if I offer you the moon on a string,

Cold air clung to your skin tighter than the thin shift wrapped around you, carrying a damp, musty weight that settled deep in your lungs with every breath. 

That male hadn’t returned since throwing the itchy garment through the bars and telling you to suck it up. 

You didn’t want to think of his name—which, at least, you hadn’t provided him the satisfaction of moaning. Just thinking of him and what he’d done to you…your stomach roiled with shame at the sick, sick part of you that initially found him just the slightest bit attractive, that enjoyed—even just a little bit, enough to want to orgasm—his complete violation of your body. 

Your body, which was still shaking as you curled your legs up to your chest, the dim light allowing you to see your skinned knees when his damned shadows had dropped you. Gently, you brushed your thumbs over the scrapes. 

It was sickening how you could still feel his seed dripping out of you. 

In. Out. In. Out. You reminded yourself to breathe, even as the sound of your heartbeat in your ears got louder. 

The hope that your brothers would be here had soon dimmed. Maybe you didn’t matter as much as you actually thought. Maybe you weren’t worth the effort of retrieving.

So much for holding you as leverage against your court. 

Soon you lay your aching, shivering body sideways on the ground, legs still curled up. If it were any other time, you might’ve been mindful of the cleanliness—but nothing could be more disgusting now that you’d been taken in such a way by some Night Court scum. 

And even as you tried to keep silent, the dungeon walls echoed your weeping mockingly. 

Meanwhile, upstairs, Azriel was occupied with drafting the terms for the Vanserra girl’s return. Not his task of choice—but he could never disobey outright orders from his High Lord. 

The quill flew across the paper, using the neat lettering he favoured for diplomatics. Whilst the Vanerssa daughter was one of the main subjects of the paper, you, downstairs, were barely a thought in his mind. Merely a good fuck and hopefully something that’d irk your eldest brother if he found out. Azriel wasn’t afraid of potential revenge for the act, being undaunted by Eris—though he should probably give you something to mask his scent on you, not wanting to go through the trouble of the male. 

Azriel continued to write. 

Your response will determine how—and how soon she 

Azriel froze. His shadows, once lazily swirling at his feet, froze as well. 

Something was wrong.

The world tilted. 

Blood roared in his ears, each heartbeat slamming through him until the edges of his vision darkened. For a moment, there was nothing but shadows.

Then it collapsed.

As quickly as it came, the sensation shrank into a hollow in his chest. The entirety of that feeling compressing into such a small space. A black hole. He couldn’t breathe. It hooked its fingers into his heart and pulled, wrenching something deep and vital in him to—

You. 

Mate, the tug whispered.

Azriel’s breaths fractured. His fingers tangled in his hair, hard enough he should’ve felt pain, but he didn’t.

Mate, it whispered again. 

This second time his shadows understood.

They recoiled. 

They moved faster than he’d ever seen—not from the room, or a threat—but from him. Vanishing into nothing. 

Azriel sat alone, the word echoing in his chest. On the desk beneath him, the quill pen had leaked ink all over the statement he’d been drafting. Irremovable stains expanding over his precise writing, mirroring the way the bond spread over his usually controlled self. 

His legs itched to carry him to the dungeons downstairs, but he strongly doubted you’d want to see his face. He wasn’t even sure if you’d felt the mating link snap yet. How was he supposed to fix anything like this? With what he’d just done to you…he gagged on the bile that surged.

So badly, Azriel’s instincts called out to protect you, to care for you. How was he supposed to do that if you refused him? If you were afraid of him? His breath lodged in his throat.

For once, Azriel had no clue what to do. 

The first thing you noticed when you awoke was the thick blanket over you. He probably realised you’d be of no use to Night if you died of hypothermia. 

The second thing you noticed was the dulled soreness between your thighs, then your eyes tired from crying. 

It was brighter now. The sconces lining the walls near your cell had been lit. Shifting around, you found a tray with water that looked clean and a plate of bread—sliced. A press of your fingers found that it was warm, too. Clever incentive to get you to eat and drink something that was likely laced to keep you compliant. 

But it wasn’t as if you could get worse anyway, so you ate the bread while it was still warm and downed it with the water. 

Just then, you spotted rippling shadows at the bars of your cell. Watching you. Unbound, you could easily warm the bars of the cell and bend them just enough to get yourself out. But not with the shadows there. 

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, shuffling to sit in the corner. Stared at the shadows—though it was a funny thing, since you weren’t quite sure where you were supposed to look, but you were sure they were entirely aware of you anyway. 

“Tell your master,” you began quietly, “that nobody will be coming for me. And that it’s no use for them to keep me here.” 

The shadows seemed to pause. Then a coil of them reached out and easily unlatched the lock, the sound of wheels rolling on stone echoing through the dungeon as they pushed the bars aside. 

You were wary of their actions. It had to be some sort of test or trick. There was no way they—or he’d—let you go so easily. Was there? 

Sitting there, you watched the shadows. They didn’t move, remaining by the now-opened bars. If you made a run for it, would they catch you and drag you back? Dangle freedom in front of your face just to cruelly remove it once again, toying with you the way their master seemed to so enjoy? 

Enough time had passed while considering the suspicious offer of freedom for you to realise nothing you ate had been laced. Perhaps they’d realised you really weren’t worth anything to trade. 

The thought was a pin in your heart, but you could do nothing about it except help yourself. 

You wrapped the blanket tighter over your shoulders and stood. The shadows didn’t react. You didn’t make a run for it, knowing you wouldn’t be able to outrun them. Instead, you just headed straight out. 

But at the bars, a mild, curious shadow curled around your wrist. The touch wasn’t heavy at all, but the sensation that came with it brought you crumbling to your knees, your grip on the blanket slipping. You didn’t even register the pain as your already-scraped knees hit the ground; with all your concentration focused on trying to breathe through the phantom hands that seemed to close around your lungs. 

Deep breaths seemed to calm your racing heart and bring oxygen back into your lungs again after a moment. Your hand clung tightly to a bar of the cell gate, knuckles white. 

You weren’t graced with the time to collect yourself or your thoughts when your hands flew to your chest. 

Nails digging into the shift. Scratching at the fabric. All in an attempt to gouge the unfamiliar feeling out of your body. Willing to excavate your heart if it meant removing the firm bond that linked you to him.

“Stop,” you wailed. The shadows, not expecting such a reaction from you, were unsure.

It was a string of fate, all right. One with a hook in your soul and the rope tight around your neck like a noose. 

The fabric gave. You clawed at your chest, leaving ugly red lines. Skin tore easily. Soon there was blood under your nails and the promise of flesh. 

Trembling, you cried out. You didn’t know what hurt more—the bond, or your self-inflicted pain. 

“Stop, make it stop…”

The shadows intervened. Some gently embraced your wrists, urging you to stop. Others wrapped around the tips of your fingers. Preventing you from raking your skin. 

“Stop it!” They held fast even as you attempted to bat them away. You tried to dig your fingers into your sternum, but the shadows around your wrists lightly strayed your actions. 

The other shadows drew the blanket back over your shoulders, rubbed your back, dried your tears, and smoothed your hair. 

He had to know, for his shadows to be here, you realised. Even more it made you want to swat at them, but they seemed to adamant on caring for you. If this was his attempted apology…

“Make it go away,” you hiccuped. “Make it go away! Stop, stop, I don’t want this…”

Disgust and nausea overtook you—quite promptly, you lurched over, bile and blood rising in your throat. 

This was the male the Cauldron chose? 

Your torn skin stung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you emptied the contents of your stomach on the stone floor. At least your hair was held back. 

You weren’t sure how long this continued to happen—you may have passed out, because when you got ahold of yourself again you were leaning on a wall, and the shadows had another glass of water for you. 

They raised it higher, offering it to you. 

Shaky fingers closed around the glass. You used it to wash the taste out of your mouth until you could only imagine the metallic tang behind your teeth. 

Your head hurt. Your chest hurt. 

You remained there as the bond festered into something sickly within your body, then decided that that was enough of moping. Standing, your hand shot out for balance—finding the grimy wall that made you grimace. Stomach churning, fingers trembling, you threw another glance at the shadows that hovered by the open gate of the cell. They fluttered unthreateningly, one of them even pushing the door open further. Go on, they seemed to whisper. 

A chill spread through your bones, but whether from the cold of the dungeon or the flickering, unwanted awareness in your heart you were unsure. Either way, you tugged the blanket tighter around your shoulders, wincing as your hands brushed the self-inflicted mess over your sternum. 

With another glance at the suspicious shadows, you slowly trod out of the cell. The shadows remained still. Another cautious step. Still no movement. Once you were a comfortable few paces away from the cell, you made a run for it—only for the shadows to chase after you. You knew they could outrun you, yet they never seemed to lay a tendril on you; only hovering by your elbows. 

Following the light, you emerged in—a library? What seemed to be priestesses had taken on the role of librarians, not batting an eye at you even as you made your way through the tome-filled shelves. Ahead of you, the shadows snaked a path to an exit. Or a trap. You ignored them, swapping your blanket for a robe snatched off the back of a chair.  

There were so many sets of stairs. The shadows returned to you as you blindly chose one, thick material of the robes bunched in a fist as you ran up the steps. It gave way to a tidy antechamber, a door ajar at one end and double doors wide open at the other. A flash of movement caught your eye through the crack of the former door. 

Your chest tugged. 

Sensing your presence in his antechamber, the spymaster came barrelling through the door. A gasp escaped your lips as you backed up. Bloodshot eyes took you in. With every step you took away from him, he took a smaller one towards you. 

He could feel your intentions—just as you were about to bolt, a hoarse “Wait” glued your feet to the marble floor. 

“I didn’t know,” his voice cracked, wide eyes welling with tears. His knees hit the floor with a thud. “I swear on the Cauldron, I didn’t fucking know—I’m sorry, please, please—” 

“No,” you said firmly. “I don’t care. Every breath I take will be in rejection of this bond; till the day I die I will remember how you violated me. May the Mother bless me with the knowledge of your eternal guilt and suffering for laying your filthy hands on me.” 

With each word, you could see the light drain from those hazel eyes, silent tears streaming down his rugged face. “I’m—”

“I’m not done. To anyone who asks, both you and I will deny the existence of the bond. You will not say a word of it to anybody.” 

Your demands were just that—a strict order. But when the male agreed brokenly, “Deal”—it was secured as an agreement. 

His mistake was recognised too late. With your statement being sealed into a pact, you pushed your heavy sleeve up as you felt, in horror, the sensation of pinpricks crawling around your wrist and forearm. In its wake was dark ink in a coil of thorns. A choked noise from the spymaster—singalling his identical mark—confirmed your suspicions. 

A bargain tattoo. 

As if you needed anything else to bind you to the kneeling spymaster. You let the sleeve fall to cover your arm again, looking down your nose at him. He was a mess, hunching and wings drooping with his red-rimmed eyes and black locks messy from worrying his hands through. 

He brought his ruin upon himself.

Again, as you turned, came another croaky “Wait”. He cleared his throat twice before speaking. “It’s almost impossible for you to leave.” 

“I can winnow.” I am not staying here with you. 

“The– wards. You have to jump before you can do that.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “And how can I trust you are not asking me to jump to my death?”

A pained sound left his throat. “Please…believe me. I want no harm to come to you. There’s a stairwell as well, but the ten thousand steps require incredible mental fortitude…” The way he spoke sounded as if it hurt him to have you leave him. Perhaps the stories of fae males feeling the bond more strongly meant it did. 

“I will leave however I want. I do not wish to speak to you.”

Deep, ripping regret and self-loathing echoed down the bond. You shoved it aside and turned to leave with his shadows continuing to trail you. 

Attempts to winnow out on your way to finding a balcony proved it impossible. Standing by a balcony balustrade, you looked down. Sparse clouds drifted across the rocky mountain the house was built into, overlooking the city below. 

You were shaking from weariness and fear as you gathered the robes and stepped onto the balustrade. Waiting a moment too late to winnow would have your brains splattered across the rocks. 

Following a sigh, you stepped off the balustrade. 

Keeping the winnowing channel of your mind open, all you could do was wait as gravity waited to welcome you by kissing your cheeks with harsh wind. 

As soon as the wards faltered, you were sucked into the warm whirlwind of darkness. 

In your mind you pictured the red and gold forests of Autumn. But this drained, you couldn’t winnow across courts—especially not one so far from Night. You remembered a hazy image of a forest in Night you’d seen once. Of course, there was the risk of not returning properly to your body, but it was your only shot. 

Carefully gathering your thoughts, you were lucky when you were spat out onto damp earth. The sun was still up, thank the Mother—but it wouldn’t be for long. You needed to ignore the pull in your chest and find your bearings. 

It wasn’t long before you were kneeling by a stream, lips wet with drink and soles aching from walking barefoot. 

A questioning call of your name came from behind you.

The moment you made eye contact with your eldest brother, your facade crumbled. With sure steps, Eris made his way over to you. 

You sagged with relief as he knelt beside you, relieved by the familiar comfort of his presence. Though neither of you were particularly expressive through physical means, the pat on your back unlodged something in your chest. The same steady reassurance you’d known since childhood. 

“I thought— thought you weren’t coming for me,” you got out through hiccups as he helped you to stand. 

“You were being kept in Velaris,” Eris explained, “we couldn’t get in; but did you really think we’d just leave you there? …Don’t cry, godsdamnit, I don’t know what to do when you cry.” 

Despite everything, you let out a watery laugh. 

He was midway through telling you how your other brothers were looking for you as well, saying that he’d winnow the both of you home first, when he went silent, noticing the loitering shadows. Through your less-teary eyes now, you glanced sideways at your brother. 

His expression was murderous. “What did that bastard do to you?”

You took in a shuttered breath. His eyes swept over you, landing on the blood crusted beneath your nails. 

“Tell me what he did.”

“Eris,” a sob bubbled. 

At your reluctance to speak, his lips formed a grim line. “We’ll get you home and cleaned up first. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Back at the Forest House, each inhale had your ribs pressing tight against the bandages wrapped around your chest. You’d scrubbed yourself raw in the bath, making sure there wasn’t a trace left of the Shadowsinger’s scent on your body. All that remained were the shadows, the tattoo, and the bond.

Now you sat in bed, nursing a bowl of warm broth while Eris paced. Once you were done speaking—careful to avoid any mention about the bond or the tattoo, Eris stood still. “This is an insult to Autumn honour. His actions will not be overlooked.” 

“What will you do?” 

Eris was silent for a few moments. Then, quietly but not any less intimidatingly, “He will answer accordingly for what he did to you. I shall invoke a blood duel.” 

The shadows flinched.

“No!” You cleared your throat, realising your argument sounded as if it was in the Shadowsinger’s defence. “I mean, it’s not worth it. I don’t want you getting hurt because of this.” 

“I will not let some bastard get away with assaulting my blood!” 

You thought of the spymaster, begging on his knees. The acute regret zinging down the bond. He meant his apology, but Eris wouldn’t know or believe that. 

And the bond. Even if your brother were to initiate a blood duel, mating bonds cannot be broken in death. Eris would win, and the bond would remain, weighing you down in the Shadowsinger’s death; or Eris would die in vain. 

“You can’t do it.”

“You doubt me,” came his dry disappointment. 

“If anyone were to fight him to the death, it should be me.” But it wouldn’t be a fair fight. Not at all, if you knew the spymaster would refuse to lay a finger on you again. 

“I will not let him hurt you. Again. Unless you have better ideas?”

You watched Eris silently, unable to voice the thoughts behind your eyes. “N–no…”

“I shall dispatch a missive.” 

The shadows turned to face you as one, watching without eyes, as Eris left your chambers. 

Two weeks later, your party of three waited in a lambent forest clearing. You, Eris, and another one of your brothers, Brandt, here to play mediator. With you at the head, the three of you stood a formidable trio; you and Brandt in ornate Autumn clothing, and Eris in shined silver armour. 

Your group watched in disdain as the Spymaster of the Night Court approached—with Night’s own war general, trudging through orange undergrowth. Even from fifty feet away, the Shadowsinger’s posture was already defeated. Brandt sneered. 

As he neared, you could see he was dressed in casual leathers. He was either incredibly confident or incredibly stupid. The two Illyrians ceased their conversation once within your earshot. 

The bond hummed, a living thing between you two. Azriel swallowed thickly. His face paled at the sight of his own shadows guarding you. From him. You avoided his eyes. Tugged on your sleeve to make sure it was hiding the tattoo. 

Brandt stepped forward between the two parties and cleared his throat. “Let it be known that Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, has invoked the ancient rite of the blood duel against Azriel Shadowsinger of the Night Court. Let the accused answer and state whether he accepts or refuses.”

“I accept.” Azriel’s voice sounded as if it were hanging by a fraying thread.

Eris unfastened his red cloak, folding it neatly before tossing it to the side where you and Cassian moved to stand apart. 

“The grievance has been heard,” Brandt intoned, “the challenge has been accepted. Let the duel commence.” 

Both males stood at the ready, though the spymaster’s stance seemed limp. Eris wasted no time in surging forward, his fist connecting with Azriel’s jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. Azriel staggered a step; blood bloomed on his lower lip. 

He didn’t raise a hand to strike back. Eris faltered momentarily, but his fist flashed out again, catching Azriel square across the bridge of his nose. 

“Azriel,” Cassian yelled. “What are you doing?” 

With a start, Eris launched himself at the male in question. They hit the ground hard—Eris on top—landing a series of blows to which Azriel only responded with a groan. 

“Fight me, damn you!” A devastating crunch followed. You winced at the distress that shot down the bond. “Fight back!”

A broken sob followed. Cassian, slack-jawed, looked ready to intervene. Brandt scoffed, murmuring something under his breath. 

“Have you no honour?” A wheeze was elicited from Azriel at Eris’s knee pressing against his sternum. “You have insulted my court. Violated my sister. Do you not wish to defend yourself?” 

“I can’t,” he said tremulously. Tears streamed down his temples; blood streamed down the sides of his mouth. 

“Are you mocking me with your inaction, Shadowsinger?” 

“I can’t do it,” Azriel repeated, weeping. 

Tensely, Cassian called, “Azriel, don’t be stupid.”

Eris’s eyes were ablaze. Fisting a hand in Azriel’s hair, he slammed his head back onto the ground. 

“Azriel!” 

The spymaster’s teary eyes caught yours, uttering your name. “I’m sorry,” he gargled out unintelligibly through a mouthful of blood. Or at least, you thought that was what he said, with the wave of his guilt that overcame you.

“That will not change what you did.” Eris’s statement was emphasised with another hit to the ground. 

The third slam had Azriel’s eyes falling shut, his hair matted from the pooling blood. Cassian roared. The bond shuddered. Yet Eris was relentless. 

“Eris,” you cautioned shakily, watching the blood seep into the earth. “Eris, stop—you’re going to kill him–”

“Yes.” His tone was too unbothered for the way he was repeatedly driving Azriel’s head into the rocky dirt. “He accepted the duel knowing what they are for.”

“Eris, enough–”

“Close your eyes if it bothers you.” 

“Listen to your sister, please,” Cassian cried.

“Eris, you have to stop…” You exhaled before raising your voice firmly. “Eris Vanserra, by my right as the wronged party, I grant mercy and insist this blood duel be ended.” 

Eris’s blazing eyes narrowed at you. “Why.” 

You shook your head. Eris released Azriel’s hair and slowly stood—Cassian rushed over immediately. 

“You are defending him? Is it out of guilt, sister?”

“No, no. I…”

“Explain.”

You gulped uncertainly with another small shake of your head. “I can’t.”

“I am sick of hearing those two words today–”

“There’s no point. In killing him—it won’t change anything,” you replied. “It won’t undo what he’s done, and–”

“You must be out of your mind,” Eris barked a sardonic chuckle. “First you stop the duel, then protect him, defend him…perhaps next you’ll inform me the bastard is your mate.” 

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. 

“No,” Eris was saying, his anger melting into dismay. “No, no, no. Are you bonded? Tell me you are not bonded.”

Even Cassian and Brandt were looking over now. You stuttered. 

Eris pressed on. “Answer me. Is he your mate?”

“I– I cannot tell you.” Your throat tightened. “If you ask…I am forced to lie.” 

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Choking: he loves having his hand around your throat, whether it be squeezing during sex or just resting there in your sleep—just as a collar to remind you you’re his. 

Primal play: as the hunter, being able to let go of himself in those moments, with his mind narrowed in only on you.

Kidnapper!Azriel who’s had his eye on you for weeks. His sweet little mate—not that you know that, but that’s okay. Either way, you’re going to be his. He presses a sedative-laced cloth over your mouth while you sleep, not wanting to hurt you unnecessarily. 

You wake up on a soft bed, bleary-eyed and propping yourself up. There’s a winged male sitting by the bed, looking concerned. 

He’d taken care to decorate the area in your favourite colour—weeks of stalking you beforehand gave him plenty of material on you. 

On the bedside table sits a glass of water, which he quickly moves to offer to you. He doesn’t seem harmful, so you nearly accept it, but shifting yourself brings your attention to the iron cuff around your ankle, chained to the bed. 

He hastens to reassure you, “It’s not what it looks like…” 

Kidnapper!Azriel who hauls you over his lap when you stare at the door for too long. Even after the first week, you never dare to try it, also because it’s latched with some sort of magic you can’t figure out. 

He flips your skirt up, revealing pretty panties that he’d bought for you. With his leg locked over yours and a hand on your back, you can’t even attempt to squirm away. Wedgieing them to expose your bum, he lands a slap to a cheek. “Pretty girl, it’s for your own good.” Another stinging slap has you yelping. “Don’t you trust me to take care of you?”

Kidnapper!Azriel who dotes on you endlessly, making sure you have everything you could want and more—except freedom. Pretty clothes, books…anything material you ask for, he’ll deliver. Of course, however, he makes you model all the clothes for him. 

He loves to bring you lingerie, making you spin and show off. Though shy, you can’t disobey him. Not when it gets you a slap across your face before you’re grabbed by the cheeks, being asked, “Who do you belong to?” His grip tightens if you don’t respond fast enough—because you will answer, and correctly. “Exactly. So act like it.” 

Kidnapper!Azriel who loves when you’re crying. Be it from homesickness or his hands striking your body, he still gets those puffy lips, shiny eyes, and flushed cheeks. 

He can never help himself from bringing your hand to his crotch or pushing his hips into you while you’re sobbing, asking, “Feel how hard your tears get me? My baby’s so pretty like this…”

Kidnapper!Azriel who cuts fresh fruit and hand-feeds them to you, pushing the bite-sized cubes past your lips while you sit in his lap.

Kidnapper!Azriel who spots you trying to escape one day. Trying to loosen the window latch by your bed. It’s a large window, giving you a nice view of the woods outside of the cabin he’s keeping you in, but tightly hinged so it only opens a few inches to let the breeze in. 

You freeze as soon as you register his sudden presence behind you. Turning to face him, you hide the hairpins you’d been using behind your back. “I’m just…trying to fix it…”

He doesn’t even respond verbally, landing a blow across your cheek. As you begin to cry, he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, pretty girl, but sometimes you leave me no choice. Is it so hard to be obedient?”

A rough hand grabs you by the hair and bends you over the bed, pulling your skirt up and panties down. “Stupid little girl. How many times do I have to tell you it’s not safe for you out there?”

After your punishments, he cradles you in his lap and wipes the tears off your face with hands that weren’t this gentle just minutes earlier. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s for your own good, yeah? I don’t wanna see you pulling any stupid fucking stunts like that again.” 

Kidnapper!Azriel who, when sleeping with you, has a heavy leg over your hip and a loose grasp around your throat; he’s not letting you get away. Even the slightest shift has his grip tightening and letting out a deep, sleepy warning growl into your ear. 

Kidnapper!Azriel who sinks into you from above, his arms caging you in. Kissing your cheeks softly as tears leak down your temples. “Don’t worry, my little love. One day you’ll learn to love me like I do you.”