at the sky that was rapidly lightening. Lucien’s arm brushed yours closely, and you turned your head to find him staring at you, his hair falling around his face.
“…what?” You breathed a laugh. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Other than the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen? The fullest lips? The—”
“Shut up.” You snorted, swatting him. He quickly grabbed the offending hand and held it to his chest.
“I could spend the rest of this glorious evening waxing poetic about your exquisite features.” He said quietly. “Or I could just show you how wildly I like them. Entirely up to you.”
Your smile slowly softened, nerves and excitement warring in your stomach. “I think I’d prefer it if you showed me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
His warm breath caressed your face, smelling deliciously of berries. You watched as he inched closer to you, his large, warm hand moving up to cup your cheek. Your eyes only fluttered shut when his lips were brushing yours, and you readied yourself for the kiss you’d fantasised about many, many times.
“Y/N?”
The two of you quickly pulled back at the interruption. Glanced up just in time to see the familiar male that was approaching, looking a little breathless.
It took everything in you not to groan in frustration as you painted a mild, pleasant smile on your face at the sight of Peteyr, a male from your village. Your friends had teased you numerous times that the male — a few years younger than you — had taken a shine to you, and spent a lot of time gazing longingly in your direction. He was sweet, harmless enough, and you tried your best to treat him with kindness—
But his timing was awful.
Beside you, Lucien didn’t bother to mask his deep sigh. He slumped back on his elbows, watching as the male reached you.
“Hi, Peteyr.” You sat up. “You look out of breath.”
“I—”
“Hello, Peteyr.” Lucien drawled, a lupine grin on his lips. “New shoes?”
Peteyr seemed stunned that Lucien Vanserra was even acknowledging his existence. He blinked, glancing down at the spotless, polished shoes on his feet. A blush coloured his cheeks. “Yes. I got them for the festival.”
“They’re lovely.” You subtly gave Lucien a warning nudge; one that said, be nice. “Have you had a good time?”
“I have.” His floppy, brown hair moved as he nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking for you — to wish you a happy Calanmai. And to give you this.”
From behind his back, he plucked a gathering of wildflowers, bound tightly together by thick blades of grass. He practically thrusted them at you, the movement causing dandelion fluff to float and land at your feet.
You blinked, accepting the makeshift…bouquet. “That’s so kind, Peteyr. Thank you.”
If possible, the scarlet blush of his cheeks burned darker. His blue eyes were positively glowing as he dipped his head and stepped back.
“Enjoy the rest of the festival.” He said, nodding to Lucien, also.
“You too, Peteyr.” Lucien’s lips kicked up into a lopsided smirk. “Don’t get those shoes dirty, now.”
The poor male looked like he may collapse if he lingered a second longer at the centre of attention. He quickly turned, beginning his descent back down the hill, but you were pushing to your feet.
“Peteyr?” You called, quickly following after him. The male glanced up.
His eyes widened as you caught up to him and pushed up onto the tips of your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. You pulled back, a smile on your lips, and poor Peteyr looked like he may be knocked straight down that hill with a feather. Or a plume of dandelion fluff.
“Thank you — really.” You said. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
The male — Mother bless him — just about mustered the ability to turn on his feet and stumble back down the hill. You waited until he’d got to the bottom before turning back to Lucien.
Lucien, who was the picture of pure, arrogant ease, his hands resting behind his head as he watched you with a grin.
“Nice flowers.” He said. “I think you just made his entire year.”
You scowled, slumping back down beside him. “You didn’t have to be so…you.”
“But you like it when I’m me.”
“Peteyr is a sweetheart. You should be kind to him.” You folded your arms. “And I like my flowers, thank you very much. He earned that kiss.”
Lucien pushed up, amusement dancing in his eyes. “If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?”
“Not sure. I’m contemplating pushing you down this hill.”
His lips puckered in a jesting pout as brought his face closer to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m just jealous because Peteyr brought you flowers and I didn’t.”
“And he had new shoes. You need to step up your game, Vanserra.”
Lucien snorted as you laid back on the grass, your eyes returning to the sky. But he remained hovering over you, the ends of his hair tickling your face.
You cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“Because you’re beautiful.” He leaned down, his nose nudging your cheek. “And I think about you a thousand times a day.”
“Only a thousand? I bet Peteyr thinks about me—”
“Shh.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. His hand gently pressed against your mouth. “No more talk about Peteyr. I need to get that name off your lips.”
You stared up at him, going still. This was how your relationship had always been, and the two of you were damn good at it — joking and teasing, not being serious.
But Lucien’s eyes were utterly serious as he gazed into yours. His hand moved from your mouth, inching up to your hair. To one of the flowers you’d pinned within the strands.
He plucked it out gently, brushing it over your cheek. Your lips. All you could do was watch.
“It’s not the moon on a string. Not a bouquet of weeds.” He tucked the flower behind your ear. “But it’s a pretty flower. Like you.”
You thought his words may have melted you into the grass. You were nothing but weightless elation as you threaded your fingers through his hair, resting your hand on the back of his head. Lo and behold, the strands were as soft as they looked. Softer, even.
“So?” Lucien murmured, his lips brushing yours. “Have I earned myself a kiss?”
“A kiss.” You breathed. “And whatever else you want.”
He held your gaze for a moment longer, before he finally closed the gap, sliding his lips over yours. That berry taste filled your mouth as he slid his tongue in, and his hand moved down to rest on your hip.
It was everything you’d imagined and more. You became breathless, floating, your mind emptying of all thoughts as your bodies moved together. Items of clothing were torn off and discarded, and it wasn’t long before you and Lucien were skin-to-skin in the grass.
The first slide of him entering you had you throwing your head back on a gasp, and you thought you may cease to exist then and there. Every thrust was like poetry in your body, your veins, and it overwhelmed you until you were nothing but raw, splintering pleasure with spring daylight shining on your skin.
That daylight seemed to enclose the two of you in a glow when Lucien’s control eventually snapped, his movements inside you becoming sloppy. And as he came, breathing your name against your sweat-slick neck, you realised you would never need a bouquet of wildflowers or the moon on a string — or anything else from him. There was nothing he could give you that would ever come close to how he, his existence, his light and his life, made you feel.
So long as you just had him, you’d be happy. And you’d be damn well content to spend every Calanmai in the same way.
Summary: Anon Request: Could you possibly do an imagine where Azriels sons are training at the Illyrian camps? Please and thank you ❤️
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 2,209
_________________________________________
His stomach churns at the thought.
“No,” his tone is deathly serious, the finality in it sends shivers up your spine.
“Az–”
“I said no, and the fact that you’d even entertain this sick idea Rhys has is insane in itself.” He’s pacing the length of your bedroom, shadows hiding from his anger. You’d seen your mate aggravated before but never like this. He was protective over his sons, and rightly so.
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Hey, happy Friday! A part two of this was heavily requested, so here you go!
If you missed Part One, you can read it here 💕
I’d also like to dedicate this to @greeneyedivy just because she makes my soul laugh and we love it when they cum in their pants 💋
Warnings: SMUT 🌶️
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You loved this time of night.
The early hours of the morning — three, four o’clock — when the world was just…quiet. At its lowest ebb. Something about those hours coaxed you to them.
Perhaps it was the exquisite view of the city that the healer’s clinic afforded you. Great, wide windows provided a glimpse of the smattering of faelights below, some still vibrant and showing no signs of their owners slowing down for the night, others gradually dimming, winking out, tumbling into pleasant darkness.
Velaris never truly slept, and the landscape was a pleasant companion on the many late nights you holed yourself up here, drinking in as much information as you possibly could. It was comforting, somehow, to know that despite you being all alone up in the hilltop clinic, the city still pulsed and breathed below you.
You’d studied hard tonight — and you felt you’d earned yourself an earlier finish than what usually became of your all-nighters. You shelved your books and tidied your desk, and then set about brewing yourself a pot of tea. You often liked curling up in a chair in front of the window and watching the night drift by while you nursed a well-earned drink.
There honestly was no other place like Velaris. Years and years never blurred or muddied the sight of the towering mountains that always felt as though they were standing guard, embracing the houses and quarters with quaint little shops and the expanse of the Sidra river. The stars stood watch, too, lending light and heart to the city that was hewn from their very souls. A special place; home. Of laughter and friendship and love.
You were just appreciating that very sweep of twinkling stars when you caught movement in your periphery. The blot of darkness rapidly growing closer and bigger wasn’t a startling sight; any resident of Velaris was used to catching glimpses of imposing figures flying overhead, commanding the skies with their great, brilliant wings.
Those wings came into focus, beating flawlessly in the air and carrying their owner through an expert descent. You watched — watched as Azriel banked and landed just in front of the clinic with a graceful ease that would barely be felt on the pavement. The sight…it was breathtaking. You didn’t think you’d ever tire of it.
Donned in his leathers and looking as though he’d been up working all night, too, his eyes briefly met yours through the window as he traipsed up to the door. You watched in amusement, very deliberately not making a move as he tried the handle and found the door locked. His eyebrows rose, and he rapped his knuckles on the glass.
With a soft laugh, you placed your mug aside and strode over, unlocking and opening the door. Az’s scent hit you immediately, causing you to not-so-subtly inhale.
“I thought you might leave me out in the cold.” He said, his quiet voice considerably clearer than the last time you’d spoken a week ago, when he’d been drunk. A mission had taken him away every day since then, and you hadn’t known what his sober thoughts might be of your…conversation.
“Illyrian baby.” You jibed, stepping aside. “It’s common sense for me to lock the door when I’m alone here at night. I don’t want to risk a strange, winged male bustling his way in.”
A soft chuckle came from deep within his chest, and he did just that — or rather, he strode in, every movement positively elegant and graceful.
You shut the door behind him. Locked it again; out of habit, more than anything. But the click of that lock was strangely…commanding. Loud. As though it made a statement and quickly swept it away with a silence that blanketed the area.
You watched Az, his back to you as he strolled further in, eyes dancing over the room. You couldn’t take your gaze off those wings. What he’d said under the influence of alcohol.
It may have kept you from sleep a few times since.
“…So.” You hedged, sliding your hands into the pockets of your breeches. “What brings you here at this time? Don’t tell me you’ve been injured…”
Slowly, Azriel turned on the spot, a breathtaking picture of utter, divine darkness.
“No.” He hummed. “I believe I made you an offer.”
Your body tensed. “Az…”
“That offer still stands.”
You were sure he could probably hear your hard swallow; his eyes tracked the movement of your throat bobbing, and you suddenly felt like the only damn person in the world. Like Az’s eyes were drawn to you like magnets.
You cleared your throat. “It’s a big ask, Az. As your friend, I understand that — and I don’t expect anything of you.”
Those hazel eyes studied you; for what, you weren’t sure. But you just…you knew how sacred an Illyrian’s wings were. How very few people got to touch them outside of healing purposes—
But that was what he was offering, wasn’t it? To aid you in your studies to become a healer. Perhaps you were thinking too deeply into that offer.
Azriel’s head tilted to the side. “You’re an apprentice.” He stated. “Practical learning is just as important as theoretical learning. More, even. I know Madja has had you getting stuck into all sorts of practical exercises.”
“Yes, but…” your voice trailed off. But what? your mind bleated.
But Azriel was your friend. Had been for a long, long time. And light, flirtatious banter was one thing, but…this. This was a whole other thing. What if the rumours about touching wings were true, and it led to something that changed the course of your friendship and couldn’t be undone—
What if, your mind continued to blare at you, you accept his offer and show some professionalism?
Right.
Azriel studied you, and he seemed to totally misread the reservations you had. “…if you’re uncomfortable, we’ll say no more about it. But the chances are, you’ll have to get up close and personal with somebody’s wings one day. They get injured, and sometimes badly. I just figured it would be better for you to practise on someone you know and trust—”
“You’re right.” You cleared your throat. Gods, you were such a foolish, wistful idiot, allowing your thoughts to run away with you. “You’re totally right. I appreciate the offer and I…I accept.”
His eyes swept over you a moment longer, and then he smiled; reassuringly, comfortingly. He was being far more professional tonight, the suggestion behind his offer seemingly nowhere to be found. Surely you could extend that same courtesy.
“Where would you like to start?” He asked you.
“…I suppose by just…studying them. I’ve seen them so many times and yet never too closely. It’d help to get a good look.”
With a tap of his siphons, Az’s leathers were shifting and transforming before your very eyes, changing into normal, everyday clothes. You watched silently, a lump growing in your throat as he unbuttoned his shirt and shucked it off; not entirely necessary, but you supposed it left no room for any obstructions, at least.
Distractions, though, you glimpsed his muscled torso, that was a different matter entirely.
Azriel stared at you expectantly. “Where do you want me?”
Well if that wasn’t a dangerous question. All over, your mind bleated, repeatedly.
But you steeled your expression and swallowed the dryness of your mouth, reaching for a stool that you placed in front of him. “Sitting, please.”
You tried not to track the tiny ripples and flows of his muscles as he obliged, perching atop of the stool. Even sitting down, he was so incredibly tall. His wings flared brilliantly, giving you a view of every inch.
You swallowed. Forced yourself to think about anything other than the span of them.
Az waited patiently as you crossed the room and reached for the book that had brought this entire situation about — Illyrian Wings: A Study. You were half-tempted to chuck the book aside and dive straight in, give in to your curiosity and fascination, but you thumbed through the pages, slowly approaching Azriel from behind.
His wings were simply breathtaking. Scars and all. Every silvery nick and line that told stories of combat, of strength…they mapped an ancient tale that you wanted to hear over and over and over.
But — professionalism.
You stopped just behind him, a hair’s-breadth away. And you really didn’t mean to exhale a shaky breath right onto those velvety wings, but the way Az momentarily tensed told you that you had.
“Sorry.” You cleared your throat, cheeks scorching. You flicked through the book’s pages, finding a labelled diagram. “Um. Can I…do you mind if I touch them?”
Azriel shifted on the stool, as if to give you better access. “I don’t mind. Do what you need to do.”
What you needed to do was run out of there and douse yourself in ice-cold water. Repeatedly. You hoped Az couldn’t hear your thudding heart as you leaned closer and brushed your fingers against the outer edge of his left wing.
He jerked, quickly steeling and righting himself before you could retract your hand. “Sorry. Cold fingers.”
You cringed. Wished you’d heated your hands against the fire before beginning. You quickly rubbed them together to generate some warmth.
“They’re quite sensitive to the weather, no?” You asked softly, the pads of your fingers returning to the very edge of his wing.
Az cleared his throat. “Yes. They’re built to withstand harsh temperatures — obviously because of the Illyrian winters. But they’re sensitive to rain and damp…I’ve found them to react to warmer climates before, also.”
“React how?”
“…it’s pleasant to feel the warmth on them. Sometimes a little too pleasant. It can be…distracting.”
Oh. You knew precisely what he was getting at, and it made sense — the way hot weather had a tendency to arouse anybody, you supposed it was only natural that such a sensitive area would react in the same way.
You wondered if it was strange that you jotted that little tidbit of information down.
You continued to thumb through the pages, the simplistic diagrams absolutely nothing on the real thing in front of you. Az’s wings had seen centuries, had carried him through dark times ans light times. Had a great many stories to tell.
“Do any of these scars bother you?” Slowly, your fingers danced inwards, moving away from the outer edge and pressing lightly to the centre of his wings. “I mean — is there any lingering damage that you still feel sometimes?”
Az’s voice was taut as he answered. “Not really. Some of the deeper ones — the ones that took longer to heal — might twinge when the weather is damp. But for the most part, I barely notice them.”
Fascinating — so utterly fascinating that Madja had been able to heal these brilliant things the way she had. She was an expert healer, of course; everybody knew that, and you would be eternally grateful that she was passing her knowledge onto you. But you’d heard about some of the injuries Azriel had sustained to his wings before. And with them at your fingertips, their velvety surface seeming so intricate and delicate, it was an absolute wonder that they only had lingering scars to speak of those times.
Your hands roamed all over, skirting the various dips and bumps, the areas that were smoother and those that were rougher. There was something so pleasant about the texture, that for a moment, you found yourself lost in a thought — of one of these wings draped over you, shielding you from the cold. Keeping you warm. Better than any blanket you owned.
You were snapped from your thoughts — your cheeks heating — by a low, gruff noise sounding in Azriel’s chest; much like a rumble, a growl. You realised that in zoning out, you’d not paid much attention to how and where your fingers moved. They had climbed up, up to the peak of the wing, almost reaching that dark claw at the top.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” You cursed quietly, pulling your hands back. “Did my nails catch you? I wasn’t concentrating—”
“You don’t have to stop.” Azriel bit out, sounding as though he had to carefully force each word between his lips. “You didn’t—it wasn’t a bad reaction.”
Your mind emptied momentarily, all your thoughts skittering away as you lingered close by, hands still poised in the air, eyes still on his wings. Azriel’s admission lying between you.
His body was so, so tense, his hands firmly gripping the edges of the stool until his knuckles turned white. Slowly, you composed yourself, and reached out once more.
“…I guess it’s true what they say then,” your voice was surprisingly raspy, “about your wings being able to bring you…pleasure.”
Azriel’s swallow was audible. “Yes.” He said. “It’s true.”
“Can I ask—I mean—is that something you enjoy?”
Subtle, you almost rolled your eyes at yourself. Gods, you were making a mess of this. Of trying to be professional.
But it was all relevant…kind of. All stuff you needed to know.
Probably.
Az hadn’t answered, and you wondered if perhaps the question was a step too far. Your cheeks burned as you smoothed your palm over that outer edge again.
“Sorry.” You apologised for what felt like the thousandth time. “You don’t have to answer that. It’s personal. That was rude of me.”
“I don’t mind. I was just…thinking. Concentrating.” He paused. “I do — enjoy it. I’d wager any…Illyrian does. But it’s…it’s a huge matter of trust. I wouldn’t allow just anyone to touch them. During sex, or outside of it.”
And yet, here you were, touching them. You couldn’t help feeling a little pride. “So—the casual sex you have…that‘s a no-go with the wings. Got it. But if you were in a relationship…”
Slowly, Az turned on the stool, and you took a step back. He angled himself to face you, and you…you weren’t expecting the frown that shadowed his features.
“…the casual sex I have?” He repeated questioningly.
You also found yourself frowning. Had you said something wrong?
“Yes?” You said. “I don’t think anyone expects you to be celibate—”
“Do you have casual sex?”
Your cheeks burned, and you wished you could shove the words — this subject — back down your throat. It was never your intention to tell him that no, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to touch anyone since Az had been at the forefront of your mind. But you weren’t foolish enough to expect him to feel — or act — the same. And your two situations were greatly different. You saw how females surrounded him at Rita’s, wanting a chance to talk to him, hoping to be the chosen one he would end the night with. He was certainly never short on offers; you just didn’t allow yourself to linger long enough to see how that played out.
“I haven’t had sex in a long time.” You admitted, shrugging. “But this is about you…your wings.”
Az stared at you a moment. And then turned back around. “I haven’t had sex in a long time, either.”
How long was long, you wondered. You wished you hadn’t gone down such a rabbit hole. But thank the Gods that he wasn’t facing you, and therefore couldn’t see the surprise that quickly passed over your face.
Silence swathed the two of you, the only sounds coming from the occasional creaking of the building. You tried to steel yourself, to concentrate — tried to think of things that Madja might quiz you on at some point. But the truth was that you could stand there forever, simply marvelling the intricacies of Illyrian wings. That though this was supposed to be professional and educational, you couldn’t help just being sucked into their sheer beauty.
You felt like you’d studied every inch from that angle, over and over, brushed your fingers over every rough and smooth area, when you cleared your throat.
“Do you—” you swallowed. “Do you mind if I come look at them from the front, now?”
Az paused. And then said quietly, “I don’t mind.”
Thorough — you were being thorough. That was all this was. And yet that didn’t stop your hands trembling or your cheeks flushing as you rounded the shadowsinger and came to a stop in front of him. You put every ounce of effort into avoiding his eyes as you slotted yourself between his legs and began to study the wings from a new angle.
But it was closer. Dangerously so. And you had no doubt he could hear how erratically your heart thudded in your chest as you leaned in and paid particular attention to the claws at the peak of his wings.
With the lightest of touches, your fingers brushed over one claw and down, utter fascination filling you. You'd have to read up more on those; what their uses were. You had no doubt they could gouge out the eye of an enemy if they got too close—
Azriel’s breath hitched in his throat. Loudly. You felt his body stiffen against you.
You opened your mouth to apologise for what felt like the thousandth time, but the word died in your throat as his hand landed on your hip and squeezed.
“Is that…very sensitive?” You asked, your cheeks burning.
“The area just beneath it.” Az ground out. “Your nails.”
“Perhaps I should stop. I probably have everything I need—”
“No. Please. Don’t stop.”
You swallowed, falling still beneath his hand still fastened at your hip. You were trembling more than ever.
Az sat back just a little — just so his eyes could search your face. Search for what, you weren’t sure. But then his gaze fell down to your shaking hands, and he whispered. “You’re nervous.”
“Yes.” You breathed. “I don’t—I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“You could unsheath my sword right now, and hold it to my throat, and I would be so very comfortable.”
Oh. So he was being open, then, more so than you were used to. You pushed your lips into a playful smile. “Because my swordsmanship is terrible, and I’d be more likely to injure myself than you?”
But Azriel wasn’t jesting. Not as his hazel eyes flashed with heat, and he said with utter seriousness, “Because it’s you.” He paused. “And I think so long as I’m around you, I’ll always be comfortable.”
You didn’t know what the fuck to do with your hands, or your gaze, or your mind, or anything. You felt truly lost for words. And there was nowhere to go while you were still pressed between Azriel’s firm thighs.
His thumb made a cautious sweep over your hip. “Are you comfortable?”
You nodded once. “I am.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
Fuck. Of course he’d noticed. He was the damn spymaster, for Cauldron’s sake, had probably tracked every tiny movement you’d made since he’d entered the building. You felt ridiculously lightheaded as you willed confidence into your face and met his stare head-on.
His lips twitched. “Much better.” That hand at your hip grew more confident, every finger now tracing your skin in gentle circles. “Since you admitted you were nervous, perhaps you’d like an admission in return.”
You were just about able to breathe out a quiet, “oh?”
And Az…Az nodded, utter confidence in the gesture. No nerves on his part. Quiet he may be, and brooding, and mysterious, but he always knew what he thought and felt, and owned every single bit of it. He wasn’t second-guessing himself.
“I admit,” he murmured, “that I spend a foolish amount of time thinking about you touching my wings. That I’ve wondered, for a very long time, if there would ever be a chance of you doing so. That such thoughts consume me on a regular basis until I’m drunk on them.”
You stared back at him, mouth dry and head empty.
And he wasn’t finished.
His other hand moved, and he was grasping both your hips, now, his touch scorching. “Admittedly, I’ve always imagined you touching them in a non-professional capacity.”
A thrill shot through you. “Like what?”
“Like,” one hand moved down, “you coming on my cock and whispering filthy words into my ear whilst you touch them.”
It was entirely possible that you might combust, then and there. You wouldn’t have been at all surprised to look down and find that Azriel’s hands had burned through your clothes. Not with how heated his touch was, how honeyed his tone. Not with the grit of desire that lay behind every word.
“You think about that?” You asked breathlessly, and the spiced scent of his arousal was confirmation enough. As was the hard outline of his cock through his breeches.
“Mhm. A sinful amount.”
And gods, so did you. So many nights, you’d tried to abate the ache between your thighs with your fingers, knowing it would never, ever come close to what Az’s cock might feel like inside you, thick and hard and thrusting and pulsing. The thought had wet heat pooling between your legs, and Azriel immediately inhaled and groaned.
“Az?” You said quietly, not sure how much longer you could stand so close without devouring him whole.
His eyes flicked to yours. “Yes?”
You decided you were done with words. They were nothing — useless. You swallowed down every bit of trepidation, and your hands moved up to cup his face. He watched as you leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as you kissed him feverishly.
The kiss was pure hunger, an unforgiving thing. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasised about more tender moments with Az, softer kisses and touches, but this was absolutely not the moment for those things. You wanted to lick and kiss and taste him, to have his scent mingling with yours.
He huffed a groan into your mouth, one hand sliding to the small of your back and pushing you closer against him. You took the reins, seating yourself on his lap, your legs straddling him. Your arms snaked around his neck as you kissed him deeper.
The hard press of his cock straining against his breeches, pushing right against the centre of you, was damn near torturous. You ground yourself down on him, breathing a moan against his lips.
“Fuck, you have no idea—” he bit out, his voice just as strained as his breeches. “I want you so bad, it drives me insane.”
You rocked against him, your teeth grazing his lips. No clothing had been removed, and yet it was already dizzyingly good. You knew your damp heat was permeating the thin fabric of your leggings, reaching him through his breeches.
“How bad?” You kissed along his jaw, down his neck. “How bad do you want me, Azriel?”
“I would get down on my knees and beg to taste you. To be inside of you.”
And Gods, you wanted all of that and more. But you also wanted the control. The upper hand. Nervous you may have been before, but his words had settled a confidence in you. A fire.
“Tell me more about these fantasies.” You hummed against his neck, your fingertips just slightly brushing the outer edge of his wing in a barely-there touch.
His entire body immediately stiffened beneath you, a moan catching in his throat. “Remember last Starfall? I disappeared for a while and you asked where I’d got to? I had to excuse myself to deal with how fucking hard I was over you. I came twice before I couldn’t justify being away from the party any longer.”
Your lips twitched, fingers skirting down. “What were you thinking about?”
“You. Your pretty thighs. Your dripping cunt on my cock.” He shuddered as you brushed over a ridge in his wing. “What noises you would make when I entered you. I imagined taking you against the railing of the balcony for all the stars above to bear witness when I fucked you.”
His words almost had you ripping every item of clothing from your body and riding him into oblivion, but you pushed yourself further against him, rocked your hips. He groaned, thrusting up. The sensation alone of his hard cock pushing through his clothes, against yours, was too good. Too fucking good. You moaned and continued your exploration of his wings.
“Stop teasing.” He gasped. “I want to be inside you.”
“Nuh-uh. Not yet.” You smirked, dancing your fingers down. “You’re giving me one hell of an ego boost, Az. I wanna hear more.”
“You wicked little minx.” He yanked your head up, fastening his lips on yours. “You want to hear it all, huh? How I picture my tongue and my fingers and my cock thrusting in and out of you. I think about how you probably taste even sweeter than you smell—” another groan as you rocked your hips faster, “I imagine your voice crying my name while you come.”
You were going to do just that. No clothes needed to be gone for him to press exactly where you wanted him. You bit down on your lip, rubbing the very centre of you over that tightening bulge in his breeches. Both of your hands came round, brushing over his wings.
“Where is most sensitive?” You breathed, moving those hands inwards. “Here?”
“Fuck—Y/N—” he gasped, hips giving an involuntary jerk, “you’re gonna make me—”
“What about here?” You dragged a nail down the centre, over the membranous texture. They flared as you did, seeming to react to your touch. You smiled in triumph. “Here, then.”
You repeated the action, your hips grinding over him harder, faster, your nails a sensuous scrape against his velvet wings. Az seemed lost to the sensations as his head fell back, his eyes screwing shut, his breath coming out in short pants.
And you leaned in — as if to kiss him. But moved past him. Over his shoulder. Poked your tongue out and dragged it over the hard edge of the wing.
It was that which sent him hurtling into release.
His hips thrust up against you once more, and you felt his breeches dampening beneath you as he came, a succession of deep, animalistic groans choking him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He growled, pressing you down onto him. The jerking and pulsing of his spurting cock was enough to send you over the edge, also.
You moaned your release into his shoulder, your fingers still brushing his wings, and it seemed like hours, days, weeks, of the two you sat there like that, trembling, both of you soaked between your legs.
And when Az had caught his breaths, his body not shaking quite as much, he glanced down at the damp patch in his breeches.
“Well.” He mumbled. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
You laughed softly. Kissed him once and climbed off his lap. “Are you complaining?”
“Gods, no. But I still want to be inside you.”
You smiled. Grabbed the damn book that had started all of this — Illyrian Wings: A Study — and returned it to its home on the shelf, hoping that the shaking of your legs wasn’t visible.
“Next time, Az, you can be inside me.” You said. “But not here. Madja would have my head if she knew I’d fucked you at the clinic.”
“Next time, then.” He stared back at you seriously. “I’ll hold you to that.”
And Mother above, you really fucking hoped he did.
Hi, love! Here you go. A mishmash of angst, fluff and smut. Hope you enjoy!
Number eight: “I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was. Then he can get his comfort.”
Warnings: Depictions of toxic family relationships. Smut. 🌶️
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“Are you alright?”
A warm hand landed on your arm, the pleasant scent of Mor’s perfume hitting you. The hint of vanilla was a source of comfort, a feeling of home.
Over your shoulder, you offered her a smile that didn’t meet your eyes. Nodded. She saw right through it.
Nobody understood better than she did — what it was like to return to the poison of the Court of Nightmares, where your estranged family lived. It had taken you years to get out of their vitriolic clutches, and the unexpected mating bond between you and the High Lord’s spymaster had been a saving grace; a reason to leave, a place to go. Life had been so colourful and vibrant since he’d taken you to live in Velaris with him; you’d never looked back.
Until tonight.
It had been entirely your choice. You knew nobody would have judged you if you’d chosen to stay behind. But a couple of months earlier, you’d grown sick of feeling useless and idle. You’d asked — begged — Rhysand to give you some sort of official role in his court; something for you to do. He’d been more than happy for you to play courtier, to perhaps even strengthen relations between the Night Court and the Court of Nightmares that had become strained over the years. Yes, you’d insisted, you could do it, and take away that sort of pressure from Mor, too. You’d sooner face your family than she have to face hers.
And perhaps you’d been a tad naive about how easily that might come to you. You’d had confidence in yourself, right up until you’d come face-to-face with your father, your brothers. They’d sneered at you at Azriel’s side and sneered at the Night Court attire you were decked head-to-toe in and sneered at your confidence. And sneered and sneered and sneered.
And suddenly you’d found yourself to be that cowering, tongue-tied victim again. You felt like an utter farce, parading around in such clothes and pretending to be confident. You weren’t sure you’d ever really gotten away from them, or ever really would.
And when your brother had feigned leaning in to kiss your cheek, and had uttered words that had sliced you all over, you’d known — you had failed.
“Whore.” He’d growled, his lip curling at the form-fitting, revealing dress you’d once felt comfortable in. “Mother would be ashamed of you, whore.”
You didn’t know if anybody else around you had heard. But the way your mate had tensed was indication enough that he was on high alert and ready to strike out if necessary. He remained that way for the entire evening.
You turned to face Mor, now, all of you having returned to the Town House. You didn’t bother to force a convincing tone as you answered, “I’m alright.”
“Let’s open some wine.” Her arm linked through yours, and she tried to pull you towards the doors to the kitchen. You planted your feet.
“Where is Az?”
The beautiful blonde pursed her lips, glancing over at Rhys and Cassian, who had also heard your question. You stared between the three of them, awaiting an answer. Your mate was nowhere to be found; had disappeared after setting you down on the doorstep.
“Where’s Azriel?” You repeated.
“He’s probably gone flying — to let off some steam.” Cassian said, not sounding at all convinced by his own words.
You heaved a sigh. What you needed, right now, was your mate with you. To hold you through the echoes of what had been an awful night. His absence was just another horrible layer.
“Come.” Mor tried to pull on your arm again.
“I’m really tired.” You slunk back. “I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
Her gaze swept over you for a moment, before she nodded, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Sleep well, then.”
It was as you passed Rhys and Cassian that you stopped, utter exhaustion weighing you down.
“When he gets back,” you said, “tell him to just come to bed. Please.”
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Hours passed. You didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. And still Azriel did not return.
You’d settled yourself at the glass doors that opened out onto the balcony, noting that you were as cold there as you had been in your empty bed, without a hard, warm body and wings to warm you. You tugged on that golden, glimmering cord of your bond, waiting for some response. But…nothing. Anxiety bloomed in you like nothing you’d ever felt.
It shaped a little into anger when you finally glimpsed a passing black form and, moments later, heard the front door opening and shutting downstairs. Relief was a weak flame snuffed out by irritation. Perhaps a little bit of hurt.
You caught the deep tenor of the three male voices below, deliberately lowered to make their words indiscernible. Perhaps it was that which snapped your tether and had you pushing to your feet. If he wasn’t going to come up and speak to you right away, give you some sort of explanation as to why he’d taken off and blocked you out, you would go to him and demand the answer.
You shucked a robe on, practically ripping your bedroom door off its hinges. There was a pause in the murmurs below, and you knew Rhys, Cassian and Azriel had all heard you leave your room and were awaiting your appearance. You hoped your footsteps padding loudly down the stairs were warning enough that you weren’t happy.
As you appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, all three males looked up. Azriel’s eyes swept over you — your nightgown and robe — and he looked just about ready to jump up and shield you from sight. You held a hand up, cutting that thought off before it could properly form.
“Don’t even start with the territorial male bullshit.” You said coldly. “No one’s staring at my tits.”
Both Cassian and Rhys cleared their throats, very deliberately making sure that their gazes were anywhere but on you. Azriel’s jaw ticked as you turned to him.
“Where have you been?” You demanded.
He said nothing, his eyes boring into yours. You raised an eyebrow in expectation, but it was Cassian who spoke up.
“…it’s been a long, tense night for everyone.” He reasoned. “Visiting the Court of Nightmares is never a pleasant experience. What you both need right now is each other’s comfort. Surely you just want to forget about tonight and—”
“I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was.” You snapped, not tearing your eyes from Azriel. “Then he can get his comfort.”
Cassian slunk back in seat, raising his eyebrows as he lifted his glass to his lips, drained it, and then reached for the bottle. You folded your arms over your chest, waiting.
Finally, Azriel shrugged. “I went back to the Hewn City to have a catch-up with my wonderful brother-in-law.”
You clenched your jaw. “Why.”
“Because he’s a cunt.”
You almost flinched at the utter venom in his tone. He was always soft-spoken, always guarded, precise and measured in the words he used. It wasn’t like him to just…let his anger speak for him.
“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You stared at him. “Why would you—”
“Nobody talks to — or about — my mate like that.” He seethed. “Nobody.”
So he’d heard exactly what your brother had said. And he’d bided his time — before striking.
And of course, a part of you, somewhere beneath the anger, adored him even more for it. But it would just make things worse in the long run. It would make it harder for you to return to the Hewn City and represent the Night Court without your family seeing it as their personal mission to terrorise you whenever they could. You’d left to get away from that. To grow.
“So…what?” You shrugged. “You killed him?”
Azriel stared at you, his eyes molten. “I could have done, you know. The Mother knows, I wanted to. But that kill is yours, should you ever want it. I just took the time to remind him that his death could come a lot sooner if he chooses to disrespect you like that.”
“You had no right, Azriel—”
“He called you a—”
“I know precisely what he called me. What he said.” You spat. “I grew up around it. I’m used to it. But you’ve gone and made it worse.”
Az’s jaw clenched. “How.”
“Do you know what they think?” A lump formed in your throat that you swallowed down hard. “They think me weak and foolish. They think you seduced me away from them. They think that I was brought to the Night Court merely to service you, and Cassian and Rhys.”
You took a shuddering breath, your eyes pricking with tears. “And those thoughts? I couldn’t care less about them. They’re pathetic, and they mean nothing to me. But I do care that they think I’m weak. I care that they think me too much of a pathetic, cowering female to speak up for myself, because I’m not.”
Azriel’s eyes softened. “I know you’re not.”
“But by dealing with my brother on my behalf, you’ve only confirmed that for them. It’ll only make it ten times worse the next time I visit.”
You could see understanding dawning in his eyes. And a rational part of you knew that he’d acted on the carnal impulse of a male protecting his mate — that he hadn’t stopped to think about any of this. That he loved you.
But you…you couldn’t give over to that rationality right now. Not when you were still so angry, still so shaken by what had happened. You didn’t blame Azriel for wanting to protect you; to act without speaking to you first, however, made you feel as weak as your family thought you to be.
You wiped your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll come with you—”
“No.” You turned. “Stay and enjoy your drink.”
The words hit their mark, and you saw the scathing hurt in his eyes as he slumped back. You’d probably regret it later.
But in that moment, you were too tired to care.
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Despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t find you properly. You drifted in and out fitfully, every little noise seeming to jolt you awake. Every single time, you found yourself glancing over to the empty space beside you.
You weren’t sure how long you lay there for, but your anger steadily morphed into loneliness, and trying to sleep without Az curled around you left you feeling as empty and cold as arguing with him had. You hated fighting with him.
And you knew he’d meant well. That he’d just been defending you because he loved you. Already, you were wishing you hadn’t been so hard on him.
You jerked awake again as you heard the door slowly creak open. You watched through heavy eyes as Azriel filed in, making a conscious effort to be as quiet as possible — before noticing you were awake.
He studied you for just a moment, and then dragged his feet to the end of the bed. He slumped down onto his front, his long body stretching from the foot of the bed, right up to where you lay. You watched, allowing him to slot himself between your legs. He rested his head on your belly.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against it. He gazed up at you through thick, dark lashes. “Really sorry.”
You breathed a soft sigh, your hand reaching out to brush strands of hair from his face. “I’m sorry, too.”
“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”
You shrugged. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with his hair as you said, “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I know you were only defending me.”
“I was blinded by my own rage at your brother, though. I should have thought more about how you felt. You must never, ever think yourself weak. You’re the furthest thing from it.”
A soft smile played on your lips. Az’s chin dug into your lower belly as he peered up at you, his fingers brushing indolent circles on your outer thighs. Your own eyes were hooded as you stared back at him — your mate. You loved him so ferociously.
He hadn’t even thought twice about defending you, even against a baseless insult.
“I really am sorry.” He pressed another kiss to the soft skin of your belly, the muscles there contracting at the sensation. “It’s such an honour for me to defend you that I sometimes forget you don’t need me to.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Az.” You watched him — watched his nose graze the silk of your nightgown. “I love it when you stand up for me. And had that been anyone else, I would have left you to it. But with them, it’s just…complicated. I suppose I still feel like I have something to prove.”
“You don’t. But it’s going to take time for you to realise that.” His tongue poked out, licking the fabric of the indentation where your belly button was. “You know, don’t you? That what your brother said was ridiculous. The only people your mother would feel disappointed in are them.”
Your breath hitched at the sensation of his tongue moving through the fabric. You tried to stay your thoughts, to remain on subject. “I…I know.”
“You’re incredible.” He shifted down, pulling your nightgown up as he did. “Beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to your now-exposed navel. “Strong.”
The cold air of the room brushed over your bare sex, and you jerked as Az nuzzled his face against your fine dusting of hair just above. He grazed his lips there, breathing in your scent.
“Why don’t you come to bed?” You breathed, brushing his hair back. “It’s late. You must be tired.”
“Mm.” He hummed. “After I’ve apologised.”
You had no objections as he finally dipped his head, levelling his face with the very centre of you. His eyes flicked up momentarily to meet yours, and then he dove in.
Your head fell back, a low moan escaping you as his tongue swiped out and licked a stripe right up you, from your entrance, up, up to your clit. He kissed the area first, his lips a sensuous scrape against the sensitive nub of nerves. Your hips lifted off the bed, and he slid his hand up, pressing them back down.
“I love you.” He breathed the words onto the damp heat of you — a place he had worshipped time and time before, and would continue to do so as the world and its stories changed around you.
“I love you too.” You breathed, and another moan broke from your throat as his tongue swirled around your clit. “Gods, Az.”
You felt him smile against you, and you utterly melted into the bed as he began his expert worship of your body, always knowing which areas drew which sensations from you, which touches had you moaning the loudest.
His tongue built up its pace, working at your clit as he slipped a hand down, gathering up your wetness on his fingers. He slipped one into you, pumping a few times, curling it inside you, and you gasped.
“Another?” He murmured against you, teeth grazing just slightly.
A small whimper left you. “Yes. Yes.”
And so he slipped a second finger in, and you were happy to give over to every sensation in your body as he began to pump in and out, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue. Tension coiled low in your stomach, a dull, pleasant ache that was building and building until your legs were trembling.
“Az.” You groaned, hips lifting again. “Fuck, I’m gonna…”
“Take it.” He lapped at you, lapped and lapped as if he might never get another taste. “Take everything you need. Cum for me.”
Only a few more thrusts of his fingers, a few more strokes of his tongue, and you were tumbling off that precipice into place of weightless elation, stars bursting in your eyes, your ears ringing, your body shaking. Az continued to lick and stroke you through it all, murmuring encouraging, soothing words.
And when the force of your climax subsided, and you were utterly spent, he pulled his fingers out of you. Sucked your wetness from them. And then climbed up the bed to lay beside you.
He was very clearly hard as a rock, the outline of his straining cock visible. You made to reach for him, but he gently took your hand.
“No.” He said softly. “This was about you. We have tomorrow. And the day after that.” He leaned down, kissing your head. “And all the ones after that. But now it’s time for sleep.”
You didn’t protest as he lay properly beside you, tugging you against him and pulling the blankets around you. His fingers laced through yours, both your hands resting on your stomach.
“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered into the darkness, kissing the nape of your neck. “So fucking proud.”
You smiled, relaxing into him. Closed your eyes.
You were just drifting off as you heard him murmur, beneath his breath:
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
origamiaround
germansingergirl
