Fuck yes, Nessian!

Hours slipped through Nesta’s fingers like sand until she was counting down the minutes to her wedding. It may as well have been the tolling of her death. The Lord of Bloodshed would not treat her kindly, despite the magical bindings forced upon him. Why had she dared speak to him in Windhaven? This was revenge for her daring to speak against a male. Revenge upon her, upon the Night Court.

Feyre had banished the others so the three of them could be alone, but Nesta did not engage in their attempts at conversation. She had not eaten a single bite of the food that Elain had tried to coax upon her plate. She’d barely drank a drop all day, but she was uncertain if her pounding headache was as a result of dehydration or fear. They could not encourage her to shower or pack a bag. Nesta remained in denial that it was truly happening – that yet another choice had been taken from her. The only words she’d uttered that day had been to beg her sister to winnow her somewhere else, somewhere safe. Nesta would go anywhere other than to the Lord of Bloodshed. Her sister had staggered over her words then gave a feeble noise of discomfort before asking Nesta to consider the court as a whole.

She would find no allies in Velaris.

When the sun began its descent, there was a knock at the door from Morrigan. A dress the colour of blood was presented to Nesta.

‘It is tradition in Illyria to wear red for a wedding.’

Nesta pressed her hands to her face to keep from screaming.

Carefully, Morrigan said, ‘We need to go Nesta. Please dress.’

It was tempting to throw herself from the window. Doing so at the House of Wind would be more effective than the town house, where Nesta would find herself in the hydrangea bushes.

Downstairs, the others waited for her. There was no joy upon their faces. She’d seen more mirth at funerals. Yet none of them would put a stop to her wedding. Nesta was the casualty of their deal with Cassian. She was the sacrificial lamb whose death was necessary.

Azriel held a knife out for her. ‘Keep this with you. Don’t be afraid to use it.’

‘I cannot harm him.’

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘But there will be other males there who can harm you.’

She stood holding the knife awkwardly until Morrigan prised it from her cold fingers. The males had the decency to look elsewhere as she lifted Nesta’s skirts and wrapped a holster around her thigh to keep the knife. Feyre came down the stairs with a hastily packed bag. Nesta had little to show for her time in Velaris beyond the basics, but it still hurt to see them bundled away to remove all traces of her from the city.

‘Time to go,’ murmured Rhysand.

The shadowsinger took her hand. It was just as cold as her own, but the grip was firm to keep her there. Shadows enveloped them. The chilling sweep brushed against Nesta’s cheek. They carried one word on their whispering: sorry.

Iron Crest was different to her imaginings. It shared the same bleakness as Windhaven – mud and muted colours. Fighting pits were scattered amongst the sea of tents, but their wooden fences were new and pristine. There were a number of small cottages on the fringes that appeared new too, as well as a large building upon a hill that overlooked it all. It was the weather that shocked Nesta. Despite the warmth of Velaris, Iron Crest remained cold. It was situated in the far north where the land fragmented and gave way to the sea. The wind promised a bitter night to come.

Many had gathered on the outskirts of the camp near a copse of trees that broke the northern wind. Nesta could make out many sets of wings and a long table with a spread of food upon it. Barrells had been placed near the edge of the gathering which she expected to be filled with ale or wine. Sconces were scattered around the periphery to shine a little light as the sun set.

It all became suddenly real; the nightmare come to fruition.

The Lord of Bloodshed might have viewed his wedding night as a celebration, but it would spell Nesta’s execution.

As the sun slipped further behind the mountains, the sky was painted the colour of blood too.

The Lord of Bloodshed’s hazel eyes scanned them then settled on her. They softened slightly, but Nesta quickly turned her face to the ground. He would want a submissive bride, she was sure, and Nesta had no strength to fight him today.

His hand was warm as it engulfed hers.

Perhaps on a different day, Nesta would have withdrawn it to spite him, to embarrass him. But he was to be her jailor now and Iron Crest was where Cassian would keep her. A slight against him here with the other camp lords watching would mean misery for her. So, Nesta let him hold her hand through the ceremony that was conducted in Illyrian. She understood none of it. Nobody had prepared her for this. She wondered if they even knew, whether they’d ever experienced an Illyrian wedding. She wanted to rage at them, not only for forcing her into this, but leaving her so woefully unprepared for what was to come.

Cassian took a knife and sliced a deep cut into his left palm. Blood bloomed there then ran across his palm where it followed the curve of his skin. He held the knife to her next but touched his fingertip to the point. She was not to bleed as he did.

Her fingers trembled on the hilt. Cassian could not harm her. All she had to do was prick her finger and bring a drop of blood to the surface. Or she could take the knife and carve it through her throat to end this nightmare.

A sudden, panicked look crossed the Illyrian’s face.

His fingers enclosed over hers again, holding the knife steady as though he’d heard her thoughts.

‘A single drop,’ he said so quietly that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

When Cassian let go, she pushed the knife to her fingertip until it bled. A ruby ribbon tracked down her finger to her palm where Cassian met it with his own bloodied hand.

The male overseeing the proceedings continued to talk while Cassian clasped her hand then clean, white muslin was extended to them. The Lord of Bloodshed held his wound out to her in expectation. He gave a subtle nod when her fingers touched the muslin. Nesta blocked out the crowd watching as she bound his palm tightly then Cassian ripped a strip off then tied it around her finger which had already stopped bleeding. She was sure there was a slight smirk playing on his lips as he formed a bow with the bandage.

There was a burst of applause which signified that it was done although there was no relief to it. The crowd remained staring at them in expectation. Cassian took a step forwards, his hands cradling her face. Her magic reared inside of her at the unexpected proximity. He tilted her face upwards.

No. Not this. She did not want her first kiss to be in front of an audience, and not with him. This was all wrong. She didn’t want it.

But his lips did not touch her own.

They were close, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, but Cassian did not kiss her. To the eyes peering at them, it would have seemed like he did due to the clever placement of his hands.

‘Break open the ale,’ he called, voice rumbling over the top of the crowd.

In the darkness, a party unfurled. Cassian held her hand tightly on the fringes as members of his camp gave their best wishes in a mix of Illyrian and the common tongue. The other camp lords stayed long enough to give their own blessings then departed. Her sisters came too. Feyre gave a diplomatic blessing that extended to both of them, but there was malice in her eyes. Elain stumbled over whatever words she’d rehearsed then stepped away blushing. Rhysand took up the space left by her sisters. Cool contempt was on his face as he said, ‘One week every month, she returns to us. Azriel will be remaining in Iron Crest tonight, Nesta, to speak with you in the morning. His tent will be beside your own.’

‘If that’s what he enjoys,’ said Cassian, with a raise of his brows.

A muscle worked in Rhysand’s jaw. ‘Need I remind you that Nesta is my mate’s sister. The high lady of the Night Court’s sister.’

Cassian’s bandaged hand stroked against the back of her neck. ‘And my wife,’ he said. ‘My beautiful, beautiful wife.’

‘If you harm her-’

The Lord of Bloodshed held up his other hand where a tattoo was inked around his wrist. ‘I cannot, as you well know. I assure you, the sounds that the shadowsinger will hear tonight will be purely of pleasure. My wife will be well taken care of.’

Dread was icy in her gut at those words. She could not imagine this male to be kind. She couldn’t imagine him to be anything except rough. He was so much larger than her. She had to clamp her teeth together to keep from weeping or screaming.

‘Nesta, you only have to call Azriel’s name and he will be there in a moment.’

‘It won’t be Azriel’s name that she’s calling, I assure you, Rhys.’

‘Rhysand,’ the high lord corrected tetchily.

A rough laugh broke from Cassian as he draped a heavy arm around Nesta’s shoulders.  ‘Aren’t we brothers now? Both of us with a pretty Archeron. Should I call you Rhysie?’

‘Azriel will be here,’ he said, dipping his head slightly before he departed. 

As soon as her sisters and the others departed to Velaris, Cassian drew her an inch or two closer to him. The heat of his body chased away the rattle of her teeth.

‘My wife is not made for Iron Crest’s nights,’ he explained to the crowd. ‘We seek our bed.’

He leaned into the whistles and cheers from other males with a wink. His fingers remained on the back of her neck as Cassian guided her through his camp. Along the way, he filled a plate with food. She expected him to take the pathway towards the large building upon the hill, but instead Cassian veered left to the edge of the camp where only two tents had been erected. Surely not. Surely they wouldn’t really sleep in a tent. She was already cold and it was summer. A damn tent?

In a blink, Azriel was standing at the entrance to the tent. ‘I will be there as soon as you need me, Nesta. One word from him that you don’t like, and I will be there.

‘She will like all of my words. Now, excuse us. My wife and I have a marriage to consummate.’

‘You cannot force her,’ Azriel gritted out. ‘You cannot coerce her, threaten her-’

‘Are they all wound so tightly in Velaris, Nesta?’ Cassian asked.

There was a shining sliver of hope that Azriel would put a stop to this. That maybe he would whisk Nesta away to safety. But his allegiance to his court won out against his conscience and Azriel stepped away so they could enter the tent.

It was not what she was expecting. There was a brazier in the centre which hadn’t been lit in some time. The canvas was high enough for Cassian to stand without needing to bend his head or crouch. A large bed was situated at the back with rugs thrown across the floor to block out the chill from the ground. It was large enough to house a single chair and table where a neatly-arranged stack of maps and parchment had been stacked. In a wooden chest, Cassian deposited his weapons after inspecting them. There was another chest beside it which he indicated for her to put her clothes into. She made no attempt to move, so he tugged the bag from her fingers and dumped the contents into the chest.

Nesta reached only as high as his chest as Cassian came to stand in front of her. He tugged the wedding gown over her shoulders then let it pool around her feet so that Nesta was stood only in her slip. Violent tremors shook her and not solely from the cold. Magic rose up in her chest but Nesta couldn’t let it out; she didn’t know how, nobody had ever taught her.

Cassian prowled around her, inspecting her from head to toe while she trembled. He stalked to the bed where a large pile of clothes had been settled. He plucked a dress from the top then slipped it over her head. It was simple but thick enough to chase away the cold.

Nesta kept her head down, waiting for his next move.

The silence was drawn out between them. Only the red glow of his siphons provided any light.

The Lord of Bloodshed conceded first. His fingers slid to her chin and raised her face to look upon his. ‘Where has your spark gone?’

At her silence, he took a step closer.

‘What happened to the Nesta Archeron that I met in Windhaven?’

His hand slid from her neck down towards her breast.

Nesta’s hand shot out, stilling him from going any further. She tried to dig her nails into his flesh but she felt the force of the magical binding keeping her from harming him. She forced his hand away from her body, but instead of reacting with annoyance, Cassian merely laughed. ‘There she is, at last.’

Cassian made to paw at her body again, but Nesta blocked him. Over and over again, he tried to touch her arm, her hip, her stomach, and she gripped his wrist, pushed his palm away, blocked his attempts until her blood was boiling. Worse was the grin spreading across his face each time. It only made her angrier.

‘Stop touching me,’ she hissed.

‘I’m not,’ he protested with feigned innocence. ‘You’re touching me.’

Nesta glanced down at her fingers which were clasped to his wrist and promptly let go.

It brought a burst of laughter to his lips. ‘Come. Sit and eat with me.’

‘Only if its poisoned.’

The Lord of Bloodshed pressed a hand over his heart. ‘So that we may leave this world together? I’m touched.’

 Cassian took a seat on the edge of the bed and began digging into the cold plate of food. She remained where she stood, the dress still on the floor like a puddle of blood. In between his eating, he jerked his head towards the brazier. ‘Should I light it?’

He didn’t wait for her reply and set to coaxing a flame there instead then he lit an oil lamp to add more light to the tent.

‘Our nights grow cold in Illyria and the hour is late.’ Cassian pulled back the blankets from his bed.

‘I am not joining you there.’

‘You’d prefer the floor?’

Nesta gritted her teeth. ‘Anywhere where you aren’t is better.’

Another laugh from the camp lord as he removed all of his clothes so Nesta was left with an expanse of bronzed, muscled skin to stare at. There was no chance that she would enter the bed now.

‘Eat. There’s a canteen of water there too. Then sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.’

‘What will you make me do?’

She tightened her grip on both the handle of the dagger and the flint, striking with more intensity than before, but at the last minute the blade slipped, grazing her knuckle. 

“Shit!” she hissed, the blood dripping down her finger already. She stuck it in her mouth, then took it back out to look it over. The cut was shallow, just the top layer shaved off, but she needed to be more careful. She reached behind her into the sack, feeling around for the gauze that she knew was in there somewhere. She found it quickly, grabbing a ribbon off the roll and cutting the piece with her teeth, winding the remainder around her affected finger and tying it off.

“Okay, Nesta. Get it together.”

The wind was howling now around the cave mouth, only the light from the setting sun illuminating each strike of the flint against the blade now. She grit her teeth, repositioned the blade, and struck again. This time, a tiny ember seemed to float straight to the tinder, clinging and glowing while she blew a steady breath onto it. She sighed in relief when the fire caught, the twigs and branches above it beginning to crackle as she slumped back against the wall. 

Despite the dull throbbing of her hand, Nesta felt good . Exhausted beyond measure, but good. She thought that roughing it out here would be a nightmare, spending the entire first day on this side of The Wall terrified and debating turning straight back to face whatever consequences awaited her back home. Truthfully, the only thing that had stopped her was the reminder that she had no idea where Vilja had taken her when they–what had she called it?-- winnowed . Who even knew where she’d crossed or how far it was from home?

So instead, she’d followed the gentle hum of The Wall to an opening nearby, a split in the ivy and stone where a light from the other side seemed to filter softly through. Nesta stepped through before she could change her mind, the strange humming buzzing and vibrating over her skin as though it was caressing her. The air seemed to pull at her strangely, whispering words into her ear that Nesta couldn’t quite understand, and then she was through to the other side. It was bright and green and floral, the air smelling of honeysuckle and freshly turned dirt, greenery and pine. 

Nesta had sat hard on the grass, the cool dew of morning on the grass pressing against her skin. She took the bag and set it on the ground in front of her as a warm breeze washed over her, the peace of the moment calming her nerves. She’d started to organize, taking items from the bag one by one and putting them into piles. The items just kept coming, tumbling out one after the other for an impossibly long amount of time and filling the small clearing she was in as she sorted. The bag was clearly enchanted to hold much, much more than it appeared. But she smiled to herself, recognizing many of the items and seeing even more that she couldn’t readily identify by sight alone. The bag reminded her of one from the stories she’d read beneath the covers as a child, of adventures and sorcerers and love. 

The was a smaller bag filled with clothing, seemingly enchanted the same way to hold more than it appeared, making Nesta’s head spin. Most of the clothing items looked to be pants and tops instead of dresses. It would be a new experience for Nesta–as everything else was turning out to be–but she couldn’t say she wasn’t a little excited about it. She wasn’t sure what she’d be dealing with in these woods, but she was certain wearing a dress wasn’t the most practical approach. The clothes ranged wildly in sizes, some looking like they’d fit her perfectly and others far too large–perhaps for sleeping. She grabbed pants and a shirt and tucked the rest back into the bag.

There was food, lots of dried meats and fruits and cheeses, then multiple skins filled with water. She’d need to be aware of the streams as she passed and refill them when she could–though Vilja had packed quite a few, she didn’t want to be caught lacking. There were various items for shelter, a few scattered books on plant remedies and edibles, an extensive sewing kit with varied threads, a tin of paint, as well as what appeared to be an instructional pamphlet and a spell book, though she wasn’t sure what she’d do with that. There were tarps and rope and boots, weapons holsters, a cache of daggers, a shortsword, and a longsword, and various smaller items she assumed were fit for surviving in the wilds.

“Well, at least one of us was prepared,” Nesta muttered as she changed clothes, pulling on a pair of light leather pants and a matching top. The weather seemed temperate, and she didn’t feel the need to grab the fur-lined clothing or the jacket, even if it did seem like the sun was setting. Once she’d laced her new boots and repacked the bag, she settled it on her shoulders and took off towards the setting sun, pulling the map out and plotting her journey as she walked.

That had been exactly seventeen days ago. 

Nesta knew, because she’d been marking the days on the back of her map as she walked. She’d found out that first night that Vilja had brought her to where The Wall opened into Spring, the first of the courts of Prythian coming up from the south. She realized that the map was enchanted, a small dot marking her location and moving as she did. 

Spring had been beautiful, if not a little warm for Nesta’s liking. She’d been scared the first night, the dark encroaching only hours after she’d set out. She wasn’t sure what to do to keep her safe or what manner of things might even be in the woods where she walked. To be safe, she’d climbed a tree with a massive trunk and lots of branches as night fell, the moon and stars above her casting enough light for her to see. Though the woods were quiet with the echoing of crickets and birdsong, she still listened intently for anything else that might be prowling the trees.

She’d climbed as high as she’d dared, fishing through the bag for the rope she’d seen before and strapping herself to the tree in case she fell asleep. She’d doubted she would, but she’d been wrong, the trauma of the day clearly having been overwhelming enough to knock her out cold. She’d nearly screamed when she awoke in the morning, almost tipped off the side of the massive branch where she’d slept, thankful for the foresight to tie herself in. The sun was already rising in the sky, and she browsed the map and chewed on some food while she decided to plan out where she’d been each day.

Since then, her efforts, while clumsy, had improved greatly. It hadn’t taken her long to find that the pamphlet had been effectively an instruction book from Vilja. It detailed each item in the bag as well as their uses. In addition, it pointed out protective sigils, runes, and charms that Nesta could employ to keep her safe each night as she slept. There were step-by-step instructions for fires and building resting spots, as well as instructions on how to gather food, identify edible and medicinal plants, and even hunt, though she hadn’t attempted that yet. 

For the first few days, she’d made her way through the lush green forests and gently sloping hills of Spring. At least, according to the map. She was clumsy and nervous as she started out, the nights terrifying and her shoulders aching from holding them so tightly listening for noises that felt out of place in the woods. But she hadn’t encountered another soul past a few deer and birds and rodents. In her moments where the fear and doubt began to creep in, she’d pretend she was Feyre, fearless and stubborn, wild and free, and though she was sure it was all in her head, it did make the anxiety more manageable. She adapted to wearing pants more quickly than she’d thought, the movement easy and protected and somehow freeing in a way a dress had never been for her. There were certainly less ties and frills and loops involved. 

Truly, she hadn’t minded the experience, and by her third day, she was beginning to find a rhythm. The primary drawback of Spring was that her eyes had itched and scratched nearly the entire time until, on the fourth day, she’d spent some time browsing the medicinal plants book and found messily scrawled notes from Vilja on a plant that would help exactly that. From then on, she’d made a point to skim through a bit of the books every day, either while she walked or when she rested. There were notes on plants found only in Spring that would help heal certain ailments, and Nesta picked them up as she went, shoving them into her pack and organizing them each night into tidy bundles in case she needed them later.

At the close of the first week, she’d come upon a wall of what looked like rock that rose abruptly from the landscape. Tucked into one of the stone outcroppings was a door that she’d have missed entirely were it not for the notes on the map, the ink on which moved as she did. The map itself was a thing of wonder, focusing on the areas where she traveled and the courts immediately surrounding it based on intent alone. She could see in great detail the place where she was, the routes she would travel over the next few days. Then, another time, she might open it to see the whole of Prythian spread before her when she’d anticipated planning further into her trip. It was an ingenious thing, and likely the most helpful part of all her supplies.

The door creaked as she pulled it open, the hinges loud and stubborn from disuse. By then, she’d become a little more adept at using the flint Vilja had provided, and she did her best to light a makeshift torch before she entered. It wouldn’t burn for long without the proper prepwork, but it hadn’t ended up mattering anyway, walking through the cave only about an hour before she emerged into what could only be described as an autumnal paradise. 

“Holy shit.” Nesta breathed the words as she walked out of the cave system, the air turning crisp as she did. 

The leaves around her were the typical colors of autumn, but something here made them glow . As though every color was magnified, enhanced to show even the most minute details. The woods didn’t just look magical, either–she could feel something all around them. The woods felt knowing, somehow–ancient in their stoic silence. The air was filled with the smell of apples and sun-baked pine needles, and occasionally, as she walked, she’d catch whiffs of spices that reminded her of home: warm clove and cinnamon, earthen tones of nutmeg and ginger, and the passing scents of cayenne and black pepper. 

Despite finally needing to don the leather jacket that she’d found in her pack, Nesta found the Autumn Court to be much nicer than Spring. Everything about it felt awe-inspiring, and she walked a little slower than she might have otherwise. Vilja had mentioned that things were shifting, but Nesta felt certain she’d have also mentioned a timeline if things were dire. Since she hadn’t, Nesta decided she’d earned herself a bit of a dally in the beautiful woods. 

On Nesta’s fourth evening in Autumn, she heard voices as the sun set, bright oranges and purples and reds radiant in a darkening sky. Since she’d set out at The Wall, she’d encountered no one, the silence discomforting at first but reassuring as she went on. But tonight, as she trekked through the setting light of the woods, she was aware that she was close to a village not unlike her own. In the distance, she could see great bonfires reaching towards the sky, the embers sparking and floating towards the plum colored clouds above. Nesta moved closer, hiding herself carefully behind trees as she got as near as she dared. 

People were silhouetted against the flames, their bodies moving almost languidly as they sang and danced. Beyond the visible fires at the forest’s edge, Nesta saw what must have been at least a hundred others gathered in the streets. She watched as a group of teenagers giggled and stole bottles of wine from a table, one of them stopping to grab a doll from a little boy and hand it back to a crying girl. She marveled as the people moved, together and apart, the joy resonating in every shout, every gesture, every movement.

They were singing too, cords of a song rising together through the hive of people, though the distance kept the words mostly unintelligible. The one word she kept making out over and over again as she watched the reveler’s dance was freedom . 

Freedom from what? Nesta wondered, as she watched for a few more moments then forced herself to turn away. She found it strange that she didn’t want to leave, odd that she almost felt compelled to stay and watch, or perhaps even join them. They seemed so happy, overfilled with joy and whatever freedom they’d obtained. Some part of her longed to feel that joyous about anything. 

Though she supposed her own freedom was enough to celebrate.

All of Vilja’s various scribbles had been helpful, and they allowed Nesta to feel as though this wasn’t her first time in the wild, that she could do this if she wanted to. Every passing day, the blisters that had plagued her all through Spring faded to nothing, her skin building back stronger and more durable. She’d fallen into a routine, and she’d grown good at it, her process of making and breaking down camp second nature nearly. She’d learned to cook the morning oats just right, how to set up a fire, how to leave nothing behind like she’d never been there at all.

She continued through Autumn, tracing her way through the rainbow of fallen leaves and mossy ground until she reached the marked caves on her seventh day there.The caves that were available to her were clearly affected by some sort of magic, time working differently within them, because even though she swore she’d only been trekking for an hour at most through the darkness and stale air, she’d emerge in an entirely different terrain.

This time, it was to the sharp sting of frost and the frigid chill of deep, fresh snow. 

When Nesta emerged from the caves into Winter, she had to force the door open bit by bit against the onslaught of snow built up on the other side. She finally squeezed her body out, plummeting immediately into a snow bank that she sank into, grumbling as she did. The snow was still falling in great, fat flakes, the sheets of it so heavy that she could barely see in front of her. 

She had no idea where to even begin to travel in this, couldn’t possibly identify landmarks when the snow was falling so intensely. For a brief moment, the panic choked her to understand the harsh terrain here after the enchanted woods of Autumn. She tried to force it down, to think .

The wall of rock where the cave door was located seemed to stretch for miles, and many caves dotted the face of it. She meandered along with her hand against it, keeping an eye on the openings until she found one concealed enough that she’d feel safe. She clacked her sword’s grip against the rocks, hoping to scare off any critters already taking up residence inside, but nothing stirred. 

She entered to find the cave fairly shallow, no more than about fifteen feet back, but with a curve in it that would protect her from wind and snow. She dropped her pack, put up the protective sigils at the cave mouth, and began to make her fire. 

And that was where she found herself now, on the fifteenth day, her fire refusing to catch and her bandaged hand sore as the wind continued to roar and the snow refused to cease. She had plenty of food, and she’d been melting snow into water over the fire to drink and refill her own supply. She’d collected enough tinder as she’d walked through Autumn to keep the fire going, and managed to stomp over to the nearby woods twice to snap low hanging branches for more.

The first night she’d been there, she’d heard strange bellowing sounds near the break of dawn. When she’d gone to look, she nearly had a heart attack to see a massive group of what looked like giant, white bears crossing the terrain not far from her. There were a handful of adults, as well as what appeared to be a few infant bears, all running through the snow. Even the babies were larger than her by half, the fully grown ones towering as tall as a house. She’d watched them for a few moments, softening slightly as she watched the younger bears toss snow at each other. 

She had a flash of a memory of her and Elain pummeling each other with snowballs one winter, Feyre toddling beside them in the snow. It had been before the pressures of their name and status had ruined their lives, before their mother had taken ill. The memory was hazy, but she welcomed it. 

She’d tucked herself back into the cave as quietly as possible, and hoped that they didn’t come exploring. She certainly was not on her side of The Wall anymore.

Now that the fire was roaring in front of her, she debated perhaps making a stew. She had water she could boil and a bowl and could put the dehydrated vegetables and meat into it for a makeshift soup to warm her bones. She’d looked at the map each night she’d been stuck in these caves, memorizing the notes from Vilja. It looked like Winter was the quickest trip of all the courts. She couldn’t help but be relieved as she bundled herself more tightly in her blanket. Nesta, it turned out, was not a fan of the cold. She gazed wistfully, not for the first time, at the lovely Summer Court on the western side of the map that her route skipped entirely. 

It couldn’t have been somewhere warm and tropical, could it?

Those long nights gave way to more negative thoughts slipping through long after the sun had set. To chase the doubts away, she reminded herself why she’d come. 

Adventure. 

Freedom. 

Something more.

She repeated her reasons before she slept each night, giving them permanent residence in her head. She hadn’t left her sisters for nothing. There was a purpose to her being here. She couldn’t go home again, so the need to make this work was always at the forefront. No matter what lay ahead, she had to believe it was better than what she’d left behind. 

She deserved more, she would earn more.

Luckily, the route through the Winter Court went almost fully alongside the cliffs that signaled the start of the high mountains. Vilja had marked off cave after cave along the ridges, meaning for the few days she’d be traveling, she’d have easily accessible shelter at night. And staying in the cave hadn’t been all bad. It got toasty with the fire, and she’d had time to stretch and take notes and fully relish being truly alone for the first time in her life. She’d also taken the time while she was sequestered to organize her bag, sorting all the plants and herbs and edibles she’d gathered on her journey into small bundles for easy access. It wasn’t much, but she was proud of herself. 

She had faced this challenge head on, even nervous, and she was doing okay on her own. She’d learned how to do the basics to care for herself out here in the wilds, she’d managed to avoid detection by anyone or anything dangerous, and she’d done it all gracefully. Her head was clearer than she could ever remember it being before, and she was beholden to no one. 

She crept to the cave mouth, grabbing more sticks to throw on the fire for the night so she wouldn’t need to come out again, only to find that the snow had stopped. For the first time since she’d opened the door into Winter, she could see the stars. They were brilliant above her, spanning as far as she could see as her breath clouded the air. 

“Unbelievable,” she whispered as they glittered above. She’d never seen stars like this, never seen the sky like this so far from everyone out in the dark. She was so much higher on this terrain, it almost felt like she could reach out and touch them.

She couldn’t find it in herself to regret leaving home behind for this at all. For the first time in her life, Nesta had gotten to make a decision on her own. And it looked like it was working in her favor.

+++

Nesta had been wrong. 

She’d woken at dawn’s first light, packed up her belongings and left the cave just as the first rays of morning were breaking brilliantly over the snow-capped horizon. It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at her surroundings in the daylight, the blizzard having kept her from Winter’s crystalline allure before now. 

All day as she walked, and she’d made great time despite the deep, deep snow. She managed to wind together some sticks in her time in the cave, crafting a makeshift pair of snow shoes that were holding up surprisingly well in the heavy drifts that had gathered along the bases of the cliffside. It seemed to stretch forever both ahead of her and behind, the cave that she originally emerged from seeming to be somewhere in the middle of the court. From the map, it seemed she was a long way from the civilized areas, which was all the same to her. She didn’t have much interest in meeting any of the fae, to be quite honest. 

From what she remembered from the fairytales, they were said to be mean, cruel, and vicious. Her nursemaid had told them that they used humans as slaves, traded them like cattle. But then again, she’d thought all this to be wives’ tales until a few weeks ago. Vilja was the only one she’d met, if the witch could even also be considered fae, for whatever she was. And Vilja hadn’t seemed so bad. A little unsettling, sure, but she had healed Nesta as a child, made sure she was returned home, and helped her now in her time of need. 

She wondered what had happened to Tomas after she’d ripped his ear off and the angry mob he’d summoned had found no trace of her. If Vilja was able to do what she’d said, perhaps they’d confusedly wandered the woods for hours, not remembering what had brought them there with their torches and pitch forks and indignation. 

Nesta laughed, finding herself liking the idea more and more. 

It was this self-righteous laughter and enjoyment of the pain of others where Nesta went wrong. She’d been so caught up in imagining Tomas, one-eared and still bleeding and pride wounded, stumbling through the woods like an idiot, that she’d also stumbled through the woods like an idiot, her snowshoe catching a barely-exposed rock and twisting her bad ankle so violently that she had to suck in the frigid air to keep from screaming.

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” She grabbed at her leg, closing her eyes and hissing breath through her teeth. “God damnit.” 

When the stars dispersed from her vision, she took a deep breath. She was terrified to look down and find her ankle in the position it had been years ago. Though Vilja had healed it down to a simple scar, her ankle had never quite been the same, sometimes aching when she stepped just wrong. 

“Please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken…”

She ghosted her fingers down her calf, feeling around her skin before she could bring herself to look. When she didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, she allowed herself to steal a glance, a relieved exhale leaving her as she saw no bones.

The pain, however, was thunderous, the throbbing of it radiating out from her ankle and up her leg. She knew she wasn’t far from her stopping point for the night, maybe only ten or so minutes, but she doubted she’d be able to walk easily this way. She braced herself against the rock, pulling herself up to standing without touching her foot to the ground. When she tested her weight on it, she yelped involuntarily. 

“Okay, no. No weight.” She leaned her head against the rock, letting it hold her as she exhaled steadily and measured her options. 

Ten minutes. She could make ten minutes. She shifted herself so that she held a hand against the rocks, letting her weight fall into that hand as she hop-stepped. She staggered almost immediately, but caught herself. After another breath, she tried again. After a few, she seemed to get the hang of it, though the pain of every jump seemed to lance through her useless leg as it hovered above the ground. 

Much more than ten minutes later, Nesta found the cave and all but collapsed into it. She was soaked in sweat and sweltering despite the frigid temperatures. She cursed the many layers she’d put on today to keep her warm, the heat making her feel nauseous. Her hand and opposite hip hurt from holding all her weight, and she felt ill at the pain still undulating through her leg. She dragged herself further into the cave, too hot to make a fire, too exhausted to do anything but lift her head to check the space was empty before she allowed herself to slump against the smooth floor. She knew in her bag there was a root she could take for this–one from Spring that she’d packed a few handfuls of into her bag.

Not for the first time, Nesta was glad she had prepared for the worst. 

As her breath evened, she felt around for her carefully curated bundles in her bag, feeling the thick purple root right away and taking a tangle of it out. The pain was so overwhelming that she wondered if she hadn’t broken something she couldn’t see. She shoved the roots into her mouth, chewing violently despite the bitter flavor that caused her mouth and eyes to water.

“Shit, that’s bad,” she breathed around a gag, but she kept going. The effects were immediate, the pain dulling to a manageable throb as Nesta sighed. She could start a fire now, set up and prepare to spend another few days in a cave. She wasn’t moving very quickly, and it would set her back farther, but she reminded herself there was no deadline here. She turned to reach back and prop herself up, but the world spun. 

What was that?

The cave around her titled and the sounds warped until she wasn’t sure if she’d asked aloud or in her head. The ground shook beneath her, and her arm collapsed, throwing her body back to the floor of the cave. 

What’s happening?

Even in her head, the words were slurred. Would the cave collapse around her? Her terror seemed to ebb and flow like she was experiencing it secondhand. Then, her vision started to go, too. 

Nesta knew she should worry, should panic, but everything felt so good. Her body was humming, skin vibrating delicately like a million butterfly wings had descended upon her. She giggled. If the cave collapsed, perhaps they would cover her enough to save her. She smiled, looking at the cave ceiling. 

It felt good. 

She felt good. 

And as the blanket of darkness descended over her, she thought it might be a lovely way to take a nap. 

+++

Nesta felt the featherlight touch of a breeze on her face. It was warm, lovely, cradling her jaw like the hand of a mother might. 

Not her mother, but perhaps someone’s.

Nesta…

Nesta…

Nesta.

The voice was deep and low, the rumbling of it quiet but resounding in her chest. She felt it in her bones, her marrow. It wrapped around her heart like a golden ribbon, warm and silken and soft.

She liked the way it sounded. Liked the way it felt.

Nesta, Nesta, Nes…

Yes? She meant to ask, but the voice had changed. The low, coaxing timbre was gone, replaced with a high pitched screaming, sobbing. 

Nesta? The voice was Feyre’s, the sobbing was hers, too. Her eyes wide and watery and pained as she looked down on Nesta kneeling in front of her. Nesta tried to form the words, tried to say her name, but the scene was shifting, shifting, shifting until the whole vision twisted, warped like Feyre’s body on the floor. Her neck at an odd angle. Broken. 

Nesta screamed.

It turned into a fading shriek, but it was no longer hers. Her heart raced as she looked through dark trees, bobbles of firelight dancing in the foggy night. A flash of pastels, of lace, and a woman darted by. The flames were following her. The mob was following her. 

Nesta tracked her with her eyes. 

Elain.

The word whispered through the trees like the rustling of dead leaves. 

Protect Elain.

Nesta reached out, trying to run to her, but her feet caught. Every step was pulled back, further and further again. She had to get to her, had to–

But the scene was shifting again, Nesta’s rough panting loud in her own ears. 

She had failed. Failed to protect her sisters. Failed to keep her promise.

The sob shook her body, the hopelessness in every pore of her skin, in every shred of her being. Her mother was right. Her only duty had been to protect them, and she’d failed. She’d run. 

And now she was nothing. Nesta Archeron was absolutely nothing. 

Her heaving sobs began to level into a steady stream of tears, the heat of them vivid even though everything else felt so detached. And when she opened her eyes again, she realized she could see the stars. The bright, insanely clear night sky, the galaxies twining, sprinkled with dots of light. 

Above the icy peaks of three distant mountains, she could see the three brightest stars, shining like luminaries filled with the light of the sun.

Three mountains for three stars. Three peaks and their three partners.

She felt cold. Her teeth chattered and clacked until her jaw hurt, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. The moon and stars seemed to give way to the sun, the light too overwhelming to look at, the glint too severe to see. 

But then it dimmed, a soft, red glow covering her until her eyes blinked sleepily open. It was blurry, nothing clear, but she felt warm then. Safe. 

She wanted to reach out and touch the blanket around her, the comforting web of whatever held her, the membranous home where she’d nestled in and settled. She was aware of that golden thread returning, coiling up her arms like a curious pet. She took it in her hands, running fingers down it as though it was alive.

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth envelop her. She saw Feyre, happy and eyes bright as she watched brilliant stars streak past. She saw Elain, ravishing in a lace wedding gown, hair plaited with baby’s breath tucked in and her hands held in another’s. 

They were okay, they were okay. 

She was okay.

The knowledge that they were okay sunk into her stomach, settling like a warm meal. But the question remained, plucking at her consciousness. 

Who was Nesta when she wasn’t caring for them?

Who was she without her promise?

Who was Nesta when she wasn’t what she’d been raised to be?

Nesta straightened in her seat. 

Easy enough.

“Your pieces protect the king,” he went on, setting out six smaller, faceless, statues in a circle around their ivory sovereign. A single line of black squares edged each side of the board, and as Nesta watched, Cassian laid out twelve more pieces - carved from ebony, this time - along those lines, like a horde of waiting soldiers. A wry smile flickered across his face as he set down the last of those ebony pieces and pulled his eyes up to hers. 

“Mine attack him,” he finished.

Nesta snorted. “Fitting.”

His eyes simmered as he shot her a wink that would likely give any other Saxon woman a heart attack. “Once a Dane, always a Dane, sweetheart.”

With a roll of her eyes, she didn’t bother to respond. Instead, she took the time to look her fill at the board sitting between them on the table, with its black and white squares and neat lines.

It was strategy; she could see that.

She would not only need to find a clear route to the corner of the board, but predict where Cassian would move his pieces, too— anticipate his every move and block him before he could trap her. Something inside her piqued at that, like a great slumbering beast opened its eyes after a decade in hibernation. She had always been a curious child, always asking questions her father hadn’t known how to answer, and in the end, Aedwulf had given her education over to a local priest for a year or two, just to silence her incessant string of queries. The priest had been a kindly old man who seemed to have an endless well of patience for a child’s questioning, and though he’d read to her from the scriptures, he’d taken the time to teach her her letters too, and regaled her with tales of beasts and monsters from the same kind of myths her father had banned all knowledge of. 

When she told her husband, Tomas had said that it had been a waste, teaching a woman to read. 

So she had learned to swallow her questions and stifle that burning desire to simply... learn. But as Nesta looked at that black-and-white board, she felt the age-old tug of curiosity that she hadn’t allowed to swell unchecked for years.

And for the first time in over a decade, Nesta embraced it. 

She lifted her eyes from the board, and found the Dane watching her like every move she made, every breath she took, revealed something to him. Some part of the puzzle he was trying to figure out. She quirked a brow, leaning back a little in her seat as she dragged her gaze over his face and felt defiance stirring in her breast— the kind that made her want to make a string of bad decisions.

“Why should I be the one to defend the king?” she asked flatly.

Those hazel eyes flashed with barely-contained delight as Cassian grinned, all teeth and mischief; a wolf in the dark. “Shall we trade, then? For once I’ll be the Saxon, and you can try your hand at being a Dane.”

“Is that what this is?” she countered dryly. “A game of Danes and Saxons?”

He shot her another wink, one that made her skin feel too tight. “Isn’t that what everything is these days?”

Nesta hummed before casting her eyes back to the board. Idly, she dragged a fingertip along its wooden edge, pausing when she reached the line of black pieces designed to capture the distressed little king.

“Who moves first?”

Cassian inclined his head, golden light catching on the planes of his jaw. 

“Ladies first.”

***

Like a fool, Nesta had thought she would pick up the game as easily as she did everything else.

After all, languages had always come to her easily, and she had a mind not just for numbers but for dates, too. She could think and she could plot as well as any man, and yet somehow, she found herself on the losing side of this damned game, watching with ire boiling in her gut as Cassian plucked yet another of her pieces off the board and laid it down beside his tankard of ale. 

Clenching her jaw and fighting the frustration that made her want to hurl the board at a wall, Nesta scowled. 

She wasn’t used to this— to losing.

And yet her pieces had yet to make it anywhere near the king she was supposed to be attacking, because at every single turn Cassian blocked her, like he knew her move minutes before she made it. 

Bastard.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he was good at this.

Drumming her fingers against the edge of the table, Nesta took a breath. Blinked. Tried to look at the board from a different perspective— from his perspective. No matter how much she wanted to turn over the table right now, the challenge he had proffered kept her sitting in that chair and kept her mind working harder than it had for years, and even as he moved another square closer to victory, Nesta hummed as she lifted a hand and hovered over one of her pieces. 

Her eyes flicked up, watching for any sign on his face that she was making the wrong move. But Cassian wasn’t watching the board or her hand or the move she was planning to make. He was studying her instead, so intently she half thought he was measuring her breaths, counting her heartbeats. Shrewd and sharp, even with that endlessly-amused glint shining in his eyes, he looked at her like he could figure her out entirely, just by keeping his eyes trained on her face. 

And Nesta understood, then. To win wasn’t just to understand the game. It was to understand the opponent, too.

With a cocksure grin, Cassian reclined in his chair, kicking an ankle over his knee as he waited— like he had all day. And, Nesta thought, maybe she had all day, too.

Softly, she hummed as she tilted her head, contemplating the board. With every breath she felt his eyes on her, felt her skin heat beneath her dress, and as the moment dragged, she realised that the game on the table wasn’t the only match being played. Another was going on too, with far more risks and fewer rules. With every pass of his eyes across her, Cassian sized her up, and Nesta would be damned if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to do the same.

To better understand the opponent, she told herself. To win the game.

Not for any other reason did she ask, smoothly, whilst still dragging her eyes over the squares before her,

“Tell me. What is it like out there? On the sea?”

Surprise danced across his face for all of a single moment before a grin split his lips in two. In the warm light of the candles, the shards of gold in his hazel eyes seemed to be like shafts of sunlight filtering through the canopy of an autumn forest, warm and bright and yet somehow possessed of a hunger that Nesta half thought might have been mirrored in her own eyes, too.

“Curious are we, love?”

Nesta shrugged.

“I have never left this land,” she said slowly, letting her fingers drift across the board as she contemplated where to move next. Cassian watched her the whole time, like he knew her decision already and was just waiting for her to catch up. She flicked her gaze up; caught his. “Never seen beyond these shores.”

“A pity.”

“You sailed here,” she added, her hand stilling as, at last, she made up her mind. Before she could change it, she plucked up one of her pieces and moved it a single square to the left.

“Obviously,” Cassian drawled, crooked grin spreading as he gave her a pointed glance before flicking aside the piece she had just moved and replacing it with one of his own in a move so smooth, so confident, that Nesta scowled again. “I didn’t exactly part the North Sea like your god to get here now, did I?”

His eyes dipped to the cross at her neck, and Nesta fought the urge to tuck it beneath the fabric of her dress.

“Heathen,” she said calmly, rolling her eyes as he tried and failed to smother that damned smile that seemed to light up his entire face. But he didn’t answer, only took a deep pull from his ale as Nesta looked back at the board and tried to figure out what move he would least expect of her.

Still, she couldn’t quite get it out of her mind— the thought of a distant land, a foreign sky.

“Would you ever go back?” she asked.

For a long, long moment, Cassian was silent.

“Maybe,” he answered at last, his face turning pensive as he looked down into his tankard, like the honey-coloured liquid within might give him the answer he needed. “If the gods willed it so.”

He paused, setting the ale down with a shrug and trailing a finger along the rim. He wore a single silver ring on his finger, the muted gleam turning bronze in the light of the hundred candles that lit the space, and then, with a rumble in his throat that sounded something like an idle hum, he added,

“But I like it here.”

Bold, his eyes skimmed across her face, and Nesta swore she could feel every place those eyes alighted, like his attention was a stone skipping across the surface of a lake. She felt each ripple right down to her toes, felt it echo in her blood, and with a jolt she realised that not only did she not mind him looking at her that way, but she didn’t ever want him to stop, either. 

“I like it here very much,” he murmured, pulling his eyes down from her face to her chest and travelling back up again in a lazy, languid, stroke.

“And there’s no Danish woman waiting for you across the sea?” Nesta asked, wondering if her voice sounded breathless to his ears as well as to her own; wondering how long it would take for her heartbeat to steady and her flaming skin to cool.

Cassian tipped back his head and laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sure there are several.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but he only leaned closer, as if he were about to confide in her a secret. This close, she could smell the honey and leather scent of him, tinged with a hint of woodsmoke. She swallowed as he said, his voice so low it was little more than a scrape of gravel in his throat, 

“But none so lovely as you.”

Slowly, as if moving through water, he dared to reach out across the space between them and brush his thumb across her chin, dragging his calloused touch along her skin for all of a single heartbeat before the shock of his touch had Nesta rearing back, her eyes turning sharp even as his danced, glimmering in the low light. 

And then—

Before he could do it again, and before Nesta could second-guess herself and lean into the touch he promised, she took her chance to turn back to the half-forgotten game and move one of her pieces into a square directly beside one of his, knowing full well that it left her vulnerable and open to attack.

Knowing full well that he would seize the chance to capture another one of her soldiers.

And Nesta watched as Cassian moved without missing a beat, barely even tearing his eyes away from her face long enough to pluck her small black game piece off the board.

But Nesta smiled.

Because in moving so swiftly to take her piece, he’d left one of his others vulnerable, just as she’d suspected he would. And as his eyes widened, Nesta took her first of Cassian’s game pieces.

Shock lit his beautiful face, melting swiftly into delight as he propped an elbow on the table and leaned his chin on his fist.

“Good,” he said, letting the word roll across his tongue like a tide. “You’re a fast learner.”

Nesta shrugged. “Perhaps I have a good teacher.”

He hummed low in his throat— a sound so sinful she was certain her soul would bear the weight of it forever. It rolled and roiled and sank right into her, and Nesta wondered what it would sound like if he were to press his lips against her ear and hum again; if the vibration of it against her skin would permanently mark her bones. 

“I’ll make a Dane of you yet,” he murmured. 

God— she should not have felt lightheaded at that.

He had yet to look away from her, and as the moment stretched the air between them tightened until suddenly Nesta found it difficult to breathe. The board lay between them, but she couldn’t quite remember why they were playing or why she’d even entered that hall in the first place. The smile he gave her turned wolfish, so sharp she wondered if it would make her bleed, and as she dragged her eyes over the planes of his face, she thought of how he really was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on; all sharp lines and rugged edges that would engulf her if she gave him half the chance. She swallowed, feeling her heart hammer in her chest, and when he leaned forwards, as if pulled by an invisible string, so did she. 

But the space between them was nothing. This close, Nesta could count the flecks of gold in his eyes. She studied his face; noted the scar through his eyebrow and the small bump in his nose that said it had been broken once or twice. Without thought, her eyes dropped to his lips.

Whose move was it, now?

Did she care?

She didn’t think she could care, when he was looking at her like that— like he’d devour the entire world if it meant he’d get to taste her for even a moment. She wanted to shiver beneath his gaze, but her entire body was warm. Her eyes darted back to that generous mouth of his as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip. Somehow, she had leaned forward even further, her necklace with the small silver cross dangling in the space between them, hovering over the board where they had played their game. Hanging precariously, like a pendulum.

Cassian’s eyes drifted to it for only a moment before, torturously, he pulled his gaze back up. Something like a groan left him, like he was trying hard to control himself.

“Dangerous, sweetheart,” he whispered, so close that Nesta felt his breath on her cheeks.

“What is?”

“The way you’re looking at me.”

Nesta didn’t move.

All it would take was an inch - less - on her part, and their lips would touch. And God, she hadn’t ever kissed a man simply because she wanted to. Hadn’t ever felt that rush of desire that only seemed to belong to the lucky and the determined. She hadn’t ever thought such things could be within her grasp, but instinctively she knew that if she took that step and touched this man…

Her world would never be the same.

But Cassian didn’t move either, like the same war was waging inside his head, too.

He swallowed, and Nesta watched his throat move. His fingers were curled tight around the edge of the table, like if he uncurled his grip for even a second he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from plunging those fingers into her hair, and—

“Cassian.”

Oh God.

All at once, and with terrible clarity, the entire hall came screaming back into focus. 

The Dane from earlier - Azriel - stood behind Cassian’s shoulder, and suddenly Nesta heard the laughter, the voices, she had so entirely blocked out. The scrape of chairs being pushed back, of tankards being knocked together, the fire crackling loudly in the centre.

How had she forgotten so completely where they were? What she was surrounded by?

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she pulled herself back, but she noticed, with some small degree of satisfaction, that for a heartbeat Cassian seemed just as dazed as she was. Like he’d been just as caught up in her as she had been in him, and his eyes met hers only briefly as he cleared his throat and turned to the sound of the voice that had shattered their little illusion.

“Az,” Cassian said smoothly, although the expression on his face was so unimpressed that Nesta thought anybody else would have ran a mile. “Impeccable timing, as always.”

Azriel’s lips quirked in what might almost have been a smile, but then, grimly, he brought his scarred hand down hard on the table. Whatever veil of desire had lingered… it dissipated the second his palm made contact with the smooth wooden surface. Even the pieces on the game board shook.

“Rhys will meet with the Saxon,” he said, shooting Cassian a withering look before giving Nesta a single curt nod. “You can tell him that he’ll see him in an hour.”

Suddenly, brutally, reminded of what she had come for, Azriel’s presence was a pail of ice-cold water poured right down her spine, shocking her back into the present with a jolt that left her feeling like something precious had just slipped right through her fingers. All of the heat from a moment before faded like footprints in the sand, and coming to her senses Nesta shook her head, pushing back her chair and rising to her feet as she blinked once, twice, before letting her face settle back into the shape of the proper Saxon wife Tomas would be expecting.

But before she could leave, Cassian’s hand darted out, closing gently around her wrist.

“Come find me, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “When Rhys is done with the bastard. Or when he’s next in bed with someone else. Come find me.” He offered her another grin, another look that stirred the embers still burning between them. “I’ll show you what it is to be entertained by a real man.”

Nesta only blinked, smiling wryly as she eased herself from his grip.

“A real man?” she echoed, looking around the hall as she rounded the table and stood beside his chair. Lightly she laid a hand upon his shoulder, her fingers curling around solid muscle even as she forced herself not to notice the feel of him beneath her. She leaned down, close enough to whisper, but made no effort to keep her words quiet. “If you manage to find one, do let me know.”

Laughter burst from his chest, the sound rich and heady, and after Nesta patted his shoulder once before turning away, she found herself striding through that hall with her head high and a smile on her face, his laughter echoing inside her mind even as she went to fetch her husband. Even Azriel had smiled, she noticed.

Only when she reached the door did she realise that they had left their game unfinished.

***

“I believe I requested a private meeting.”

Tomas’ voice was a petulant rasp echoing through the silence of the lord’s hall, and the sneer on his face was as ill-chosen as it was ill-timed as Nesta watched her husband look up towards the small raised platform where Rhysand had set his carved wooden chair. 

The hall was just as full as it had been an hour ago, and Nesta had been surprised when, after bringing Tomas back to the hall, Azriel had met them at the door and, instead of escorting them to Rhysand’s private chambers, had taken them into the same cavernous hall where she’d just played half a game of strategy. 

Her husband was… vexed, to say the least.

But Rhysand only smirked, his hands braced on the arms of his chair, the curve of his lips absent any kind of humour.

“What you request doesn’t matter to me.” 

The mockery of a smile fell away as Rhysand’s lip curled with distaste. He leaned forwards in his seat, and Nesta wondered if it was deliberate, how much it looked like a throne. Tension thickened in the air, like every single Dane beneath that roof was holding their breath, and Nesta was grateful to linger by the wall, half-concealed by the shadows. Tomas hadn’t turned to look at her since they had entered, but Cassian, standing just to the side of Rhysand’s chair…

Oh, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her yet.

Like his attention had snagged on her the moment she’d walked in, and he had yet to free himself. She had expected a smile shot in her direction, or a wink as he inclined his head, but Cassian’s face was hard, like Tomas’ presence alone had sharpened his earlier good mood into something far more volatile.

She didn’t know why, but she wished he’d smile at her.

“My king has had word of an attack,” Tomas pressed on, lifting his chin with an arrogance that wasn’t just unwise, but lethally foolish too.

“How convenient,” Rhysand purred, his voice as dark and as cold as a mid-winter night. It brought a shiver across her skin, caused a chill to creep down her spine. “I, too, had news of this attack.”

Tomas stood in silence. Shock, Nesta realised, slithered briefly across his face. She saw it in the slight widening of his eyes, the incremental curl of his lips that he caught before it could turn into a grimace.

“Tell me,” Rhysand continued, “is it not curious? A Christian site is attacked but none are harmed? The building still stands? And the only thing of value taken, not gold or books or priceless treasure, but a handful of bones.”

Relics, Nesta realised. The only thing taken were relics.

Tomas had told her that the attackers had run off with all that they could carry. And she had no reason to trust Rhysand, but… her husband had seemed so calm when he received that letter.

Her eyes shifted from Tomas to the Norse lord and the cold expression he wore that didn’t just promise retribution but practically guaranteed it. Fury rippled from him, his entire frame lined with the threat of violence, and Cassian was no better. At his lord’s left, she didn’t miss how, every now and then, his fingers would drift idly along the belt at his waist, as if reaching for the seax tucked there. He caught her eye, but Nesta looked away— looked back to her husband, and wondered if he really had lied to her so brazenly. 

But when her gaze wandered back, and landed once more on the Dane standing with his back straight and a merciless glint in those now-familiar eyes, Cassian gave her a small, barely-noticeable, nod as he folded his arms over his powerful chest. 

And for reasons she couldn’t hope to understand, she trusted him far more than the man she had married. 

Tomas sniffed, his tone venomous when he said, “Your kind seem intent on destroying anything sacred to Christians.”

Rhysand smiled, but it was far from kind— a sinister, serpentine curve of lips that made Nesta wonder if her husband was ever going to make it out of that hall alive. 

“Your kind,” he echoed slowly, tilting his head. “Am I not a Christian now?”

Nesta didn’t think she was breathing.

It was a trap— she could see it as clear as anything. Whichever way Tomas answered, he’d put his foot in his mouth. He couldn’t answer. And after a long minute, where her husband’s silence stretched uncomfortably - and Rhysand let it, like he luxuriated in it - the Danish lord held up a rolled piece of parchment that she hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding.

“You will take this letter to your lord and master,” he said sharply. 

Tomas started. “The journey to Wessex takes days—“

“Then you had better leave quickly,” Rhysand advised cooly as Tomas stepped forward to take the proffered parchment, his boots thudding on the floor as he tucked it into his pocket with a look of consternation twisting his features. Rhysand blinked, bored. “Now, perhaps.”

The glower on Tomas’ face might have levelled mountains had he been a stronger man.

Instead Nesta watched as he said nothing else, only turned to leave, cutting a path through the Danes that had been silent witnesses to the entire ordeal. She made to follow, but as she peeled away from the shadows—

“Wait,” Rhysand called, his voice ringing out through the hall that was so still, Nesta could hear the wind outside.

Tomas paused, looking back over his shoulder and wrestling his features into something like neutrality as Rhysand blinked flatly before nodding once to her.

“Your wife stays here,” he added. “To ensure your… co-operation.”

Tomas blinked.

Nesta wanted to laugh. To remind the northern lord that Tomas was unlikely to care either way. But then she met Cassian’s eye from where he stood next to Rhysand’s chair, and the slight smirk that played at the corner of his mouth made her wonder…

Had he played some hand in this? Asked Rhysand to make such a ridiculous request?

It didn’t matter, she supposed. Not as Tomas looked to her and huffed sharply, raising no dispute or protest as, with a mocking bow of the head, he nodded his assent. He didn’t look at her again as he swept from the hall without another word, and he certainly didn’t offer her a goodbye.

Not that she wanted one.

But Nesta looked to the doors as they swung closed in her husband’s wake and felt herself oddly unmoored—  like the last truly familiar thing in this place, as lamentable and loathsome as he was, had just turned heel and walked away. Something pricked at her fingertips in his absence, something that felt like freedom, like possibility, and it was so dizzyingly foreign that Nesta was rooted to the spot, unable to move and unable to look away from that door, as if afraid that her husband was going to walk right back through it and change his mind.

Not that he could.

She was left alone - truly, utterly alone - as all around her the Danes fell back into a natural rhythm, like there hadn’t been an interruption at all. Games were taken back up, drinks refilled, and the tales told by the fireside were begun again as the logs cracked and the embers drifted up towards that gap in the roof where the darkening sky was visible through the clouds. Nesta lingered at the edge of it all, watching from the shadows and wondering if she ought to leave, when—

“I can’t say I’ll miss him, love.”

A hand brushed the back of Nesta’s elbow, fingers light and searching as Cassian trailed his touch down to her forearm. Even through the fabric of her dress his hand was warm, and the way he dragged his fingers so lightly over her sleeve was so casual, so practiced, it was as though he had grazed her arm a thousand times, in a thousand different lifetimes. 

Relief swelled in her at his sudden appearance by her side, but Nesta forced herself to shrug idly as she tore her eyes away from those doors and said,

“Neither will I.”

The smile he gave her was a knife in the dark, as beautiful as it was lethal, and as he inclined his head towards the long tables, laden with game pieces and half-finished tankards of ale, his hazel eyes glinted in the fading light, all green and gold and amber; a forest at sunset. Heat gathered beneath her skin as those eyes fixed on hers, and as he deepened the tilt of his head, the silver earrings lining his ear winked at her like the distant gleam of foreign stars. 

“It is a pity,” he said slowly, dragging out each word and letting it linger, like a kiss against her skin, “that your bed will be half empty tonight. It gets so terribly cold here when the sun goes down.”

Nesta snorted. “As subtle as an axe to the face, I see.”

He grinned; a wicked edge. “Who said anything about subtle?” He tsked, that smile turning lazy as those eyes continued to gleam. And then he nodded once more to those tables, extending a hand and exposing his palm. “Come. We never did finish our game earlier.”

Mildly, Nesta blinked. “Are you so desperate for my name?”

Cassian raised a scar-split brow. “Has it taken you this long to realise it?”

And she didn’t know why, but something about the way he looked at her - so brazen, so certain - had a blush rising to her cheeks. He dragged the edge of his thumb along his bottom lip, forcing back the smile that threatened to curve that generous mouth of his as he waited for her answer, and as his eyes dipped to her neck - lower - her heart hammered out an uneven beat that she didn’t have a hope in Hell of steadying. 

It was ridiculous. She was no maiden— no innocent, naive girl still hoping for a hero to come and rescue her. No romantic fool still hung up on notions of love or desire.

And yet.

Cassian watched her, amusement lining his face as he waited for her answer, bearing witness to the silent war she waged on herself. And as the candlelight caught the planes of his face, bathing him in gold, she looked up into his eyes and suddenly felt like she was fighting the current of a mighty tide, swimming and swimming and swimming against it for fear of being dashed against the rocks, when perhaps she shouldn’t have been fighting at all. And as Nesta blinked and looked at the Dane standing beside her…

“Nesta,” she said quietly. “It’s Nesta.”

She didn’t know why it felt like such a significant offering— like far more than just a name. And for a moment Cassian said nothing, his face empty as he blinked. But then his lips parted gently on a breath, a soft whisper leaving him as he tilted his head to one side and gave her a soft smile, the expression that crossed his face one nothing short of wonder. 

Like to know her name was to know religion.

“Nesta,” he repeated slowly, as if savouring the taste on his tongue. That wondrous smile lit up his face again, and hearing the way his accent made mountains and valleys out of the syllables of her name had her wishing he would say it again. Slowly, that smile began to consume his entire face, lighting up his eyes until she couldn’t believe that something as simple and as small as her name could have such a profound effect on a man so accustomed to bloodshed. “It is beautiful. Not a name I have heard before.”

“My father had ancestors in Gwynedd,” Nesta shrugged. “It is a Welsh name.”

“You are full of surprises,” he murmured. “Have you seen it? The lands of your forebears?”

“No.”

“I have heard tales of it,” he said gently, something wistful creeping into his tone. The wonder of a traveller speaking of distant lands; the awe of a man who had yet to find a piece of earth he wanted to plant his feet in for good. And yet Nesta wondered if the tales he had heard had been from marauding Danes, who had burned their way across the land. “Of it’s beauty. It’s mountains.”

“Then you have heard more of it than I,” she shrugged. 

Her father didn’t speak much of it. His grandfather had moved from the mountains of Gwynedd to the plains of Wessex, a merchant who taught his son and his grandson the ways of the trade. She had asked, once, why they had never even visited the land where her great-grandfather had been born. Her father had simply told her not to speak of it, because she was Wessex born and bred and naught else. 

A flicker of sadness drifted across Cassian’s eyes as he watched her, and with a sniff Nesta pulled herself out of it and blinked away the longing for a land she had never seen and a home she had never stepped foot in.

Perhaps that was what it was that drew her to this Dane. In her soul she sensed the same longing in him that she had spent years trying hard to bury— a yearning for someplace else.

“I am glad,” Cassian said after a moment, “that Rhys sent your husband away.”

Nesta offered him a small smile. “So am I,” she repeated.

And when he reached out to take her hand, she didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop him, either, as he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

His lips met her skin; he looked up and met her eyes, sending a line of fire straight down her spine. She shivered, and all at once his eyes darkened, like he’d like to do so much more than kiss her hand. Indeed, when he rose, Cassian didn’t let go of her fingers. Instead he used the grip he had on her hand to pull her closer; her chest so close to his.

Moving slowly, like he wanted to map every inch of her, Cassian slid his other hand across her waist; his palm rounding her middle, his fingers travelling to her spine as her entire body became naught more than a burning taper. 

But Nesta hissed, pulling away as her eyes darted to the tables around them. Her skin had practically sang beneath his touch, and his callouses scraped against her palm as she pulled her hand free of his, but still she looked around them and cursed.

He remained standing where he was, a pace away, his eyes still aflame even as he let out a laugh.

“Come now, love,” he said smoothly. “People don’t care who you are here.” He took a step closer, until her chest was pressed against his once more. She didn’t back away this time, feeling the heat of his body sink into her like an open flame. 

“Or who your husband is.” 

Her heart hammered, her pulse raced, and suddenly it felt like all the air had dried up like a creek in summer. 

A wicked smile graced his face as he brought his lips to her cheek, dragging the suggestion of a kiss along her cheekbone until he reached her ear, where his voice dipped and he added,

“Or who you choose to fuck.”

Nesta swore she stopped breathing altogether.

His language had a blush stealing onto her cheeks, and he laughed again, the sound so deep and thick it felt like an extravagance just to hear it twice in one day, and as he pulled his mouth back from her ear, his thumb swiped along the same cheekbone he’d just dragged his lips along.

Nesta forced herself to remain resolute. Not to melt into his embrace

“And where am I to stay?” she asked, her voice turning sharp as she looked over his shoulder to the carved wooden chair where his lord and brother still sat. “If I am to be Rhysand’s hostage, will you keep me in a dungeon?”

Cassian laughed again. “Hostage? Sweetheart, you are a guest.” Smoothly he moved to stand closer to the wall, leaning against it and tipping his head back. “Rooms will be set aside for you here, in the lord’s hall.”

She blinked.

She looked at the hall, at the strangers that were starting to feel familiar to her. Their women laughed and drank and played games as much as the men. Some of them even had swords at their hip— warriors, just like their male counterparts. How could she stand in that hall, surrounded by such folk, and want to go back to the home that scorned her even for learning to read?

The ghost of Cassian’s touch seemed to burn against every place he had touched her. Her cheek, her hand, her waist. So many small touches setting so many small fires in such a short space of time. She swallowed. It was not lost on her that he had placed his back against the wall, leaving her with all the leverage. She could take a step closer or she could walk away.

He had left the choice entirely down to her.

And if there was one thing Nesta had suffered a severe lack of her entire life, it was choice.

And maybe it was that thought alone that emboldened her. Closing the distance between them again, Nesta flattened a palm on his broad chest. 

“And if I didn’t like that room?” she breathed.

She watched his eyes darken. Watched as hunger overtook his features. His hand slid up his chest to cage hers against the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll find one that suits you better,” he murmured. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, like they had done for a hundred times this evening alone. “Mine, perhaps.”

Nesta felt herself smile. “Perhaps,” she echoed.

He grinned, and with a flick of his hand he motioned for someone to bring him a tankard of ale. One of Rhysand’s household staff complied, striding over a moment later bearing not one, but two deep vessels filled to the brim with the liquid that made Nesta’s nose wrinkle as she remembered the bitter taste. Cassian only grinned again, lifting an eyebrow as he watched her wrap her hands around the tankard anyway.

“Skol,” he declared, knocking his cup against hers.

And like it was second nature, Nesta nodded and said in a perfect echo, 

“Skol.”

And so without pomp nor circumstance—without much thought at all—they fall together.

It’s gravitational, really. As if for so long they’ve been vaulted into the ether and can finally land where they’re meant to be.

They’re both tentative at times, like newborn fawns, skittish when they sense the other is drifting elsewhere. He tells her about the woman and the girl in the picture, the drunk driver whose final act stole their lives. She tells him about Mom, Grandmama. About the thin years when Niles was determined to be an abject failure, self-interested in every moment.

It’s nice, to feel held. To be seen. Even when it’s hard.

An argument with his family makes him angry one night. He slams his fist on the counter in a way that has her seeing stars, and it takes a few very confused minutes of crying to explain what’s going on. His devastation is immediate and unnecessary, so determined he is now to not set her off, not if he can help it.

It’s too new to want anyone else’s opinion, though he’s met her friends. Annoyingly they’re obsessed with him, giving her those looks she knows mean Don’t let this one go. Nesta only recognizes then that no one gave her the same about Tomas.

“We like him,” Emerie whispers when Cassian gets up to refresh the cheeseboard in the kitchen, top off drinks. “But if you say you’re over it, then he’s dead to us.”

“No, Nesta likes him, too, I can tell.” Gwyn giggles, her freckled cheeks flushed from prosecco.

So, it’s definitely happening.

They drive separately to the cabin for Christmas, despite both leaving from her apartment. Her to pick up Elain and him to chauffeur Azriel and his cat Shadow, who his brother is apparently very attached to despite her being, in Cassian’s words, a demon.

Amren and Varian—whose name Nesta finally knows—are in Havana. Niles is on an all-expenses-paid cruise Rhysand sent him on, and she suspects it was at Feyre’s request, though for whose sake it’s hard to say.

Nesta learns all this pressed to the back of the bedroom door where they first crashed together, greedy hands roaming under her shirt. Elain is downstairs with the stand mixer on high, the rest having gone to the store.

“Things you should know,” Cassian manages between kisses. “Don’t let Mor refill your drink, or she’ll never stop. Rhys picks fake lint off his shirt when he’s trying to distract you, don’t fall for it...” He trails off, preoccupied by the soft spot behind her ear until Nesta digs her nails into his shoulders. “Don’t mention Azriel’s weird sleep schedule. And don’t talk to him about buying something from Amazon or a targeted ad. Or say that your phone is ‘listening to you’. Or Elon Musk. Or TikTok. Or politics.”

Nesta huffs a laugh before Cassian captures her mouth again, a low groan in his throat. That last one won’t be easy, especially with Graysen, Elain’s fiance, arriving soon. He has.. opinions.

“Sounds like I should try not to talk to him at all.”

“A short conversation,” Nesta maintained. “Seriously. Nothing happened.”

Nesta endured another few minutes of teasing, and eventually once that died down, she raised her voice and said, “So what are we doing today?”

Gwyn cheerfully announced that today was the day they’d be going to the nearest ski resort so they could finally cross snow tubing off their winter vacation bucket list. Nesta hadn’t been snow tubing since she was a little kid, so she was actually looking forward to racing her friends down the slopes. Once they were all suitably bundled up for the cold, Nesta followed Emerie and Gwyn out to the car so they could make the drive to the resort. It was only half an hour away, and while there were decent crowds, it thankfully wasn’t so crowded that it would take forever to enjoy the snow. 

Nesta’s bladder decided it hated her at this exact moment, so while Emerie and Gwyn split off to make sure their passes were good and to find out more about the snow tubing options, she headed inside to find a bathroom. Thankfully the line wasn’t too bad, and she managed to use the bathroom without getting stuck with what felt like the million and one zippers she had on these damn snow pants. She made sure to wash her hands and dry them thoroughly before putting her snow gloves back on, and when she headed back outside, she took a nice, long deep breath.

It was a beautiful, winter day out. The sun was shining, the snow was crunching perfectly under Nesta’s boots, and—

And Cassian was fucking here.

“Nes? Is that you?” Cassian called out the second he noticed her. He was dressed in some serious snow gear, and he had some reflective snow goggles balanced on the top of his head that should have made him look dumb, but he was clearly having such a good time that he managed to make them look good. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, or maybe it was from the slopes he’d just finished hitting; he was carrying a snowboard in his arms that was clearly loved.

“What are you doing here?” Nesta asked with a heavy, put-upon sigh. Her best chance of escape had been leaving before he’d even noticed her, but clearly that ship had sailed. “And don’t call me that.”

Cassian shifted his snowboard up in his arms with a grin. “What’s it look like I’m doing here, sweetheart?”

“Ruining my vacation,” she retorted, deadpan. She didn’t bother to fight him on the nickname this time; she could already tell he’d just keep coming up with more of them like a magician with those never-ending pieces of fabric tied together.

“Weird way to say snowboarding, but okay,” he replied with a chuckle. “This place was the main reason we picked our Airbnb. We hit the slopes yesterday before dinner, and we’ll probably be back again one last time before we head home — as long as that’s okay with you, of course.”

Nesta just rolled her eyes. “You’re a grown man, Cassian. You don’t need my permission to do things.”

“Yeah, but what can I say?” Cassian stared at her in a way that made her go hot all over, and it had nothing to do with the several layers of thermal clothing she had on. “I like when beautiful women tell me what to do.”

Nesta was saved from having to reply to that by Azriel and Mor making their appearances, complete with another snowboard and a set of skis. Mor had on a cute, dark blue skiing ensemble this time, while Azriel was clad in what Nesta was coming to recognize as his usual all-black. 

“Hey, Nesta!” Mor said with a wide grin. Her cheeks were flushed prettily from the cold, too, and wow was Emerie was a lucky woman. “Are you here by yourself?”

“No,” Nesta said back. She already knew where this was going; resistance was clearly futile when the universe seemed so hellbent on pushing them all together. “Emerie and Gwyn went to find out about snow tubing.”

“I love snow tubing,” Mor replied. “We should find them!”

Nesta didn’t even bother arguing. She just ignored Cassian waggling his eyebrows at her as the four of them made their way over to the line for snow tubing, easily spotting Emerie and Gwyn nearly at the front. 

“There you are, Nesta,” Gwyn said once she was close enough. She clipped Nesta’s day pass right onto her jacket before she realized Nesta wasn’t alone, her expression immediately brightening once she noticed Cassian, Azriel, and Mor were there too. “Em, look what the cat dragged in.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Emerge asked, a small smile breaking out as she made eye contact with Mor. 

“Stalking us, probably,” Nesta muttered under her breath. Neither of her friends heard her, but Azriel let out a low laugh; a win was a win, she supposed.

“We’re big snow people,” Mor answered. She shifted her skiing stuff in her hands in a move that Nesta never would’ve been able to pull off. “I heard you were going snow tubing. Do they have double tubes?”

“They do,” Gwyn answered, eyeing up Azriel while Mor continued eyeing up Emerie. “We were going to take turns going together since it was only the three of us, but…”

Once again, everyone turned to look at Nesta like they just knew she was going to be the final holdout. Instead of trying to force her into submission, this time Emerie and Gwyn were going with puppy dog eyes instead, and they were laying them on so thick that Nesta knew she wouldn’t last long. 

God, they were really going to owe Nesta big time for this. 

Nesta bit back her complaint and pasted on a smile instead. “That sounds like fun.”

“Great!” Mor trilled. “We just have to put our equipment back inside — meet you at the top in a few?”

“Yeah,” Emerie agreed with a smile. “Sounds good.”

Nesta waited for Cassian, Azriel, and Mor to be out of earshot before she turned back to her friends. “Next year, I’m picking the vacation.”

“Of course,” Gwyn agreed immediately. 

“And I’m planning the itinerary,” Nesta added. 

“It’s only fair,” Emerie replied. 

“If I die because I get in a snow tube with Cassian, I’m coming back to haunt the both of you for eternity,” Nesta threatened. They all knew she didn’t mean it, but she had to make sure they both knew how serious this was.

“You won’t die, but okay.” Gwyn rolled her eyes and gently poked Nesta toward the snow tubing line. “It’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll even have some fun with him!”

Nesta had a feeling that it most certainly would not, but she didn’t want to rain on her friends’ parades even more than she already had. Cassian seemed nice enough, incessant flirting aside; he wouldn’t try to ruin her vacation on purpose any more than he already had. They could probably just go down the hill a few times and go their separate ways once Gwyn and Emerie were sufficiently distracted by Azriel and Emerie.

Nesta comforted herself with that resolution all the way up to the top of the hill, where she was promptly distracted by the sight of Cassian waiting with a double tube in his hands like it weighed nothing. They weren’t particularly heavy per se, but Nesta knew from prior experience how unwieldy they were to handle. Seeing him have such a solid grip on their tube almost made her think about how solid of a grip he could have on… other things, but she forced herself to pull it together. 

“There you are, slowpoke,” Cassian said once she got close enough, a teasing grin on his face. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Nesta said back. She shot a meaningful look at her friends, who just rolled their eyes, before turning back to Cassian. “Lead the way.”

Cassian was more than happy to, and he looked back every so often to make sure Nesta was still behind him as they made their way over to one of the beginner hills. “Sure you can keep up, Nes?”

“This is nothing,” Nesta replied with a scoff. She hadn’t been snow tubing in years, but she wasn’t about to show weakness in front of him. “But if you need it to feel safe…”

Cassian’s laugh was loud enough she could hear it without him turning around all the way. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?”

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” she told him sweetly.

“Trust me, I’ll be real comfortable with you sitting between my legs,” he retorted without missing a beat. He looked like he wanted to say more, but there were a few young children running around, so he made the wise decision to leave it there. “If you’re not too scared, that is.”

“Trust me,” she repeated, “you’re the only one that needs to be scared. Go to the second lane.”

The second lane was intermediate, and there were significantly less families waiting their turn. Cassian marched right up to the attendant managing the line and dropped the snow tube on the ground like it didn’t weigh a thing, shooting Nesta a clear you coming? before he turned back around.

“Ladies first,” Cassian said once Nesta was close enough, motioning to their shared snow tube. He kept his gloved hand out in a clear offer to help her get in the front half of the tube, shaking it a little impatiently when she didn’t immediately take it.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Nesta said back with a roll of her eyes. Still, she took his extended hand while the attendant held the tube steady, managing to get in the tube without landing too hard on her ass.

“What can I say, sweetheart,” he replied once he was seated behind her, his long legs easily stretching to her half of the tube.  “You bring all kinds of exciting things out of me.”

Nesta didn’t have a chance to reply before the attendant gave them a big push and they went flying down the hill. Nesta held on for dear life as Cassian let out a loud whoop, the cold air stinging her eyes a little bit as they whipped through the lane. She was doing her best to lean with the curve of the lane, but there was only so much she could do with Cassian weighing down the back half of the tube.

“Watch it!” Nesta yelled from the front of the tube, just narrowly missing scraping her gloved hand against the wall of the lane. She let go of one handle so she could whack him on the leg to really make sure he was listening. “You have to lean with me, dumbass!”

“Live a little, Nes!” Cassian yelled back. He jerked the tube just in time so she didn’t hit the next wall, laughing when she whipped her head around to glare at him. “Come on, relax — oh, shit!”

Nesta whirled around to see what he was talking about just in time to see one last curve coming at her. They both tried to lean to the right to avoid it, and the tube slipped right out from under Nesta at the sudden shift in weight. She landed hard on the snow and her momentum kept her going right into the wall they were trying to miss in the first place, but thankfully her snow gear was padded enough that her chest only hurt a little from making direct contact with the wall of snow. 

Nesta laid there for a second, a little stunned at the series of events that had just transpired. At least she hadn’t hit her head directly, but the rest of her wasn’t exactly happy.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cassian said from somewhere behind her. Or maybe in front of her? Damn, that snow really packed a punch. “You okay, Nes?”

When she didn’t answer right away, his tone grew a bit more concerned and a lot louder as he got closer to her. “Nes. Nesta. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, you idiot,” Nesta snapped, her body already beginning to throb. She could tell she was going to have some nasty bruises, and of course she hadn’t gotten them in the fun way. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I forgot how much lighter you were than me,” he admitted sheepishly. He helped roll her over and slowly sit up, his hazel eyes wide with concern. “I’m so sorry, I swear I wasn’t being a dick on purpose.” 

“Really?” she responded. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“It was an accident!” he protested.

“Can’t you be serious for one second?”

“I am being serious. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere, moron, what did you expect—”

“I know you think I’m an idiot, but I have medical training.”

“Is this the part where you give me a good long rubdown? No thanks.”

“Just let me look you over and make sure you didn’t fuck something up.”

“I think you’ve done enough for today, Dr. Feel Good.”

“Nesta, come on, don’t be dumb—” 

“You want to tell me not to be dumb? Have you lost your mind?”

“Everything okay here?”

Nesta turned her head to see the one of the ski resort employees making her way over to them, and the sound of Cassian’s mouth clicking shut almost made it worth the embarrassment from knowing people had most definitely seen her wipe out. “Yes, we’re fine.”

“That was a pretty hard hit you took, ma’am,” the employee said. “I would strongly suggest you go in the lodge and let one of the nurses take a look at you.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Nesta told her, turning to shoot Cassian one of the fakest smiles she could muster up while promising death through her eyes. “My friend here’s a physical therapist. He’s going to make sure I’m all patched up.”

Cassian stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds before swallowing down whatever he really wanted to say. “Yup. I sure am.”

“Great,” the employee replied. “Do you need assistance getting back to the lodge? We need to clear the hill.”

“Nope, we got it,” Cassian answered before Nesta had a chance to even think about it. He reached down and helped her up one-handed, passing off the snow tube to the employee before turning back to look at Nesta expectantly. “So.” 

“So what?” Nesta said. The employee was already walking away, so at least there’d be one less person subject to watching this shitshow. 

“Piggyback or bridal?” he asked her. Before she could open her mouth to protest he added, “There’s no fucking way you’re walking back to the lodge before you get evaluated, so pick one.”

When she didn’t answer fast enough, he just shrugged and leaned down to scoop her up in a bridal carry. Her arms shot up automatically to wrap around his neck so he wouldn’t drop her, but she had a feeling that wouldn’t be a problem with how built he was. “Hey!”

“Should’ve given me an answer faster,” he told her cheerfully. His grip on her was firm, and she swore she could feel the heat coming off him even through the multiple layers of their combined snow gear. “Besides, it’s just practice.” 

“For?” she asked, already knowing his answer would make her roll her eyes. 

“For when you make an honest man out of me,” he answered without missing a beat. She just rolled her eyes and did her best to make herself comfortable as they walked back toward the lodge.

Even she had to admit she was pretty comfortable in his arms, but over her dead body would she tell him that.

Rather than climbing back beneath the furs as he should, Cassian merely tucks them up further around Nesta’s shoulders. It draws the scowl right back to Nesta’s face, but he just chuckles in response. He straightens, moving about the small space of the cave. Nesta watches as he does, and she’s almost sad to see him tie his loincloth back on, to pull his pants back on too. He gathers and checks his weapons before finally moving the screen aside from the cave’s entrance, vanishing into the snow and the cold outside.

With a huff, Nesta rolls over, burrowing as deep as she can into the furs. It’s still not as warm as having a big, blue alien cuddled beside her so she can leech all the warmth from his body. A few days and she’s already grown comfortable with his body curled around her own, with that soft, suede like skin of his brushing against her, with his arms secured around her waist, with his heart beating in time with hers where they’re pressed together. A few days and she already feels safe and at home in this space with him, already started to crave it.

At least, it’s all quiet in the cave, her khui having finally fallen silent. She supposes that means that she and Cassian have satisfied resonance. Almost instinctively, her hand slides down to her stomach, fingers splaying across the skin there. What kind of mother would she be? Hopefully, better than her own. But there’s no denying the fear that slinks through her veins, that digs into her heart with icy fingers. The fear that she’ll be exactly the same. The fear that the apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree.

What if she’s truly too broken, too many scars and cracks through her heart to give a child the love it needs, that it deserves? What if all she knows how to be is cold and standoffish? What if she just ends up creating another broken daughter who creates another broken daughter, stuck in a vicious cycle of Archeron women? What if the child grows to resent her?

“I have caught us hoppers.”

Nesta turns enough that she can watch Cassian step back inside the cave, his grin wide and his catch held aloft in his hands. But it doesn’t take long for that smile to slip away, those ever observant eyes of his sweeping over her.

“What is wrong?”

“I told you,” Nesta dismisses with a shrug. “It’s cold.”

She doesn’t know why she even tries. As if she’s ever been able to fool Cassian, ever been able to lie to him. As if she doesn’t expect him to see right through the words just as he’s always seen through every icy shield she tried to throw between them, always seen the truth of her since the moment they met.

With a frown, Cassian sets down the hopper in his hand. He steps back over to the furs and to Nesta, crouching down. His hand reaches toward her face, thumb dragging lightly along the space between her eyebrows, where Nesta is sure a crease must have formed.

“Tell me.”

Nesta sighs softly, sitting up and curling her knees up to her chest. “It wasn’t just my… pleasure mate back on Earth that was cruel. My mother was too. It was a different sort of cruelty, but cruelty all the same. And I…” She takes a moment to find the words, to find the courage. “What if I’m just like her?”

Cassian’s hands are gentle on her face, guiding her face to his, his expression earnest. “I know that you will not be.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I know you. I know your heart. I have seen you with your sisters, and I am so lucky to have you as my mate. To have you as the mother of our kit.”

Nesta reaches her own hand up, curling her fingers around Cassian’s and leaning her face into his touch. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“I am very smart and very wise,” Cassian tells her, nodding his head sagely.

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly at that, but the reaction draws a smile back to Cassian’s face. He leans in and steals a kiss, Nesta’s heart skipping between her ribs at the soft gesture, at the initiative and him no longer asking permission for mouth mating. She practically melts into him, hands sliding across the muscles and hard planes of his chest, up into the dark curly strands of his hair.

She has to swallow down a whine when Cassian pulls back, watching as he stands again, moving back toward the other side of the cave. When he picks back up the hopper and begins the process of preparing it, Nesta finally pushes out of the furs, tugging back on her clothes. She moves to settle beside Cassian by the fire, accepting the piece of meat that he offers her and nibbling on it.

“We should go back to the Main Cave while the weather is fair and on our side.”

Nesta hides her frown at his words behind another bite of the hopper meat. It’s been so nice in this cave over the past few days. Once she finally stopped fighting it, stopped fighting him. Once it was truly just her and Cassian. None of the commotion of the Main Cave, none of the busybodies. Just a blissful few days only wrapped up in one another.

“Do we have to? What’s one more day?”

“You forget that Rhys ordered we return as soon as we finished at the Elder Cave, and we have not.”

Nesta had forgotten about that. It feels like so long ago, that first cave they stopped for the night in, that morning when she overheard Cassian and Azriel speaking. A lifetime ago since Azriel passed along that order from the tribe’s leader. So much has happened since then, so many things have changed.

“But perhaps you are right,” Cassian continues, a smirk tugging across his face. “We should not subject the others to your screams of pleasure just yet.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the remark. “I hate you.”

Cassian is undeterred by her words. His arm reaches out, curling around Nesta’s waist and tugging her into his body. “But everyone will know that I have succeeded in having the most beautiful mate warming my furs. It will surely make them all jealous.”

“I very much doubt anyone will be jealous,” Nesta mutters, earning a pained sound from Cassian’s throat.

His hand finds home along her jaw, heat seeping into her skin as he draws her gaze to his. “Then they are fools. They should be jealous.”

Nesta doesn’t bother biting back her fond smile. She presses up onto her knees, giving her the height she needs to seal her mouth over Cassian’s. “Come on, you stupid alien. I’ll roll our furs.”

Nesta works on making sure everything they need is returned to their packs, while Cassian banks the fire and returns the cave to how it should be when the next hunter needs it. They step outside the cave when they’re both finished, Cassian taking both packs from Nesta’s hands without another word.

“Hey! I need my snowshoes first.”

“You do not need those,” Cassian tells her, securing both their packs across his chest and then crouching down.

Nesta sighs, crossing her arms. “What are you doing?”

“I will carry you back to the Main Cave.”

“I can walk just fine.”

“All the way back to the Main Cave?” Cassian asks, standing back up and turning to face her. He steps forward into Nesta’s space, backing her up until she hits the rock of the cave wall, his hands finding her waist and squeezing. “Perhaps we should stay another night if I have not tired you out enough.”

“Cassian!” Nesta exclaims, smacking at his arm.

She can feel heat threatening to creep up her throat and spill across her cheeks. Her insatiable and shameless alien. She shoves hard at Cassian’s chest, and he acquiesces, stepping back with a soft, easy laugh. Just that sound, the smile firmly across his face, warms Nesta from the chill around them, settles over her like her own personal blanket.

Cassian turns back around and crouches down again. This time, Nesta hooks her arms around his neck, allowing his hands to settle beneath her thighs and hoist her onto his back. Once she’s settled and secure, he starts to move. His strides are long and quick, cutting through the snow and hills around them with ease. The pace leaves the cold wind biting at Nesta’s nose and cheeks, and she buries her face against Cassian’s shoulder.

“We are here,” Cassian announces some time later, gently setting Nesta back on her feet.

For a moment, Nesta can do nothing but stare at the large opening that leads inside. Whatever peaceful bubble she and Cassian may have cast around themselves these last few days, it’s certainly shattered now. What will everyone say when they step inside? What will everyone think? She’s quite confident everyone will definitely stare, will probably judge.

Her heart stutters painfully between her ribs, twisting and turning alongside the churning in her gut. She has to swallow hard around the lump threatening to press against her throat, has to clench her fists until her nails bite into her palms.

“Are you well, Nes?” Cassian asks quietly, gentle fingers sliding along her temple, down her cheek.

Nesta’s eyes flutter closed at that touch, breathing out a quiet sigh. That touch helps center her, ground her, and when she opens her eyes again, she squares her shoulders. She captures Cassian’s hand in her own, threading their fingers together and squeezing, and then they’re stepping inside the Main Cave.

“Nesta!”

Nesta practically gets the wind knocked out of her when Feyre slams into her body, her youngest sister hugging her tightly.

“Are you alright? We were so worried. Vassa said you’d left and then no one could find you for days. Days!” Feyre pulls back just enough to smack Nesta in the arm. “What were you thinking?”

Nesta rubs at the spot Feyre hit, trying to find the words to say, to explain everything that happened. “We… resonated.”

It doesn’t quite cover all that transpired while Nesta was away from the Main Cave, but it does feel the most important. It does feel like it’s best to get that tidbit out of the way and over with. It has the desired effect, at least, Feyre’s eyes widening and her gaze darting over Nesta’s shoulder to where Cassian still stands.

“Is that so?” Rhysand’s cool voice cuts in to ask, the male stepping up behind his own mate. “It was resonance that kept you? How convenient.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nesta fires back, raising an eyebrow.

But Rhysand doesn’t even acknowledge her, doesn’t even look at her, his stormy attention firmly behind Nesta, firmly on Cassian. “I made myself clear that the human females were not to be stolen away to force resonance. I made clear that the punishment would–”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta snaps, interrupting him. “We were attacked by metlaks, and not only did Cassian almost die, but he’s the only reason either of us survived. He’s one of the best damned hunters in this tribe, and he’s definitely one of the best males on this whole damned planet. He is good and kind, and if you got your stupid head out of your big, blue ass you would know that he’d never kidnap anyone.”

“Nesta,” Feyre chastises quietly.

But Nesta doesn’t back down. She continues to glare at Rhysand, daring him to say anything, more than ready to bite back against whatever ire he may try and throw her way. But what she doesn’t expect is the way she swears Rhysand’s lips seem to twitch with the barest hint of a smile.

“Your mate is fierce,” Rhysand comments instead.

“Yes,” Cassian answers, nothing short of pride coloring his voice.

Feyre shakes her head at them both, looping her arm through Nesta’s and tugging her away and out of earshot. “I can’t believe you just told Rhys to pull his head out of his ass.”

“He deserved it. Besides, what is he going to do? I’m mated now.” The words are out before Nesta can even really think about it, but when she takes in Feyre’s expression to them, she’s quick for a change in topic, for any sort of distraction. “So, what did I miss?”

“Quite a lot actually. Especially with Elain.”

“Elain? I thought she was sharing a cave and furs with Azriel. It’s been the two of them practically since we landed here. All that was missing was resonance.”

“Well, I guess he was getting a bit frustrated that they hadn’t resonated yet, and Elain was feeling… trapped, so then Lucien offered–”

“Lucien?”

~ * * * ~

It seems like every woman in the cave is determined to talk to Nesta, determined to find out exactly what happened between her and Cassian, determined to fill her in on everything she missed, no matter how mundane. When she finally is able to escape, she finds Cassian in front of one of the storage caves along with an unimpressed looking Balthazar.

“I told you, I need more furs.”

Balthazar sighs, not moving from his place blocking the cave. “You already have furs.”

“I will not have my mate be cold,” Cassian demands, stepping forward into Balthazar’s space.

Whether he’s actually intimidated by the display or simply done with the theatrics, Nesta doesn’t know, but with a shake of his head Balthazar finally moves out of the way. Cassian makes a quiet, triumphant noise, maneuvering his large body into the small cave. When he straightens, he has a fresh roll of furs in his arms, and Nesta doesn’t bother suppressing her eye roll.

“Hello, Nes,” Cassian greets, his attention always finding exactly where she is.

“Stealing furs?” Nesta teases.

“It is not stealing.”

Nesta rolls her eyes again, but it’s fond this time. She doesn’t say anything else, following behind Cassian as he winds deeper through the cave systems. He comes to a stop in front of one of the caves, waiting expectantly for Nesta to step inside first. It certainly looks like most of the other caves; although, it’s bigger than the one she was sharing with Gwyn. Cassian has already set up furs along the far wall, and when he adds the ones in his arms on top, it certainly creates an overflowing and inviting-looking bed.

“Do you like it, my Nes?”

Nesta hums her approval, settling on the high pile of furs. “All that’s missing is a wall of books. It’s a shame you don’t have books on this planet.”

“Boo-ook?” Cassian asks, tilting his head in confusion. He joins Nesta in the furs, gently guiding her down until he can lay his head on her chest, strong arms wrapped securely around her hips and wide shoulders cradled between her thighs.

“They’re these things we had back on Earth, these stories. Sometimes they would be true, but most of the time they were made up. And people would write those stories down for others to read,” Nesta explains, her fingers carding aimlessly through the dark strands of Cassian’s hair.

“What happens in these stories?”

Nesta thinks about how best to explain. She thinks back to the book that was left on her nightstand the night that she and her sisters were taken. Thinks back to the guarded daughter and the roguish rake determined to tear down her walls as surely as he tore down her corset. Thinks back to the scene in the book where the two found themselves alone in the garden late at night.

“They’re about… books.”

Cassian chuckles, tilting his head enough that Nesta can see his wide smirk. “I understand now.”

“You understand nothing.”

“Your sweet scent tells me otherwise. I will find a way to gift you so many book, my mate. I will find a way to give you every book.”

Nesta smiles at the declaration, warmth spreading through her chest and twining around her ribs, glowing golden and strong. She sits up enough that she can frame Cassian’s face with her hands, enough that she can guide his lips to hers.

“But I hope you will accept a different gift from me for now,” Cassian tells her when they separate.

“You got me a gift?”

Cassian shifts enough that he can reach toward his abandoned pack in the corner, rooting around until he finds what he’s looking for. He keeps whatever it is covered with both his hands, and Nesta waits with bated breath, but when Cassian finally reveals the gift, a surprised laugh tears free before she can stop it.

There, in Cassian’s hand, sits a bone. A bone carved to look exactly like a dick.

Nesta has to admit it’s quite life-like, all of the ridges and veins of the sa-khui carved delicately into the bone, and she even notices the spur included at the bottom.

“Do you like it?” Cassian asks, his smile wide. “Before we resonated, I asked Emerie what courting gifts humans like. I took time to make sure it is exactly right.”

Nesta is going to kill her friend the next time she sees her. But for now, she takes the gift from Cassian’s hand, carefully setting it aside again. Cassian looks adorably confused, but she’s quick to wrap her arms around his neck, to pull him back into her. Right where he belongs. Right where she knows she belongs too. Pressed together in this cave, their hearts beating as one between them.

“I think I’d prefer the real thing.”

—

Nesta’s face was covered in blood, the splatter of it extending down her arms and over her torn dressfront. The witch seemed to realize that she had been running from something this time instead of towards it, and Nesta watched as her face changed minutely. 

“What are you running from?” The question was spoken softly, but her eyes told Nesta she understood already. 

She wanted to snap back, wanted to bite like the stray dogs around the village when someone came too near. But when Nesta inhaled before answering, her breath caught, the crackle of it reverberating through her chest. She exhaled harshly, fighting the sob that was clawing to break through. “I was…I was assaulted. He tried. He– I–” The words wouldn’t come, and neither would more tears. She licked over her lips, cracked from running through the forest. She couldn’t finish, but the witch nodded once curtly.

“Did you hurt him?” She gestured at the blood.

“I did.” The words were breathless, drawn forth from her in some sense of relief, some echoing of power. The witch smiled, her teeth pointed and dark.  

“Good.” She inclined her hear. “Come.” Nesta didn’t move. The witch had healed her once, yes, but Nesta knew nothing else about her. Was she to be a victim in yet another way today? 

What am I doing?

But when the witch turned back again, speaking the word “come” like an order and not a request, Nesta could feel herself being swayed. “I will hide you,” the witch stated plainly without looking back again as she ambled into the trees.

Ahead, the woods thickened, the forest darkening despite the lingering daylight. 

Nesta looked back the way she’d come. She realized that she could no longer hear the birds and bugs of the forest.

What other choice do I have?

She followed the witch's shuffling figure through the trees for a while, the shadows deepening around them as the fog continued to roll in like a heavy blanket across the ground. As they walked, the trees turned brambly, a great thicket full of thorns and underbrush directly ahead. Nesta prepared herself to follow the witch through them, her face already bloodied and scratched to hell anyway. But then the witch held up a hand, and the foliage simply parted, a trail opening directly through the middle of it wide enough to comfortably walk through. Nesta felt unreal, out of her own body, as though she were walking through the final, heavy dregs of a dream before waking.

How could any of this be real?

Without a word, the witch pressed on with Nesta right at her back. A strange metallic taste settled on the back of Nesta’s tongue. 

Am I bleeding?

But when she swiped her hands at her lips, her fingertips came away clean.

As soon as they cleared the path, Nesta felt as much as heard the rustling of the shrubbery snapping shut again behind them, effectively sealing them in and others out. It took a moment before Nesta could take in her surroundings, but when she did, she gasped. The forest around her had changed. Before, even in her haste to run, the trees had been gray and unspecial, the branches beginning their descent into fall. But here, the trees came back to life, the colors vibrant beyond anything Nesta was used to seeing even in the deep summer. That metallic tang hit her nose and tongue again and she realized what it must be. 

Magic.

Ahead was a cottage straight from a fairy tale book, made of heavy stones and a thatched roof. Ivy crawled up and over the sides, wrapping gently around the chimney as though it was claiming it as part of the woods. The front door creaked open as the witch waved a hand at it. Nesta didn't know what she was expecting, but the magic of it all was awe-inducing. On some level, she understood this was the same witch that had healed her badly broken ankle with a flick of a wrist, but seeing such acts in motion was something unbelievable. 

As they passed through the entryway, Nesta blinked and took in the interior. It looked substantially larger on the inside than it had from the outside, and she wondered if that was part of the magic. Strangely enough, the interior of the cottage was very homey. Nesta noted the intimate and personal touches of the area, the decor, the paintings. There were knick-knacks on every surface, small doilies and what looked to be handmade throws and quilts across the chairs and couches. Something smelled like stew and freshly baked bread, and Nesta resisted the urge to inhale as her stomach turned. She’d only had the cider today, and she’d vomited the drink up as she fled.

“Tea?” 

“What?” Nesta hadn’t been listening, still taking in the surroundings of the cottage, the pieces of the witch’s life that made her seem so normal somehow.

“Would you like some tea, girl?” The witch was looking at her, holding a tea kettle as though this was the most normal interaction she'd ever had. Perhaps it was. 

Nesta nodded numbly, unsure of how exactly she'd ended up in this situation after leaving her home this morning. Maybe she shouldn’t take food or drink from strangers, but after the events of the day, what could it hurt? Everything was so surreal, so entirely unbelievable, that tea from a witch seemed like the least of her worries.

“Have a seat, Nesta.”The words were soft, caring, but filled with a strange sort of authority that affected her more than she wanted to admit. She acquiesced, finding a seat by the steady fire of the hearth, warming her tingling hands as she waited. 

“There’s a cloth for you if you’d like to clean up.” Nesta wasn’t sure what the witch meant, but when she looked to the table next to her, she found a small plate with a wet cloth folded lightly upon it. When had she brought it over?

Nesta picked up the cloth, finding it warm in her hands as she ran it over her face, smoothing the linen over the scrapes and removing the rust-colored blood from her skin. She let herself fall into the movement, enjoying the warmth from the fire as she did.

She watched the flames as they danced, mesmerizing her with their flickering movements. At some point, she’d set the cloth back on the plate– she didn’t want to look away from the fire. Everything still felt so surreal, as though Nesta were simply a bystander watching the events happen to someone else. The flames focused her, gave her mind something to cling to. It was the first time she’d felt grounded since she’d fled, the first time her body felt even remotely safe.

Nesta startled as the witch set the cup and saucer on the table next to her, the porcelain rattling slightly. Nesta beheld the woman, so similar to how she’d remembered her, exactly like she appeared in her dreams save the mask. The witch stared back, depthless black eyes focused on Nesta as though she was thinking the same thing. 

“You healed my ankle.” It wasn’t a question, but the witch nodded anyway.

“I did.”

“And you gave me a prophecy,” Nesta ventured further. The witch’s dark eyes glittered.

“I did,” she answered again, a wicked smirk playing at the edges of her mouth.

“You no longer wear the flickering mask?” Nesta asked. The witch’s smirk became a full on grin. 

“You are an interesting case, Miss Archeron, aren't you?”

Nesta just blinked, unsure of what the woman meant. Nesta took the cup, detailed white porcelain traced with small blue flowers. She recognized them as forget-me-nots. Elain loved them, grew them in little boxes around the front garden in the spring time. The tea was fragrant, something both floral and woodsy, the heat of it warming Nesta from within as she sipped. 

“My name is Vilja,” the woman offered, lifting her own cup to her lips and drinking deeply. Nesta wondered how she managed to do so with the topography of her mouth, but chose to keep that thought to herself.

“Do the people in the town know you're here?” Nesta ventured.

Vilja shrugged as though she’d been asked about the weather. “Some of them do.”

Nesta nodded, sipping again. She wondered who else was in on this secret. Surely, if she’d run into her twice, it wasn’t a rarity. Perhaps the witch–Vilja, she mentally corrected– only showed herself when she wanted to be seen. Nesta was envious of that ability.

“There are big things out there if only you will come to accept them, a great destiny ahead of you.” Vilja spoke the words as though they’d been mid conversation instead of sitting in silence. 

“What?”

Vilja continued as though Nesta hadn’t interrupted. “But I will tell you what I told you sister: with great happiness must come great sacrifice.” Nesta’s attention caught on the word sister like a beacon in the night. 

“My sister?” Somehow she knew Vilja did not mean Elain. “You met with Feyre?”

“Your sister is no longer as she once was.” With that, Vilja set down her tea and held her hands out, palms up towards the fire. She pushed them forward slowly, as though forcing the movement of some invisible wall, but the sparks and flames roared to life and Nesta reared back violently. She nearly knocked the chair backwards, but before she could protest, the fire and embers formed a picture. 

There, within the fire, was Feyre–or at least an image of her. She stood next to someone, the man from the masquerade ball. They both looked to the sky, stars shining above, then stared lovingly at each other. Something twisted within Nesta at the image, her heart filled with something that a lesser woman might recognize as longing. Nesta reached out without thinking to touch Feyre, to run her hand along her cheek as she had when she was just a child, but the sparks disappeared into ashes, the fire receding back into the hearth as it had been. 

“Your sister found her adventure.”

Certainly, she had done that. 

“What do you want, Nesta?”

Nesta answered automatically, as though the words had been perched on her tongue like a bird ready to take flight. “Something more than this.” 

“You dream so small for what you're capable of.”

Perhaps Vilja was right, but Nesta had never been permitted to dream. What would have been the point? Her entire life had been planned for her from the moment she’d emerged from the womb a girl, and there had been no point in entertaining fantasies that would never come to fruition. She hadn’t been whimsical like Elain, nor someone who forged their own hard-won path like Feyre. She had always been Nesta , steady, constant, cold Nesta. She took what she was given, took the expectations placed upon her, and she sharpened them like a blade in return. 

She’d always hated it. But she’d done it anyway. For her mother, for her father, for her sisters. 

What had she ever done for herself?

“What would you be willing to risk for a greater purpose?”

“What do you mean?” Nesta snapped back, agitated at the question. Had this witch lived in the woods so long she’d forgotten how women were treated in society? But Vilja’s eyes still glittered, lit from within by interest and curiosity that had steadily grown.

“A fire, burning cold instead of hot.” 

“Why do you speak in such riddles?” Nesta scoffed. Vilja laughed then, a rattling cackle that seemed to echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

“Child, when you live as long as I have, you must find your fun where you can.” Nesta huffed, brows furrowed. Vilja was toying with her, and she couldn’t stand it. Why taunt her with her dreams? What could she possibly stand to gain from that? She glared at the witch, letting the mistrust flash blatantly across her face.

“You do not fear me,” she mused. “Bold, but perhaps unwise.” Nesta's heart was racing, but after all she’d endured today, she’d expected to die. Somehow, drinking tea here with this otherworldly being seemed like the least concerning part of her afternoon. She lifted her chin.

But Vilja just took another sip of her tea, placing the mug down gently and setting it aside. It was so strange to be here with the woman, so strangely normal , that Nesta forced down the hysterical laugh bubbling up her throat. 

“So, tell me Nesta, what is a new life worth to you? Will you go back now? To the life you know?”

She saw Tomas’ wild, determined eyes in her mind. Heard him screaming her name as she ran. The terror felt raw and visceral within her.

Nesta knew that it wasn’t a possibility. “I can’t go back to the manor.”

Vilja just smiled, her dark, pointed teeth and blurring edges smudging and flickering against the cozy backdrop of the cottage walls. 

“There is something greater waiting for you, Nesta Archeron. But you must go now, and you may not return.”

She would likely never see Elain again. The despair at that thought ran deep through her veins. Would the people of the town spare darling Elain from Nesta’s transgressions? Everyone loved bright, sunshiney Elain– someone would step up to take care of her, perhaps even their horrid father who treasured Elain like a piece of fine china. 

Beneath her worry for Elain, though, something different sparked at the thought. 

You may not return . 

There was a part of her that came alive at the very thought.

My very own chance at adventure. An escape.

“What is it?” 

Vilja only smiled again. “That, you must find for yourself.” 

Nesta was tired of these games, but she couldn’t deny her curiosity was piqued. “How can I find something I don’t know to look for?”

Vilja continued. “In the Illyrian Mountains, there is a witch not unlike myself.”

Nesta had never heard of these mountains, tossing the word around in her mind as though tasting it, trying it out for herself. 

“Is this on The Continent?” That, at least, she knew a little about from her father’s travels. 

“Oh no, my dear. Across The Wall.”

“The Wall?”

“The Wall separating this land from Prythian.”

“Prythian?” She felt like a fool repeating back everything Vilja said, but the word hung heavy in her mouth. She’d read it in her books, remembered it from her nursemaids’ legends. A fairytale. “Like the fae? The monsters? They’re real?” Nesta almost had the good sense to be embarrassed at her lack of propriety shooting the questions with her mouth agape. 

“Where, my dear, do you think I come from?” Vilja trilled, crackling amusement in her voice.

“I had assumed the woods?” 

Vilja’s sharp bark of a laugh surprised her this time, causing her to flinch back against the high back of the seat. When she calmed, she looked into Nesta’s eyes as though she were trying to find the secrets of the universe buried there. “There is something coming, and the witch there has something you need, but she needs something in return.”

“Something I can give her?” Nesta asked, confused.

Vilja sipped her tea. “It takes more than one to fulfill a need.” Before Nesta could inquire further into what that could mean, Vilja was already reaching down next to the couch she sat on, pulling up an aged-looking piece of folded parchment. It was yellowed by time, the edges jagged and torn, but she ran her fingers down the fold of it and Nesta swore she saw the paper shudder as though it was alive. Vilja handed it off to Nesta as though it was just a simple piece of paper. 

Nesta took it with hesitant but curious hands, interested in it as much as she was uncertain. It looked worn and fragile with age, but the paper was surprisingly sturdy in her hands as she unfolded it. Nesta saw the faded red outlines of what appeared to be borders, the black marks of mountains and blue lines of cities. It was all so simple, straightforward, and yet so foreign to her.

Something about it was different, unique. 

Each time Nesta focused on one part of the map, she could taste that zing of magic again as the parts of the map moved . Cold, wintry clouds drifted over dark, jagged mountains. Illyria , they were labeled, confirming that this was a map of Prythian. 

“So, I’m to go somewhere I don’t know, in a place I didn’t know existed until moments ago, to give a witch something that you can’t detail to me at all?” But even as she deadpanned the words, excitement flared in her chest.

Could I do it? Could I leave it all behind?

“You are something special, Nesta Archeron, no matter what the world has told you.” 

Nesta snorted. It seemed as though Vilja wasn’t a stranger to Nesta’s upbringing, after all. “Some might disagree that the only thing special about me was what I was bred to do.” She said the words bitterly, not bothering to hide the anger she'd felt for years.

Without Vilja’s eyes leaving Nesta’s, she simply flipped the question back. “Perhaps the part they were mistaken on is what exactly you were bred to do. Have you considered that what dwells within your blood is important, just not for marriage and breeding?” 

Nesta wasn’t sure what to make of the witch’s strange words, the confusion didn’t allow her to get very far either, but Vilja saved her by continuing again. 

“It's in your blood, girl. You are destined for more, but you must fight for it. You must fight for yourself.” 

Fight for myself?  

Before today, Nesta wasn’t sure she’d ever fought for herself, despite the small deviances of standing up to her father and taking the fall for punishments her sister had earned. She’d taken digs at Tomas for her own self satisfaction, she supposed. But look at where that had gotten her. 

Fight for myself…

She wasn’t certain that anything about her was worth fighting for. But what were her options? Go back and marry Tomas? Let him beat her into the ground until she gave up? Have his children only to watch him do the same to her daughters and make the same of her sons? 

Could she take the risk of a land with monsters and fae and magical creatures that she’d only considered myth until moments ago? Would she risk her life for some unknown goal that the only otherworldly being she knew couldn’t even name?

Either way, she might die. 

Nesta let that fire bloom in her chest, that indignant rage that she’d stifled for so long starting to bubble to the surface. It was time that Nesta made a decision for herself and no one else.

There were still so many questions, but in her heart, she knew she’d already made her choice. “I don’t have any supplies.”

The flicker of mischief on Vilja’s face proved that she knew she had Nesta. “I can provide you with the things you’ll need.”

Certainly, that would be helpful. She didn’t need to worry about Feyre anymore, and her father could kick rocks for all she cared after he’d sold her. But what of Elain? Would she suffer for Nesta’s decisions as Nesta had suffered for Feyre’s? Not likely, considering she was a society darling and father’s favorite, but what if the town turned their ire towards Nesta on Elain?

“My sister, Elain, though. The people in town–”

“I can glamour them,” Vilja spoke without hesitation, a flick of her hand suggesting it wouldn’t be a difficult task. 

“What is that? A glamour?” 

Vilja shrugged like she was speaking of a knitting pattern. “It’s what keeps people from seeing me the way I am. All except for you.”  

Nesta remembered then how Vilja had made her describe what she saw when she looked at her. Was this not how she looked to all? 

“So, they wouldn't know I'm gone?”

“They will understand that you’re absent, but will think you've gone to join your sister at your Great Aunt’s.” 

“She doesn’t exist, does she?”

“No, Nesta. She does not. But you’re the only one who didn’t believe it.” Another wicked grin.

“Was that a glamour you cast for Feyre?” 

Something like pride flicked across Vilja’s expression. “Amongst others, yes. I can alter their minds, but I cannot protect you if you stay.”

So this would be the moment, her final decision. She wasn’t sure what waited across The Wall, but she was sure about what waited for her if she returned. She felt the yes before it left her lips, the rising waves of something new. She was jittery with the excitement of it, the promise of the adventure she had barely dared to hope for before this.

“The tides have turned and plans are in motion now, Nesta. The Cursebreaker has set the prophecy in motion today, and you will be an integral part of it, too.”

The Cursebreaker?

Nesta remembered the prophecy, even now. She’d dreamed it so often that the words had become a lullaby to her as she aged, the rhyme lilting and comforting somehow, despite its meaning still being lost on her.

The three-faced goddess, three gifts bestowWith bloodline certain, but not yet knownEach with a gift from times of auldOne life, one death, one rebirth told

The wheel of fates begun to spin,A binding of souls, the veil is thinnedAll hinged upon the thread of worth,Each choice will mark the role’s true birth

No stars shall shine without the Night,No Day shall break without the light.No Bloodshed clears without the flame,A cleansing fire to purge the claim

So heed the call, the fearsome tales,Or else the dark fates should prevailThe Cauldron spurn, the fire will burn,And from the dust, all things return

Nesta didn’t know what her part in this was, nor who the witch meant by the Cursebreaker, but Nesta would no longer bow to the will of any man. Not her father, not Tomas. If Feyre and Elain were cared for, then Nesta had done her job, fulfilled her oath, and it was time for something new. 

Suddenly, she was a child again, walking away from the bed holding her mother in a room that smelled of strong antiseptic. The darkness released her as she neared the light of the hallway, the door closing steadily behind her as she walked away from the future that was decided on for her.

“I will go.” 

Immediately, the fire crackled and roared as though the decision had changed something in the very fabric of this world, the sparks and embers flying from it and sweeping across the floor. Nesta could feel the heat, but then Vilja’s hand was in hers, the bark surprisingly soft and pliable beneath her fingers. 

“Come, we must hurry.” And Nesta was on her feet, moving quickly through the cabin at Vilja’s behest. She tugged her through the front door, and Nesta was unsure of why they’d been so calm before if they were in such a hurry. But she couldn’t shake the fact that her agreement to go had changed something fundamental.

In the clearing, Vilja turned, a bag suddenly appearing in her arms. It was the size of a simple rucksack, and Nesta couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of supplies were going to fit inside. Still, she took it as Vilja held it out to her, strapping it across her back. Nesta’s nerves weren’t helped by how lightweight it was. 

Then, Nesta heard the shouts in the otherwise silent wood. 

Her eyes shot to Vilja’s, the panic in them apparent. Her paranoia had been warranted, and Tomas had brought the town with him to drag her back screaming. Before she could even ask how they intended to evade them, the pinpricks of torches visible through the thick brambles, Vilja was reaching out her hand again. 

Tomas roared her name.

Nesta took Vilja’s hand, thinking that she was going to guide her through a secret exit and instead yelping when she found herself tripping forward into darkness. A freezing wind ripped around her, tearing at her clothes and hair, the chill of it pulling at the scratches on her face. She went to scream, but the second she opened her mouth, her feet were firmly planted back on the ground. She stumbled into a broadened stance, her hand finding the nearest tree to brace herself, and she promptly vomited all over the forest floor.

“What the hell was that?” she gasped through heaves.

But Vilja was chuckling as Nesta shot her a dark glare. “You and your sister are so alike.” Nesta meant to shoot something back, a cutting retort to show just how alike she was to her wild and feral sister, but then she heard it. The forest around them was humming .

“What is that?” Nesta whispered, feeling her own voice was too loud for the current atmosphere. The woods around them were dark now, the trees so thick above and around them that the light of the sky was barely visible overhead. The trees were so tall that she was barely able to make out the canopy above, the woods holding a strange, heavy feeling around them. “Where are we?”

“That was winnowing, and we are at The Wall.”

Nesta took it in, then, the massive wall of vines and thorns and flowers to the side of them. It was somehow both beautiful and terrifying, the humming around them focused in on this place. She could feel it buzzing in the tips of her fingers, whatever separated the lands singing through her veins. 

“Prythian is on the other side?” Nesta asked, stepping closer. 

From behind her, Vilja replied. “As is your future. Not all fire burns hot, Nesta Archeron. And no flame can burn brightly alone.” Nesta was close now, the temptation to reach out and touch the buzzing vines nearly overwhelming. 

Was she to climb over it? Was there a gate?

“Where do I–?” But as she turned to ask, she found herself alone in the darkened woods. 

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Cassian continues along the sidewalk until he reaches the storefront of Grumpy & Sunshine Books. When he peers through the front window, he spies Nesta standing just behind the counter. Much like the previous time he stepped inside the bookstore, Nesta has a book opened in front of her.

He's beginning to think it's a regular pose for her.

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her, at the way the lights of the bookstore dance off the golden brown strands of her hair, the soft sweater she’s wearing that’s just oversized enough that the wide collar exposes a sliver of collarbone and shoulder. She has her jaw cradled in the palm of her hand, clearly relaxed and at peace within the quiet of the bookstore. Unguarded in a way he's never seen. Even with the distance between them, Cassian can see the pretty pink that starts to spill across her cheeks, and he has to bite down a smirk as he finally strides inside.

“Did you get to the smutty part?” Cassian asks as he approaches the counter.

Nesta slams her book closed, raising her head to glare at him. “Is this going to become a regular occurrence with you?”

Cassian merely smiles in the face of her ire, holding up the jersey so that Nesta can see the back of it. “One jersey, signed by the entire Preds team. As promised.”

Nesta blinks a few times, but after a moment, she reaches forward, taking the jersey from his hands. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to pass this along to Gwyn.”

“And I also have these,” Cassian continues, reaching into his back pocket. “Three tickets to the Kraken’s home opener.”

Nesta doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to take the tickets from his hand. Instead, she merely continues to watch him, eyes narrowing slightly. The reaction, the way those blue eyes flare, just has Cassian’s grin growing. It’s certainly a look he’s growing familiar with, one he’ll be adding to his ever growing mental catalog. He waves the tickets, hoping the gesture is enticing, but when that doesn’t work, he merely sets them down on the counter, sliding them over to her.

“You want me to go to a hockey game?” The way she drawls the question practically has Cassian's blood singing.

“How can I be expected to play my best if you’re not there to cheer me on?” Cassian offers, earning an eye roll and a scoff, exactly as he intended.

“Are you going to ask me to wear your away jersey and everything?” Nesta fires back, a smirk tugging up the corner of her lips.

The sight has Cassian’s heart kicking up with excitement, and he chuckles softly. “Been reading a lot of hockey romance novels recently, sweetheart?”

“You wish.”

Despite her words, the pink color that spills across her cheeks betrays her, gives her away. Gods, Cassian would give anything to draw out that pretty color elsewhere. Would give anything to trace that color with his fingers, his lips. Would give anything to see if the pale freckles brought out by that blush are echoed anywhere else across her skin.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but you can’t wear my away jersey even if you want to.”

That gets her attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I don’t have my away jersey. In fact, I don’t have any of my equipment. It’s the team that makes sure the jerseys get washed, that makes sure all the gear stays cleaned, that our preferred sticks are ordered and stocked up. There’s a whole equipment team that’s hired and paid just to do that.”

“So, what?” Nesta asks dryly, crossing her arms. “All you do is just show up?”

“Pretty much. Show up, look pretty, play great hockey.”

Nesta snorts softly, barely more than a low, breathy sound, but Cassian still delights in it all the same. It’s so close to a laugh. Gods, he'd do unholy things to get a laugh out of her, a real laugh. Would it be light and melodic? Would it be low and refreshing? Would it start loud and taper off into little more than breathy giggles? Would her nose scrunch? Would crinkles pop beside her eyes? Would those eyes flare with the joy, the surprise at a laugh tearing out of her? Would the easy serenity remain on her expression when the laugh finally subsided, a soft smile and pink cheeks the footprints in the sand following the warm, gentle wave?

“Cassian.”

“What?” Cassian blinks, realizing belatedly that Nesta was speaking and he most definitely was not listening.

Nesta shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. “You’ve taken too many pucks to the head.”

“And you can watch me take some more to the head on Tuesday.”

“Switching tactics?”

At Cassian’s wide, winning grin, Nesta sighs softly, finally picking up the tickets. She reads them over, and for a moment, Cassian is entranced watching a little dip form between her eyebrows, watching her lips tug down in the barest hint of a frown. Would she ever let him slide his thumb against her skin, to smooth away those lines and those worries?

“If you’re worried about the seats not being together,” Cassian jumps in to assure her. “The team only gives each guy two tickets, so had to ask one of the other guys for the third, but Donny promised me the families have the whole row and they’re not really sticklers on who sits in which seat.”

“In row… S?” Nesta asks, holding up the tickets so Cassian can see the seat listed. “You want me to go to a game, but aren’t even going to get us first row?”

Cassian laughs easily at that. “I’m not a miracle worker, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how expensive seats along the glass are? It’s how the team gets a huge chunk of revenue each game.” Nesta hums at that, but doesn't say anything else.

At her continued silence, Cassian tries to keep his easy smile in place, refuses to let it slip or let his nerves truly show. "So, you'll be there?"

"We'll see," Nesta tells him, but she tucks the tickets away in between the pages of her books.

It feels like a win to Cassian, the same high as watching the puck sink into the netting, and he doesn't bother biting back the way his grin widens in response. But before he can say anything else, his phone starts to vibrate in his back pocket, the reminder he set for himself so he wouldn't be late. He quickly digs his phone out, silencing the alarm, and clears his throat, offering Nesta an apologetic wince.

"I have to get going, but… I'll see you around?"

Nesta merely waves her hand, opening back up her book and settling her cheek on her fist again as she returns to whatever whirlwind romance sweeps her away between the parchment and ink. Cassian knows a dismissal when he sees one. Even if he still desperately wants to know what's happening in her book, what has her so enraptured and desperate to return to the characters and story. He's quite confident he could listen for hours if she wanted to retell him the entire plot. He's quite confident that he'd give anything to know what her favorite romances are, what her favorite moments are, just so he can recreate them.

"Bye," Nesta snaps, her voice dry and annoyed.

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly again, realizing that he was definitely staring like an idiot. Again. With a nod, he finally moves toward the door of the bookshop, knowing that Coach will kill him if he's late for practice.

~ * * * ~

Cassian rolls his shoulders and neck, making his way down the hall and toward the training room. His hair is still wet from his shower, water droplets dripping from the strands and dampening the shoulders of his shirt, and he's definitely feeling the way he pushed himself during practice. But despite it all, there's still a lightness bubbling in his chest, and not just from his interaction with Nesta this morning. He feels like he's starting to mesh with the coaching staff, feels like he's really buying into the system they play here, feels like he can feel chemistry starting to build with the boys.

It's going to be a great season, a great year, he just knows it.

Awbrey is already sitting on one of the massage tables in the training room when Cassian steps inside, getting his shoulder wrapped in kinesiology tape, and Cassian offers him a nod as he walks past. He drops his bag in the corner and grabs a pair of compression boots, settling on one of the open massage tables. He gets to work sliding his feet in and securing the straps nice and tight.

"Need any help with that?" Cresseida asks, stepping over to Cassian with a raised eyebrow. She truly might be his favorite member of the training staff.

"I'm good," Cassian assures her, setting the boots to his desired level. He lets out a relieved sigh when the massage starts, already working through the knots and helping with the soreness. "Although, you could grab my phone from my bag for me. So I don't get bored."

"Exactly what I get paid for: doing menial tasks for hockey players."

"Aw, come on, Cress." Cassian puts on his best pout, gesturing with his arm to the now empty training room. "There's no one else here that needs attention."

Cresseida settles him with an unimpressed look that would definitely send him skittering away if he weren't currently pinned down by the compression boots. She narrows her eyes, the bright blue of them practically icing over, and Cassian offers her his most charming smile. It seems to do the trick, even as she sighs and rolls her eyes, but she steps over to where he dropped his bag.

He waits for her to grab his phone, already thinking about if it would be too much to text Nesta. He could keep it simple, casual, simply ask how her day is going. But a surprised laugh draws his attention, and when he snaps his head in the direction of the sound, Cresseida is holding up the book he'd purchased the first time he visited Nesta's bookstore, the one he simply shoved in the bag and then forgot about.

Viking Bride

"This is certainly not what I was expecting for your reading taste," Cresseida teases, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"What? Because I'm a professional athlete, I can't enjoy romance?"

"Where did you even get a book like this? No way they sell this at a mainstream bookstore."

"This bookstore called Grump & Sunshine Books actually. It's the best romance bookstore in the whole city."

Cresseida hums, flipping through the book. "And what do you think so far? How far have you read?"

"Oh, I don't…"

Cassian lets his words trail off, swallowing back down the admission that he had no intention of ever reading the book, that he only purchased it in an attempt to impress Nesta, a desperate plea to get her to talk to him. Because it gives him an idea, the perfect opening that he's been looking for.

"I haven't finished it yet," Cassian says instead, his grin growing. "But I'll let you know what I think."

~ * * * ~

Nesta

"Who knew there would be so many people," Nesta comments, keeping her eyes on the strands of copper hair leading the way in front of her through the sea of blue all around them.

"It is the home opener," Emerie reminds her, making a face when someone rushes past and knocks against her shoulder.

"This many people care about hockey?"

The dry remark earns Nesta a number of looks from the people around them, even more so when they take in her attire. At least her friends laugh easily, Gwyn turning back and looping her arm through Nesta's with a bright smile as they continue to walk.

"I told you, Nesta Archeron," Gwyn says. "You're going to have more fun than you think."

The benefit of having Gwyn is that she clearly knows where she's going and what she's doing. She leads Nesta and Emerie to the arena entrance and through security. Their tickets are scanned and then they're stepping fully inside. Nesta has to admit, it's impressive. It feels a bit larger than life, certainly spacious and modern. She takes in the large digital screen displays on the wall, the different food and drink options, what appears to be a team store called The Lair.

"Come on," Gwyn exclaims, leading the charge forward. "They let you go down to ice level for warmups."

There's already a number of fans and certainly plenty of children lining the first few rows of the arena, many with signs. Nesta even spots one little girl with a Kraken bobble hat and a sign declaring, Will trade a puck for a box of cookies!, in large looping letters. But despite all the people already there, Gwyn is able to weave and find a place for them right along the glass.

They have to wait longer than Nesta anticipated, especially when they haven't even gotten drinks yet, but eventually both teams skate onto the ice. It's like watching organized chaos, the way some of the players skate laps around their half of the ice, others taking shots at their own goalie, and others still doing what looks like tricks in their own little bubble, spinning around and moving their sticks back and forth quickly.

It's easy enough to spot Cassian. He's one of the few players not wearing a helmet, and Cassian's hair is unmistakable, hanging in loose curls down to his shoulders and the dark blue of his jersey. His smile is wide and bright, and Nesta watches as he skates a lap before throwing his body against his teammate's, shoving the teammate against the glass, with an easy laugh.

Cassian skates away from the teammate, skates right toward where Nesta and her friends are standing, and she wonders if he somehow spotted them, but instead he drops down to his knees against the ice. He does it with surprising ease, like the motion is nothing for him. Nesta can't look away as he leans forward, practically on all fours with his stick against the ice and his knees spread wide. It gives her a perfect view of his ass, even if it's covered in hockey gear.

Cassian slides his knees wider, spreading himself open wider still, and then he starts to move his hips. Forward and back. In small circles. His hips move, and Nesta's mouth goes dry. It's almost sensual, the way he works them, and it's definitely obscene. Cassian straightens back up onto his knees, stretching his arms and his stick behind his back, but the image of his moving hips is already seared in Nesta's mind, a teasing brand of what could be.

A cheer echoes from Nesta's left, jolting her back to the present, and when she looks over, she sees that little girl from earlier jumping up and down excitedly. A quick glance toward the ice reveals one of the Kraken players skating toward the bench, the bright green box of cookies cradled in his glove.

"Cute," Emerie murmurs, clearly noticing the same exchange.

Nesta decides to keep her focus firmly on any player other than Cassian after that as they continue to stand along the glass, watching as slowly but surely, the number of players begin to dwindle. Soon, a horn blares through the whole arena, the players still remaining on the ice heading off and the various fans around them starting to make their way back up the steps toward the concourse. Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn head up the stairs as well, deciding to find food and drinks before they find their seats.

Nesta has a can of beer in one hand and a pretzel in the other as she follows Emerie to the row of their seats. There's already a group of women and a few small children in their allotted row and the one behind. A pretty blonde woman sitting at the end jumps up with a smile, quickly turning to chastise the little boy beside her before turning her attention to Emerie.

"You must be Nesta. I'm Corra. Fionn told me to be on the look out for you."

"Oh, I'm not…" Emerie trails off, turning enough that she can point in Nesta's direction. "That's Nesta. I'm Emerie and this is Gwyn."

Nesta clocks the exact moment the woman notices what she's wearing, but she has to give Corra credit. Her smile only drops a centimeter before stretching wide again.

"Well, I've already asked Clare to switch seats, so you'll have three together."

They all murmur their thanks as they shuffle to the three open seats. Gwyn ends up beside a little girl—the sister to the little boy and Corra's other child it seems—and she wastes no time striking up a conversation with her. Nesta turns her own attention to the arena around them, the ice stretched out below them, even as she can feel the eyes of those around her practically burning a brand between her shoulder blades.

"Is it just me, or does it feel like high school?" Emerie murmurs from Nesta's other side. "Wish someone told us there's apparently a dress code."

Nesta hums her agreement, but she's saved from saying anything else when the lights in the arena go down. Cheers echo through the arena, melding with the music that starts to blare through the sound system. It's quite the display and entrance: the music, the light show displayed across the ice, the mini-movie spliced with hockey clips played on the large screens, even the tentacle lowered down onto the ice. But it feels like a bit much when they take the time to introduce every single player on the team, and Nesta doesn't bother holding back her eye roll when it's Cassian's turn.

But finally, after all the fanfare, the game starts, and Nesta tries her best to keep up. It's all so fast paced, the back and forth across the ice. She doesn't quite understand all the rules, but at one point, Gwyn starts screaming about something that happened, other fans seemingly just as upset.

It doesn't take long for the Kraken to score a goal, leaving the whole arena erupting in excitement, but it seems to take even less time for the other team to score too. By the time the horn is blaring to signal the end of the period, it's tied one to one.

Although there are no goals in the second period, the fast-pace continues. At one point, Cassian skates at one of the players of the other team, throwing his body against him and slamming the other player right into the boards. The two shove and grab at each other in the aftermath, and somewhere in the scuffle, Cassian loses his helmet. He tosses his head back when they separate, getting his hair out of his face, and Nesta wants to curse the Mother with how unfair it all is. How unfair such a display, such aggression, could somehow be so attractive.

By the third period, the energy in the arena has only built even higher. There's six minutes remaining on the clock when something happens, the whistle blowing and play stopping. Whatever it is, everyone around Nesta seems happy about it, cheering as one of the opposing team players skates toward the little hockey player time-out bench.

As play resumes, Cassian jumps over the boards and onto the ice. Nesta watches as one of his teammates passes him the puck, watches as he skates along the blue line painted across the ice with ease, feet criss-crossing over each other. She watches the way players seem to gather and shove in front of the net, watches the way Cassian pulls his stick back just to swing it back forward.

She can't believe he dared to take a shot through so many bodies.

She can't believe the horn sounds to indicate it's a goal.

Almost the entire arena jumps to their feet to cheer, Cassian and his teammates coming together on the ice to celebrate. They skate toward their bench, fist-bumping the teammates there, and then it's just a waiting game. Waiting for the final few minutes to tick down. Waiting for the final horn to sound, signaling the end of the game. Waiting for the team and all of the fans to celebrate the Kraken's victory.

The arena empties out surprisingly quickly once the game is over. Nesta herself is looking forward to getting out of the cold and back home to her warm bed, but it seems that Gwyn has completely enamored the little girl beside her, the little girl holding Gwyn's hand while she chatters away. The younger brother is fast asleep in his mother's lap, and Corra watches on with an expression that is both fond but unsurprised at her other child.

"Alright, don't tell anyone I'm doing this," Corra begins, standing up and adjusting the boy against her hip. "But come on."

Corra leads the way up the stairs and through the concourse toward an elevator. Nesta doesn't hear what she says to security, but they all clamber inside and are taken all the way down to the basement level. Down a hall and through a door finds them inside a large room. The walls are painted the dark blue of the team's colors, three televisions taking up space on two of them. There's sofas and armchairs along with tables and chairs arranged around most of the space, but what looks like a bar stretches across the back wall, and there appear to be children toys tucked away in the corner.

Nesta recognizes many of the women in the room from the seats around them during the game, all chatting and waiting around. It feels like they're standing around forever before the door opens again and the first Kraken player steps into the room. At least, it's like a domino effect after that, and one by one it seems various men step through the door to greet their other half. With each man that steps inside, Gwyn leans over to whisper who it is, and in some cases, statistics or facts about the player, much to Emerie's barely concealed entertainment.

"Nes!"

Nesta turns just in time to watch Cassian step inside the room. The black dress pants he's wearing are form fitting and practically hug the thick lines of muscle of his thighs. The matching jacket for his suit is slung casually over his arm, leaving him in just his black button down, and, of course, he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, has the first few buttons undone. It gives Nesta the perfect tease of the dark lines of ink hiding beneath the fabric, gives her the perfect view of the veins in his forearms.

His hair is wet and slightly tangled, but somehow the messy look only seems to work for him. A pinkness seems to cling beneath the brown of his cheeks, but whether it's from his post-game shower or the exertion on the ice, Nesta isn't sure. With his wide, easy smile and his bright hazel eyes as he walks directly toward her, he's everything that Nesta wants to hate.

At least she gets to watch in real time as Cassian's smile falters and slips away. Small consolations.

"Are you… are you wearing a Flames jersey? Where'd you even get one of those?"

"What?" Nesta drawls, crossing her arms across her chest and raising a daring eyebrow. "You don't like my hockey jersey?"

The left side of Cassian's lips tug up in a smirk. "I just think you'd look a lot better in blue."

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, but she's spared from saying anything else when Emerie loudly clears her throat, drawing Cassian's attention.

"Emerie. Good to see you again. And you must be Gwyn. Nice to finally meet you."

"Thanks for the tickets, and the jersey," Gwyn tells him. "It was a good game. That was a nice shot at the end."

Cassian shrugs. "I got lucky with Jordy getting the tip."

Gwyn and Cassian continue to talk about hockey and the game, and Nesta is more than happy to just stand there and listen. It gives her a reprieve to remind her traitorous heart to stop being so affected by that stupid smirk of his, by the way he seems intent on looking at her. It gives her a chance to remind herself that no matter how attractive he might look on the ice or after a hockey game, it doesn't change the fact that he'll never actually care about her.

—

Because what did gold matter, now? What diadem mattered, when the crown on Rhys’ brow meant that the woman Cassian had loved from afar, in secret and in silence, had just been hauled into the firing line?

The blood had been so thick that Cassian had been able to fucking taste it. The plate armour Rhys had paid handsomely for— dented now, scratched. The hilt of his sword, practically bruised from his grip. Everywhere there was blood and mud and shit, the screams of the injured and the dying. Broken spears had jutted up from the ground like broken wings, and all across the field lay the battered remains of men who had fought and died for what they believed in— the king they had believed in, whoever that might be. 

Rhys was king, now.

In a victory that was so complete and encompassing it was almost dizzying, his brother was the king now, and Cassian might have smiled at the victory had the blood not been so thick on his hands or his heart not one second away from beating right out of his chest. 

Other things mattered, now.

So Cassian had kneeled for his new king for all of one moment before rising to his feet, throwing aside the helmet that was battered beyond repair, and calling out until his voice broke for a horse to carry him— any horse at all.

Right then and there, he’d been willing to give his brother’s newfound and hard-won kingdom for a fucking horse.

Because a white rose was sewn into the tunic that covered his breastplate, and hammered into the steel beneath too, decorating his pauldrons and vambraces both. But she lived under the banner of a red one— a Lancastrian rose to his Yorkist. Cassian had woken that morning as a rebel about to wage war on the king, but Fortune had saw fit to turn her wheel on that field today. As the sun set, he was the brother of the man who wore the crown now, and where Nesta Archeron had woken that morning as the daughter of one of the wealthiest members of the gentry… she was ending it as a pauper. 

His rise had been her fall; his good fortune her destruction. 

He couldn’t let that stand. 

Wouldn’t let that stand, especially not when Rhys ordered all of the old king’s most loyal adherents to be rounded up and brought before him to kneel, and Cassian glimpsed her father at the edge of the field, already running for the hills. So Cassian had bowed to that crown - nearly five hundred years old already, with a patina of age and glory that ought to have brought him to his knees with awe - and then turned away, telling his brother in no uncertain terms that he’d be back to help secure his new kingdom once he’d dealt with something far more pressing.

Then he’d raced like the devil himself was at his back, and kept going and going and going, long after the sun had set. 

And now his spurs clattered on the cobblestones as he dismounted, his stiff muscles protesting each move as he tied his horse to a post with hands aching from holding the reins for more hours than he’d bothered to count, and a sword for even more before that. He tipped his head back to feel the cold night air brush against his neck; a welcome relief given the plate armour and heavy chain mail that he still wore.

God, not even Rhys knew how much of the world Cassian would let burn for her. 

Not a single soul alive knew how much Cassian had yearned for her since the very first day he’d glimpsed her across the hall at one of the old king’s Christmas banquets, when the entire court had been gathered, before they’d descended into war. He had spoken to her since, small snatches of precious conversation they’d stolen when backs were turned, but none of them knew just how madly, desperately, and irrevocably devoted he was to Nesta fucking Archeron.

Perhaps it would have changed things, if Rhys had known exactly how much Cassian cared for the girl whose father had just refused to swear allegiance to the new king. But there had been no time to explain, and it didn’t matter now, anyway. 

Before him, the moonlight was a shard of silver splitting through the clouds, bathing the Archeron manor in an eerie, ethereal glow. Roses climbed the pale walls, and all was in darkness. Not a single candle shone inside, every window void of light, like those inside had stopped waiting for the master of the house to come home and were already expecting the enemy to come hammering on the door. 

Cassian was the enemy, he supposed. With that white rose on his chest, so at odds with the red one he’d glimpsed on Nesta’s father’s banner today, as crimson as freshly spilled blood… yes, technically Cassian was the enemy.

But he could never be her enemy.

It was why he’d raced to that manor, allowing neither hunger nor thirst nor fatigue to slow him. He’d switched horses thrice, determined to let nothing on this God-given earth stop him. He hadn’t even wasted the time it took to change from his armour and it glinted weakly now, the moonlight glancing off the planes of it that weren’t covered in blood. 

Because Rhys would arrest them - arrest her - as soon as daybreak came. Cassian would bet his life that there was already a contingent of soldiers on the way, ready to apprehend the daughters of Sir Henry Archeron and bring them to court, where they could be kept an eye on and ensure their father’s loyalty. And Cassian knew what that meant. Each of the three sisters would be married off to some minor, inconsequential lord and shipped off to whichever corner of England was the least likely to rise up in rebellion against the new king. They would be sold off into marriage to lessen their value, their threat, and though the part of Cassian that had led Rhys’ vanguard in battle knew it was the right move…

He couldn’t let it happen.

So he didn’t bother to quiet his steps as his spurs rang out against the stone of the courtyard, an announcement in and of itself, and he didn’t bother, either, to knock on the thick wooden door with the skin of his knuckles. No— Cassian banged his armoured wrist against the door, loud enough to wake the dead.

And within moments, as though she had been waiting as soon as his horse crossed into the courtyard, Nesta Archeron pulled open the heavy door on creaking hinges, a scowl on her face that was enough to send him to an early grave as she stood on that threshold between them, half concealed by the shadow, with the moonlight only barely gracing the angles of the face that had haunted his dreams ever since he’d laid eyes on her.

And though she tried to keep that scowl in place, her pale hand fluttered to her chest as she took in the sight of him, silvered fully by the moon, and surely looking as wild as anything. And as though there was nothing else she could think to say, Nesta breathed,

“You shouldn’t be here.”

***

“Where else would I be?”

His words were smooth, and the smile that pulled at his lips was wry with a hopeless sort of sincerity, but still there was an edge in his voice, serrated by exhaustion, like the hours of travel and battle both had taken their toll on a body that simply refused to give in to the need for rest. 

God, he was a mess. 

The armour, moulded so perfectly to every plane of his body, was dulled instead of polished, and somewhere along the way he had discarded his helm and his gauntlets, as if preferring to feel the wind on his face and the leather of the reigns against his palms as he raced to her in the dying light, crossing miles like they were inches. His surcoat was covered in blood and dirt, and Nesta didn’t know what it said about her that instantly she began to pray that it wasn’t his own. God save her, she didn’t even think to ask after her father, not until—

“Your father escaped,” Cassian said, almost as an aside as he took a step forward. His eyes were fixed to hers, like she was a cardinal point he couldn’t hope to navigate himself without, and as he moved, the sword at his hip clinked against the armour he still wore. Idly, casually, he balanced his wrist on the pommel, curling his fingers around the decorated handle, and when Nesta noticed a fresh cut right across his knuckles - like he’d taken off his gauntlets during battle and been caught short - she didn’t like the way her focus centred on that one cut. Not when it was clear by the look of him that he had left a string of more serious wounds in his wake today. 

How many lives had he ended on that battlefield today? How many women had he made widows? 

But his eyes were unfailing, his gaze steadfast. Like he was her most devoted servant.

She forced herself to think of the matter at hand. The danger facing them now, without her father to protect her name or that of her sisters.  Deep down, she’d always known that he’d abandon them to their fate if the battle went south for him. That he’d save his own skin before thinking of theirs.

“He fled the field?” Nesta asked.

Cassian snorted. “He never entered the field, love. He spent the entire battle at the edges and when it was clear his side was losing, he fled. He’s probably half way to France by now.” He took another step forward, his face turning grave as shadow fell across half of his frame. “You need to come with me.”

Nesta blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You need to come with me.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Please.”

The entreaty alone was almost enough to make Nesta agree. Here was a man who begged for nothing, who asked for nothing, standing before her and saying please. 

And yet she could not accept.

No matter how much her heart yearned, how much her soul ached.

She could not accept.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly, her eyes rising briefly to the lintel above her head, the stone carved with the Archeron family crest. The seat that had been occupied by an Archeron for centuries, ever since the Norman Conquest. What would become of it, if she were to vacate it now? 

The scar that split Cassian’s eyebrow was pulled taut as he frowned. His hand darted out, closing around her arm, his fingers warm through the fabric of her sleeve as he held her. As though he hadn’t thought the better of it, hadn’t bothered to check himself. And it didn’t matter what future Nesta might have imagined once, in the dark when she was alone. It didn’t matter that, once, she might have harboured dreams of him being the one she slept beside each night and woke up to each morning. None of it mattered; he should not have been touching her. 

Not like this.

She pulled back, stepping entirely into the shadow.

His hand dropped into the empty space between them, a void that felt impossible to bridge. 

“Your father is enough of a landholder in this county to make his loyalty imperative to whichever king sits on the throne,” Cassian said slowly, keeping his voice low. “And since he’s made it clear that he won’t accept any king save the old one…”

“My father is one of the king’s chief moneylenders—“

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” Cassian interrupted. His armour clinked as he took another step, as he reached for her again, his fingers falling just short of hers. He left his hand there, hanging in the air for a moment, as if waiting for her to reach for him. She wanted to. God in heaven, she wanted to. But the moment stretched and in the end his fingers curled towards his palm as he let his hand drop back to the pommel of his sword, leaving neither of them satisfied. “And your daddy isn’t powerful enough or wealthy enough anymore to warrant Rhys keeping him alive. He’ll make an example of him, and it won’t be long before he throws him in the Tower.”

Nesta paled.

Her relationship with her father was… complex. It was her duty as a daughter to obey him, and yet… the man had proven himself a fool on more than one occasion since her mother’s death. He had been lucky, lately, that his ventures had given him enough revenue to loan his gold to the king in order to fund this godforsaken war, but it was luck, not strategy, that kept him in a position of influence. And if Cassian was right, her father’s luck had just run dry.

Fortuna no longer smiled upon the Archerons or the Lancastrians, and they would all of them go down with that ship unless they abandoned course and chose another.

“Rhys won’t let your father live,” Cassian repeated, eyes wide and silvered by the moon, like he was hoping to convey each ounce of his desperation with his gaze alone. “And I won’t let you die with him.”

He shook his head, errant curls escaping the leather band he’d used to keep his hair back from his rugged face. His scar was stark in the moonlight, evidence of all that he had fought for, and when he held out his hand again, bloodied fingers and all, Nesta could have sworn there was a tremble there, an apprehension that said he didn’t know what he’d do if she refused him again.

“Please, love. Come with me.”

There it was again. That word— please.

His brother had just taken the crown of England with both hands. He was one of the most powerful men in the entire kingdom now, and yet he stood before her and said please.

“Come with you where?” Nesta asked, her voice rising even as she looked at that proffered hand and felt herself leaning towards it. “What will you do, secret my sisters and I away somewhere where Rhysand - your brother, your king - won’t find us? How long will you lie to him for?”

Cassian’s face was hard. “I’ll figure something out,” he said.

Nesta huffed a laugh. “Ever the tactician, I see.”

“When it comes to you?” he said, his eyes clashing with hers, as sharp as the blade at his side. “Sweetheart, you ought to know by know that I am never fully in possession of my faculties when you’re around.”

She turned her face away.

She couldn’t bear it. The honesty in his voice, the earnest drag of his eyes across her face. 

“It would ruin me, Cassian. And both of my sisters.”

Another step forward, another inch she allowed him closer. “I won’t let it. Just allow me to do this. Allow me to make sure you are safe.”

Nesta swallowed. She could feel her resolve wavering, melting like wax above a candle flame. And when she looked at him, taking in the marks of battle as if for the first time, she felt her heart splinter and crack. To think she could have lost him— that he could have been felled on that field today, and she would never again have seen those eyes, or that smile, or wondered what it was to feel his touch.

“My father won’t ever kneel,” she said in a whisper. “He’ll never kneel for Rhys, no more than you would for the old king.”

“No,” Cassian mused, reaching forward boldly, as if he could sense the erosion of every last one of her reservations, and with gentle fingers he tucked a piece of her unbound hair behind her ear. Her skin sparked at the touch— his bare fingers against her skin. “But then, the only person in this world I’ll truly kneel for is you.”

Her lips quirked, a smile trapped at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t tell Rhysand that.”

“He’d forgive me,” he said softly, an echoing smile gracing his own face, curving his lips and revealing a flash of teeth as he tilted his head, studying her as if she were the sunrise after an endless night. And when neither of them moved and the silence stretched, Nesta felt her heart pounding in her chest like a drum and suddenly felt the need to touch him too, for nothing else than to remind herself that he was alive.

His armour was cold against her fingers as she trailed her hands over his shoulders, the smooth silver plate a chilling contrast to the warmth of his fingers when he lifted a hand and brushed the backs of her knuckles with his own. Her heart keened when she trailed over the tops of his arms, feeling each dent in the metal where a sword or spear or arrow had tried to pierce his skin. There was sickening scratch, too, stretching from his ribs to his stomach that Nesta knew would have been the end of him had the armour not been there to save his life.

But he wasn’t dead, she reminded herself.

He had survived, when so many hadn’t.

Survived, and raced like the hounds of hell were at his heels to reach her. 

“Was it terrible?” she asked quietly, tracing that deadly scar along his breastplate before her eyes dipped to his wounded hand; that thin line across his knuckles a shard of glass piercing her heart, like she was the one who had been dealt the injury. Without thinking, her hands slid from his armour to take that hand and lift it up into the moonlight, her thumb tracing a delicate path along the bones of his fingers. They had never been so close as this— skin on skin, her fingers swallowed by his as he turned his hand over and pressed their palms together, the heel of her hand sitting so perfectly in the centre of his. 

He didn’t need to ask what she had meant. 

“It was battle,” he said, with a blithe shrug that didn’t quite land as truthfully as he had hoped. His eyes shuttered, like he had seen true horror on that field today and wished, now, to chase away the memory with something sweeter. “Battle is always terrible.” 

His voice quieted, his lips parting on a breath as he lifted his free hand and dragged the back of his curled fingers down her cheek. Nesta savoured his warmth, but felt a shiver crawl along her skin as he reached her jaw; felt the fingers that were still wrapped around hers flex as he added,

“But I knew what I was fighting for.”

“And what was that?”

“A world where you and I don’t have to be on opposite sides. A world where I could finally be worthy of you.”

Because before, when Rhysand had only been the king’s cousin and Cassian just a household knight, her father hadn’t even spared him a glance. When she had first seen him, at the Christmas festivities three years previous, there had been no hope of them even speaking together in public. When he had first asked her for her name, it was on a chance meeting in an empty courtyard, when she was on her way to find her father and he was on his way to the stables. When he had first smiled at her, it was from beneath a helmet, just before he closed his visor at the Easter joust. Touching him had been out of the question then; a fantasy she reserved only for the darkest of nights. 

But as the adopted brother of the new sovereign, Cassian had suddenly been elevated to one of the most eligible men in the entire kingdom. 

Not that Nesta had ever really cared about any of that. Not really.

“You were always worthy of me,” she whispered, feeling herself slipping farther and father down a slope that she knew there would be no hope of climbing back up. 

His fingers still lingered at her cheek, his face tipped down so that the tip of his nose was just barely separated from hers. She could feel his breath on her skin, could see each and every scar he’d ever earned. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he whispered. “Just— come with me. Tell me you’ll come with me.”

Her eyes closed, his thumb running back and forth across her cheekbone in a slow, measured caress. It was one she wanted to savour, a feeling she didn’t ever want to be without. Because how could this man end lives with those hands and yet hold her so tenderly, like she was the most precious thing in the world to him, even when his fortune had changed so drastically today?

As if he could tell what she was thinking, he said,

“None of it matters as long as you are safe. The crown, the riches. I care for none of it.”

“Don’t you have a mighty coronation to prepare for?” Nesta asked, opening her eyes and raising a brow. “Ermine robes to be measured for and golden spurs to be fitted?”

He laughed, and the sound rumbled from deep in his chest and through hers, until she felt it like an ember, glowing in her very centre. 

“For all I care the kingdom can go to hell, now.”

“You don’t mean that,” she breathed.

“I do if it means losing you.”

And good God, how could she ever withstand that? How could she ever hope to defend herself against the way he looked at her? The way his touch was so soft against her cheek? The way he all but signed his heart over every time he asked her to come away with him?

And the truth was - the terrible, damning truth was - that she didn’t even want to deny him.

Not anymore.

So when he looked at her again, his thumb sliding down from her cheekbone to trace the curve of her lips…

Nesta nodded.

There were no words between them; none were necessary. She watched his throat move as he swallowed, throat left exposed by his lack of a helm, and as her hands travelled back to his shoulders, he nodded once too, lips curving as understanding passed between them like a current. There was no going back now, not as Nesta felt the hand that had lingered by her mouth moving to her neck, Cassian’s fingers spanning her nape as—

All at once, he hauled her mouth to his. 

Nesta felt her gasp get caught in her throat, felt it die as his lips moved against hers in a kiss that was neither tender nor tentative but far more substantial— something alchemical, turning even the most innocent of touches into a brand. Shock gave way to something sweeter, surprise yielding to hunger as she melted against him, her fingers slipping on the silver plate at his shoulders and coming to rest right above his heart as he banded an arm around her waist to steady her, to keep her standing as her knees threatened to buckle. Her fingers curled against the metal, cursing the barrier between her skin and his as she searched for something to grasp, wanting to feel the planes of his chest beneath her palms and settling, instead, for cool, hardened steel. Still, as Cassian tilted her head back and kept her pressed tight against that armoured chest, pouring every ounce and facet of his desire for her into that one, singular, kiss…

She caught fire.

That first kiss, so destructive and beautiful and certain to be the making of her and the damnation of her at the same time. Because, she thought as his thumb stroked the hollow at the base of her throat, how could she ever hope to kiss another after this? How could she hope to ever forget it, the way his touch sank into her skin? Or the way he pulled back to let her breathe, only to pepper her jaw with a hundred more kisses, soft and sweet this time, yet fervent enough to have her chasing his lips all over again, like it wasn’t sin itself to let herself fall.

And all she could think was… 

He’s not dead.

He’s not dead.

And this… God, this felt like living.

And so when Cassian pulled back to study her face, it was her, this time, who grabbed him by the neck and pulled his face back down, demanding another kiss, one he was all too willing to give. Demanding more, when her back arched and his fingers splayed at the base of her spine. Demanding everything he had, in return for everything she was in return.

And he met her, stroke for stroke for stroke.

Like this was a battle of a different kind, but one where there was no losing side. There was only his body and hers, and the slow surrender of every single one of her defences, yielding, parting, lowering with every swipe of his hand across her spine, every brush of his tongue against hers. Suddenly it didn’t matter who she was or who he had been; didn’t matter that his brother had just taken the crown and her father was on the run. Her hands skated up the column of his neck, searching for whatever skin she could find, and when his lips dropped to her collarbone, smiling against her as he nipped at the skin he found there, Cassian’s broad palms dropped to her waist, holding her in place as he looked up at her with a glint in his eye that wouldn’t have been out of place if he had been the one to win the crown today.

“Say it,” he whispered, before lowering his mouth back to her neck, lining her throat with more kisses until he reached her jaw. “Let me hear you say it.”

She quirked a brow. “Say what?”

“Say that you’ll come with me. That whatever happens tomorrow and beyond, we’ll face it together.”

Nesta placed a palm against his cheek. “Together,” she nodded.

And then, with an insatiable sort of hunger driving her to madness, she let herself smile properly for the first time in an age as she dragged a hand over that damned plate armour and hummed. 

“Now,” she said as Cassian tilted his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Are you going to come inside and let me take off that armour, or are you going to stand in the doorway all night?”

“Nesta, don’t be ridiculous.” Cassian said, washing the pot from dinner. 

Suds covered his hands, steam filled the sink from the faucet. It always astonished Nesta how unaffected Cassian was by the hot water as it dripped down his fingers and wrists. Her gaze lingered on his hands, the veins and muscles running strong. His brown skin was slightly lighter due to the winter weather, but even still, he was beautiful. Nesta was enthralled with it all when soap bubbles were flicked in her direction.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, the small bubbles hitting her pale cheeks before they flushed. Her eyes narrowed at him. “I’ll be fine, Cassian. A little snow won’t kill me.” The muscles in his back tensed, giving her insight that he fully disagreed with her. He wore a shirt unfortunately, but that didn’t stop Nesta from memorizing the hard lines of his body. The water stopped before Cassian turned to her, his brow furrowed.

“You didn’t even hear a word I said, did you?” He accused, all the while with his glasses on and hair slipping from its tie. Nesta knew he said something, but was it really that important? Probably, but oh well. 

When he caught her gaze making their rounds, her cheeks felt very warm. With a brow raised, he asked. “Well, Nes?” At the challenge in his voice, Nesta rolled her eyes. “Trust me, there wasn’t much on my mind, so I had no choice but to listen to you.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he grinned. “Okay, what did I say about the snow, Nesta?”

“That you’re worried for little old me to be driving in the snow.” A fake pout on her lips as her hands rested on his biceps.

“Half-assed answers from the English major, not surprised.” Cassian responded before he leaned closer. “I don’t want you on the road tomorrow. They’re calling for ice and snow all day tomorrow and with your hour-long commute, I don’t trust the roads to be done properly.”

“Cassian, I’m from New England. We deal with more snow there than the DMV does yearly. I’ve made similar trips before, and nothing has gone astride.” Nesta countered. “New England plans for the snow. You want to know what Maryland does? We freak out until it’s too late, not all the roads aren’t done well, and before we know it, we’re in a state of emergency.” Cassian argued.

Right as she began to argue back, his hand grabbed her chin, tilting her head upwards at him. In his gaze she caught a glimpse of worry, but something ran deeper in those hazel eyes. Something primal, it made her toes curl in her socks. “I don’t want you on the road tomorrow, Nesta.” His voice filled with grit. “If I hear your car keys jingle tomorrow morning, you’ll be sorry.”

Biting her lip, Nesta cocked her head. “Is that so?”

With his other hand, Cassian grabbed her ass, pulling her in closer. A tiny gasp left her lips as her thighs rubbed together through her pajama shorts, trying to soothe the ache. 

“Am I clear, Nesta?” Cassian asked.

His lips hovered over hers, the space between them almost non-existent. Up on her toes, Nesta tried to kiss Cassian, but a strong grip in her hair made her freeze. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, suppressing the small moan caused by Cassian’s grip tightening. 

“Do I have to repeat myself?” The warning deep in his voice. “I know you like hearing yourself talk, so you might as well.” Nesta taunted, dialing the brat meter to 150%. She pushed herself up against him, her round breasts on him knowing full well they were his weakness. Her stomach flipped in anticipation, waiting for his strong grip to throw her over his shoulder. For his growl to be in her ears and his hands to be romaing. Her body hummed and glowed waiting for take off.

However, Cassian only shrugged before pulling away from their embrace. “If you want to be an idiot, be my guess.”

He slipped past her, heading to their shared office. Flabbergasted at the rejection, Nesta’s face burned in embarrassment, watching him enter the next room. Huffing, she made her way to the stairs to their bedroom when her car keys reflected the light from the nearby lamp as it hung on a hook.

Her gaze traveled between the office, her keys, and the door. I’m not actually going anywhere, but no one ever said fucking with your man isn’t worth it. Nesta stepped quietly over to the hook, grabbing her keys. Grasping them in her fist, she quickly moved to the door, grabbing her uggs that were in the shoe rack. With no jacket on, and only matching polar bear pj set on, Nesta took a tiny breath, praying for her sanity and that Cassian would fuck her into next Tuesday.

The keys jingled in her hands before she ripped the door open, running outside in the snow. There was already several inches on the ground, with more falling from the clouded sky. Her breath became small clouds leaving her lips, shivering slightly. I don’t think this is enough, maybe I should go to the car, perhaps even turn it on–

An arm appeared from behind her, the hand gripping her neck. Nesta gasped, feeling Cassian’s presence behind her, the heat from their home barely touching the back of her legs before he shut the door. His mouth leaned into her ear, his hot breath giving her goosebumps. “What’s your safeword?” His voice was clear, direct. Cassian had done this every time before they lost themselves in their desires, wanting clear consent from Nesta.

His grip was loose, not adding any pressure. A grin grew on her lips. “Silver.” Nesta glanced back at Cassian who nodded. “If you want to stop any time, say it.” A message he repeated to her time and time again. It made the butterflies flutter in her belly, hearing his instructions to keep them both safe. “Yes, General.”

Cassian growled, his grip on her throat tightened. “You’re so bad, Sweetheart. You want to be in the snow so bad.” Pulling away from her head, his hand left her throat only to tangle into her hair. The pressure rooted deeply as he pulled her along the small path to the driveway. Quiet yelps fell on deaf ears with the tall trees that surrounded them, being near the mountains. Their closest neighbor was at least three miles down the road.

Once they stood in front of her BMW, Cassian took the keyfob from Nesta’s grip, turning on the car. Headlights awakened, exhaust swirled into the night. His grip pulled at her head, making Nesta look up at him. “Strip, your boots can stay on.”

Nesta sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “But it’s cold.” 

“Maybe you should have thought of that before testing my patience.”

As she went to say something, his grip yanked her hair harder making Nesta yelp again. “I’m not asking again.” He let go of her hair, watching her strip off her pjs. The clothes landed in the fallen snow, building around them. “Good e-enough for you?” Nesta asked, her lips shivering.

“Not quite.” 

Then Cassian spun her around, before pushing her onto the hood of her car. The snow sunk into her skin, making her cry out from the cold. The sudden change made her mind still just for a moment, but the feeling of Cassian’s hands holding her own behind her back kept her anchored. Her cries were drowned out by the car’s engine. She knew that if she said her safeword they would stop and go back inside. But his authority and the position he put her in aroused her so deeply she should be offended.

“What? I thought a New England woman like you could handle some snow.” Cassian taunted, trailing hot kisses down her spine. Nesta gasped, fighting his hold, spreading her legs. She felt his cock at her backside, the hard and thick length making her mouth water.

He chuckled, pulling away from her back, making Nesta whimper. “Watching you shiver and squirm is a sight I want to burn into my mind. Your sounds have never sounded sweeter.” Her body was slowly getting used to the cold when she heard a thump behind her. She tried to turn, but the same hot breath that was in her ear moments ago was now near her cunt.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a pussy shiver like this before, Sweetheart. Need something inside to keep you warm?” Cassian teased, his fingers barely touching her skin. Nesta shuttered at his words, her toes curling deep in the uggs. “F-fuck you, Cassian.”

Slap.

Nesta cried out, feeling her cunt pulse from the spanking. Cassian tsked before his fingers lingered back between her lips. “You’ve been a brat all night, Sweetheart. I’m not sure if you even deserve to have my cock, let alone come.” Her breaths were hot, the snow on her lips and tongue failing to cool her off. 

“Maybe I should tie you up like this, leave you to the brutality of nature. See how well you handle the snow then.” His words flew from his lips, making Nesta squirm as her thighs tried to rub out the friction of the image that bled into her mind. “Not a chance, Sweetheart.” He spread her legs further apart, the ache driving her mad.

“Ca-Cassian please.” Nesta begged.

“What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

If it weren’t for the snow, Nesta would have dragged out the brat agenda longer, but it was slowly getting to her. She needed him now. “I’m staying inside, with you. All day, all night.” 

“That’s right, Sweetheart. I think you’ve been punished enough, however…” His voice trailed off. “I’m hungry for shaved ice.” Before she could question him, a sudden cold engulfed her cunt making her cry out. But then his tongue was there, licking and tasting her covered in the snow. Nesta babbled into the snow on the hood, words falling off her lips.

Two fingers were inside her, curling and stretching her walls. Nesta arched her back, feeling the wave about to crash. “I’m going to come, Cassian. Please.” Tears dripped down her face, the heavy need dripping down his fingers.

“Let go, Sweetheart. I got you.” Cassian encouraged, his voice sweet. 

Nesta’s orgasm crashed into her, crawling at the snow and car, her screams making bats flutter away in the night. She kept going as his fingers continued until Nesta tried to drag herself away from him. Her world was silent before feeling his strong arms pick her up, cradling her to his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder, his lips feeling her with praise and light touches. The sound of the car shut off as Cassian walked back inside.

Nesta wasn’t too sure what was going until she felt the sudden warmth of her home on her bare skin. She moaned and nestled into Cassian’s chest at the change of temperature.

“Come on, we’ll take a bath and then put on a show. Sound good, Nes?”

“Sounds good.” Nesta mumbled before hearing the rushing of water moments after. Her uggs were gone and so were his clothes as Cassian placed them both in the large tub. They both sighed at the comfort of the water, not even the heat bothering Nesta.

“I love you, Nesta.” He said gently.

“I love you more, General.” Her eyes drooped, feeling Cassian begin to shampoo her hair.

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