crowned

( LAURENT &&. GUINEVERE )

-

Gwen quirked up a brow curiously over at Laurent. The dashing spy master had always been someone whom had alluded her. She had heard countless times over how much her dear sister, Rowan, adored the spy master, often boasting at large of how clever and skilled he was. But, besides the flirtatious looks and off-handedly teasing comments Gwen would occasional pass as she found herself strolling past him down the hall, Laurent had always been a sort of enigma to her. A handsome enigma. Maybe even one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, but also an extremely guarded man at that. 

As much as she had tried, and boy had she tried, to read the poised spy master with a confident air about him and a guise of mystery that followed his every step, she had been yet to catch him off his guard or see the man beneath the air of mystique. She had yet to truly get to know the close confidant Rowan spoke of and she had almost cemented herself into believing that she never would. Until now that is.

Lingering across from Laurent, Guinevere Adler-Hartwell met his keen gaze with one of wide eyed curiosity, as if trying to predict his next move. And when he stalked forwards and took a seat in one of the plush armchairs seated around the fireplace, Gwen found her lips quirking up into the softest of smiles. “A test? Alright. I can’t say I’ve always been the best at tests, but here goes nothing,” She gave him a nod as she slide into the seat across from him. Her eyes not straying from his as she leaned back into the seat. 

“Ah- see, if you knew me, you’d know, I’m never fully a princess in any room. By title sure. But, not by birthright and as much as one would like to believe that has no impact, we both know it does,” She said with a small shrug, scrunching up her nose ever so slightly as she thought back the whispers she’d hear about her through the halls or from that of her uncle or cousin’s mouth. “But, as for this viper’s strengths, I’d say I’m easily underestimated. I may like to see the best in people and live life to the fullest because I am all too well aware of how precious life can be, but what I view as an extension of kindness others mistake as vulnerability. I may be far from the perfect princess and we both know that eloquence and grace aren’t exactly my thing, but I care. Sometimes too much, but I care about people. I care enough to see who they are and not just who they pretend to be. I’m also pretty skilled with the sword? I might have flirted my way into getting the knights to agree to train me years ago, so I could try out to be one of them, but I never ended up going through with it. Oh! And a weakness is that I’m an over sharer. Not when it comes to important things. I know how to keep a secret. But, I have a tendency to talk a lot? Not about anything too serious. Just enough so that people think they know me without me every having to come across as anything other than… well, happy, I guess? So, how did I do? Do I pass the assessment or shall I continue to rattle off more strengths and weaknesses? Because I can, if you want me to? I can tell you how I’m a great dancer, great in bed, but poor at relationships and please don’t ever ask me to play the cello. It won’t go well,” she said, flashing him a teasing smile to let him know that she was half-joking when it came to the last few things she had listed. 

.

To some of the others who dwelled within the Day Court’s inner circle, a meeting between Laurent and the youngest Hartwell sibling might have seemed odd. Though she was a princess and, therefore, someone Laurent would run in close quarters with on more than one occasion, he and Guinevere had never managed to hold the same sort of lengthy conversations that Laurent had with her eldest sister, the High Lady of the Day Court. Laurent had grown into the person he was today with the help of the now ruling High Lady; none of the relationships he built with anyone else had ever compared to what he felt when he and Rowan spent time together. He cared deeply for River, Roman, Marie, and the others who made up Day’s eccentric inner circle, but the relationship he shared with Rowan was...different. Unique. 

Until now, that is--with plans to move forward and treat Guinevere as an asset, he believed his relationship with the young princess was on the cusp of changing forevermore.

“You seemed to handle yourself just fine at the Highwinds Tournament; if you’d prefer to think of it as an obstacle or a challenge instead of a test, then, by all means,” Laurent managed with a flourish of one hand, sitting back in his seat and reaching for the decanter of wine that he’d placed on the small end table between them. Two crystal glasses rested on the end table, and Laurent removed the glass stopper before pouring them each a glass of sparkling white wine. Something to help clear the senses and center their focus for today’s lessons. “Don’t tell me that was all smoke and mirrors in Autumn Court, little Hartwell--I wouldn’t believe it even if you said so.” A slow, sly grin quirked up one side of Laurent’s face as he reached for his glass and gently sloshed the liquid around inside with a flick of his wrist.

“Too much emphasis is placed on someone’s birthright,” Laurent said at last, taking a sip from his glass before setting it back down on the table. This was an area where he knew he and the princess could intimately agree with one another; being forced to wear a mask or title felt like little more than a cage. “I have never desired to be a king--something tells me in the way you hold yourself that you wish to be known as more than simply a princess.” Laurent grew quiet, tilting his head just slightly as he listened to Guinevere discuss what she viewed as her own strengths and weaknesses. Someone who was definitely self-aware, but perhaps needed some of the aforementioned skills she claimed to possess coaxed out of their shells. Leadership ran in a Hartwell’s veins; it was up to Guinevere to decide if she wished to possess it for herself or warp it into something she could use. Laurent tried to think of how her weaknesses could be used to complement her strengths, his lips slightly pursed as he thought over the information she had just conveyed to him.

“Oversharing could be utilized as a strength,” Laurent said at last, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and reaching for his wine glass once more. “When you think about it, those who hold every part of themselves closely guarded to their chests are the ones others most often find suspicious. I can be the life of a party or any room I enter; I can bed and charm my way through half of Astralis, but I guarantee at the end of the day, no matter how close or intimate someone feels our relationship may be, they can’t say a single genuine thing about me. They can’t tell me my father’s name, or what he did for a living; they can’t remember when I started serving the Day Court or what my favorite hobby is. Oversharing in the small, throwaway details of your life--your thoughts, opinions, or half-hearted interests and pursuits--is an excellent way to get someone to trust you. Garnering that trust is precious; so is using it to your advantage. Not everyone needs to have the heart and cold aptitude of a warrior to be a formidable opponent. And don’t get me started on relationships; I’m wonderful at charming, but there’s a reason I’m unmated. Longevity has never been a strength of mine.” Laurent paused, taking another sip of his drink and studying her.

“You’re a jack of all trades, I believe, is the human saying. But your kindness is what will win you the eyes and ears of spies in foreign courts. Your kindness is what we use to our advantage.”

( ALEXANDER &&. ERYK )

- 

Eryk honestly couldn’t remember meeting the man at the Highwinds tournament, but if he was being honest he couldn’t even remember what he did the day before. That was only a few hours ago, of course he wasn’t going to remember something that happened days ago. He had consumed a lot of alcohol since then. He didn’t let the confusion show on his face. The last thing he needed was for his high lord to get word that his advisor was a drunk mess in front of visitors to the court. 

“Well it is a pleasure to see you again Mr Beircheart.” Eryk smiled and motioned for the man to take a seat at the table. He sat down across from him and motioned for a nearby servant to bring them some coffee. He hoped the caffeine would help with the headache.  He really couldn’t remember Elias saying anything about needing a blacksmith. There was nothing wrong with the blacksmith the palace already had. But Elias had already made it clear he didn’t like anything that reminded him of the previous high lord. So maybe this would please him? 

“I’m excited to see what you have to offer. How long have you been working as a blacksmith?” 

.

Choosing Eryk Lutz as his target had been no fluke; indeed, it was a choice only made after weeks of careful planning, consideration, and observation. The royal advisor would likely feel a bit isolated in lieu of the recent turnover of power in Dawn Court; this isolation would prove to extend itself by the arrival of Elias Wakefield’s extended family and his recent engagement. On top of that, Eryk Lutz was known to be a bit of a partier. There was no telling who he’d bed, where he’d end up, or what sins he’d participate in. If Alex could manage to convince anyone of a meeting that never actually took place, he was willing to bet it would be Eryk Lutz. Men who were lost and grieving were lucky if they remembered their own names, much less the names of men they met.

Faeries were such fucking fools.

Alex smiled brightly, an expression that felt out of place on his usually-surly face as he took a seat at the table Eryk indicated. The weapons strapped to Alex’s back clanged slightly as he sat down, and he thanked the servant who flitted off in search of coffee for the gentlemen. Alex removed the bag strapped to his shoulder, laying the weapon roll on the table with great care as he met Eryk’s gaze across the table.

“Oh, s’long as I can remember, really,” Alex managed with a light laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. “My mom used to do odd jobs for some of the villagers in town, and when I was old enough, I started apprenticing. Trust me, you won’t find any better blades crafted in the kingdom.” Alex paused, his brows knitting together in worry as he fidgeted slightly in his seat. “I only wish--my blades had been here in time to save High Lord Caerwyn. His death is one that sits with me every day; the guilt I feel, that he didn’t have one of my blades to protect himself. He was a good man--they’re hard to lose.”

( SEVASTIAN &&. AINSLEY )

-

Perhaps if hers was a heart of true warmth and benevolence, she would have followed him to the frosted land he called home. As was the agreement, when one gave their hand in pursuit of matrimony. The Duchess could do far worse, than act in service to a would-be High Lord. Oh, how she would have thrived. Ainsley had the face and disposition for politics, and unlike the surly sorts that lived in the snowy mountains, she knew how to weaponize it. The trick, she determined long ago, was to wade into awe. Astralis had enough fearsome men and women. But few knew how to manipulate the notion of love. Even fewer knew how to take a warmed heart, and trick it into a fiery rage. It would have done Sevastian a world of good, to have a cunning woman such as she by his side. The anti-thesis of the maddening stoicism, that deterred anyone from vulnerability in his presence.

But for all the puff and smoke Ainsley created, hers was not the warmest and most benevolent of hearts. It was a collections of gems, gold, and silks in its place. A prudent woman who knew only one love - herself, and the things she could acquire for herself. It only made sense, then, that what brought them into each other’s lives could simultaneously separate them. A loose string that unraveled them, until nothing but mismatched thread remained. It would not be enough to play “number two.” Not even to a man that she supposedly loved (though the truth of what that meant to her remained to be seen) could satisfy her. If his dreams were to come to a fruition, they would be his. Not hers. It was all she needed, to wage a war and allow it to incinerate them whole. Still - there’s something intoxicating in his presence. The promise of intensity and liveliness, a far cry from those of lesser mind and spirit than the Duchess. Oh, how he could incite such passion in her. She almost missed it, the years following their last sordid affair burned in her mind.

“A man could. This man rarely does.” She reminds him, honeyed tone and a raised brow of gentle criticism. Sevastian was many things. Sentimental was hardly one of them. “Not unless he’s grown tired of batting below his ranks.” Ainsley reminds him, with an arrogant certainty that whoever company he now kept, did not share in as fastidious mind as hers. She licks her nude-painted lips, dark eyes darting between his with a humored twinkle in her eyes. It was true. Sevastian could incite something raw and almost inhumane, in her passion. A slick, wetness that could not be denied in between her lithe legs. Memories of being each other’s undoing, in the throws of passion. But she does not turn her head in shame, or bend a knee like another maiden would. She meets the tsesarevich’s pointed gaze and promptly places a finger on his shoulder, lightly picking off a piece of dust on his person. “Don’t look too upset, my love.” A venomous use of a pet name of years past. Ironically, a pet name bequeathed purely to incite the ferocity of his love making. “You’ll be pleased to know that my body hasn’t forgotten. Just the other night, I took the loveliest little groundskeeper to my bed chamber. Ridden hard, put him away wet. All to your memory.” A perverse and shameless confession. There was no need for walls to be built around them. Not when Sevastian’s presence could do nothing short of bolster her climb to power. “And there are more ways to command power, than spilling Valentina blood.”

.

Speaking honestly, Sevastian should have seen their collision as inevitable. It was impossible for two creatures as power-driven and lustful as Sevastian Valentina and Ainsley Tang to be merely content living in the other’s shadow. Their goals were too far separate from one another’s to make any union between them one of longevity; her sights were set on those within the realm of the Summer Court, while Sevastian’s resided in the blustery winds of the Winter Court. He might have regretted the outcome of their once powerful and formidable relationship, but he didn’t regret the journey. Indeed, Sevastian had learned a great deal about himself--and others--simply from being in Ainsley Tang’s orbit. She was too proud to admit the same, but he knew it. Somewhere, deep down in that cold, frozen heart of his, he knew this fact to be wholly truth.

The entire basis of their relationship had been nothing but smoke and mirrors. Looking at Ainsley now, trying to feel a semblance of the emotion he was expected to in the presence of a former flame. But instead of pain and sadness, Sevastian only felt...indignance. Anger, mild irritation, a desire to prove her wrong. These were emotions that were acceptable and common in Ainsley Tang’s presence. But love? Those emotions were reserved for other people. Not for Sevastian and Ainsley. Truthfully, the Winter Court heir wondered if either of them were genuinely capable of such a feeling.

“Bold of you to assume that the company I keep is below my station,” Sevastian managed with a shrug of his shoulders, tilting his head slightly to observe the predator that stood across from him. “Though if you had half as much wit and intuition as you claim to, you’d realize it’s healthy to garner a following for yourself. Those lower than us provide us with something invaluable: idolatry. You’d be amazed at how easy it is to convince someone you’re honorable if they only have men more powerful and corrupt than you are to compare to.” Sevastian arched a brow at her crass commentary about who she’d bedded lately, his lips slipping into his familiar sly, coy grin.

“A groundskeeper? Now who’s keeping below her station?” Sevastian’s response was more a purr than a murmur; low, soft, and calculated with each uttered syllable. “If you were hoping to make me jealous, darling, you’ll have to try a little harder; next, you’ll tell me you’ve taken a stableboy to bed.” Sevastian stepped towards her, his feet crunching softly on the ground beneath them as he severed the scant space that separated them. He reached forward, tilting her chin up with two of his fingers and forcing her to meet his gaze. “I know all about the various ways one can use to amass power, blossom. What I want to know is what you’re planning on doing to keep some of your own. Word on the streets is the humans aren’t stopping any time soon--it would be such a shame if they came knocking on Summer’s doorstep next.”

( RONAN &&. JACEN )

.

Jacen could not put into words how relieved that made him. The fact that he truly believed it to be true, and in all the years that he’d known Ronan it had proven to be just that. He’d always find his way back home. “Never. I don’t think there’s anyone that can quite fill those shoes. You’re truly one of a kind.” Jacen couldn’t help but smile at the fondness of their interaction. His own father was a cold man, much less of a man that was easy to converse with and much more always providing an unsolicited, negative opinion. Jacen had always sought out advice and even just general conversation with the Spy Master. He’d found that Ronan never steered him wrong.

A chuckle left him. “We haven’t been pups in some time now. Though I understand. I feel the same way about the dragons and Teddy. I might not be that little boy anymore but I still feel the need to come to you when I feel like I’ve made a mess of my life. Which is something I’ve done lately. After everything that has happened so far with the humans, I feel like I could use a chat too, because this battle is just beginning, isn’t it?” Jacen wasn’t a fan of all the violence that had been occurring. He wasn’t keen on using his brute force or his fists to solve problems, but in this case he had to. There was no other options besides fight or die. He just wished there was a different way.

.

"Keep saying things like that, kid, and you’ll give me a head and ego the size of the Deerlings’,” Ronan managed with a half-smile, the gesture almost a strange on his usually stoic expression. He’d spent far too much time away from home this time; it had all been for the benefit of the Wild Hunt in the end, of course, but it had cost him quite a bit. When was the last time he had seen Jacen, or even Mahina, for that matter? When was the last time a meeting he held with the Wolf King had been in person instead of through quill and paper? His was a lonely job, one filled with self-imposed isolation, but it was a career he wouldn’t change for the world. He would spend weeks and months missing his bed here in the Widowed Oak if it meant protecting the pups that dwelled inside of the Wild Hunt--the way he hadn’t been able to protect his own family.

“Now, how’ve you gone and made a mess of your life, boy?” Ronan questioned, arching one brow. He gestured for them to take a seat on a nearby bench, and once they had, the Spymaster angled his body towards the dragon tamer’s. It was reasonable for Jacen to feel discontent and worried, particularly in the face of everything Astralis had dealt with in the last few months, but...the tone of his voice was concerning. Just how much had Ronan missed during his travels, exactly? “This is definitely the beginning of...something. It’s the rumblings of things that have been building for years--generations. It’s finally culminating to a head, and the choices we make in the coming days can make or break us in the end.”

When the entire world was in disarray, there was one person Laurent Morningstar found himself continuously relying on: his most esteemed High Lady of the Day Court, Rowan Hartwell. She was a formidable leader, one of the greatest in all of Astralis (in Laurent’s not-so-humble opinion), but perhaps more than that, she was also the closest thing to family Laurent currently had. She was the closest thing to a sibling he felt he’d ever had, and even though they teased one another and he enjoyed trying to rile her up, there was no one he would go down swinging quite as hard for as Rowan Hartwell. So, in the wake of the Highwinds Tournament and the shambles Astralis currently found itself in, there was no one whose attention Laurent wanted more at the moment.

He’d been busy, these past months, collecting information and coaxing bribes out of other fae; perhaps it wasn’t safest yet to confess everything to Rowan, especially considering he tried to keep her as safe as he could from his particular line of work, but he had to tell her something. 

Before Day was targeted next.

Presently, Laurent found himself making his way through Day Court’s impressive high castle, weaving through the halls in search of its leader. The little captain of the guard from Night, Nate Dubois, would be moving in here soon (if he hadn’t already) and making himself at home in their court. One last night with Rowan, perhaps then, before everything changed.

“I’m here to see the High Lady,” Laurent managed to a passing guard. “Don’t worry, she’s always begging for my company. She’ll want to see me.”

( RONAN &&. MAHINA )

~

She nodded at least everyone she closely cared about was safe, “hopefully his healers will have him in the mend soon.” But her eyes widened and she grabbed the salve she had created long ago and some bandages, “but if you know of a way to get this to him, it might help too.” She stopped again though and added some herbs, “that tea should also help with his pain.” Her kindness tended to exceed her better judgements at times but after all, they were aligned with Night now. She could at least try to help even if she didn’t think it would be very appreciated. 

The people of Night didn’t seem like the kind to be interested in an herbal mixture that resembled green mud and rubbing it on their skin to heal them. 

She smiled and nodded, “I’m better now that I’ve had some time to get back to normal. I’m sure my worry in healing everyone at the tournaments didn’t help me any. I felt so fatigued after it all, I swear I slept for three days straight.” She chuckled knowing it to be untrue. She smiled at him and nodded, pulling some of the bottles from one of her shelves, “I keep them stocked for you… incase of emergency.” She smiled handing them over and looking at the plant she had just potted, “this is an herb we use a lot. It helps with pain and inflammation. It’s getting sparse in some places so, I’m going to grow some here so the wild version can recover from us. I don’t like seeing them die out either.” She smiled “I don’t want us to wind up picking Cloverwood clean.” She chuckled, “just doing my part to preserve.” 

.

"Ah, I have a feeling that stubborn bat will live to brood and scorn another day,” Ronan said noncommittally, properly shouldering his way into the room. He didn’t have time to fre and worry over the High Lord of the Night Court--in fact, if it had been Ronan’s idea to begin with, the Wild Hunt never would have meddled with any of the solar or seasonal courts unless it was to vanquish them. He was a bit more...pessimistic than Lucien when it came to inter-court relations, a fact his young king knew had everything to do with his upbringing and little to do with his direct opinions on the Night Court. “But I’ll be sure to pass on your suggestions to the High Lady; word has it she hasn’t left his bedside since the incident. Our Queen of Roses would be proud of her dedication, I’m sure.”

“You can’t help who you are, Mahina, and I’ve always admired that about you,” Ronan answered kindly, a warm, rare smile brightening his face. How one person’s personality could be so infectious and uplifting was a miracle and a marvel to the Spymaster. He took the bottles she’d produced for him gratefully, slipping the mixtures into the pocket on the inside of his coat designed to carry his vials and crushed powders. After making sure Mahina’s concoctions were safe within the confines of his coat, he directed his attention back towards the potted plant she was referencing.

“Cloverwood might not be the only thing we pick clean by the end of this,” Ronan commented, bending down to inspect the plant. “Not if the humans don’t learn to keep their grubby hands to themselves. They have no respect for nature; something I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, what with the destruction their little resistance leaves in its wake.”

( LUCIEN &&. ADA )

- 

Ada always had taken her role within the pack very seriously. It held a weight to it that simply couldn’t be ignored, and with the unease she held as third-in-command, she could only imagine what Lucien must be feeling. Their leader had a tendency to retreat within himself in times of strife. Never to a degree that was easily noticed, but enough to keep the majority at arms length in order to maintain a guise of regalness and calm composure. It was a trait she understood well, certainly no stranger to building walls herself if it meant their pack and the Garden might never know the extent it takes to protect them. It was an attribute well suited for a King, but for such a close friend? Not so much. 

They had worked expeditiously since their return, speaking of little else as strategies were voiced and certain deterrents laid in wait. A few scrapes and bruises was all they had suffered, but strength alone would not render them exempt from the building tensions felt throughout the whole of Astralis. Wars and battlefields may have been where Ada flourished, but it did not mean for a second she would wish it on their people. The past week had been one solely of leadership, something the she-wolf certainly had no qualms with – But Lucien was also the closest thing she had to family still breathing. She did not plan to allow him solitude enough to shoulder all his personal grievances alone. 

Later though. The early hours of the morning after all plans had been set in motion was not a small respite she planned to disturb for him, even if she was unable to sleep herself. Ada had headed to the kitchens in darkness, eyes easily adjusting to the lack of light and honestly preferring it given the dull ache curling at her temples. A fresh pot of tea never hurt in such instances, the wondrous pastries delivered fresh to the kitchens every morning even less so…It was notion entirely forgotten, as she happened upon Lucien sitting alone in the dim candlelight. “I thought we only brooded in the dark on Tuesday’s, Lucien. This is highly irregular.” She quipped lightly as she walked up behind him, honestly grateful for the way such soft luminescence didn’t escalate the tension headache lurking behind her amethyst eyes. Her hand curling at the back of his neck and squeezing lightly before moving past to take the seat opposite. “Our house appears to be in order for now. I’m having a few fresh eyes test defences in the morning, but as of this moment, we’ve done all we can.” Ada conceded, breaking off knot of the chocolate loaf herself to pick at as she popped a small piece into her mouth. “So what else is it currently weighing on you, Lucien?” The she-wolf questioned, a genuine softness to her features before she took a lighter tone “And should you answer as my King…” Ada trailed off, weighing up the piece of bread in hand with faux absentmindedness. “Well, you know i’m rather well versed in headshots.”

.

It was Ada’s presence as his third-in-command sauntered into the lone kitchens that finally broke Lucien out of his reverie. What were the odds that he should lament over his own isolation and loneliness, only for one of his most trusted friends to gravitate towards him? They had been silent the past few days, choosing to act rather than speak, but with silence and candlelight stretching between them, Lucien knew the time had come to have a proper conversation about his concerns, fears, and hopes with Ada Desai. She might have been his military advisor and, therefore, far more pragmatic, cutthroat, and practical than many of the others in Lucien’s immediate rotation, but she was still one of the closest friends he’d ever had. If anyone could empathize and shed some light on the grief and distress Lucien was feeling, it was from the dark-haired woman standing before him. 

“Must have my days mixed up,” Lucien said by way of greeting, one corner of his mouth lifting into a half-hearted smirk as he appraised Ada in the doorway. “At this rate, maybe you should get me a calendar to keep track of our brooding schedules.” Lucien reached for the pot of tea he’d brewed and a fresh cup, pouring her some and sliding it over to the empty seat across from him.  He smiled as she fondly squeezed the back of his neck before taking a seat. “Maybe we can cycle up. If only the others wouldn’t feel so left out; Jacen might tear up if he thought I’d forgotten him.”

“Grab your own, vulture,” Lucien commented, swatting away her hand as she stole a bit of his bread. It was a comment with no venom, however, as Lucien went about carving off part of the loaf and plopping it on a plate in front of her. Most days, Lucien swore Ada was more of a sibling to him than his own blood brother had been. It was times like these in particular that he found himself grateful for her presence; she was a steady anchor in his life, and though he didn’t voice it aloud perhaps as much as he ought to, he was endlessly grateful for everything she’d done to steady him when the rest of the world wanted to yank Lucien up by his roots and toss him to the wolves. Lucien grew silent when she implored him to speak his mind, using his fork to push some of his food around on his plate as he thought over his response. Too much to say, not enough words to get his feelings across.

“I’m afraid,” he said at last, and the release of the words felt as though a great weight had been expelled from his chest. “I know I shouldn’t say that--my mother wouldn’t have been afraid in this situation; she was diplomatic and level-headed at all times, maybe even to a fault. I’m more like her than I realize, but I also just...worry. Everything I’ve done has been for the Hunt, but what if, in the end, it’s not enough?” He glanced up, his eyes meeting Ada’s across the dimness of the room.

“What if I’m only tightening the noose around everyone’s necks?”

( CARTER &&. GENEVA )

-

Geneva had decided to take a brief detour on her journey home and spend some time in the neutral territories. While accompanied with her newly appointed guards and her trusted aid, Sergio, the designer knew that whatever intercourt violence and human discontent that existed, somehow it wouldn’t breach the borders of the neutral territory. At least, never had there been a time since the brokering and creation of the space had that been crossed. So the dawn fae hoped that the tradition would continue. As well, she was not in the state to physically do much about it. Not that she had much ability before. But somehow, in the violent fray that occurred back at autumn court, Geneva had garnered an injury.

It was slight and word had been sent for a spring healer to meet her at the Tulloch homestead back in dawn soon after her arrival. But still… the petite fae wasn’t able to bear her own weight for long, having hurt the bone that connected her foot to her leg. It wasn’t pleasant and the whimsical creative anxiously awaited having the injury healed. And so, Geneva sat, outside on the open patio of a cafe, a short stone’s throw from where a merchant had set up shop. With what smelled like delicious baked goods wafting Geneva’s way. At the very least, from the rapid inquiries of the fae whom she never met before, perhaps the merchant was talented. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help but overhear. You seem… quite knowledgeable about this. Let me guess, are you a baker yourself? Or are you an apprentice of one?” She asked curious, her voice easily heard from where she sat in her seat. “Are you sure you don’t want to offer your services to the merchant instead?” It was almost a joke, no matter how genuine. Whomever he was, his questioned sounded enthusiastic. “Is that what brings you here - finding the perfect recipe for your sweet buns?”

.

Carter was so enraptured by the light, fluffy pastry he was consuming (and the poor baker who he was questioning like a drill sergeant) that he almost didn’t notice the young woman sitting alone outside the cafe. Blinking, Carter turned away from the kind baker, noticing the young woman with a slightly piqued interest. He couldn’t say he knew her specifically, perhaps, but there was something almost familiar about her face; something that Carter couldn’t quite place, and didn’t dare try to size out, for fear she would catch him staring at her and think him quite mad. He smiled at her inquiry as to whether or not he was a baker, the gesture full of warmth as his grin slipped across his face with ease. Though becoming a baker or pastry chef had never been his ultimate goal in the years before he and Cassian had lost their sister and father, it was...a grand compliment indeed.

“I appreciate the compliment, but I’d call myself more of an enthusiast than anything else,” Carter managed with a light laugh, turning away from the chef and finishing the last of his pastry. “I’ve been baking for as long as I can remember; my brother would probably argue it’s for the sole purpose of fattening him up, but I haven’t quite reached that point just yet. I like to come here on my down days, learn the best from the master.” Carter gestured towards the cafe behind them before finally taking a seat across from where the woman sat. Yes, something about her did seem vaguely familiar, but not in the sense that Carter actually knew her. More in the sense that...he knew of her.

“What about you, though? What brings you into town--work or pleasure or...well, something else entirely?” Perhaps if he could figure out what she did for a living, it might help the nagging questions lingering in the back of his mind.

( JAMES &&. ISADORA )

James + Isadora @covrtofnightmares​

Isadora was nearly home, headed back to summer with the intent to check in on her mother, Lyen. She was certain that the healer was busy, likely visiting other villages to aid those that needed. Especially any fae that had been wounded or injured at autumn during the final night of their disturbed awards ceremony. The warrior fae had taken the long way home. First through Cloverwood, if only to check on her lupine kin she’d met up with during the earlier portion of the  tournaments. From there, Isadora crossed over into the tundra of winter and checked on one of her best friends, Wren Hartwell. 

She was now in spring court. The scent of florals seemed to cling to her attire, even as she walked into the pub of the inn she’d ordered a room in. Isadora was visiting good friends of hers, a couple that found work as servants for the royal family at the palace in Avalon City. A tan hand raised to cover her eyes in the quick adjustment of entering the darkening space. In stark contrast to the brightness of high afternoon outside. Isadora had walked to the bar and placed her drink order and glanced around, taking in the sight of those nearby. She blinked, mild confusion and surprise on her features at the sight of James Deerling, the consort and warrior mate to spring’s high lady. It was not how things were at summer court. Funnily, Isadora mused in quiet interest if she’d ever seen her own high lady outside of ordained events created for public appearances. …She doubted it. Still, drink in hand, a wise yet quick decision had her add a second drink for the other warrior, Isadora approached him. 

“Um,” The knight wasn’t usually speechless. But then again, she seldomly encountered a near mythical fellow warrior. Last of whom, after the then alleged death of his mate, was said to have vanished to the mountains of spring court to mourn. Or that’s what the rumor said. Isadora wasn’t one for mountain range retreats and hadn’t attempted to explore the truth of that gossip. “Pardon me, sir. But respectfully, are you asked often to blink or  move so that others know you aren’t a statue?” The unfiltered inquiry spilled from Isadora’s lips. “You do look rather…questionable right now. Secondly,” She sat the extra drink down in wordless invitation. “Yes, I know you have a mate. Great choice, by the way. But… one more thing, and I mean no harm but exactly how old are you?” Isadora asked, genuinely wanting to know. It wasn’t often that she met fellow warrior fae whose life experiences stretched beyond her very existence. Many high fae. But not many warriors that were still alive after a certain amount of centuries.

.

It was good to be home. Perhaps a bit overdue, considering how long James had spent in the mountains, but for the first time in decades, the warrior fae felt as though his life was beginning to gain some semblance of purpose once more. After years of trying to track down the truth and origins of his wife’s mysterious death and his eldest daughter’s disappearance, Faun had returned to him again. Now, all James had left to do was track down Aurora and bring her back home, where she belonged. Whether or not the rest of Spring was happy to have James back, however, was still to be determined. Apollo, Arielle, and Noel certainly seemed pleased to have the consort back in the royal castle once more, but the verdict was still out on the others. Ares, perhaps, above all others. Indeed, James found himself unable to even think of his eldest son without a twinge of pain ricocheting through his chest.

His duties for the day done, however, James chose to visit one of the local taverns for a bit of reprieve from the hustle and bustle of castle life. The warrior fae had never felt comfortable with the eyes and ears of everyone in the room turned towards him; it was one of the many reasons why he found himself unable to bear the thought of remaining in court after his wife and daughter’s disappearances. James had managed to secure himself a seat at the bar and waved over the tender, who was only all too pleased to give the High Lady’s consort a large, frothy pint of ale in a frosted mug. James caught the mug with ease, taking a long and hearty sip before licking the froth from his upper lip. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of someone else approaching until she was already upon him.

James blinked, turning away from the bar at the young woman’s question and turning to gaze at her with a quizzical expression etched onto his features.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard as much; thank you for reminding me I was getting wrapped up in my own thoughts again,” James said cordially, gesturing with a hand to the seat vacant beside him, silently indicating for her to join him at the bar. His brows arched even higher as the young woman sputtered on, indicating she was well aware that James already had a mate--where was this going, exactly? “As much as I hate showing my age, I’m closer to 700 than I’d like to admit.” He paused, gesturing towards her. “What about you? And what brings you here?”

( GABRIEL &&. OLIVIER )

-

Like any night court member with assigned responsibilities, Olivier had joined his court at autumn for their annual tournament. Which meant that the lesser fae had also been in attendance when a mysteriously glamoured human simply stalked up to night court’s high leader and stabbed Gabriel. …Of all things. Since when were humans able to glamour or even be the vessel of one long enough to seek vengeance in that manner, Olivier did not know. Still, unless the purpose of the now fugitive, whomever they were, was to have their life rooted out and snuffed out from among the humans that remained within Astralis… The lesser fae presumed that whomever stabbed his high lord had failed in their attempt. As Gabriel, high hell hound that he was, still stalked sullenly among them. Amid his flock within night court. Wherein Olivier Benoit resided and had been appointed a minor lord by said high lord.

The Benoits had sent with Olivier a plethora of their best merchandise. Wine, brandy, cognac. Hell, even his uncle Beau-Alexander, had tucked away a few cases of cigars for the high lord and his guests. If smoking struck their fancy. A trusted servant, Quincy, carried a crate as he walked near Ollie. It was a smaller version of the gifts the Benoits had sent before Olivier’s arrival. “Your grace,” The lesser fae bowed in respect before raising and approaching Gabriel where he sat at the head of the table. “Congratulations on not succumbing to your injury. I, for one, am glad. Night court would’ve been far more dreadful had we entered an unexpected period of mourning.” He motioned for Quincy to bring the create before Gabriel and open. “In all seriousness, truly I’m happy to have a little more time to pleasantly irk you. Might even have you chance a smile at me, one of these days. Finally.”

Olivier sat down near Gabriel. “Mon Grands-parents and uncle send their regards and well wishes of your expedient health. Much bigger coffers were sent. But in this - there’s wine, brandy, cognac.” Ollie chuckled as Quincy opened and presented the items to Gabriel before stepping away. “Even some cigars, if you’d like. Do tell me you’re feeling well enough to imbibe with me. If only a little. I’d much rather share a real drink with you, your grace, than have actual tea. But if you wish to have tea instead… Well, I serve at the pleasure.”

.

The spread today was truly magnificent. Though he would never voice his suspicions aloud, Gabriel wondered if the hyperfixated attention of his staff today had anything to do with Gabriel’s fretful High Lady or his equally distressed War General. Gabriel tried to ignore the faint stab of pain as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap and watching as the servants went about filling his goblet with wine and his place with a fresh array of food. Croissants were placed in a small basket in the center of the table, and Gabriel found that he could smell the strong aroma of almonds as the warm dough was sat before him. The High Lord had reached for his knife and fork and was in the middle of cutting himself a bit of chicken and chewing on it thoughtfully when a servant announced that the High Lord had a guest. Gabriel’s bright blue eyes dragged themselves towards the door, just in time to see Lord Olivier Benoit enter, a servant beside him carrying a crate of undisclosed goods.

“You seem in good spirits, Lord Benoit,” Gabriel commented with an arch of his brow. He reached for his glass of wine and took a tentative sip, his lips curling up behind the glass to hide the smirk that threatened to etch its way across his face. “I’m afraid it will take much more than a human to mark my undoing. How ghastly; having to replace me because I was bested by a mortal.” Gabriel’s nose crinkled slightly in distaste, and he set his glass back down on the table as he leaned back in his dining chair, resting his elbows on the chair’s arms and gazing at Olivier inquisitively. Gabriel’s eyes tracked Olivier as he sat down beside him, indicating what was in the large crate he’d transported here with him. Gabriel nodded once, peering into the crate to see the aforementioned goods Lord Benoit had procured for him.

“Flattering--and all of this for a smile,” Gabriel mused, an almost teasing lilt to his tone as he sat back and met Olivier’s gaze once more. “I hope your family is doing well, Lord Benoit.” Though the rest of Astralis would likely think him cold and heartless, Gabriel found that he meant the words. When it came to his own people, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect them. The Night Court was precious. Gabriel intended to keep it that way. The High Lord gazed at his partially drunk glass of wine before scooting it away, gesturing for a servant standing by the door with a flick of his hand.

“Two more glasses for myself and Lord Benoit--we seem to have much to discuss.”

( ALEXANDER &&. CELINE )

@covrtofnightmares​​ (Celine & Alexander)

They should have been celebrating, high off of yet another smashing victory against the highbrow Fae of Astralis that had kept the lot of them in shackles. While there was certainly a feast and the usual victory party that came with a mission well-done, it seemed as though no one could relax when there was a noticeable absence in the room. No one was entirely sure what had happened, only that when the final count of all their members had finished, one particular woman was missing among them. The tention and unease of that that could mean was palpable beneath the forced cheer, and it soured the atmosphere. 

Celine for one, couldn’t bother with whatever nonsense was making the lot of them so skittish, when they had clearly come out on top. But without their ever-fearless leader at the helm, it seemed as though the Resistance had lost its spine. To say it was annoying was an understatement. All this whining and speculation about Noa’s disappearance, paired with the murmuring doubts around Santiago grated on her nerves something fierce. And so she had left the party early, blood boiling and ears ringing with conspiracies she wouldn’t so much as bother to entertain.

At least there was one person who still maintained a handful of brain cells without supervision.

It wasn’t difficult to track down Alexander. Hunters like them were perhaps even more creatures of habit than the prey they chased after so regularly, and vigilance to the point of obsession was a given. It was only natural that she would find him in the one place no partygoer would think of treading; the makeshift training grounds. “My, if you look so dour all the time, your face will be stuck that way, darling.” Celine tilted her head, icy eyes scrutinizing him with the same morbid curiosity of a predator sizing up one of her kin. “It would be such a waste too. Handsome men with an ounce of sense to them are few and far between these days.”

She crossed over to take a closer look at her fellow comrade. While the recent months had given them so few opportunities to speak with one another, Alexander Barrett was among the handful who had earned her begrudging respect. He was one of the few who knew just what end of the knife to stick into a Fae, and what a masterpiece he could make when he was well and truly motivated. Alexander was the closest reasonable person she could think of in their chaotic little family, perhaps by default. “As much as I would love to play with you, Alexander, I think we have some rather pressing matters on hand, don’t you agree?” Quite a few, if Celine had been hearing the rumours correctly. “I wanted to know what you thought of it. The disappearances as of late. I never realized our dear friends lacked such backbone.”

.

Everything was falling apart. It seemed as though it had been for the last several months. The beginning of the end, Alexander Barrett thought grimly, could be traced back to a trickling stream and warm hot springs; to coupling with a nymph with glittering wings and eyes as bright and warm as the sun. It was hardly Aurora Doefoot’s fault that the resistance was crumbling apart, but if Alex could pinpoint the start of his own inevitable downfall, it was meeting her. Strange, really, that he didn’t blame the nymph at all for his current situation. As likely as Alex was to distrust and loathe the fae for everything they did and everything they represented, he realized how dirty his own hands had grown the last year. It wasn’t Aurora’s fault that Alex seemed to make a muck of everything everywhere he went. Indeed, though he would never admit the words aloud, there was something...calming about her presence. Something that made Alex feel safe. Wanted, even. But...Lilianna was gone. His fall-out with Santiago stretching long and cragged between them. Noa missing, without any clue as to where she might have gone off to. Even Raymond was difficult to track down these days.

For a man who loved reliability, Alexander Barrett certainly wasn’t getting it from any of the people he had previously called his dearest companions.

True to his nature as a hunter, Alexander did what he always did when he found that life had few answers: he took to the woods. He didn’t expect to find any fae loitering around this part of Cloverwood today, but it was still a welcome distraction from the stuffiness of the Underworld. Disappointed as he was by Lilianna’s prolonged silence, Alexander was--at his heart--frustrated with the abandonment of his leaders. Noa was off, frolicking who knew where with whatever sort of companions, and Alex hadn’t so much as spoken to Santiago in weeks. If he ever saw the prick again, he’d likely wedge a blade between his rib cage. But that anger was displaced; he had no real reason to be upset with Lilianna, and he knew it, so he pressed all of his anger and despair towards Santiago. A man who, once upon a time, Alex had thought was a friend. These days, though, Alex wasn’t even sure the resistance was fulfilling its original purpose anymore.

A thought that Alex knew some other members of the resistance were starting to share, what with everything going on.

“I’ll try and be more sunny for you, Dahl-face, though I make no promises with the state of the world being what it is,” Alex commented as he leaned against a tree trunk, whittling away at an arrowhead he was sharpening. He glanced under his lashes up at Celine, who stood a safe distance away, gazing at Alex with that sly, serpentine grin etched across her fair features. He arched a brow when Celine stated that they had more pressing matters to discuss. He knew it was only a matter of time before she sought him out; he just hadn’t expected it to be here. Now.

“Ah, yes, the disappearing act,” Alex said at last, lowering his hand and tucking the arrowhead back into his pocket. He’d come here for a bit of privacy, but truth be told, he didn’t mind Celine’s company; they had been thick as thieves, them against the world with Lilianna by their side. Alex chose to avoid mention of Lilianna; he knew Celine would pick up on it and prayed his friend would possess the decorum to skirt around the subject. “I presume you’re also curious as to where the others have scurried off to. Noa specifically seems to have...vanished.” Alex leaned back against the tree trunk, folding his arms across his chest and studying her carefully.

“The resistance is a messy, bleeding, broken heart. If we aren’t careful, it’s going to burst. If I’m being honest, Dahl, I think it’s time we take things into our own hands.”