Molly

Keir hadn’t said much this morning—just that the heir of Autumn would be joining him for “a conversation of mutual interest,” whatever that meant. You hadn’t asked questions. You’d learned by now that curiosity only invited irritation.

But still. Eris Vanserra didn’t come to the Hewn City for polite formalities. No one did. And Keir had been in a mood ever since the messenger confirmed the High Lord had set the meeting. He’d spent the morning stalking the halls like a male preparing for war.

Which meant you were walking in late to something very, very important.

You swore softly and slipped inside.

You hesitated at the heavy double doors of the Council Chamber, the low murmur of voices inside fading the moment you stepped over the threshold. The scent of burning incense mixed with cold stone filled your lungs. Your footsteps echoed softly on the polished floor as you moved forward, eyes deliberately fixed on the ground. As you crossed the room, the tension prickled at your skin. 

“You’re late,” Keir’s voice was calm but sharp enough to cut through the hum of conversation. 

The room quieted around him.

You stopped just shy of your chair, spine straightening instinctively.

You’d expected the reprimand. The public humiliation. He rarely missed an opportunity to remind you who held the reins. 

Keir didn’t motion for you to sit. “Late,” he repeated, the word twisting with disdain. “As though your time is more valuable than mine. Than the court’s. Than our guest’s.”

You kept your gaze low, jaw tightening. 

Keir rose slowly from his seat, not to tower but to command. His voice stayed even, deliberate. “I give you responsibility, and this is how you meet it? I allow you opportunities I would grant no other female. Not even your mother.”

You flinched. 

“Do you think we can afford such carelessness?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer—there never was room for one. 

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Eris with an open palm. “Beron sends us his heir, a rare opportunity for diplomacy. And you walk in like a distracted servant girl, too absorbed in your own little errands to arrive on time.” 

You felt the heat creeping up your neck. 

“I bring you here to observe, to learn,” Keir continued, each word striking like a lash, “and instead, you’ve set an example I’d be ashamed to see from one of my lowest courtiers.” 

Still standing, still silent, you braced yourself for the worst of it. 

Keir waved a hand. “Apologize,” he said simply, resuming his seat. “You’ve made a spectacle of yourself. You will not make one of me.” 

Only then did you finally allow yourself to move. 

You turned—slowly, deliberately—your movements stiff with the effort of keeping your expression blank. You didn’t rush, though your stomach twisted with the burn of humiliation. You kept your chin high anyway. You’d learned that from Keir: if you must be dragged, at least look like you walked of your own will.

You faced the heir of Autumn like you were stepping into a performance you hadn’t rehearsed.

Eris Vanserra.

He was exactly as you’d imagined—sharp angles and cool composure, seated like the chair belonged to him. His golden-red hair caught the torchlight, flickering like open flame, but his posture was still and unbothered. One ankle crossed over a knee, a single finger resting against the corner of his mouth. His gaze was unreadable. Not cold, but closed. Guarded.

He said nothing. Only watched.

And when your eyes met his—

Not gently. Not like the brushing of threads or a soft breath of recognition. It hit like a tether pulled taut all at once, yanked from the depths of your chest, snapping into place so violently it nearly knocked you back a step. Something inside you reeled, flinched—like a door long rusted shut had been forced open from the inside.

Your breath caught, too sharp, too sudden. 

The world narrowed.

You felt it everywhere—like heat blooming low in your stomach, like your lungs weren’t your own, like your pulse had been dragged into rhythm with someone else’s. It was not pain, not exactly. But it was overwhelming. Terrifying. Your heart scrambled to understand what your body already knew: something irreversible had just happened. Something ancient and final.

It was as if an unknown magic inside you had reared its head for the first time in your life and whispered, there you are.

And he was the answer.

You couldn’t look away.

Didn’t dare blink. Not yet.

Eris’ posture didn’t shift. Not even a flicker of recognition across his face. He sat still as stone, gaze steady, unreadable. A master of silence. If his eyes were a fortress, his control was the outer wall—built stone by stone over years, and just as immovable. 

But you—

Your face betrayed everything.

Your lips parted before you could stop them. Your breath stuttered once, then again, too shallow. The blood had drained from your fingertips and rushed to your throat. You felt your lashes flutter, a single blink too slow, too stunned.

And from the corner of your vision, you saw your grandfather’s head tilt—just slightly.

He had seen it.

And you knew, before you even looked at him, that he understood exactly what had happened.

The silence in the chamber stretched thinner than glass. A breath, then another. You could feel the air shift—not with magic, but with attention. Every gaze in the room was waiting. Watching.

Then Eris stood.

Not abruptly. Not with surprise. But like he had been planning to stand all along. Like your new bond had changed absolutely nothing.

You barely stopped yourself from stepping back. Your throat bobbed, dry.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He looked at Keir first, his expression unreadable. Not quite expectant—no, it was cooler than that. Measured. His eyes lingered a beat too long. Like he was assessing your grandfather, weighing something invisible.

Then he turned his gaze to you.

Slowly.

And for a moment—just a moment—you wondered what he saw.

Not the expression you’d failed to mask. Not the shock still ringing in your bones. But you. You. The girl your grandfather had hidden behind a hundred veils of courtly obedience. The girl who’d never, in all her fifty years, breathed real air or touched soil or seen the sun. Did he see that? Did he see a possession, or a person?

What does a male like that think when a bond snaps into place?

What does he do with it?

He turned back to Keir.

You braced yourself—he would speak now, you were sure of it. Would begin the negotiations, would play whatever game the two of them had arranged behind closed doors. You knew how this worked. You knew how your story was supposed to be told.

But he didn’t go to Keir.

He came to you.

You froze.

He crossed the room without hesitation, the distance vanishing beneath the sure, easy weight of his steps. And then he was before you—taller, closer than you’d ever expected.

His fingers found yours, gloved hand brushing bare skin. And without asking, without hesitating, he lifted your hand to his mouth.

And kissed it.

Slowly. Deliberately. His gaze never leaving yours.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You couldn’t answer. Your voice stuck behind your teeth, behind the shock, behind the weight of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure your lungs had remembered how to pull air.

Then he turned, your hand still in his.

As if you had already agreed.

As if your silence meant yes.

As if you were already behind him.

“I’d like her hand,” he said, gaze returning to Keir. “Formally. As mate. As future lady of Autumn.”

The words didn’t seem real.

You heard them. You understood each one. But they landed out of order, scattered, like someone had tipped your mind sideways and let your thoughts spill into a pile.

Her hand. Mate. Lady of Autumn.

Was this—was this a proposal? A declaration? A transaction?

Your heart was still beating too fast. Your palm still burned faintly where his mouth had touched it. The bond hummed along your spine and through each rib like a second heartbeat, louder now, more insistent, as though it was pleased with itself for being named.

But your body hadn’t caught up with your brain. You felt removed from it—like you were standing in the wrong version of yourself. The version that would have looked to her grandfather for approval. That would have nodded, smiled, curtsied, spoken her lines.

You weren’t smiling now.

He had asked for you. Claimed you. Not in metaphor, not in theory, not in the slow-burn romantic sense you’d once imagined while reading contraband books in the dim corners of your room.

No—he had asked for you like you were an estate: measurable, ownable, transferable. 

You opened your mouth. You weren’t even sure what you meant to say. Maybe No, maybe What are you doing, maybe just your own name to remind the room you had one.

But whatever it was, it didn’t make it past your tongue.

“Vanserra,” your grandfather said smoothly, eyes narrowed just enough to reveal his doubt. “You expect me to believe you would bind yourself, your future court, to someone you’ve not yet had a full conversation with?”

His voice was amused. Skeptical. But not insulted.

Not dismissive.

And that, somehow, made the panic press tighter behind your ribs.

You’d thought—naively, maybe—that your grandfather would laugh. That he’d bristle with offense. That he’d dismiss Eris’s request outright, just for the insult of asking.

But instead, Keir was considering it.

That amusement in his tone wasn’t mockery—it was interest, cloaked in skepticism. Testing the weight of the offer. Looking for the angle.

Your fingers curled in on themselves slowly, like your body was trying to reclaim what had been taken, as if you could reverse it, undo it, pull back from the moment and make it a mistake someone else had made.

Eris didn’t flinch beneath Keir’s scrutiny. His stance remained relaxed—too relaxed. He finally released you in favor of clasping both hands behind his back, chin slightly lifted. 

“Curious choice,” Keir mused, voice light with false interest. “Hardly the most advantageous offer on the table.”

A pause. Your face heated. 

“I don’t make decisions I haven’t already considered in full,” Eris said. “And I don’t waste time asking for what I don’t intend to keep.”

A faint smirk touched his lips, but it wasn’t cruel. It was worse than cruel—it was calm. Certain.

“Let that be answer enough.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

That was the story, then. That was how they’d frame it. As strategy. As inevitability.

Your mouth parted again, and this time, words came. Shaky, quiet.

“I haven’t—”

“Be silent,” Keir said, without looking at you.

And just like that, your voice vanished again.

Not by magic. By command. 

By obedience. 

You looked at Eris then. You wanted to see something—anything—in his face. Doubt, maybe. Hesitation. Some flicker of recognition that this was wrong, or too much, or too fast.

But there was only stillness.

Keir leaned back in his chair with the ease of a male who had just found himself holding the sharpest blade in the room.

“And here I thought,” he said, almost idly, “you’d come to posture and circle, like every other male with a title to defend.” His fingers drummed once against the armrest. 

Eris didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Keir let the silence settle before continuing, voice shifting—cooler now, more precise. “She wasn’t part of the original arrangement. Not in any meaningful way.”

You flinched, barely, at the word meaningful.

“She’s young. Inexperienced. Untried in court or politics. I wouldn’t call her… an asset.”

Your stomach turned.

“But,” Keir went on, tone sharpening, “it seems the bond has given her value. At least to you.”

He smiled then, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes.

“So let’s discuss what her hand is worth.”

It was like being stripped bare in the center of the room—like the torchlight itself was meant to spotlight your stillness, your silence, your helplessness. You didn’t know if they saw you blush or pale or tremble. You didn’t think it mattered.

They weren’t looking at you anymore.

Only at what you could buy.

“What do you offer, Vanserra?” Keir asked, gaze gleaming. “Because I can promise you, I don’t sell cheaply.”

The faint flicker of torchlight caught the sharp angles of Eris’ face, casting shadows that made him look almost carved from stone. His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest curve touching his lips—not quite a smile, but close. He leaned forward, his voice low, measured.

“You won’t find a more valuable alliance, Keir.”

He let the words hang between them.

“I offer the full backing of Autumn once I am its High Lord—its armies, its resources, its influence. A bond with me is a bond with the power of my court.”

His gaze flicked briefly to you, cool and appraising, then back to Keir.

“This union will strengthen your hold on the Hewn City, and send a clear message to any who would challenge you.”

He paused, voice dipping with a quiet threat.

“Turn away from this offer, and you risk everything Autumn’s power can undo.”

The room grew heavier with unspoken implications.

Your grandfather’s smile was thin but sharp. “Bold words. But fitting for the Vanserra heir.”

Keir leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he studied Eris for a long moment. Then, at last, he nodded slowly, the hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.

“Very well,” he said with deliberate finality. “The alliance is formed. The hand is promised.”

His gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding. “You have thirty minutes.”

The weight of his words fell like a stone in your chest.

There was no room for protest. No space to bargain or plead.

This was not a question.

This was command.

Keir rose from his chair, gathering his cloak with a casual authority that brooked no argument.

“Leave us.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve taut, as you turned on unsteady legs, the silent watch of Eris burning at your back.

The path ahead was certain. And terrifying.

You closed the heavy chamber door behind you with a muted click, but the weight of the moment pressed against your chest so hard it felt like stone. Your knees wobbled, breath shallow and uneven, as you leaned against the cold wall just outside the Council Chamber.

The words kept spinning through your mind, relentless: You have thirty minutes. You have thirty minutes. You have thirty minutes. 

Your mind scrambled to make sense of it all. You’d been dealt like a pawn, bargained over like a piece of trade—no voice, no choice, no say. And yet, beneath the shock and numbness, something deeper roiled. 

Not just because Eris had asked for your hand without so much as a conversation, but because your grandfather had agreed so easily, like you were a thing, not a person. Like your life, your future, was a token to be wagered.

You hated the quiet calm in the chamber, hated the way Eris had kissed your hand like it was a prize, hated the way you’d frozen when you wanted to scream.

You wanted to yell. To fight. To rip the whole arrangement apart.

But mostly, you hated the emptiness.

When you finally reached your chambers, the door swung open to reveal the room you had grown up in—familiar, but suddenly stripped bare of comfort.

You stared around at your belongings. A handful of dresses neatly hung or folded, books lined on a shelf, a worn cloak hanging by the door. Nothing worth packing.

What was there to take with you when everything you were about to leave behind was all you’d ever known?

You sank onto the edge of your bed, hands clenched in your lap. The silence screamed louder than the council ever had.

You forced yourself to stand, to move, to do what you had to do.

First, you found your friends. You avoided their eyes at first, unsure how to explain what was happening—or how to bear the pity you already saw lurking there. But they hugged you tight, whispered promises and farewells. 

Then, you made your way to the cremation grounds—an austere place carved into the stone, where your parents’ ashes rested beneath a polished granite marker.

You knelt, fingertips tracing the cool surface, and whispered a goodbye you hadn’t dared to say aloud until now. The names carved into the stone were tethers, memories heavy as iron. 

They had never seen the surface. Never felt true sun, never lived anywhere but in this damn mountain. Born, bound, and buried beneath it. Your chest ached at the thought.

You closed your eyes, let the silence stretch—let it echo with everything you couldn’t give them. Everything they should’ve had. The dust of their memory settled quietly around you as you rose, a small flame of resolve kindling in your chest.

“I’ll wait, if you need more time.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as turn to look at him. His voice didn’t startle so much as settle—low and composed, like the rest of him. But still unexpected. 

For a long moment, you just stared at the stone. At your parents’ names carved into it, slightly worn by time and your fingertips. 

“I can’t say I expected you to be here,” you said quietly. 

And then—because curiosity always got the better of you, and because something in you bristled at the fact that it was him standing there—you turned. 

He was standing a careful distance away. Hands clasped behind his back, gaze on the marker like he owed it something.

“I would have brought flowers,” Eris said after a beat. “If I’d known.”

“They weren’t the type.” Your voice cracked a little. “Anything sentimental would’ve embarrassed them.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Practical, then. Like you.”

You bristled. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he conceded, meeting your eyes. “Not yet.”

Something in the way he said it—not with the arrogance you heard before, but something quieter, steadier—made your throat tighten.

“I’m still angry,” you admitted, folding your arms like you could hold the feeling in place. 

Eris nodded once, slowly. “You have every right to be.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared at the stone again, at the faint lichen creeping over the edge. It unsettled you, how easily he’d said that. How quickly he’d handed you that piece of ground to stand on. You weren’t used to your feelings being named, let alone validated. It felt like a trick. Like something sharp might be hidden beneath it. 

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” he said, voice low. “But it was the best way to get Keir to let you go.”

You glanced at him, wary. “You bought me.”

His jaw tensed. “No. I negotiated a release. From a court that would never stop holding this bond over our heads.”

Your silence stretched a little too long. 

“I know,” he went on, quieter now, “that Rhysand wouldn’t have allowed me to set foot in the Night Court again if it meant keeping me away from you. Not if Morrigan had anything to say about it.”

You blinked. 

And then—gods. Morrigan.

Your aunt Morrigan. Your father’s sister. 

This was the male she’d been promised to. The male she’d “sullied” herself to escape. Your whole life, your family had cursed her name. Called her tainted. Faithless. A disgrace to her bloodline. Whispers you’d grown up hearing, sharp as knives tucked behind closed doors. That she’d betrayed her own. That she’d been ungrateful for the match.

But now… after having to stand in silence as you were bartered… 

Now you finally understood.

What kind of cruelty had she been trying to avoid?

Surely not worse than what you’d seen in the Hewn City. Surely not worse than what you had endured under Keir’s thumb.

But the question clung like smoke, refusing to leave you.

“So this is it, then?” You gestured to the empty stone corridor. “This is how it starts?”

Eris didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he studied you, the weight of his gaze something you couldn’t quite avoid. And then, as if the weight of it had become too much, he said, “No. This is how it was forced to begin. What comes next… that’s something we decide.”

You believed him. And it infuriated you. Because believing him meant accepting that this—this loss of control—had been the cleanest option. That all the quiet fury in your chest had nowhere to go.

After a long pause, Eris stepped forward. “Take my hand,” he said quietly, extending his gloved fingertips toward you. His tone wasn’t gentle—merely firm, as if it carried the weight of inevitability. “It would be my pleasure to welcome you to Autumn.”

At those words, your heart lurched. You had never stepped beyond the Hewn City, never ventured to the surface where a world existed beyond cold stone and perpetual shadow. The thought alone made you shudder with both apprehension and a spark of fragile hope.

Before you could protest, Eris murmured, “Please. Trust me—even if you can’t fully do so right now.”

And then, his hand pressed to your arm. At his command, your surroundings began to shift. At first, it was subtle—a soft darkening of the edges of your vision, as though a veil were draped over the world. The corridor’s harsh, angular stone and the ever-present damp chill faded into a deeper gloom, the familiar replaced by an almost dreamlike dusk.

The subtle shift in sensation, like the brush of silk over your mind. The way color and texture pulled away from you slightly—not gone, not dulled, but… filtered.

Your stomach clenched.

“What did you do?” you demanded, already blinking hard against the strange dimness. “You glamoured me.”

“Yes.”

“Why—”

“I didn’t want it to overwhelm you,” Eris said, voice steady but not unkind. “You’ve never seen the sun. Not really. I thought easing you into it might be… gentler.”

It should’ve infuriated you. It did—for a breath. But even through the soft, unnatural dimness, you could feel something shifting in the air around you.

Your eyes dropped to the ground.

Leaves.

Thousands of them, scattered in every direction, mottled gold and rust-red and brown. Some crisp, curled in on themselves; others flattened by the damp, pressed into the dirt like forgotten pages.

The ground was dirt. Dirt.

And you were standing on it. Not stone. Not carved, cursed floors. Just—ground.

Your knees wobbled.

You tried to look up—to follow the drifting fall of a leaf—and froze again.

The glamour had begun to lift. Slowly, gradually, but it made all the difference. 

Light filtered through in ribbons. Warm and golden, but not the artificial flickering of faelights or the guttering orange of torches. It hit the edge of your face and you jerked away, blinking rapidly, hand lifting on instinct.

You turned, staring at the strange, living world around you. Everything moved. Not like it did in the Hewn City, where the only shifting things were people and shadows and smoke. Here, even the air moved. The trees swayed. The grass trembled. Light dappled and danced without ever once flickering out.

There were no books about this.

Why would there be? 

What need would any of you have to understand this, when you were never meant to leave? 

The surface was spoken of in fragments, in dismissals wrapped in soft smiles. Your parents had told you once—when you were young and asking too many questions—that they’d gone up, years ago. That it was nothing special. More stone. More dark. Just bigger. Emptier. That the Hewn City was safer, more efficient. Cleaner. The lie had worked for a while. You were a child who still believed adults wouldn’t lie for no reason. 

But you remembered their faces when they eventually admitted the truth: they’d never been above ground. 

Not once. 

But oh, how they’d wanted to. 

They didn’t know what waited for them up here. Didn’t know what the air felt like when it didn’t cling. Didn’t know that cold could come from something other than absence. They didn’t know what it was to hear the earth breathe. 

They never got to find out.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and uneven. The glamour loosened its hold over your sight like fingers unthreading from your hair, slow, gradual, calm. You were starting to see more, now—color edging its way in around the world. 

Something darted between two tree trunks ahead. You flinched. It flapped.

A bird. Not like the crows some kept in the Hewn City—those clever-eyed, miserable things bred for messages and menace. This one was bright. Red all over. Smaller, rounder. It seemed… unnecessary. Beautiful in a way that served no purpose at all.

And the air. You hadn’t realized before—it was scented. Not perfumed, not thick with the smell of candles and sweat and opium or whatever poison the courts were drinking. This was sharp. Crisp. Like snow, but not quite. Like spice, but not any kind you’d tasted. It filled your lungs, slid into your mouth and over your tongue. It was—

Alive.

So was the cold. Not the heavy, hollow kind that leached from stone walls and seeped into your bones while you sat still for too long. This cold had movement. It brushed your cheekbones, bit at your fingers, made your teeth press together—but the sunlight, wherever it touched you, answered it. Like they were playing. Like they were supposed to exist together.

The light was almost fully clear now.

You squinted up, following the glow that filtered through high branches, and—

“Ow—fuck,” you muttered, jerking back a step.

Eris shifted in front of you before you could blink. “Yeah,” he said, amused. “Don’t look straight at the sun. Even mortals know better than that.”

You rubbed your eyes, half-glaring at him. “Thanks for the tip.”

But even now, blinking past the blur, the world stayed. The trees. The grass. The slow roll of clouds, and the strange freedom of air that didn’t sit stale and pressed against a ceiling. It was too much. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to do with it all.

A whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure at first if you imagined it: “Turn around.”

You did. Slowly. The way he’d said it—low, reverent—it pinned you still.

“And don’t make a sound,” he added, barely audible. “Just look.”

You turned.

And the world opened again.

A small clearing spread before you, rimmed by trees. And in it—movement. Dozens of them. More. Creatures you couldn’t name. Slender, long-legged, soft-eyed. Some with antlers that curved like branches, others smaller, delicate, trailing behind.

Eris leaned in close, voice barely more than breath. “The ones with antlers? Those are bucks—the males.” You watched as they stepped, and grazed, and flicked their ears. 

“The others are does. And…” His smile warmed his words. “Looks like they’ve got fawns with them. Babies.”

They didn’t look real.

They looked like myths given flesh—gentle and silent and unreal in their serenity. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t remember how.

One of the younger ones looked up, ears twitching. It stared directly at you.

And for one impossibly long second, you felt seen in a way no one from the Hewn City had ever dared to look.

Not as something to be shaped. Not as a petulant granddaughter. Not as a tool.

Just… someone standing in the woods.

Alive. 

The fawn blinked. Its ears flicked once more. Then it turned, unafraid, and trotted after its mother through the trees.

You didn’t realize your fingers had curled into Eris’s sleeve until he shifted to glance down at them. You let go at once, heart lurching, but he said nothing.

The clearing quieted again, the herd melting into the underbrush as if they’d never been there at all. But the stillness they left behind was different. Settled. And full.

“I didn’t think anything like that could exist,” you whispered, like the words might scare the memory off too. You looked back to where the deer had vanished. “They weren’t afraid of us.”

“No,” he said. “They didn’t need to be.”

A breeze stirred the trees, and sunlight flickered between the leaves like rippling gold. Somewhere overhead, a bird you didn’t know the name of called out—sharp and clear and free.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. Not because you were cold.

There was moss, impossibly green, clinging to the north side of the trees. Clusters of wildflowers pushing up through soft earth, in shades too delicate to name. A squirrel—tiny, absurdly fast—scrambled up a trunk nearby and vanished into the leaves with a rustle. Even the rocks here didn’t seem lifeless. Sun-warmed and dappled in lichen, they felt like they belonged to the scene, not just cluttered it.

And when you turned back, Eris was looking at you.

His smile was soft. Crooked. Lit not by torchfire, but something gentler. And his eyes—amber, bright as honey in the sun—sparkled with it.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He tilted his head, just a bit. “You’re smiling.”

You were.

Big and bright and wide and completely unrestrained. Not the practiced curve you offered at court. Not the polite, tight-lipped expression your family had called pretty when appropriate.

This was something else. A whole-body kind of smile. A laugh trying to form even though nothing had been said. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Heat crept to your cheeks. “Oh.”

Eris didn’t tease you for it. Didn’t smirk or say something sharp. He only studied you, as if trying to memorize the exact shape of it. 

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. Not uncertain, exactly, but… careful. Like the words mattered more than they usually did.

“Would you…” He hesitated, just a beat. His gaze flicked away, then returned to yours. “Would you like to see more? Take a walk?”

He said it like he wasn’t sure if you’d want to go—with him, specifically. Because it hadn’t occurred to him, maybe, that someone might say yes to something like this. To him, like this.

The breeze rustled again, lifting strands of his hair where it had slipped loose from the ribbon at his nape. In the sunlight, it was all shades of flame—copper and gold, a glint of red. His coat had caught some of the forest too: a few leaves clung to the velvet near his shoulder, unnoticed. His collar was slightly askew.

He looked nothing like the High Lord’s heir here. Nothing like the snarling, coiled force you’d seen before.

He just looked… warm. And waiting. One arm extended in quiet offering, elbow bent like some chivalrous male out of an old tale. Like he meant to escort you, not lead.

You slipped your hand into the crook of his arm. 

He didn’t start walking right away—just stood there a moment, like he was letting you decide when to begin. And when you finally did, your steps slow and quiet beneath the trees, he matched them without question.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The woods did enough talking for you.

“There’s no rush,” Eris said, softly. “Take it as slowly as you like.”

You glanced up at him, but his gaze stayed ahead, following the winding path.

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

It sounded like he meant the walk.

Four entire seasons came and went—along with it came many changes.

Spring warmed into summer, summer cooling into rainy autumn days. Autumn bled into frosty, snowy winter weather only to succumb to the birth of everything anew—when spring bloomed once again.

The tiny flame tattoo on your wrist had disappeared the moment Eris winnowed you back to Velaris—the bargain fulfilled. Simultaneously, his had disappeared too, the skin on both yours and his right wrists bare as if there had been no touch of Night Court black ink on either of you.

You could still remember that day like it had just occurred.

Nearly the second you materialized in the sitting room of the River House, you had people on you.

You’d never learned how Eris had gained access to be able to winnow directly into the River House. It had always been amusing to you how Rhys could trust Eris to be their ally, trust him with visits to Velaris, trust him to winnow directly into his private residence, but you were where he drew a line.

“Mother above, you’re back!”

You didn’t even have time to process who had spoken before you were launched at by Elain, who’d thrown herself at you, arms wrapping around you in a hug.

“Did he hurt you?”

“What happened?”

Nesta and Feyre had soon joined you and Elain, each of them throwing their arms around you too. Cassian and Azriel were next to approach you, pulling you into hugs and surrounding you with even more people.

You peered over them—through them—seeing Eris at the edge of the room with Rhys.

The more people that crowded you, the further you became separated from Eris. It was as if when the bargain tattoo disappeared, it cut the last tether that kept the two of you connected.

His eyes found yours, briefly. You weren’t sure how, but you knew that whatever had happened between you and Eris had just come to a bittersweet end. You weren’t entirely sure why you felt such a deep sadness at the fact. Perhaps because you and he had—even briefly—shared something special. Honest, even.

“It’s gone!” Elain gasped.

She’d grabbed your arm, pushing up the lavender sleeve of the gossamer two piece set you’d left Velaris in a few days ago. You’d changed back into it before leaving, earlier.

After the sex—after the declaration of what you intended to do when you returned, Eris had allowed you to stay for two more days. He knew any longer would raise his family’s suspicion.

There had been no more intimacy after that second day. You’d taken another walk in the forest with him—with Smokey in tow—and you both had many long conversations.

You’d talked about what you envisioned for your future—if you could wish for anything. It had been simple, but all you had said was freedom and happiness. You wanted the privilege to find your own path—like each of your sisters had—and whatever happiness that came with that, that was all you could ask for.

He’d helped you articulate your thoughts, work though long shoved down feelings regarding the situation with your sisters. He’d assisted you in ensuring you had a better idea of all the things you wanted to say to them.

He’d even talked about things he hoped to change when he became High Lord. You’d been surprised to hear how many great ideas he had. Not that it was shocking per se—he was such a smart male, was equally gifted in book smarts, but also knew how to handle court affairs and people in general. You had no doubt in your mind that when he put his heart, soul and mind into it, he’d accomplish great things.

Though you’d been eager to have the conversation with your sisters, you’d also dreaded leaving. It was as if you knew once the two of you left the little bubble you’d created, things would never be the same.

By the looks of things now, your gut told you that you hadn’t been too far off.

“So the bargain is truly fulfilled then?” Feyre asked, more than a touch of suspicion in her tone.

“It is. You will not have to worry that I will target your sister for any sort of nefarious plans you think I have.”

His deep voice filled the room and you fought every instinct in you not to look at him. Unfortunately your eyes slid his way, anyways. You were surprised to find what looked like sorrow behind the eyes you’d grown so accustomed to. But it was gone before you knew it, his attention turning back to Rhys.

“Come, I can make you some tea,” Elain said, gently tugging on your arm, “I’m sure you’re still shaken from the exciting few days you’ve had.”

You were dragged away before you had a chance to protest.

“Rhys will be changing the wards so Eris can’t get in. In case he tries to pull something sneaky,” Feyre said, following the two of you.

“And Nuala and Cerridwen know what to be on the lookout for. Az made sure to inform them,” Nesta included, tagging along, “We want you to be safe here.”

“You’re seriously still going to keep me prisoner here? Even after all of this?” you asked, aghast, “I thought you said only until this was over. Well guess what? It’s over.”

You could not go back to the hole you’d fallen in. You refused to—refused to let this happen any longer.

“At least until Rhys can make sure it’s all clear. That Beron isn’t going to try—” Feyre began.

“No,” you said so forcefully it actually stopped all of the older three Archerons midstep.

You squared your shoulders, spine stiffening as you decided to finally take the step you’d been needing to, for so incredibly long.

“I think it’s time for some changes.”

It had been a fight.

A days long fight—four different wills battling against one another.

But—surprisngly—it had led to a string of events you’d never ever expected to happen.

It had been a few days after you’d returned to Velaris when Rhys and Feyre requested to see you.

Things were still tenuous after the days long arguments and fighting with your sisters. Everyone was keen on letting you remain at the River House—as if they were afraid you were going to run off or worse, Eris would come to snatch you away again.

You spent those next few days terrified you’d walked back into the same situation you’d left and had briefly escaped. You didn’t think you’d have it in you if you had to endure the same treatment all over again. An immortal lifetime of just sitting around—being kept from things that were happening all around you, constantly—sounded like nothing but pure torture.

It made your restlessness that much more apparent, the itch to be helpful somehow even greater.

So when Elain had come to fetch you, your stomach twisted in dread, reminding you all too much of the last time this had happened. The worst sort of thoughts plagued you as you followed behind your second eldest sister, all the way to the study.

It was too eerily similar to that morning that started this all—even if the behavior and patterns had started long before Feyre had even first stepped a foot into Prythian.

Rhys sat behind his desk just like last time, Feyre leaning a hip on the side of the desk—at his side just as before—though at least she was standing and not sitting like before.

This time, one of the only differences was that your sister’s mates—minus Rhys—and Azriel weren't in presence. It was only you, Nesta, Feyre, Elain and Rhys.

Which couldn’t mean anything good if there weren’t to be any other witnesses to watch what was about to happen.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Rhys motioned to one of the velvet chairs that was pulled from near the fireplace to in front of his desk.

In fact, there were three. One for Nesta to sit on your left, Elain on your right. Neither said anything as you all settled.

Your eyes drifted upwards to the self portrait of your next to youngest sister—the one Feyre had painted for Rhys. He’d hung it in here behind his head, Feyre teasing him that she’d always be looking over him.

Feyre, the sister that had taken care of not only you, but all four of you and your father—when he was still alive.

The girl that had gone out—at only fourteen years old—for the first time to hunt for food for her poor and starving family. You’d been weeks shy of turning thirteen at that point, still such a child in your sisters’ eyes.

But Feyre had been a child too. Then only five years later she’d made one decision that led all of you to where you were today—not just Feyre being fae, but you, Elain and Nesta as well.

Your strong and brave sister had dealt with cruelties you knew you’d never truly understand. Had fallen in love, found her mate and became the High Lady of the Night Court—all while coming into her own person, her own strength.

She’d become the strong female she was today because of those trials and tribulations.

Nesta had battled her trauma as much as she’d battled the Cauldron when she had been tossed in. Had run from it, using other forms of distraction to ignore her powers and the broken soul that had shattered from the depravity war had exposed her to.

You’d been kept from much of the war with Hybern, left back here in Velaris with a friendly family who ran one of the stores in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. They’d been a well meaning family and you’d appreciated their hospitality and kindness.

What you hadn’t appreciated was how you were the only one not allowed to be present. Elain was far from the warrior type—gentle and caring—and even she had been allowed to go with them. You had been left behind like an actual child they couldn’t trust not to wander off.

That had only been the beginning of you feeling alienated by your own sisters.

But even with all of those horrendous events she’d faced, Nesta had dug herself out of that hole—fought back with the wolf’s determination that’d always laid within her, reclaiming her life. She’d trained, become a Valkyrie, made friends of her own that she survived the Blood Rite with. She, too, had stopped fighting the natural instinct that had warred in her for nearly two years, falling hard for Cassian, finding her true love and accepting her mate.

She, as well, had gone through a messy—not entirely linear—journey and came out of it stronger and better than she’d gone into it.

Even Elain had struggled with accepting her life as a fae, thrashed and chafed against a mating bond and mate she’d never asked for. She’d avoided everything to do with it, to do with Lucien for over two years, going off on side explorations in an attempt to avoid something she couldn’t forever. But then came a time that she could no longer run from it—especially when her work as an emissary and traveling to different courts—had put her in direct contact and proximity to Lucien.

You weren’t entirely sure where they stood currently, but it was a lot better than they once had been. She was clearly more open to giving him a chance, getting to know him. She certainly didn’t seem as torn on whether to reject the bond as some seemed to wonder for a while.

But you? What did you have to show for anything?

You’d been the last Archeron to be thrown in the Cauldron. It was no secret that while the Cauldron adored Elain and considered your eldest sister a thief, you had been an afterthought for it, too. Similarly how you’d felt to everyone in your life.

Maybe the Cauldron had given all it had in gifting something to Elain, had expelled too much in fighting back against Nesta that by the time you’d gone in, it hadn’t bothered to be concerned with you.

Sure, you’d become fae, but you’d come out of the situation with no special powers akin to Nesta’s or Elain’s. You’d been overlooked and underestimated your entire life—it was no surprise that even a magical fae entity such as the Cauldron hadn’t spared you much thought.

But Eris hadn’t treated you like that though. You’d never felt that way with him either.

Which was why it was so hard to accept that the one thing that had been different, had been good in your life was something you could never truly have.

You’d already begun preparing yourself for the worst—more punishment, more confinement, more overprotectiveness—when Rhys finally cleared his throat, obviously eager to get to the matter at hand.

“Firstly, I think it’s important to discuss what happened at the Autumn Court,” Rhys said, cutting to the chase.

Your eyes fell to your lap.

You felt a gentle hand on your arm and you knew without looking it was Elain.

Even if you’d been treated similarly by all your sisters, Elain had been the one to have the tendency to be the most like a little mother to you. Maybe just due to her natural gentle and caring nature.

You knew she meant well—knew that they all did. But right now, it grated on your already worn nerves.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. Can you please tell us what happened while you were in Autumn?” she uttered, softly.

Images flashed before your eyes.

Anger, arguing, exploration. Peaceful walks in the woods, a kind and energetic hound.

Kindness, sincerity.

Heat. Insistent lips on yours, intentional touch along your body, your mouth on Eris’s cock.

You in his lap, moving with reckless abandon.

Moans, kisses, utterly debauched groans of pleasure.

Recognition. Understanding.

So much had happened in four days, but you knew you would only tell them the things you knew they needed to hear.

When you finally lifted your head to face them, you knew you would never tell them what had happened between you and Eris. It wasn’t any of their business anyways.

Thankfully the scent of him had been erased days ago before you’d even arrived back in Velaris, thanks to a few days and a couple of baths.

“I stayed in his room. I read. I ate. I went on walks in the forest with him and one of his smokehounds. That’s all that happened.”

Feyre and Rhys seemed to eye you carefully. You didn’t look to see what Nesta or Elain’s reactions were.

“You didn’t see anyone else? He didn’t take you to Beron? Or his brothers?” Feyre asked, trying to remain calm, though you saw panic swimming in her blue gray eyes.

You shook your head emphatically.

“Eris and Smokey were the only ones I saw. I didn’t even see a servant.”

“Smokey?”

You turned to Nesta, seeing her brows furrowed.

“Sorry—the smokehound,” you clarified for them.

“And that’s truly all that happened?” Rhys asked.

You nodded.

“I think…I think he was trying to help me. In the best way he knew how to,” you said gently.

Your heart twisted at the words, knowing that it was the truth and how much you’d appreciated what Eris had done for you—all the way back to the beginning of your encounters with him.

“Help you? When has Eris Vanserra ever helped anyone?” Nesta snorted.

You reigned in your temper that flared. But you still said your next words firmly.

“He offers Rhys and Feyre—the Night Court—aid whenever they need it. He wants to overthrow his father one day because he knows the people of the Autumn Court deserve better. He knows Prythian will never truly be a place of peace until Beron is dead. You may hate him for whatever reasons you choose to, but it is not the entire truth to say he has never helped anyone.”

Rhys was studying you—with enough scrutiny that it made you tempted to squirm. Added on to the fact that you couldn’t tell what was going on behind those assessing violet eyes.

“So you read…and went on walks…for four days?” Nesta asked disbelievingly.

“Mostly, yes. We also talked. I was angry the first day because I thought he’d taken me there to force me into a situation that was no better than when I was here.”

You winced internally, not meaning that to come out so abruptly or so soon. You had planned out what you wanted to say days ago, but now you wondered if you’d even get to say them.

Rhys was still studying you, still haven’t yet to have spoken. But Nesta bristled.

“That is not fair. You know we did that to protect you. It’s not like we kidnapped you like he did.”

You looked at your eldest sister, straight in the eye, not backing down. You did not shout, you didn’t cry. You didn’t show an ember of temper like you had in the past. It was possible that was why other times you’d tried to articulate this same sentiment had gone unheard—simply because all parties had been too emotional at the time to listen, to digest what you were saying.

“Eris Vanserra did not kidnap me,” you said calmly, “I went willingly and it was to fulfill the bargain. The matter is now finished. I am in no further danger and it would not be fair to continue to punish me by smothering me into nonexistence.”

Nesta actually seemed stunned, actually blinked at your calm yet serious tone.

“We would never smother you,” Feyre insisted.

Despite the urge to snort or make some sarcastic remark, you remained level headed.

“But you have. You wondered why I became a ghost in this huge, lovely manor for six weeks? It wasn’t simply because of a male, it wasn’t simply because of being punished. I had given up hope on ever finding a place for myself in this world.”

“But you do have a place here,” Elain rushed to reassure you.

“Please, let me speak,” you insisted, firmly.

Elain fell silent but nodded.

“You have given me no choice in anything. Not even before we were turned fae. When we were human I was happy to let it slide. I needed to be taken care of then. But I’m not the same female I was. You won’t let me do anything for this court, won’t involve me in anything that’s happening—and when you have it’s because I’ve had to fight for every inch you’ve allowed me. It is not fair that I still have to endure this treatment. It is one thing to be concerned for me but it is a completely different thing to coddle me, stifle me and protect me from the world.”

“This is ridiculous. You don’t get to make the orders around here,” came Nesta’s scathing retort.

“Nesta,” Feyre said softly.

Whatever Feyre held in her tone softened the bite in Nesta’s own tone significantly.

You knew this conversation would be a fight—mostly with Nesta who was the most strong willed of the four of you. But you’d been prepared for this.

“We only try to protect you because we know of the dangers we’ve each faced. We’d do anything to keep you from having to endure the same.”

This time Nesta’s voice came out more broken, agony laced in her voice. She’d been the first to run to you when you’d been dumped out of that Cauldron, skin glowing unnaturally, limbs longer than you were used to, arched ears under your fingers when you’d blindly felt for them.

Elain had been traumatized enough in her own right, held in the arms of the same male who’d been revealed only moments later to be her mate.

Besides the icy chill of the Cauldron that had slowly choked the mortal life out of you, all you’d remembered most nights from your nightmares was Nesta’s petrified face at seeing her baby sister also forcefully turned fae. The image flashed behind your eyes even now, haunting and agonizing. You knew you had no idea what she’d gone through in those moments.

Pure fear—like in that moment—had been the driving force for your sisters’ behavior, but despite their well meaning intentions, you still pushed forward with the discussion.

“What life is worth living if one doesn’t take a chance or two? How will I ever learn if you don’t let me encounter danger occasionally? I’m not asking to go out and fight in a war tomorrow. I just need room to grow, to breathe…to find myself. Who I am besides the baby Archeron sister.”

Eris had been something—someone—for yourself. Something that had been wholly yours, if only for a short amount of time. He had been something that wasn’t automatically related to you being an Archeron sister, but just you, yourself.

“You truly think that lowly of us?” Elain’s voice shook and your heart ached at her wounded tone.

You’d been so angry with all three of your sisters for so long, but you’d never intended to hurt her—hurt any of them.

“No, but I’ve felt like you’ve thought that lowly of me,” you said matter-of-factly.

Rhys had been monitoring the conversation for some time now. He finally sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“Well I’m glad this is all finally coming to the surface because I’ve been wanting to bring this subject up for some time.”

“Me and Rhys have argued over it plenty,” Feyre winced.

You were surprised to know that Rhys—your brother in a sense—had actually been fighting in your defense all this time.

“You have?”

Rhys looked solemn.

“We had many disagreements over you, yes. I thought you showed promise for more, could do more. Feyre disagreed. We often didn’t get far.”

You tried not to let it sting that your sister had thought so little of you that she didn’t find you worthy enough to even give you a chance. Feyre must’ve seen your crestfallen face because she quickly jumped in to explain.

“It’s not that I didn’t agree with him, but I was scared. Scared to let you experience things I didn’t know if you were ready for. But maybe…that’s never been my call.”

You couldn’t disagree with her.

“You three need to stop treating her like a child. She is grown and capable of making her own decisions,” Rhys said, looking at each of your sisters, “I’ve watched her try to tell you this time and time again and you refused to listen.”

“Now listen here, this is between us and our sister. It is none of your business,” Nesta snapped, clearly not appreciative of being scolded.

“Nesta,” you chided gently, giving her a look.

While Nesta and Rhys hadn’t always seen eye to eye, they’d gotten better when it came to most things. It would do no good to start an argument though.

“While I understand your desire for privacy, it actually is my business because I have a proposition of my own for her. It’s something I’ve been discussing for quite some time with Feyre and I’m curious if she’ll be interested.”

Rhys’s eyes landed on yours again as he spoke the last part of that sentence. You straightened, not having expected this turn in the conversation.

“What’s that?” you questioned, curious.

“Well you know Cassian has been my temporary courtier for some time now, but it’s not a position he wants to hold forever. Would it be something you might be interested in? It would come with the opportunity to get out of the court, visit other courts, meet new people. I happen to think you’d excel at the position.”

You blinked, trying to process the barrage of information.

“But…I have no training in such an area. Why do you think it’d be a good fit for me?”

“Because you have a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue—one you do not hesitate to use on your sisters. Or Eris,” Rhys answered with a grin before becoming serious once again, “He let me into his mind to show me what happened during your visit to the Autumn Court.”

Your breath caught in your chest. Had he seen everything? Was he going to tell the others? Or had Eris only showed him the same parts you’d told them?

Rhys’s face gave nothing away, leaving you wondering just the extent of what he’d seen.

“You were always quick on your feet with him,” Rhys continued, “Didn’t let him outsmart you. Which is rather impressive since it’s Eris we’re talking about.”

You relaxed a fraction when it seemed like he didn’t know the full truth, especially when he didn’t bring it up to your sisters. It was more likely that Eris hadn’t shown him that memory and Rhys had no knowledge of it.

“Even though I’m completely inexperienced?”

Rhys lips twitched upwards in a genuine smile.

“Well that’s the entire purpose of training under Cassian, is it not? That is, if you’re interested in the position.”

You remembered Elain’s words from a few weeks ago—how Feyre mentioned the possibility of finding something for you to do. Had this been what she meant?

Shockingly, none of your sisters jumped in to speak for you. There were no raised voices, no shouting, no hysterics like there had been in past rounds.

For once, your sisters let you speak for yourself.

Something tugged at your heart, the sadness that came with the strange feeling that though you’d gained your freedom, you’d sacrificed something special to achieve it. You gave Rhys a small smile.

“Someone once told me that the world is mine, I just have to pursue it. I think I’m finally ready to do just that.”

Now, a year later, you were the official courtier of the Night Court.

Your first few times accompanying Cassian on different tasks made you a nervous wreck—always afraid you’d stumble on your words. You spent too much time second guessing everything you said or did, wondering if it was Rhys, your sisters or you that was the most out of their minds to think you could do this.

“I spent my first task from Rhys second guessing every move I made. My first task also involved me being sent to meet with Vassa, Jurian and Lucien. Eris was also there, so talk about throwing me in the deep end almost instantly.”

Cassian had reassured you with that tale, assuring you that even if he’d fumbled half of his first mission, he’d soon learn to grow better at it—even if he still didn’t consider himself as great at it as Rhys was.

But you’d continued shadowing Cassian, the Illyrian soon letting you take the lead.

Before you knew it, you’d officially taken Cassian’s place and were truly on your own to command a room as you saw fit. While your first few solo missions had made you anxious, initially, you soon learned the best approaches, learned to read the individuals you dealt with the most.

True to Rhys’s word, your work as a courtier took you to different courts, giving you the opportunity to explore and discover things you’d once only dreamed of. You met new people, made new connections, both personally and for the benefit of the Night Court.

You attended banquets, events, meetings with other High Lords and their councils. You learned how to foster relations, always leaving people with the planted seed of an idea of working with the Night Court, allying with them, or even simply being on better terms.

With each and every mission successfully accomplished, your confidence grew. Somehow you had quickly developed a reputation across Prythian, too, even coming with your own moniker.

The Dove of the Night Court is what you were playfully nicknamed—ironically started by Helion, High Lord of Day. Ironic considering you were sure you’d been told he’d created his own surname of Spell-Cleaver.

But it had stuck, as you were known to come in with a sharp mind and tongue, but always managed to leave even the most complicated and tense situation with a wave of peace in your wake. Maybe it had to do with you knowing how to keep a level head and even tone that meant business while still remaining respectful and open to listening to any and all parties.

Who knew you had a penchant for settling difficulties? It was as if all your conflict with your sisters had trained you for this, alone.

It was also quite ironic that your nickname was exactly what Eris Vanserra had once called you.

The last time you’d truly encountered Eris was the day he’d winnowed you home to the Night Court.

Of course, it was impossible not to see him occasionally, but you hadn’t spoken to him since that day. At most you’d receive a polite nod of the head before one of you inevitably were pulled away or had to move along.

You weren’t sure if he purposely had managed to avoid you the majority of the time, but he’d also l been through a significant amount of changes himself over the last year.

About seven months ago, Eris Vanserra became the High Lord of Autumn.

Following an intense period of time of inner conflict across the land of Prythian—when you were still training under Cassian—Beron Vanserra had tried to incite a war against the other courts. It had begun with him trying to acquire lands from the Spring Court. Tamlin had still been at his worst, letting the court fall to ruin and not bothering to rule his own court or people anymore.

Not many had resided in the Spring Court at that point anyways, most having relocated to other courts or even across the sea to the Continent. It had been a mess—not even including the fact that the wall that had separated the mortal lands from the faerie lands had been destroyed in the war with Hybern. That alone had been a precarious situation between mortals and fae alike.

Beron clearly had more bad intentions than he did sense though. When Eris had secretly relayed to Rhys of Beron’s plans, Rhys had started readying to go on the defense, gathering intel and potential forces to protect the Spring Court.

Until Beron Vanserra had attacked the Spring Court in an attempt to conquer it.

Thus leading to weeks of Eris secretly working with the Night Court against his father—something he’d been doing for years, but this time it was far riskier, far deadlier.

Beron’s plans? He’d wanted to become High King of Prythian, even if it meant he attacked each and every court to conquer their land.

Fortunately no one was gravely injured in the attack on Spring, Tamlin managing to protect his court and the people he had left. Though the damage had been done to an already destroyed land. Though there’d been no fatalities, there were still many left injured. Many had been left unhappy with their High Lord.

It would take a long time and hard work to rebuild the court to its former grandeur, even longer for the people to fully trust their High Lord—but at least that was currently still ongoing, looking more positive than it had in a long time.

The final blow came when Beron discovered the extent of his eldest son’s treachery, while his troops launched a surprise attack on their neighbor, the Winter Court.

Kallias, High Lord of Winter had called for help from his allies. Rhys and the Night Court showed up from the North, Tarquin and the Summer from the South.

It had been brutal and bloody according to Feyre. Several died from the Summer Court’s armies and some of the Autumn Court soldiers had also perished in the attack.

You hadn’t been there, which you’d understood this time as to why—you knew you’d have been no help since you possessed no fighting skills. Frankly, you were glad you had been saved from the brutality as you’d felt sick just from the stories your family had relayed.

Later, Rhys told you, he’d found Beron just as he was about to put his sword through Eris’s chest—likely for his treachery at the bare minimum. Rhys had had excellent timing, apparently, blasting the High Lord away with his night-kissed power, enough to stun and disorient.

Rhys had added he’d been tempted to mist Beron on sight, but figured Eris deserved to have the killing blow.

Which he’d gotten.

Eris had been the one who put the sword through Beron’s chest instead—after he beheaded him with one sharp slice of his sword. A true general as much as he was an heir.

When you’d said you’d felt sick—it hadn’t been from the gruesome and graphic details, no. It had been from the raw fear of knowing how close Eris had come to death.

How dangerously close he’d come to being completely eliminated from this world.

And that thought alone made you nearly want to vomit.

You didn’t know exactly what you’d say to Eris if you were facing him right now, but when you’d heard how close he’d come to death, you had been fearful that you’d never get the opportunity to thank him for saving you. It was strange how it needled you time and time again—as if something was unfinished that you were being urged to complete.

Eris had saved you in so many ways that you didn’t think you could even put in words how much it meant to you, anyhow.

But, he hadn’t died. He’d become High Lord, the power instantly transferring to him, as did the heavy weight of all of the responsibilities ruling a court came with. Especially one as corrupt and twisted as Autumn.

You remembered all the dreams Eris had once told you—the wishes and hopes he wanted to make a reality for his court. You knew with time and determination only he had, he would make those dreams into a reality.

In the months since, the relationship between Autumn and Night had strengthened significantly, your entire family realizing what you had once long ago—that Eris wasn’t as horrible as they’d all come to believe. Though, Rhys seemed to handle most of the dealings with Autumn himself.

You tried not to take it personally, but you figured you dealing with Eris—despite the fact that they’d come to have a higher opinion of him—was still a deal breaker for your sisters. At least with Feyre.

You’d been pleasantly surprised at how supportive they were with your life changes.

Ironically, staying busy meant you all weren’t always in the same place at the same time—you didn’t see them all the time as you once did. But, somehow, it seemed to help your relationship with them.

You and Elain had fallen into the habit of grabbing little gifts for one another in your respective travels—meant to exchange with one another the next time you saw each other. Sometimes it was decorative items, sometimes it was practical items, others it was candies or other little treats.

You and Nesta often exchanged book recommendations, though you didn’t find as much time to read as she still managed to, despite her busy days. Her and the Valkyries were considering starting a book club just so they could introduce you to all the best Sellyn Drake novels. Ironically, considering the situation with Eris in the past, Nesta didn’t seem to balk at you reading the same steamy romances she did. After all, it wasn’t like you hadn’t done some of that stuff by now.

You and Feyre typically spent time sipping tea, going over reports. Even if it was work related, it was nice to spend time with the sister that was closest to you in age. You were still able to catch up and chat in between all the courtly matters.

But with the newly strengthened relationships came a new development—your sister’s eagerness to set you up with eligible males across Prythian.

You’d been hesitant at first—haunted for far too long by the image of flaming red hair, burning amber eyes and constellations of freckles across a face that knew how to be soft.

But after they kept hounding you, you eventually gave in.

Elain was first to present you with a male—Florian. He was a younger sentry from the Spring Court that Lucien had taken under his wing.

“He’s only three hundred.” Elain had said cheerfully, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Way to sell it,” you’d mumbled.

But you’d been pleasantly surprised. Florian was definitely attractive—unsurprisingly so as all males in Prythian were.

Florian had blonde hair, roughly a shade and a half darker than his High Lord’s, leaning more between a brunette and blonde hue. His eyes were as green as Tamlin’s, though not unusual considering green was a prominent eye color in individuals from the Spring Court.

But oh was he charming.

Not in the way Eris was charming though. No, Florian was ever the gentleman—or gentlemale as was the term used in Prythian. That was one thing you’d yet to get used to, too often falling back on the mortal term out of habit.

Florian was well spoken, chivalrous, attentive and polite. He was so polite he made Eris—even when he was at his most pleasant—look utterly crass.

He would kiss your hand in greeting, pull out chairs for you, open doors for you, offer his arm for you to take, on a stroll.

You’d been on such a high, especially when an afternoon tea with him—in Elain’s garden at the River House—had gone incredibly well. You had definitely anticipated seeing more of him.

Which you had.

Maybe you’d gotten your hopes up too high and too fast—too excited too soon.

For when the opportunity had presented itself—after only a short time of seeing him—where he’d wanted to take you to bed, you’d been thrilled.

After all, it’d been…awhile.

The sex had been…nothing like you’d expected. To the point you’d been left so disappointed and dissatisfied that you’d wondered what the fuck that even was.

You’d worried something was wrong with you. Or if maybe you weren’t as good at sex as you’d assumed—at least without Eris’s tutelage.

Florian had spent the entire time treating you like you were made of glass, afraid to touch you too firmly even as he thrust into you. You couldn’t help but wonder the entire time you laid there if he was too apprehensive because of who you were—the youngest sister of his mentor’s mate.

Not to mention the High Lady of the Night Court’s sister. It had been a double whammy against you.

Which even more bizarrely—despite him going overboard with the gentleness—he’d wanted you to take charge. You’d only ever done that once before with Eris and you hadn’t felt like you even knew what Florian wanted you to do, anyways.

So you’d let him take over, trying to enjoy it—had tried to do more than just lay there. But it had seemed like a futile effort when he’d hardly touch you, despite his cock literally being inside you.

Then there had been the fact he’d tried to attempt some filthy language. That had been so disastrous, you still cringed, remembering it.

The entire experience had been so different than how it’d been with Eris—who was always so sure of himself, so confident. But it hadn’t been just about comparing to how it’d been with Eris—frankly you’d been just trying to survive the situation most importantly—but it had been the fact that it felt subpar, as if something had been missing.

Needless to say, you hadn’t seen Florian after that.

You’d let him down easily, though with as relieved as he’d seemed, you hadn’t been sure if you had been more offended or relieved, yourself.

You’d simply told Elain that it turned out you and Florian had little in common.

After Florian had come Alban, a Winter Courter courtier introduced to you by Feyre.

You’d crossed paths with the male several times before in your work as courtier but had yet to really talk to him.

He was more stoic and quiet than you were used to, but he was good-looking. Similar to most that hailed from the icy Winter Court, he had snow white hair and striking blue eyes. So striking they’d definitely captured your attention instantly, drawing you to the male.

His skin was the palest skin tone in all of Prythian—even paler than Eris’s—individuals from Winter having an almost frozen appearance to their complexion.

You’d quickly bonded over courtier work, having long discussions over certain aspects of the job and trading stories.

It had been an easy sort of friendship that formed, making you happy that things seemed to be going well—as he was a gentle spirit with such knowledge to him, too.

So when the time rolled around that you and he had taken that next step, inviting him to your bed, you’d thought you’d been prepared. Thought you’d tampered your expectations enough to not be disappointed.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It had been a disaster from the start.

For one—though you had no idea just how old he was—as an immortal that had been alive longer than you, he hadn't even been able to get his cock inside you properly for the first few minutes.

That really should’ve been your first warning sign right there.

When he had actually been able to meet your rhythm—the few seconds he had in the entire experience—it had felt good. But Alban would move one way just as you’d moved another.

You’d even made a sarcastic and witty remark in an attempt to ease the obvious awkwardness—a remark that Eris for sure would’ve tossed an equally sassy one back.

It had completely eluded him and you’d received no comment in return.

The entire experience had felt hollow and performatory, only a means to an end.

Not like there had been an end for you. At least you’d somewhat enjoyed Florian better, even if there hadn’t been an end in sight for you there, either.

Afterwards, when he’d pulled out of you, your thighs had been slick and warm from his release.

Gods, you’d sometimes wondered how males had it so easy, able to still reach completion even if they wouldn’t deem the encounter good.

But that hadn’t even been the worst part. No, after he’d pulled his cock from you, he’d started discussing a trade routes deal that Kallias had been currently working on.

You’d had no desire to continue to see him after that.

Meanwhile, Feyre had had the hopes of potentially arranging a marriage between you and Alban—as Kallias had told her that Alban was in search of a wife.

You’d politely and firmly shut that idea down right that moment—especially when you no longer heard from him after your night spent together.

Clearly it hadn’t been very special to him either. At least it’d saved you from another awkward conversation à la Florian.

Nesta’s pick had come last and by this point, you’d been understandably wary.

But when you’d seen who she’d presented you with, you’d changed your tune quickly, a thrill of excitement shooting through you.

You’d heard whispers from some of his own conquests in passings—at how good in the bedroom he truly was. You’d had half the hope you’d get to find out for yourself.

Balthazar was one of the more decent Illyrians. He had been the male Nesta’d told you and the others that she’d encountered in the Blood Rite— long ago now—and how kind he’d been to her and Emerie.

Balthazar was extremely handsome—to the point you’d found yourself practically preening in his presence. He was all powerful body, golden brown skin and dark hair, brown eyes to round out the appealing package. Not to mention the leathery wings at his back.

You’d never stopped to wonder what having an Illyrian in your bed would be like. Of course, you were sure Nesta and Feyre knew all about that.

You couldn’t help but stare at him when he’d talked to you, though your mind had kept thinking of how those deep brown eyes just weren’t the same as amber ones you’d once been so used to.

Your entanglement with Balthazar truly could’ve been labeled as nothing more than a fling, though.

He’d been nice, but truly only interested in a tangle in the sheets, which if you’d been honest, you hadn’t minded in the slightest.

If it had been any good, you might’ve convinced yourself it would’ve been something you’d been interested in doing casually.

Balthazar—admittedly—had been the best of the three males though, having managed to pull some measure of pleasure from you.

For one, he’d been huge. But not in a good way.

Whereas Eris was gifted, he’d never seemed to be too much for you to handle—he’d fit you perfectly.

Balthazar’s cock had been too overwhelming, hitting deep enough that it hit your cervix—and not in a pleasant way, in a painful way.

He’d basically been wound tight, ready for a rutting and nothing else.

He’d been rougher than the other two, gripping your legs and pushing them open just so as he’d pounded into you. He’d also been pretty inconsiderate, too far gone in his own pleasure that he hadn’t been paying attention to your body or picking up on your cues.

Whereas Eris would’ve known when to slow down, when to give you more, Balthazar had been all about the finishing goal.

It had been almost disappointing to admit how much of a let down it was. And while the encounter had been the most pleasurable of the three—you had to admit the male did know how to use his cock well, just not exactly in the way you’d needed him to—it had been painfully obvious that it was no more than a quick release for him.

Which again had made you truly question how and why it was so easy for the males to find their pleasure.

He’d left nearly immediately with the parting of if you were ever interested in his company again, just to let him know.

You definitely hadn’t been.

When Nesta had questioned you on what had happened to Balthazar, you’d simply told her there were already too many bats in the family.

You were sure that Balthazar was a fine male—likely a wonderful one to treat a female amazingly. All of the males had been perfectly fine, all of them you sure would be wonderful to someone.

But that someone just hadn’t been you. You had lacked something with each of them—not only in bed, but in their general company. That easy comfort one had with someone—similar to what you saw Feyre have with Rhys or Nesta with Cassian.

You even saw it sometimes shine through with Elain and Lucien.

It had been the kind of ease you’d had with only one other male before.

Between the time of Florian and Alban though, you actually had encountered Eris for the first time in a while.

Your mind drifted as you thought back to the memory, only a few months ago now.

Four months after Eris took his throne, he was invited to the Hewn City’s Solstice ball for the first time since becoming High Lord.

He’d looked absolutely resplendent in Night Court black—very reminiscent of the time you’d first met him at this same ball, two years ago now.

It was astonishing to think how all of this had started in this same room two years ago. The curiosity that led to the proposition, the bargain, the favor, the sex. You tried not to think too hard about it with him in such close proximity, though.

You’d been at the refreshments table, refilling your wine goblet, trying to avoid the curious, wandering amber eyes that had kept finding yours all night. But you were weak and you looked up as you took a sip. Your gaze met his and he held it for a few, intense seconds before it slid back to whoever he was conversing with.

“You’re staring,” Rhys murmured, coming up beside you, under the guise of acquiring something to eat.

“You act like staring is a war crime,” you mumbled, feeling the inquisitive gaze burning on you again.

“It is when you and Eris are practically setting fires to a room from looks alone,” Rhys drawled, taking a bite of one of the sugar dusted confectioneries he’d nabbed.

“I thought you were supposed to be on your throne observing your court’s festivities,” you retorted dryly, eyes sliding sidelong to him.

He motioned to the head of the room at the dais where Feyre sat, talking with some dignitaries from other courts who’d been invited to the ball this year.

“My mate has it covered.”

That she did.

You hummed noncommittally, eyes scanning the sea of people—some dancing to the lovely pieces the musicians had been performing all night, others content to stay in groups and converse on an array of topics.

As if by magic, your gaze snagged—was pulled his way again—and you found Eris’s gaze on you, a small, familiar smile on his lips.

“Cauldron, you two are insufferable,” Rhys murmured.

You pulled your gaze away first, turning to look at Rhys, finding amusement in that violet gaze—lining his handsome face.

You contemplated deflecting, but when you’d looked back Eris’s way, he’d returned to his conversation. His face was contemplative as he listened to the individual, crossing those strong arms across his chest. His pale pink lips pursed in thought as he nodded, shifting a few long strands of his hair into his face. A pale hand came up, absentmindedly brushing it out of his face before he tucked it back under his folded arm.

Your eyes, the traitors, had tracked every movement.

It was then you realized you couldn’t do anything but be honest to your friend, your brother. He would’ve likely seen right through any sort of deflection anyways.

“He’ll always be the one who got away,” you uttered softly, a touch wistfully.

You didn’t know whether Rhys would retort with a smart remark or something profound, but you hadn’t expected what he did end up saying.

“I suppose there are worse choices you could make. Perhaps one of these days I may look the other way long enough—merely out of curiosity of course.”

You huffed a laugh, trying to make sense of his statement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just gave you a knowing grin, those stars twinkling in his eyes.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a female to always fight for what you’ve wanted. Don’t let that practice stop now.”

Much later, after Rhys had returned to his mate and High Lady—after you’d spent time milling about, making polite conversation with many people you’ve encountered due to your courtier work—you heard a familiar voice behind you.

Smooth, deep and always filled with an air of amusement. One that was always as cocky as it was arrogant.

“Well doesn’t this feel familiar? Seems like we’ve been here once before, but my, how things have changed since our first meeting, have they not?”

Your heart instantly lifted, the familiar push and pull you’d always easily had with him seeming like a breath of fresh air.

Unlike the first Solstice ball where the two of you had met, he had approached you this time.

You turned, a smile already on your lips.

“High Lord,” you greeted, warmly.

“Dove,” he greeted back, lips twitching in a smirk.

“I apologize that I have yet to extend my congratulations on your newly acquired throne.”

Your fingers tightened on the stem of the goblet that you’d been carrying around with you all night—savoring the cup of rich and velvety smooth wine you’d poured for yourself hours ago before speaking with Rhys.

“One does stay busy being courtier to the Night Court,” Eris mused, eyes taking you in.

You were in a simple dress of Night Court black—actually quite similar in shape to some of Mor’s dresses, just a tad more modest.

This year’s dress was a floor length gown made of midnight velvet, two thin straps resting along your shoulders. Accompanying it was a sharp dip in the neckline, in the shape of a vee—enough to show off a small amount of the swell of your breasts. The only other addition was the thigh high slit on one side, exposing your bare leg—appearing even longer thanks to Mor lending you some of her sexiest black heels, ones that you’d donned tonight.

If there had been any time to face Eris, at least it was when you looked and felt good.

“All thanks to you,” you pointed out.

His head tilted as he took you in—likely noting the difference in the individual that stood in front of him from the female he’d taken for a walk in the Autumn Court woods nine months ago.

The female he’d taken in general.

“I’ve seen your work—heard of it, mostly—I must say I’m rather impressed.”

“Quite the compliment coming from a High Lord,” you grinned.

“You forget I spent many centuries mastering the games of courtier, too,” he said smoothly, a brow flicking upwards in amusement.

You hummed, smiling. Those all knowing amber eyes took you in, never missing anything.

“You’re not the same female I once knew,” he observed, thoughtfully.

“I was never a broke bird,” you reminded him, “I believe you once told me that.”

He smiled, soft, as if meant just for you alone.

“No, you never were. Although,” he chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets casually, “The Dove of the Night Court, hm? Seems I was a step ahead of Prythian and they never even realized it.”

You grinned, ducking your head—not out of shyness, but the flattery in his not entirely straightforward compliment. The sentiment had been there enough for you to pick up, though.

“You’ve always been smarter than most give you credit for, Eris,” you said simply.

You meant it though. People had underestimated him for plenty over the years—over centuries if truth be told. You were glad he was finally getting recognition he, too, deserved greatly.

“Though if I were smart, I might find the need to consider bargaining with a High Lord.”

He looked curious—brows furrowing in slight confusion—not quite picking up your meaning.

“A bargain to fuck a High Lord,” you said plainly.

You’d never been shy to express what you’d wanted—something you’d displayed when you made that bargain with Eris long ago—but you’d also grown more bold in the months that’d passed since you’d last stood in front of him like this.

“But not just any High Lord,” you smiled coyly, peering at him through your lashes, “The High Lord of Autumn, specifically.”

You might’ve been mistaken, but you thought you saw him swallow hard. For a change, Eris Vanserra seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Sounds like you’ve developed quite an appetite for danger, dove,” he rumbled, voice low.

Ignoring his remark, your eyes flicked to the top of his head, his red hair perfectly placed and smooth as always.

“No crown tonight?”

That infamous smirk returned.

“It felt pretentious.”

Either you’d grown bolder than you’d ever anticipated or the wine you’d consumed had truly loosened your tongue and gave you courage beyond your comprehension.

“I’d be interested in seeing you in it someday. In your crown and only your crown, that is.”

You bit your lip, biting back the grin that threatened. You saw his eyes flicker, heat in them from the little game the two of you had fallen into.

He chuckled deeply.

“You’ve got a sharper tongue than most in these faerie lands know.”

You grinned wickedly.

“You’d know that best, wouldn’t you, Eris?”

His eyes remained sharp on you, jaw working as if he was trying to keep a hold on his restraint in such a public place.

You had no idea how a simple conversation had taken this turn—and so organically too.

Over his shoulder you saw an individual from the Day Court—that’d been meaning to speak with you all night—attempt to get your attention.

“If you’ll excuse me, High Lord, I’m needed elsewhere. I hope you enjoy the festivities,” you dipped your head to him, respectfully, before stepping away, but paused a moment.

His eyes watched your every movement.

“If your throne ever gets too lonely, you know where to find me.”

You shot him a playful wink, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at his brief but stunned expression. The last thing you saw before walking away completely was the way his shoulders straightened, that insanely attractive smug smile of his crossing his face.

And similarly to last time, you left Eris staring after you—long after you’d parted from him.

After the Solstice ball had come your underwhelming experiences with Alban and Balthazar. Maybe such a disappointing experience with Florian had motivated the way you’d spoken to Eris that night—as if you’d been testing to see if something in you really was wrong. Though you still weren’t sure what it had proved since you’d gone on to have two more dull and lackluster experiences.

Eris had always had an effortless way of making you feel confident and sexy—even in times when you’d felt the furthest thing from that. It was even more ironic, too, when he was intimidating to many.

You hadn’t seen Eris since the Solstice ball, now three months ago—spring now beginning to dawn on Velaris.

Courtly duties had kept you busy and you knew him being so new to the position of High Lord had to have kept him busy. Days bled into one another as you bounced from court to court, mission to mission.

Until one afternoon, Rhys summoned you to his study.

It was during an unusually slow period for you—when you’d spent an extended amount of time back home in Velaris with a lighter work load.

You’d been so used to staying busy that you were itching to do something again.

When you’d knocked on Rhys’s heavy wooden door, you couldn’t help but think of how different it was from the time you’d been summoned here, this time a year ago.

How different life looked now.

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, walking in, resting your hands against the back of the chair that sat in front of his desk.

“I have an assignment for you, if you’re interested,” Rhys said, looking up from whatever he’d been writing.

You nearly bounced on your toes in excitement and he chuckled, already sensing your eagerness. He knew he wouldn’t have to ask you twice.

“I’d like you to visit the Autumn Court.”

Your brows lifted in surprise.

“Since I’ve been kept rather busy lately, I thought I’d send you to meet with Eris. I want to maintain and strengthen our alliance with Autumn, even more so now that Eris is High Lord.”

“You’re sending me…” you trailed off dubiously.

Rhys had yet to do such a thing, especially since Eris had become High Lord.

“You handle Eris well,” Rhys said simply.

You could’ve laughed. He didn’t know the half of it.

“Besides, our relationship with the Autumn Court is the best it’s ever been—at least in all the time I’ve been High Lord.”

“So I’m supposed to do what, exactly?”

“Just be a point of contact between the Night Court and him. I just want to ensure that he and I are on the same page when it comes to our alliance.”

“I can do that,” you nodded firmly, knowing the topics you’d need to highlight in a discussion of this kind.

“You should probably get going then, I sent a letter earlier this morning telling him to expect you. Also, take as long as you need. If you need to take the entire rest of the day, that’s fine. These things take time.”

That was what truly sparked your suspicion. You could tell he was talking with quite a heavy amount of double meaning to his words.

“You’re sending me off to visit Eris and telling me to take all the time I need,” you said bluntly, disbelievingly.

Rhys merely shrugged.

“I just want to make sure you’re thorough in ironing out any issues.”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion, growing more so with each passing second. Rhys must’ve decided to quit with the cryptic talk for he finally spoke freely.

“I know what happened in the Autumn Court last year,” he said neutrally, “All of it.”

You were positive all the blood drained from your face.

“In a gesture of good faith, when Eris let me into his mind the day he brought you home, he showed me everything. He wanted me to trust his word.”

Your face colored, the blood rushing back—but all to your cheeks. In embarrassment and vulnerability. At knowing that all this time Rhys had known, had seen what had taken place.

“He didn’t show me everything, but enough to get the gist of what occurred,” Rhys rushed to assure you.

“Did you tell Feyre?” you asked, in a much smaller voice than you cared to admit.

“No,” he said adamantly, “It wasn’t my place to tell her something like that. If she were to find out, I wanted it to come from you or Eris alone—preferably you.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, trying to process the fact that your year long relief in thinking Rhys hadn’t known everything, had been a lie. You weren’t ashamed of what you’d done with Eris, but knowing Rhys had seen even a little of it made you feel vulnerable in ways you’d never expected to feel.

“So…you’re sending me…right to him…” you said slowly.

Rhys studied you, as if trying to settle on just what exactly to say to you.

“Sometimes things need to be worked out—settled—to see where people stand when the dust finally settles,” Rhys responded, then added as if it was an afterthought, “Between courts of course.”

“Of course,” you nodded, sounding dubious.

Rhys’s mouth turned up in a smile—not one of his sly or deceptively charming ones, but a genuine one, as he gazed at you. A female that had become part of his family, even if it had come to be from complicated and twisted situations.

You meant a lot to Feyre, so by default you meant a lot to Rhys too.

You’d been surrounded by a circle of people who’d loved and cared for you so much that they’d do anything to keep you safe—even if it hadn’t been in the healthiest of ways. Though those days were long past, you couldn’t help but feel appreciation and love for the unusual family you’d made, along with your own sisters.

Rhys’s voice sounded contemplative and more than a little curious when he spoke again.

“I always knew something…unique existed between the two of you.”

Your brow raised and he chuckled.

“I’ll see you whenever then?”

“I’ll make sure I’ll do my job thoroughly, Rhys.”

He smirked, that wicked amusement sparking in his eyes, along with the stars that often twinkled in those violet eyes of his.

“I’m sure you will.”

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, had essentially given you permission to do whatever it was you needed to do.

And just as you had once been told to pursue the world, you winnowed to the Autumn Court—ready to pursue the one thing you’d never been certain was truly yours.

•••

You appeared directly in Eris’s study, finding the male standing in front of his desk, flipping through some papers, clearly reading them.

In the half second before he was alerted of your presence, your eyes took in the side profile of him. Head bent to read, pale face contemplative as he took in whatever was on the page, a few strands of his long red hair falling into his face that he hadn’t bothered to move.

Today he was in an appropriately colored russet jacket with gold embroidery.

Eris had always been devastatingly gorgeous. Ironically, that had seemed to amplify even more since he’d become High Lord—as if the surge in his power after taking the throne had only aided in making him that much more ethereal.

He turned, sensing your arrival and sat the papers down with a wicked grin.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Archeron sister.”

“Pretty sure that was Nesta at one point. It’s also improper to play favorites.”

“I’m High Lord. Who’s to stop me?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but it was good-naturedly, as you smiled.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Eris.”

He turned to the decanter he had sitting on a side table, pouring himself some wine.

“Can I get you anything?” he peered back over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

You fiddled with the long sleeve of your sweater, feeling nervous and out of place with the more casual attire—in comparison to his courtly finest. You’d taken after Feyre, preferring the more comfortable clothes like oversized sweaters and leggings—at least for at home. You often wore ensembles much more appropriate for whichever court you were traveling to or whatever event you were to appear at.

It just so happened that you hadn’t considered even changing before you’d winnowed here.

You also couldn’t say why you were so nervous. You’d been in much more compromising positions with him before with less nerves.

But you couldn’t help the way being around him made your stomach constantly flip and your heart to flutter.

“Rhysand said you had some business to discuss with me?”

You straightened, shaking off any apprehension and instead became more professional and serious.

“Yes, he’d like to continue to discuss and strengthen Autumn’s relationship with the Night Court.”

You approached him as he sat in the low backed, tufted chair, the color a deepest burgundy. You eyed it enviously as it happened to look rather comfortable.

You might have to talk Rhys into getting something similar for your room back in Velaris.

You also forced yourself not to think of the last time you’d seen him sitting in a chair in his private residence—or just what you and he had done in it.

“I’m listening.”

For the next hour, you and Eris spent a good amount of time discussing court politics. Since you were technically the official representative for Rhys and the Night Court, you made sure to relay the variety of subjects Rhys would want you to cover and keep Eris updated on.

For instance, you made sure to include reports on other courts’ allegiances—who would be the strongest and best for Autumn to ally with, who would be the most cooperative.

Other menial topics such as trade agreements and trade routes between courts were discussed, along with other important matters you knew would be wise to cover in this meeting.

When the conversation had lulled, you found yourself leaning a hip against the edge of his desk, standing in front of where he’d remained sitting. You watched as a fingertip traced the rim of his cup. You assumed he was turning matters over in his head—figured he was sifting through the information you’d provided him with and was trying to determine if there were any other subjects he wanted to cover.

What you hadn’t expected is what he actually ended up saying.

“Rumor has it you’ve benefitted from some entertainment—of the male variety—here lately.”

You snorted, amused, even if you were thrown off by his out of the blue statement.

“Always the nosy bastard aren’t you?”

“I make it my business to have the utmost intel and knowledge on people.”

You lifted a brow.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

He merely shrugged.

“People talk.”

“This isn’t exactly appropriate courtly talk,” you quipped, lips twitching in a smirk, though you tried to sound more exasperated than you currently felt.

“Our official business is done,” he waved a hand dismissively, “We’re allowed to speak beyond our titles.”

“Which is a slick way of saying you’re morbidly curious,” you shot back, easily.

His amusement radiated from him as he reclined further back in his chair, drink in hand. He leaned an arm across the back of it as he stared at you. You turned to fully face him, resting your backside against his desk, arms still crossed, trying to temper your curiosity at his questioning.

“Perhaps. Though I did hear through the grapevine you had quite the sampling of males—from an array of territories, too.”

You snorted.

“Are you merely curious or are you actually jealous?”

His eyes sharpened, that cultivated smile revealing nothing of what he was truly thinking or feeling. He swirled the wine in his goblet, watching the dark liquid eddy.

“If my intel was correct there’s been a male sentry from the Spring Court, a courtier from Winter and an Illyrian.”

You swore softly, mildly impressed. He peered up at you, amber eyes unreadable as he spoke, coolly—though not cruelly. More as if he was attempting to hide any sort of reaction that could give him away.

“I assume you enjoyed their company in all the thorough ways then?” he drawled.

Your brows really rose at that.

“This is definitely not an appropriate line of conversation,” you pointed out, chuckling weakly.

He took a slow sip of his wine, watching you before he responded. His intense gaze never left yours—all consuming—causing your stomach to flip.

“Humor me.”

You sighed deeply, rolling your eyes, knowing he would stop at nothing to satisfy his curiosity.

“Yes, I enjoyed them thoroughly.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

Interesting.

You grimaced, remembering the encounters though. You were sure Eris likely picked up on it instantly, so you went ahead and told him the truth.

“Either I just got lucky the first few times or sex is actually—absolutely—horrible.”

He actually blinked a few times—the only sign of his surprise.

“I’m…sorry?”

He wasn’t apologizing, he was clarifying he’d just heard you correctly.

“You heard me,” you scowled, “It’s awful.”

“Awful,” he repeated, still sounding stunned.

You were already in it this deep, so you kept talking.

“Florian—that’s the Spring Court male by the way—treated me like I was made of glass. Simultaneously, he wanted me to take charge, yet would barely touch me. Talk about mixed signals!”

Now Eris looked fully invested, mild amusement sparking in his eyes.

“Oh, this is bound to be good,” he mumbled, taking another sip.

“Oh it gets worse,” you huffed, “He also tried out some filthy language, but he was so polite it would come out awful.”

Eris raised a brow, but let you continue.

“I swear on the Cauldron every remark he made came out sounding like a question. ‘You’d blush if I said what I was thinking?’ ‘Would you like me to fuck you harder?’ ‘Do you want me to put it here?’ Eris, I wanted to melt through the bed, it was so horrible.”

The High Lord of Autumn looked like he was trying extremely hard not to laugh.

You pointed a finger at him, scolding him.

“You think that’s bad, wait until you hear about Alban.”

It was as if once you’d started talking, you couldn’t stop. It all came spilling out. After all, this was the first time you’d spoken about this. You hadn’t even told your sisters.

Eris’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he motioned for you to continue talking—likely not trusting himself to speak right now.

“Alban is the courtier from Winter and wouldn’t know rhythm if it slapped him in the face,” you deadpanned.

“I fear my morbid curiosity is winning here, please, elaborate,” Eris smirked.

“Should I start with how he couldn’t even get his cock inside me properly, how he had no idea how to get a good rhythm going or how afterwards, he pulled out of me, immediately rolled over and started talking about a trades route deal?”

Eris’s eyebrows could’ve disappeared into his hair from the way they kept raising higher and higher, the longer you talked.

“Mother above,” he mumbled, “It’s as if you’ve lived the handbook of what not to do.”

“It was painfully awkward so I decided to go something like ‘Well…since this is going so smoothly now would be the perfect time to drop something devastatingly charming’—you know just to break the tension? I figured we could laugh it off or something. He just looks at me blankly! All I could think of is how at least you would’ve said something witty.”

“Aw, you were thinking of me, dove?” Eris flashed you a smoldering grin, tilting his head slightly.

You ignored his taunting remark.

“Plus, his hands were freezing. I know, I know, Winter Court and all. But it was unbearable.”

“This is far more delightful than I thought it’d be,” Eris noted, crossing an ankle over a knee.

“Stop enjoying this,” you glowered.

Once again he wordlessly motioned for you to continue.

“Balthazar I was actually pretty excited for,” you admitted, tilting your head thoughtfully.

That made Eris sit up straighter—perhaps even grip his gilded cup a bit tighter, though you might’ve just imagined that part.

“You have a wing fetish I don’t know about?”

His voice was definitely terse.

You rolled your eyes.

“You are incorrigible and insufferable.”

He grimaced at you, body still unnaturally rigid.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

You decided to test a theory, curious to his reaction.

“He might’ve been…particularly gifted.”

Eris’s jaw clenched like he was gritting his teeth to prevent himself from saying more than he should.

“How fantastic for you,” he gritted out.

“I’m talking there were more stars behind my eyes than in a Velaris night sky,” you fibbed.

He shifted, displeasure radiating from him in very obvious waves.

“Coming from an Illyrian brute, that’s shocking,” he grumbled.

You decided to give him a break, sighing as you tucked some hair behind your arched ear.

“Alright, you want the truth? There were whispers about him—stories. That he was amazing in the bedroom. Life changing experience, apparently.”

That seemed to get his attention and he eyed you, likely wondering if you were being honest—which was fair. You probably shouldn’t have toyed with him. But the temptation had been so great.

He continued eyeing you warily before speaking.

“I take it he was not,” Eris responded dryly.

“Not even close.”

Eris snorted.

“Of course it was a miserable experience—he’s a brute born to rut.”

You sighed again, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“That’s basically what it was. He was rough—rougher than I’d been used to or expected.”

His eyes flashed.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No!” you rushed to answer, “Well I mean yes, a little, but not really.”

Eris didn’t look convinced.

“He was uncomfortably big? I mean getting your cervix slammed into every other thrust isn’t what it’s chalked up to be.”

You had no idea how you’d ended up discussing your sexual encounters with Eris—had no idea how you were so casually candid with him.

“An Illyrian just looking for a fuck—why am I not surprised?”

You noted how Eris seemed more relaxed than he had a minute earlier, filing away that intriguing tidbit for later.

“So, that was my grand foray into the wild—if you will,” you shrugged, “Though I’m still amazing how easy males are able to find their pleasure. I’m half amazed they even managed to come.”

A spluttering sound followed your comment, along with coughing, indicating he’d just been in the middle of sipping his wine when you’d spoken.

“Cauldron, warn a male before making a comment like that,” Eris wheezed, halfway between laughing and coughing.

You gazed unamusedly at him.

“Please don’t die—it’d be rather inconvenient to have to tell Rhys I accidentally killed a High Lord,” you said dryly.

He just shot you a look.

“I’m so glad you find my grievances amusing,” you deadpanned.

“I don’t find it amusing, I find it sad.”

“You and me both,” you mumbled.

He finally sat his goblet on the desk in front of him, standing from his chair. You looked up at him as he straightened to his full height in front of you. Your backside still leaned against the desk, fingers curled neatly around the edge, anchoring yourself there.

“Sounds as if your body just missed me,” he smirked down at you, the infamous cocky charm once again making an appearance.

You scoffed, a sharp remark on the tip of your tongue—likely having to do with just how highly he thought of himself. It died the moment you saw his features soften, taking you in.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmured.

You were momentarily thrown off at the abrupt change of topic.

“You are?”

His lips turned up in a small, soft smile—one of the ones he’d only ever seemed to share with you.

“Yes. You went out and pursued the world—just like I knew you would. Made a name for yourself, found yourself, learned and grew as an individual.”

Eris had drifted closer to you and your head tilted slightly so you could look into that pretty pale face you’d seen display so many emotions, wear so many masks.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, dove.”

He swallowed hard, eyes roaming your face as if there were more he wanted to say and was either trying to figure out how to say it or whether he should.

“What is it?” you murmured, brows pinching in concern.

“I would be…lying if I told you I haven’t missed you though.”

Your heart did something funny at his confession.

“You have?”

He took a beat before nodding his head—just barely.

“I’ve never known anyone quite like you. My little dove—the female that was never a broken bird, but was just desperate for freedom, for the peace that came with that. For some reason, you stuck with me and I couldn’t forget you.”

Your breath caught in your chest. You felt his touch skim your sides, gently. Then his hands were at your waist, lifting you to set you on his desk in one swift movement, coming to stand between your legs.

You leaned closer into him as if it were a response as natural as breathing.

“But then,” Eris continued, voice low and serious, “You were suddenly everyone else’s and you no longer belonged to just me.”

Before you could say anything, he continued on.

“Which is ridiculous, I know. You don’t belong to me—you don’t belong to anyone but yourself. But some days I’d find myself wistful, wishing for how things were before.”

You knew he didn’t mean the way your sisters had treated you, but in the moments the two of you had shared. Moments meant only for the two of you.

“When my father…”

He trailed off, anger and more complex emotions flashing across his face, in those eyes. You instantly bristled, somehow knowing exactly where this conversation was leading.

“As I laid there, staring down my father’s sword, the only regret I had was that I hadn’t told you how proud of you I was. How all I wanted to see was you happy. I made a vow to the Mother that day that if I lived, I would one day tell you that.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your breath had been stolen from your lungs—as if a fist had reached into your chest, snuffing it out like one would the flame of a candle.

“It’s funny you say that,” you huffed a breathless laugh, overwhelmed, “Because the moment I learned how close you’d been to death, the only thing I could think of was I came so close to never getting to thank you.”

Now it was his turn to look confounded, puzzlement filling his face.

“Thank me? For what?”

“For saving my life.”

He shook his head.

“I did no such thing.”

“You did,” you insisted gently, “You believed in me, you gave a truly absurd idea a chance—you actually went through with it, too. You taught me how to be bold in my choices, you inspired me, pushed me to make the necessary changes I needed to.”

Your gaze had drifted down as you’d spoken, lingering somewhere around the intricately gold stitched pattern of his jacket. But your eyes lifted before you could voice the last part of your sentiment.

“You saw me, Eris.”

You were mere inches from his mouth and your eyes dropped to the lips you’d definitely missed. The same ones that had been on yours, on your body in the past.

The same ones you ached to kiss again.

When your eyes found his once more, you knew he’d taken in the way your gaze had dipped.

“One more question.”

His breath fanned over your face, his voice dropping to a deep rasp.

“Yes?” you breathed, inching closer to his lips.

So close, but so far away.

“Did you feel anything with them—any of those males?”

“I think we’ve circled back to you sounding jealous,” you whispered, lips curling in a smug smile.

“Answer me,” he said tersely, hand coming up to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Your eyes flickered up to his, your face turning serious.

“No,” you answered honestly.

His eyes searched your face.

“Truly?”

“I spent so much time trying to figure out why I didn’t—why those experiences were so lackluster. It’s because they weren’t you.”

He groaned lowly, face finally dipping, letting his lips finally meet yours.

You met him eagerly, relieved to no longer have a necessity to hold back these conflicting feelings he’d always evoked in you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss either, but a heated one, filled with so much left unsaid for far too long.

He whispered your name against your lips and you sighed in response, head tilting as he chased your lips with such fervor. This time, instead of letting him be in charge, your teeth sunk into his bottom lip just sharply enough for his lips to part. Your tongue swept effortlessly forward, tangling and brushing his.

His hands had settled on your thighs, spreading across them as he kissed you like his life depended on it. His mouth moved with yours with such rapid intent it made your head spin. Your hands glided along his chest, fingers curling in the lengths of his hair, the other sliding to the back of his neck.

The longer you kissed him, the hungrier it seemed to become. Your breath tangled with his as you—or he—parted long enough for a breath, never straying far before kissing again.

While your lips were preoccupied with his own, your hands couldn’t stay still—wanting to touch every inch of him. They slid along his shoulders before dropping and dragging down his chest.

He finally parted from your mouth—much to your disappointment—lips relocating to your jaw. His touch dipped beneath your sweater, warm hand meeting your bare skin and you moaned, desperate for more of his touch. He nipped along your jaw towards your ear where his teeth gently pulled the lobe in a playful tug.

“Tell me,” he said, in a low, seductive timber, thumb brushing high on your ribcage—just under where you ached for his touch.

You waited for whatever it was he had to say, tilting your head to give him more access. He dropped a kiss to the side of your neck before murmuring in your ear.

“Did any of those males make you come like I have?”

You bit your lip, momentarily embarrassed. He instantly pulled back enough to look at your face, instantly picking up on your silence. You winced slightly at the truth on the tip of your tongue.

“I didn’t even get that far.”

Something flashed in his eyes—determination perhaps, likely satisfaction that no one but him had ever been able to please you.

“Tragic,” he mumbled, “You’re at your most stunning when you’re unraveling.”

Disappointingly, his warm hand left your bare skin, retreating from under your shirt. His thumb brushed your lower lip as he studied you.

Your lips parted, wrapping them around the digit, so incredibly similar to that first time he’d pulled your finger into his own mouth—demonstrating what it felt like for him to be inside of you. His gaze heated, flame sparking to life as you sucked on it gently, tongue flicking over the pad of it.

When you released it, you grinned sweetly, innocently up at him.

But Eris knew you well. You hadn’t been innocent for quite some time.

“Perhaps you can make up for lost time,” you taunted lightly.

“Oh, I intend to,” he purred.

Fingertips tilted your jaw just right before he kissed you again. You whimpered slightly, keen on not wasting any more time, fingers quickly busying themselves by undoing the buttons down his jacket.

He nibbled your bottom lip playfully, roaming hand brushing your clothed breast enough to make you moan and press closer to his touch. It also made your fingers speed up—desire beginning to blaze within you.

When the last button was pushed through the hole and his jacket gaped open, your hands slid over the smooth skin, fingers tracing the dips and grooves of his impressively muscled stomach.

You didn’t stay there long, fingers working the button of his pants, mouth hot against his. Then your hand dropped further.

The moment your hand pressed against the hardened length in his pants, everything in you went molten. He groaned into the kiss and you pulled back, a wicked gleam in your eyes.

You leaned forward, lips tracing his jaw as your fingers curled around the bulge in his pants.

“Seems like someone came to call in their bargain today, huh?” Eris rasped, fingertips of one hand digging into your hip.

You bit back a giggle as your palm pressed harder, pulling upwards to the tip. You knew he meant your loaded remark from the Solstice ball months ago—a bargain to fuck a High Lord.

But not just any High Lord.

Eris.

“Only if there’s enough interest,” you stated carefully, sitting back, hand falling from him.

For all you knew, this was just a moment of weakness—for both of you. He was still close to you, standing in front of you, chest heaving, hair askew, with both his jacket and top of his pants gaping open.

He looked like a dream.

He didn’t break his smoldering gaze from you though and you sat, resisting the urge to fidget, the fear that you’d completely overstepped and misread the situation completely growing until it pressed tight against your ribs.

He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing infinitesimally.

“Dove, no one has ever compared to you,” he uttered, sounding as devastated as he looked.

You chewed your lip nervously, not knowing if it was the right thing to say, but knowing it was the truth.

“And no one could ever replace you, Eris.”

His hand curved around your waist, pulling you close again, his lips hovering over yours.

“We only do this if you want this. If you choose to.”

For that had always been important to him—he’d always given you a choice. Especially during a time when you’d seemed to have little of it. You tilted your chin, showing that spark of defiance that had always been within you—the one he’d always known existed. Your lips curved upward in an alluring smile.

“It’s your lucky day, High Lord—because yes, I choose this.”

“Thank the Mother,” he mumbled, hands diving for your face.

His hands had clutched your face, your lips just joining with his when you felt the sensation of a quick free fall—and then your back was hitting a mattress.

Your mouth fell from his in a gasp as you tried to orient yourself and realize he’d just winnowed the two of you from his study to his own personal chambers—his High Lord chambers.

And directly into his bed.

A quick peek around revealed it was a different—even larger—bedroom than the one you’d been in a year prior.

“Show off,” you mumbled.

A deep chuckle rumbled from him as his lips traced your neck, stopping to briefly suck on a spot.

“I do tend to enjoy displaying what I’m capable of from time to time.”

“You have little difficulty with that, Eris,” you mumbled.

He just hummed as the bed shifted, his mouth still exploring, coming around to your throat. You gasped as he pressed a knee between your legs, the friction exactly what you’d needed. His hands bunched your sweater, pushing it up, lips parting from your body long enough to pull the garment over your head.

He wasted no time ridding you of the rest of your clothes, hands tracing your body like you were his own sort of masterpiece.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

He mumbled it so lowly, you wondered if you were meant to hear it at all. His lips traveled across your décolletage making you shiver.

“Have you seen yourself lately?” you mumbled, in return.

He chuckled against your skin, lips curving in a smile. Then his mouth brushed one breast, making heat curl in you, drawing a soft breath from you as you arched into his touch. The touch was much more tender here, surprisingly filled with more devotion than hunger—though that was still there, too.

He took his time, lips tracing over the mound like he was memorizing it, kissing the tightened bud at the peak of your breast. You watched him, breath deepening at the reverent gestures.

Then, he turned more playful, tongue flicking it before covering it with his mouth. His other hand came up, thumb brushing the peaked nipple of your other breast as he gave a gentle squeeze, providing both with stimulation.

You moaned appreciatively at the attention and he shifted after a moment, worshipping the other breast with his lips—as if it was his life’s mission to do. The desire grew hotter within you, flushing your body and warming you as if he’d summoned a fire in you with the magical fire in his blood.

You hated to compare in the moment, but no one had ever worshipped your body the way Eris had.

As he kissed a path of hot, open mouth kisses down the center of your stomach, amber eyes flicking up to you in the process, you realized another dangerous truth.

No one had made you feel like Eris had—and not just in the bedroom either.

Your eyes tracked every movement as he sat back, finally pulling off the jacket that’d been hanging from his frame since you’d tore the buttons open earlier. Your gaze took in the shift of every muscle as his arms bent backwards to remove it, strong shoulders flexing with the movement.

Your eyes fell over the pale toned form, mouth already beginning to water.

He was a work of art.

“You test every ounce of my restraint when you stare at me like that, dove,” he murmured, fingers at the waist of his pants, pushing them down.

“How can I resist when the view is so appealing?” you gave him a saucy grin from where you lay against the pillows.

Your teasing tone instantly died the moment his cock came in view. The sight alone had your arousal doubling and you shifted impatiently. Your eyes took in the sight as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“Such a pretty cock,” you cooed, fingers wrapping around the base of him as you sat up fully.

He hissed, arching into your touch, a smug smirk curling his lips though.

“You flatter me, sweetheart.”

His fingers tipped your chip up and kissed you as you stroked him slowly—causing him to groan into the kiss. But despite his words, he pulled your hand away as he broke the kiss.

“Come here,” he murmured, shifting you with him.

He laid back, reaching for you, making you instantly go to him. You gasped as he pulled you to the point you were straddling his chest. Your hair fell forward as you peered down at him, but his eyes only gleamed wickedly as he smirked up at you.

“I’m in the mood for a feast and it just so happens that feast is you.”

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he was gripping you under your thighs, moving you closer to hover over his face. Your gasp of surprise turned into a moan when his tongue immediately licked one drawn out path along your slit.

You reached out, hands gripping the headboard for balance and stability. You felt gentle fingers parting you, making a low noise of approval as he lapped at your entrance, never fully committing, never giving you too much before moving on.

He dragged his tongue upwards, playfully flicking your clit. You moaned again, your hips jerking, inadvertently grinding against his tongue.

“Eris,” you whimpered, one hand reaching down to thread through his hair.

All you heard was a satisfied hum as your eyes slid closed, enjoying the way he worshipped you.

Then an idea popped in your head—one far too tempting to ignore. Your eyes opened and you peeked over your shoulder, a plan forming. You allowed him only a few licks more before you were twisting and bending, reaching down the length of his body.

You felt his grip tighten on your thighs, holding you steady so you wouldn’t topple over. His voice was deep and raspy, edged with his own arousal.

“What are you up to, dove?”

Your answer was simple.

“Feasting.”

Repositioning yourself, you bent down, tongue gliding over the length of his cock as his hands gripped your ass, his mouth getting to work on you, simultaneously.

Your tongue coated him, swirling around the tip like he was the sweetest concoction you’d ever tasted—though he might’ve been close to being the best. You wasted no time, knowing you were on limited time. As skilled as his tongue was, you knew it wouldn’t be long until you’d fall over the edge.

You wanted to make sure he went first.

Your hand wrapped around his cock as your lips finally slid onto him, taking him into your mouth. You moaned around him—both at the feel of him between your lips and the way his tongue had just plunged into your entrance.

He groaned against you as your hand and mouth worked in tandem, intention lacing your every move. His tongue flicked your clit then pressed flat against it.

You felt the vibration of his moan as his fingers dug into your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth. You grinded against him, trying hard to focus on your own task, especially as his own hips bucked upwards, sending his cock deeper into your mouth.

Every lick and suck you gave him, he answered with a pointed suck or flick of his tongue.

His mouth was deadly—in more ways than one—and you were quickly losing this battle.

You inevitably came on his mouth seconds before he exploded in yours.

You were already panting and trembling by the time he gently pulled you upwards, back towards him. But you still weren’t anywhere near satisfied, you still had the deep desire to be filled by him.

His pale, freckled face was flushed, mouth still slick from you. You bypassed his mouth though and licked along the top of one of his cheeks, running your tongue over the splattering of freckles, over the blush that stained his cheeks.

You were out of control and you couldn’t help it.

His hands gripped your hips as he leaned his face upwards to kiss you. The minute your lips met his, he was rolling the both of you until you were under him, mouth still hot on yours as his tongue dragged against yours sensually.

His hair fell around the two of you like a curtain and you gripped it in one fist, your other hand anchored on his bicep. His touch slid high on your leg, pulling it up to his waist as he pressed his—once again—hardened cock against you. You moaned into his mouth, lifting your hips in invitation.

“I never thought I’d get to do this again,” he breathed hotly against your throat, mouth moving on to other areas of your body.

“I’m glad you are,” you panted, body like a livewire, craving him desperately.

You were burning so hot for him you thought you might combust. He nudged your entrance and you whimpered pitifully, tired of waiting.

“Eris, please,” you whined.

There was no teasing remark or smug response, he instantly gave you what you needed, pushing into you with such little effort—unlike that first time you’d taken him to your bed.

How far you’d come since then—how far both of you had.

The instant he pushed into you, you were already reacting. Your moan mixed with his groan—as if you were coming home, as if you were back where you always belonged.

You didn’t think you’d ever tire of the way he seemed to fit you—seemed to stretch you perfectly. His hips pressed flush against yours and you reveled in the closeness to him, your leg sliding higher on his waist.

“Gods, you alway feel so fucking perfect,” he groaned, head dropping forward.

You couldn’t argue.

You pushed strands of his hair back, palm cupping his jaw as you brought his face back to yours, kissing him as he began to move in you. Unfortunately, the kiss didn’t last long for the moment he thrust back into you, your lips fell away from his in a moan.

“Cauldron,” you breathed.

His hips jerked forward again on a rough thrust and you delighted in the incredible feeling. A part of you had half convinced yourself that you’d made it all up—how amazing being with him had been—but you definitely hadn’t.

His hand planted on the mattresses by your head, peering down to watch as his cock slid in and out of you. Your eyes dropped to the sight as well, observing how he was already drenched with your arousal.

“Look at us, dove,” he smirked, eyes flicking downwards again, watching as he pulled his cock out of you again, “Already making such a mess on me.”

He thrust back in causing you to whimper at the sensation—and his words.

But it wasn’t enough. You wanted to see just what he was fully capable of. You didn’t know how to convey it though. Luckily, Eris seemed to sense your train of thought—or maybe he, too, no longer wanted to hold back when it came to you.

And you no longer wanted him to.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, tone momentarily serious as he pulled out of you.

You answered instantly, practically before he could get the question out entirely.

“Immensely.”

His command came immediately.

“Turn over.”

You were half scampering, half being aided by Eris’s hands as you flipped over on your stomach. You balanced your weight on your hands and knees, figuring that’s how he’d want you, until you felt him shift behind you.

“Not quite, sweetheart,” he purred with what sounded like a healthy dose of amusement.

You weren’t sure you understood his statement enough to respond though.

You felt him reach towards the front of you, taking one of your wrists, lifting it from the bed. He held you with his opposite hand, making sure you didn’t lose your balance. He pulled your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly before moving it forward and placing it on the sturdy oak headboard.

Your breathing became more labored and you watched his every movement as he repeated the action with your remaining hand—bringing it to his lips and setting it on the headboard. Your grip instantly tightened, anticipating whatever he had in store for you.

His large palms slid from your hands, down your arms and up to your shoulders. He brushed your hair to the side, placing a lone kiss on your neck before sitting back, hands gliding down your bare back. You instantly arched into the touch.

“That’s right, arch for me, dove.”

One hand traced up your spine as he bent, leaving a kiss on your back. Then your hips were in his grip and he was entering you so sharply it took your breath away.

“Fuck,” he groaned lowly.

His thumbs smoothed circles into the skin of your hips, a silent question, checking on you.

“More,” you demanded, still trying to catch your breath—but not from pain, but from being so overwhelmed.

He grunted in response, pulling his hips back and thrusting back into you roughly. You responded with a moan you didn’t even realize you could make.

He gave a breathless laugh from behind you.

“I always knew you could handle a little wildness.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you snapped, aching for things you hadn’t even realized you’d wanted until this moment.

And with that realization came an additional one—he couldn’t give it to you fast enough for your liking right now. His laughter was strained but warm, familiar as he did just that.

Another choked moan fell from your lips at another deliciously rough thrust into you, enough for you to jerk forward. Your body took over before you could even have the thought to, hips moving backwards to meet his thrusts as the two of you quickly found a pleasing and perfect rhythm.

“Gods,” you rasped, knuckles turning white from the way you were already gripping the headboard.

Eris repeatedly retreated to thrust back into you, harder, deeper until all you could feel was him everywhere. His fingers gripped your hips with such strength you knew it’d result in his mark being left behind. He pulled you back towards him with each and every movement to meet each rough thrust.

His hips slammed harder into you and you let go of any inhibitions.

“Fuck!” you cried.

Your moans were raw, spilling free as his hips pistoned, slamming against yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. One shift of his hips had his cock hitting a particularly perfect spot that made you cry out, cunt clenching around him.

“Holy gods, sweetheart,” came his guttural groan, “There, huh?”

“Eris— fuck— yes, yes, yes—” came your whimpered chants.

He focused on that exact spot and you nearly screamed each and every time. His cock inside of you was a feeling of absolute fullness—never too much and just right—a sensation you’d only ever experienced with Eris.

It wasn’t the same depth or discomfort you’d experienced with Balthazar though—it was just enough. Another perfect example of how in tune with you—and your body—Eris had been from the very beginning.

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head with each and every brush of his cock against the spot. He pounded harder, each movement making your body rock forward and cling harder to the headboard—just for the insurance you wouldn’t collapse from sheer pleasure.

Then his hand was at your shoulder, grip firm as he yanked your body back towards him. Your hands fell from the headboard as you went willingly. One strong arm came around your middle holding your body to his, fingers curling around your hip. You felt his teeth scrape along your shoulder a second later.

“Louder,” he demanded, panting against your skin, “Let me hear how only I can make you feel.”

His hips were brutal, harsh thrusts accompanying his following words.

“Wanna— Hear my name— On those pretty lips—”

“Eris,” you panted, automatically giving in to his demand.

Your body was instantly answering his own without a single hesitation—as if he needed the reminder that the other males were nothing but a footnote in your history compared to him.

You could feel the press of his muscled form against your back, brushing it enough with every movement that it drove you wilder. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair as you tilted your head over your shoulder, pulling his head closer to you.

His eyes cut down to your face before his head dropped, covering his mouth with yours. Your fingers tightened in his hair, moaning into his mouth as he worked himself into you over and over.

You were spiraling, pleasure building and your lips parted from his, moans falling from you more than any intelligible words. His touch slid between your legs, face leaning forward to drag his tongue along your neck as his fingers flicked your clit.

You mewled at the added sensation, head falling back against his shoulder, letting him unravel you with each and every motion.

“Who makes you feel this good?” Eris growled against your ear.

Your pleasure was rising to levels you didn’t think you could handle much longer.

“Y-You,” you rasped, brain so fuzzy you could barely think straight.

All you could focus on was how deep his cock was, how he felt pounding into you, how you wanted him to spill into you and take you a second time, a third, a fourth.

“Only me,” he grunted, affirming your statement.

As if proving his point, he thrust harder, rougher, plowing into you ruthlessly. You loved every second of it.

It didn’t take much longer before the tension snapped and you were careening over the cliff, falling into your release with such a shriek of his name, you might’ve been horrified at yourself—if you were in your right mind, that was.

All you could hear was his drawn out groan as your cunt clamped around him, your orgasm rocking through your body, making your vision nearly white. Then his teeth sank so hard into your shoulder it made you hiss. You felt the vibration of his groan against your skin as his own release rocked through him. You felt the warmth a beat later as he spilled into you, it already trickling out and down your thighs.

Your hand fell from his hair as he pulled out of you with a hiss. You were sure your body had turned to jelly by the way you swayed, trying to catch your breath, body absolutely limp from pleasure.

“Easy,” he murmured.

His hands were gentle on you as he lowered you to the bed and you collapsed onto your side, chest heaving. You were sweaty and spent, but still buzzing, body tingling from the orgasm he’d just wrung from you.

You felt the bed shift behind you and felt him situate himself at your back. Your eyes closed as you tried to slow your heart rate, your breathing, try to come back down from your high.

You felt fingertips tracing the hurt at your shoulder and you winced.

“Thanks for the bite,” you commented wryly.

You felt his tongue run over the area where his teeth had broken through the skin. His voice was warm and low, soaked with the remnants of pleasure.

“It’ll heal soon enough.”

His hand smooth over your hip until it slid down to your leg, lifting it until it tangled between his, cock pressing against you once again.

“Gods, you’re insatiable,” you moaned.

“I don’t hear any complaints coming from you,” he uttered, tilting his hips enough to push back into you.

No, you definitely weren’t complaining—definitely not at the warmth, the feeling of being filled with him, the intimacy of it.

Which was what this was—intimate. His hips tilted in a shallow thrust into you. You let out a content noise as his hand splayed over your stomach and you reached down, lacing your fingers with his. You automatically melted back into him, head tilting back and back arching into his body as he decided a second round was definitely what both of you needed.

You felt the brush of his mouth by your ear, breath warm against it.

“If you’re gonna fuck a High Lord, one would think you should get the full experience,” he murmured against the shell of your ear.

You huffed a laugh, turning into a soft moan as his hips rocked gently. His mouth covered your neck with kisses, spread across your neck and shoulder as his hips moved languidly, a soft and smooth rhythm in and out of you.

You luxuriated in this sort of touch just as much as you did when he was rougher. His nose nudged your cheek and you arched back into him further.

His lips brushed a kiss to your cheek and you felt yourself melt at the simple gesture.

Your hips moved gently with his, enjoying the slower pace. This time was softer, less wild, but it was still as consuming as earlier had been. He squeezed your fingers laced with his as yours and his body moved, his lips tracing patterns only he could make out, on your skin.

“I think I’ve been yours for far longer than I realized,” he whispered.

The intimacy—his words—made goosebumps rise on your skin. The vulnerability that laced his tone.

The truth bubbled up from your chest—your heart—before you could stop it.

You didn’t want to though.

“I’ve always been yours, Eris.”

You heard him heave a breath that sounded like it came from the depths of his very soul, his hips rocking a little faster. His hand slid down your stomach between your legs, fingers working to coax another release from you.

You mewled softly, body responding to him instantly, that building pressure already on the horizon.

Then came the two words that were your utter undoing.

“My dove,” he groaned in your ear.

It sent you spiraling into another orgasm, this one less wild and untamed but nonetheless intense. You gasped, body arching, soft sounds falling from you as your body surrendered itself to him yet again.

His free hand pressed firmly to your stomach, pressing your body as close to his as he followed suit, falling victim to his own release. You felt the reverberation of his deep groan against your back, heard it fill your ears as he released all he had into you—physically and emotionally.

When you’d both calmed, he eased out of you gently, maneuvering you so you could face each other. You went easily, looking up into his beautiful face. He slid one muscled arm underneath you and you rested your head on it, staring up at him, content.

His gaze was soft on your face but he looked just at a loss for words as you were. You brought the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared back at him, taking him in.

“I don’t need to be anywhere for a while,” you smiled softly, “Rhys knows not to expect me back for a while.”

“Thank the Cauldron for that,” he mumbled.

You let out a breathy, happy laugh and the way Eris’s face warmed—lit up—at the sound of it did funny things to your heart. Your hand pressed against his warm chest, feeling the solid strength of it under your touch.

His gaze fell to the hand that you’d just rested against him. He took your wrist gingerly, studying it—the smooth skin—where once a dark outline of a tattoo lay. He was likely reminiscing on the history that lay between the two of you.

He brought it to his lips, leaving a soft, slow kiss to your pulse point—similarly to how he did when that bargain tattoo had first appeared. But this time the gesture held a lot more weight—more meaning—than it did back then.

“What would you say if I had a proposition for you this time?” he asked, voice softer, gentler.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, humoring him, curiosity in your gaze as you looked up into his beautiful face.

“Well, I would propose that I get to see a lot more of you,” he murmured, “Regularly.”

You chuckled.

“Are you proposing making another bargain with me?”

His lips curled upward in a genuine smile.

“If need be, yes.”

You just raised an amused brow.

“No bargain needed for that, Eris.”

“No?”

A fingertip began tracing patterns over your shoulder and across your collarbones, his eyes tracing the path it took. You simply shook your head in response to his inquiry.

“You already have me.”

His wandering touch stopped and his amber eyes flicked up to yours, filled with such emotion that it made your breath catch. His hand cupped the back of your head, a genuine smile blooming across his face as he brought your face towards his, lips hovering right over yours.

His actions made your heart sing, a chord played that only he could hear, could recognize. A mark was currently being etched into your heart—akin to the one that had been marked upon the skin of your wrist once upon a time.

But this time, it wasn’t from a magical bargain. This time it was from something much more powerful than any bargain magic.

It was from love.

His grin grew even more as he uttered the words that made that mark permanent on your heart—a bargain of another sort being struck between you and Eris.

“That is one bargain I will happily accept, dove.”

An insistent knocking at your door dragged you from a deep sleep.

You groaned, stirring, wondering in your half conscious state who could be at your door so early. At least it felt like it was early. You had no idea what time it was when Eris had left last night, but you’d stayed awake long after.

You’d half expected to feel changed, renewed, like you’d come into being now. At least that’s what it had sounded like from Elain’s experience when she’d been found out to have acted on her feelings for Graysen a month before you, she and Nesta were turned.

Especially since she had been all glowy and had nearly floated around with a secretive smile on her face for days—at least before Nesta had managed to wrangle the information from her.

You didn’t feel anything of the sort.

You didn’t regret it exactly, but you couldn’t help but feel sort of…at a loss. Perhaps your experience was just more similar to Nesta’s—who’d taken a random male to bed to lose her maidenhead. But that hadn’t bothered her in the slightest.

You’d come to the conclusion that you were wary because of the fact you had no idea what sort of favor Eris Vanserra would require from you. Or the fact you were still stuck with the bargain tattoo—that tiny little outline of a flame on your right wrist a stark reminder that one of these days Eris would come call in that bargain.

For a favor of any size.

You’d also tried to ignore the fact that you seemed to mourn his absence from the moment he’d winnowed away.

Of course you hadn’t expected any sort of cuddling or anything, but you still cringed at the way you’d acted afterwards. You’d given him a handshake for Cauldron’s sake. A grand thanks for the sex and fulfilling your end of the bargain sort of handshake.

You wanted to groan and bury your face into the pillow.

Which you did as you shifted, wincing at the deep ache that’d settled in between your legs overnight. You’d been slightly tender and a little sore last night, but hadn’t thought much of it, until you’d seen Eris eyeing you before he’d left.

“Expect some soreness tomorrow morning.”

He’d said it with a cocky upturn of his lips—enough to make you roll your eyes and most definitely call him a cocky bastard.

Well, he hadn’t been wrong.

The knocking came again—louder and more insistent—pulling you even further from your blissful sleep. A sleep you apparently desperately needed to rest your sore body. It was sore in places you didn’t even realize could be sore.

You sighed deeply as you threw your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, padding to the doorway. You ignored the halfhearted hope that it might be Eris back again because that was just foolish.

Who you saw on the other side was the last person you expected to see.

Elain stood on the other side, her face set in a hard expression, displeasure lining her normally soft features. You blinked, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes, partially wondering if you were dreaming this.

Eris may have left you a tad exhausted—perhaps this was just a dream brought on by an incredibly deep sleep.

It was so odd to see such a look on your sister’s face though. You’d seen Elain annoyed and frustrated before—had seen her display anger before—but it was always in a more quiet and passionate way. It also tended to be more on the firm yet cool headed side. You’d never seen her expression so stony.

Somehow, this seemed much worse.

“What are you wearing?”

You peered down, realizing you were in the gown you’d donned the night before—prior to Eris’s visit—and had thrown on again after his departure.

You’d also managed to avoid your sisters ever seeing you in the garments you’d bought for yourself—always making sure to dress or cover up with a dressing gown if there was a chance they’d show up at your door while you were still in your sleepwear. Somehow, with the Mother’s blessing, you’d managed to avoid their discovery of it.

Until now at least.

“You woke me up to ask that?” you grimaced.

The brief break from the hard look that you’d been met with on your sister’s typically beautiful and pleasant face, returned.

“Feyre wants to see you.”

“She couldn’t come to me?” you sighed, already annoyed.

“No.”

The reply was curt and very Elain-like.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you mumbled.

“At least I woke up clothed,” Elain retorted.

Oh, this was going to be a morning.

“Get changed into something presentable. She wants you in the study in five minutes.”

With that, Elain was gone, already heading down the hall before you could argue.

•••

It had taken you less than five minutes to quickly toss on a loose and billowy gossamer set that you’d likely once stolen from Feyre too. With its sheer sleeves that banded at the wrist and ankles, it was at least more presentable.

You’d likely nabbed the item in the first place because you’d simply liked the turquoise color of it.

You’d taken less time than you were allotted, not wanting to further worsen whatever situation you were walking into. Though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what Feyre would want to see you so early in the morning for.

You were not prepared for what you were met with when you stepped into Rhys’s study.

More like who you were met with.

Positioned across the room waiting for you were your sisters, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel.

Rhys sat at his desk, Feyre on the chair nearby. Spread out on the couch was Nesta, Cassian and Azriel. Only Elain remained standing, closest to where you’d entered the room. You scanned the space for the other brother that was missing from the group.

“Did Lucien not get an invite?” you mumbled.

It was amazing Mor and Amren hadn’t either.

“You should be grateful he’s not here,” Elain replied cooly.

Your gaze cut to her. Her arms were tightly crossed against her chest, her mouth a hard line of irritation. You didn’t bother to ask where he was. You didn’t think it would distract from whatever was in store for you, nor would it delay whatever was coming.

Before you could even open your mouth to question anything, Feyre spoke.

“Was Eris Vanserra here last night?”

You instantly froze and prayed to the Mother—or whichever ancient gods of the fae you didn’t have any sort of knowledge on—that your face gave away nothing.

“How would I know?” you asked cooly, “It’s not like he informs me of his whereabouts.”

“He was here to discuss the Autumn Court’s border patrol issues,” Rhys said casually.

“So…you pulled me out to bed to ask me something that you could’ve answered for yourself?” you asked, exasperated.

“It’s time to cut the bullshit,” Nesta snapped from where she sat, blue gray eyes absolutely blazing.

You blinked, startled at the unexpected outburst.

“Why was Eris in your bedroom in the middle of the night?” Feyre asked.

Her voice was so icy—deadly in a way you’d never thought you’d heard before. She was truly the High Lady of the Night Court in that moment.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” you hedged.

You tried hard to wrack your brain for how they might know. You didn’t think either of you had been that loud. Besides, your room was in a completely different wing—at least a good distance away from anyone else’s bedroom, regardless if they resided here or just stayed for a few days.

At least everyone but…

“Az said he heard voices coming from your room during the early hours of the morning. One he recognized as Eris’s,” Feyre said stiffly, “Amongst other…unpleasant things.”

Your head whipped to the Shadowsinger, fury and betrayal in your gaze.

Did no one in this court know how to mind their own business?

He met you with a steely, unapologetic look. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done, you knew it. He likely even thought reporting back to your sisters—to everyone was the wisest thing to do. Likely though he was just doing his part in keeping you safe.

The whole situation was almost comical.

Azriel was hardly ever here, always content to be on the go and take up residence wherever was the most convenient for him at the time. Last night just had to be the night he stayed at the River House?

You clenched your teeth, feeling cornered, feeling attacked. Six sets of eyes stared, waiting for an explanation.

Cauldron, maybe it was a good thing Lucien wasn’t here. You’d have wanted to have this conversation even less with his brother present.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Nesta said, that fury still trained on you.

You weren’t sure which you bristled further at—her tone or the glare she was sending your way.

“Nes,” Cassian urged, “Let her talk before you get angry.”

Nesta barely relaxed at his words though, still keeping her attention wholly on you. Clearly still furious.

“I just want to know why Eris Vanserra was taking advantage of my little sister,” Feyre said, calmly.

You felt anything but calm.

“I think you lot are blowing this way out of proportion. I don’t know what you think happened but—”

“For fucks sake his scent is all over you!” Nesta exclaimed.

You had no idea what she meant.

Your mind was spiraling, you felt like you were grasping at what little control you’d barely managed to hold on to. Now it was slipping through your fingers no matter how much you’d tried to lunge for it.

“If he hurt you, or forced himself on you in any way—” Rhys started.

You guffawed.

“Of course that’s the first conclusion you’d jump to!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“Then please enlighten us as to why you were in such a compromising position with him,” Feyre followed up sternly.

“Why does it matter?”

You looked at Elain for help—the sister who was always the most levelheaded. But you were met with the same steely look she’d possessed at your bedroom door only minutes earlier.

Your eyes panned to Cassian, to Azriel, in hopes that someone would take mercy on you. Jump in and save you from this interrogation.

Even Rhys had little to say as your sisters kept hounding you. All you were met with was an array of stern and angry faces.

At this rate you truly didn’t know who they were more upset with—you or Eris. It wasn’t likely to get any better when you told them the truth, either.

“Answer me!” you exclaimed, “Why does this matter?”

“Because we want to know what business he had fucking our baby sister!” Nesta roared.

You actually flinched. Not only at her anger but at the words.

You felt like you were suffocating. Drowning.

Did they not realize this was exactly why you’d done what you had?

“I don’t see why this is such a big deal. You’re acting like I stole hundreds of gold marks from the court!”

“Did he hurt you.”

It was Azriel who spoke. The threatening low timbre of his voice promised nothing but violence and it sent a chill down your spine. There was a reason he terrified many.

You turned to him, spine rigid with anger and indignation.

“No!”

“You have never laid with a male,” Elain finally said, softer than you’d anticipated, though the fierceness remained in her voice, her expression, “And you expect us to believe that he didn’t harm you?”

Your cheeks heated, embarrassment and fury warring within you. Embarrassment at the private details of your life being so exposed in front of all of them. You’d thought if anyone would’ve respected your privacy, it would’ve been Elain.

Fury because they truly expected the worst from Eris. Truly thought he’d forced himself on you, forced you to do something you hadn’t wanted—hadn’t asked for.

You were about to open your mouth—perhaps to explain or deny, you supposed you’d never know—because it was Cassian that noticed the one thing that turned the situation from bad to worse.

“What. Is. That.”

It took you a moment to realize where the Illyrian’s gaze was leveled. It wasn’t until you looked down that you realized—discovering the cuffed wrist of your right sleeve had shifted upwards just enough to reveal the one secret you’d hoped none of them would discover.

You tried to tug the sleeve down, prepared to hide your wrist against your body, but Feyre—who’d hopped out of her chair faster than you could process—grabbed your arm, holding it so all of them could see.

“Why do you have a bargain tattoo?” Rhys asked—likely a lot more calmly than he felt from the way you could see the darkness deepening behind him.

Or the way the stars winked out in his violet eyes.

You swore the air in the room grew thick with tension. You saw how Azriel’s own shadows swarmed, looking ready to strike. Cassian and Nesta were ramrod straight. Elain had visibly paled at the sight of the ink at your arm.

The silence was deafening. Not even a rustle of Illyrian wings was heard.

“What did you do?” Feyre asked, horrified.

You finally yanked your hand away from her grasp, pulling the sleeve down to cover the tattoo.

You’d had enough.

So you looked at them all without balking, finally admitting the truth.

“I made a bargain with Eris.”

They stared at you with varying expressions of horror. You didn’t let it deter you from continuing. You figured you might as well expose it all because you knew when it all came out, there would be a storm of rage.

From all three Archeron sisters, the three Illyrians and likely Lucien—whenever he returned.

“I made a bargain with Eris that if he took my maidenhead, I would owe him one favor. Of any size.”

It was Elain that gasped.

Your eyes slid to the second eldest Archeron, noticing how she seemed to have grown even paler.

None of them appeared to know what to say. They were absolutely stunned. But it was Nesta who spoke first, the rage still in her tone, but quieter, deadlier, colder.

“Have you lost your ever loving mind?”

The rest were still gaping at you, as if trying to process what you’d revealed.

“Why would you ask Eris Vanserra of all people for something like that?” Feyre asked, sounding just as horrified as she looked.

They didn’t give you a chance to answer though.

“You have no idea what he could do with the knowledge of that. What he could ask of you!” she continued.

You’d realized that. But it hadn’t stopped you from making the bargain. You turned to Elain, not even bothering to ask, as it came out more like a blunt statement.

“Where is Lucien.”

“Busy,” Elain said, lifting her chin the slightest, “Verifying Eris’s side of the story.”

“What—you thought I’d lie?”

“We only want the truth,” she said, eyes flashing.

“I just told you it!”

You shifted on your feet, grimacing at the sharp pain.

Their eyes caught it immediately.

“I knew that bastard hurt you—you’re clearly in pain!” Feyre motioned to you.

“Yes, Feyre, because when you stick a cock in a place it’s never been before, it has a tendency to hurt!” you barked back.

You didn’t know whether they looked more stunned or furious at your crude language but you had stopped caring long ago.

“How foolish could you be?” Nesta snapped, “You’re not on any sort of tonic—do you know what sort of mess you’d find yourself in if you fell pregnant?”

You said nothing. You hadn’t considered that and while she had a right to point out your oversight, it still didn’t completely validate the way they were treating you.

“That alone is a precarious situation,” Rhys finally spoke for the first time in a few long minutes, all three males having remained quiet, “He could take you to Beron. Use you—or any potential child—as a bargaining chip. You, alone, could be nothing but a pawn in his twisted schemes.”

You turned blazing eyes to Cassian and Azriel.

“Are you really going to let them treat me like this?”

Their faces were as stony as your sisters’. You knew it was a lost cause. Rhys and Cassian wouldn’t go against their mates, Cassian and Azriel wouldn’t go against their High Lord and Lady.

“We’re trying to protect you,” Azriel said, softer than his face portrayed.

“You’re treating me like a child! I don’t understand why you think I’m too weak to handle my own life!”

This had spun so out of control that you no longer had a leash on your anger, your hysteria.

“Because you go and do stupid shit like making a bargain with Eris and fucking him!” Feyre erupted.

You felt it then—the tell tale burning behind your eyes. You couldn’t stop it nor ignore the sensation, the shame and hurt hitting you so deeply.

“What does he want from you?” Elain asked.

The firmness remained in her tone, but it was as urgent as everyone else’s. You couldn’t believe they were still assuming the worst about him. The Eris that had been with you last night was nothing like the male you’d been warned about time and time again.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice breaking, “He only said he’d call in his favor when the time was right. That’s all he said.”

Nesta just scoffed, folding her arms.

The shame burned even hotter in you.

Tears finally started streaming down your face—in anger, in frustration, in humiliation. The way your own blood was humiliating you in front of the rest of your friends.

It was as if they were taking something you’d chosen for yourself and turned it dirty, ugly. Shaming you for it.

You couldn’t stand to look at the anger, the disappointment and even worse, the concern on their faces. You couldn’t take the fact that you were being scolded as if you were still the child who’d once stolen cookies from the cookie jar—at least back when your family had food and money.

You wanted to defend Eris—everything in you made you want to. Maybe you were as foolish as they all thought you to be, but you couldn’t understand how they managed to be around him, deal with him all the time and still think so horribly of him. That combined with the male that was in your bed last night…none of it added up to be the same male they claimed him to be.

All you could remember was the ache and stretch of your body around his cock, the whispered praises, the uncharacteristic gentleness. The way he treated the entire situation with care and respect—with reverance.

You pulled your train of thought away from such subjects, unable to bear the thoughts of a night that had meant so much to you. Simply because it was something you’d done for yourself—but now it was being ridiculed and shamed.

“If I find out in any way that he assaulted you—”

Through your tears, you snapped, cutting off Cassian’s protective growl.

“Did you all ever stop to think that maybe I chose to do this because Eris saw me more than anyone in this room has?”

They all seemed to collectively blink.

“You’re upset,” Elain said, trying to reach for your arm, “You’ve been through a lot.”

You jerked out of her reach, chest still heaving from your emotions.

“We’re going to find a way to free you of this bargain,” Rhys said, sitting back in his chair, as if it was collectively decided for you.

“And what if I don’t want you to?” you rasped.

“It would be in your best interest to never owe Eris any favors,” Feyre said, mouth a hard line.

You just gaped, unable to believe that they still didn’t get it. That you’d screamed and shouted—mirroring the way your very soul seemed to be withering and dying from the constant battle of this treatment.

And still, none of it had gotten through to them.

Which made what was said next even worse—like it was a final nail in your coffin.

“Until this mess is figured out, you’re to stay here at the River House for your own safety. If you wish to go somewhere, Nuala and Cerridwen are to accompany you as you’ll be under their watch and care,” Feyre said with such finality it made your stomach drop.

“You can’t be serious,” you breathed, panic setting in even more.

“Oh, we are,” Nesta said stiffly, “At least it will keep you out of further trouble.”

A prisoner. You were to be a prisoner here.

Words left you. You had nothing more to say, you didn’t think you could find words to say. Icy dread filled you, quickly followed with an ever colder sense of numbness that soon spread throughout your entire body.

With those words—their demand of you—all hope died out of you. The damning truth repeating itself on a loop in your head. This was truly what the rest of your immortal life was going to be like.

And you were never going to escape.

•••

ERIS

The golden complected male—with hair in similar length and hue to his own—paced in an agitated line in front of Eris.

Eris, meanwhile, sat cool, calm and collected in his chair in the study, watching his youngest brother pace back and forth. His legs were crossed, an ankle bent over a knee, fingers laced over his stomach as he watched Lucien.

Of course, Eris’s unbothered demeanor didn’t spare him from the lecture he was currently getting.

“Do you realize what you have done?” Lucien finally asked, halting, facing him.

Eris decided now was not the time to be charming and return the question with a sassy remark. Lucien seemed in no mood to play games anyway. He’d never recalled seeing his brother so out of sorts.

“She approached me. What was I supposed to do—say no?”

Lucien threw up his hands, exasperated.

“A good male would’ve!”

Eris just tilted his head, hair falling over a shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, a sly smile forming on his lips.

“You fool yourself, brother, if you think I am a good male.”

Lucien’s hands fell to his hips, his gaze hard on him.

“You’re also a lot better than you give yourself credit for.”

Perhaps it was true. Though he and Lucien still didn’t always see eye to eye, Lucien was about the only person he’d ever let see enough of him to make any sort of judgements.

That was, until her.

The sheltered, innocent little dove of the youngest Archeron sister.

She’d surprised him though. She may have been naive, but she had fire to her. One that had piqued his curiosity—most definitely after she’d approached him with the bargain.

Eris’s eyes dipped to his covered right wrist. Beneath the sleeve was the identical outline of a flame—the perfect match to the tattoo on her own right wrist.

No one had ever trusted him with something so sacred. At least in the way she’d entrusted him, asked him for help, albeit in the scheming way he’d typically dealt with courtly matters.

Which was why he’d entertained her initially in that first conversation. He wasn’t quite sure what possessed him to agree to it—other than he’d have been foolish to let such a perfect opportunity go to waste.

Even if that made him sound like a lech.

But then last night had occurred.

No one had ever chosen him so shamelessly, so confidently.

Morrigan had fought against a betrothal to him so many centuries ago.

Nesta Archeron had rejected his marriage bid.

Then there was her youngest sister, the one who’d touched him like no one ever had before—in more ways than one.

It was the one thing that had haunted him constantly from the moment he’d left her last night. That gentle and caring touch on him. A kind he’d never truly experienced in such capacity.

He could still feel the ghost of her touch over his face as fingertips traced the freckles there—hear her quiet, awed declaration.

“Your freckles are pretty.”

It was baffling how one simple entanglement had him so twisted in knots. Typically, he preferred it a bit rougher, quicker, hotter and this had been the absolute opposite.

Yet this one encounter had stuck with him more than dozens of others.

“I assume you were sent here with orders,” Eris halfway sneered.

He could only imagine what the Illyrians—or worse, the Archerons—had ordered Lucien to do. He still had no idea how they’d discovered what had occurred.

“They sent me to talk to you to get your side of the story. Clearly none of them trusted anyone but me not to kill you right now.”

“I’m flattered that familial ties have outweighed the temptation for violence,” Eris drawled lazily, “But just because you let those Illyrian brutes rule your life doesn’t mean they get a say in mine.”

Lucien—usually levelheaded, having learned to control his temper long ago—absolutely exploded.

“She’s their baby sister!”

“So?” Eris shrugged casually, “You were sneaking off to see Elain when you weren’t allowed to be near her.”

Lucien’s brows narrowed.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Eris cocked a brow.

“Yes, she’s my mate! Besides, I wasn’t going around being inappropriate with her.”

Eris’s eyes hardened at the insinuation.

“Something that happened between two consenting parties is no one else’s business.

Lucien just huffed a disbelieving laugh, running a hand down his face.

“For Cauldron’s sake, Eris, between her sisters, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel alone, you’d think you’d be sensible enough to know that fucking her was a monumentally horrible idea.”

His anger sparked further.

“She didn’t ask for that sort of intense protection, you know—and the last I checked? She’s capable of making decisions for herself.”

“Clearly you underestimate them,” Lucien said, pacing again, “They were seconds away from waging war on you. I left before they dragged her out of bed.”

“How did they even discover I was there?”

Lucien stopped again, a pointed glare at him, like even he was angry at him, as well.

“Apparently Azriel heard some incriminating sounds coming from her bedroom in the middle of the night—your voice being one of them. He told everyone before sunrise.”

Eris winced. He could only imagine what was happening back in Velaris.

“So they know about the bargain too, I take it?”

It had been the wrong thing to say.

Lucien went preternaturally still and Eris mentally cursed himself. Lucien spoke so slowly, Eris knew he wasn’t going to slither his way out of this one.

“What bargain?”

Eris groaned, dropping his leg and finally standing. He was going to need a drink for this.

He walked to the cabinet where a crystal decanter of something old, amber colored and likely strong sat. He poured himself probably more than a couple of fingers worth—like he wisely should’ve done—and took a sip.

“Eris,” Lucien emphasized, “Answer the question.”

Eris finally turned, pulling up his sleeve enough to show the tattoo to Lucien. One russet eye and one golden mechanical eye dropped to Eris’s wrist.

“You made a bargain with her,” Lucien said slowly, not exactly a question.

“If I aided her by being the first male she took to bed, she’d owe me a favor,” Eris explained blandly.

He swore he watched his brother’s face pale before his eyes. Well, clearly, they hadn’t known that part and neither had Lucien.

“Mother spare you, this is so much worse than I anticipated,” Lucien groaned, dropping into the chair Eris had just vacated, “I don’t know if they knew of that, but that explains their plan.”

Eris took another sip of his drink, letting it burn all the way down his throat and warm his chest.

“Plan?”

“If I’ve been informed correctly by Elain, they’re telling her now that for the foreseeable future she’s to remain at the River House under the guardianship of Nuala and Cerridwen—for her own safety, apparently.”

Eris’s grip on the glass tightened and he sat it down hard, the sound of the glass hitting the wooden table loud in the space. Lucien winced in response.

“And you let them do that?”

“I don’t exactly get much of a say. She’s not my family.”

“She’s your mate’s sister.”

“So is Feyre and Nesta. I don’t have a say in their lives,” came Lucien’s rebuttal.

“Well that’s just the issue isn’t it? Feyre, Nesta and Elain gets a say in their own lives. Does she?”

Lucien seemed to have nothing to say.

“So that’s their solution? Just lock her up and continue to smother her?”

He could feel the anger burning within him, finally understanding the true motivation for why she’d made the bargain with him. Things like this were her everyday occurrences with her family.

“She’s not a child.”

His jaw clenched as he glared at Lucien. Lucien didn’t flinch from the anger though.

“You don’t get a say in that, Eris.”

Eris’s back was stiff as turned to pick up his drink again. His jaw clenched as he tried to rein in the anger he felt for her, the unfairness of how she was currently being treated.

He didn’t know how or why she’d gotten under his skin, how one simple night had resonated so much with him—didn’t know why he couldn’t seem to shake her. He feared he wasn’t going to any time soon, either.

He let the anger dissolve from his face, a cool indifference replacing the expression, controlling himself once again, even if he still remained tense.

“Perhaps not. But they fail to realize there’s just one tiny thing they cannot control, no matter how hard they try to,” Eris smirked.

Lucien looked hesitant, as if he were afraid to ask just what he meant.

“Which is what?”

Eris’s smirk morphed into a wicked grin.

“A bargain that I have yet to call in.”

•••

Quiet became your everyday life.

Not even a normal quiet. But absolute silence. An absolute absence of any sound or noise whatsoever.

If Feyre, Nesta or Elain had expected you to thrash against their orders, to fight, to throw a fit, then they were likely shocked when you did none of that.

No, you hadn’t done any of that. Instead, you’d completely shut down. Something had broken in you that morning. Something crucial, apparently.

You’d never felt more devastated and defeated before in your entire life. Even your anger from that morning had vanished—you didn’t have room to feel even that in the hollow cavity of your chest.

Instead, you moved around the River House like a ghost, as if you were no more than a wisp of shadow like the half-wraith twins.

You avoided meals with the others—you hardly did anything considering you didn’t even bother leaving your room, let alone your bed, most of the time. You barely ate either.

Nuala and Cerridwen had to force you out of bed on most days, but you never did much more than that. Most days, you didn’t bother even changing out of your sleepwear.

It wasn’t the nightgowns you’d bought yourself that you wore either. No, it was the more modest ones that Elain and sometimes Nesta wore. It felt like even that small choice had been ripped from you, too.

You didn’t even feel like yourself anymore—didn’t even know who you were.

There were many days you wondered how they managed to pass in a blur considering you did nothing but stare at the same four walls. Sometimes, you sat on the windowsill of your room—in the dark, with the curtains drawn.

You struggled greatly with thoughts that were too loud in those long, dark days.

How was it fair that your sisters got the happy life that worked out perfectly while you were forced to live a life you hadn’t wanted?

And you didn’t just mean becoming fae—though you’d made peace enough with that. But with the life your sisters clearly intended you to lead.

Even worse was how much you seemed to miss Eris. Which was ridiculous because you were sure he wasn’t even sparing you a second thought.

But he’d seen you. More than anyone had ever bothered to.

You had too much time to think in the silent darkness you’d submerged yourself in. You thought too much about that night.

Eris didn’t have to be respectful or make sure you were okay. He didn’t even have to agree to do it in the first place.

But he had.

Even if it hadn’t been as remarkable as you’d once been under the impression of, you still had images flash behind your closed eyes. Images of what he’d looked like between your legs, ripping the utmost amount of pleasure you’d ever felt from you.

The way he’d looked as he moved over you, his pale features that were normally cold and stony, filled with such bliss and warmth. You could remember nothing else but the way his cock had felt in your hand, inside of you, the way his lips had traced your skin, his hands following.

Maybe you had grown an unhealthy attachment to him for what he’d done for you. But it had been a short amount of time where you’d been happy, had been relaxed and almost carefree. You yearned for that again.

And unfortunately, for Eris, too.

When your cycle arrived, you were disappointed. A crazy, irrational part of you had almost half hoped you were pregnant. Maybe then your sisters would disown you or the Night Court would exile you.

Maybe Eris would’ve taken you away from here if there had been a child involved.

Which was foolish, you knew it.

At least a week of physical pain so excruciating —so much so that Madja had to be called in to give you sleeping tonics—passed at least a handful of your monotonous days.

You soon found sleep to be a blissful release from your misery.

When you weren’t asleep, sometimes Nesta, Feyre or Elain came to sit with you. You never uttered a word to them though.

Feyre opened the curtains one day and sat with you, working on a sketch. You sat silently, staring out the window at the rainy day.

You didn’t mention how you’d overheard Rhys and Feyre talking the day prior.

“There’s absolutely no way we can break this bargain is there?”

Feyre had been whispering to Rhys when he’d stopped by to check on you as well—during the time Feyre had come to sit with you. You’d laid facing the wall, away from them, curled up in a ball. You supposed they thought you were asleep—it was something you’d started doing more of, anyways.

“No. I should’ve known better before I started searching. Nothing could break ours, remember?”

“Nothing in Helion’s libraries?”

You’d heard the desperate edge in your sister’s voice. The sister that had always taken care of you—the one only a year older than you and still had managed to become a High Lady—the first High Lady in a very long time. Yet you weren’t seen as capable of anything more than being rescued from trouble by them.

“The only way to break a bargain is by fulfilling it.”

Rhys had sighed, sounding just as lost as your sister had. Your jaw had only clenched though.

You’d been glad they couldn’t find anything. Whatever Eris wanted from you couldn’t be any more horrible than this.

Now, you sat, staring at rain drops gliding down the window pane as Feyre sketched something across from you. Your eyes followed the path of the droplets rolling down the glass, wondering if the rain was half made up of all the tears you no longer had left to cry.

You didn’t make a sound the entire time Feyre was there.

Sometimes Nesta would come in and curl up on the window sill or in a nearby chair and read her latest book, always keeping an eye on her youngest sister. Half the time you didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence.

Even if you were too numb to feel it, you were still angry at them for doing this to you. No amount of sitting with you—in whatever support they thought they could offer—would change that.

Elain often came to visit with tea or something sweet she or Nuala and Cerridwen had baked. She was the one that tried to make conversation with you the most out of them all.

Possibly because she remembered when it was once her this withdrawn and lifeless, so long ago.

One afternoon—when you’d much rather have been curled up in bed in blissful sleep—Elain sat with you by the window, two chairs next to one another. You sat with the long cotton nightgown pulled over your legs, knees hugged to your chest. Your hair was unbound, likely a mess because it’d been a few days since you’d bothered to let Nuala or Cerridwen brush it.

“Why don’t you come down to the sitting room? Have some tea? It will do you good to get out of your room.”

You met her with silence.

“Or maybe even the library? Nesta says she has a pile of books that Gwyn and Emerie have left that you might enjoy. Romance and mysteries included.”

Gwyn and Emerie—Nesta’s friends. The ones that Nesta began training with long ago—the ones that had become the first Valkyries in centuries.

“Vassa and Jurian send their well wishes.”

You hadn’t even realized Elain had been gone from Velaris, though there would be days at a time she wouldn’t drop in to visit you. You supposed that explained her absence some days.

But all of this was just another painful reminder that your sisters had found their own paths while you were stagnant in coming into your own. Had been kept from even being able to.

It only made your frustration and helplessness grow more. Your thoughts—as they always seemed to do here lately—wandered to Eris.

You often wondered what he was doing nowadays. If he even bothered to remember you or if you were just another night to him, another female.

If Eris had been in the Night Court at any time over these last few weeks, you weren’t privy to that information. All in the name of keeping you safe from him.

But every time your eyes fell to the tattoo still clearly on your wrist, you remembered him. The woodsy Autumn scent like a crackling fire mixed with warm spices. The soft and gentle murmurs that had been unlike anything you’d expected from the male. Even the infuriating way the corner of his mouth could quirk up in arrogance—in such a way that made you want to kiss him.

It did no good to dwell on such things, but unfortunately for you, with so much time to think, he plagued your thoughts.

It was what Elain said that broke you from your reverie.

“Feyre said something recently. That once this…situation is resolved that perhaps we could find something for you to do. That you would enjoy. Some way to…help.”

Your eyes had slid to her face, but you said nothing, making a noncommittal noise. You’d heard variations of that sentiment before, but nothing had ever come to fruition. You didn’t know why you expected anything different this time.

Even if you’d heard your sisters’ whispers days ago.

“I’ve never seen her like this.”

That had been Feyre, the concern lacing her tone so much it made you want to cry.

“It’s like all the life has drained from her.”

Elain, sounding just as concerned and sweet.

“And the light has died in her.”

Nesta had made the final comment, almost devoid of emotion. But if you’d known any better, you swore you heard the concern masked even in her voice.

They’d not been wrong. You’d given up, surrounded in nothing but hopelessness and misery. You were a shell of what you’d once been.

You loved your sisters—but you didn’t love the way they’d be treating you or this situation they’d forced you into.

Which is perhaps why what was soon to come took everyone by shock.

Including you.

•••

It could’ve had to do with the fact you knew you couldn’t stay in your room any longer, but one day—despite feeling as heavy as you always did—you got out of bed and let Nuala and Cerridwen fuss over you.

You’d taken a long soak in the bathtub, playing with the bubbles of the aromatic soak they’d poured into the warm water. It didn’t fix things completely, but it’d lifted your mood a tad.

When your fingers were nearly pruned from the time spent submerged in water, you got out, drying yourself. Nuala had found another pair of the loungewear that Feyre had once worn in the Night Court in her first visits to it—back before you and your two remaining sisters had ever stepped foot into Prythian.

This was a dusty lavender shade, the gossamer just as loose and flowy as the set you’d worn on the morning you were met with six stern faces in the study. This, too, came with the long sheer sleeves that banded at the wrist. The loose and billowy pants were just as comfortable, banded together at the ankle. There was enough of gap between the bottom of the shirt and the waistband of the pants that a sliver of your stomach showed.

Looking in the mirror while Cerridwen brushed your hair, you realized you were thinner than you remembered.

“It’s lovely to see you in better spirits, miss. It’s been a while,” Cerridwen said softly, fussing over your loose hair.

You realized you’d lost all track of time. Had no idea how much time had passed since your confrontation with everyone.

“Thank you.”

When they’d finished, you sauntered off to the library, finally interested in some of those books that had been left for you, hoping they were still there.

Mercifully, they were. You weren’t sure how long you’d been curled up reading one of the books left when you heard the door open and a gasp.

You looked up and saw Nesta and Elain standing in the doorway, looking shocked.

“You left your room,” Nesta blinked, as if unable to believe her own eyes.

“Everyone will be so happy to see you!”

Elain flew to you and threw her arms around you. She pulled back before you could even digest the action. Her hands held your face as she looked you over, as if she, too, couldn’t believe you were actually right in front of her.

“I figured I might as well do something.”

Your voice was still raspy from disuse, but it was the truth. If this was to be your life for whoever knew how long, you couldn’t stay holed up in your room. Especially not with thoughts of a fiery heir haunting your mind.

“Can we get you anything? Tea? Something to eat? We should tell Feyre!”

Elain was already scrambling, but you grabbed her arm.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, “I just want to read.”

She was already nodding, looking over at Nesta before speaking again.

“We can stay with you if you’d like?”

“Okay.”

That was all you gave them as you turned back to your book.

You didn't want them to think this was you forgiving them—it wasn’t.

You paid little attention to them as they settled, clearly keeping worried eyes on you. But at least it was better than the days you had been living here lately.

The three of you had long settled into some sort of slightly amiable silence—you a good few chapters into the book—when commotion and raised voices rose from the other room. Elain and Nesta were instantly on their feet, rushing to the door to see what was going on.

Your head turned toward the doorway, confusion bunching your brows—especially when you heard Rhys’s deep voice resounding from down the hallway.

“Stay here,” Nesta ordered, quickly leaving, rushing down the hall.

Elain followed.

You didn’t spare a second listening to Nesta’s instruction, instantly tossing your book to the side, scurrying after them. Thankfully, they’d already made it to the source of the commotion so they had no idea you’d followed.

If they wanted to find you a place in this family—this court—they’d have to let you witness some things, eventually.

You slowed your pace, unsure what you’d be walking in on—and you weren’t sure if you’d be easily spotted and sent away as per usual.

The closer you got, the more you heard bits and pieces of conversation. None of it made any sense.

“I don’t care what you say—”

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m letting my sister—”

The first two statements came from Nesta and Feyre, respectively.

“You don’t just get to appear in my court and make demands.”

You could feel the dark rumble of Rhys’s power almost instantly—before your mind could comprehend his words.

Then a voice came that you would’ve recognized anywhere. Slick, smooth, deep. Courtly with more than a hint of arrogance.

More likely than not to be laced with an edge of amusement, at times.

Eris.

“I do when I have every right to call in on the bargain I made.”

You finally peered into the room to see everyone flanking Eris—as if trying to provide a barricade between you and the male.

Four males, three sisters.

Everyone else’s back was to the door but Eris stood facing them, arms casually crossed, not looking the least bit worried.

He looked the exact same as he always did—as he did when you last saw him, albeit more clothed. Still unruffled, still as handsome as ever.

Something like relief swept through you at the sight of him, as bizarre as that was.

“What do you want.”

Rhys said the words through clenched teeth and a barely suppressed snarl. He didn’t have to be facing you for you to know he was likely trying to rein in his anger even more than he already was.

But Eris didn’t bother answering the High Lord of Night—for those all knowing amber eyes flicked behind the group that surrounded him. He seemed to straighten just the slightest, an arrogant smirk tilting his lips towards.

“Ah—there’s my dove.”

Seven faces—not including Eris’s—turned to you, definitely not expecting to see you standing there.

It was almost impressive how they all managed to whirl in one simultaneously smooth movement to face you.

“I told you to stay in the library,” Nesta hissed.

You knew whatever was going on had to be serious when you could see a hint of the silver fire in your sister’s normally blue gray eyes.

“We can take care of this,” Feyre assured you.

But you weren’t listening to them. You were frozen in the doorway, staring at the heir to Autumn.

Somehow, he felt like a lifeline. Your only chance to escape this situation you’d found yourself in.

Save me, you wanted to scream.

They were saying something to you—likely telling you to go back to the library or elsewhere. Again, you ignored them, your eyes locked on the pale face, the amber eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

You spoke to him and only him. His arms fell apart, hanging leisurely at his sides as he eyed you with that searing gaze.

“I came to call in my favor.”

Your breath hitched.

What would he ask of you?

Why didn’t it concern you more?

Probably because you’d do just about anything to escape this hell you’d been shoved into.

“Eris,” came Rhys’s growl.

Eris finally broke his gaze away from you, turning his head to the High Lord. You kept staring at him, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his red hair seemed to shine even under the faelights of the sitting room. It fell over his shoulders so perfectly, it looked like he’d never had to consider it being anything but immaculately in place.

Except for one night when it hadn’t been—when it had been tousled and in disarray.

You’d been in such a state of despair lately, there were days you’d almost convinced yourself that everything that had happened with him had been nothing but a vivid dream. Something that hadn’t actually happened.

But it had and he was back, ready to ask for whatever favor he had in mind to fulfill the bargain.

“What is it you want?” Feyre asked, none too kindly.

His eyes slid back to you and your pulse raced in anticipation of whatever may be to come. His eyes dipped to your neck—to your pulse point—likely picking up on it.

“She’s to come with me to Autumn.”

“Absolutely not—”

“No way in hell—”

“You cannot do that.”

“Over my dead fucking body!”

“You make a move towards her, I’ll have this dagger in your gut before you can blink.”

Feyre. Nesta. Elain. Cassian, then finally Azriel.

All of their remarks overlapped, blending, contributing to the chaos that had erupted the moment Eris had uttered his wish. His favor.

Eris didn't look the least bit ruffled nor concerned with their outbursts and threats. In fact he looked amused, a brow twitching upwards as he took them in and then looked back at you.

“You’ve got quite the enthusiastic family, dove,” he mused.

“Eris, please don’t make this worse than it already is,” Lucien warned, golden eye whirring, as if it too picked up on the extreme levels of tension in this room.

You still hadn’t quite processed what he’d said.

“She is not going anywhere with you,” Nesta snarled, “And especially not to that godsforsaken court!”

Eris just looked at your eldest sister coolly.

“I do believe it’s out of your control, Nesta Archeron.”

You swore your sister actually bared her teeth at the male.

You had no idea when she’d moved, but Elain was suddenly standing in front of you, keeping you behind her like a mother protecting her young.

“You cannot just kidnap her from this court,” Rhys growled.

You were half amazed that Eris didn’t balk at the fury that was coming from Rhys. The rumble of his dark power was enough to make you want to shrink away.

“I am doing no such thing, Rhysand. The bargain calls for me to call in my favor—thus I am. Besides I have no interest in taking her forever.”

Cassian snorted. Lucien just monitored the entire situation carefully.

“You think that makes it any better?” Cassian sneered, “You’re still taking her against her will.”

“I’ll go,” you finally spoke up from behind Elain.

Everyone had seemed to forget you were even present—everyone other than Eris that was. It was Elain who looked to you first, whipping around so fast her long golden brown hair nearly hit you.

“Honey, no. You don’t know what you’re saying,” she cooed, taking your hand, “Come on, we can go back to the library, okay?”

You ignored her and looked to Rhys, your brother. That’s technically what he was to you. You willed him to see how miserable you were, that you would do anything, even this.

“There is truly no other way to break this bargain?” you asked clearly, firmly.

Rhys’s features were grim, mouth tight in a straight line.

“There is not,” he confirmed.

“Then I will go to the Autumn Court.”

“No,” came from all three Archeron sisters.

Your anger flared—bright and ferocious—for the first time in weeks. All the anger that seemed to have drained from you due to being so numb seemed to flood back into your body, as if truly remembering its purpose.

“This is my mess, is it not? You lot clearly thought it was weeks ago. Do you trust me so little that you won’t even allow me to fix my own messes?!”

Your voice rose with each and every word until you’d reached near shouting by the end. You could’ve swore you saw them all flinch.

All except Eris, who was watching you with an expression you couldn’t read.

“You’re angry, I understand,” Elain tried to placate you, squeezing your hand.

“No, you don’t!” you snapped, yanking your hand free, “Or else we wouldn’t keep having this conversation!”

“I refuse to let you leave with a male who corrupted you,” Nesta spat.

Fury burned hotter in your body.

“He has done no such thing.”

“Clearly he’s nothing but a bad influence because you’ve never exhibited such behavior until you tangled with him—quite literally!” Feyre broke in, gesturing wildly to the male who had still yet to say anything.

You turned back to him, addressing him alone.

“I’m sure this is tame compared to the things they’ve dreamed up you could ask for,” you huffed.

It looked like it took all his willpower to keep from reacting to your statement, but you still saw the way the lips twitched.

“Indeed.”

“Make no mistake in thinking we trust you with her,” Rhys snarled.

“I do believe you’ve made that rather obvious, Rhysand,” Eris drawled lazily.

“You truly expect us to just let you take her and think we’ll be okay with it?!” Nesta glared.

“I told you I will not keep her forever. It is but a mere visit. You can trust my word when I say I will bring her home safe and sound,” Eris uttered, matter-of-factly.

They all look ready to argue. Even Lucien, who wisely had kept his mouth shut. Somehow, besides Eris, he’d become your best ally in this situation.

Before they could argue further, you butted in.

“You either want me free of this bargain or you don’t. Unless you plan to wait around until Eris can think of something else you all will deem just as horrible, I will go willingly.”

They all seemed to hesitate—to realize there was truth in your words. And no way out of this but to give Eris what he’d requested.

“For how long?” Feyre pressed.

Eris finally pushed past the throng surrounding him, approaching you.

“That is for me to know. What fun would it be if I gave away all the answers?”

You inwardly groaned, knowing his non-answer would do nothing but irritate them further.

Elain was still at your side and both you and she watched him approach. But he surprised you when he dipped his head in your sister’s direction in greeting and respect.

“Lady Elain.”

Then he extended his hand to you.

“Shall we, dove?”

You peered around at the sea of faces—the varying expressions of barely concealed anger, concern and wariness.

Without a word, you put your hand in his.

Then, you and Eris disappeared into darkness.

•••

You hardly saw Eris that first day.

The moment your hand had touched his, he’d winnowed the both of you away and straight to the Autumn Court.

Straight to his bedroom too, it appeared.

It was a grand room, made of stone—which came as no surprise since you’d once heard Lucien say that the Forest House was quite literally built into rock. What one would normally find cold and detached was made warmer by personal touches made by the heir.

There was a large wall of windows that held heavy drapes of the deepest maroon—likely made of some of the finest material available. When they were pulled back, you could see a breathtaking view of miles and miles of Autumn Court trees, rich jewel toned leaves creating a sea of autumnal colors.

Intricately woven tapestries hung on one wall of the room. A desk sat underneath it, papers strewn on it. Not entirely a chaos of a mess, but not tidy either. Almost like an organized disarray.

Tall wooden bookshelves took up a lot of the space—as if there wasn’t a library in the manor and Eris had to store all of his books in here. Though you were sure there was still a separate library in addition to his own personal collection.

Rows upon rows of leather spines greeted you and you spent time walking past, brushing your fingers over them, just to feel them under your touch.

There was also a fireplace, a couple of chairs in front of it—likely where he preferred to read. A plush rug was placed right in front of the fire on the floor, making for a surprisingly cozy atmosphere in this little corner of the room.

The room was enormous, but his bed was just as impressive. It looked nearly the size of the ones back in the Night Court that were designed to fit Illyrian wings.

The male could’ve fit half a dozen females in his bed at once if he so pleased and still have plenty of room.

You’d scowled at yourself, unsure where that absurd thought had come from.

The entire room was made up of Autumn Court hues and it almost felt…homey.

Which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t practically dumped you here.

The moment the two of you landed in his room Eris peered at you—at what you were wearing—a snarky comment already on the tip of his tongue, of course.

“They couldn’t have put you in Autumn Court colors?” Eris asking, looking amused at your lavender set.

You scowled at him.

“If I had realized I was taking a trip to the other end of Prythian, I would’ve dressed more appropriately.”

Amusement tinged his face, his lips just barely tilting, but it was overshadowed by something else as he took you in.

“I haven’t seen you in six weeks and you look like shit.”

You’d peered down at yourself remembering how thin you’d looked in the mirror earlier that morning.

“You’ve always had a way with words, Eris,” you sighed.

But six weeks—had it really been that long? You’d had no idea.

His gaze only roamed over you in response, what looked like concern and something else in his gaze. But he’d said nothing more, only telling you to stay in his room until he returned.

Which had been all day, apparently.

You’d somehow managed to amuse yourself, finding some sort of mystery in his collection of books to read. Two meals appeared too—lunch and dinner—which at first you wanted to refuse in simple anger and defiance for just being left here.

But the spread had looked so good, you’d gobbled both trays, instantly. You had no idea how Eris had managed to arrange for you to be fed. You never saw anyone, just discovered the tray of food at the door to his chambers—the sitting room separate from his actual room.

It hadn’t stopped your anger from growing the entire day though. The fury at being brought here to only be trapped the same way you had been at home, this time just in a different court.

Which is exactly how it ended up that you blew up on him the moment he’d returned.

It was late, the sun long past set. You’d drawn all the drapes and sat near the fire, staring into the fire more than you were actually paying attention to the open book in your lap. You hadn’t seen a hint of Eris since late morning when he’d left you here—with no idea that he was going to be gone all day.

It was only when you heard the door in the next room open then softly click shut—followed by the thud of booted footfalls—that you straightened, jaw clenching, anger rising within you.

The door to the bedroom opened and there he was, looking as pristine as he did earlier in the day, albeit tired. As if he’d carried the day’s weight on him. That didn’t stop your anger from sparking as you shut the book with more force than necessary.

“Well. It’s about time you showed up,” you huffed.

He eyed you—the book in your lap—as he sat on the bed, bending to remove his boots.

“I take it you found ways to amuse yourself today then?”

You scoffed.

“No thanks to you. What is the point of this? Bringing me here to sit around uselessly and be bored? I could’ve had this treatment at home.”

You stood, crossing your arms.

He sat one boot to the side while he removed the other before standing, taking and setting them by the door in his stocking covered feet.

“I had a busy day,” was all he said, turning, fingers working the buttons of his jacket.

You were so preoccupied with the conversation, you barely noticed what he was doing.

“Which would’ve been really nice to know instead of being left in the dark,” you retorted.

Something in his eyes flashed.

“There are forces here you have no idea about—that I’m trying to protect you from.”

“Oh don’t you start that bullshit too,” you snapped, gaze blazing on him.

“There is a difference between protecting you from the entire world and protecting you from dangerously close threats in one’s own court.”

He was calm, but his stiff posture was evident of his own anger—especially in the way he roughly pulled off his jacket. Your eyes briefly fell to the pale muscled form that was revealed to you, but you didn’t let yourself stay distracted, too furious with the entire situation.

“This is no better than being in Velaris!” you exclaimed, flinging your arms out, exasperated.

“You’re always free to leave,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

The conflagration burned hotter in you. He knew you weren’t skilled enough to winnow far distances—you hadn’t even been allowed to do much of it anyway. Though you’d only done it a few times, you weren’t actually sure you possessed the ability to even winnow long distances—not like Feyre, Rhys or Azriel could. Especially not like Eris could.

It was almost a cruel twist of fate that seemed to work out in your sisters’ favor that you hadn’t developed any Cauldron gifted powers. Only the simple ones most High Fae possessed. You weren’t exactly proud to say in the early days how much you made things float to you out of sheer boredom and a desire to explore what little magic you’d been blessed with.

It was as if the entire situation—your confusion, your tangle of feelings, the last six weeks—everything came pouring out of you. It all fell out of your mouth so quickly you hardly knew what you were saying.

“You’re just as much of an asshole as everyone tried to tell me. Mor was right about you. All you care about is taking advantage of virgins.”

Your fury was no longer loud, but of the quiet and deadly sort. You didn’t know if the anger was an attempt to cover the hurt, the disappointment, your desperation at the entire scenario you’d ended up in, or what. But all you did was lean into the anger.

His own shone in the flames that came to life in his eyes, but his tone remained as deadly calm as yours. In fact, it would be less awful if the two of you screamed at one another. This—in a strange sense—seemed even worse.

His jaw clenched at your words, something passing over his face. His voice, when he spoke, was cool and unbothered.

“I thought the official story was I torture virgins—which I did not do anything of the sort, nor did I take advantage of you. Do not forget you approached me. It is not my responsibility that you developed any sort of attachment to me.”

He was hitting all the soft, sensitive spots of you that’d you’d tried to hide. But you should’ve known better when it came to Eris. He’d always been able to see things in you that most others didn’t.

You just huffed—irritated and trying hard to mask the blow he’d just hit you with. You brought your arms around yourself, as if you could protect yourself from anything else he’d lob your way.

“Then why am I here? Clearly you care about nothing but control and having the upper hand on any member of the Inner Circle,” you spat forcefully.

Those flames sizzled in his eyes though he kept a leash on his anger as he stalked toward you, his hard gaze never leaving your face.

“If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

You barked a sarcastic, disbelieving laugh.

“Yeah—to keep me locked in your room from sun up to sun down!”

He was now close enough that he towered over you. You could feel the warmth of his body—his half naked body—extremely close to yours. You’d temporarily forgotten at some point during your argument that he was half clothed. The hard lines of his stomach, his chest, were mere inches from your touch.

Instead of thinking too much about that distracting fact, you tilted your head up to glare at his stony face, which was also in close proximity to yours.

“I will reiterate—because whether you realize it or not, there are just as many threats here as there are in the Night Court. Quite greater ones too, might I add. I’m trying to protect you the best way I can.”

Something in you thrashed at that word, chafed, howled.

Protect.

That was all you’d ever heard your entire life and here you were hearing it again. You couldn’t bear to hear it from the one person who you’d truly thought was different. Which was why the words you hissed at him probably inflicted more damage than you’d ever intended them to.

“You are no better than my awful sisters.”

You saw it happen before your eyes. The way something just…shut down in him.

His eyes shuttered and he stood back, away from you, putting space between the two of you again. He was colder, stiffer, as if he’d shaken off any emotion, only to resort back to the cruelty he was known to display. A part of you whispered that you’d gone too far. But you were too out of sorts to care, still rippling with rage yourself.

“It’s late.”

He motioned with his head to his bed.

While you’d noted it was large, earlier, you hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. Deep maroon and gold threaded sheets adorned it, the maroon a perfect match to the drapery. A similarly patterned comforter lay on top along with more pillows than he probably knew what to do with—in varying sizes. Some were for the bed, others looked more decorative—all of them in the same similar patterns.

There was plenty of room to sleep without being in close proximity but still…

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” you glowered.

He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed with your attitude.

“Just get in the damn bed. You need to sleep.”

He was already walking towards it, pulling back the covers.

“Why? For another scintillating day of being cooped up in here?”

Your hands were on your hips and you purposely looked away the moment his hands came to his pants to push them off—changing into more appropriate clothes for bed. When you looked back, unfortunately, he was still without a shirt.

He still hadn’t answered you.

“Well?”

“I don’t bother myself with answering stupid questions.”

You huffed, grabbing a blanket from one of the chairs by the fire and dragging it to the floor. He watched from his bed—having already slipped under the covers, though he remained sitting upright. He eyed you warily as you dropped to the floor on top of the rug.

“What are you doing?”

“I’d rather sleep here,” you mumbled, turning your back to him, pulling the blanket up over your shoulder.

All you heard was his sigh of exasperation like he was too exhausted to even deal with you. But he didn’t argue, the lights dimming a moment later before you shut your eyes.

You tried not to focus too much on the chilly, hard floor, not made much better with only the rug between your body and the wooden floor. The warmth of the fire on your face felt nice though and you let it lull you to sleep—the adrenaline of your earlier emotions finally fading away, leaving you exhausted to your bones.

Sleep came easier than you expected it.

At some point you could’ve sworn you dreamed of being lifted, a comforting warmth basking you before you landed gently on a soft cloud—where you slept peacefully the rest of the night.

•••

When you woke the next morning, you found yourself on Eris’s bed, the blanket you’d dragged to the floor to sleep with, draped on top of you.

As if even though he’d refused to let you sleep on the floor, he made sure to bring the blanket with you to make you feel more comfortable. Especially since he’d laid you on the opposite, still made side of the bed. You noticed a chair that’d been pulled up to the side of his bed—the side that’d he’d slipped into last night prior to you falling asleep.

But pillows were missing from that side, now laying in that chair, along with a haphazardly thrown blanket.

Eris had carried you to his bed and then—out of respect for you—slept in a chair next to his bed for the rest of the night. Whether in a small truce or apology for your fight last night, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help the small kernel of warmth you felt at the gesture though, how much you appreciated it.

You didn’t have much time to process though because a commotion drew your attention to the door.

Just in time to see a flash of gray whizz past you and onto the bed. You yelped, scampering back against the pillows, unsure what had just happened.

“Smokey, I thought I told you to not jump on the bed.”

Your head whipped to the door to see Eris already dressed and ready for the day, standing with his hands on his hips, looking exasperated at the…

Hound. There was a smokehound on the bed.

You’d turned back to it, now taking it in fully. You’d heard the others mention Eris’s hounds before, but you’d never seen one for yourself.

You’d imagined ferocious, deadly beasts. But this one seemed almost akin to a cuddly pet. It sniffed you curiously, nose bumping your leg. You hesitantly held out a hand to it, letting it sniff you, assess this new individual it was unfamiliar with.

“Smokey?” you asked, slightly in disbelief of the cliché name.

“Apparently I was a child when I named him. It’s all I’ve known him as and it would be strange to rename him now,” Eris drawled.

You raised a brow but tentatively pet the hound, surprised at how friendly he was. Eris’s tone was brusque and he jerked his chin towards you.

“Get dressed. We’re going for a walk.”

“I can’t wear this?” you asked, looking down at the same lavender set you’d been in since yesterday.

“Sure, if you want branches and limbs to tear it to shreds. Not that I’d mind. You wearing it only makes it pretty.”

His lips curved upwards in a teasing, flirtatious smile. Your cheeks heated at the thinly veiled compliment. How different this version of Eris was from last night’s. That cold, cruel edge now replaced with teasing warmth.

“I don’t have anything else to wear though,” you protested.

He motioned to the end of the bed where a set of clothes appeared from thin air, made possible with a hint of his magic and a flick of his fingers.

“Cute,” you murmured.

He smirked, but didn’t say anything more. He just clicked his tongue and jerked his head to the door, Smokey instantly obeying his order. The smokehound bounded off the bed and took off for Eris, flying past him and into the sitting room.

When the door shut behind them, you sat, blinking for a moment. This certainly hadn’t been what you’d expected for today, but you weren’t going to complain. It was something to get you out of this room.

You made quick work of pulling on the tunic, pants and boots and ten minutes later you were walking the woods that surrounded the Forest House, with Eris.

Smokey trotted ahead, nose to the ground as he sniffed and explored.

“He’s rather playful for a big scary smokehound,” you quipped, casually.

“Well don’t let him hear you say that. He’s still got a reputation to maintain,” he tossed back, teasingly.

As if he knew he was being talked about, Smokey rounded back, making sure Eris was still behind him. Eris gave him a rub on the head, a small smile on his face as he did—more at ease than you’d ever seen him.

Satisfied his owner was where he’d left him, Smokey took off ahead again.

You held your hand out as you walked, brushing the leaves on passing trees, the ones on the ground crunching under both yours and Eris’s boots.

“And you?”

“And me what?” Eris asked smoothly.

“Do you still have a reputation to maintain?”

Like why you let my family believe the worst of you, you wanted to say.

“Did I not prove to you that most is idle talk?”

Yes, he had.

You took a breath, listening to the crunch of the leaves, catching one falling leaf in your hand and twirling it by the stem as you walked, trying to put your thoughts into words. Eris waited patiently and silently, as if he knew you needed the moment.

Your mind was still a mess of emotions you didn’t know how to work through, but one remained at the forefront and you knew that was the first that needed to be dealt with.

“I don’t really think you’re as much of an asshole as everyone claims,” you said softly, “I apologize for saying that.”

Eris merely shrugged.

“They all have their varied reasons for thinking that of me.”

You looked over at him, saw the way the sun shone through the tops of the trees, turning his hair into liquid copper. He was still facing forward, eyes on the distant form of Smokey.

“You never gave me any reason to think that of you.”

He finally turned towards you, giving you no chance to escape the wounded look in his eyes—or his intense stare.

“Even if I’m no better than your awful sisters?”

You winced, gaze dropping from his in shame. You dropped the leaf, watching it fall to the ground as you walked away from where it inevitably floated to the ground.

“I spoke in anger and I apologize for that too.”

There was a beat of silence before Eris spoke again.

“I apologize for making you feel like you were no better off than you were in Velaris. That was never my intention.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“If my father or my brothers discovered you, the bargain, knew of your presence here—”

“I understand,” you blurted quickly, even if you didn’t fully.

You knew you likely had no idea the sort of things he faced with his own family. Likely things that made your own familial issues seem insignificant in comparison.

“I never meant to make you feel like I was smothering you, too,” he said, voice carefully measured.

Too—because he’d seen what Feyre, Nesta and Elain had been doing to you for so long.

He glanced sidelong at you and you turned, seeing eyes rake over you, as if assessing for something.

“How are you doing? Really—not just some excuses you think I’ll want to hear.”

You shrugged, knowing lying would do you no good with him. He would see through you all too well.

“I don’t know, really. I don’t know who I am. What I’m good at. My place in this world. I’ve never been given the opportunity. Never been given choice. That is why I did what I did,” you said, holding up your right arm, indicating the bargain tattoo that lay hidden under your sleeve.

His lips lifted in a half smile.

“Something I’ve always admired about you—your boldness.”

You didn’t laugh though because you knew even if this was a reprieve from your situation, you knew what awaited you back in Velaris.

An undetermined amount of time in the Autumn Court wouldn’t change your reality back home.

It was quiet for the remainder of the walk.

•••

Eris made sure you made it back to his room safely before taking Smokey back to the kennel.

You’d knelt, throwing your arms around the smokehound—probably throwing him as off guard as you did Eris.

“Thank you for accompanying us on our walk, Smokey. It was a delight to meet you.”

You’d given him a kiss on the head and pet his snout before you let Eris take him.

You’d kicked off the boots on your feet and curled up in a chair with the book from yesterday, expecting not to see him until nightfall just like the previous day.

Which was why you were surprised to see Eris come walking back in the room, shedding his jacket and boots, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Your brows rose as you watched him.

“I didn’t expect you to hang around—since you’re a busy male and all.”

You shrugged a shoulder as if shrugging it off—you still had many complicated emotions to work through, many that involved the male. You’d planned to start working on that to occupy the time he was gone for today.

So it made it much more difficult with him being present.

“I made time in my schedule to keep you company.”

Your jaw tightened as you stood, putting the book under your arm as you faced him. You heard it in his tone without him having to say anything.

“I don’t need to be coddled. I don’t need your pity,” you said firmly.

His brow rose as he watched you return the book to the shelf.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Is it not?” you huffed, standing on tip toes to try and slide the book back into place on the shelf.

Suddenly you felt warmth at your back as he reached up, taking the book from your hand, sliding it into its rightful spot. You froze for a moment, your breath catching, pulse skipping.

“No, it’s not,” he said, much softer this time.

You finally turned, crossing your arms, looking up into his face.

It was devoid of any of the cruelty or iciness you’d ever seen. He, in fact, looked hesitant, almost vulnerable.

“I truly had no idea until I appeared in Velaris yesterday just how bad it had gotten,” he whispered, “I just knew that every time I was in the Night Court you were never around. I figured they were keeping you busy.”

You snorted softly, the anger and hurt combining in your chest. You couldn’t pinpoint who it was aimed more at—your family or Eris. You looked away, shrugging a shoulder.

“Yeah. By practically locking me up.”

“I know. When Lucien told me, I knew it was time to call in my favor.”

You peered up at him, face guarded.

“I knew I was saving that favor for something important,” he murmured, eyes taking in your face.

“So it wasn’t just to be an annoying prick?”

You expected a smug smirk, an over confident retort, but you got neither. Instead, his voice was barely more than a whisper when he answered.

“No.”

You lifted your face a fraction more, looking at the honesty written all over his face, a bit taken back by the shift in his demeanor—especially when it was a drastically different reaction than you’d anticipated.

His tongue came out, slowly moistening his lips. He swallowed hard before he spoke again.

“I figured this was the only way I could help you.”

Your heart beat faster at his admission. You’d never once stopped to think that maybe he’d seen this as a way to help you escape your situation—if only temporarily.

That maybe he saw it as the one thing in his power that he could do for you.

“I will admit, that wasn’t the entire reason I called in my favor, either. I had selfish reasons, too.”

His voice had deepened, grown more raspy, as if he was desperately trying to restrain himself. At some point your breathing had deepened. You hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten to you.

Your brows creased at his declaration.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to help you, yes, but…” he paused, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

He tucked it behind your arched ear—the ones you’d learn to like quicker than your other two sisters, who’d been turned with you, had. A fingertip traced the arch of it, making you involuntarily shiver.

“But I also wanted you in my bed again,” he uttered softly, tracing the pad of his finger again along the arch of your ear.

Goosebumps littered your skin and your breath shuddered out of you.

“And I couldn’t say that without coming across like an absolute brute.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the truth coming out of you more than you cared to admit.

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

Because the truth of it was, you’d wanted more of him too.

His touch fell away and you felt a thumb brush your bottom lip a beat later.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind and I can’t explain why. It’s been driving me mad. You’ve been driving me mad,” Eris said, sounding almost pained.

Your eyes opened again, seeing the pure devastation on his face—the desire barely concealed. As if for the first time in his life desiring something so badly had actually pained him.

“Besides, I don’t like leaving matters unfinished.”

He’d inched closer at some point—close enough for his breath to fan over your face.

“Unfinished?” you whispered, mind too fogged by his proximity to understand what he was saying.

“I left you unsatisfied last time. I tend to remedy that.”

He didn’t even give you a chance to reply because he finally bent, lips connecting to yours. His thumb had fallen from your lips moments before he’d kissed you, fingers delicately caressing your jawline.

It wasn’t the gentle tentative kiss like the one that started the encounter last time. This was like a breaking, an unleashing. Filled with weeks of yearning for more.

Your lips instantly parted under his before he could even initiate it and he groaned into the kiss. His hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling in it as his tongue brushed yours lightly.

It was desperate, hungry, as if you’d both been held back too long. Your hands had settled against his chest as yours and his mouth chased one another, pausing only long enough for breath before meeting again. You no longer held back as your fingers clutched at his shirt, body arching to press into his.

The hand in your hair tilted your head just the way he wanted, as he deepened the kiss, mouth slanting over yours. His opposite hand rested on your hip, fingers digging into it like he was afraid to let you go—fearful of this moment ending.

His hand slid upward along your side, thumb barely brushing the underside of your breast just as he retreated enough to nibble on your bottom lip. He pulled it between his teeth gently before releasing it, lips covering yours again. You moaned lowly, grip loosening from his shirt, sliding past the curtain of his hair, one curling around his neck. The other rested along that sharp jawline you’d just admired the previous morning.

You pulled him closer to you as your lips moved with his, ignoring the way the shelves of the bookcase pressed uncomfortably into your spine.

When you were kissing Eris, nothing else mattered.

He finally broke from your lips, mouth not straying far though. He kissed along your jaw, up to the spot right below your earlobe, placing a heated kiss there.

You let out a tiny whimpered moan, practically melting under the touch of his lips.

“Mm, need to remember that little spot,” he murmured with a husky laugh near your ear.

You instantly reacted to his words and action, nipples pebbling under your shirt, the pulse between your legs becoming more noticeable. Your body was practically alight with awareness, buzzing with arousal that’d arisen so quickly you knew you couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it’d begun.

He retreated, bringing his lips to your neck, leaving quick, hot, open mouthed kisses along it until he reached your throat. Your head automatically tilted back, moaning as you felt his tongue glide up the center of it.

The hand tangled in your hair fell from it, skimming down your spine, pressing you further into him even as you arched into his touch—mainly due to the ministrations of his other hand. His thumb had finally come up, rubbing over your peaked nipple, through your shirt.

“Eris,” you rasped.

He hummed, already beginning to back up, taking you with him. You weren’t sure how your body managed to move in sync and not trip over him, but you chalked it up to the mix of adrenaline and arousal.

His lips were still at your throat, nipping playfully when you saw the chair out of the corner of your eye. You immediately shifted, turning, pushing him roughly into it. He landed with a startled grunt, blinking at you before his brows immediately rose, a smirk already on his lips.

You didn’t even give him a chance to speak—though you were positive it’d be nothing but some sort of cocky remark. You bent, kissing him again, but not long enough for him to pull you into his lap, like you knew he was itching to do. You knew it was what he was aiming to do when you felt his fingers inching around your waist, but you had other plans in mind.

Breaking away, you asked him the one thing you’d not been bold enough to last time.

“Teach me how you like to be pleasured.”

“Why?”

You were taken back by his question, definitely not expecting him to question you.

“Because you spent the time pleasuring me last time. It’s only fair.”

Momentarily, the daze of arousal lifted and he looked at you sternly.

“You don’t ever do this—for anyone—just because you feel it’s expected of you or as a way to balance the scales. You do it because you want to,” Eris said firmly.

That fierceness that lived deep within you—often saved and used on your sisters—came to the surface again. Your determined gaze met his and as you looked at the heir of Autumn, genuine sincerity filled your voice, your every word.

“I want to,” you paused, then added, “This is my choice.”

He studied you for a minute then seemed to relax, giving you a slight nod.

He reached out slowly, taking your hand, guiding it to the bulge in his pants. He pressed your palm to it, groaning at the pressure. Heat swept low in your stomach at the feeling of the hard cock under your touch—one you hadn’t failed to remember how it felt in your hand and inside you.

“Just…touch me first,” he gritted out, chest already heaving.

You bit your lip, watching his reaction to you as you dragged your hand upwards, rubbing over the hardened length trapped behind his pants. His head fell back on a deep groan, hips bucking into your hand.

“Like that?”

Your question was answered as you dragged the heel of your palm over him again, his body instantly reacting, pressing harder against your hand. His head lifted, eyes blazing with desire.

“What do you think?” he quipped, sarcastically.

“Amazing how you manage to have time for snark, even during something like this,” you mumbled teasingly as you rose to hover over him.

He watched as you leaned in, but you didn’t aim for his lips. You bypassed his mouth, lips dropping to his jaw. Then dipped to his neck. Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, kissing down every inch of pale skin that became exposed.

Eris watched you intently the entire way, breathing becoming more labored the further south you got. Even more so when you finally dropped to your knees in front of him.

“It’s becoming glaringly obvious you do not require my instruction,” he breathed, sounding a bit frazzled.

“I still do,” you reassured, eyes on his as your fingers fumbled the button of those finely tailored pants he wore.

When you’d pulled his cock free you found yourself trying to remember how the hell it had even fit last time.

“No wonder I was sore,” you mumbled under your breath.

A deep chuckle came from above you.

“What was that, dove?”

“Nothing,” you murmured.

For all your confidence prior to this, you felt like you froze. Obviously you knew your touch was appealing to him, but you were still hesitant in your abilities, unsure of what exactly to do.

“I see you have a habit of overthinking,” he smirked lazily.

You scowled up at him, but he only gave you one of those deeply sensual chuckles, enough that your thighs inadvertently squeezed together.

“Here,” he murmured.

He took your hand again—so similarly to last time—placing it on his cock.

“Start like this,” he instructed, guiding your hand in a slow stroke.

Soon, his warm touch left your hand, leaving you to your own devices. You’d been so confident the last time when you’d touched him on your own and you were eager to discover that female again.

You tightened your grip just slightly on your next pass over him, squeezing just slightly the closer you got to the tip. He grunted approvingly and you took that as a sign to continue.

You took a little bit to reacquaint yourself with the feel of him in your hand, the solid warmth, hard as steel beneath your touch. The skin was so much softer than you could’ve ever imagined and it made you crave to have him in your mouth.

To have him in your cunt, again, too, if truth be told.

Your thumb brushed over the thick head, spreading the bead of liquid that had collected there. You heard a small noise above you, coming from deep in his chest.

“That’s—that’s good,” he cleared his throat, trying hard not to sound just as affected as he was.

You gave another pass of your hand, going on instinct and twisting your wrist just slightly. Another, more distinct noise came from him.

“Now, add your mouth.”

You blinked up at him, suddenly feeling at a loss.

“A kiss, a lick, whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You tried not to let your nerves show, tried to appear more in control than you actually felt. Clearly, you did a poor job because you felt a hand stroke down your face, grasping your chin firmly in his fingers.

“Nothing you can do will be wrong. Just do what feels right. Explore. Play. I can pretty much guarantee anything you’ll do will drive me wild.”

That heat curled hotter in the pit of your stomach and you nodded.

Then he sat back with a roguish grin.

“Do your best—or should I say worst, sweetheart.”

You tossed back your own saucy smile before you leaned down, licking across the tip, flattening your tongue against it. You heard his hiss of breath but you stayed focused on your task at hand.

You lowered your mouth over his cock, bringing it between your lips, tongue grazing the underside.

“Gods, are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he gasped out.

You peered up as you sat back, seeing the way his chest expanded from the deep breath he’d just inhaled at the mere touch of your mouth on him.

“Positive,” you smirked.

“Mother help me,” he mumbled.

You bit back a pleased smile, running your tongue up his length in one long drag. You moaned at the taste of him, thighs instantly squeezing together. You licked down the other side, making it inevitably easier for you to slide him into your mouth once again.

You truly didn’t know where it was coming from as you felt like you were guessing the entire time. You slid your mouth down on him, a bit shy of being too much, still testing your limits. You peered up at him, gauging his approval.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head immeadiately falling back against the chair the moment he looked down and saw your gaze on him.

It looked as if it took all the effort he had to lift his head again—and to speak.

“Just like that—that’s perfect,” he groaned.

You pulled back nearly all the way before swallowing him down again, relaxing, in an attempt to fit as much of him in your mouth as possible. You stayed there for a little bit, just repeating the action, tongue exploring as it swirled and licked over his length, developing what you thought was a steady rhythm.

“Slow down,” he murmured, fingers brushing your cheek again, “There’s no need to rush.”

You tamed your over enthusiastic motions, slowing it down a bit so it was a more languid move of your lips, your tongue, taking the moment to savor him in your mouth.

You withdrew to his tip again, gliding your tongue around it, gazing up at him from under your lashes.

His eyes hadn’t left you yet.

“Hand—” he rasped, “You could add your hand.”

You followed his instruction as you curled your fingers around the base of his cock, lips working in tandem with your hand. He groaned lowly, fingers curling into the upholstered arms of the chair, gripping it. You noticed the twitch, like they were itching to do something else but he was restraining himself.

Eris’s face was filled with such bliss that it made you moan around him, twisting and squirming in an attempt to provide some friction for yourself. You were throbbing, so aroused that you were already dripping for him, despite being fully clothed—him having barely touched you. You watched him as you moved. His eyes were shuttered, but for a completely different reason that they had been last night.

Those perfectly pink lips were parted, mouth slackened in his state of pleasure. His moans and groans made you only want to please him further. One glance at the strong column of his pale throat as his head tipped back again made you almost wish you were up there just to lick and bite it.

While you knew he was enjoying it, you could tell he was holding back.

You pulled off him, causing his eyes to open, a question on his lips. Your own heated eyes peered up at him, a question of your own on yours.

“How do you like it?”

He looked hesitant.

“I refuse to put you through more than you’re ready for.”

You were positive that irritation flashed in your eyes. It was excuses like this that you’d been met with your whole life.

“How will I know that if you don’t let me try?”

“Dove—”

“If it’s too much, I’ll stop you,” you said firmly.

He looked ready to argue, but you whispered the two words you knew would get through to him.

“My choice.”

His lips pursed, understanding your message and nodded. You leaned down, taking him into your mouth as far as he could go, relaxing as the tip bumped the back of your throat. You moaned around him again, just at the weight of him on your tongue. The taste of him that had been driving you wild since the moment your lips had first touched him.

One broad hand dove into your hair, hips bucking towards your mouth. You moaned your encouragement, lashes fluttering, thoroughly appreciating his enthusiasm. His fingers dug into your scalp, holding your head in place as he thrust his hips upwards groaning so loudly it had you moaning with him.

“Oh gods— Sweetheart— Fuck—”

He was utterly at your mercy as he fucked your mouth, the composed Eris you’d once known absolutely nowhere to be found right now.

“You probably should—” he gritted out, clearly trying to pull you off of him, the closer he got to release.

But you refused. You wouldn’t obey until his release was down your throat. The thought alone had you whimpering on him. You could tell in the change of his sounds, the frequency in them and the way he was gripping your hair that he was rapidly approaching that point.

With one last drag of your mouth, squeeze of your hand, he arced off the chair with a ragged groan as he fell apart, spilling down your throat.

You took everything he gave you, finally pulling your mouth off of him just as his grip on your hair finally slackened—before falling back to the chair once again.

“Fucks sake,” he mumbled breathlessly, staring at you in awe.

A pleased little giggle escaped you and you peered up, quite proud of yourself. He was still staring at you like he’d never seen you before.

“I would say that there was no way that was your first experience, but I’m rather at a loss for words right now,” he uttered.

“You’re saying plenty of words, Eris,” you pointed out, playfully.

He said nothing, just sitting forward, grasping your chin in his fingers, kissing you soundly.

“You did amazing,” he breathed his praise against your lips.

Those words simultaneously gave you chills and filled you with an odd sort of warmth.

You took the moment aiding him in pulling his clothes off the rest of the way, mouth watering at the body that was always hidden under immaculate clothes—unknown to most just how impressively powerful and glorious it was.

“This seems rather unfair,” he hummed, sitting back.

He lounged in the chair—completely naked—like he hadn’t a care in the world. You barely suppressed an eye roll because if that wasn’t the most Eris Vanserra thing in the entire universe.

“Well I guess this does call for evening the playing field a bit, now doesn’t it?” your lips curled devilishly.

He hummed his agreement.

You shimmied out of your pants, those amber eyes watching every single movement of yours. You took the liberty of ridding yourself of your underwear, too.

Though your bottom half was utterly bare, you waited until you’d climbed into his lap—knees on either side of his hips—before reaching down for the hem of the tunic, pulling it over your head. Right there in front of him.

“I think I love this side of you,” he breathed, almost in awe.

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss him again, but he stopped you.

“This time I want you to take charge,” Eris stated matter-of-factly, a fingertip tracing over your collarbone.

You blinked, caught off guard. You were half tempted to ask if he did remember this was only your second time doing this.

“I want you to discover what you like, this time,” he urged gently.

“Okay…” you responded, hesitantly.

“Just trust me—trust yourself, alright?”

That finger came up, tapping playfully against your lips and you smiled in reaction before he pulled you to his mouth finally. While you kissed, you experimented just a tad, feeling his hard cock so close to where you wanted him again. You dragged your bare cunt over it and you both reacted from the motion.

It felt so good you had to do it again, causing his lips to fall from yours in a pleased groan.

“Cauldron and here I thought I was the tease,” he mumbled.

His hands settled on your hips, lifting you enough to line you up properly.

“Put me inside you,” he breathed near your ear.

It took all your restraint not to moan at the command.

You reached down between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him. You tried not to be too proud at the way he groaned at even the barest hint of your touch.

As you notched him at your entrance, you briefly wondered how you were going to make this work. It’d been weeks since you last did this and you weren’t quite sure how it managed to actually fit the first time anyways.

“Take your time, dove.”

You looked down in his face, finding nothing but patience and understanding there—realizing he knew you needed a moment to work up the nerve. You took a breath, nodding before bringing his cock to your entrance fully, letting go and slowly sliding down onto him.

Your fingers likely dug into his shoulders as you did—though you weren’t sure he even noticed.

“Holy gods,” he breathed, head falling back, as it seemed to be in the habit of doing today.

Your jaw slackened at the feeling—so much better than the first time. While there was still an intense sensation—your body adjusting and stretching around his cock—it was more akin to the feeling of being so incredibly full than it was the discomfort of past.

“Fuck, you feel just as amazing as last time,” you whimpered, the sentiment slipping from your lips before you could vet it.

He chuckled, but it sounded strained to your ears.

You had to take a heartbeat just to sit still with him nestled deep within you—and that’s exactly what he was. So incredibly deep.

“If I’d known it’d be like this I would’ve made a bargain with you ages ago,” you mumbled, awestruck.

“Better late than never,” he responded, leaning forward to nip your jaw.

You gasped, feeling the shift of him inside you. You moved your hips experimentally, moaning lightly at the feel of him.

“Find what feels good to you,” he reminded you, hands sliding up your back.

You played around with it for a beat, shifting your hips in a circle a few times, then back and forth. It was only when you rose and fell again that you felt the drag of his cock against your walls.

“Oh,” you moaned.

“Yeah? That feels good?”

You nodded, repeating the motion, keeping your hands stationed on his shoulders.

It was amazing how little time it took for your body to truly get used to it—like you automatically knew what to do after one time. A sort of muscle memory that’d snapped into place automatically after that first experience.

Eris truly let you take the lead, discovering what you liked. Somehow your body managed to fall into a semblance of a rhythm—up, down, forwards, backwards. One provided depth and movement, the other kept him deep and provided friction against your clit.

Both seemed to affect him just as much.

“Look at you.”

Your teeth scraped over your lip, watching him through hooded eyes, those sensual lips of his tilting upwards in a smirk. But it was the pride in his voice that he didn’t bother to conceal that affected you the most.

You could eat him alive right now.

Taking the lead like he truly wanted you to, you pulled his hands from your waist and dragged them up to your breasts.

“Bossy,” he mumbled, chuckling when you tossed him a glare.

His hands came over your breasts, gripping them just like you’d wanted him to.

“Gods, Eris,” you moaned, head tilting back as you moved on him.

Your chest arched even more into his grasp, palms rubbing and massaging exactly as you’d hoped.

For that, you rewarded him with a particularly rough drop down on his cock causing a ragged groan to be pulled from him.

Your hair fell down your back as you arched, moving on him, completely lost in the sensation of how he felt. One hand slid up your back again, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Look at me,” he demanded quietly.

It was partially you that lifted your head, partially the aid of his hand pushing your head gently up again. Your gaze locked on him and you felt a zap of energy—unseen but the charge went through you.

You’d never felt so affected by a male. It was unreal.

You cried out as his hips tilted enough to shift the angle, hitting different places he hadn’t just been. His lips attached to your throat, sucking a bruise at the hollow of your throat as your hips sped up, chasing the release that was beginning to show signs of its impending arrival.

“That’s it, that’s my perfect girl,” he rumbled against your skin.

Your thighs had started to burn long ago, quivering with their continued movement, but you were too close to want to give up. His hands came to your hips guiding you on his cock, providing some much needed relief for your tiring body.

“Eris,” you moaned again.

One hand slid down to grip his bicep, the other gripping long strands of his red hair at the back of his head. The closer the two of you spiraled, the more desperate he seemed to get, mouth attaching to every inch of skin he could—your throat, neck, chest, collarbones, jaw.

Then he was crashing his lips against yours not even caring how messy it was—or the fact between the both of you there were more moans, groans and grunts than there was actual kissing. You still managed to press your lips to his long enough to give him some semblance of a normal kiss though.

You jerked away the moment you felt his touch between your legs, thumb on your clit, rubbing circles on it.

“Oh— Eris, I’m—” you tried to warn.

His voice was raspy and strained.

“It’s okay. Let go, fall apart for me.”

He lifted his hips, meeting your every movement, causing your moans to increase in frequency, the tsunami of pleasure threatening to overwhelm you at any moment. His free hand fell to your ass, gripping it harshly in his grasp, aiding you in your desperate movements. Moans streamed from your lips, your response to him immediate and instinctive.

Then he uttered the one sentence that sent you spiraling.

“Come on my cock, sweetheart.”

The gasped cry that came from you didn’t even sound like you. In fact, a tiny part of you didn’t even know you could make such a sound.

The rest of you didn’t care as your body tensed, trembling as pleasure overwrought all of your senses. You didn’t think you had ever grasped the concept of pleasure as great at this. You were positive you never could’ve without experiencing the sensations Eris was evoking in you.

You kept moving, rising and falling on his cock like you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. Distantly, you felt the sensation of how you’d tightened around him—almost to the point of pain—as your orgasm reached its peak.

You felt fingers dig into your hips, your only sign of his own unraveling besides the drawn out groan that fell from his lips as he came, filling you. Somehow, it seemed as if your body reacted even more to him—hearing his own reaction to you.

It took a little bit before you finally eased to a stop, as if your body was so used to being in motion that you had to remind it to relax once again. Your body tingled, still buzzing from your high as you tried to catch your breath. His hands remained firmly on your sides as he took you in, assessing where your head was.

What you ended up saying was clearly not what he was expecting.

“I can’t believe I came all the way to the Autumn Court just to fuck its heir.”

Eris’s head fell back against the back of the chair, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest, even as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re truly one of a kind, sweetheart.”

You tossed him a tired smile, moving to separate yourself from him. You—unwisely—thought you could stand to gather your clothes, but the moment your feet hit the floor your knees buckled, your legs completely unable to hold you up.

“Whoa, easy.”

Cauldron bless the swiftness of the fae because he jerked forward so fast to catch you, you’d barely seen him move.

“I’m fine, really,” you tried to protest.

Even as your legs wobbled beneath you, completely like jelly.

You supposed muscles you’d never truly used before had given out, overworked and tired if the way they were trembling was of any indication. Eris only gave you a lazy, unamused look before he scooped you up into his arms.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You tried not to show your surprise as he carried you to his bathing chamber, sitting you down on the marble counter, completely unbothered by the fact he was still naked. Though you took a long, appreciative moment for your eyes to gaze over him—the muscled back as he turned in search of a cloth, the biceps and equally as muscled stomach.

“You’re staring,” he mumbled, not even looking up from his task at hand.

You shrugged.

“So what if I am?”

He gave you a full smile this time, devastating, those amber eyes flicking upwards to yours. It hit you somewhere low in your stomach, causing it to twist.

“I never said I didn't like it,” he tossed back.

You just snorted softly as he dampened the cloth he found, hands gentle on your knees as he pushed them apart just enough to gently drag the rag across your still sensitive core. You flinched the slightest, still oversensitive and tender from your previous activities.

“You’re okay,” he soothed, pressure gentle as he ran the cloth over your thighs as well, “Of course this will do nothing for my scent on you.”

His voice was light and teasing but you blinked, trying to make sense of his words.

“Your scent?”

His eyes flicked up.

“Yes—because we were…intimate, my scent will be all over you. As yours will be on me.”

Nesta’s words from weeks ago came ringing back in your ears—how they could scent Eris all over you that morning.

“So that’s what they meant!” you exclaimed, putting it together.

He raised an amused brow.

“You didn’t know?”

“No, that’s just how sheltered I’ve been,” you huffed.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never noticed the shift in my scent when I’m aroused?”

Thinking back, you realized you had. The crackling fire and autumnal spices scent seeming to sharpen, deepen, grow muskier. You never had pieced together that’s what it meant.

“That’s a thing too?”

He just chuckled, low and warm.

“Yes, dove, that’s a thing too.”

You sighed deeply, realizing just how little you knew—stuff that was probably a good thing to know—kept from you.

You watched in silence as he rinsed the cloth.

“I think this helped me a lot,” you said solemnly.

You were grateful when he picked up on your demeanor, not making a joke of it.

“How so?”

“It’s taught me I know how to stand up for myself—that I know how to assert myself in defense of my choice. I’ve always known, I think…I guess I just lost it somewhere along the way. After so many years of being coddled by Feyre. And Nesta. And Elain.”

You shrugged.

“I know they mean well. But they can’t expect me to grow if they never allow me to search for what I need to grow.”

“That’s quite profound.”

You nodded, biting your lip thoughtfully as the thoughts swirled in your mind. You tried to sort through them, so preoccupied that you didn’t even feel the second pass of the cloth between your legs as Eris ensured you were completely clean. You were so lost in thought you missed the way his touch seemed to linger on you much longer than necessary.

“It’s also helped me realize that I need to have a long overdue conversation with my sisters,” you finally said after a beat of silence.

You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but they needed to hear it—needed to hear it when you were calm, level headed and thinking straight.

Eris sat the cloth to the side, leaning his hands on the edge of the counter, peering down at you.

“The world is yours, dove, you just have to pursue it.”

With that being said, he straightened, carrying you back to his room, setting you on his bed where he wrapped you in the blanket you’d awoken under earlier that morning.

After your conversation with Eris, you made up your mind and knew what you’d have to do. When you returned to Velaris, you were no longer going to be the Archeron that was pushed around and coddled.

You were going to be the Archeron who pursued the world.

Eris Vanserra was a walking, talking danger.

At least, that’s all you’d ever been told.

You weren’t entirely sure what to believe, anymore. After all, perhaps danger was only a preconceived notion.

You lived amidst danger every day. The fae lands you’d once had no choice but to call home was filled with danger. The people who you now called friends were dangerous. Cauldron, even your sisters had become like living, breathing weapons in their own ways.

Which was probably why despite being grown, your three sisters still hovered over you, protected you, kept you from immediate danger—especially after being turned fae. It was even worse now than when you were mere humans.

Legend had it that before your mother died, it was Elain that was once the most protected one of the Archerons—at least by Nesta. You were so young when you’d lost your mother, you’d barely remembered her or what life had been like when she still lived.

Being a little more than a year younger than Feyre, you were just shy of your seventh birthday when your mother had passed. Somehow, at some point—you were never clear on how—your sisters had banded together to protect you, the baby.

As if they realized since you’d no longer had a mother to tend to you, they would be the mother you lacked.

Even if they always didn’t get along—Feyre and Nesta the most—they tried, for you. At some point, it was no longer Elain the one that was coddled, it became you. At a point so early in your life, you hardly remembered that either.

Even when your sisters bickered, they’d always rally around to make sure you were taken care of. Especially when your father had lost his fortune and your family fell into poverty. You were always the one your sisters made sure had enough food, had the warmest blanket, was always in the middle of the bed, cocooned by them.

But your lives now were so far removed from that dilapidated cottage. Just four of you remained from your original family, having lost your father in the war with Hybern—killed by the King, himself, in front of Nesta.

Life being protected by your sisters was all you’d known.

When your family was destitute, you’d let them. Back then, you were a mere girl who didn’t know how to take care of herself, didn’t have a need or desire to.

Everything had changed when you, Nesta and Elain were forcibly turned fae by the Cauldron. That was following Feyre becoming immortal herself after months spent in the faerie lands of Prythian, living and experiencing horrendous things that you’d once only could dream of.

But in the aftermath, after all of your sister’s trauma and healing journeys combined—plus yours, you supposed—they still continued to rally around you tighter, closing in ranks.

You weren’t the same person you were when you were human. You weren’t the same female as the one that had went into that Cauldron.

For now, you despised being smothered.

Their insistence to keep you from harm's way was inevitably what led you to noticing a specific male, after all.

The first time you’d met him—been allowed around him more like—was at the Winter Solstice ball in the Hewn City almost a year ago now. The only way you’d even been allowed to go was because you’d insisted your sisters take you.

Even if you’d despised having to beg to do something.

So you had accompanied the group to the Hewn City.

You, Nesta and Elain were all dressed in Night Court black—Nesta in more of a revealing dress, Elain more modest. You, on the other hand, had somehow fallen in the middle.

Though you’d had to argue just to wear the semi-loose black dress you’d donned.

It had shorter, ruffled sleeves—unlike Elain’s long sleeved dress—and a billowy skirt of sheer black gossamer. The fabric was layered over a black satin lining that lay underneath, fitting closer your body. Though more risqué in comparison to Elain’s dress, it was nowhere near as tight or revealing as Nesta’s or Feyre’s outfits. But what had caused the argument was the neckline that had plunged, just enough to show off a decent amount of your breasts.

You’d clearly won the argument.

You may have been their baby sister, but you were an Archeron—you didn’t come without bite.

You and your two eldest sisters had entered the throne room after the two Illyrians and Mor, but before Feyre and Rhys. The crowd murmured as the three of you approached the dais.

Which was when you’d first caught a glimpse of the male—one of two that stood at the dais, awaiting the arrival of everyone.

Tall, long red hair, dressed in Night Court black—seemingly coming with an air of arrogance and self importance.

Eris Vanserra, the heir of the Autumn Court.

You had been intrigued almost immediately.

Nesta was supposed to dance with him tonight—all for a plan you’d had little knowledge of. As per usual, your sisters kept you out of the loop when it came to most courtly matters.

It was only after Feyre and Rhys had been seated on their thrones—and dismissed the gathered court to their festivities—that the two males had finally approached the dais. One was a tall, blonde male that resembled Mor too much to not be her father. Keir, you’d taken it.

Your sisters may not have involved you in much, but your snooping and deduction skills were immaculate because of such behavior.

The other one—Eris—had been the one who’d kept your attention.

Feyre and Rhys had spoken to Keir, dismissing him, but you’d hardly heard them, as your eyes had kept wandering to the heir. Though he never once turned to you in that short amount of time, something told you that he had been aware of every peek and glance you’d sent his way.

You couldn’t help the way your stomach had swooped in reaction to how attractive he was.

Sure, you’d been surrounded by beautiful males from the moment you’d been turned fae, but he was different. Off limits. Dangerous in a way you’d never been allowed to touch.

You’d had a brief recollection of the first time you’d met his younger brother, Lucien. At how you were practically smitten with the handsome face and well mannered male—all to find out that this was the male that was your second eldest sister’s mate.

Clearly you’d been too traumatized after being turned to be able to remember that it was Lucien that was your sister’s mate—had hardly remembered the fact that he had whispered to Elain that she was his mate.

Perhaps it was fury that drove you to act out more. Disdain for the fact that even Elain—the one who was the most gentle sister and once even briefly coddled—could have a mate and spend a few years ignoring him with little repercussions.

But had you ever been allowed to experience anything like that? Of course not.

Which is why you’d allowed yourself to look at Eris Vanserra that night. Maybe out of sheer foolishness, maybe as a way to invite trouble.

Maybe out of something far deadlier.

His amber eyes had roamed the three of you—snagging on Elain, assessing. He’d known good and well his little brother’s mate was standing in front of him.

He was to dance with Nesta, but before he’d turned to your eldest sister, his eyes fell to you. Something sparked in them as his eyes raked over your form. The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a smirk.

“Now, who do we have here?”

It was the next to youngest Archeron who had spoken, your sister only a year older than you—your High Lady.

“She is none of your concern.”

You’d wanted to grimace at the dismissal. Wanted to argue against the statement—to say you could speak for yourself. But amber eyes still remained steady on you.

“Can you not speak for yourself, dove?”

You hadn’t shown your surprise, but you’d certainly felt it, hearing the heir voice the words you’d just been thinking.

“Eris.”

There was a warning growl in Rhys’s tone. You’d practically sighed dramatically. If there was anything worse than overprotective sisters, it was overprotective brothers.

Having mated sisters also meant you’d gained a small army of overprotective males—which wasn’t anything you weren’t used to from your own blood, the overprotectiveness, that was.

But Eris had turned from you, finally offering Nesta his arm.

You’d watched his retreating form all the way to the dance floor, something sparking in you by his mere existence.

Later, you had wandered from the dais under the pretense of getting refreshments. While that was partially true, you had been growing bored standing on the dais simply watching the festivities. You wanted to join, wanted to explore.

Your wandering had resulted in you running into Eris. You’d been slightly shocked he hadn’t still been glued to your eldest sister. They’d already danced three dances together—or more—by that point.

But his attention had snagged on you, borderline predatory as the corner of his mouth curled up. You’d almost run right into his strong build and one of his hands had hovered over your waist, so close to touching your body, but not. You’d felt the way his touch had skimmed the material of your dress though before he’d dropped his hand, finally speaking.

“Where have they been hiding you?”

You’d only tilted your chin up, in defiance, not in the slightest intimidated by the boldness of his direct question.

“Maybe I haven’t seen a need to trouble myself with such boring, courtly matters.”

It had been a flat out lie. You’d have done anything even for the monotony of a boring meeting or courtly discussions. Even Elain—a warrior in quieter ways than your other two sisters, preferring baking and gardening in her spare time—somehow managed to be more involved in the dealings of the Night Court.

She certainly seemed to have more of a life than you did.

Perhaps it was because like Feyre and Nesta, she too had extraordinary powers granted by the Cauldron or in Feyre’s case, gifted from the High Lords.

You’d never developed any sort of Cauldron blessed powers.

If the Cauldron seemed to think Nesta was a thief and hated her for stealing something from it—if the Cauldron seemed to love Elain and gave her something, it seemed to have been pretty apathetic towards you. Its indifference had left you with nothing more than the normal High Fae powers. Nothing grand. Like it, too, had conspired with your sisters and didn’t deem you trustworthy with something as powerful as your sisters’ powers.

It was one in a long list of things that infuriated you.

Not necessarily the lack of powers, but the fact you always seemed to live in the shadows of the other three Archeron females.

As for the matter of your life…there seemed little for you to do really, other than just exist for them to protect.

There had been only so many times you could go to the quarters to shop. Or help Elain prepare a meal. Or even do menial housework like you were a servant.

You’d helped Elain in her garden so often, you were sick of the sight of it. Not that it wasn’t lovely—your sister was amazing at growing and tending beautiful flowers.

You simply just yearned for…more.

You knew your sisters loved you, but you were tired. You were so incredibly tired of this life.

Which is exactly why you’d set your sights on him.

He’d only grinned fully—likely not a comforting thing to most. It had been a cunning and mischievous smile. But it still sent a thrill through you anyway.

“You appear akin to the type to leap at any chance of excitement.”

His voice had been cool, amused, as he studied you.

You’d studied him right back, eyes roaming over the pale, freckled face, amber eyes focused on nothing about you. You tilted your head casually, innocently—perhaps a touch flirtatiously.

“You sure you’re not thinking of yourself, Eris?”

If his name on your lips had any sort of affect on him, he sure hadn’t shown it outwardly. He’d simply slipped his hands into the pockets of his black pants, that grin only sharpening even more.

If your sisters had been anywhere nearby they’d have probably fainted at your carelessness with the male—or likely exploded into balls of fury. Either would’ve been possible knowing them.

“So you can speak for yourself,” he’d chuckled, clearly amused at your quip back to him.

“I don’t see anyone else that happens to be a part of this conversation, do you?” you’d snarked.

That deep chuckle had sounded again and you’d luxuriated in the sound. The rich smoothness of it, like velvet.

“I noticed you haven’t taken to the dance floor. Is there any reason why?”

You had just quirked a brow at him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a tad too bold and brash?”

“Every day of my immortal life, dove.”

That smile still hadn’t left his face, eyes taking you in as you’d been conversing with him.

“Perhaps I have no interest in dancing,” you’d lied smoothly.

“Perhaps you’re kept on a leash. One that you seem to thrash against.”

It had been incredible how much the male seemed to observe about individuals. You’d barely met him and he’d already seemed to have an incredibly accurate read on you.

“I think you happen to be dramatic, on top of thinking highly of yourself—and your skill set,” you’d drawled.

He’d known you were evading the truth. You saw it in the way those burning amber eyes sparkled. He was very aware that there was much you weren’t voicing.

Whatever he’d assessed about you in the following beats of his silence had him humming, eyes raking over you in interest.

“What a shame. You seem to be the most entertaining thing I’ve encountered yet.”

You’d simply grabbed a goblet of wine, facing him. You’d given him a sharp smile of your own before inflicting your parting shot.

“You must’ve lived an incredibly boring life for an immortal then.”

You’d left him there, still smirking at your retreating form.

It was then that the bare bones of an idea started forming in your mind.

Now, in the present, nearly a year later, your sisters still tried to keep you from Eris. Though so far, you’d managed to finagle your way into going to some meetings he was involved with.

While you’d had your fair share of trauma like your sisters, you were also the most restless of them. Perhaps it was due to the fact you remembered nothing but being coddled, sheltered and overprotected.

So you’d managed to get them to loosen their hold—slowly, at first—but even just a little bit. Enough to let you be helpful in small matters. To attend meetings. Listen to conversations.

To be around a certain Autumn heir.

Though that was for pure selfish reasons as an idea had been weighing on your mind since last winter.

Due to your sister’s overprotectiveness, you’d never taken a male to your bed. No male had stood a chance, not with three Archerons circling you like a pack of wolves.

You’d hated that fact.

Feyre had been allowed to make mistakes, learn from them. Nesta had been allowed to lose her maidenhead to a random fae male and keep male company in her bed for months on end. Elain had been allowed time to heal, explore her own options, even ignore her own mate while she processed her own trauma.

Two of your sisters were now happily mated. Even Elain was getting to know her mate, not entirely open to completely rejecting the bond yet.

Meanwhile, you felt like you couldn’t do anything without being treated like the child they clearly still saw you as. Despite the fact that they’d started allowing you to do small things just to appease you, you were still far from being involved. The tighter they’d tried to hold you, the more you wanted to rebel.

Which is how the idea truly came to form.

You’d been watching the male for some time—granted, only in the times you were allowed to be around him. The word allow always made you want to roll your eyes into the back of your head in annoyance and frustration.

But you’d had an idea. A reckless one perhaps, but one nonetheless.

And Eris Vanserra was the perfect male for it.

•••

You’d been waiting for him in the hall outside of Rhys’s study—leaning against the wall—for about an hour.

You’d known he was in Velaris to meet with Rhys for some things they needed to discuss—not like you had any knowledge of what, though you were half tempted to peek through the crack of the wooden doors to eavesdrop.

But you were above that.

Sometimes.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to approach him today, but when you awoke this morning, you’d vowed the next time you saw the male, you’d take the chance.

It turned out that opportunity just happened to come a lot sooner than you’d expected.

You straightened the moment you heard approaching voices, signaling one—if not both of them—were approaching the door. Then the heavy wooden doors opened and he walked out.

Mercifully, alone.

You glimpsed Rhys still at his desk, dark head of hair bent over as he scribbled something on parchment. Then the doors closed behind Eris.

The corners of his lips curved upwards, delighted by your presence.

“Well, if this isn’t a surprise. Should I flatter myself by thinking you’re waiting for me or were you waiting for Rhysand?”

You didn’t beat around the bush, you just blurted what was on your mind.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He looked at you, intrigue shining in those amber eyes. He assessed you briefly—likely weighing your words, your body language, your demeanor.

“Walk with me,” he finally said.

You chewed on your lip nervously, following the tall redhead. You were already starting to have second thoughts about going through with this.

But it was something different—exciting. Hadn’t you craved that for so long?

His long legs took him a few strides down the hallway and away from Rhys’s study doors. You followed, suddenly wondering how the hell you were gonna manage to put this request into words and not sound like a complete fool.

You finally caught up with him, coming up at his side, displaying a lot more bravado than you certainly felt.

“Do you preoccupy all your spare time with dull court politics or attempting to thwart your father?”

He turned to look at you, lifting an amused brow.

“My duties never seem to cease, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s a mere observation,” you replied casually.

At this point, the two of you had sauntered down the hall far enough from Rhys’s study so when he finally paused—crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to look at you with curiosity—you weren’t worried about eavesdroppers.

“Quite the curious thing, aren’t you, dove?”

You shrugged, seemingly unruffled.

He studied you for a moment, eyes narrowing infinitesimally.

“If you have something to say, I would encourage you to just voice it.”

Truly you had no idea where the courage came from.

“You haven’t taken a lover in a while.”

His eyes sharpened, something flaring in them that you couldn’t put a finger on.

“Been utilizing that shadowsinger, haven’t you?”

It was true. Somehow, you’d managed to convince Azriel to do some snooping. You’d convinced him—and the others, when they’d found out—that it might be good information to have, to keep him in line if he ever acted out. To see if Eris had any lovers, anyone that could potentially be used as a pawn.

Though it was born out of purely selfish reasons and you had absolutely no intention of using any potential individual in such a way.

You’d been shocked when Azriel’s intel had come back with nothing. As far as he could sniff out, it had been some time since Eris had taken a lover.

That was the final push you’d needed, determined to proceed with your plan.

“I— What if we— If I said—”

So much for the bravado you’d just had. That all came tumbling down like a house of cards. You were now stumbling over your words, awkward and nervous.

You tried again.

“I wanted to know if— I thought perhaps—”

The smug smirk on his face was annoying—and annoyingly attractive—as he watched you fumble for what you were trying to say. He wasn’t even bothering to put you out of your misery, happy to allow you to continue to stutter.

“Dove, if you can’t use your words, I’ll be leaving now.”

You blurted it out before you even had any idea what was coming out of your mouth.

“Take me.”

Gods, the words that came out of your mouth made you internally groan and want the floor to swallow you whole, simultaneously.

Those lips twitched in amusement—he was practically vibrating with it.

“Take you where?” he quipped, smoothly, absolutely unbothered.

The bastard probably knew exactly what you meant, too.

You just gave him an exasperated look resulting in one of those deep, sensuous chuckles of his.

It was enough to give you goosebumps.

“What if we made a bargain?”

Now, he certainly looked intrigued.

The male, who usually appeared so cold, face like stone, looked genuinely interested. The arrogant amusement from earlier had banked a tad as he eyed you. He wasn’t mocking you, wasn’t dismissing you. He was clearly waiting a moment before speaking—either to give you an opportunity to continue or to gather his thoughts.

Clearly it was the latter for he dropped his arms, straightening from where he’d been leaning against the wall. His face was now serious, giving you nothing but his full attention.

“What would motivate the precious, youngest Archeron sister to want to make a bargain with me?”

He was a head taller than you, face bent down to look at you. Those intense amber eyes bore into you, face free of anything he could be potentially feeling or thinking.

Gods, no wonder some were terrified of him.

“You have not had a lover in some time,” you began after taking a breath, steadying your nerves, “And I have never had one.”

The speed of which his brows flicked up surprised you—certainly coming from a male that had mastered the art of keeping a blank face as to never give anything away.

You pushed on anyway.

“You end a drought and I…” you trailed off, straightening your shoulders, “I make a choice that is for myself, for once.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone before you could hardly register it, let alone identify what it was. He looked to be choosing his words carefully, as if he had much to say, but was sifting through all the possibilities—careful to pick the best answer.

“That isn’t a bargain. That’s theft.”

You gritted your teeth. You should’ve anticipated that he wouldn’t take what you offered so easily. He was a male that thought through things thoroughly, assessed every situation from every angle, observed what would and would not benefit him the most.

Which is why, completely unplanned, you added what you did.

“Then if you agree to this, I will owe you a favor. Of any kind. You need to win favor with Rhys? I’ll argue your case.”

You weren’t about to back down as you stared up at him defiantly. Even if he refused or gave you a hard time, you would see this through to the end at least.

“A favor of any kind. Whatever you want.”

He finally leaned back a little—you hadn’t even realized he’d been hovering so close. He once again folded his arms over his chest, fingers curling on his biceps.

Biceps you tried not to focus on—even if they were displayed quite nicely in his courtly finery.

You tried not to fidget under his gaze. You remained calm outwardly, though, willing to see this through.

“That is a fool’s bargain. You have little to offer me. After all, you cannot offer me what I truly want anyway.”

Likely his father’s throne.

You may have been kept from much, but you weren’t stupid.

“Anything you want,” you pressed.

“Anything I want?”

“Yes.”

He eyed you curiously, eyes trailing your form lazily, even slower on the way back up. When he spoke, his voice was the icy cadence you’d heard from him in the past—more on par with the horrible male your own family and friends made him out to be.

“Didn’t Morrigan tell you I torture virgins?”

You had to restrain the urge to roll your eyes. Your sisters, Mor, everyone had spun tales about Eris Vanserra like he was a frightening bedtime story. Yet they all seemed to interact with him fine. For Cauldron’s sake your own sister was a sister-in-law to him—sorta.

You betrayed none of your irritation or whirling thoughts, just leveling him with a piercing gaze.

“Is it truly torture if one wants it?”

He just hummed, saying nothing more, though he kept that unwavering stare directed on you. Gods, he could be intimidating.

You weren’t about to let him scare you though.

“Do your sisters approve of this?”

Irritation flooded your senses at the mention of them.

“My sisters have nothing to do with this.”

He hummed once more, eyes continuing to take you in, likely turning everything about this situation over in his mind.

“I only ask because I’d prefer avoiding the wrath of three Archeron sisters.”

You bristled further.

“This is my choice. I chose to approach you. If you haven’t picked up on it, today’s theme is my choice.”

At some point your hands had planted on your hips, fingers digging into the material of the pants you’d stolen from Feyre’s wardrobe. Mercifully, they didn’t dictate what you wore, but it was an unspoken sentiment that they assumed you’d prefer being much more like Elain—prim and proper and clothed in dresses.

You never minded the more feminine clothing, often having bonded with the eldest of the two middle sisters over beautiful dresses. But you diverged from Elain, desiring to not always be clothed in them.

Even more so now that Nesta often lived in pants.

You could see the thoughts churning in his mind, the unsaid things swimming in his gaze. It was an insane thing to ask of him—of anyone, yet you were.

But you knew if anyone would, Eris Vanserra wouldn’t make it a big deal. You knew he had knowledge of navigating deals however he saw fit—mostly ones that could benefit him.

This would most definitely benefit him. He was a male, after all.

You didn’t know what you would do if he said no. Likely try to save face and not slink away with your tail between your legs—not give him the satisfaction of your humiliation and desperation.

Though you supposed you likely already permeated the scent of desperation—if the fae could actually scent that, that is.

But you were tired, so tired of the shackles you’d been forced into.

So it came as a surprise when he finally spoke.

“Fine. I’ll…assist you for a favor. Of any size I wish.”

“Then it’s a bargain?”

“It is indeed a bargain.”

You extended your hand for him to shake—to seal the bargain—though it was a bit preposterous in the scheme of things. You were bargaining for Eris to be the first male you laid with, shaking his hand now almost made you want to laugh.

His large hand slid into yours and shook it firmly.

Then something happened that you hadn’t anticipated.

The feeling of magic zapped between you and Eris, like a shock. A slight burn-like heat—like flames—briefly consumed the skin of your right wrist. The same hand that had just shaken his.

At the first sensations, you’d jerked back, hand falling from his at the unusual magical reaction. Lifting your hand, you saw a tattoo on your wrist.

You briefly recalled Feyre and Nesta mentioning that Night Court bargains often came with a physical marking too—in dark as night black ink.

Yours was wildly appropriate. It was a tiny tattoo, perhaps barely over an inch big, but like a beacon of light on your once smooth, unblemished skin. The outline was of a singular flame—the ink, the darkest black.

Gentle fingers circled your wrist as he turned it to study it. A thumb ran over the newly marked skin, gently, sensually. Your breath hitched slightly at the movement.

“How very appropriate—flames right over the pulse that I’ll soon have speeding…from my own sort of fire.”

For indeed, right where the tattoo had been inked into your skin was just over your pulse.

Something caught your eye as you noticed an identical tattoo on his pale wrist—on his right wrist as well. The same hand he’d used to shake your own.

He seemed to track your stare, his own eyes following. Gently releasing your own wrist, he held up his own to admire.

“Huh—can’t say I’ve ever received a tattoo from a Night Court bargain before.”

“Well, glad to be your first,” you quipped.

You didn’t know why you felt so shaken, all of a sudden. You didn’t regret it, but you were left uncertain. Now that the bargain was quite literally inked into yours and Eris’s skin, you didn’t know what to expect.

He seemed to read your thoughts and he finally stepped away again, ready to make his exit, likely back to Autumn.

“Don’t you worry dove, our bargain will be fufilled—eventually.”

With that, he gave you no further inclination on just when that would be.

No, Eris just winked before he winnowed away, disappearing right before your eyes.

Leaving you with the realization that you now had proof of a bargain you would somehow have to hide from your sisters.

•••

Months passed.

Months.

You’d grown rather crafty with hiding the flame tattoo from everyone. Lots of long sleeves were worn or—when you were in shorter sleeves—a stack of jeweled bracelets sat on your wrist.

Feyre never questioned why you seemed so intent on occasionally raiding her massive jewelry collection. Likely, she was pleased that it was an inane, innocent interest. One that kept you preoccupied and safe.

Little did she know.

You’d borrowed a small collection of beautiful bracelets yet you’d barely made a dent in her own collection of jewelry. She did have quite an array between Rhys spoiling her and what he already owned prior to meeting her.

You’d concluded the pieces you’d taken were some of the cheaper ones, since Feyre seemed to have no issue with you wearing them.

Besides, you didn’t want anyone discovering what you’d done. Especially not Feyre, Nesta or Elain, though the males were to likely be as insufferable about it if they found out. Not only about the bargain, but who you’d made a bargain with.

You were already treading on thin ice.

You’d continued to conveniently appear any time Eris was around. If he was in Velaris to discuss courtly matters, you’d happen to be in the same location—or happen to have an important question for Rhys that you just had to ask him, while he was meeting with Eris. Sometimes it was a tiny lie that someone needed Feyre. Once, you pretended to need a book that Cassian had asked you to fetch. In Rhys’s library. Just as your next to youngest sister and her mate were happening to expect Eris.

You’d even managed to worm your way into a meeting—something about reinforcing Autumn’s borders that his father had turned into a bigger problem than necessary.

“How am I supposed to learn anything if you don’t let me learn?” you’d asked Feyre earlier that day.

You’d felt smug when she couldn’t find an answer for that question and had reluctantly let you join.

Admittedly, you weren’t that enamored with the business that required discussing.

It was nice to be included though, especially since two of your three sisters were included, along with the two Illyrians, Rhys and even Amren, though how Rhys managed to pull her away from her apartment and Varian was beyond you. Mor—probably grateful to be—had left for the continent again this morning.

No, you weren’t there for business, but to feel out Eris.

Every time you’d run into the male, he always smirked like he knew a secret. But, of course, he actually did.

It was always in the knowing looks, the sly smirks, eyes dipping to your covered right wrist. It was like he was burning with the knowledge of what had occurred between the two of you.

But he’d yet to approach it. You would still owe him any favor, but he’d not even fulfilled his part of the bargain yet. It was like he found the utmost enjoyment in keeping you on your toes, extending the suspense for as long as possible.

During said meeting, you busied yourself trying to listen to the flow of conversation, even if you only understood half of it. You sat lazily, chin resting in your hand, attempting to keep your eyes from straying towards him.

Eris noticed every time, amber eyes flicking to you and catching you in the act. Even if his face remained neutral, his eyes danced with amusement, intrigue and a whole lot of mischief.

Later, when he stood, stretching slightly, the material of his shirt pulled taught across his chest—just enough to give you an idea of the toned physique underneath. Accompanied by a deep chuckle at something that was said, you found your body reacting before you could stop it.

You felt heat curl low in your belly, your thighs pressing together. When he turned, eyes falling to you, you swore you felt that desire deepening.

If he truly went through with the bargain, he would be the first male you’d take to your bed. What started out as something born of a desire to clear this milestone in life had suddenly—and sneakily—turned into actual attraction to the male.

You no longer wanted Eris for what he could do for you, you wanted him because it was him.

“Is it too warm in here?”

You blinked, realizing he was talking to you.

“I’m sorry?”

“You look rather flushed. Mere observation,” he shrugged.

He strolled past you towards the door with no further comment. But you still caught the sly flicker of his eyes as they slid to you, just as he passed you, intent and promise in them.

Soon, he seemed to say.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but you knew the day was rapidly approaching that Eris would come knocking.

And you’d be prepared for it.

•••

The night that Eris appeared at your door followed a really horrible day.

You were still tense, your mood sour from leftover anger and frustration following a horrible fight with your sisters. What had started as an innocent question had resulted in your defenses rising—thus turning it into a whole ordeal.

“Is there something going on between you and Eris?” Feyre had asked pointedly, earlier that afternoon.

For once, you, she, Nesta and Elain were all in the same place. Something that was rarer nowadays with Elain kept busy flitting across different courts, falling into a natural emissary role—a title Rhys thought was perfect for her with her bubbly, social personality.

Nesta was usually off with Cassian or the Valkyries and priestesses. In the last months, she’d started finally merging into a teaching role alongside Cassian and Azriel—at least teaching the beginners.

You were no warrior, but sometimes you’d wished you were even allowed to desire the option to train.

Feyre, of course, was kept busy between being High Lady, mate, friend and sister.

All to say it was a rare occurrence that the four of you were gathered at the same time.

Nesta had been reading a book by the fire, content to relax with a good story after a busy morning. Feyre had been at a small desk in the room, reviewing correspondence from another court—not that she was likely to fill you in on just what it entailed. Elain was at her back, sipping her cup of tea and reading over her shoulder. Perhaps it had to do with a court that Elain had just returned from visiting.

You? You’d been sitting in the window seat, staring out at the beautiful day, unable to focus on the book of Nesta’s she’d lent you. You weren’t sure if you’d even made it past the first chapter yet.

Restlessness had always plagued you, but more days than not, lately, you felt like you drowned in it from sunrise to sunset.

You’d snorted, finding the accusation utterly ridiculous, even if there was a hint of truth to it.

“That’s preposterous!”

“Is it?” Nesta peered up from her book, putting a finger between the pages—to mark her place—as she closed it, “Because any time that male is around, you somehow find a way to be involved. Or make an appearance. Or happen to be passing through.”

You’d recalled that maybe you had been a bit obvious.

“Well he’s certainly more exciting than you lot are,” you’d mumbled.

It had been the wrong thing to say.

“Exciting doesn’t mean throwing yourself into danger at every turn,” Feyre had reprimanded, “We are trying to spare you from such things.”

You could’ve laughed—purely out of exasperation and frustration. You almost had. Which was likely why you had downright exploded.

You’d hopped up from the window seat and flung your arms into the air.

“I am not like you three! I don’t have any powers!” you’d screeched, “So what are you trying to protect me from?!”

Though you weren’t proud of your tone thinking back now—further proving you were no better than the baby they’d always seen you as—it’d felt good in the moment to unleash the anger and frustration.

“There are many dangerous things in Prythian,” Nesta said, icily.

You’d leveled your glare on her.

“Oh? You mean like the ones that Feyre has faced? You have faced? Even Elain has been involved in more than I am!”

It was true—though Elain wasn’t the long babied one, Nesta had always had a desire to protect Elain just a bit too. Wisely—unlike you—Elain knew when to speak up for herself and demand space to breathe.

Maybe if you’d done that long ago, you wouldn’t have been in this position.

“That is different and you know it,” Feyre had snapped.

“Oh really? How so?” you’d challenged the three.

Elain—sweet, sweet Elain, who was always the most gentle, even if she did possess an occasional edge to her—had still been gentle when she’d finally piped up. Until this moment she’d been silent, monitoring the conversation. Her perception of things was excellent, you knew many underestimated your second oldest sister.

“Not everyone in this land is a friendly face. There are dangerous individuals—males—around.”

You’d nearly snorted in disbelief.

“I’m surrounded by dangerous males every day! I have four brothers—three which you lot are mated to, need I remind you?”

“They would never hurt you, either. They only want to protect you, too.”

It had been Elain with her soft tone that only further kindled your anger—the way they were treating you like a child expected to throw a tantrum. Even if you sort of had. But it had been the condescension that made the conflagration in you burn hotter.

“Is this truly about Eris or the fact you just want to control every aspect of my life?” you bit out.

“Eris is not good. He’s—” Feyre had begun.

“Dangerous. Cruel. Awful. An arrogant bastard. A snake. Bid for Nesta’s hand once over a year ago,” you listed off.

That last one had been an intriguing development, back when you weren’t as invested in your interest in him. Unsurprisingly, Nesta didn’t even entertain the offer. After all, she had a mate. One she very clearly loved. But she was powerful and for reasons still unknown to you, Eris had wanted her as his bride.

Little had they known that his attention had shifted to a different Archeron.

“I know all of this. You’ve been over it with me so many times,” you groused, “But has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re grossly underestimating him? If he was so awful, why do you continue to ally with him? And manage to interact with him just fine?”

“We know how to handle him. You do not,” Nesta had simply uttered.

That had almost made you laugh.

“He’s selfish. He will take advantage of anyone or anything if it will benefit him in some way. He’s cunning,” Feyre had tried to explain.

You hadn’t wanted to give anything else away, didn’t want to let on to the fact you were more closely connected to him than they were aware of. So, you’d pivoted to your next point. One that you knew would slice, one that you’d found wholly unfair for a long, long time.

“Why is it that Nesta was allowed to fuck strangers and drink as much as she wanted?”

They had actually flinched at your language and tone.

You were not the innocent baby sister they’d believed you were for so long—you hadn’t been her for a long time.

“Why is it that Feyre got to make the mistake of dying for a male that didn’t deserve her—one she thought she loved, almost married. Why did she—like Nesta—get time to process her trauma then get to fall in love and become High Lady?”

They’d all stared at you, an array of reactions on their faces. Elain had paled, eyes as wide as saucers. Nesta’s lips were set firmly, blue gray eyes blazing. Feyre looked pained—like she wanted to fix things for you, like she always used to.

“How come Elain was met with no arguments, no pushback when she spent years, years avoiding her mate. Never acknowledging the fact that she even had a mating bond. Was she not allowed to go about it the way she needed to?”

But it had been like once everything started pouring out of you, you couldn’t stop it.

“You all had the chance to go on your own journey of self discovery and make mistakes. That was fine. There were no issues. It was all: ‘Feyre’s healing. Nesta’s dealing with trauma. Elain just needs time’, well what the fuck about me?!”

You’d struggled plenty with your own trauma—even if in different ways than your sisters. Yes, you’d been chased from dreams many nights from the fear of being kidnapped from your bed, drowning in the Cauldron, the uncertain anxiety from the first weeks of feeling foreign in this new body.

But you’d found it easier than they first had with adapting to your new life. You’d gotten used to being fae—especially when you’d never felt like you’d fit anywhere else—never knew your own identity outside of being the youngest Archeron sister.

Which is why you’d been so desperate, so adamant for Eris’s help.

For once, you’d wanted to be allowed to do something for yourself—something you had control over.

No special powers. No mate. No journey of your own.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d finally reached your breaking point—a long time coming, too—and it hadn’t been pretty.

They’d had little to say to you after that, considering you’d stormed out of the room. You’d been locked in your room ever since, even skipping dinner.

You didn’t trust yourself to not say anything else hurtful to your sisters. There would be time to apologize, later when everyone had cooled off. You weren’t sorry for what you’d said, but you were sorry for the way it’d come out.

Despite the fact you’d wanted to get it all off your chest, you hated fighting with your sisters. All it did was dredge up bad memories of how tense the relationships between all four of you had been when you were destitute.

You sat in front of your vanity, in your room at the River House, running your brush through your long hair. Despite still being tense, you felt tinges of guilt creeping in. You still appreciated all your sisters had done for you, still loved them in what way you knew how.

You just wanted space, sometimes.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t even hear a knock at your door. It wasn’t until you heard a more insistent, slightly louder knock that you’d realized someone must’ve just knocked and you’d completely missed it.

You stood, the hem of your satin nightgown brushing your thighs.

As ridiculous as it was, once you’d started rebelling against your sisters, you’d gone to the shop in Velaris and bought yourself comfortable—and more risqué—nightwear. Even if you wore them for yourself only, it gave you a sense of control.

You’d grown to love them, the silkiness of the satin, the straps that bared your arms and shoulders. Some were lacy and delicate, a tad more modest. Some were more scandalous, dipping low in the front and exposing what the other three would likely find to be an indecent amount of your breasts.

You thanked the Mother that you’d been in one of the latter when you opened the door and discovered who was on the other side.

Eris.

Calm, unruffled and looking positively delighted at the outfit you were currently clad in.

His eyes dipped and traveled, rather quickly, before he spoke.

“I do believe I have a bargain I still need to fulfill.”

His voice was deep, slightly raspy, enough to send a chill along your spine—not helped by the piercing gaze on you.

You managed to keep from gaping at the male though your hand tightened on the doorknob you still held.

“I didn’t realize you were in Velaris.”

“I’m a male of many surprises.”

The corner of his lips curled upwards, peering past your shoulder into your room.

“Oh, right,” you said, shuffling to the side awkwardly, inviting him in.

Despite wanting this—making a bargain surrounding this—you were suddenly unsteady at the fact that this was actually happening.

After you closed the door behind him, you turned to find him waiting in the middle of your room, intensity lining his features as he watched you approach him.

“Right. Okay. So we just do this then?”

You automatically reached upwards, going for his shirt, his face, something—to kiss him. To just launch yourself into this headfirst.

He halted you, a broad hand curving around your waist, the presence of it feeling heavy—like his touch seared through your thin nightgown. It was incredible how your body immediately reacted to him from a simple touch.

“Settle,” he murmured soothingly, not a hint of mocking in his tone, “I won’t bite.”

His other hand slid gently up your arm, over your shoulder and his palm caressed your neck, thumb barely brushing your jawline. His eyes stayed locked on your face as he continued.

“You’re not the little bird your sisters have diminished you to. But you still deserve to be treated with respect and care.”

Your breath came out in a whoosh, surprise filling your body at the unexpected comment from a male you’d been told was nothing but cold and cruel—even if you didn’t believe it.

“I know how to be more decent than those Illyrian brutes you’re used to,” his mouth curved in a grin.

“Watch it,” you glared.

Even if you were sick of your sisters, those Illyrian brutes were still your brothers and your friends.

He just chuckled, thumb brushing ever so lightly over your cheek before he bent his head, bringing his lips to yours.

You’d kissed plenty of men before—something you’d surprisingly managed to keep from your sisters, something you’d once thought was just for yourself, that your sisters couldn’t control.

Perhaps you’d never been able to lie with a man because the handful that you had kissed knew exactly what sort of protectors the other three Archeron sisters were.

But Eris…Eris kissed unlike any other before, though it could be likely due to the fact he wasn’t a man but was a fae male.

Whatever it was, you absolutely loved it.

His lips moved languidly against yours, savoring the glide, the press of them, the weight of yours against his pillowy soft ones. The hand on your waist slid further around to the dip in your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

You tilted your head, letting the kiss naturally deepen—letting his tongue brush effortlessly against the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing it to sweep in and tangle with yours. As he kissed you, as the two of you shared breath, your hands found his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt.

Your lips immediately moved against his faster, with more desperation and heat. He followed your lead with little issue, until he felt your hands scrambling over his clothes, trying to get him out of his clothes. You’d already managed to get his shirt halfway unbuttoned when he pulled away.

Your lips followed his, momentarily thrown off from his departure.

“Slow down,” he murmured, lips dropping a kiss on your jawline before moving back to look at you.

His hands rested on your hips, slightly bunching the fabric. His roaming eyes said he wanted to do anything but.

“As much as I want to enjoy you, it’ll be a lot better if we take our time. I’m free all night.”

He bent again, smirking against your jaw, where his lips had found purchase, sucking and nibbling. You gasped slightly, head falling back as he kissed a line forward, moving away from your ear.

You just wanted him to touch you.

Clearly, he wanted to as well for his hands slid up your sides, closing over your breasts, even through your nightgown.

“Mm,” you moaned, chest arching, strong hands kneading them, massaging them just right.

You pressed into his touch further, feeling the way your pebbled nipples pressed against the now irritating satin, how they felt against his palms, even through the fabric. You wanted—no needed his hands on your bare body.

All over your bare body.

The drumbeat increased in strength between your legs, arousal pooling in your underwear as his hands grasped and explored, as his lips traced over your neck, tongue coming out to lick over random spots of your skin. Growing impatient you pulled your arms out of the straps of your nightgown, connecting your lips to his again.

You pulled your other arm free, hand tangling in the lengths of his hair as your hand cupped his jaw, kissing him with more fervor. He grunted against your lips, reaching down to grab the backs of your thighs.

He lifted you in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as you continued to kiss him.

He stayed there for a moment, hands spread across your ass, mouth hot on yours, then he was moving. Before you knew what to expect, you were yelping and freefalling. You landed on the bed with a dramatic bounce, eyes wide as you stared up at the smirking pale face—one full of heat.

“I should’ve warned you to expect a bit of excitement with me, dove,” he smirked as he joined you on the bed, crawling over you.

You weren’t in any mood to complain as you raised onto your elbows, reaching for him. Just as your mouth met his, your fingers finished off the rest of the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

Despite your earlier nerves, you were slightly amazed at the fact that he put you at ease rather quickly, though you still felt like you were fumbling some.

When he broke the kiss to remove his shirt the rest of the way, you took the opportunity to take in the glorious sight of the pale muscled physique. Broad, strong shoulders, defined pectorals, biceps—and then your eyes dipped to the contours of his abdomen. The vee of his pelvis dipping into his pants.

You might’ve slightly been drooling.

He was…stunning. No other word could describe him.

“Keep looking at me like that. Does a male good,” he hummed, capturing your lips in a kiss again before his mouth was descending, long fingers coming to the neckline of your nightgown.

Hot presses of his mouth traced a path down your throat as his fingers hooked into the neckline and pulled it down, exposing your breasts. The cool air of the room hit them, making you shiver, but all you could focus on was the way his gaze fell to them.

You swore you heard him mumble something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a, “Mother above”. You didn’t have time to question him though because then his head was dipping, his tongue flicking over one of the nipples before taking it in his mouth.

The breathy inhale that came from you didn’t even sound like you. You’d had no idea you were even capable of such instantaneous reactions. Meanwhile, his other hand came to the opposite breast, fingers pinching the nipple.

As if the pulsing between your legs couldn’t get any worse, his teasing made it strengthen and you squirmed under his attention. His free hand pushed the rest of your nightgown up, bunching it at your stomach, revealing the matching underwear—made of the same fabric and the same color as the gown.

Of course, you’d bought these just for yourself but they sure came in handy now.

His eyes dropped to the item that hugged your hips, a devilish smirk barely gracing his lips as he peered up at you.

“It is too forward of me to say I hoped you weren’t wearing underwear?”

You snorted, but it wasn’t derisive. It was amused. You looked down at him, a smirk growing across your face.

“Maybe next time.”

He growled lowly in response and you saw his hips shift against the bed. If he was enduring anything like you were right now, he sure managed to allude to still managing to have some sort of control.

He certainly wasted no time in ridding you of both articles of clothing, leaving you bare to him.

You should’ve felt shy, but the way he was looking at you made the heat pool like molten lava in the pit of your stomach.

“So what, we just have sex now?”

The deep laughter that followed your comment made you want to scowl, but the reaction wasn’t at your expense, though he was genuinely amused.

“Dove, I’ve got much to teach you. I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”

“Ready for you?” you repeated dumbly.

His hand slid over the expanse of your stomach, painfully slow and sensual. Your eyes dropped to the movement, even as he spoke.

“Aching. Desperate. Slick with need,” he murmured, hand dipping between your legs, fingers brushing along your soaked slit. You whimpered, hips automatically bucking towards his hand.

“And even then…I’m not taking this lightly. You’ll take all that I give you.”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant, but nodded anyway. His tongue came out slowly, moistening his bottom lip, just as fingers began to explore. You felt the gentle push of a finger into you and you gasped, hand flying to one of his biceps.

“You’re okay,” he cooed.

You knew he was right. It was just…new.

But you felt how you were gushing, your arousal dampening your inner thighs—all of this in reaction to him before he’d even done anything. So much so that he had little resistance inserting a lone finger. He groaned at the way you clenched around the digit as he slid it in and out of you.

Despite you never having experienced the sensation before, you suddenly ached to be filled—preferably by more than just his fingers.

“Gods, already so eager for me,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything.

You nearly quipped back that you’d have to be blind to be wholly unaffected by him, until he added a second finger. It was tighter, but not unpleasant.

You moaned quietly, the pump of his fingers already making your vision spotty. You felt a brief sting as his digits spread and came together again then he repeated the action, over and over until that initial brief discomfort had faded.

“What— what are you doing?” you asked.

You’d let go of all fear of appearing foolish, earlier. Whatever happened in this room between you and Eris would clearly stay in this room. You were curious and you were going to ask.

“Just stretching you a bit,” he hummed, placing a kiss to your hip bone, “Preparing you for my cock.”

You swore your mouth went dry at the thought.

Apparently that wasn’t the only way your body reacted and he flashed you a wicked smile and provided you with another languid pump of his fingers.

“I felt that. Getting you all excited for my cock, hm?”

And there it was again, the way your cunt contracted, squeezing around his fingers. All he did was chuckle, scooting backwards—touch not leaving you as he did so. You watched him curiously and then he was leaning forward, some strands of his red hair pooling against your bare abdomen as he licked over your clit before taking it into his mouth.

“Ohh, fuck,” you moaned, arching.

Another wicked chuckle—this time against you—and you moaned again at the vibration. He pulled away just enough to comment.

“I never realized you had such a mouth on you, dove.”

“Shut up and do that again,” you hissed.

He just smirked up at you, fingers curling within you as his mouth lowered again, tongue coming out to press flat against your clit—all while his eyes still remained on you.

Gods, you could’ve come from the sight alone.

“Eris,” you whimpered.

His eyes flashed—a hint of fire sparking to life in them as he groaned against you, clearly pleased to hear his name fall from your lips.

He shifted against the bed again and your eyes fell to the movement. Though his bottom half was still clothed, you had the good enough sense to know he was extremely aroused, himself, by this point.

You nearly cried when he pulled his fingers free of you. But he moved so quickly you barely had time to process the fact that he’d licked just over your entrance, as if tasting you for the first and only time before he slid his tongue in you.

“Gods!” you gasped, back arching clear off the bed, one hand automatically threading into his hair.

Your mind—your body—felt like it was on overdrive. You had known pleasure before, but it had been at your hand alone and nothing like this.

“Oh gods— that’s— Eris—” you whimpered.

You pressed closer to him, body having a mind of its own as your hips moved, grinding against his mouth, pushing your hand into his hair.

You couldn’t help it, you were greedy and it felt so incredible. You wanted to come, wanted him to make you come.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you chanted, losing all control of your mouth, too, “Feels so— fuuuuck.”

You were moaning louder, unabashedly as his tongue thrust, licked, swirled, lips kissed and sucked. He was winding you tighter and tighter and you weren’t sure if you were going to last much longer.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pushing his head down further against your cunt. He licked his way back towards the apex of your thighs, giving a gentle kiss to your clit before beginning to lap at it.

“You— are— delectable,” he murmured in between pauses, licking against your clit with each pause.

“Please,” you whined.

He groaned, more than affected now by your responsiveness to him.

“Don’t worry, dove. I’ll take care of you.”

As his lips closed around the bud, sucking gently, you felt the building pressure deep within you—that had seemed dormant and far away—grow suddenly hotter, stronger. Your legs kicked against the mattress weakly—involuntarily—unable to control your body and the incredible amount of pleasure that was building.

He slid the two fingers back into you—with much less resistance this time around, you were so soaked for him. You heard the grunt deep in his throat as he noted that observation too.

“Eris, Eris, I can’t— oh gods you’re—”

You were babbling without even meaning to, words bubbling up before you could stop them, being interrupted by gasps, moans and other small sounds of pleasure.

You weren’t too far away from falling and once again you ground with more determination against his face, adding a tad more friction.

You came apart with a cry, that tension finally snapping so abruptly and swiftly that it sent the sound up and out of your throat before you could stop it. The feeling of euphoria swept through you with such force, all you could do was arch into him, press closer and grip a combination of his hair and the sheets at your side.

Your chest was heaving when it finally ceased enough for you and your body to relax. He gave one last lick along your slit, tasting your release and you whimpered, sensitive from what he’d just pulled from you.

“Cauldron,” he breathed, when he finally sat back, mouth still slick from you.

He looked devastated—though maybe devastated wasn’t the word for it, but Eris did not look unaffected. You briefly wondered if any of his past lovers ever showed such enthusiasm or appreciation for the things he’d done for them—or if he even did those things for them.

You knew you felt pretty damn appreciative for what he’d just done for you.

“I do believe someone once said you had a sharp tongue…I may have to reevaluate just what they mean,” you muttered.

You were still blinking, dazed from what had just happened. But Eris only chuckled, though you could’ve sworn it sounded strained to your ears.

He looked ready to eat you alive.

When he was at your head again, you pulled him down by the shoulders, kissing him hard. It was a hot, open mouthed kiss, tongues tangling with one another and you groaned, tasting yourself on his mouth. Somehow, it made the kiss that much hotter.

His mouth moved with yours, as his hand slid up your bare leg, opening you wider for him to settle between your legs. He kissed you with nothing but pure intent and urgency, his own desire for you bleeding into the act.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, tongue sliding against his. His hips pressed forward, letting you feel just how much he wanted you.

His hardness pressed roughly against you and you moaned, breaking the connection of the kiss.

“Gods,” he groaned, head falling, looking down to where the arousal in his pants pressed against your bare cunt.

You whimpered, squirming, pressing closer, canting your hips to rub against him. His breathing deepened as his hips jerked forward, grinding against you. If this had your lashes fluttering at how good it felt, you had no idea what to expect when he was inside you.

His arms braced the sides of your head as he kept kissing you, kept grinding against you. It was as if you were two young lovers that’d been separated for too long. When he pulled away for a moment, your eyes fell to one of the toned biceps in your periphery.

Perhaps because you’d lost all control of your senses, you turned, kissing a line along the sculpted muscle—from shoulder to the crook of his arm. The feel of the taut muscle underneath your lips nearly drove you wild.

You simply grinned up at him mischievously as his heated gaze burned on you, desire written all over his features.

He’d had plenty of time to explore you, perhaps you’d wanted to explore him a bit.

He pushed away from you, leaving you entirely as he stood from the bed. You mourned his presence for half a second until you realized what he was doing.

Strong fingers worked at the button of his pants as he unbuttoned them, pushing them off his hips. Your eyes stayed locked on his, breathing becoming labored, caught in his intense stare like if he’d tied you to the bed, making you unable to move.

Motion snapped you out of your trance only for you to realize he was fully bare now.

Your eyes dropped only so, then slowly rose up that powerfully honed body, lean muscle everywhere you looked. Your eyes dropped again—further this time—your chest expanding in a slow inhale.

Oh gods…

You had not been prepared for the sight that greeted you—even to the point of being slightly overwhelmed by it.

Not only by the obvious cock that was on full display—hard, the tip flushed the prettiest shade of red and leaking—but the entire sight of him.

“What’s the matter? Never seen a naked male, dove?” he purred.

Normally you’d have a smart remark to match his swaggering arrogance, but you only swallowed hard, face warming a bit as you sat up against the pillows.

While no, you hadn’t, you hadn’t thought it was such a big deal. But here—in this moment at least—you felt off kilter, vulnerable in a way you’d never expected to feel. You said nothing, just pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in slight apprehension.

You watched the smugness quickly dissipate from his features as he took in your unnatural silence. Perhaps thinking he’d gone too far in his comment—especially when you didn’t rise to challenge him like you normally would’ve.

He grew more serious, perhaps a shade softer, though his voice became rougher around the edges, like he was undone from this entire situation.

“Despite what you may have heard, I would never force you to do anything you did not wish for.”

“I realize that,” you said plainly.

You didn’t want sympathy or pity for your inexperience, but at the same time you felt very out of your depth. Mercifully, he didn’t push the matter, said nothing more—didn’t continue to tease you either—and stepped closer to the bed again.

Your eyes dropped to the movement of his hand as he reached out for yours. He then led it to his cock, his hand staying over yours.

Your fingers wrapped around him and you just barely repressed the gasp that crawled up your throat.

You hadn’t known what to expect, but if you had been told it was like velvet warmth, you'd have thought the individual crazy. But, it was. Though he was hard as granite, the skin was so soft and warm—a part of you wondered if it came from the fire that was in his blood.

If anything, he was definitely way more well endowed than you could’ve anticipated. Perhaps that attributed to his arrogance—he certainly had good reason to where that was concerned.

He groaned at your first touch, involuntarily arching into you, as if he had no control over his body. Your eyes flicked up to his face, a shade hesitant. His eyes didn’t leave yours as his had guided yours upwards in a slow, gentle stroke.

His lashes fluttered, a deep grunt coming from his chest. Your own lashes lowered as you watched the way he guided your hand along him, showing you what to do—what he liked.

You weren’t sure why you suddenly craved to put your mouth on him. You wanted him everywhere—in your hand, mouth and cunt.

“Your hand feels amazing on me,” was all he could rasp out, breaking you out of your thoughts.

Heat curled tighter within you, hearing how affected he was by your touch. But you didn’t continue as he moved from your reach, climbing over you, your body once again falling back against the pillows.

He stared down at you momentarily and you found yourself a tad shaken—even more left in awe—at the look on his face. The face you’d once known as nothing but cold, devoid of any joy, was now more at ease—you could even go as far as to say it was almost soft.

In an attempt to distract from the intense moment, you spoke.

“Now’s likely not the time for an utterly inane comment about it not fitting, is it?” you uttered.

Though you truly were wondering if it would.

He just chuckled deeply, bending to brush his nose in a short line along your cheek.

“You’re adorable,” he purred.

“Not exactly an answer,” you huffed.

“Believe me, dove, it’ll fit.”

One of your hands braced his thigh—palm flat against the muscle—and you had to bite back a moan at the reminder of the strength of him.

While he was preoccupied elsewhere—lips peppering kisses over your jawline and neck—your hand slid inward. You figured you might as well get acquainted with the part that would soon be inside your body.

You weren’t afraid, nor were you nervous. You were…curious. Treading unfamiliar territory, yes, but eager to learn and explore, even if you’d already touched him once. But that had been with his help, you wanted to try on your own this time.

It wasn’t like one touch would ever be enough for you either.

Once more, your fingers wrapped around his cock, dragging your hand in a slow pull upwards. Your thumb brushed over the thick head and you swore you watched his control crumble before your eyes.

Oh, this held power. You bit back a smirk at that discovery.

“If you don’t want this to be over before it even starts, I highly suggest you stop that,” he gritted out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grinned widely up at him, dragging your hand back downwards again.

“You’ll have time to play later,” he grunted, removing your hand.

You just cocked a brow.

“Oh? I will?”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “If I have a say in it, you will.”

You repressed a snicker, though your mouth curved upwards. His face loomed closer before he dipped his head, kissing you.

If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was you wouldn’t ever get tired of the way his lips felt—or tasted. You took the brief moment to explore other places on him as well.

Even if your hands were hesitant, they slid over his chest, up to his shoulders and down to his upper back as he kissed you, just enjoying the feel of your mouths connected.

He pulled back, tongue flicking over your bottom lip, sitting back.

His fingers circled your calves, pushing your legs up until they were bent, the soles of your feet flat against the mattress. Then, with gentle care, he pushed your knees further apart, giving himself room.

“I need you to relax for me, dove,” he murmured, a hand sliding under your hips, lifting them slightly to position you better.

“You know saying something like that is only gonna make me do the opposite,” you quirked a brow.

He gave you a half smile.

“Just trying to make it less…intense for you.”

“Isn’t sex intense to begin with?”

He almost looked exasperated at your questioning and you couldn’t help but bite back a giggle—especially since he didn’t look truly annoyed. More like amazed at your rapid fire questions.

“I meant there can be some discomfort,” he supplied.

You…hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t known that, though you figured that made sense.

“It’s going to hurt?”

You hated how small your voice sounded. So much for being confident and in control.

His brows pinched together ever so slightly, face tightening. His voice was rough when he answered you.

“Not if I can help it.”

Then he turned back into the matter-of-fact Eris you knew him to be.

“I will leave right now if you no longer want this.”

“I am no coward,” you scowled.

“I didn’t say you were,” Eris’s gaze was steady on yours, serious, “I’m giving you choice.”

“Then I choose to stop you from leaving,” you said stubbornly.

He chuckled lowly, as if impressed.

“I always knew there was fire in you.”

“According to you, I haven’t had enough in me.”

He snorted.

“I never said that.”

“It was implied.”

You gasped feeling the head of his cock press at your sensitive, untouched center.

He’d been distracting you through the last few traded remarks, loosening you up further. You couldn’t explain why that made you warm towards the male further.

He didn’t ask, but his eyes questioned one more time and you gave a short nod. Then he was pushing in, slowly.

Even with the slight movement, you felt a deep sting—not exactly painful, but unusual. Slightly uncomfortable, the deep stretch, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, repeating his words from earlier.

He retreated, the sting easing before he pressed a bit further in. The dull sting grew but instead of fighting it, you kept breathing—kept trusting him.

Assessing amber eyes never left your face.

He repeated the action over and over—retreating and pushing a tad further with each movement. He leaned closer, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and with every inch you gave, your arms tightened just slightly.

He took his time, didn’t rush, accommodating his movements depending on how hard your touch dug into his back.

You weren’t sure how long it’d been, if he’d already filled you fully, but on the latest press forward, the burning sting was sharper this time, more noticeable and you inadvertently tensed.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he mumbled, thumb brushing your hip soothingly.

Your eyes found his and once again instead of panicking you kept your focus on him.

The hand that had fallen earlier—subconsciously gripping the sheets from the deep discomfort—reached up, fingers trailing softly over the splatter of freckles on one cheek.

“Your freckles are pretty,” you mumbled.

Eris looked like you’d slapped him across the cheek instead of caressed it. You smiled at his stunned expression, your thumb brushing over the top of his cheek.

The comment wasn’t meant for pure distraction, you actually meant it.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured his praise.

He pulled out again, pushing the furthest he had yet, causing you to squeak the tiniest bit at the feel of him bottoming out.

The discomfort was still very much present, accompanied by a strange, foreign sensation of feeling full. Almost overwhelmingly so. To the point it seemed to radiate outward a bit.

His hips pressed flush against yours, in as far as he could go, as close as he could possibly get to you.

“Still with me?”

You couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so concerned and caring.

His hand shifted, planting on the pillow next to your head, stabilizing himself. He’d yet to move an inch since fully entering you, staying still, letting you adjust to the size of him. You studied him, felt him grip the pillow next to your head, watched the way his eyes closed, watched his brows slightly scrunch.

As if he was in pain. Suddenly a wash of fear and concern filled you.

“I’m not hurting you am I?” you bit your lip, worried.

After all, you weren’t exactly…familiar with the logistics of this. You knew you were feeling quite the deep and momentarily uncomfortable stretch and burn, but what if you were somehow hurting him too?

His laugh was more of an exasperated, strained exhale of breath than anything.

“No. You’re not hurting me, sweetheart.”

Something funny twisted within you at his abnormal nickname.

Your arms fell from around him, hands coming to rest on his biceps.

“You promise you’re not lying to make me feel better?”

You studied his face as he finally opened his eyes, heat burning within them.

“I’m just trying real hard not to push you past your limits,” he gritted out, “And it’s a…struggle.”

Perhaps you were a touch naive, but you asked anyway.

“Why?”

Those flames came to life in his eyes.

“Because you feel so good all I want to do is fuck you for days—and you’re not ready for that yet.”

You may have blinked in surprise. But then you tilted your head in curiosity.

“What does it feel like?”

Instead of answering, he pulled one of your hands away from where it rested on his bicep, taking it in his hold.

His lips brushed across your knuckles briefly before drawing one fingertip past his lips. The sensation of a warm, slow and gentle pull of suction surrounded the digit, making you gasp. He released your finger just as slowly as he’d brought it to his lips, tongue lightly flicking across the pad of it as he did so.

“Like that.”

You were positive you’d gone utterly breathless.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he smirked.

The discomfort had begun to ebb, your body adjusting to the new intrusion. You shifted slightly, impatience setting in.

“Okay,” you nodded, giving him the go ahead.

You were surprised at how gentle he was the first few times as he eased out and re-entered you. It was such an odd sensation, being so full in an area you’d never experienced such a thing—but it wasn’t unpleasant.

He groaned as he moved.

“Gods, you’re tight.”

The slow drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, gripping his biceps harder. The discomfort had completely faded—had blossomed into something warmer and much more pleasant.

Then your next issue was you had no idea what to do.

Though he felt the way your body had relaxed, he also quite likely sensed what was running through your mind—the nature of your anxious, uncertain thoughts.

“Don’t overthink it,” he uttered against your mouth.

Which was easier said than done.

But as he kissed you, slow and gentle thrusts into you accompanying his kiss, you found your body taking care of that worry, taking over for you. As your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to you to kiss him harder, your body shifted, clearly growing impatient.

The tiny movement provided extra friction as he moved, hips speeding up the slightest. You moaned against his mouth, fingers curling even tighter into his locks, hips experimenting again.

A small rock of them had him groaning, breaking the kiss.

“There you go,” he murmured around another groan.

His hips pulled back and thrust forward again, a little faster with a tad more power. You were still feeling the overpowering pressure, that fullness of him filling every inch of you, but your lashes fluttered, starting to enjoy it.

“Gods, you—”

He growled lowly, clearly trying to hold back as he moved forward again repeatedly, head dropping towards you, a strand of his hair falling along the side of his face.

But you didn’t want him to be careful with you.

“More.”

His head lifted, gauging if you truly meant the command. Your body felt warm, tingly, the sensations pleasurable. But despite whatever you tried to do, it didn’t seem to satiate you enough.

Since you were still so unfamiliar with the act, you were more than content to let him take the lead.

The hand not braced by your head slid down your side, sliding under your hips once again, hand splayed across your backside as he shifted you again.

The way it gripped your ass—quite cheekily, you might add—made you moan as his hips thrust forward again. He was deeper, the angle different from before and you were definitely beginning to see why people raved about the act.

His own moan of pleasure ignited the fire in you and your eyes fell closed as you did nothing but let the incredible feelings—ones you weren’t sure you could even describe—sweep you away. With your eyes shut, you didn’t see his approach, but you felt his lips close over yours, capturing them with his and you groaned, automatically kissing him back.

Your hands slid down the length of his back, feeling the way the muscles shifted and moved as he thrust repeatedly into you.

You felt his groan against your lips, the way strands of his hair fell to your bare skin, brushing it as he moved over you. Your body completely relented to him, giving over to the pleasure that was unlike anything you could’ve imagined.

Then his lips were moving beyond yours, attaching to every inch of skin in his reach he could. They left hot kisses against your jaw, down your throat, nipped harshly at your collarbone.

You were so close to him, hard muscles pressed against your soft skin and it was driving you wild. You needed more and more and more.

You had the sneaking suspicion that this was only a fraction of what he was capable of, but you swore you still saw stars as his pace sped up, cock hitting spots within you that you’d never imagined could exist.

If it could always feel this good, you never wanted it to end.

You heard a low grunt come from his deep in his throat as your body finally rejoined his movements, needing more of something—though you couldn’t pinpoint what. His head dipped, mouth coming to one of your breasts.

“Eris,” you gasped, arching into him.

He was slowly driving you mad with each and every movement. He timed every thrust of his cock perfectly to the flick of his tongue over your nipple. You felt your own body inadvertently react to him, inner walls tightening around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled your hips to meet his.

You’d never heard him sound so utterly undone and it made you spiral, lose all sense of your mind as your fingers dug into his back. You felt the sensations of the pleasure and was clearly enjoying it, but thought it was odd that you weren’t feeling the building of it like you had earlier, when his tongue had been between your legs.

He was cursing again, the sentiments falling from his lips repeatedly. You could feel his body tensing underneath your touch, a low groan falling from his lips as he stilled.

Then you felt warmth, slick on your thighs and it was over.

You blinked, coming back to reality, not sure if you were disappointed or not. It hadn’t been awful but it hadn’t really been quite what you’d expected either.

Your heart was still racing though, breathless from exertion as he finally moved again, pulling out of you gingerly. Which was a blessing because suddenly it hit just how sore you were.

It was quiet as he sat back, detangling himself from you and you lay there, peering at him, unsure what you should even say. You watched as he stood, bending for his pants. As he pulled them on, he peered over his shoulder at you, as if assessing your state after such a life altering event. You had sat up by this point—sheets pooling at your waist—and those eyes roved every inch, as if just to make sure you were alright.

“Expect some soreness tomorrow,” Eris murmured, a cocky upturn of his lips accompanying his remark.

You rolled your eyes, mumbling under your breath.

“Cocky bastard.”

When it fell silent again you knew at the very least you should thank him. He had actually come through with his end of the bargain and helped you.

You had no idea what possessed you to do it when you stuck your hand out to him.

Eris turned around to face you fully, still shirtless—with said shirt dangling from one hand—brows high. You didn’t balk, even if you cringed internally at your action. But truly, what did one do in this situation anyway?

You pushed your hand out further, refusing to let him dismiss you.

“Thank you,” you said pointedly.

His lips twitched, amusement evident on his face.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had anyone thank me for fucking them with a handshake before.”

You were about ready to drop your hand when he reached out, sliding his own into yours, giving it a firm shake. But before he let go, his thumb brushed your wrist once and your eyes dropped to the black as night ink still present on your skin.

“Why is it still there?” you scowled.

“Because it’ll only disappear after I’ve called in my favor. Not a moment sooner.”

You huffed, pulling the covers up over your bare chest to chase away the chill, looking up at him as he finally pulled his shirt on, buttoning it up.

“And that will be when?”

“Soon, dove. When the moment’s right.”

He gave you a wink and winnowed away before you could even question what his vague, cryptic remark meant. In turn, you were left staring at the space where he'd just been standing, long after he’d left. Swirling thoughts and emotions warred within you, along with the knowledge of an unfulfilled bargain that would remain a secret.

Until whenever Eris Vanserra decided to call in his favor.

A gentle hand presses into his spine near the base of his wings, prompting him to lift one of them up so as to make room for you to duck under his arm. 

“You didn’t wake me.” You tell him accusingly, sleep still stretching out your vowels and making your words soft and sticky. 

“You looked too sweet.”

You snort at him, clearly aiming for a glare but missing by a mile when a dimple threatens at the corner of your mouth. “You always say that.”

He smiles at you, reaching to wipe away a stray lash from under your eye with his thumb before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. 

“S’ because you’re my sweet girl.” He murmurs against your lips, reluctant to pull away but doing so in favour of getting to look at you. 

Something about the trees dropping their leaves and making room for the autumn breeze and impending snow makes you look ethereal; the wind pulling at strands of your hair as though the world has painted you into its mural. 

He wonders when this will get old; wonders if there will ever be a morning he doesn’t thank the Mother that Elain had been right all that time ago; it hadn’t been easy, and it had taken some time, but — since you’re the single greatest fae that Azriel’s ever met and are far more gracious than he deserves —  you have somehow found it in yourself to forgive him. 

It was a little over four months after you learned of your father’s death that you left Day and returned to the Night Court. You took over Lucien’s rental in Velaris, your brother accepting Helion’s not-so-subtle encouragement to shadow him as heir to Day. Elain found herself a quaint cottage in Day as well, and from what Azriel hears from her sisters, the Seer is doing much better in the sun than she ever did under the stars.

You’ve yet to bring yourself to return to Autumn, but there’s not a single person who faults you for it. Azriel, though, has visited your former home-turned-prison in the time since; twice for work and once on your behalf.

“If she wants any of her things from her room, just have her write me; I’ve saved everything.” Eris offers curtly at the border of Autumn and Winter, the cool air nipping at Azriel’s heels as his hand tightens around the leash.

”I will.” Azriel promised. “Thank you, Eris.”

”I didn’t do it for you.” The High Lord of Autumn pressed, face falling into something much more familiar to Azriel, certainly more familiar than the brotherly love and respect he’s seen so often when Eris speaks of you. 

“I’m still thankful.”

Eris considered the Shadowsinger for a few moments before offering a slight nod of his head. 

“If you ever hurt her” Eris started, a silent but obvious again tucked into the end of the sentence “I’ll take no small pleasure in killing you myself.”

”Understood.” Azriel agreed quickly. “I’d expect no less, though the privilege is and will always first and foremost be Y/N’s, I’ll have it noted that you’re third in line.”

”Third?”

Azriel almost smiled. “I’m afraid your brother has some scores to settle with me; you’ll have to take it up with Lucien.”

Firefly is beloved in Velaris; the city – and the Night Court at large – is not known for their pets, but there’s hardly a fae who can resist stopping to pet the hound when they pass her on the streets. 

Children in particular love meeting you on your daily walks, and on the occasions you allow Azriel to join the two of you, everyone delights in the sight that is Firefly and Azriel’s shadows zipping up and down the bank of the Sidra, teasing, taunting, and twirling until the hound is thoroughly tuckered out. 

The only thing Azriel hasn’t figured out is how to fly the dog up to the House of Wind, though a disastrous attempt was made by Cassian that saw both him and the hound nearly plummeting to their death. 

“I cannot believe you dropped my mate’s dog.” Azriel hisses as you drop to the ground behind him to gather the — rather unperturbed, all things considered — dog to your chest. 

“I didn’t drop the dog; she flung herself out of my arms.” Cassian tries to argue, grimacing when your head snaps up to glare at him in offence. 

“Cassian,” it’s Feyre who levels the Lord of Bloodshed with a stern glare, “you dropped the fucking dog.” 

“Okay, okay; I dropped the dog. But did you see the part where I caught the dog?”

So it’s safe to say that it’s a work in progress. Family dinners have since moved to the Townhouse in the meantime so as to ensure she can partake in the merriment as well.

Your first year and a half in Velaris was spent allowing Azriel the privilege of earning your trust, and slowly allowing yourself to trust him. In that time, Azriel made it his mission to learn everything that he could about you; anything that you were willing to share with him.

 He started by learning the answers to the list he’d come up with that first Solstice of your freedom from Autumn:

Your favourite book. The way you dance. Your fiery personality. Your favourite kind of music. Your favourite colour. Your favourite dessert. Your favourite meal. Your fear of heights (he swears you’ll love flying with him one of these days). That you are, indeed ticklish; there's a spot on your inner thigh just above the knee that makes you squeal every time, and another spot just behind your ear that never fails to cause a hitch in your breathing that’s often echoed by Azriel’s own. He has memorized every scar, every birth mark, and every freckle that lines your skin. 

 Azriel went back to Day to find a street cat that looked like they could really use a home after he noticed how much you love animals and come alive when you’re around them. You admitted to him once that being able to reach out and make contact with another living thing makes you feel less lonely, less isolated, and reminds you that you’re here. It reminds you that you’re free. 

He’s since written to Helion and is heading back to get you another.

Now, the two of you live in your cottage in Velaris, one cat curled up on a pelt by the fire inside and another on the way as Firefly tracks toads along the bank of the river in the distance. Your bare feet are warmed by the magic in the boards of your deck as the two of you split your time between admiring each other and the view. 

Azriel always thought that meeting his mate was going to be the best day of his life. But he had been wrong, as he tends to be about such things. 

As it turns out, every day that he gets to learn something new about you is the best day of his life.

<- previous | the end

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

Azriel finds himself wishing Day was bigger because it’s far too soon for his liking that the two of you are stepping into an awkwardly silent room with an oversized round table. Azriel also finds himself wishing that the table was bigger. 

He wishes it was bigger because there isn’t nearly enough room between you and Eris; between you and anyone Azriel worries might pose a potential threat. 

You pause at the edge of the room when your arrival encourages every gaze to turn in your direction, hesitation licking at the bond in Azriel’s chest.

Eris sits at the North end of the table with Lucien directly across from him at the South end, while Helion takes the East, and Rhys and Feyre the West. 

Lucien has left an empty chair next to him and stands as you walk in so as to pull the chair out for you. You waver finding Azriel laying a gentle and comforting hand to the small of your back, your mate hoping to imbue the touch with a silent promise of support.

You chance a look at him over your shoulder where he offers you a slight nod of encouragement, and whatever you find in Azriel’s gaze sees you accepting the seat beside Lucien. 

Rhys raises a smarmy brow at his brother as Azriel stations himself behind you. 

A few of Helion’s guards flank him, a few of Eris’ trusted soldiers stand dutifully behind him, and the entire Inner Circle is stationed behind Rhys and Feyre.

The entire Inner Circle except for Azriel; at your rear and slightly to your left so you could see him in your periphery. 

Hence Rhys’ taunting smile. 

The mating bond snaps and you turn into a well trained guard dog, Rhys comments into his mind, causing Feyre to smile down at the table to hide her mirth. 

I will pin you to the rafters, Rhysand.

Ooh, ‘Rhysand’ His High Lord merely laughs in return.

“Well, this is quite the family reunion for ya there, Lucien.” Cassian finally comments, simultaneously breaking the silence and sucking the air out of the room as everyone tenses. 

A sound escapes your lips and everyone turns to watch as you slap a hand over your mouth only for another giggle to slip between your fingers. 

“Are you…serious right now?” Lucien asks you from your right, only managing to elicit more laughter from you which is echoed by Cassian from across the room. Even Rhys is caught biting his cheek in an attempt to keep it together.  “What is wrong with you?”

Lucien’s rhetorical question is coated in humour, though, seeing your stifled giggles turn into out-and-out laughter at this table surrounded by rulers of some of Prythian’s most notorious courts. 

There was once a time that such behaviour might have started wars amongst these very courts, but the sound of your laughter finds something akin to smiles gracing most of the fae’s faces in the room, save Eris’ startled soldiers. 

“Are you…drunk?” Eris asks incredulously, brows furrowed though the very corner of his lip seems desperate to hike up into a smirk. “It’s hardly noon.”

“Oh? But haven’t you heard?” You manage through a few more giggles, wiping away some stray tears from your lash line. “Lucien and I are dying.”

Eris’ near-smile falters as he tilts his head at you. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Oh, you know how it is,” Lucien drawls. A snap of your fingers has flames materializing before you and your youngest brother, disappearing to reveal two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, “driven to lunacy by rejected mating bonds…the usual.”

Lucien pours each of you a few fingers of the amber liquid before you clink your glasses together, the light of the candles around the room catching on the crystal as you raise it to the cheeky smirk that has formed on your lips. 

Eris, for his part, merely watches the two of you with a mixture of concern and exhaustion. “Unbelievable.”

“Right, well, now that we’ve caught up, can we get to the point of this impromptu meeting, Eris? I promised my wife some time with the pegasus herd and we’ve yet to see hide or hair of them.”

You snort into your drink. “Loser. That was my first stop this morning…” 

Rhys whips his head to look at you in offence, causing Azriel to take a protective step towards you. “You let her look at them before me?” 

“Well she is much prettier than you, my friend.” Helion replies, shooting a wink in your direction at Rhys’ affronted scoff. “She also has a…way with words, doesn’t she?”

Eris’ lips turn up into a smirk at that. “It’s good to see that 200 years has done nothing to quell that smart mouth of yours, sister.”

“Yeah, about that,” Cassian interjects, looking towards you curiously, “200 years is a long time. How are you not, like, crazy?”

“Cassian.” Azriel lets out warningly, though his defence of you is for naught as you simply tilt your head at the war general and flash him a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“Who says that I’m not?” You respond innocently, Rhys and Mor both breaking out into matching Cheshire cat grins. 

Oh, she’s going to fit in just fine, brother, Rhys comments to Azriel privately, and the Shadowsinger’s wings flutter as he preens at the compliment. 

“Yeah. She never was quite right in the head.” Lucien comments plainly from your side, the ends of his long hair falling to about his ribs spontaneously going up in flames until it’s singed to his midchest. 

“Oh!” Helion exclaims, eyes gleaming with pride. “She’s hot.”

“Y/N,”  the youngest Vanserra male hisses, “you said you’d stop doing that.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” you huff as you settle in further to your chair, “you were overdue for a trim.” 

“Have they always been like this?” Feyre asks Eris, the heir to Autumn moving his gaze from his siblings to the High Lady of Night. 

“Yes,” he replies simply, “I’m glad some things never change.” 

“But, alas, some things must,” Helion adds solemnly, redirecting everyone’s attention to the matter at hand, “which is why you’re here.” 

“Right,” Eris agrees, and Azriel doesn’t think he’s ever seen the pompous prick look so…nervous, “Beron is dead.”

Lucien huffs a breath from his nose that Azriel has the feeling is meant to be a dismissive laugh. 

“I don’t believe you.” You challenge.

With this, Eris reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small pouch, tossing it across the large table where it lands before you with a muffled clink. 

Lucien reaches for it and a few of Azriel’s shadows flit forward to investigate.

Three rings spill from the velvet pouch, all three varying in sizes but identical otherwise. A simple gold signet with ruby gems laid on either side of a crest. 

The Vanserra family crest, his shadows translate, the bond in Azriel’s chest pulling taught with something like disbelief. 

One is smaller, sitting daintily beside another larger one. The third is large as well, but dirtied; scuffed and marred from hundreds of years of wear and covered in what appears to be soot and blood. 

The former High Lord took them from our mate and her brother when they were cast off from the family. Their brother took the High Lord’s ring from him once he fell. 

“Do you believe me now?” Eris asks. 

“Why are you here, Eris?” You counter instead. 

“I wanted to see you.”

“How long have you known?” Lucien cuts in, the eldest Vanserra’s eyes moving to his youngest brother. 

“I only found out five months ago.” Eris defends quickly, eyes flicking back over to you. “I swear it.” 

Five months ago Eris learned of our mate’s survival. 

“It took me two weeks to find out whether the evidence I found was true or not, and then another six to figure out how to get you out without everything going to shit.”

“How’d you find out I was there the whole time?”

Azriel watches as Eris’ face falls almost heartbroken. “I’ve been…working with the Night Court in an attempt to undermine Beron’s rule. It started with little raids here and there followed by leaking sensitive information. It was enough to keep Beron on edge, busy, and thinking he was important enough to give a shit about, but subtle enough that it didn’t seem like it was an inside job.

“One day he was out to deal with some soldiers who were – in his eyes – failing to manage the beasts and creatures along the Spring and Autumn border when I went sniffing through his files and found some of the architecture plans for the Fox Hole. He’d done renovations the year he… imprisoned you.” 

Lucien’s eyes narrow. “What kind of renovations?”

“The wards…” Eris starts, looking at you with caution. “It… he was using your magic to conceal it from the rest of the property. He’d syphoned your power to confine the area. It saved him from his own magic being constantly drained or the wards falling if anything ever happened to him. Your magic was the Fox Hole, his magic was merely the key that kept it all locked.” 

Azriel’s wings twitch in agitation; his mate had been used and drained of her magic for two centuries, her own power being used to keep her caged. Eris’ eyes flicker over to the Night Court’s spymaster at the subtle movement. 

“I…was holding myself captive? The whole time?” You venture, voice small as you put the pieces together in your head. 

“Like I said, his magic was keeping it locked, but he used your magic to build the foundation.” 

“But why couldn’t anyone find it?” Lucien questions. “How did she stay hidden for two centuries?”

“The wards were designed to convince anyone who stumbled too close to them that there was nothing of interest over there. Every time I tried to find the entrance to the Fox Hole, I would be overcome with this sensation like I’d been there already, like I’d already searched the area, or that there was no point in even looking. Often, it wasn’t until I got back to my quarters that I remembered what I’d been searching for at all.” 

“How’d you get around that, then?” It’s Helion who asks, the High Lord of the Day Court ever the academic; they don’t call him the Spell-Cleaver for naught. 

“The dog.” You whisper as Azriel feels your heart stutter, quiet enough that he might not have heard if it wasn’t for how close he’s standing to you.

“The dog?” Lucien asks, looking at you in confusion. 

“The dog.” Eris agrees, a gentle look of pride – for you or his beloved hounds, Azriel isn’t sure – gracing his face.

Your brows are pinched in thought. “But, how-”

“The wards required an individual to have the utmost loyalty in order to be granted access. Apparently, the wards picked up on my rather overt disloyalty to Beron and wouldn’t let me through.”

“Your hounds wouldn’t be loyal to Beron, though.” Lucien tries to argue, but you’re shaking your head no.

“It wouldn’t matter; nothing is more loyal than a dog, period.” 

Eris nods in agreement. “And she’s the most loyal of the pack.” 

“But all that explains is how you found her,” Feyre interjects, “how’d you free her?”

“Beron’s magic was the key, the piece holding the wards that Y/N was powering in place. I needed his magic to falter long enough for the wards to fall. I learned about an illicit trade route travelling through The Middle, and thankfully, due to our father growing more and more suspicious of a larger conspiracy against the Autumn Court, he took it upon himself to investigate.”

“So he travelled to The Middle,” Azriel surmises, causing you to look at him over your shoulder, “where everyone’s magic is at its most unstable.” 

“Exactly.” Eris agrees. 

“So, Beron’s magic unlocked the wards…” Cassian deduces carefully. “How’d the wards fall?” 

“My fear.” 

Everyone turns to look at you at your interjection. “My magic was always the most…unstable when I was scared.” 

“Or mad.” Eris adds.

“Or excited.” Lucien continues. 

“I felt the wards stutter and…between that and the dog well, I- I thought…I thought I was finally losing my mind. And then I was convinced it was a trick, a trap. He…he was going to- I didn’t-”

You’re descending into a panic and Azriel can’t help it; he tugs on the bond. Your mouth snaps shut and you turn to look at him, eyes cataloguing his face. Azriel itches to turn away from your scrutiny but he lets you search, not knowing what it is you’re looking for but figuring you deserve to find it anyway. 

“You had the dogs chase me…herd me to the border at Spring.” You continue, eyes locked on Azriel though you’re clearly speaking to Eris. 

“I couldn’t have Beron return and smell you on me, or smell my magic lingering at the Fox Hole. I…I needed it to look like you just got away.” 

You turn back towards your brother at the explanation, silence filling the air for the first time since you and Azriel arrived.

“Okay.” You finally say, leaning back into your seat as your arms cross protectively over your middle.

“Oh…kay?” Eris ventures cautiously. 

“Are you alright?” Lucien asks, and you glare at him. 

“Obviously I’m not fucking alright, Luc. Everything is so-”

“Easy,” your brother warns gently as the candles lining the room flare brighter under the weight of your magic, “easy.”

A few shadows weave themselves through your hair and down your arms as you scrub harshly at your face, and Azriel opts to follow suit and send calm affection down the bond since he can; since you’ve left it open. 

“So, what?” You huff defeatedly, removing your hands from your face to look at your brother with no shortage of exhaustion. “You’re High Lord now?”

Where Azriel expected the heir to Autumn to gloat or boast, Eris merely shrugs his shoulders. “Unless you want it, yeah.” 

Unless Lucien wants it? Feyre asks, the question sounding off in the Inner Circle’s minds. 

He’s offering it to our mate!

I don’t…think so, Azriel interjects at his shadows’ excitement. 

“No.” You all but growl, dread settling heavily in your stomach and pulsing down the bond as your face contorts with anger. 

“Wait a second…you’re telling me Eris is the kind of male to show up and just offer the throne to Autumn to his baby sister?” Cassian asks in disbelief. 

“First of all, do not assume to know what kind of male I am,” Eris begins severely as he levels a glare at the Lord of Bloodshed, “secondly, according to Autumn’s protocol, the one with the most fire in their veins is the rightful heir of Autumn.” 

“Stop it.” You hiss, clearly close to tears. Azriel inches closer. 

“That has always been her,” Eris continues unperturbed, “she’s been committing arson since before she could properly pronounce Lucien.” 

“In fairness to her, Lucien is a pretty hard name for toddlers to pronounce.” Lucien offers on your behalf. 

“That throne should have always been yours, Y/N.”

“I don’t want it.” You bite out harshly. Azriel’s just about to tell the male to shove it when your oldest brother’s face falls soft. 

“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I just wanted you to know that I know who the rightful heir of Autumn is.”

One of your hands reaches up to wipe away some tears from your face, Azriel’s shadows quickly join in at the task. 

“I wanted both of you to know that you’re always welcome home.”

“That’s not a home,” you spit, “it’s a fucking prison.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Eris argues. “Not anymore.” 

“I doubt either of us could return without burning the whole fucking thing to the ground.” Lucien sighs from your right.

Eris shrugs casually. “Fine by me; I never liked the fuckers affinity for cherry wood anyway.” 

Lucien snorts at that, but Eris’ gaze moves back to you. “I’d rebuild from the ground up if that’s what you wanted; exorcise all of the ghosts that haunt the court.”

Dread, exhaustion, grief, and fury amalgamate in your stomach along with the copious amounts of alcohol you’ve ingested – all of which are brought to a simmer by the fire that lives inside of you – causing Azriel to shoot Rhys a pointed look. 

Thank the Cauldron, his brother understands the silent communication. “I’m sure you have some of Beron’s supporters to subdue, Eris.”

Eris’ eyes leave you to the High Lord of Night as the powerful male and his mate stand from the table. “Perhaps the conversation can continue once things are more stable.” 

Eris looks almost…compassionate as he returns his gaze to you and moves to stand as well. 

“I…am glad you found each other,” Eris settles on, “I hope to hear from the both of you soon.”

Eris waits a few beats before he turns to his soldiers, stopping only when you call his name. 

“The dog.”

Eris’ lips lift into a knowing smirk. “Firefly.” 

The dog’s name is Firefly, the shadows explain, flitting excitedly as Azriel’s mate’s chest fills with want.

“How much for the dog?” Azriel blurts; everyone’s heads snapping towards the Shadowsinger at his outburst. 

Eris’ eyes harden as he considers the Illyrian. “Who says my dogs are for sale?”

“Name your price.” Is Azriel’s only retort.

Eris’ eyes lift from Azriel to consider you. “You want the dog?”

You hesitate for a brief moment before nodding your head. 

“She’s yours.” 

After another brief silence Eris speaks up again, lifting his chin in Azriel's direction as he asks: “Is this the mate you say is driving you to madness?” 

You tense, the shadows sitting on the back of your chair stilling at the change in demeanour before you nod your head yes at your brother. 

Eris merely snorts in laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, I have no worries about you at all, dear sister.” 

You’ve suffered from nightmares for as long as you can remember. 

As a girl, some were as simple as dreams of the monsters lurking under your bed or reimaginings of the backhands your father delivered to your cherubian face. Later they morphed into the cruel taunts and sneers from your brothers, evolving into the dusty crawl spaces they would lock you in until a passing handmaid heard your wails or you accidentally lit a tapestry on fire in your panic. You didn’t think they could get any worse, though, than the nightmares you suffered after being trapped under the Forest House. 

They’re worse now. 

Hands of fire extending from the blackest depths of the Fox Hole reach for you, searing the skin to your very bones as they desperately try to drag you back down to your own personal circle of hell. Who the hands belonged to changed; usually they were your father’s, often they were the Mother’s leading you to believe you were simply always destined for confinement, sometimes they were those of your beloved brothers making the betrayal sting that much worse.

Tonight those flaming hands belonged to your mate. 

You wake in a panic, a solid yank to your sternum finding you shooting upright in a bed in Day Court, breaths heaving as goosebumps form due to the gentle breeze against your clammy skin. 

Your fingers twist in the sheets beneath you, tethering you to something real; to here and now. 

A broken sob falls from your lips as another tug echoes the first in your chest. You have suspected as much over the past number of weeks since the bond snapped, but following discussions in the meeting room of Day, you now know exactly what that tug means.

It’s Azriel.  

Frustration to the likes you’ve never felt before floods your system as you make a spontaneous decision to tug back, hard enough that you briefly wonder if the sheer force of your yank would cause the golden string connecting your souls to split in two. 

The string merely settles back into its proper place, though, before your chest floods with a golden warmth.

“That son of a bitch.” You hiss as you throw your tangled sheets from your body, the hearth in your room roaring to life under the heat of your ire. 

The absolute audacity of your mate is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you’re a Vanserra for crying out loud! You could hardly be considered a stranger to audacious pricks.

You slip on a pair of slippers and wrap a robe around your form – quickly developing hangover be damned – as you fling open the door to your room and watch a number of shadows go skittering away.

The sheer nerve of this male! 

You tug on the bond once more, following the direction that the returning tug pulls you in, and you know you’re on the right track when you see shadows careening around a corner like their little asses were on fire. 

You follow those shadows to the end of the hallway and watch as they slip under the door of what you can only assume is their master’s room, raising your fist to knock (more like bang) when the door swings open. 

Azriel stands there, hair mussed – from sleep or tugging at it, you aren’t sure – in nothing but a pair of loose fitting sleep pants that sit low on his hips.

Mother have mercy. 

“Are you alright?” He asks breathlessly, hand brushing through his dark curls causing the muscles in his arms and chest flex under the movement and a number of sinful feelings to flood your system. 

You slam your end of the bond shut so suddenly that it squeezes a surprised breath from Azriel’s lungs.

“No, I am not alright.” You seeth before you shove past him into his room uninvited. He’s forced to lift an arm and a wing in order to grant you entry, watching curiously as you settle in the centre of his room with your arms crossed just to glare at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Put a fucking shirt on.” You spit at him, looking towards his bed – the still warm outline of a clearly Illyrian male pressed into the mattress – in an attempt to save yourself from being accosted by the sight of the half-naked male. 

You avert your gaze to the floor, instead. 

Azriel hesitates for a moment either wondering what the hell your problem is or feeling smug because he knows exactly what your problem is before ultimately doing as asked, retrieving a plain black tee – which is too tight to keep your attention away from his arms and figure, the bastard – and slipping it on before mirroring your stance. 

“What’s wrong?” He tries again, though his tone isn’t nearly as antagonistic as his posture. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You manage to ask, sounding far smaller than you felt when you came marching over here.

Azriel’s shoulders fall in your periphery, and you’re almost tempted to look at him. 

“Doing what, sweetheart?” He murmurs, sounding broken. 

Your eyes squeeze shut at the epithet. “Why haven’t you rejected the bond?” 

“I-”

“Why are you trying to be nice to me?”

“I should have always been being nice to you.” He insists, daring a step forward though he halts when you retreat to maintain the distance between you two. 

“Why haven’t you rejected the bond?”

“Because I don’t want to reject the bond.”

A desperate breath is punched out of your lungs. “Why?” 

“Do you want me to reject the bond?” He asks instead with a tilt to his head and a furrow to his brows.

“I want you to get it over with already!” It comes out of you half sob, half shout as your hands fall helplessly to your sides. “I’m so tired, Azriel, I am so tired. I can’t live in this limbo anymore, I can’t. Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Why haven’t you rejected the mating bond yet? You don’t even want me!” 

“Of course I want you, Y/N.” He states emphatically, taking two steps closer to you as he stares at you imploringly. “Of course I- how could I ever not want you?”

“But, Elain-”

“I thought I wanted Elain.” He agrees honestly, face falling contrite though no less determined. “I did. I tried to force something that wasn’t there, that wasn’t meant for me. But I have never not wanted you, Y/N. From the moment I found you in Dawn.”

Your chest is heaving as he dares another step towards you. 

“The second I saw you in those woods, I knew I’ve never wanted anything more. Even if I tried to convince myself it was because you were suspicious, even if I pretended it was because I didn’t trust you; I knew I needed you to come back to Night with me. There has not been a moment since I’ve met you that I didn’t want you and I nearly lost my mind trying to convince myself otherwise.” 

He pauses to catch his own breath, eyes burning with sincerity as he keeps his unwavering gaze locked on you. 

“And I tried.” He whispers, stepping even closer until his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar threatens to overwhelm you. “Mother knows I tried, sweetheart. I didn’t want to want you. I didn’t think I had the right to; not after the mess I made with your brother, not after the sacrifices I all but encouraged Elain to make. What right did I have to want you, Y/N?” 

What right did he have? You don’t know. You don’t. 

“I had no right to want – have no right to want you – but that never stopped the wanting.” He’s closer now, staring down at you with the intensity of a male about to embark on the greatest battle he’s ever faced. “To want you…was written into the fabric of my being, Y/N; there will never be a version of me that doesn’t.”

With this, Azriel lowers himself to his knees, legs folded neatly underneath him and his grand wings bent awkwardly behind him, though his expression doesn’t betray any discomfort as he looks up at you like a devout male praying to his favourite deity. 

“I haven’t rejected the mating bond because I do not want to reject the mating bond, nor is there a single part of me that will ever want that. If you want to break it, you have every right. Every right; I’ll be the first to say it.”

You shake your head no though don’t interrupt.

“But whatever you want, I’ll be that.” He whispers.

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“You want to go back to Autumn? I’ll fly you there myself. You want to travel to every court in Prythian? I’ll be your escort. You want to visit the continent? I’ll start making the arrangements right now. I will follow you to the ends of this Earth if you ask me to, if you allow me the privilege. You don’t want me within a hundred yards of you? I’ll fund your travels and wish you well.

“If you never want to be mine — if you choose to have nothing to do with me — I’ll accept it; I’d understand it, even. I’ll honour whatever decision you make. But Y/N, you have to know that even if you don’t want to be mine I will always be yours. There will never be a time or place in which I do not belong to you; heart, body, and soul. And I’m sorry; so terribly sorry for the way that all of this has started, for the way that I handled this, for the hurt I caused. I will go to my grave trying to make up for all of the wrong I’ve done these past few months. I will gladly spend the rest of my life trying to be even a fraction of the mate you deserve; the mate the Mother believes I’m capable of being for you; the mate the Cauldron crafted me to be for you.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” You sob, a hand rising to cover your mouth as you press your other into your sternum. “I- I’m so broken, I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

Azriel shuffles forward on his knees, shaking his head as he braves himself to brush soothing lines up and down your bare calves with scarred palms. “You don’t have to know anything right now, sweetheart.”

“I’m scared.” You whimper. 

“I know. I know, I-”

“I don’t know what to think.” 

“Open the bond, sweetheart.” Azriel insists, gently squeezing your ankles. “Open the bond.”

“But-”

“Please.” 

The wall you erected upon arriving at his room crumbles at his plea and the second the bond is open you are flooded with so much love and devotion that you feel buoyant in the face of Azriel’s worship of you.

“I will never let you question my commitment to you again, Y/N. I vow to you, even if you do not want to be mine, I am yours. Eternally.” He emphasizes his words with another tug to the bond and the dam breaks, tears streaming down your face as your knees buckle beneath you. 

Azriel somehow manages to catch most of your weight before your knees meet the floor with a hard crack, gently lowering you until you kneel directly in front of him. 

“I’m so angry with you.” You manage through sobs. 

He nods at you. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“Wherever you want.” 

“I don’t know how to do this.” 

A sigh loosens from his chest. “You’ll figure it out; you have all the time in the world to figure out what you want, where to go, how to do it. Okay? All the time in the world.”

“You’re not meant to be here.” You tell him again; your body betrays you by listing forward in an attempt to make contact with someone — anyone — else to convince your brain that you aren’t alone anymore; that you aren’t there anymore. Your forehead ends up pressing into the Shadowsinger’s shoulder.

Azriel, emboldened by your proximity, leans forward ever so slightly until his nose is pressed into the crown of your head. “I am exactly where I’ve always been meant to be.”

For the first time, maybe ever, the fire roaring inside you lowers to a quiet hum, wisps of shadows a cool reprieve from the everpresent burn, and you think you might just believe him.

<- previous | epilogue ->

You were going mad. It was finally happening. You supposed that 200 years of imprisonment would do that to a person. No company, three books you’ve read and reread and reimagined and rewrote yourself until the pages were brittle enough to tear under the weight of your mere gaze, meals delivered by magic three times a day, and a tiny window that no one and nothing ever walked past. You figured you made it longer than most would have. 

But there was a dog. 

You were losing your mind.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the dog. It hadn’t stayed long; sniffed at the frame of your window, whined a few times, and then pressed its nose against the pane of glass before it took back off to wherever it came from. 

That had been four months ago; it never came back.

It never came back because it didn’t exist, you scolded yourself, pacing the well-worn path you’d long since paced into the floor of your room of over nearly 200 years. 

Except you could still see its nose print on the glass. 

But what was that nose print evidence of? Was it evidence of a dog? Or was it evidence of your growing, impending descent into madness? 

There was a stutter of the wards surrounding you, and your first thought was that it was dinner time; the magic making room for your meal to be delivered. Your second thought was that you were going insane.

Your third thought was that something was wrong. 

Because the wards stuttered a second time before falling completely, leaving the atmosphere feeling about three degrees cooler, ten pounds lighter, and significantly quieter; the only sound was that of your racing heart pounding in your ears.

And then, a click. 

The door – wooden, eerily similar to your bedroom door in the Forest House – inched open a crack, and the air from the hallway felt fundamentally different from the stagnant air of your room. 

It had to be a trap. Beron must’ve been waiting on the other side of the door. This was a test; waiting to see if you were bold enough to try to flee, or if he had finally managed to break your spirit. This was your mind playing tricks on you.

Or, maybe, it was a chance; a shot at freedom. 

You’re not sure how long you stood there, staring at the slightly ajar door with one hand at your mouth and the other wrapped protectively around your middle. Which is strange, because you’ve gotten really good at counting since being imprisoned all those years ago. The number of tiles in your tiny bathroom, how many seconds between the wards shifting and your meal appearing on the round table built for two but only ever held one, the number of years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds that you’ve existed in a perpetual purgatory. 

Did it matter if it was a trap? What was the alternative? To stay here? Exist for another 200 years with nothing but your slowly declining mind to keep you company? Perhaps finding your end at Beron’s hand would be preferable; maybe you’d finally be freed from this miserable existence. If he didn’t, maybe you-

The sound of dogs barking in the distance snapped you out of your internal spiralling and your instincts took over, deciding on your behalf to take your chances. There was nothing for you to grab to use as a weapon; the mess always cleaned itself up, no need for a broom or a mop. You’d been wearing delicate flats when you were imprisoned, you didn’t even have a high heel to use as a shiv nor a heavy boot as a blunt forced object. 

You didn’t care.

Couldn’t care. 

You reach forward cautiously, quite sure you were going to be met with instant death or perhaps searing pain at the brush of your fingers against the door. Neither came, so you nudged it open, exposing the damp, stone floor and walls of the dungeons. Other cell doors lined the hall; all open, all empty.

And there was natural light – brighter than the dim torches flickering along the hallway walls – pouring in from some open doorway into the Fox Hole.

Freedom called to you as your movements grew in confidence, each stride faster and longer than the last, each step up the stone stairs more determined, shouldering through the half-opened door where your feet – currently bare – made contact with the damp earth of your family’s estate. 

You could hardly relish in the feel of the grass between your toes, nor the wind sweeping through your hair, nor the sun kissing your skin. You wanted to laugh, to sob, to scream, to sing, but you could do no such thing when one of the newly freed prisoners dropped dead beside you, an ashwood arrow protruding from his chest.

“Hey!” An Autumn soldier shouted, reloading his bow as two other soldiers appeared in the distance with their swords raised.

You took off in the opposite direction; soldiers behind you, the Forest House to your right, and what you hoped would be freedom straight ahead. 

You weren’t used to running; 200 years spent within the same four walls didn’t exactly leave you with enough room for cardio. Still, while your muscle mass may have diminished during your imprisonment, the fire raging in your heart did not. 

Ahead of you, a pack of hounds rounded the edge of the house and began running towards you and another prisoner; you both immediately changed course to your left where the estate’s gates were quickly approaching. 

The prisoner seemed to feel that the situation was every fae for themself, which you could have appreciated if it weren’t for the way he shoved you in an attempt to slow you down, clearly of the mind that he’d make it off ahead if the soldiers and/or the hounds were distracted by you. 

You felt heat sizzle underneath your skin at the infraction; 200 years of it being suppressed by the wards of the Fox Hole did nothing to quell the inferno raging inside of you. But, you didn’t want to draw any more attention to yourself by sending the entire estate up in flames. 

You may not have had proper combat training – it was not appropriate for a lady to concern herself with such things, after all – but you did have a lifetime of experience defending yourself from your brothers. 

And your brothers had never been afraid to fight dirty, so neither were you. 

As his elbow made contact with your ribs, you grabbed at his tunic to keep yourself upright. The male snarled as he hauled you in front of him, wrapped his hands around your throat, and shoved you up against the wall of the gates surrounding the property. He slammed you into the low stone wall once, twice, and aimed for a third when you managed to dig your nails into the skin of his arm, your other hand reaching forward to grab him by the face before your heat leached out of your palm like a branding iron.

The male screamed, the scent of his burning skin, flesh, and hair assaulting your senses as his grip tightened around your neck. 

“Let go.” You wheezed, kneeing him in the gut which saw his hands dropping from your neck. You took a moment to land a punch to his throat before searing the soles of his boots to the ground; the scent of burning leather that bound feet to boots and boots to earth brought tears to your eyes as you wrenched away from him. 

The guards were a mere few feet away when you slipped out of the gates and ran down the gravel road, mindless of the sharp stones digging painfully into your bare feet as you ran with everything that you had. 

Two soldiers stayed back to apprehend the male prisoner leaving the third soldier on your tail as the hounds began to catch up. 

You heard a low whistle from somewhere behind you which seemed to elicit a new excitement in the hounds nipping at your heels, and you briefly considered that maybe you would prefer to meet your end by a pack of wild beasts than to Beron’s whims. 

You heard a snarl, a snap, and braced yourself when you saw a hound lunge in your periphery.

The soldier behind you fell to the ground which was quickly followed by the sound of gurgling. You didn’t bother to turn and investigate, the sound of the male drowning in his own blood falling further and further away as you continued sprinting.

With another whistle off in the distance, the dogs moved to your left which forced you to careen right and off of the road, following after you as you ducked between branches and leapt over fallen trees through the Autumn woodlands. 

After a few meters of running, another whistle sounded seeing the dogs leaning to their right, forcing you ever deeper into the forest. 

Your lungs burned, your cheeks stung from both the wind and the branches, and your feet were turning numb which was, honestly, preferable to the searing pain of stones, thorns, and twigs embedding themselves into your soles. 

Another whistle. 

Someone was following you, someone was keeping up enough that they could have caught you by now. Why-

A dog nipped at your heel, eliciting a snarl from another as you forced your legs harder, faster. 

There was a threshold within your sight; the boundary between Autumn and Spring. You willed your lungs to cooperate, prayed to the Mother that you could just make it into Spring; the young, freshly leafed birch trees standing like bright beacons of freedom from the dismal darkness of your home court. 

The Mother laughed at you, surely, watching your foot catch on the root of an old oak tree before you hit the ground hard as the hounds circled and snarled at you relentlessly.

You ignored the taste of iron flooding your mouth as you flipped over and began scurrying away from the hounds that barked and barked and barked, the smoke from their fur creating a fog around you as one leaned forward to nip at your toes forcing a startled yelp from your lips.

One of the hounds jumped forward to snarl at the dog who deigned to snap at you, though she stopped none of them from barking and gaining on you further, forcing you to continue crawling backwards in an attempt to keep some distance from them. 

You felt an ancient magic surround you before you fell through the border between the two courts, finding yourself officially in the fresh, damp woods of the Spring Court…free.

Just like that, the hounds stopped their pursuit, stopped their barking and snarling, stopped their nipping. They panted from the exertion of their chase before they turned around and – you could only assume – headed back for their master. 

All except one. 

One dog sat happily at the boundary between Autumn and Spring, front paws tippytapping in excitement, tongue lolled out the side of her mouth as she panted at you. 

The nose print you’d memorized from your window now shone in the quickly setting sun. 

“It was you,” you whispered, flinching when the hound barked back in response. “But-”

The dog barked again, spinning a few times as she moved a few paces to your right. There, beneath a tree, sat a bundle of folded clothes, a pair of boots, a flask of water, a brown paper bag, and pinned to the tree trunk by a dagger was a portrait of your youngest brother. 

Another whistle sounded in the distance, the dogs’ master clearly looking for their final missing hound, though your little saviour seemed less than inclined to return. 

“Go home.” You encouraged her quietly, taking careful, limping steps towards the care package in hopes it would appease her. “I’m okay. Go home.” 

The dog yipped, front paws tippytapping again as she preened under your attention. 

“Your master is waiting for you.” You explained, cautiously inching your hand forward and allowing her to give your closed fist a sniff. She did, excitedly licking at it before another whistle – closer now – pierced through the silent forest. 

“Go home, sweetheart.” You urged, taking your hand away. “Thank you.” 

The dog barked one last time before turning and taking off into the forest of Autumn, disappearing between the trunks of ancient trees. 

You looked back at the small pile of things seemingly left for you to find. 

You’re not sure who compiled this nor if they were responsible for your escape, though you had your suspicions on both accounts. 

And if you were right, then they were clearly suggesting you go find Lucien. 

Now, what was your luck that you’d manage to find him in Spring?

<- previous | next ->

Or so he thought. 

“Part of Lucien’s Solstice gift was tickets to the symphony this weekend.” 

Azriel turns towards her, his silence an encouragement to continue. 

“Four of them, actually.” She continues, carrying on once again only at Azriel’s hum of acknowledgement. “I was wondering if you wanted to go.” 

The blood drains from Azriel’s face, wings tucking in tight to his body like he’s preparing for combat as his mind goes into overdrive trying to figure out how he got this conversation so wrong, wondering how he might be able to let her down easily. 

“I thought we could invite Lucien and Y/N,” she adds quickly, “make it a group thing.” 

Azriel’s system floods with relief and grief alike, a self-deprecating laugh slipping from his lips as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, focusing his attention back to the window. “That’s a nice thought, Elain, but…”

But…Lucien would probably rather die than exist in the same city as Azriel let alone the same room. But Lucien would likely kill Azriel before allowing him anywhere near his dear sister. But you are probably so beyond disgusted by Azriel. But you probably have no interest in the male let alone spending any time with him. But-

“She’s going to forgive you, you know.” Elain states gently, leaning forward in her chair in an attempt to catch Azriel’s eyes. He doesn’t take the bait. “I’ve seen it.” 

Azriel’s wings twitch behind him. 

“I don’t think so.” He whispers, eliciting a small smirk from the Seer. 

“You doubt my abilities, Azriel?” 

Azriel shakes his head and lowers his gaze to the ground below him. 

“I don’t doubt you.”

”You doubt her?” 

Azriel’s head rises again, shadows swirling in indignation at the thought that Azriel might have anything but the utmost faith in you. “I do not doubt that she is capable of forgiveness. I doubt that I will ever be worthy of it. I doubt I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.” 

This manages to silence Elain who watches Azriel carefully before she turns her body in her chair towards him. 

“You don’t have to carry the weight of a mistake just because you spent a long time making it, Azriel.” She murmurs eventually, continuing only when Azriel turns to look at her. “You’re allowed to put it down.”

He searches her eyes; for what, he isn’t sure. “I don’t deserve her forgiveness, Elain.”

The Archeron sister stands, offering Azriel a sad smile as she moves to stand in front of him with her arms crossed. “That’s unfortunately not your decision to make, is it?” 

Azriel supposes it isn’t; can’t imagine ever telling you what to do, really. Can’t imagine ever being able to say no to you, either. If Azriel was forged by fire, you were made of it; and he’s sure if there was anyone on Earth who could be equally if not more stubborn than him, well, it’s likely to be you. 

“She forgives me?” 

The question inspires a soft smile to grace the female’s face. “Not yet.” She admits. “But she will. It won’t be easy, and you’ll have to give her time. But, yes. She forgives you.”

”Thank you.” 

Elain merely hums in acknowledgement, turning back towards the window to track a flock of children racing towards the Sidra to feed the geese. “The High Lord is waiting to speak with you.” 

Azriel lets out a quiet snort of laughter as he stands too. “Did you happen to See that as well or is he still harassing you?” 

“It did not come to me as a Sight.” Elain replies rather diplomatically, Azriel chuckling to himself as he follows Rhys’ earlier summons to the High Lord’s office. 

Azriel can hear the conversation taking place in Rhys’ office before he sees any of the participants. 

“-so we’ll have to make other arrangements.” Feyre muses. 

“Well with Vanserra gone, I don’t mind escorting Mor to continue discussions.” Cassian adds easily.

“Vanserra is gone?” Azriel asks, announcing his arrival to the room. 

“Oh, how nice of you to join us.” Rhys huffs rather petulantly. 

Cassian grins wolfishly. “It really is nice you’re still able to find time for us with your busy schedule, brother.” 

“Where has Vanserra gone?” Azriel presses again, Rhys rolling his eyes at him and Feyre pursing her lips.

”To Day.” 

“For how long?” Azriel asks her. 

“Indefinitely.” Rhys replies on his mate’s behalf, a slight downturn to his lips. 

Azriel’s shadows still. “And Y/N?” He asks quietly, as though embarrassed to be asking when he really has no right to know, as though afraid of the answer he knows is coming. 

With this, Feyre’s eyes soften with sympathy that Azriel doesn’t think he deserves, doesn’t think he can stomach. “She went with him.” 

The room remains silent as Azriel considers this news, not even Cassian’s smart mouth attempting to lighten the mood. 

“Please tell me you have business to attend to in Day.” Azriel all but begs Rhys; the High Lord’s eyes glimmering with humour as his lips curl into a feline smirk. 

“Funny you should ask, Az…” 

“Rhysand!” Helion greets warmly, smile radiantly bright against his deep skin as he moves towards the High Lord and Lady of Night, two fae he’s come to consider friends. “And dear Feyre. I must say, I was very happy to hear that you two would be stopping by.”

After embracing the both of them warmly, Helion steps back to take in the rest of the group. “I didn’t realize this was going to be a family affair.”

And it really was a family affair, not that Rhys feigning interest in Helion’s beloved Pegasus herd required his entire Inner Circle’s attendance; Cassian and Mor were eager to watch Azriel grovel, and when Nesta realized Elain would be coming along in hopes of speaking with Lucien, well. 

“And you brought your spymaster.” Helion adds with a serpentine smile. “Tell me, Shadowsinger; have you finally reconsidered my previous propositions?” 

Azriel can’t help it, he blushes. Listen, he’s no prude; Helion is a beautiful male, but-

Rhys takes pity on him. “Unfortunately, my dear friend, I fear my brother’s affections lie elsewhere. In fact, it’s her he’s here in hopes of seeing.” 

Helion nods with a knowing smile, gaze never straying from Azriel even as the Illyrian bites back a shiver from the way Helion’s eyes rake over his form. 

“Ah, the lovely Y/N.” The High Lord of Day hums in approval. “Hopefully you’ll have more luck than I did.” 

Azriel’s wings flare behind him, fists clenching possessively at the thought of the High Lord of Day making a pass at his mate. 

A lesser male would have balked at the hostility radiating from the Night Court’s infamous spymaster. Helion merely throws his head back in laughter, turning to walk away without bothering to confirm that Rhys and Feyre were following him. “Oh Azriel, you and I could have so much fun together. If things don’t work out with the Autumnal Princess, you know where to find me.”  

“He is relentless.” Cassian laughs once the High Lords and Lady leave the room. “Though I suppose it’s nice to know you have options, brother.” 

“Get lost.” Azriel hisses as his shadows take off in search of you. 

“Why don’t we go with Feyre and her mate?” Nesta encourages, apparently miffed enough about whatever quarrel she and Rhys had last night that she’s still refusing to even refer to him by name.

“Yeah alright,” Cassian agrees easily, “I’m down to check out some pega… Pegasuses? Pegasi? What’s the plural for pegasus?”

“Cassian?” Nesta asks, wrapping her arm in his and carrying on after her sister.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.” 

Elain shoots Azriel an encouraging smile and a thumbs up as she and Mor trail after the mated pairs, finding Azriel alone for the first time all day. 

It’s not long before his shadows reappear, zipping up his legs and around his neck to whisper into his ears.

She’s in the library. They tell him.

“That’s really helpful, thank you.” He grumbles aloud; the entire Day Court is basically a giant compound of libraries. 

It seems his shadows think he ought to put in the work to find you himself.

Azriel’s fine with that; you’re more than worth the effort. 

You’re beginning to wonder if everyone in Day is just passive or if being a guest of their High Lord is enough for everyone to turn a blind eye to you. Or, perhaps you just look deranged enough for no one to be willing to interrupt you on your endeavours. Either way, this is the fourth library you’ve walked into absolutely piss drunk and the most reaction you’ve managed to elicit from anyone has been a cursory glance as they cautiously watch you stumble through the shelves of books.

So many books.

You wonder how many of these you could have made it through in your 200 years under the Forest House. If you average one book every two days – just to be conservative – and each year has approximately 365 days, and you spent 200 of them in there, well…

Well, you’re not really in any position to be doing math right now but it’s probably a lot. 

You wonder how long you’ll have until you completely lose your mind; wonder if you can keep your mind long enough to make even a dent in one of these libraries. 

Probably not. 

Which is why you’re drunk instead. 

Lucien really ought to be getting drunk with you; he’s more or less in the same boat. How long is he going to be able to act as an emissary before his mind turns to mush under the weight of a rejected mating bond? 

Idiot. 

He should be drinking with you, should be earning sideways glances and half-hearted glares from librarians with you, should be drinking at your celebration of life that hardly had a chance to start before it ended with you. 

You’re jealous.

Jealous of your brother, idiot or not. 

He managed to enjoy almost 200 years of freedom from Beron’s wickedness before losing his mind to a rejected mating bond. 

What’d you get? Two months, maybe three? And the first five weeks of it were spent surviving, starting your search for Lucien in Spring only to come upon a rather dreadful looking court before travelling through Summer, then Winter, then The Middle, and then- 

Your heart clenches so painfully that you feel nauseous. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. 

It’s probably the alcohol. 

You take another swig from your bottle of…is this the fairy wine? Or did you finish that already? It didn’t feel sharp enough to be a spirit, though you’re quite sure you’ve just about chemically burned the tastebuds right off your tongue at this point. 

The top of the library dedicated to botany is home to a greenhouse, the entire floor completely windowed; walls and ceilings made of tempered glass that encases the space in the warmest sun you’ve ever felt grace your skin. 

Though you can see the sky and the birds and the clouds and the sun, you itch to feel the breeze through your hair. It wasn’t until you escaped the Fox Hole that you learned you’ve grown rather claustrophobic during your imprisonment. 

You transfer the bottle of (what you’re quite sure is) fairy wine to your non-dominant hand in order to reach for the handle to crank the window open; hand-eye coordination failing spectacularly as you miss your target – twice – and end up leaning heavily into the wall of windows. 

“Why is everything so difficult?” You groan to yourself, pressing your forehead against the cool glass as you try to work up the courage to make another attempt. 

“Do you need a hand?” 

The bottle slips from your hand at the sound of your mate’s voice, shoulders migrating upwards and eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the sound of a crash that never comes.

Instead, you turn to find a cluster of shadows delivering your bottle to their master before flitting back over to you, gliding soothingly along your over-heated skin. 

“You’re drunk.” The male states, and while your processing may be a little spotty right now, you don’t think you detect any judgement from your mate. In fact, you might even say he seems…amused.

“You’re here.” You counter instead of replying to his reasonable observation.

“I am.” He agrees, placing your bottle of – yep, definitely – fairy wine onto a low table. “As are you.”

“You’re not meant to be here.”

His brows raise ever so slightly. “Where am I meant to be?” 

You shake your head, not really knowing where someone like the elusive Shadowsinger is supposed to be, only that he’s not supposed to be here. 

“Do you need a hand?” He asks again, clearly aware you don’t have an answer for him. 

“With what?” 

You swear you notice the tiniest lift of the corner of his mouth; an almost smile. “You seemed to be struggling there,” he explains, nodding at the handle behind you, “I only wondered if you needed a hand.” 

Oh yeah.

“I want the window open.” You explain plainly as you stare at the cursed thing, arms crossed protectively over your middle now that you don’t have a bottle of what is definitely fairy wine occupying your hands. 

Without saying a word, the Shadowsinger steps forwards and leans over the small chaise against the wall to crank the window open (in one try, the bastard).

The air in Day has been kissed by winter but the perpetual warmth of Day’s sun leaves the court snow-free. Still, the dry air feels heavenly along your skin, heated by both the alcohol and the fire that it feeds inside you. 

“How much have you had to drink?” He asks eventually, his eyes on you while yours stay glued to the now open window. 

“Lots.” You reply shortly. “Why are you here?”

The Spymaster doesn’t hesitate before he responds, “To see you.” 

You turn at that, tipping over slightly and finding a little bit of pleasure in the way the male’s fingers clearly itch to reach out to you before he thinks better of it, conceding the task of stabilizing you to his loyal shadows. 

“Why?”

A muscle in his jaw works, clearly unprepared to answer. “Because…you’re my mate.” 

“So?” 

Something flickers in his eyes before he swallows, shame colouring his features. “I’ve…made a mess of things.” 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, turning back towards the window, “seems like you’ve got yourself a pretty cozy setup to me.” 

The only sound in the conservatory comes from the rustling of leaves under the breeze of your open window and two fae quietly discussing some research on the other end of the room. 

“It was a mistake.” He admits eventually. “I… was wrong. To question the bond between your brother and Elain, for trying to come between them. Wrong to…challenge him.” 

You keep your gaze pinned to the windows before you as though you find the imprint of your forehead on the glass to be the most interesting thing in all of Day Court. 

“I should have never resisted the bond that the Mother chose for me. The mate that the Cauldron made for me.” He adds, voice tapering off to something so quiet, so small. So at odds with the Illyrian warrior you have come to learn that he is. 

“It’s okay.” You reply in kind, barely more than a whisper. “I wouldn’t want me either.” 

A devastated iteration of your name falls from his lips. 

“No one’s ever really wanted me before.” You continue, eyes unfocused as you keep your face pointed towards the windows. “My father didn’t want a daughter, let alone one with so much fire in her. Mother didn’t really want any of this; never wanted to subject another female to a life like hers. I think a part of her felt like she failed when she had me; that she failed to protect another female from being subjected to such a cruel fate. My brothers didn’t want another sibling, a sister even less so.” 

You’re not sure what has inspired this tangent nor why you’ve chosen to share it with the spymaster of the Night Court out of all people, but it pours out of you like an overflowing spring. 

“No one’s ever really known what to do with me.” You turn towards him with that, offering the spymaster a wry smile. “Not sure why that would change now.” 

His eyes seem to move impossibly fast – though that could also just be your perception being so thoroughly saturated in alcohol – as he catalogs your face. 

“You’re drunk.” You don’t think he’s reminding you, but perhaps himself. As though he had been considering saying something, admitting something, asking you something, but ultimately thought better of it. 

“And you’re here.” You remind him in return. 

“I’m here.” 

It might not be much, but it’s something. 

You try to let it be enough for now. 

Azriel has to admit that, while the circumstances might not be ideal, he’s enjoying the privilege of walking with you through the Day Court, ensuring you make it wherever you’re going safely and listening to your various drunken ramblings. 

You’re…kind of adorable. 

You’ve stopped to pet every cat you’ve come across, which has been a lot; who knew Day had so many cats wandering about? You apologized to a trash can you accidentally bumped into. And every time something captures your attention, you let out a little gasp of what might be excitement or awe. 

“So your High Lord-”

“Rhys,” Azriel gently interjects to correct you. Again.

“-wants a pegasus?” 

“I don’t think so.” He admits, keeping his hands pinned behind his back to avoid doing something humiliating like taking your hand in his or tucking you into his side or pulling you into his chest and-

“But you said he’s discussing the- the herd with Helion.” You ask around a hiccup.

“I did.” Azriel agrees. “But I believe he just used that as an excuse to get me into Day.”

You stop abruptly, swaying slightly due to the sudden change of motion seeing Azriel’s hands coming forward in case he needs to catch you. “Why did you need an excuse?”

Azriel’s smile is somewhat abashed as his arms relax at his sides; your eyes follow the motion. “It’s not very appropriate for a spymaster from another court to show up suddenly, unannounced. Even worse, demanding to speak to a guest of the High Lord himself.” 

You consider his words before nodding, the movement too deep for your currently inebriated state.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him as you carry on walking; to where, Azriel isn’t really sure. He also doesn’t really care, happy to simply be walking along with you. 

“What are you apologizing for? You’ve not bumped into any trash cans recently.” 

You shoot him a half-hearted glare at his teasing that has his heart taking off in flight.

“Asking so many questions.”

“I don’t mind in the slightest.” Azriel assures you honestly, greedily loving the sound of your voice and enjoying learning more about you as you learn about him. “You’re free to ask me anything you want.” 

“Why do you wear those gloves?”

Azriel’s shadows still – even the ones currently weaving themselves through your hair – as his steps falter for the briefest of moments before carrying on even though his wings tuck tighter against his body. He meant it when he said you were free to ask him anything you wanted, even if it was about his scars. 

He has made himself a promise, and perhaps one day will admit as much to you as well, that he will always be honest with you, even when it’s hard. 

It’s the least you deserve. 

With a deep breath, Azriel halts his steps which encourages you to do the same, watching him as he carefully pulls at the fingers of his leather gloves. 

The second the marred flesh of his hands are exposed, your own hand flies to your mouth and Azriel looks up to see that the blood has drained from your face.

Shit, maybe he should have just told you. Maybe he shouldn’t have shown you. Maybe-

“Did I do that?” You hiss fervently, tears evidenced in your voice. 

Oh.

Oh.

“No, sweetheart, no.” He insists quickly, the pet name falling from his lips uninhibitedly at the sight of your upset. “You didn’t do this. It happened when I was a boy.” 

You suck in a shuddering breath as the hand that had been covering your mouth falls to your chest in time with a tear falling from your lashline. He keeps his hands aloft, unsure if he should put his gloves back on or at least lower his arms to his side since your gaze was still locked on them. 

Then, your hand inches forward, pausing as your eyes flit up to Azriel’s in ask. 

He swallows around a quickly growing lump in his throat and offers you a subtle nod of his head. 

The second your fingertips brush the mutilated skin of his hand, Azriel is struck with the realization that he hasn’t touched you since the day the bond snapped, since the day the two of you fought in the woods at Dawn, since he bound you and brought you to Hewn City to be questioned. 

If Azriel hadn’t seen you wield it so effortlessly, he wouldn’t have known there were flames dancing under your skin, heating the marrow of your bones. Your touch was so soft, so reverent, that the lump in his throat turned to a burning in his sinuses. 

Your second hand joins the first in its exploration of his hands, touch intensifying as you trace the patterns where flames had licked and lived along his flesh. 

His breath hitches as you flip his hands over so that his palms are facing upwards. You trail a gentle finger over the love-line on his right hand. 

“What happened?” You ask, something in your tone warning Azriel of a sudden change in mood. 

“My…half-brothers; they wanted to perform an experiment.” 

Your head doesn’t move but your fiery eyes flick up to his, demanding him to continue. 

“They wanted to see which would win; fire or Illyrian healing.” 

Your jaw works hard as you turn your attention back to his hands, the gentle press of your thumbs into the centre of his palm like a kiss. 

“Are they alive?”

Your brothers. The shadows clarify. 

“As far as I’m aware.”

You hum in acknowledgement though you don’t look up, nor do you release Azriel’s hands. As much as he’s both horrified by and terribly protective of his hands, he can’t help but think of this as a different experiment; a better experiment. One that includes you and him, and Azriel finds himself feeling hopeful at what the findings might be. 

Azriel, where are you? Rhys calls into his mind, and it’s a real effort not to audibly growl at the intrusion of the moment, the Illyrian unwilling to risk you retracting your touch. 

I’m busy. He all but bellows, ready to slam his mental walls shut when Rhys responds urgently. 

Beron is dead. 

….what?

What!? 

Eris is here. Rhys continues once he knows Azriel isn’t about to shut him out. He wants to speak with his siblings. Both of them. 

Azriel’s eyes flit back up to notice you looking at him curiously. You fluster at having been caught staring, attempting to pull your hands away from your mate, but Azriel quickly closes his hands around yours to stop you from retreating. 

“What is it?” You ask warily, and Azriel can hear your heartbeat pick up in tempo, can feel your nerves vibrating down the bond. 

“It’s…it’s Eris.” He admits, monitoring your face which falls disturbingly neutral. “He’s here.” 

“Why?” You ask, voice even though Azriel knows you certainly don’t feel it.

“Your father is dead.” He admits, brushing his thumbs over the backs of your hands in a way he hopes is comforting at the news, regardless of how you might feel about the male who sired you. “And he wants to speak with you.” 

<- previous | next ->

Azriel adds this to a list of things he knows about you. It’s a pathetic list as far as mates go, merely six items in length; he knows your name, he knows you’re his mate, knows where you’ve been for the last 200 years, knows you can wield fire (can still feel the phantom sting of it on his palm), he knows you have some combat training, and he knows that you’re probably funny. 

He also knows that you’re plagued by nightmares. It feels like a violation, but he swears it wasn’t his intention to learn this about you. 

At night, your magic relaxes and your side of the bond opens up, and more often than not you’re awoken to a stampede in your chest and a hand wrapped around your lungs like a vice. 

On the nights that Azriel isn’t already lying awake and staring at his ceiling helplessly, it wakes him too. The fear, the panic, the dread is so tangible he can feel it dragging him down like quicksand, the air growing thicker and thicker making it nearly impossible to breathe. 

The first time it happened, Azriel thought he was the one having a panic attack. It took him some time before he realized that the bond was vibrating with urgency, the sacred golden string pulled taught under the weight of your discomfort. 

The only thing Azriel has thought to do to save you from the terror you experience is to tug on the bond. Gently at first, and more firmly when the first one fails to wake you. 

There are a few moments of quiet after his successful tug; he imagines you sitting up in bed, the room dark save for the light of the stars and the moon filtering in through the window casting a slight glow on the sheen of sweat that coats your skin as you catch your breath, hair a mess from the tossing and turning you had likely been doing. 

And then the bond would go quiet. No tug back, no acknowledgement, no goodbye. Just silence. 

He has no idea what you think of his intrusion, his unsolicited assistance. But it — selfishly — feels like a piece of you that he now holds. This is something only Azriel could do for you, and he folds the privilege up and tucks it into the recess of his chest cavity, storing it close to his heart.

Your name. Your mate. Your home court. Your power. Your fight. You’re funny. Your nightmares. 

A list of seven; that’s all that your mate knows about you. 

It isn’t enough. 

What’s your favourite book? Do you enjoy dancing? Are you naturally introverted, or were you once outgoing? What kind of music do you listen to? What’s your favourite colour? Do you have any allergies? What’s your favourite dessert? Do you have a sweet tooth? A favourite meal? Are you scared of heights? Are you ticklish? Have you ever had pets? Do you want pets? Do you have scars? Birth marks? Can he find constellations of freckles or beauty marks on your back? How did you survive 200 years of captivity?

Azriel wants to know all of it. He yearns to read you like a book, to flip through your pages and take notes and make annotations and find supporting sources to back up his findings. 

But he can’t even look at Mor or Cassian without the memories of them bringing a smile to your face or being graced with your sense of humour accosting him. It has him feeling like…well, like a failure. 

And if he can’t even look at two of his oldest friends, his family, well, it’s safe to say he hasn’t figured out a way to seek you out, either. 

He doubts your brother would allow him anywhere near you anyway, and as fundamentally wrong as that feels, Azriel can’t exactly blame the male. Azriel did challenge him to a blood duel, after all, and has himself withheld your brother’s own mate from him. 

Shame weighs heavy on his wings. You must be so disgusted; Azriel can only imagine what you think of him. Your mate chased after you in the woods like you were a common thief, killed a male before your eyes, imprisoned you, had you questioned by the High Lord and Lady of his court, and then you found out that he’s challenged your brother to a blood duel for the hand of your brother’s mate. 

What a fucking mess. 

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron?

The city is teeming with life as Solstice grows closer; patrons milling about to find the perfect gift for their loved ones and neighbours. Tinsel, garland, and dried fruit hang in every window, door frame, and alleyway. 

Elain is enamoured by all of it. And Azriel can’t help but think that a few weeks ago, he might have been just as enamoured with Elain. 

But his mind is elsewhere. 

He decides, though, to stick to routine; mornings in the library with tea, walks in the garden, quiet afternoons reading, dinner side by side, sometimes chatting or sometimes sitting together in silence until he walks the female to her room when she retires for the night. 

With Solstice approaching, his routine also includes flying her down into the shopping district to look for gifts. 

And Azriel doesn’t mean to, but he catches traces of your scent everywhere. The cafe he knows is close to your brother’s apartment. A pottery studio in The Rainbow. A fashion boutique Azriel is certain Feyre suggested to you. His shadows even found traces of you at Orhen’s bakery once before, though they informed him that it had been your first and last visit to the establishment. 

He concocts a map of your whereabouts in his head, catalogues your usual haunts and commits them to memory. 

He’s not sure what he plans to do with the memories, but it feels important to do anyway. 

Azriel opts to wait outside of a shop Elain came to check out, not interested in the cramps he’d no doubt get in his wings from tucking them tightly into his body to avoid knocking over bottles of scented oils and perfumes.

She’s overwhelmed, his shadows whisper, vibrating along his shoulders as he watches a few skitter back from a small crowd gathered in the square. His mind immediately goes to Elain, more than accustomed to the Archeron sister’s trauma. Did she have a vision? Has someone made her uncomfortable? Has-

She’s not used to so many people anymore. 

So many people? But-

The crowd thins and a gentle breeze that is barely strong enough to ruffle Azriel’s wings threatens to put him on his ass; sharp apple, tacky caramel, fresh air at dawn. 

Our mate! the shadows cheer.

You stand in the middle of the crowd, hands wrapped tightly around a basket that you hold close to your chest as though afraid someone might take it from you. His shadows tell him you’ve purchased a mug from the pottery studio you like, a gift for Lucien for Solstice. The basket is also weighed down heavily by ingredients; you plan to bake. 

Now Azriel knows that you can bake. 

The cloak you’re wearing is a green so deep it almost appears black, cinched at the waist by a camel coloured corset belt and similarly coloured boots. Your hood is oversized and pulled over your head, but Azriel finds himself wishing Lucien had found you a warmer cloak.

We should get our mate mittens, his shadows suggest. 

But the breeze that threatened to level Azriel now accosts you, and with a shiver you turn your head to find Azriel standing across the square from you. 

He should approach you now. He should offer to carry your basket for you. He should wrap his cloak around your shoulders. He should shield you from the breeze with his wing and walk you back to your brother's apartment. He should ask you what size cloak you wear so he can buy you a warmer one. He should measure your hands so he can learn to knit and make you some mittens. He-

Elain brushes a gentle hand to the Shadowsinger’s elbow and he turns to find her smiling prettily up at him as she pulls her cloak tighter against her frame. “Thanks for waiting. Are you ready to head back home?” 

Home…right. 

“Just about, if you don’t mind-” but the rest of his sentence dies on his tongue as he turns his gaze back to you only to be met with empty space where you once stood. Azriel’s almost certain he can still see the outline of you; your form burned into his retina like he’d been brazen enough to glance at the sun for too long, the air seemingly saving space for where you once were, where you ought to be. 

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron?

Azriel now knows nine things about you. 

He knows your name. He knows where you’re from. He knows you’re his mate. He knows of your powers. He knows your combat abilities. He knows you’re probably funny. He knows you have nightmares. He knows you can bake.

And he knows you’re probably better off without him. 

“Are you looking forward to tonight?” Elain asks, pausing her steps to wait as Azriel ducks under the low-hanging branch weighed down by the heavy snow. 

His wings twitch in anticipation, though Azriel doesn’t know if his nerves are positive or negative. 

He’s sure there’s a part of him who is excited at the prospect of seeing you again, of being near his mate. Just the thought alone has his shadows dancing around his feet. But then he remembers that you’ll be coming with your brother, that your mate wants your brother dead, that your brother hates your mate. He remembers how quickly you fled from the square in the shopping district when you spotted him. 

Is he looking forward to tonight? 

He looks back down at Elain, who is smiling up at him expectantly, and something fond bubbles up in his chest. This is what he’s been fighting for. This is the reality he dared to imagine, dared to ask for, dared to make. 

“I am.” He decides, a small quirk of his lips which acts as a smile and sees Elain’s own growing as a result. “Are you?” 

“Oh yes.” Elain agrees quickly, turning her gaze back towards the familiar path the pair take through the gardens almost daily. “It was very difficult, but I’m quite sure I’ve found Nesta a book she’s never read before, and-”

Azriel nods along as Elain explains her various gifts for the family; her sisters and their mates take centre stage in Elain’s excitement, and she goes so far as to fill him in on her means of acquiring the perfect gifts. 

When Rhys had first approached him, asking his brother to please keep an eye on Feyre’s quietest sister as she recovered from the loss of her former life, Azriel wasn’t sure what he could possibly offer the female. 

Mor was probably the best option of the bunch; bubbly and effervescent, a certified professional when it came to being a member of the family that made up the Night Court. Even Cassian would have been a better option. The general was far more approachable than Azriel, had an affinity for filling in awkward silences, and was disturbingly, perpetually positive. 

In fact, if you asked him, the only person worse for Elain than Azriel would have been Amren, and at least then the ancient being would have been able to relate to her on the grounds of being female alone. 

Yet, falling into routine with Elain had been easy. Safe. Comfortable. 

He met her where she was every day and never asked for more, never pushed her farther than she was willing to go. And she never asked him for anything, either. He could show up with his usual frown or his shadows a flurry of activity behind his wings and she would simply sit with him until he felt better. 

Elain felt a lot like the answer to a question Azriel didn’t realize he’d asked until he found her. 

“What’d you get for Cassian?” Elain asks then. 

“I’m…not sure that answer would be polite to explain to his mate’s sister.” Azriel settles on, smiling to himself at the sound of Elain’s dainty laugh. 

“Fair enough. I- oh!” 

Azriel’s head snaps up and his shadows still in anticipation, fingers dancing at the hilt of the blades still (always) strapped to the Spymaster’s thigh. He relaxes when he sees the female smiling up at a small bundle of sprigs with delicate berries. 

“Have you heard of the mistletoe tradition, Azriel?” 

The corner of his mouth curves upwards and he tilts his head, tucking his hands behind his back as he steps up to the female. The glint in Elain’s eyes has him instructing his shadows to monitor the manor doors and alert him if any of his family members come looking for them for dinner. 

“I’m not sure that I have.” 

Elain hums mischievously before turning her gaze back up to the sprig. “It’s an old human tradition. It’s often hung in doorways and couples who are caught standing under it together are meant to share a kiss.” 

With this, she shifts a step to her left so that she’s standing directly beneath the mistletoe. Azriel’s certain if he hadn’t sent his shadows to take watch they would be tittering around his head. 

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron? 

Azriel tries to remember the last time he’s ever taken anything for himself, demanded anything for himself. He’s always had a father to answer to, a High Lord to bend to, orders to comply with, missions to execute. No room for error, no room for questions. 

Azriel had been burned, tortured, restrained, set free, kept on a tight leash, monitored, whispered about, used. 

And he’s taken it; every single order, every single master, every single job, all with a polite nod of thanks before performing his duties to the absolute best of his abilities. 

He’s tortured people, killed people, trained people, fought battles, won wars. 

This – Elain, her, right here – is all Azriel has ever asked for. 

Azriel was forged by fire and agony, carved from stone and pain. He wanted this; he chose this. 

“Is that right?” He murmurs, stepping closer to the female until he could feel the heat emanating from her body against his chest, forcing her to crane her neck to smile up at him coyly. Officially situated under the mistletoe with the female he was willing to fight for.

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron? 

“I’m not usually one to break tradition.” Elain whispers, eyes dropping to Azriel’s lips and encouraging his eyes to fall to hers.

He wants this; he chose this. 

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron? 

“I see no reason why you should start now.” He replies in kind, lifting a gloved hand to cup the side of her face, stomach tightening in anticipation at the way she instinctively leans into his touch. 

He wanted this. He wants this.

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron? 

With an inhale Azriel bends, lifting his other hand to help steady Elain as she rises to her toes to meet him in the middle, cold noses bumping and Azriel thinks to himself finally as their lips meet and he-

He lets his lips linger there, the heat he expected to feel both on his lips and in his soul missing as Elain lets out a hum; whether the sound is in approval or more thoughtful in nature, Azriel isn’t sure. 

He isn’t sure. 

Do you really think you know better than the Cauldron? 

Azriel isn’t sure. 

He doesn’t think Elain is either, the way he finds the female blankly blinking up at him leads him to believe that she might be feeling just as unmoored as he does.

A cool brush against the nape of his neck alerts him to his shadows’ return. Morrigan is coming to collect us for dinner. 

“Dinner is ready.” He informs Elain, cataloguing her face once more before his hands fall to his side and he takes a step away from her. He finds that doesn’t feel any colder due to the loss of her warmth. She doesn’t try to follow him. 

“We should head back in.” He continues, forcing his eyes in the direction his shadows just came from and pretending he can’t feel Elain’s contemplative gaze on the side of his face. 

With a quick nod, Elain gathers her skirts and follows the well-travelled trail towards the house. 

His shadows echo a previous version of Cassian as Azriel follows dutifully behind the new fae: do you really think you know better than the Cauldron? 

No, Azriel finally admits, sinuses stinging as he and Elain leave the garden, I really don’t think I know better than the Cauldron. 

Azriel is busy pretending that he doesn’t feel fundamentally wrong while he listens to Rhys and Cassian argue about wingspans as everyone takes their places at the table. 

“Okay, you know what? Nesta, get the tape measure out.” Cassian barks as he sits in his chair with a thump. 

“I’m not fucking measuring you, you overgrown bat.” 

Cassian’s brows furrow in confusion as his mate takes her place beside him. “Why not? You had no problem measuring m-” 

“Oh-kay,” Mor calls out with a smirk, interrupting Cassian’s sentence as she serves herself a generous glass of wine, “what the two of you measure in your bedroom is hardly Solstice table conversation.” 

“We’ve had worse,” Rhys replies with a smirk, shooting a wink at Azriel, “we’ve had Solstice dinners where the two of them were actually-”

“Can’t we have one family dinner without nonsense?” Feyre asks with a sigh.

Amren responds from around the rim of her wine glass. “Not around here.”

Azriel is moving on autopilot, reaching to accept the bottle of wine from Mor’s hands in order to fill Elain’s glass when his shadows stir. 

“Oh, Y/N! I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it.” Feyre sing-songs, standing to greet you with a warm embrace. Azriel wonders if your smile isn’t a touch tight. “Did you come alone?”

With this, Feyre steps back which exposes your cloaked form, snowflakes beginning to melt now that you’re being warmed by the house and leaving little dew drops on your lashes. Azriel puts the bottle of wine down in preparation to stand, intending to offer to take the wrapped packages from your arms, to relieve you of your cloak, to pull out your chair across from him and fill your glass of wine. Anything. 

“Actually, Lucien had come along with me.” You offer with a hollow chuckle. “We’d been hanging out in the gardens trying to gather up the courage to enter.”

No. 

Azriel deflates in his chair, his blood, his wings, his stomach all travel south as they fall victim to both gravity and horror. 

“But Lucien decided he really didn’t feel very well so he headed back to his apartment.” You explain, Feyre making a sympathetic sound as she looks back towards her mate.

Her mate, whose hard stare is directed at Azriel. 

They saw; our mate and her brother saw you kiss Elain. 

“He made me promise to deliver these, though.” You continue, imbuing your voice with put-upon pep as you hold the various wrapped packages aloft. “I think he has some here for a few of you, and I made something quick for the lot of you, just as a thanks for allowing me to stay in your beautiful city.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet.” Mor coos, standing to come and accept the remaining package from you once Feyre steps away to place Lucien’s gifts on the sidetable. “You’re going to stay for dinner, right?” 

Azriel watches your gaze flicker to the two empty seats across from him and Elain, and it’s impossible to miss the way you pointedly forbid your eyes from falling onto your mate or your brother’s mate. 

“I actually think I’m going to head back to the apartment myself. Make sure Lucien’s faring alright.” You explain politely, eyes crinkling at the edges and Azriel has the horrid feeling you’re fighting back tears. He reaches out down the bond and tugs. He tugs and tugs and tugs but you simply smile at Rhys over Feyre’s head before taking a protective step backwards. “Happy Solstice, everyone.”

You’re seen off with a chorus of Happy Solstices as Mor and Cassian tear open your gift to the house. 

Azriel now knows ten things about you; he knows your name, that you’re his mate, where you’re from, what powers you wield, your level of combat training, that you’re funny, you have nightmares, you can bake. He knows that you’d be better off without him. 

And now he knows that you know you’d be better off without him, too. 

Your gift to the house had been a tin of delicious smelling baked goods with a note stuck to the lid: Shadowsinger, do not eat.