ODILE

Summary: The cauldron keeps calling to Rhysand, and there’s only so long that the High Lord can keep avoiding its whispers. It’s time for him to fulfill the prophecy he’s been avoiding — he must become high king. Before anyone else can take his crown from him.

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Chapter Two: Infernum

The sun was just starting to rise when Rhysand and Nesta had finally gone to bed. She wasn’t sure about the high lord, but Nesta barely got a wink of sleep.

She couldn’t help it. She kept thinking about Rhys, what he had confessed to her. The implications such a confession held.

He had to become High King.

Something about that knowledge didn’t sit right with her.

The sunrise was just hitting its peak when rustling finally caught Nesta’s attention, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned her head and, sure enough, Cassian was finally waking up.

Nesta rose to her feet, walking over to the side of the bed. “Good morning, Cassian.”

Amber eyes landed on Nesta’s form, and a lazy grin spread across his lips. “Morning, Ness.” He opened his mouth to speak more, but Nesta beat him to it.

“You were snoring so loudly that I couldn’t sleep,” she remarked, jabbing a finger into his chest. Cassian rolled his eyes with a snort, sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. The Illyrian stood up and wrapped his arms around Nesta. He leaned down, his breath hitting her ear.

“Is that true?” He asked, amusement in his voice. “Or were you too occupied with fantasizing about me that you couldn’t sleep?”

Nesta rolled her own eyes, lightly shoving at his chest. “You wish.”

“Then what kept you awake?” Cassian huffed, releasing her.

Nesta opened her mouth. And paused. Cassian raised an eyebrow. Nesta swallowed.

Why was she hesitating? The feeling of wrongness in her gut increased. “I was having nightmares,” Nesta finally replied. Immediately, she wished she were more convincing. Immediately, she wished she had told him the truth, but the words just wouldn’t form. “About the war.” She added, very delayed.

Cassian clearly didn’t believe her. She didn’t miss the faint glimpse of hurt that flashed in his eyes, either. “Nesta, if you don’t want to tell me right now, that’s okay,” he reminded gently. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Nesta forced herself to look away from his gaze. Forced herself to focus on her breathing, inhaling and holding and exhaling. She couldn’t make herself open up to Cassian. She wanted to, it was such a small, stupid thing to keep a secret from him. But the words just wouldn’t come.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta finally said, her voice much softer than she had wanted it to be. Cassian seemed to melt at that. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s forehead.

“It’s okay, Ness. Just don’t forget that I’m here for you.” Cassian stepped away from her, eyes sweeping across their bedroom. “Should we get ready to go, then?”

Nesta was ready to agree, but something made her pause again. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure that she was ready to leave. “Maybe…” she began to say, slow and hesitant. Cassian paused, perking up. “Maybe we should ask Feyre if we can stay another night.”

Cassian grinned, eyes alight with joy and something close to pride. Nesta couldn’t help but to smile back at him. “I think that’s a great idea.”

~~~

Feyre honestly couldn’t believe the words that had left Nesta’s mouth. She stares vacantly at her sister for a few moments, processing. Nesta seemed to take this as a bad sign, Feyre could see it in the way that she started to shrink into herself the tiniest bit.

“Sorry— did you just ask if you could stay another night?” Feyre finally replied, standing up from the plush chair she had been sitting in.

“If that’s a problem, I can just go—“

“No!! Gods, of course not,” Feyre cut in quickly, eyes wide. “Nesta, you never have to ask to stay here. This is your home as much as it is mine and Rhys’s.”

Cassian gave Nesta a knowing nudge, who quietly huffed in response. “I thought it would be polite to ask anyways.”

Feyre couldn’t stop the smile of pure joy that spread across her lips. “Nesta, you’re my sister. You’re family. You are always welcome here.”

Nesta bowed her head the slightest bit. “…Thank you, Feyre.” She began to look around, eyebrows furrowing. “Where is Nyx?”

Feyre smiled even wider. “He just finished feeding, so Rhysand and Azriel took him for a little bit.” Whenever Nesta said Nyx’s name, Feyre couldn’t help but to think of the sacrifice Nesta had made. Feyre would be eternally grateful— Nesta had saved the life of her child, the life of her mate, and her own life. That, and Starfall, had been a huge turning point in their relationship. Feyre would never, ever forget it.

Cassian gently squeezed Nesta’s shoulder, and Nesta smiled softly.

“Oh! That reminds me. Thank you so much for letting us borrow your Symphonia again.” Feyre quickly dug into her pockets and pulled out the egg sized device. Nesta held out her palms, shaking them.

“No— it’s alright. You can keep using it for Nyx while we’re here,” Nesta said quickly.

Pure gratitude filled Feyre to the brim. “Thank you, Nesta. Really. I know how much it means to you.”

“You’re my sister, Feyre. And he is my nephew.” Nesta replied simply.

~~~

Rhysand felt amazing, despite getting an hour or two of sleep after he and Nesta had departed.

He expected to be greeted with a nightmare, perhaps of his time with amarantha, but the red haired monster didn’t grace his dreams.

Instead, he dreamt of his future. In his dream, he was happy with Feyre, who was pregnant with another child. A daughter. Nyx was older, learning to fly with Azriel in the morning and training with cassian in the afternoon. After dinner, Rhysand taught him everything he would need to know in order to rule one day. How to be a good ruler, how to do right by his people.

He was happy, Feyre was happy, his children were happy, his family was happy, everyone was happy.

He awoke with a large smile on his face, feeling rejuvenated, almost even reborn.

“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?” Feyre had asked him, a smile dancing across her perfect face.

Rhysand had responded by pressing a kiss to her cheek, and then explaining his delightful dream. “It’s given me motivation,” he explained, a cheeky grin on his face.

He had decided not to tell her that in his dream, he was high king.

“Do you have any plans today, brother?” Rhys asked Azriel, cradling a babbling Nyx in his arms. The spymaster shook his head.

“No. Why do you ask?” Azriel replied, cocking his head to the side.

“I would like to request your help researching something,” Rhys replied, adjusting Nyx so he was now sitting up, leaning securely against Rhysand’s chest.

“That something being…?”

The Almighty High King of Prythian

Summary: The cauldron keeps calling to Rhysand, and there’s only so long that the High Lord can keep avoiding its whispers. It’s time for him to fulfill the prophecy he’s been avoiding — he must become high king. Before anyone else can take his crown from him.

xxx —> next chapter

Chapter 1: Fatum

Rhysand couldn’t sleep. His mind kept flashing to those three weapons that Nesta had made.

A dagger, a sword, and a great sword. Ataraxia, Nesta had named it. Inner Peace. It was a beautiful weapon, even if it didn’t like him, and it had a beautiful name to match. The dagger had been given to Eris, the simpering fool, but the swords remained in their possession.

He also kept thinking about what Amren had told him.

”With these three blades, you could make yourself High King.”

His stomach churned at the thought of it. Him, high king. He’d be no better than the monster his people in the hewn city already saw him as, forcing his friends in the other courts to kneel before him. He’d be just like—

He cut the thought short before she could be mentioned, even if only in his mind.

…

He’s not getting any sleep tonight. Huffing to himself, Rhysand carefully untangled himself from Feyre, mentally apologizing to his mate. He slipped on a pair of undergarments and trousers, and silently exited the room.

They had converted the room next to there into a nursery, and Rhysand couldn’t stop himself from peeking his head inside.

Nesta’s prized possession, her Symphonia, was softly playing music for the babe to sleep to. She always allowed them to borrow it on the rare occasions she decided to spend the night at the River house with Cassian. Nyx loved it.

Just another reason that Rhysand was forever in her debt.

Nyx was sound asleep in his cradle, wings splayed out every which way. Rhysand smiled at the sight, his heart swelling with so much love and so much pride.

Silent as a whisper, Rhysand walked away from the nursery. Maybe some tea would help him? Mind made up, the high lord made for the kitchen.

He sifted through every cabinet and cupboard in the kitchen, but he couldn’t find his special blend of tea Madja made him. It always knocked him out. Did he somehow leave it back at the house of winds…?

“You’re up late,” a voice remarked, catching Rhysand completely off guard. He spun around, magic ready to be released, body tense and wings vanishing, but it was just Nesta. She leaned elegantly against a counter sipping from a mug.

“I could say the same thing to you, Nesta,” Rhysand replied. He focused on his shoulders, making them loosen at least a fraction. It was just Nesta. Nesta meant no harm to him or his family.

Which she was part of, he reminded himself. Nesta was Feyre’s older sister, and had more than made up for their past disagreements.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nesta admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It wasn’t very often Nesta wore her hair down— it added to her beauty, made her look less lethal and more soft. Or perhaps it just reminded him of his Feyre.

“Me neither,” Rhysand agreed. “What are you drinking?”

Nesta shot him a glance, gripping her mug the slightest bit tighter. A frown tugged at Rhys’s lips at the gesture. Perhaps his exhaustion made him sound accusatory— he trusted Nesta to stay sober. He didn’t mean it that way.

“Coffee,” she finally replied. “Would you like some?”

Rhysand blinked, surprised at the gesture. “If it’s no trouble, I’d love some.”

~~~~

A few minutes later, Rhysand found himself sitting in one of the living rooms with Nesta, a small fire blazing in the fire pit. The fire crackles, and Rhysand could hear Nesta take a deep breath. He saw her force herself to relax. His heart ached for her.

“What’s keeping you awake, Rhys?” Nesta asked. She took a sip from her mug; it one of the many gifts he had bought for her. It was a hand painted mug, black with red thorny vines. He bought it for her the moment he saw it.

Rhysand pondered the question for a moment. He owed the eldest Archeron his life and his court, but he couldn’t help but to be wary of her anyways. Eventually, after a scorching hot sip of coffee, he decided how to answer. “I’ve been having flashbacks.” A vague answer, but not untrue. Nesta nodded once, though remained silent. “Amren thinks the cauldron has chosen me for something.”

Nesta’s eyebrows raised slightly at the mention of her friend. “What did Amren say to you?” Her voice was full of concern, but she put no malice into her words. She knew just as well as anyone that communicating politely wasn’t Amren’s strong suit.

“Nothing bad,” Rhysand waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought from her mind. “But nothing I want to hear, either.” Nesta waited again, setting her mug on a coaster Elain had crocheted, so Rhysand opened up just the slightest bit. “She thinks I’m… destined for something greater.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up fully at that. “Something greater?” She echoed. “Is there anything greater than being High Lord?”

“Unfortunately, there is.” Rhysand could feel a headache coming on at the thought of it.

“Such as…?”

Rhysand swallowed. “Being high king.”

Nesta froze. She took a deep breath, held, and released it. A memory must have bubbled to the surface. He wondered what. “She wants you to be high king?” She finally asked.

“She thinks I’m meant to be high king, that the cauldron chose me.”

“When did she tell you this?” Nesta’s voice was calm, Rhys could tell she was trying to keep it neutral.

After his magic had unsheathed Nesta’s weapons, full of powerful magic. Nesta’s magic. He could picture the memory as though he were still living it. “A while ago,” he said instead. Nesta nodded slowly. “All I want is to stay in my court with my family and my son. He’s only a month old!” This was the most vulnerable he had ever been with Nesta Archeron, second only to when Feyre had just given birth.

“Perhaps you could wait until he’s more grown,” Nesta suggested.

“…I might not be able to,” Rhysand admitted, slumping fully into the couch.

“…what do you mean?”

“Amren told me the cauldron might not be willing to wait. That if I don’t act, it will extend the offer to someone else. Someone like Beron, or Tamlin.” He paused, “or someone worse.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He could see the impact they had in her immediately. Her body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat.

“That can’t happen.” Nesta said quickly, body quivering. He couldn’t help but to wonder who she thought of in that moment. She turned to face him fully, her blue-grey eyes almost looking like they had lost their shine. “Rhysand, you have to become high king. Before anyone else can.”