𝒻𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓈 // 𝒻𝒶𝑒

Finally, Daphne was home. She may have been tired and overseeing an onslaught of new cases. But that wasn’t a surprise. Not with the possibly foreseen, chaotic violence during the Trials of Oberon award ceremony wrought by the human resistance. But that was another speculation for another day. The head healer tended to, and aided in the supervision of, injured spring members upon their return. Whether it be at the castle’s royal infirmary wherein their soldiers and valkyries were cared for or to those during her previously planned appointments at spring orphanages and safeway homes. Likely, those that were in dire straits, were brought to her and the royal healers. As fortunately, with most minor injuries, those within spring could heal themselves. But not every spring member could afford to make that journey. Thus Daphne’s free appointments.

Faintly, Daphne wondered when she would find a moment of reprieve during her day when she learned she’d been summoned for tea. Apparently, her former mentor and newly re-declared high lady had the gift of possibly reading minds too, Daphne jokingly mused on her way join Faun in the courtyard. A part of her toyed with beginning such a rumor, just to see how far its branches would extend. But wisely, decided not to, as she reached the courtyard. She greeted Faun with an easy smile, going over to hug the blonde as there truly was little need for pretense. “…How did you know I needed a break?” She asked as they pulled apart and she assessed Faun. “And please, don’t tell me that I look as tired as I feel.” The joke escaped her with a grin before she sat down on the comfortable cushions of the nearest seat. Daphne doubted as much since she prided herself on looking her best even if that wasn’t her experience for that day. “How are you? Truly? I know that I’ve been busy. But it must be triple that for you.” She paused, overlooking Faun again with a sigh. “I know that I’ve been saying this every time I do. But it’s so good to see you.” Daphne murmured, hands extending to rest atop of Faun’s own. “You were greatly missed, you know.”

But she was home now, and she had no intention of ever leaving her family again - and that included Spring Court’s tight-knit Inner Circle. Faun had not chosen her staff indiscriminately; they had been brought carefully into the heart of Deerling Castle following the blessed fall of Erik Newblood’s reign of terror, and she’d loved and looked out for them ever since. Daphne Meadows was one such inclusion, and for good reason. The Spring Court fae might have been known for their healing abilities, but Daphne had stood out as an ingenue among the crowd from the moment Faun had first spotted her, and the High Lady had instantly insisted upon taking the young girl beneath one of her angel-white wings. She trained Daphne to harness her powers, to wield them as both a healing implement and a weapon, and when the time came to elect a new Head Healer of Spring Court - Faun had been unable to think of anyone better suited than she.

And, in the wake of the calamitous attack that had taken place during the Highwind Games, Daphne had proved herself invaluable yet again. “I might have been away for quite some time, Daphne, but it was not nearly long enough for me to forget about your tendency to overwork yourself,” the Queen of the Meadow said with a melodic windchime laugh as she welcomed the younger fae eagerly into her arms for an embrace, smoothing her slender, elegant hands down over Daphne’s long honey-brown hair with endless maternal affection. She insisted that the Healer seat herself, then, and with a graceful flick of her wrist, Faun was magically pouring them both tea that, just as Daphne had so keenly suspected, she’d spiked with homemade spirits. 

“The tea was steeped with rose petals from the Garden itself, and made even better with the addition of vanilla bean liquor that I procured on my more recent visit to the Jeweled City,” the High Lady explained with an almost-mischievous twinkle in her claret-green eyes, and as Daphne placed her hands atop her own, Faun was quick to flip them over, and she tenderly squeezed Daphne’s undoubtedly worn-out fingers. “You look wonderful, Daphne. As radiant as the fields of flowers your family’s surname brings to mind. And I’ve missed you, too, and in the chaos of all that’s been happening, I’ve yet to find a gift worthy of all that you’ve done to keep us afloat.” It was the truth - Elias’ rise to power in Lumenopolis had devastated Faun, and she’d spent the last few weeks fighting him at every turn. “I am well. With your assistance, our entire army, and both of my sons have been healed in full. It is not something that I could have achieved so easily without you.” She paused, then, and let go of one of Daphne’s hands so that she could instead gingerly brush a chestnut-colored wave out of the younger fae’s face. “How are you, aside from exhausted? How have you been? Are you faring alright?” 

The sun was setting on the Winter Court, casting the warm glow of waning light across the land outside the castle, until the snow-covered earth became little more than glittering specks of ground diamond. When Sevastian looked at the world outside of his chamber windows, he thought of the cragged mountaintops that surrounded the Winter Court like a set of jagged teeth set inside a crooked mouth; the mountains his mother’s clan descended from; the mountains he’d hidden away in as a boy, healing from injuries that had permanently scarred the talon-tipped wings that jutted defiantly from his backside. Those mountains had once been home, but Sevastian had his eyes set on different horizons these days. Namely, a throne of ice and frost, and a High Lord who didn’t deserve the title he’d inherited.

The entire world was growing quiet, but the monsters inside of Sevastian’s mind roared to life.

Turning away from the window, a crystal tumbler still poised between his fingertips, Sevastian made his way towards one of the plush chairs that decorated his living quarters. He sat down, thumbing open the decanter of brandy that sat on the small serving table beside him and filling the contents of his glass. He brought the cool glass to his lips, taking a sip as his dark, inquisitive eyes flickered over towards the large ornate door that led from his room out into the sprawling interior of the Winter Court high castle. Ilsa would be here any moment now, if she had the good sense to arrive on time for their meeting, and Sevastian allowed the moments to tick by and stretch between them. In their game of cat and mouse, however, Ilsa Sonnenblume was rarely the woman Sevastian expected her to be. She was as much a predator as he was, and though he would never admit the traitorous words out loud, there was something like pride and appreciation that glowed in his eyes when she openly defied him. Something too close to simmering attraction for Sevastian to analyze too closely. 

Irritated by her absence, he took another sip from his glass, his teeth clenching together in irritation. The brandy was smooth on his throat, the amber-colored liquid flickering like molten gold under the dancing shadows and orange-colored light that the crackling, open fire in the grate caused. Still, the time ticked down on the clock, and one thought bloomed forth in Sevastian’s mind: sometimes, your allies were more dangerous than your enemies.

There were only a few things worth returning to Valentina Castle for - first and foremost, of course, was her darling baby sister, but given the waning hour and the coming moonrise, Ilsa knew that young Ayla would already be fast asleep by the time that she arrived. She was kept absurdly busy throughout the day, after all, with her numerous duties as an indentured human to the Royal Family, and she did not doubt that the vast majority of said duties were done in fealty to the brooding middle child himself - the easily forgotten prince who held Ayla’s small, vulnerable heart in the palm of one frosted hand. Regardless, Ayla would awake the next morning to a care package at the foot of her bed, lovingly-wrapped and filled to the brim with all sorts of treats and surprises. If it was up to Ilsa, she would have whisked Ayla out of her servitude years ago, immediately after the death of their mother, but for now she settled by providing for her as best as she could. It meant the world to Ilsa that she was able to spoil her precious sister in ways that neither one of them had ever even dreamed of while being raised in a fae household by a duty-bound human mother, and she hoped that one day, she wouldn’t need to travel so far to do it. Perhaps one day, she wouldn’t need to live in Winter Court at all. 

But alas - there was only one other explanation for Ilsa’s admittedly late arrival to the High Castle. After having spent the last fortnight in the Jewelled City, warming the bed of a high-ranking duke who couldn’t quite keep his mouth shut in or out of his silken sheets, she’d finally returned home not just with a new, luxurious fur coat and a necklace of rare, ruby red diamonds, but with an array of information considerably more valuable than any of the aforementioned gifts. Furs and trinkets were already impossibly easy for the young courtesan to come by; she sat on an impressive estate and a vault full of gold - all of which was entirely in her name and nobody else’s - but accepting the alms of a rich degenerate was part of her job, and there was no reason to allow such finery to go to waste. Still - her real reason for visiting Valentina Castle had nothing to do with the Royal Family themselves, and rather their tsarevich cousin - Sevastian. 

The relationship that she shared with the outcast Valentina was a tenuous one. Ilsa had sworn for longer than she could remember that she would hate Winter Court’s ruling family for as long as they claimed the throne, but Sevastian himself was an exception, if only because he also resented the clan that had stolen the crown that he had truly believed to be rightfully is. It wasn’t any of Ilsa’s business whether that was actually the truth or not, but it gave the two of them a common enemy, and a shared goal to work towards; it made them partners, and as much as Ilsa might have been out for herself first and foremost, there was no denying her attraction to the dark-haired harbinger, as well as a fixed amount of trust. Trust that, of course, Ilsa would break in an instant if she learned that he was conspiring against her, but she liked to think that both Sevastian and Hazar were...well, the closest things that she had to a positive male relationship.

Kenji didn’t count - he was her resident poison expert and supplier, and she adored him unconditionally because of it. “You’re going to grind your teeth down to the gums if you continue to clench that wonderfully strong jaw of yours, darling,” Ilsa purred as she finally stepped into Sevastian’s chambers; she was late, but fashionably so, and she saw no need to apologize. She shook out her long, glossy dark hair; there were white crystals of snow caught like delicate flowers in the silken locks, and she shivered lightly as she slipped sensuously out of her previously-mentioned fur. Beneath it, she wore nothing but a strapless snug dress of burgundy velvet, the same deep red of cherry wine with a plunging neckline; it clung indecently to Ilsa’s ample, luscious curves, and the necklace of ruby diamonds around her slender, swan-like neck glittered radiantly in the fire-lit candlelight. Sevastian was brooding over by the window, of course, already well into a glass of brandy, and Ilsa’s full, rounded hips swung an erotic, enticing rhythm as she approached him; she offered him an angelic smile and a murmured, “You’ve missed me, haven’t you, Valentina?” 

She was barely of age when she first swore her allegiance to the Beaumont’s reign. It was not a grand procession, or some emboldened blood oath under the cloak of darkness. No, it was in the midst of an exchange with the then-Nightmare Prince himself. A conversation of their respective upbringings, turning into a promise. Jacqueline swore to be true, to be loyal, and to be ruthless in the name of his reign. A promise of patriotism and love, that had never ceased in her three centuries of servitude. Naturally, then, the arrival of her future-Queen brought more questions than answers. The unprecedented benefits aside, Sophia Wren (now Beaumont) was a wild card. Certainly, a most beautiful and sophisticated one that would inspire fervent admiration from her people. But a wild card none the less. She did not know their culture, or their ways. Her empathetic heart was a rarity in the cynicism of the Night Court. Her allegiances, questionable at best. The Queen of Roses was not a ruler that could be easily abandoned, and her muddled history with the Resistance could very well inspire sympathy to their plight.  There were a myriad of doubts that led Jacqueline to be both companion and adversary. But most of all, it was a familiar protectiveness over Gabriel. As much brother to her (some days, more so) than her own – he was her tether. As overwhelmingly powerful as he was, one’s companion could be their victory, or their undoing. The pendulum swung back and forth with Sophia, at least in Jacqueline’s eye. Frankly, the advisor was resigned to distrust her, for the remainder of her existence.

Until she saw it, in her iridescent blue eyes. It wasn’t simply love (what was love to a nymph?). But devotion. An unyielding, selfless fealty to the Nightmare King herself. An expression Jacqueline only saw in those truly loyal to Gabriel. One that she only ever saw in her shrewd expressions, in Kael’s lingering gaze, and even in Deimos’ clench of his jaw. Suddenly, and then all at once, Sophia had become one of them. And just as quickly, Jacqueline felt herself turn on her axis. Whatever begrudging dislike remained, became awash in Sophia’s company. They were two different fae, to be certain. She would never understand Sophia’s bleeding heart, nor would her High Lady known the depths of her depravity. But they shared the only thing of true importance; a devotion to the Beaumont’s reign and the Night Court’s well-being. The tumultuous circumstances that came from the Trial rocked Jacqueline to her core. Saltwater tears as she attempted to protect Gabriel’s injured form, within an inch of her own life. The War General understood, of course. But she’s reaffirmed, again, when she caught Sophia’s eye in Gabriel’s chamber. A sense of worry and despair, that not even the most masterful of actresses could feign. They have been by each other’s side ever since. As the reigning monarch, Jacqueline passed each matter onto her, offering her own expertise as needed. Kael would protect and pursue vengeance, while the women would continue where Gabriel left off.

Still - even they needed reprieve, and the hot springs within her oasis was often the place for it. After a long day’s work, the two would delve into the heated depths of the spring. Their comfortably exposed bodies, submerged in the warmth as they lathered their pale skin with essential oils. Speaking of both nothing, and everything, in the same beat. The evening felt no different, save for the assortment of fresh fruits from Sophia’s beloved garden. Jacqueline never took to it herself, instead dipping into the assortment of cheese and cured meats prepared by the servants. They are minutes into their dip, when Jacqueline clears her throat. “There must be some comfort to it, no?” She asks rhetorically, extending her nimble fingers to take a sip of her glass of wine. “To know who your heart belongs to. Even if it is both your husband, and his closest comrade.” She skirts around the knowledge of Gabriel and Kael’s relationship. So far, Sophia has made little inclination of knowing it – and Jacqueline refuses to involve herself in it more than necessary. “Messy as it may be. It must be better than the endlessness of fleeting romances.” She sighs, waving her hand theatrically. “C’est la vie.”

She hadn’t expected to develop as close of a bond with Jacqueline Dubois as she had. At their first meeting, she had been instantly repelled by the advisor’s duplicitous nature, the way that she so easily switched from one mask to the next; as someone who had always worn her heart on her sleeve for the world to see, coming face to face with someone as wildly insincere as Jacqueline had been more than a little jarring. Now, though, eyes that had once seemed vicious and cruel shone to her with a haunting sort of sorrow instead, a vulnerability she had not once expected to see, and it was as if Jacqueline had spent the last seven or so months having her heart broken over and over again, and was only just now figuring out what to do with the pieces.

The royal advisor’s expression might have been painted carefully blank, but her eyes were like wounds in her face as she spoke. The two women were lounging in the sweetly-scented, steamy waters of Jacqueline’s own private hot springs, and Sophia listened carefully to each word that fell almost hesitantly from her quivering lips. Gabriel had told her as much that he hadn’t approved of any of Jacqueline’s former lovers, and would never approve of them if they weren’t from Night Court, but Sophia understood all too well what it was like to fall for someone across enemy lines. Celine. Alexander. Raymond. There hadn’t been an alliance in all of Astralis strong enough to stop her from feeling the way that she once did. “It was not always so simple, I’m afraid, and for a very long time, it provided me with no such comfort at all,” Sophia said softly, and she shifted closer to Jacqueline to gracefully drop a lush, ruby-red strawberry into her glass of wine - the only way she’d ever be able to get any ounce of vitamin c into the waif of a fae.

“S’il vous plait, it is only recently that mon roi and mon loup and I have come together as one singular whole; a completed puzzle instead of pieces scattered hopelessly across the floor. It was not easy, and I...was not so quick to put an end to my own fleeting romances,” she admitted with a feather-light sigh, before sinking languidly into the steaming water, taking her time beneath the surface before reappearing as golden and as glimmering as Venus herself bursting free from her seashell. She smoothed back her long honey-blonde hair, and swam right up to Jacqueline, resting her hands gently upon the other woman’s knees in the water as she looked up at her and smiled, fond and affectionate, and said, “You will find someone who loves you the way that you deserve, cher ami. Someone who adores you for everything that you are, and not in spite of it. And do not listen to what mon roi has to say about it needing to be une chauve-souris de nuit; there are plenty of wonderful men to be found all throughout Astralis. I know this very well.”

Lucien couldn’t remember the last time he had been this upset with someone. Perhaps the day he exiled his brother, but that was a different sort of frustration. That was one laced in years–decades–of unease and strife. The pain he felt now, as he stalked his way through the Widowed Oak and towards the Hunt’s infirmary–was a different sort of pain. It was, like all things, something decidedly unique to Amara Zareen. She had been as infuriating as she had been wonderful; as exhilarating as she had been stubborn. But for all the ways they butted heads with one another, the King of Wolves had never expected her to outright lie to him. To hide things from him as if–as if they meant nothing to each other. As Lucien made his way to the infirmary, his heart pounding in his chest and his gaze steely, snippets of his conversation with the head dragon tamer, Mihir Zareen, echoed in his head. 

Lucien…the infirmary…

It’s Amara, I’m afraid she’s…I’m…sorry…it’s…I thought she would have told you by now…

That was always the problem with Lucien and Amara’s relationship, wasn’t it? Try as he might to make the stubborn archer understand her value (both to the pack at large and him on a more intimate level), she seemed bound and determined to run from him at every available opportunity. But this? Hiding a pregnancy from him? Hiding a child from him? Amara was stubborn and willful, but this was enough to make Lucien’s blood run cold. Still, the Wolf King pressed on, bursting through the doors of the quaint infirmary and weaving his way back towards the rooms that housed patients. He could smell her, that’s how fucking close she was. But still, somehow, she was just out of reach. Most days it felt as though Amara was always just out of his reach. How could a woman who filled him with such magnanimous passion and desire also rip his still-beating heart out of his chest and toss it aside as though it meant little to her?

“Your Grace…” a healer-in-training began, dipping into a clumsy curtsy as she blinked and eyed the king warily. “I’m afraid the patients are likely all aslee–”

“Where. Is. Amara. Zareen.”

And even young Cleo knew why the King of Wolves himself was here to see her now. Everyone in the pack knew that Amara and Lucien were...intimately involved, even if the former of the two seemed so nonsensically determined to hide it, and if the burgeoning storm in the alpha’s piercing blue eyes was anything to go by, that hadn’t been the only thing that Amara was attempting to keep secret. Certain that the head healer would have her job for this, Cleo tentatively showed Lucien the way to the room that Amara was being kept in, opening the door and gesturing towards the lone bed in the room, where the half-nymph was sleeping rather peacefully given the fact that Lucien had all but thundered down the hall. That was strange, Cleo thought to herself suddenly - Amara’s senses were so honed and so skilled, and even pregnancy couldn’t have possibly but a damper on that. Surely she should have woken up by now...

“See? She’s right here, your grace, and she’s fast asleep! She’s healing just fine. One of her wings had a small fracture, and her ankle was twisted, but aside from a few bruises and scrapes, it was nothing that we couldn’t take care of! And the baby is okay, too. Its heartbeat is very strong,” Cleo attempted to reassure Lucien with a nervous wring of her shaky hands, and as she glanced back towards Amara - angelic, prone Amara - she was almost certain that she saw the dragon tamer’s daughter twitch a little in her sleep, as if irritated. And speaking of heartbeats - Cleo could pick up on the sudden sound of the patient’s beginning to race, and her ears perked up, her brows furrowing together in immediate confusion. Was she only pretending to rest?

Tidus stood before the entrance to the Garden, trying desperately to look like a proper Summer Court guard and less like a child in a candy store. He had heard stories of course, of an oasis of women at the heart of the Cloverwood Forest, and he had certainly fantasized about being allowed onto it’s hallowed grounds, but never had he anticipated an opportunity to visit through legitimate means. Even with the lumbering centaurs glaring at him, nothing could sink his buoyant mood. After the stress of dealing with the Night Court and the fallout from the Autumn Court tournament, it seemed as though someone in a higher place had decided that he was due for a far more pleasant trip abroad.

It was one of the best assignments that Tidus had ever been given; a once in a century opporunity that he would have given one of his wings for. Apparently some young nymph had requested an escort to visit her parents, and in a demonstration of good will, the benevolant, indulgent High Lady Li Liu had granted the duty of escorting to one of her own. That, paired with a little luck and a begrudging captain had seen him flying off at first light, bedecked in his finest uniform and grinning like an absolute lunatic. The bragging rights alone and the jealous looks of his peers would give him weeks of gloating power. But getting to spend a leisurely trip with a drop-dead gorgeous nymph at his side? The guard could have died happy.

“You guys really don’t crack, do you?“ The fae mused, chuckling as the centaur huffed at him. Even when he was an expected guest, the Queen of Roses certainly didn’t mess with her security whatsoever. But he had little time to muse on the humour of a magical creature. Not so terribly long after he had arrived, the guards parted, letting him steal a glimpse of soft floral scents and breathtaking beauty as they allowed for his ward to leave, allegedly for the first time if his captain had been correct.

To say that the little lady was alluring would have been an understatement, but Tidus didn’t expect anything less from one of the Queen’s own. She was undoubtedly from Summer Court, but there was an almost unearthly quality to the nymph that spoke to her true nature, like sunshine balled up in the form of an almost impossibly petite woman. “Miss Melody, is it?” Tidus asked, offering his best charming smile. “Nice place you have here. I was just here bonding with your centaur friends out here. Great conversationalists.” He gave them a cheeky wave before approaching, bowing slightly in greeting. “So I’ve been told a certain lucky nymph is looking for a travelling partner to Summer. I certainly hope I can live up to your expectations, princess.”

A man. A real live man. Aside from the centaurs who patrolled the Garden walls to protect the nymphs and their Queen, and the occasional glimpse of a lupine fae - Melody had never seen an honest-to-goodness man in her entire life, and the prospect of it made her feel as if a set of delicate little fingers were walking up and down her spine, shivery and warm all at the same time. Still - the journey ahead was an arduous one, and at the advice of her fellow nymphs, Melody had packed light, with the reassurance that her family would have everything that she needed once she arrived in Summer Court. Honestly, Melody felt as if she could survive off of sunlight and fresh air alone; that and the plentiful flora offerings along the way would more than sustain her, and she had plenty of recipes for nourishing herbal soups and broths to share with Tidus.

Tidus. Even his name was exciting. And it was time for her to rush off and meet him! With one final embrace from her fellow nymphets, and a great deal of fussing from the older mentors, Melody was led by two guards towards the gleaming gates that protected the Garden; in the early morning sun, they shone like silvery ice atop a frozen lake. “Thank you Azrael, thank you Ignius!” Melody addressed both centaurs by name; one of them had quite the devilish disposition, and the other, a tail of flames rather than fur. They also seemed to not like one another very much, but that was a tidbit of gossip for another time. Either way, both centaurs levelled Melody’s approaching escort with equally frightening stares, as if to convey to him that they’d be watching even from a great distance, but as Melody used her fluttering monarch butterfly wings to flit upwards and kiss them each upon their cheeks, they relented and left.

Leaving Melody alone with her Summer Court bodyguard. With her lightweight pack slung across both of her tiny shoulders, the pint-sized nymph looked up, up, and up at her strong, broad-shouldered chaperone. He was mesmerizingly beautiful; if such things existed, he would have made an incredible attribute to the Garden as whatever the masculine version of a nymph would be - there was just something about him that seemed so sensuous, and Melody could not help the way that her big bright eyed eagerly surveyed every toned, muscular inch of him. Where the soft, gentle curves of her body were caressed tenderly by light and shadow, he was all sharply-defined angles and imposing brawn. She was reminded instantly, then, of the drawings of men she’d been shown throughout her training; he was a perfect example if she’d ever seen one.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you!” Breathlessly, she finally found the means to speak, and the starburst freckles scattered across the tops of her cheeks stood out starkly against the flush that bloomed upon them. She adjusted her pack once more - she had it tightened to the smallest setting, and yet it was still far too big for her, and threatened to fall off her shoulders with each of her bouncy movements - before rushing towards Tidus, and offering her hand to him demurely for him to kiss. He bowed, and she giggled, wondering if she would curtsy in turn after he bestowed the backs of her tiny fingers with a press of his warm lips. “Melody, yes, and you’re Tidus! Oh, you’re very handsome. Thank you so much for coming all this way; I know the centaurs can seem a little scary at first, but they’re really quite harmless. Azrael and Ignius are more than likely off to bicker somewhere in private, but they always make up eventually.” She beamed, then, and her wings tittered with excitement as she continued, softer now and a little shy, “And - yes, I’m hoping to visit my family in Summer Court. I’ve never left the Garden before, and I’m a little nervous. Do you think we’ll have much trouble along the way?”