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An: PLEASE READ In the recent months I've been trying to develop my writing skills (Since a certain comment in my inbox find here) and decided what better way then to trial it with a scene I am ages away from writing/publishing. If you read this please offer some feedback so I have a direction of how to continue improving my writing.
: Based in the later stages of one of my ongoing books. (Heart of a Flame) I've tried to give context where necessary, but please let me know what you think :) I currently intend to take this post down after a while to limit the spoilers for scenes for the book itself, so please enjoy!
Pairing: Azriel X OC
Warnings: Sexual Content, 18+, swearing. Graphic language
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"You cannot be do this."
"So you can dictate my actions now? What happened to the shadow singer who minded his own business?"
Anger pulsed and burned, the power of her flames dancing through Visenya's veins with feral delight, her agitation with the situation mounting as she spun to face Azriel as he shut the door behind him.
Azriel couldn't bring himself to tell her that he had never once minded his own business around her. He told himself it had been his orders from Rhysand, but the past weeks of his fraying restraint around her was evidence that it had become more then just orders, she had become more.
His body was locked rigid, stood by the door he continued to glare at her. The expression on his face made Visenya fear that he might flee the room to avoid this confrontation with her, like all the times previously in the last few months. An ache struck at the prospect of his absence.
Her fraying annoyance for the situation mounted, "So what? You've gone quiet now." She strutted closer, forcing the shake from her bones as she felt the ripple of his power bleed from his body. She blatantly ignore the swell of shadows around him as his wings twitched; the only reaction he displayed at her approach.
"Well how is this shadow singer, Save us both the trouble and take me out of your business." Visenya was so close to him now she felt the heat of his body as it radiation from him, so close she needed to tilt her head back slightly to meet and hold his stare.
Azriel's body was rock stiff, his muscles straining against an unseen force. Despite her anger Visenya couldn't stop herself as her eyes drifted across the sculptured plane of his chest. Fire ignited low in her belly. She yearned to run her hands over that chest, to dig her nails in and feel the sensation of him beneath her, under her command and control. Desire caused a pulse to cinched between her legs. Fighting to lift her eyes back to meet his, all breath halted entirely within her chest.
The intensity she met there on Azriel's expression. The struggle for restraint as his nostrils flared and Visenya realised he would be able to scent her desire as it pulsed with every beat of her thrumming heart. Mentally cursing herself Visenya stayed utterly still as she got the sense she was prey, and in a way she was because there was something predatory about the way Azriel now stood carefully studying her.
Some dark entity that swell across his body, barely leashing his sanity to maintain some level of control around her.
"I can't." All palpable thought was lost as Visenya's vision caught onto the ripple that shot through Azriel's arms, as though he fought to resist reaching out for her.
"What?" Her stomach pinched as Azriel leaned close, clearly in enough control of himself to invade her space.
"I can't not make you my business." Words fumbled within her as Azriel spoke, his voice so low she almost didn't catch his words. But his closeness seemed to heighten her every sense to hone onto him.
"All your truths.." He carefully lifted a hand, fingers extending, Visenya froze when she felt the touch of them ghost across her collarbone. He curled one around a strand of her hair that hung loose there.
Visenya's body began to ignite with a new heat, unlike her own fire this new heat was tethering to Azriel, constricting the breath in her torso as desire mounted like an itch deep within her, she acknowledged with a startling inhale of breath that he might be the only one able to sooth that itch.
Azriel toyed with that strand of hair, tugging it closer as he inhaled the scent clinging to it, tugging it closer still Visenya allowed herself to be pulled, until she felt the brush of her breast against the firm front of his Illyrian leathers.
"I want to untangle them." he pushed the strand behind her, his touch stroking her shoulder as he moved slowly, drawing the friction out as she fought the shiver it wrought forth up her spine.
Despite the already dwindling space between them, Azriel moved closer, his breath tickling her cheek, "Every secret I will devour."
It was a war to swallow the saliva that pooled in her mouth at the promise she felt in his words. Even as her next response formed in the forefront of her mind, Visenya knew exactly where she would ask him to feast first if he only asked.
Their shared closeness made her words come out in a hushed whisper that was reduced to a breathy pant "What if I don't want you in my business?" The second the words passed her lips Visenya knew with every fibre of her being, she very much wanted Azriel to be in her everything.
Excitement nipped low in her belly as Azriel's expression sparked with challenge that deepened the darkness of the shadows around them.
"I'm good at getting what I want" The blatant arrogance dripping from his tone had Visenya involuntarily shifting her feet, if only to brushed her thighs together to dampen the growing desire she felt thrumming between her legs.
Azriel's attention dropped, not missing the movement of her lower body. She fought to keep herself from squirming under his attention, as a vibrant soft smile broke across his expression. It was not often such an expression casted itself across the shadow singers face. Visenya would do anything she realised to continue seeing it.
"I get the sense. We might just want the same thing" His voice was too close, he was too close. Visenya tried to move to do anything. She sure as shit wished she hadn't as she felt the hardened length of his erection against her hip. Heat bloomed across her face as she gaped downwards between their bodies, her eyes honing into the growing bulge pressing against the front of his leathers.
The throbbing in her core was becoming hard to ignore and damn near impossible to smother, but as she watched the material strained against the swell of his hardening cock she fought the urge to reach towards it, to feel the pulse of blood flowing within his shaft against her palm. To have control of his release. It was an urge she had never felt with another, It should scare her but it only made her own need turn into an unbridled feral entity.
A restrained groan heaved from Azriel with his next exhale as he studied her expression whilst she watch him. Some how Visenya's attention on that part of his body managed to make him impossibly harder.
He didn't release his stare from Visenya as her eyes hooded with fluttering lashes drifted back up to face him. "You don't know what I want." The boldness of her own words rocked shock through her, but she felt how Azriel responded to the taunt.
"Don't I?"
His body shifting closer to hers caused her heart to hammer against her ribs, his wings and shadows expanded out, cocooning them until all Visenya could feel, smell or sense was Azriel.
It only aided in making her hyperaware of his movement and yet a jolt of surprise wrought through her when Azriel's hand skimmed along the waistband of her soft loose leggings.
Without meeting his stare she felt his attention on her, felt his body pause as Azriel searched her expression for any hesitance. In that second she knew, despite the mounting tension between them. If she requested it, he would stop.
Azriel didn't know how he would remove himself from her, the second his hand had touch her, his thoughts ravaged to do more than just touch. Her flesh was like a magnet, sticking him impossibly to her. If she told him to stop, he would find a way even if it killed him.
She should back away, should have removed herself from this situation, but resolve and court training abandoned Visenya as she leaned forward into the rightness that his touch brought forth within her.
The shadows seemed to grow in excitement round them, Visenya tried to ignore them, but fluttering feeling as one skims her cheek she watched as Azriel almost bared his teeth in a hiss towards it. It slipped behind Visenya's shoulder for protection as Azriel gripped his hold tighter against her waist.
"I have them watch you sometimes" His words were slow, calculated as his hand snapped the taut waistband against her heating flesh, "Do you want me to tell you what they whisper to me?"
At the question curiosity leaked into her resolve as his mouth ghosted hers. Utterly distracting as the tantalising pull of his teeth as he snagged her bottom lip. Pain bloomed before ebbing away into pleasure as he tilted his head to plant his mouth to her.
The connection of their kiss shifted something in her chest that she didn't acknowledge, too focused on Azriel, the searing heat of his lips forced blood to swell her lips as he pulled away,
His dark gazed burned into her own with an intensity she did not yet understand, but the promise she saw there caused excitement to nip her. "Or do you want me to show you?"
Before she could question him, she shivered as he moved against her, the friction of his erection caused her legs to instinctively spread to accommodate the frame of him, to invite Azriel to mould his body against her.
His hand enraptured her waist, spinning them until she felt the bite of the wooden door against her spine, forgetting the pain the second his mouth reclaimed hers.
His touch is ignition and the fire that burned under her skin at his ministration was unlike the fire she wielded. This new fire was pressure, it was thrilling. Near breath taking. It was pure pleasure.
Visenya holds tight to the breath in her chest as Azriel's hand dipped low, below the waistband his fingers searched, with surprising quickness he found what he sought. Almost as though Azriel had already visualised the route to take to reach the bundle of nerves he now pressed.
Thumb pushing at first, Her vision blurring, until Azriel dragged his hand down in a firm stroke. Exactly as she would,
His forefinger curved, a slight curl that tucked tight below the nerves that throbbed, To tug against it, pinching the clit.
Visenya had to stifle the sound that gasped from her, body betraying as she writhed against his hand, aching to move into his middle finger as it stretched south towards her dripping entrance.
The action was so similar, it may have as well been her own hand. A repetition of so many nights alone as she sought out her own release,
"Have you figure it out yet?" Azriel's voice was low, a guttural sound that echoed from deep within his chest. Still with that calculating tone that oozed confidence and his nature as the spymaster. The shadows pulsed, the flare of darkness blocking out everything around them. Visenya fought to meet his stare through that comforting darkness.
"The shadows." He emphasised as his teeth grated the column of her throat, a prospect of him breaking skin with them caused her body to pulse with need, so much so she almost didn't register his words. But Azriel inhaled deeply against the juncture of her neck, the strength of her arousal causing his body to stiffen and lock against her own, "They told me how you found pleasure." His finger stroked, a singular finger delved into her fold, streamlining through the wetness of her dampening curls.
"They told me the depth," his wrist twisted, angling to the perfect point that made her joints shake. His face dipped low beside her head, lips pulling back until his teeth began grazing the shell of her ear, she almost found herself begging for him to just bite.
Involuntarily Visenya shivered against Azriel's chest, her nipples hardening against the friction when his next words fanned across flesh, "Told me the rhythm you preferred,"
His finger plunged in, the angle twisting a mewled sound from her, a sound that Visenya did not fight. Was done fighting in fact as long as Azriel continued to do exactly what he was doing.
She cried out with need when his finger delved deeper, curling slightly with the heel of his palm applying pressure to the bundle of nerve that throbbed to be shown attention.
Azriel's body seemed to instinctively react to the needs of her own, pressing himself against her in all the right places she almost sobbed out aloud when a knocking resounded against the door behind her head.
Panic struck her heart, the knocking of a fist was forceful and wrought control through her haze of desire as it banged the door against her back.
Azriel didn't seem to acknowledge it until Visenya shoved her hands against his shoulder, pushing him gentle away from her, but he still did not cast his attention to the door they were pressed against, or the person on the other side as he met her stare.
Worry pinched his brow, and Visenya clocked the second he suspected he had done something wrong. His instincts making him check on her first, as though it had been his first priority. It was comforting in a way she didn't expect.
"AZ!" The voice of Cassian was accompanied by another thumping of a fist, "I know you're in there, Rhys wants to see us!"
Visenya felt the rage as it boiled under Azriel's' skin, "I'm going to kill him." He muttered low, but despite the obvious anger she sensed from him, his touch was tender as he released her...
To be continued...
An: Ik how desperate this sounds, but please leave some feedback. I have spent some time to try develop my writing and really hope this is an improvement! Would like to know if i need to do some more work, I only want to produce my best work for people to enjoy.
If you enjoyed, please consider looking out for updates on my SJM books
Heyyy! I have a little fanfiction idea with Azriel x reader with a vibe similar to the film She's a Man or Mulan, or maybe the protagonist pretends to be a man in the camps to escape marriage and she befriends the three boys, especially Azriel, so of course when he discovers she's a woman, all hell breaks loose! Thaaaaaaaank’s💋
Clad in Honor, Built on Lies- Azriel x fem!reader
Warnings: violence, angst, fluff towards the end, happy ending
A/N: Hello there! As someone who loooves Mulan, this was such a blast to write. I loved this request so much that I just HAD to do it justice🥹 (some parts have been written somewhat similar to the scenes in the animation)
See masterlist
She learned that silence was safer than honesty.
In her father's house, words were weighed like weapons, and hers were always found wanting. She was praised for stillness, for obedience, for the way she learned to disappear into corners when men spoke of alliances and advantages. Her life wasn't measured in years, but in usefulness--what she could secure, who she could bind herself to, what her body and name could purchase for her family.
The marriage was decided before she was asked.
An Illyrian male, older, brutal by reputation alone. A reward for loyalty. A transaction dressed up as honorary. She was told it would protect her family that this was the way of things, that fear was merely the cost of being born female in a world that prized strength above mercy.
She didn't cry when she heard.
Crying would have meant hope. And hope, she had learned, was the most dangerous thing of all.
She ran away the night before the ceremony.
No jewels. No farewell. Only a blade she barely knew how to wield and a cloak stolen from a servant's peg. The city gates were unguarded at that hour, the sentries half-asleep and drunk on routine. By the time dawn broke, she was already bleeding--hands torn raw from climbing, lungs burning from running without rest.
She did not stop until the world narrowed to survival.
It was in a nameless village near the mountains that the idea took shape. Not all at once--nothing so dramatic--but piece by piece, stolen from overheard conversations and the way soldiers moved through the streets without being questioned. Men were allowed to be angry. Men were allowed to fight. Men were allowed to leave, to do as they please. Men were allowed everything.
Men were allowed to live.
The transformation was not elegant.
She cut her hair herself, hands shaking as the strands fell into the dirt. Bound her chest until breathing hurt. Learned to walk heavier, to take up space instead of shrinking from it. She practiced lowering her voice, roughening it with disuse and hunger, until it sounded passable enough to avoid scrutiny. Every movement became deliberate. Every instinct--rewired.
She chose the name Bran because it was simple. Because it did not invite curiosity. Because it could belong to anyone.
The Illyrian camps did not ask many questions. They never did. A body willing to bleed was more valuable than a story. She arrived thin, bruised, eyes too sharp for her age, and claimed she had nowhere else to go. The male who recorded her name barely looked up.
"Bran," he repeated, scratching it down. "You'll either last or you won't."
That night, lying on a thin cot among strangers who smelled of steel and sweat, she stared at the ceiling and felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.
Not safety but possibility.
She did not know then who she would meet in those camps. Did not know how deeply a lie could root itself, or how dangerous it was to be seen for the wrong reasons. All she knew was that she had chosen survival over submission.
And for the first time in her life, the choice was hers.
Life as Bran was...surprisingly tolerable. Not easy, but tolerable.
The camp was brutal in the ways it had to be--cold stone or muddy floors, yelling instructors and commanders, rations barely enough to keep a body moving--but she noticed quickly that as a male, no one tried to push her around. She could exist without commentary, without the thinly veiled condescension women were trained to endure. She could sweat, bleed, curse, and no one would think twice.
Bran learned fast how to survive. He bathed in the river when he could, careful to hide himself behind a large rock or a cluster of trees. He learned to keep his hair very short and messy without it being suspicious, to mask softness in his hands with calluses, to lower his voice just enough that no one questioned it. Every meal, every manoeuvre, every training exercise was approached with the same quiet calculation: don't slip. Don't let anyone see the cracks. Don't give anyone a reason to ask too many questions.
Training itself was...merciless. Marching, running, lifting, weapons drill--all of it she could handle. But the hand-to-hand combat, the brawls, were the worst. They required too much proximity. Too much trust. Too much exposure. Every grapple, every thrown punch, made her pulse hammer in terror-not of pain but of discovery. One misstep, one too-close moment, and her secret would crumble.
And yet, she survived. Slowly, her body hardened. Her reflexes sharpened. Bran became just another soldier, at least one on the surface.
Until Cassian appeared.
He was brash, loud, and impossibly confident--exactly the sort of person she would have rolled her eyes at in any other situation. But there he was, leaning against the training wall, smirk in place as he flicked a short blade up and down in one hand.
"You," he called out, pointing at her, "yeah, you with the awkward stance. Ever consider fighting with style, or is that a full-time commitment to looking like you're about to fall over?"
Bran scowled. "I'll have you know I've almost mastered style. Just...not your style."
Cassian grinned, eyes lighting up like he'd found a new toy. "Oh, you got fire, huh? I like that. I'm Cassian. And you are?"
She hesitated, then gave the practiced name she'd chosen so carefully. "Bran."
"Bran, huh?" he circled her like a hawk inspecting prey--or maybe just a friend looking to annoy someone. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
Before she could reply with a pointed remark (or shove him into a mud puddle), a voice cut through.
"And I'm Rhysand," said the newcomer, with a polite smile that carried a hint of mischief. "And if you're going to let him harass everyone, I'll be the one to call him out. Pleasure, Bran."
Bran raised an eyebrow. "You're in on this too?"
Rhys only shrugged, perfectly calm while Cassian laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.
Then there was the third. The quiet one. Shadowed at the edge of the group, observing rather than participating. His eyes were dark, sharp, and impossibly still. He spoke little, but when he did, his words cut through the noise.
"Don't encourage him too much," he said to Bran, nodding at Cassian. "He'll think he's invincible."
Bran blinked. Who...was this? He didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't look like he belonged in the same circus. He simply...existed, watching, judging, interfering only when necessary.
"Bran," Cassian said, louder this time. "don't tell me you're intimidated by him already."
Bran scowled. "Intimidated? No. Just...annoyed. Very annoyed."
Rhysand smirked faintly. "He's Azriel. Don't let his quiet fool you. He'll have the last word eventually. He always does."
Bran groaned. Great. Two loud idiots and a quiet one who somehow made you feel like a misstep would end in public humiliation. And yet… despite all of it, there was a spark of amusement she couldn’t quite hide. The days as Bran had been tense, exhausting, and terrifying. But these three idiots… these three boys would make surviving camp slightly more bearable.
At least until one of them figured out she wasn’t actually Bran.
They days settled into a rhythm--somewhere between gruelling training and stolen moments of quiet--but Bran quickly realized she wasn't alone in her misery.
Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel had taken it upon themselves to stalk her, or as they called it, "watch over" her. Bran didn't appreciate it. Not at all.
“You know,” she said one afternoon after being nudged into another push-up contest, “I’m starting to think I’ve been singled out for some cosmic form of punishment. Why am I the chosen victim of your constant stalking?”
Cassian leaned back on his elbows, grinning like the world was a playground and she was his favourite toy. “Because you’re… fun to annoy?”
"Fun to annoy?" Bran repeated, incredulous. "Do I look fun to annoy?"
Rhysand, ever the calm one, smirked faintly. "You're...different. Not in a bad way. It's refreshing."
Cassian’s grin widened like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this gem. “Alsooo,” he said, nudging Bran again with an elbow, “we just want to be friends. You’re the only guy who actually isn’t acting like- ” He paused dramatically, “like every other soldier who thinks training is a contest of ‘who can look the toughest while being completely insufferable.’”
Bran blinked, torn between exasperation and something else she didn’t recognize. Friendship? Not that she trusted the word just yet, but… she allowed herself a small, reluctant smile.
From that day, they followed her less like predators and more like...companions.
Training sessions became collaborative rather than competitive. Bran found herself laughing at Cassian’s ridiculous claims: “I’m going to be the greatest warrior of all time, probably the king of the skies too, and maybe invent a weapon that slices through literally anything”while Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering things like, “And pigs might fly, while we’re at it.”
Rhysand, surprisingly, was the voice of reason and sarcastic commentary all in one. "Try not to die while inventing impossible weapons, Cassian. The camp would miss you...barely."
Bran began to notice small things:
Azriel’s quiet attentions, subtle but intentional--he’d nudge her back into line during drills or be there in the shadows when she had trouble keeping pace.
Rhysand’s calm patience, the way he offered advice without making her feel incompetent.
Cassian’s energy, which was exhausting but strangely comforting.
She started feeling...something she hadn't allowed herself in years: normalcy.
It came out one night, around the fire, when the three of them were sharing stories of why they were in the camp--more like Cassian and Rhysand were sharing their stories while Azriel just watched--and what they hoped to be. Bran had just survived a particularly gruelling sparring match and collapsed into the dirt, listening.
Cassian talked first, of course, puffing out his chest as he kept loudly dreaming about his new glorious visions for himself...again. "I'm going to be the greatest warrior. Maybe I'll have my own squad one day. I'll be the hero everyone talks about in songs!"
Azriel, leaning against a tree, raised an unimpressed brow. "And you'll probably get yourself killed before breakfast."
Cassian laughed. "Details, details. Heroism is never tidy."
Then came Rhysand's turn, quiet as ever, voice low and smooth. “I was sent here by my father. Not… voluntarily. To train, to survive, and to prove myself.”
Bran tilted her head. “Your father?”
“Yes,” Rhysand admitted softly. “I am… not just another soldier. My family expects more of me. One day, I’ll… rule.”
Bran blinked. Prince. She almost choked on the word. For a second, the boy who had teased and joked with her every day seemed impossibly distant. But just as quickly, he leaned back, joking again, “And yes, I am still better at archery than both of you, so quit whining.”
Neither Azriel nor Bran spoke about why they are here, about their pasts. Maybe because the words felt too heavy, too sharp to be handled without drawing blood. Or maybe because some truths, once spoken aloud, refused to stay in the past and demanded to be lived through all over again.
The banter resumed as if nothing had changed, but Bran felt the shift. She was slowly, surprisingly, allowed into their world--not just as Bran, but as someone they trusted. Someone they wanted around.
Bran noticed Azriel most in quiet moments. He was slower to speak, slower to laugh, slower to let her in--but always there, just on the edge of the group. He watched, assessed, and sometimes, in the middle of training, would offer a word or a nudge that made her heart skip without her knowing why.
Cassian and Rhysand’s friendship was loud, full of jokes and jostling, but Azriel’s was quiet, deliberate, and far more dangerous because it made her feel… seen.
And Bran didn’t trust it. Not yet.
But every day, every laugh, every sparring match, every sarcastic comment and ridiculous boasting brought her closer.
Even if she still considered them infuriating little pricks.
The day had started like any other, crisp air, the sound of swords clanging, Cassian's obnoxious laughter echoing through the training yard. Yet something felt off.
Azriel hadn't shown up. Not once.
Normally, it wasn’t alarming. He disappeared into shadows often, brooding, wandering, doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t training with them. But today… he hadn’t even met them at their usual routine--the stretch by the cliffs before breakfast, the morning sparring sessions, the practice run along the ridges where Bran, Cassian, and Rhysand would inevitably fall laughing into the mud.
"Have you...seen Azriel?" Bran asked, trying to sound casual as she wiped dirt from her hands.
Cassian shrugged, twirling a blade lazily. "He probably went ghosting in the mountains again. You know him."
Rhysand exchanged a glance with Cassian, hesitated. "Yeah...he tends to disappear for long stretches sometimes. It's...normal."
Bran frowned, frustration prickling her skin. "Normal?" She pressed. "How is it normal to just vanish for an entire day without anyone knowing?"
The two boys exchanged a glance. "He'll be fine. trust us, we have known him longer than you." Cassian said finally, but Bran wasn't convinced. Her stomach twisted into anxious knots she didn't usually allow herself.
By nightfall, she could no longer stand it. Every fiber of her being demanded she find him. Wrapping her cloak tight around her, she followed the familiar trail through the woods until the camp faded behind her, and the lake came into view. Its surface was frozen, moonlight glinting off the ice, and there he was--Azriel--sitting at the edge, unmoving, as if carved from shadow himself.
She hesitated, then stepped closer, boots crunching over frost, and sat a respectful distance beside him. Silence stretched between them, long and heavy, filled with all the words neither had yet said.
Finally, he stirred, looking at her with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her carefully constructed mask. "Why are you here?" he asked, voice low, almost startled as if waking from a dream.
"You didn't show up all day," she said, softly, unsure if she was speaking to Bran or to herself. "And...I guess I just got worried. A little."
He scoffed, turning his gaze back to the frozen lake. "No need to worry for me. I can handle myself."
Bran’s chest tightened. She got up slowly, standing behind him, voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know better than anyone what it’s like to be trapped, to have no one care if you live or die. But… there are people who do care. Who would search for you. Who won’t leave you behind. I know that.”
He was silent, taking in her words. After a moment, he finally exhaled a long, tired sigh while staring at the stars. “Today,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “is the anniversary of my escape.”
Bran's heart stuttered. Escape? "Your...escape?" she asked cautiously.
He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, and let out a cold, humourless laugh. "You think I had these shadows from the moment I was born?"
"No?" she whispered, shocked, unable to hide the awe and horror in her voice.
He glanced at her briefly, expression hardening. “My father… my stepbrothers… they locked me in a cell for years. Tortured me. Separated me from my mother. Thought they could break me. Thought no one would care.”
Bran’s chest tightened so painfully it was almost physical. The parallels to her own life--her escape, her family’s sacrifice, the constant weight of survival--hit her in waves. Carefully, carefully, she recounted her own story, twisting it to fit Bran’s persona, leaving out every detail that would betray her, every softness that would make him suspect.
For a long while, they shared silence again, letting the frozen lake hold their secrets.
Then came the voices--soft but insistent.
"Azriel? You up here?" Rhysand called.
Cassian's voice soon followed, teasing and loud, "Don't hide in the shadows forever. The world's missing your broody glare!"
Azriel only gave a small nod in response, and for the first time that day, Bran saw a faint shadow of a smile tug at his lips. As they headed back to camp, Bran moved to separate from the boys, but Rhysand's hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"No," he said firmly. "Come with us."
Bran raised an eyebrow, cautious. "Am I...allowed?"
Cassian laughed. "Of course you are."
Rhysand smiled. "My mother already knows about you. There's plenty of room in our house for you too."
Bran's eyes widened. "Your...mother?"
Azriel, for the first time ever, made a joke, voice low and dry: “Yes. And she makes the best meat pies in the entire world.”
Her chest twisted with unease, scepticism, and a flicker of fear. Yet the boys calmed her, insisting, guiding, and by the time she followed them, the warmth of their trust felt heavier than any weight she’d carried in years.
The house was… everything she had imagined a prince’s home would be, but somehow more understated. Stone walls and polished floors, tapestries that didn’t scream wealth but whispered it, rooms that were large yet intimate. She found herself marvelling quietly as they moved through the corridors, the firelight glinting in polished wood.
And then she met her.
Rhysand’s mother. She was luminous, serene, and powerful in a quiet, commanding way. Her smile when she saw Bran was warm, like she’d been expecting her all along.
“You must be Bran,” she said softly. “Rhys has told me so much about you.”
Bran’s throat tightened. Rhysand was the spitting image of his mother--same dark eyes, same easy charm. And yet, she could see the gentle warmth he reserved only for those he truly cared for.
And then… the youngest. Estelle. A bright, bubbly girl with a smile that immediately made Bran feel at home. She spoke freely, laughing with her mother and with Rhysand, asking questions, welcoming Bran as if she had always belonged.
Bran allowed herself to feel it--the warmth, the safety, the home. The food placed in front of her, the soft bed in a room just for her, the easy camaraderie. The friendship.
And for the first time in a very long time, she let herself think maybe… maybe she could belong somewhere, be herself, and not just survive.
But then everything changed.
It happened at dawn.
Not the slow, creeping kind that gave warning--but the violent kind, when the sky was still bruised purple and the camp lay half-asleep, weapons stacked, guards relaxed. The first scream cut through the air like a blade.
Then fire.
Spring Court colors flooded the horizon--greens too bright, magic too wild--soldiers pouring in waves, their war cries shattering the morning calm. Tents went up in flames. Steel rang. Orders were shouted and lost all at once.
Bran didn't think. She moved.
Her sword was in her hand before fear could catch her, body responding on instinct honed by months of punishment and repetition. She ducked beneath a blast of magic, rolled through mud and ash, and came up swinging. Training took over--feet grounded, strikes precise, breath controlled.
She didn't know where Rhysand and Cassian were, who they were fighting. But Azriel was there.
She didn’t remember how they ended up back-to-back, only that suddenly his presence was solid at her spine, shadows snapping and striking like living things. They moved as one--her blade flashing low and fast, his daggers ending fights before they began.
"Left," he muttered.
She pivoted, blocked, countered.
"Behind you," she warned, breathless.
He didn't look--just trusted.
The camp was chaos. Illyrians fought desperately, pressed back toward the cliffs that bordered the frozen lake. More Spring Court soldiers kept coming. Too many. Far too many.
They couldn't win this head-on.
Bran's eyes flicked upward--and then she saw it.
The ridge above the lake. Ice layered thick from weeks of cold. The magic blasts cracking the earth beneath it. One well-placed strike...
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Azriel," she shouted, grabbing his arm mid-fight. "The ridge. If we bring it down- "
He followed her gaze, understanding flashing instantly. "You'd bury all of us."
"Not if we time it," she said, already moving. "Cover me."
He swore under his breath--but nodded.
She sprinted.
Magic scorched the ground at her heels as she climbed, fingers burning from the cold, lungs screaming. She reached the ridge and drove her blade into a fracture already spreading through the ice. Another strike. Then another.
The world held its breath. Then the ridge gave way.
Ice, rock, and frozen earth thundered down in a roaring wall, swallowing the front lines of the Spring Court soldiers whole. Screams vanished beneath the crushing weight. The lake shattered, water exploding upward in a violent surge.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then cheers.
They had done it. She had done it.
Relief flooded her--too fast, too soon.
She turned to run back...and that is when the blast hit.
Magic slammed into her side, white-hot pain tearing through her body. She was lifted off her feet, thrown hard against stone. Something cracked--maybe bone, maybe more. Her vision blurred, blood warm against the freezing air.
She tried to crawl. Tried to stand.
Another blow grazed her shoulder. Her sword slipped from numb fingers. Azriel shouted her name, but it sounded distant, warped, like she was already underwater.
Her strength gave out.
The sky spun. The noise dulled. Cold crept in where fire had been.
The last thing she felt was the ground rushing up to meet her...and then nothing at all.
Azriel had survived worse fights. That was the cruel irony of it.
The Spring Court attack had been brutal, yes, tents reduced to ash, blood frozen into the mud, bodies carried away in silence, but the fighting itself had been familiar. Manageable. Something he understood. He had moved through it like he always did, shadows striking, daggers precise, instincts honed by years of violence.
What he did not understand was the hollow ache in his chest afterward.
The camp was a ruin by nightfall. Fires smouldered where laughter had once lived. Healers moved endlessly between stretchers, hands glowing, faces drawn tight with exhaustion. The wounded were everywhere, groaning, bleeding, clinging to life.
And Bran was nowhere he could see.
He knew where he was, of course. The healers had taken him immediately, carried him away among hundreds of others. Unconscious. Broken. Still breathing, at least, that was what Azriel told himself, over and over, like a prayer he did not believe in.
They sat on a bench outside the healer tents, the three of them. Cassian restless, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Rhysand unnervingly still, hands clasped, eyes dark with thought. And Azriel--silent, staring at the ground as if it might open and swallow him whole.
“He saved us,” Cassian said hoarsely, breaking the silence. “You know that, right? If he hadn’t--if he hadn’t done that- ” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Gods. That was insane. Brilliant. Completely reckless.”
Azriel swallowed.
Reckless. Yes. That was the word.
Bran had seen what none of them had. Had acted without hesitation. Had trusted that the earth and ice would fall exactly as needed--and it had. Hundreds of Spring Court soldiers buried beneath it. The camp saved.
And Bran nearly killed for it.
“He shouldn’t have had to,” Azriel said quietly.
Cassian stopped pacing, turning toward him. “None of us should have. But he did. And now he’s lying in a healer’s tent while we’re out here breathing.”
Rhysand exhaled slowly. “We can’t pretend this didn’t change things,” he said. “The camp won’t. The commanders won’t. Someone that young pulling off something like that?” He shook his head. “They’ll take notice.”
Azriel didn’t respond.
All he could see was Bran sprinting toward the ridge, jaw set, eyes burning with purpose. Could still hear the crack of ice, the roar of destruction. Could still feel the moment afterward, the split second of relief before the blast hit him.
Before Bran fell.
His hands curled into fists. He had covered him. He was supposed to protect those beside him. That was the rule. That was always the rule.
Footsteps approached.
Azriel’s head snapped up as a healer emerged from one of the larger tents. She was pale, exhaustion etched deep into her features. When she spotted them, she stopped--and bowed deeply.
“My prince,” she said, voice low. “We need to speak.”
Something in her expression made Azriel’s shadows stir uneasily.
Rhysand rose immediately. “Of course.” He glanced back at Cassian and Azriel. “I’ll be back.”
Cassian frowned. “About Bran?”
The healer didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked back toward the tent.
Rhysand followed.
Azriel stayed seated, but every instinct screamed for him to move, to follow, to do something. Instead, he sat there, helpless, listening to the sounds of the camp around him, to the groans and murmurs and crackling fires.
Waiting.
And for the first time in a very long time, Azriel realized something terrifying.
He was afraid.
Not of war.
Not of pain.
But of what he might lose--of what he already feared he cared about far more than he should.
Cassian broke the silence first. "He's going to be fine."
He dragged a hand down his face, pacing again. "He has to be."
Azriel didn't answer. His attention was splintered--half on the healer tents, half on the memory of Bran crumpling against stone. Every second stretched too long. Every sound scraped against his nerves.
Then it happened.
Both of you. Get here. Now.
Rhysand's voice slipped into Azriel's mind without warning--tight, controlled, unmistakably urgent. Azriel's head snapped up. Cassian froze mid-step.
They exchanged a single look and that was all it took.
They were on their feet immediately, striding toward the tent Rhysand had entered minutes earlier. Azriel’s heart began to pound harder with every step, dread coiling tighter around his ribs. He prepared himself for blood. For death. For the words we did everything we could.
The worst possibilities clawed at him. The tent flap was pulled aside. Inside, the air was heavy--too still.
Rhysand stood near the foot of a cot, arms crossed tightly over his chest, face pale and unreadable. A single healer remained, her expression grave. And there--lying motionless beneath thick blankets--was Bran.
Alive. Unconscious.
Azriel's breath hitched despite himself.
Cassian glanced around, confused. "Where are the others?"
Rhysand didn't answer. He only stepped aside.
The healer moved then, hands trembling just slightly as she reached for the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled it down.
Azriel's world tilted.
Bran's chest was wrapped tightly in bindings. Not bandages.
Bindings.
They were soaked through in places, darkened with blood, stretched tight enough that the shape beneath them was unmistakable. The rise of a chest that had never belonged to a male. The curve that months of illusion, posture, and discipline had hidden from them all.
From him.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Azriel couldn’t.
His thoughts scattered violently, crashing into one another--anger, disbelief, betrayal, horror, fear. His shadows recoiled, writhing, as if shocked into silence.
Female.
Bran was-
No.
She was-
Cassian’s voice broke through, sharp and incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he blurted. “You’re telling me Bran...Bran was a female this entire time?”
Azriel barely heard him.
His gaze was locked on her face, too pale, lashes dark against her skin, lips parted slightly with shallow breaths. Unconscious. Broken. Vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be while awake.
She had fought beside him.
Trusted him.
Lied to him.
Anger flared--hot and vicious--followed immediately by something worse.
Fear.
She could have died. Had nearly died. Had gone into battle bound and bleeding and hidden, carrying a secret that could have gotten her killed long before today.
Azriel couldn’t breathe.
He turned sharply, stalking out of the tent before anyone could stop him. The cold air slammed into his lungs, but it didn’t help. His heart hammered violently, thoughts spiralling out of control.
Female.
All this time.
The jokes. The camaraderie. The quiet moments by the fire. The trust. The escape, she had said. Her voice echoed back to him now, twisted and raw.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, shadows flaring erratically around him. Fury burned--but it had nowhere to land. Not on her. Not when she lay unconscious, broken because she had saved them all.
He had been fooled.
And somehow… that hurt more than the lie itself.
She woke to pain.
Not the sharp kind--but the deep aching weight that settled into her bones, made every breath feel measured and deliberate. The air smelled of herbs and smoke, of clean linen and old blood. Canvas rustled softly overhead.
A healer sat beside her cot.
Y/N froze.
Memory rushed back all at once--the ridge, the ice, the blast, Azriel’s shout. Her breath hitched sharply as awareness snapped into place, and instinct took over. She gasped and reached for the blanket, fingers trembling as she tried to pull it higher-
A gentle hand stopped her.
“There’s no need,” the healer said softly. “I already know your secret. You’re safe here.”
Y/N's chest rose and fell too fast. Slowly, she let the blanket fall back into place, exhaustion crashing into relief so heavy it almost hurt. She swallowed.
"...Did you tell them?" she asked, voice rough.
The healer hesitated--just a fraction.
"I had to," she said quietly, "he is the prince."
Of course.
Y/N closed her eyes, a long breath slipping out between her lips. So they knew. All three of them. The boys she had fought beside. Laughed with. Lied to.
Her fingers curled into the sheets. "Does anyone else know?"
Fear edged her voice now--real, unmasked.
She knew what the Illyrian camps were like. What they did to women who broke their rules. She knew she wouldn’t survive a single night if the wrong ears heard the truth.
“No,” the healer said firmly. “No one else. I swore silence, and so did the prince. You are protected.”
Y/N nodded, relief and dread tangling together.
“I’ll call the prince and his friends when you’re ready,” the healer added gently. “But first, you should know your condition. You’ve broken two ribs, suffered internal bruising, and lost a dangerous amount of blood. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Lucky.
Y/N let out a quiet, humourless breath. “How long… how long was I out?”
“Today is day three.”
She absorbed that in silence.
Then, after a moment, she said, “Okay.” Her jaw set. “I’m ready. Please tell them to come in.”
The healer studied her carefully. “Are you sure? You could rest. Take more time.”
Y/N shook her head. “No. I just want to get this over with.” Her voice dropped. “It’ll make my exile easier.”
The healer didn't argue. She only nodded and slipped out of the tent. Alone again.
Y/N stared up at the canvas ceiling, heart pounding, mind racing. She replayed every moment, every joke, every shared meal, every quiet look. She now braced herself for fury, for disgust, for disappointment.
For losing them all.
Footsteps approached and then the tent flap opened.
Rhysand first: calm, composed, eyes sharp but not unkind. Cassian beside him, expression conflicted, worry and disbelief warring across his face. And Azriel...
Azriel didn't look at her. Not once.
His jaw was tight, posture rigid, gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Shadows clung to him unnaturally still.
Y/N exhaled slowly. "...Well," she said hoarsely. "I suppose you caught me at last." A pause. "I am female."
Silence.
"Yes," Rhysand said calmly. "I know. And I have known this whole time."
All three of them froze in shock.
Cassian whipped his head toward Rhysand. "You--what?"
Even Azriel turned then, eyes flashing in disbelief.
Rhysand sighed lightly. “When you first arrived at the camp, I checked your mind. Without your permission,” he added, glancing at Y/N. “For security reasons. My father taught me to. I saw… everything. Your life. Your escape. Why you were here.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned. “Then why didn’t you tell them?” she asked quietly. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”
Rhysand met her gaze evenly. “Because I knew you would tell them yourself. Or circumstances would force the truth out.” A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “And because it was never my secret to reveal.”
Something in Y/N’s chest loosened, just a little.
Gratitude welled up, sharp and overwhelming. She nodded once, swallowing past the tightness in her throat.
The truth was out.
And nothing--nothing--would ever be the same again.
Y/N drew in a steadying breath.
"For the other two of you," she said quietly, gaze lifting to Cassian first, then--briefly--to Azriel, "who didn't know...let me explain."
Rhysand inclined his head once, giving her the space.
She stared at the tent wall as she began, as if the words were etched there already, waiting to be read.
"I was promised to a male before I ever knew what marriage truly meant," she said. "A political match. Convenient. Beneficial. And everyone told me I should be grateful."
Her fingers tightened in the blankets.
"I knew what he was," she continued. "What men like him do when no one is watching. I knew I would lose everything--my voice, my freedom, my body." A breath shuddered through her. "So, I ran."
Cassian's face softened, all humorous gone.
“I cut my hair,” she said. “Bound my chest until I could barely breathe. I stole clothes too big for me and learned how to walk, how to speak, how to exist as a male.” Her mouth curved in something bitter. “I saw the way the world opened for them. How they’re allowed to be angry. Loud. Reckless. How no one questions their presence...or their worth.”
She finally looked at them.
“I wanted that life. Not for glory. For survival.” Her voice wavered only once. “So, I became Brandon. And I never looked back.”
Silence stretched thick between them.
“I know you might feel anger,” she said softly. “Or betrayal. But you were the only real friendships I’ve ever had. The only place I felt… peace.” Her eyes burned, but she didn’t look away. “And even if it was brief--those moments meant everything to me. I will always be grateful for them.”
Cassian blinked.
Then he scoffed--not cruelly, but in disbelief--and shook his head. “Are you serious?” he said, stepping closer. “Angry? No. Shocked, yeah. But impressed?” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Absolutely.”
Y/N frowned slightly.
“You survived Illyrian camps,” Cassian went on, voice growing animated. “You fought beside us. You saved our asses more times than I can count. I’ve been yelling at commanders for years that this place needs female warriors, and they never listen.” He gestured at her like she was proof incarnate. “You just proved them all wrong--and they don’t even know it.”
A huff of laughter escaped him. “That’s- gods, that’s impressive.”
“Cool,” he added.
Azriel’s head snapped up.
“Cool,” Azriel repeated sharply. “Not cool.” His voice cut through the tent like a blade. “And certainly not something to praise.”
Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didn’t stop.
“You lied to us,” Azriel said, finally turning toward her fully. His eyes were dark, furious, not with hatred, but with something far more dangerous. “You built an entire false identity. You stood beside us under a name that wasn’t yours.”
Y/N lifted her chin. "I was going to be married off to a man who would've owned me," she said. "Who would've hurt me. Once I escaped, I had nowhere to go, to stay. This camp, as weird as it sounds, was the only place left."
"That doesn't change the fact that we trusted you," Azriel shot back. His voice rose--not shouting, but tight, restrained. "We shared our lives with you. Our histories. I considered you one of us."
"You still can," she said quietly. "I did this to survive."
"You don't get to decide that for us," he snapped.
Her patience finally snapped.
"No. You don't get to decide anything about this," she said, voice fierce now. "You have no idea what it means to be a female in this world. You don't get the right to speak freely. Or choose your future. Or even exist without being owned by someone else."
She held his gaze, unflinching.
"You don't get to be angry at me for doing what I had to do, because you'll never live what I have lived."
Something shifted. Just barely.
Azriel's jaw clenched. His fury faltered--not gone, but fractured. He looked away with a sharp scoff, crossing his arms.
"Whatever," he muttered.
Cassian broke the tension gently. "So," he said, softer now. "What's your real name then?"
"Y/N," she said.
The name settled into the space between them--real, vulnerable, irrevocable.
Rhysand exhaled softly, as if steadying himself.
"We need to get you out of here, Y/N. Before anyone finds out."
The words hit her like a blade.
She swallowed hard, heart plummeting. “Yes,” she said quickly, panic threading her voice. “I know. I- I understand. I’ve committed a vile mistake, and I accept the consequences, I need to be exiled, but please...just give me one day. One day to stand on my feet again and I’ll leave. I swear I won’t cause trouble.”
Rhysand blinked.
“Exiled?” he echoed, genuinely confused. “No. You’re not being exiled.”
She froze.
“I’m getting you somewhere safe,” he continued gently. “I’ve spoken with my mother. We both agreed--you cannot stay in the camps. Not now. Not ever again.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“There is a city in the Night Court,” Rhysand went on, careful with every word. “Far safer than this place. But my father resides there, and while he is just--while he is kind--he is also bound by tradition. If he knew your story, he would feel compelled to punish you. Severely.”
Her hands trembled beneath the blankets.
“So, for now,” Rhysand said, “I’ll send you to the Court of Nightmares. My cousin, Mor, will take care of you there. You will be protected. You won’t have to hide.”
The world tilted.
“You may decide where you wish to go afterward,” he finished. “What life you wish to build. But that choice will be yours.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned.
“I- ” Her voice cracked. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to repay you.”
“You don’t,” Rhysand said simply. “You live.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she managed. “I- thank you, truly.”
“I’ll winnow her there.”
Azriel’s voice cut in quietly.
Everyone turned.
He stepped forward, extending a hand, not demanding, not rushed. An offering.
“I’ll make sure she’s settled,” he said, eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “Safely.”
Something unspoken passed between them: regret, shame, understanding. An apology without words.
She felt it.
And she took his hand.
Cassian cleared his throat, then grinned, though his eyes were warm. “Yeah,” he said. “And if anyone gives you trouble until then, I’ll break their legs. Politely.”
A breathy laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
For the first time since waking, her chest felt lighter. And for the first time since running, she wasn’t alone.
"...and that happened over four hundred years ago."
Silence.
Feyre, Elain, and Nesta stared at Y/N as if she'd just grown two heads.
Then Feyre blinked. Once. Twice. "...Whoa."
Y/N laughed, soft and bright, leaning back against the cushions of the River House sofa. “Yes,” she said. “Whoa.”
Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, catching on the Sidra beyond. Time had moved gently here--centuries folding into peace. Elain sat cross-legged on the rug, absently twirling a curl of Nyx’s dark hair around her finger as the boy dozed against her chest.
“And you just- ” Feyre shook her head, grinning in disbelief. “You just became a soldier?”
“A very angry one,” Nesta muttered dryly.
Y/N smirked.
Elain tilted her head, eyes soft. “And… did you and Azriel reconcile fully after that?”
Before Y/N could answer, Nesta snorted. “Obviously. Otherwise why would they be mates right now?”
Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile lingered. “It didn’t happen all at once,” she said. “It was… slow. Painfully so. Trust had to be rebuilt, brick by brick. Azriel needed time. I needed patience. And somewhere between shared silences, late-night training, and him learning how to listen instead of brood...” She paused, lips curving. “...things changed.”
Nesta scoffed. “Shocking.”
Feyre laughed and then looked at Nesta. “Well,” she said lightly, “looks like your mate did end up becoming the warrior-commander he once dreamed of being.”
Y/N laughed too, but then her expression softened, something tender and sad settling in her eyes as she looked at Feyre, then at Nyx.
“I just wish you’d met Rhys’s mother,” she said quietly. “And his sister. They were the kindest, most welcoming fae I had ever known.”
A hush fell.
Feyre swallowed. “I know,” she whispered. “Rhys has told me so much about them. But I believe they’re still here--with us.”
Elain hugged Nyx a little closer, smiling gently. “You really are one of a kind, Y/N.”
“You’re right about that.”
Azriel’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside.
Y/N barely had time to turn before strong arms wrapped around her from behind, a kiss pressed to her temple. She leaned back into him instinctively, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Cassian followed, immediately dropping onto the arm of Nesta’s chair. “Are we telling war stories again? Because if so, I demand a rewrite. I was far more impressive than she made me sound.”
“You praised yourself enough in her version,” Nesta said sweetly.
Rhysand entered last, Feyre rising to meet him as Nyx stirred, murmuring in his sleep.
Laughter filled the room--warm, easy, earned.
Y/N let it wash over her.
Once, she had been a girl running for her life. A soldier hiding behind a borrowed name. A secret wrapped in armor and fear.
Now, she was surrounded by family--chosen and found. By love that had survived lies, war, and time itself.
She caught Azriel’s hand, lacing their fingers together.
Then and now, she thought, this is what survival became. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The empty spaces between the worlds of the universe was cold. Not akin to a winter breeze but a more volatile frigid snap that crept into the bones of its victims, a deep frost, a darkness that lurked to kill from within.
As ground gave way to that very empty space, Regan hugged the sword, the heirloom and wielders right of her family. A lifeline that she clung close to her heart.
To obtain such a blade, it was to be pure strength of ones will and emotion. Regan held tighter still as the cold wrapped her in the opposition of a warmth embrace, the cooling edge of the blade slicing into the edges of her fingers.
The sword was the only pulsing force she could feel beyond the biting cold, her only focus as worlds various and vivid blinked in and out of view. The lashing teeth of each new world that whirled past, her body bouncing off an invisible dome of power that surrounded each, power that drew her in enough for a glimpse before it threw her body onwards towards the next.
Perhaps its was the diluted power that lay dormant in Regan's own blood that blocked her entry into each world that would not fulfill her task, a subconscious force. Bracing once more as she felt the thrum of power, her ribs cracked off the next dome.
Perhaps it was not her own power but in fact another being who watched denying her admission to those worlds left behind.
A tether of a leash, tied and tugged across her torso.
Regan felt it cinch tight, a firm hand that directed, forcefully drawing her in closer.
The whirlwind of freezing air swept around her, keeping the seal of her eyes closed tight but as a sensation of a hand, a firm but gentle touch stroked the outer edge her face. A dull whisper of a velvet voice flowing out from the surrounding darkness, Regan fought to crack open an eye. The voice tempting with every shiver inducing whisper.
The time seemed to slow as the grip drew her closer still, tears leaked uncontrollably from the edges of Regan's eyes, but even the blur they produced in her vision wouldn't of stopped the spy from spotting the male that appeared before her.
He winked into existence, like stepping through a veil between the stars themselves.
His presence, floating weightless, seemed to eat away at the surrounding darkness, becoming its very essence, consuming all that surrounded him. Regan noted how the small specs of light seemed to flicker in fear of the male. Dulling what light they did produce, to avoid drawing his attention.
He studied her, a brow lifted during his head-to-toe assessment. A piercing gaze that struck every nerve inside her, even shadows as dark as night seemed to shy away from this male.
Regan tried to talk, to beg him for help as her body once more drifted, stuck between the limbo of the worlds. But the force pulled her back and constricted her throat, stanching the flow of the thin cool air.
His stare seemed to darken at her attempt to address him, a more sheer shadow then even that which surrounded them coated his features, stunning and utterly lethal.
Instinct had her fingers twitching to release the tight hold of her weapon and grab for the hand of power choking her airway. But Regan had earned the rights to the Vipers sword. Had fought to obtain such a blade, had killed, lied and spied-
Gritting her teeth so hard they might have cracked inside her skull, Regan smothered the screaming survival instincts to hold onto the sword. The bones of her body shook as she turned and bared her teeth at the male. Letting loose a hiss that rattled every fiber of her being as the male met her gaze.
His expression morphed into amusement, with a flick of his wrist the force around her neck loosened,
Oxygen painfully burst its way back into her lungs, Regan's gasps for air were muffled as power, raw and unlike anything that had ever touched her skin rumbled to life between the worlds as a second male drifted out from around the shoulder of the first.
Immaculately dressed, this newcomer smiled with a feline's precision, his opal blue eyes shifting to the first male, as though he awaited approval.
As the first male turned, a slow calculated movement Regan felt herself begin to drift, the darkness pulling her to rest against a dome, the power of the world at her back caressed the line of her spine as though it tried to welcome her in with eager hands.
"Didn't I tell you that expel of power eighty years ago would be worth it?" The second male spoke, but his words had Regan frowning, not out of lack of context but because although she understood the words themselves the language was not one she knew, was certainly not the language of Erilea. But Regan didn't know any others beside that of her mothers people, The Fae.
The first male, studied the other males words before nodding once, ignoring as Regan began raising her sword arm.
The empty space hugging her body shivered as both males snapped their attentions to her as one. Saw the threat Regan intended.
Some instinctual power gripped her in those seconds, tensing every muscle as that force, the first males power, threw her through the dome of power of the world at her back. Her spine cracked against it, knocking all reason as she watched the two males disappear from view, vanish into the darkness as though they had never been.
Somehow Regan knew that wasn't true, What and Whoever those males were— They were old, and powerful beyond reasonable measure. From a species she was, thankfully, yet to encounter in Erilea.
The males existence was a thought that became secondary as ground, solid and real flew fast towards her vision, as the Pride member fell into a world anew she braced for the impact.
Her arms spiralled out around her to shift her body in the air, if only to limit the damage the impact would do. Bracing for the force, Regan winces in preparation for the crash that would be enough to kill a mortal, and as she slammed into the ground her bones exploded with pain.
She hissed low through her teeth, as the pain burned and spread throughout every inch of her, every muscle contracting-
Regan twisted to angle her head down to bite around the thick material of The Pride cloak, to muffle the sound of her weeping. Even as pain ravaged the spy, her instincts were still second nature, an unknown new world could have many creatures that might just be waiting in the dark. Screaming would only draw them close. Screaming was for the weak, screaming was reserved for the little girl she had once been before the Viper's sword touched her fingertips.
Tightening her hold on the sword, Regan pulled it close to her chest, so it connected to the pendent around her neck. The power within the metal hummed to life, reaching her other hand across her body to run a hand across the pommel of the Vipers head. Eyes squeezed shut through the pain her fingers desperately searched for the point of the snakes exposed fangs. Inhaling once, Regan jammed her thumb down onto the fang.
Slowly, as though a venom leaked, pumping within her bloodstream, dulling the pain in her system. Regan laid still in the grass, allowing for the act of breathing to become easy before she tried to move.
The surrounding breeze lightly blew a spec of sand brushing her face. Fighting to sit up against the now dull ache, Regan surveyed the area. Grassy.
Frowning down at the ground beside her, she swore sand had brushed her cheek. Splaying her hand down onto the soil, the thick grains catching the tip of her fingers. Pinching the powered grains Regan brushed them onto her palm.
A salt like consistency, it was so black Regan couldn't help but frown, it wasn't sand nor dried dirt. Like a residue that had followed from the empty space. Brushing it off her Regan moved to take in more of the surrounding area.
This new world looked like Erilea but with a heightened sense of awareness, like the very air watched. Regan paused for a fraction of the second it took her to rise from the grass.
The earth beneath her feet felt alive, thrumming with unyielded power. Unrivaled and unchecked. Where Erilea's power was contained and controlled by its inhabitants this power was feral. Lethal, like some higher god had bled it into the land around her.
She would have to be careful, if Erilea and its inhabitants had taught her anything it was that unchecked magic had been something to fear. A variant that made outcomes unpredictable.
But Brielle had given her a job to do, and Regan was not one for failing.
Regan rose, the Vipers sword in hand, the history of her past at her back as she took her first steps into this new unknown world.
As a scent of sodden leaves and embers brushed her senses, she felt her bones come alight with a primal need.
As the darkness welcomed her home, the Pride member began her hunt.
☽⋆❈⋆☾
If more fire wielders was what Aelin Galathynius had requested of Brielle then Regan was under every oath bond obligation to deliver.
Her body hugged low to the grasses beneath her, muscles aching from days on foot, travelling at speed as she tracked the scent of flame and ember. Within distance now, Regan stalked towards her prey.
The two female she had been tracking for the last couple of days laid lazily across a blanket, oblivious as they lay mere meters from the hidden Pride member.
Regan had been watching the female that scented strongly of flame, but in the days past she had displayed no evidence of being able to wield the fire Aelin so desperately needed, until now.
As the female crafted a fox from fire, a swirl of her hand stroking the flickering beast on the head bringing it to life. It was the final piece of evidence Regan would need to begin her strike. The foxes body cracked with embers as it sprung upwards, prancing through the grass before the two lounging females.
Even from across the small distance that parted them Regan could smell the females power, felt the burning embers as they struck her senses. The burn was accompanied by something more, something darkener that tinted the edges of this females scent.
Leaning forward in the grass, Regan tried to trace it further. This other scent was deep rooted under the females skin, radiation from a mark that Regan spotted against the females neck. A mating mark. It had her pausing.
The mate's scent in itself reeked of power. A dark and twisted, like a shadow of its presence permanently wrapped itself around her.
She would need to time her strike to avoid the females mate, she did not doubt her abilities but minimal chaos was what Brielle had instilled into her. Unless the need arises.
As Regan sat watching the two females she shivered at the familiar curl of a shadow creeping out from around her shoulder. It chilled the skin, flittering lightly within the shadow of itself.
A gift from a friend Brielle had once told her.
The shadows, a key to the Pride's success. A shadow gifted to each spy, provided by the Songstress. To cover and protect and carry messages faster when time was a weakness. A chain of connection that spanned the extend of Erilea. Regan hadn't expected the whisp of darkness to follow her to another world.
It caused the spy to shift nervously when it flowed down onto the ground before her. The small shadow did not have a face, but somehow she knew it watched the fire wielder across the field but with a cat curiosity it tilted slightly. Its small attention unwavering, as though it sensed something that Regan herself did not.
Lifting her own attention back to the two females, the breath halted in her chest when an identical shadows peaked out from under the fire wielders curtain of fiery red hair.
With no warning Regan's shadows launched forward, its misting form flew fast, whipping through the grass with sickening speed. Keeping low to avoid detection.
Regan's eyes blew wide when the fire wielder's own shadow, burst from its position tucked at her neck, flaring wide as it threw itself at the unknown shadow.
The fire wielder emitted a gasp of surprise, pushing herself up to watch her shadow leave her side.
The hollow of Regan's stomach plummeted the second the two shadows collided, usually silent the whoosh of air smacked hard between them. In a snapping feral darkness the two shadows took one another to the ground. In a violent display of lashing tendrils of exploding darkness.
The two shadowy forms were hard to track, but the spy caught sight of her own as it thrashed clawing chunks out of the other shadow.
The two plummeted into the earth, spitting low hisses at one another. Regan gripped tighter to the hilt of her sword, still watching from her place of cover, she watched her shadow pin the other under it, flaring in darkness in an attempt to completely smother the fire wielders shadows from existence. The smaller shadow emitted a wail of agony that split the air.
A gasp of fear broke from the fire wielding female, from across the field Regan watched the female rise up from the blanket extending a hand outward toward the flickering shadows she unleashed the fire made fox. The flaming beast seemed to ripple, doubling in size as it lunged, teeth bared towards the snapping shadows.
A near lifetime of protection that shadow had offered Regan during her service to Brielle, she would be damned to every level of hell before she didn't return the favour.
Damning all the consequences that would result from exposing her position Regan threw herself from her cover and barrel over the ridge, sword held high as she launched herself into the path of the moving fox, cutting it off from aiding the shadow.
Regan carved the tip of her blade up through the underside of the fire foxes' neck, the animals body dissipating into smoke and embers.
Panting hard, Regan felt the billowing smoke as it surrounded her, felt it brush past her cheek rising around her, an image of death itself to the two females who watched. Lifting her gaze Regan met their shared attention.
Facing them both now in the open expanse of field, Regan took less then a second to asses them both.
The fire wielder stood in a warriors stance, a prowess of female strength that refused to be beaten or broken, a firecracker of energy. She had pulled free a dagger, poising it upwards in Regan's direction. Not that such a weapon would stop the Pride member from taking her from this world.
As Regan's gaze swept quickly over the other female, she froze. This other female, positioned behind the first had near white hair and dark skin that struck the spy. The inquisitive expression, soft and guarded in every way possible reminded Regan so much of Isaiah's mate. Bronwyn. The Songstress, who had gifted the Pride their shadows.
But it was not just the similar appearance that had Regan narrowing her eyes in assessment, her gaze drifted down to the females abdomen. When the dampened scent of embers seemed to swell.
As though fire also leaked through this female's veins. Sniffing once more, Regan smirked. The scent of embers was clearly perfuming the air from the babe inside this females womb. The scent from the unborn child's father.
Did that mean there was more fire wielders to be taken from this world? Could more aid Aelin's cause in the war.
The white haired female, protectively hugged an arm across her mid section, flitting her gaze nervously to the red haired female beside her.
Was this unborn child the result of an unapproved union?
If there was one thing Commander Brielle had taught her, it was that body language always betrayed what silence sought to protect. The very secrets guarded within someones heart could be exposed by something as little as a shift in attention.
Slotting the information into a mental vault, Regan twisted the hilt of her blade. Refocusing her attention back to the fire wielder.
"Fire wielder. You are coming with me." There was good reason for Brielle to have chosen her for this task. Steeling her words, they were solid in every sense. Backed with the knowledge that Brielle trusted her and her knack for switching emotion off in moments of crisis. Gifting her the ability to rip someone from their world kicking and screaming to aid their own, if such force became necessary.
The two females shared a confused glance at her words,
There was a wailing hiss from the shadows, Regan's own still pinning the other into the dirt. Still shredding shadowy chunks from the smaller form.
The painful sound snagged the attention of the fire wielder, who took a step in their direction halting when Regan sharply lifted her sword. The cuff of her sleeve falling back with the sudden movement that exposed the inky outline of the Pride symbol tattooed into the flesh of her wrist.
Regan watched carefully as the fire wielder contemplated the blade pointed in her direction, expression morphing when her shadow wailed out for help once more. Pain flickering on her features, watching the shadow being pummelled into the soil, it's presence thinning from the world with each chunk of its form that was cleaved free.
The spy need only wait, knew that her shadow's volatile assault would wear the other down to retreat,
Giving a sharp whistle, Regan felt the shift in air as once more the shadow retreated to her shoulder.
Waiting silently, Regan surveyed the relief that flooded the Fire Wielders face when the small shadow curled around her neck once more, hugging itself against the female's mating mark.
The spy eyes it curiously. She needed to find a way to separate the females. Needed to get the Fire wielder to a safe location where she would World walk them back to Erilea.
Advancing a step, Regan studied the shift in the females. The tenseness that lined their bodies as she once more lifted the blade.
"You are going to come willingly, or I will kill you're friend." Even as she forced the words, fighting the sourness on her togue.
It did not matter, for the two females shared a confusion glance once more, the meaning of her words falling onto deaf ears.
Moving her free hand, Regan reached into her travel satchel. Digging out the iron shackles.
It numbed her hands to the touch, but lifting her stare she met the amber eyes of the fire wielder as they locked onto the iron shackles. Panic flared for half a second before it settled. The second female stepped before her friend, shielding her from the Pride member.
It took half a second for Regan to raise her blade, Pressing the sword's tip against the womb of the expecting females. The unborn babes ember scent flaring in recognition of the threat.
She gasped softly, and Regan didn't miss the second it took the fire wielder to note where exactly Regan had chosen to rest her weapon.
Understanding shone in the fire wielders eyes, surrendering both hands into the air beside her head she stepped around her friend, offering a small reassuring smile to her as she passed.
Regan straightened, watching the Fire wielder approach with offered wrists that shook in the ai between them. Standing still long enough to allow the cuffs to clamp around her wrists. The fire wielder toyed with her lip in unease, watching the shackles suspiciously as they cut off all access to her power.
Tightening them securely around the females wrist, Regan took hold of the binding metal between the cuffs. Pulling the fire wielder towards the treeline.
The expecting female tracked their steps, hand shadowing her womb protectively. Her words a plea that Regan did not heed, Pulling the fire wielder close. Tucking the females body against, the spy lifted the blade to her throat, halting the approaching female.
"You will not follow us." Regan knew the words would get lost in the translation, her only hope being the will power and threat she allowed to creep into her tone. Hoped the female might heed her warning. Drawing the fire wielder in close she continued to back towards the cover of the nearby treeline.
The shadow of the oak trees casting onto her back. Shading out the overhead sun. The temperature plummeting.
So close to slipping away, so close to fulfilling her task to Commander Brielle. So close to bringing Aelin Galathynius the fire wielder she needed.
But the expression on the watching female face halted Regan's movement.
Felt the second the very shadows around them prickles with presence, sharp and lethal it clung and ripped through the air. Shredding it to surround them.
The hair erupted upwards against every inch of Regan's skin, tightening her hold on her captive as a presence slammed into the ground behind her. The very ground shook with the force of the impact.
Twisting sharply to face the threat now behind her, Regan tilted the blades edge along her hostages throat. Blood thinning at the sight she beheld.
A male wreathed in shadow stared, rising slowly. The shadows riled and snapped around him, rising tall behind his taut shoulder. Feeling all the warmth bleach from her face, Regan realised not shadows, But huge membranous wings that extended outwards from the males back. A winged male. Unlike any she had known to exist.
Gems of blue flared from the blackened plates of his intricate armour, rigid against his body. The shadows glare lifted to where she rested the Viper Sword to the females throat, against the mating mark on the fire wielders neck. A mating mark that withheld the scent of the very male standing before them now.
Regan's grip on the hilt grew soft as sweat built, instinctually brought on in the face of this unknown threat.
Within the next second two figure slammed into the earth on either side of the first male. Both bearing wings that extended high above their broad back, armed to the teeth Regan made quick assessment of their weapons, where they hid the blades strapped against the lines of their bodies.
The leanest male stepped towards her, His violet eyes observing her carefully. A predator watching its prey, instinctually Regan reinstated the Vipers Blade against the female throat. Felt the eyes of the other two males, assessing her in every way possible.
As panic flared in the air, Regan tensed. She wasn't too far from the treeline. If she could somehow get into the depths she could hide, but how well could she hide from males that would simply track her from above.
A primal raw power struck deep within Regan, a sense she was being watched from within. As pain exploded behind her eyes a presence shifting around her mind, she lost grip as the fire wielder threw her whole weight forwards,
The fire wielder swung fast, fiery red hair swinging. The pain bombing Regan's skull made it near impossible from her to act as the female cracked the metal wrist bindings off the side of the her head.
Gravity threw Regan towards the grass, hands flying out to catch her body.
Not that it matter as hands enveloped her, strong and unmoving they hauled her upright. Unyielding to so much as release her sightly.
Pain continued to throb, eyes straining to watch the two females as they walked to stand behind the violet eyed male. He stood with his hands shoved into pockets, listening carefully to the fire wielder as she spoke.
The two other winged males held Regan in place as she thrashed lightly, to no result they pushed her down until her knees cracked hard against the ground. Her hiss of pain drawing the attention of the male and two females.
The violet eyed male asked something that made the expecting female snap her gaze towards him. She looked uncertain before she began to move. Taking a quick hesitant step.
The males grip of Regan tightening to painful affect as she approached. To maintain the females safety they held her in place. Keeping her locked still as the female reached to grab Regan's wrist.
Despite her resistance and attempt to pull away, Regan could only watch as the female lifted and turned her wrist for the male and fire wielder to see. The expecting female lifting her own wrist slowly, in realisation.
This female, so similar in appearance to The Songstress met her stare, not in anger or fear. But in unshackled shock and curiosity. Toying with the edge of Regan's wrist.
She twisted Regan wrist to view, aligning her own beside it raised into the air. It was then that Regan caught a glimpse of it, and understood the female's shock. For she saw the dark ink marred deep into the other females skin.
The identical symbol that was tattooed into both their wrists. A lioness' pawprint. The mark of the Pride. Brielle's mark.
They both bore the mark and as the realisation settled into the eyes of the male standing tall beside the Fire wielder, The iron shackles dropping from her wrists as the male waved a hand.
Regan didn't have time to question how they male had managed to manipulate that which combated all fae magic. As he gave a solid nod to the males holding Regan.
As an elbow drove into the back of her head, Regan's whole world went black.
STOP TAGGING YOUR SHITTY OC WORK AS XREADER. ITS NOT XREADER. IT WILL NEVER BE CONSIDERED XREADER. STOP CLOGGING UP THE TAGS WITH YOUR PRIMARY SCHOOL WRITING. NO ONE CARES.
You know, I've taken quite some consideration on how to respond to this.
So, to anyone seeing this, please read. As this person clearly thinks so highly of their own opinion.
For starters, I can only assume your comment for this has come around due to the Simon Riley fic I posted. (For of which I did not notice it was tagged as XReader) So my most sincere thanks to you,✨️ anonymous person ✨️for pointing it out to me.
Secondly, I want to take this person's delightful comment as an opportunity to let anyone of my readers know IF you come onto my account or read any of my posts and do not like what you find first off. I am not forcing you to read it, and secondly, if you have an issue with something on my account, bring it to me directly, and I will try to solve any issues where I can.
I am not some child who will get their feelings hurt by some meaningless comment, I will try to learn from the responses of my readers.
What I absolutely will not do it take criticism without constructive feedback.
I have worked hard to improve my writing over the years, and I don't post a lot of what I write, as I only ever want to produce my best.
If my best is not equal to some of the other amazing and creative writers on this app by all means, go read their work, We all know the good ones deserve attention.
So I've come to the decision that as if today, I'm going to be putting some of my fics on hold until I can critique my so called ✨️Primary School✨️ writing to a respectable level.
Because, Anonymous, as you said. No one cares.
But I certainly do.
So lastly, to those of you who have been with me this far with my writing, I thank you and apologize now for any delay with my updates.
The majority of you have been amazing to me over the years on this app, and I simply want nothing more than to produce stuff that people can take the time to enjoy and read.
So I will happily take this person opinion as I opportunity to hopefully improve once more.
And Anonymous, if you have any more issues with my posts or this response,
Please don't hide behind the Anonymous button and just message me directly.
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Nyctophilia | Simon Riley X O.C ¦ Series Masterlist
Nyctophilia | (n) love of darkness or night, finding comfort or relaxation in the darkness
》 Morrigan Harper gave far too much of her life fighting for others, away from her loved one. Now they, too, are gone.
When she finds herself under conviction and with no friends in this world or the next, an offer is made.
From a man who moves unseen with an elite task force at his back.
Will she allow herself to once more be pulled into service? Or will she allow the convictions of her past to take her to a life where she will remain alone.
Last Updated: 31.07.2025 at 20.48
¤ Call of Duty Modern Warfare [rebooted]
Simon "Ghost" Riley X O.C.
Slow Burn Enemies to Lovers
Only follows the game storyline in part,
!!Trigger warnings advised!!
PLEASE READ ABOVE TRIGGER WARNINGS, READERS DISCREATION ADVISED
This story contains mature themes, including but not limited to death, bodily harm, violence, sexual harassment/ abuse, misogynistic views, substance abuse, and poor mental health management.
These topics are not something I use to gain views. They are central to the plot I have built. I strive to approach each with an area of sensitivity as far as reasonable practicable within the aspects of my writing.
If yourself or anyone else you know suffers or struggles with any of these topics I urge you to reach out for your local resources, or contact me through one of my other platforms of social communication (tik tok or tumblr).
Without further notice, I hope you enjoy my writing as much as I enjoy developing and writing it.
The rapist was dead. Laid across the room, limbs a mangled mess.
The girl laughed, sobbing into her bloodied palms, weeping over the cold body before her. Irrevocably dead and gone.
The sound of her own fracturing heart shattered what remained of her resolve.
The hole where her heart should be jackhammers painfully into her ribs, so forcefully she arched forward, pulling the stiff body to her chest to ease the pain.
To fill the now gaping hole that was carved there. But it would be of little use now that the vile man had killed the only person meant for her, her other half, the one person in the world that had been with her since day one.
But it mattered not, for he was dead. Fucking Dead.
The girl clung to the body of a friend, a sister. Her gaze sliding to the body of the rapist, as still as the rock on which he lay.
"You fucking Coward!" The cry cracked her throat, splitting what little flesh remained undamaged from her cries.
"Are you happy now?!"
The cooling corpse did not answer.
Of course, it didn't. Not because of the obvious fact that he lay without a beating heart. But the man did not have an intact throat from which to voice a response. Blood continued to spurt out from his retracting arteries, pooling below him on the concrete.
As a door nearby cracked through its bolted hinges, the girl clung hard and harder still when the hands began to pull her away.
Fought back with tooth and nail as cuffs were strapped tight, the metal biting into the flesh around her wrists.
Shouldering the bodies that held her,
"Don't fucking touch her!" She jerked, feral and rabid in every sense of the words, hurling threats as the body bag was wrapped around the two bodies on the stone.
Tears had dried as anger, unrivalled, and unbridled took form,
There was a distinct hint of a struggle from those who held her in place, fighting to pull her from the room.
"Let me go!" She roared in fury, ignoring the spike of pain as she tried to rip her hands from the cuffs.
"Morrigan Harper, at 10:46, you are being detained and arrested on the ground of murder. I suggest you stop resisting, " a face appeared before her.
If her hands weren't bound at her back, the girl might have been tempted to claw her nails into his face, having watched the men pick up her sister's body bag with little care.
"Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law,
Morrigan scowls deepens, "Fucking blow me."
The officer, stood straight, sighing as he nodded to those holding her.
Lunging from their hold once more, the girl spun, throwing her head back, smashing her skull into the nose of an officer. It caved with a crunch against bone.
The girl began screaming as they dragged her away,
Screamed louder as she was hauled from the room away from her sister.
Running back towards her sister, she made it all of a few feet before she was tackled, chin and chest slamming to the ground.
The air stalled in her chest as arms wrapped her torso, multiplied this time, they pinned her thrashing limbs to her body.
"GET HER IN THE VAN!" The booming voice from before yelled.
"You're all dead men! I'll kill you all!"
As her body was thrown into the van, hands cuffing her to the bench, the officer stopped at the doors to watch her.
"With the evidence we have. I doubt that."
But the girl did not care as she tried to lift herself from the bench to catch one more glimpse of her sister, wrapped tightly inside that ominous black bag.
But as the door of the van was slammed shut. Her world shut with it, she threw herself into the walls,
Screaming to the darkness, as though it may answer her.
Summary: Estella is the younger sister of Azriel. Like her older brother, she is a shadowsinger and spymaster for the Night Court. When she meets Eris, she initially despises him, but after a bargain is made between them, and they are stuck Under the Mountain together, things begin heating up.
cw: canon typical violence, mentions of child abuse and domestic abuse, beron🤮, mentions of whipping, mentions of reader being groomed in past relationship(though she was an adult), overprotective batboys, mentions of rhys being assaulted utm, just tw for amarantha in general
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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The world surroundings had become dull. To every sense she honed, blurry at the edges of her vision, weak against her nose, quiet to her ears.
But the sense of touch, the sensation of feeling. The Lioness knew with absolute certainty that the pain in her chest was the the result of her fracturing heart, too weak to beat on its own. Drowning in the suffering it had been forced to endure.
As the group around her planned, corelating a strategy to get Aelin, Fenrys and Vera out Brielle sat letting those senses dull her to every wisp of air that blew against her skin. The healing raw flesh around her wrist stinging as the airs kiss skimmed across the surface. It was a subdued pain to that which had burst through her when the chains were broken, snapped by the hands that had held her.
Gavriel now watched her carefully, his tawny eyes narrowed in concern. It had not been pity she wanted, not when their mission was not yet complete.
As the unbound power thrummed under her skin Brielle was reminded of the fact, she had yet to free her mate, spy and her Queen from the clutch's of the male that had tried to break her and had won by killing off one of the few people she held most dear.
The sting of Isaiah's death made the pounding behind her eyes increase to a blinding intensity. He was dead, irrevocably gone from this world. How was she to tell Bronwyn? The female would known by now, would have sensed it through their mating bond.
Would she? Would Brielle feel it if Fenrys had perished?
It had been the only thought that had consumed her as the rest of their group slept, waiting to enact their plan the next day. Even as Teyra laid awake on the bed rolls, Brielle had refused to pass word to the female. Couldn't bring herself to see the judgement she might face on the expression her friend might cast her way.
With no sleep she had risen from the ground, muscles aching with protest as she moved to stand with Rowan.
"I go in with you." Even the sound of her own voice was so... foreign. Broken in a way it had never been, she had never heard what it was like after the Golden Death for she had simply not spoken.
As she turned to glance at the male who had become a brother in every sense of the word, his stare unwavering as he met her own gaze. Nodding once with no verbal protest, as though he looked to her and saw what he too felt.
The rising all consuming panic that swelled heavy in her chest at the mere thought of what might happen to their mates. What would have been done already, what might happen if they fail to get them out. The ruining they themselves would go through if they arrived at Cairn's tent only to find it empty.
"She killed Connall." Rowan stayed silent as he watched her talk, "He stabbed himself in the heart." Brielle had to swallow around the lump in her throat as her eyes burned, "Maeve had us all watch as he died on those tiles, had me watched as he confessed he had always loved me, had me watch as Fenrys tried to crawl to him as he lay dying."
Looking out the camp to ignore the way Rowan's expression softened, "I remember Cairn laughing, the same way he always did, the same sound that wretches my mind apart in my sleep. He laughed the same as he beat us all in that cell, laughed when he whipped me through the streets. Laughed that same way when I left him with Isaiah." She choked on her breath.
A hand wrapped into her own, turning to meet Rowan's stare once more she gently pulled her hand free. Undeserving of that small comfort, "No matter what happens today. Cairn dies."
Without waiting to see if Rowan acknowledges her vow Brielle turned, walking back to the gathering of their belongings, to arm herself for the inevitable bloodshed.
☽⋆❈⋆☾
Brielle hadn't spoken again, to anyone. Not until they all separated to take their positions. Without complaint or comment the group had allowed her to pass and follow Rowan to the southern entrance of the camp, to where he planned to reign down hell on the patrolling guards. An act he had been preparing to take on alone, but now?
Now, Prince Rowan Whitethorn would be joined by her, The Lioness of Doranelle, the Seductress of the North and above all else a vengeful fae Female who had enough of letting weak males take advantage of her loved one.
Armed with no more than a set of twin blades, and her well of restless power Brielle prowled beside the prince. A predator posed to kill. A lions hunt planned for every outcome of their prey.
They waited in the cover of the tree line, the canopy shading them from the view of the patrolling guards stationed at the entrance. Brielle observed their relaxed statures, noted which would be easier to take out first. Those of them that paid more attention to their surrounding, they would be the ones more likely to spot them, she trained her eyes on them longer then the others.
The curl of Rowan's wind wrapped past them, masking their scents as they waited for the patrols to rotate. The plan; get into the centre of the camp where Brielle knew Cairn's tent was standing, and send out a wave of power for Gavriel and Lorcan to sense, Teyra with them. Corbin had been tasked with guarding Elide, the pair hidden out in the woods behind the trios position outside the east gate of the camp.
"Rowan." Brielle crouched lower, noting the lethal stillness that ebbed its ways into Rowan's very muscles as he stayed observing the warriors manning the entrance.
The low tilt of his head in her direction was the only note she could take that indicated he listened to her now, "I don't know what we will find in that tent. Cairn was bad before but what he did-" the memory of seeing Vera chained to the cell wall, her body a hollow of what it had once been. Aelin and her intricate confinement..
He slowly turned to face her, a hand flexing against his own thigh, Brielle's own fingers twitched to reach and grasp it, to comfort that pained expression marring his features.
"I know what we will find won't be pleasant. The only reason I didn't break before... Was because of Fenrys. He knew what I wanted to do, could probably see it"
"He had always been good at reading you." Rowan turned back to the entrance, his hand reaching out to take her own, squeezing once before dropping her hand.
He didn't need words to display he heard what she was trying to convey, The possibilities of what they might come across could be endless, they both needed to be prepared for what state they might find their mates in, for better or worse.
As Rowan turned to address her once more, Movement caught her attention at the entrance, The guard rotation was happening. Tightening her hold on one of the blades, poised beside her thigh Brielle watched as Rowan downed each new guard with half a thought, stealing the air from their lungs.
Following in a steady motion as he rose, stepping out from the cover of the trees the yelling began as Rowan ripped the oxygen from the new guards screaming the alarm, the warriors on post paling at the sight of the two fae that now raced for them.
Their panicked yells dying as the breath was once more ripped from them by Rowan who shattered their flickering shields with half a thought.
"You punch a hole, I'll follow through." Brielle called out to Rowan as he pulls the hatchet from his side and a long knife in the other hand from somewhere off his leg. He didn't answer as he shattered straight through the first line of warriors streaming in from all around them.
It felt good to let her power flow free now, wrapping it around the joint of her wrist to flick essence of it in every direction, hitting warrior after warrior.
Unlike Rowan she merely downed each soldier, pulling on their nerves and panic to stifle their consciousness.
Watching as Rowan surged forward, truly punching a hole through the groups of warriors, the one he didn't face turned to spot the Lioness as she followed closely behind picking off those Rowan missed. The lancing whip of her power striking them,
It was amazement they watched with, having been trained by both Rowan and Brielle but many had never faced the Prince or the Lioness, had heard stories of the duo working with one another. To witness the chaos now was a wonder to witness, a wonder which many warriors turned to flee from once they realised it would not be a fight they would walk away from.
As Brielle spung blocking a blow from a sword, she shot a spear of her power into the males chest knocking him back into the dirt. A sudden jolt of pain had her slowing, her feet molding to the spot as her weapons grew heavy,
A pressure from every edge of her body growing with each second, pain lancing through the hollow of her bones. Surveying her body Brielle scanned, no blood. No wound. No lodged weapon, but still the pain hit her in another wave, stronger this time.
There wasn't rational thought or feeling as the pain crippled her, Brielle leant forward the tip of the blades digging into the ground to stay upright even as her frame bowed over the hilt. The ache growing stronger through the bond strung around her soul. It had to be coming from Fenrys.
It speared into her chest, making her legs shake as she saw Rowan disappear ahead. Her weight grew to be too much as she collapsed, the blades falling from her grasp beside her.
The flurry of movement swelled at the edges of her vision, warriors spying her weakness as Brielle lay exposed leaning into her blades for support. But none dared to step forward.
The pain increased, a pulse that knocked the rhythm of her own heart off beat. Brielle knew she needed to get back up, needed to get up to Fenrys.
Extending what strength still lingered in her Brielle forced it into her hands, securing hold around the hilts. Every line of sinew in her muscles trembled with the exertion. Fighting through the pain.
"Commander Brielle?" Emmie Whitethorn. The voice pierced through the sound of fighting warriors all hounding down on Rowan, he would be half way to Cairn's tent now-
Emmie dropped to her level, those pine green speckles in her eyes flaring with concern at the sight of Brielle before her, the marring bruises and scent of lingering blood clung from her hair and skin, Cairn's unsee torment wept into her flesh.
The Whitethorn gaped in shock or fear at the rage she met on Brielle's expression, hardened from the agony rippling down through her mating bond.
"-Commander?"
Allowing the icy rage to cage itself around her heart, Brielle rose, Legs holding steady against the tremors that shook through the bones. Emmie was silent, unafraid to face the wisps of power that riled under Brielle's control, snapping out in lashes of feral exhilaration, as though the power was not just an extension of her, but something more, something older.
Emmie had been so focused on not turning her attention from that very unworldly and untamed power that she didn't see the male at her back, A snarl ripping from him as he drew back an arrow, but the Lioness did.
Brielle allowed for a gentle leash of her power to protectively wrap itself around Emmie, curling around her waist beckoning as Brielle whispered soft commands,
As Emmie folded forwards, the embrace of the Lioness's power excelling the speed of her movement, Brielle set her undisrupted attention on the male, her gaze zeroing on his weapon still held to strike.
Allowing her unrivaled power to swell, Brielle molded and shaped it, guiding the magic into a structured arrow of her own, Movement seized, soldiers halting themselves as the air around them swam in a pool of slowed seconds, watching her position herself in a stance even Rowan Whitethorn himself couldn't critique. Drawing it back as she would in a bow Brielle aimed and released, not yielding even a second to mercy or remorse.
The male registered its approach a second too late and as the arrow slammed to home in his chest he couldn't so much as twitch before the molded power imploded, releasing the pressured construction of the Lioness's magic.
The gathering of soldiers in the camp watched as the power burst in every direction, watched the males body contorts in pain as the power leaked into his skin, His thrashing struggle to claw it out his flesh morphing into a dance of terror.
His screams of chest staggering alarm silenced those still fighting. Most, if not all had outright stopped to witness the scene unraveling before them, bearing witness as Brielle's power began its streak of chaos across the lines of his body.
Manipulating every cell inside him until the skin began to warp and bubble, a swelling that contorted in his face first, his eyes drooped down sinking into the frame of his skull, then his mouth began to limps at the edges, frantic panicked hands trying to hold his features in place as though they have begun melting from off his face.
As the skin covering his hand deforms like liquid the crowd realise with a pulsing wave of trepidation that his skin is melting, muscles across his body dissolve and bone now lay exposed from under the liquifying flesh. The male sways as his screaming pierces the camp air, a hollow sound that has every spine straightening at the wrongness it instils. Until that power wraps its teeth around his throat and his screaming snaps to a stop, an audible sound of its own making.
The crowd of soldier watched now as the flesh was detached from his bones.
This was a display of the power one female possessed, this continent had forgotten once before what Vallen had done to her, had conveniently forgotten that she had caused the Golden Death with the same power that now melted flesh from the inside out.
Those watching could recall as they watched the blood pour from whatever blood vessels remained, and as the thump of his remains collapsing echoed through the air and time around them they were forced to remember what they had all chosen to forget.
This would be a reminder. A warning. That was a threat in its own right as they turned to follow that warning to the female standing at the epicentre of the chaos. Their attention shifting up from the pile that had once been a fighting fae male warriors.
Brielle ignored them all, securing the blades in her hold she turns to face the rising Emmie Whitethorn, her own face ashen as the scent of blood hit her. Those pine green speckles in her eyes flashing with an indecipherable recognition of the power before her, yielding to a pull drawing to respect the power she had witnessed, to bow to such a formidable and powerful creature.
It was instinct. One as fae, they couldn't eradicate, it was in their blood as a species, to bow before power. It was the reason many were drawn to this continent, why many bowed to Maeve.
The silence encasing them now would carry Brielle's words, reinforcing strength into her voice to address the mass of warriors rooted to their spots in the surrounding camps. The pain ringing through the bond dulling to an ache that she tried not to think of it, there would only be so many reasons as to why it weakened now.
"You are being spared on this day" She held for a beat, steeling her voice to project further to reach and be heard by any who stood listening, "By the orders of Her Majesty Queen Aelin Galathynius."
The truth of it rattled through every souls in the crowd, their voices murmuring to one another at the mention of the young Queen, connecting dots to the display a few days before, the flag of House Galathynius hung high for all to see in the city streets.
Brielle smirked before turning to Emmie, raising a hand to clasp the side of the females jaw, allowed herself to hold the contact long enough for the crowd to still and see the affection.
For the fear that gripped tight in her chest Brielle forced herself to turn away to not witness what expression might have overtook Emmie's expression. Gathering her swords and tucking them in tight. With a resounding waves of her power purring to life around her, a shield to guard her fracturing heart.
The groups of warriors began partitioning as she moved through them towards where she knew Cairn's tent would be, surrounded by no other, perhaps these warriors now saw the trajectory of her path, Would they let her walk that path? To rid the world of such a male.
It would not matter, but not one warriors stopped her, despite knowing what she sought to do in that tent, the tent where she as going to inflict more than just torture and torment.
☽⋆❈⋆☾
For whatever had happened in those moment where Brielle had let her power reign free, reminding those who had grown used to the comfort of ignorance, Rowan had returned to the camp, followed closely by the body of a golden Lion.
Gavriel and Rowan both stilled at the sight of her stalking, a predator that didn't wait for them before she reached the tent, a single bloodied hand ripping back the edge of the entrance flap.
Perhaps it might have been smarter to steady her heart before rushing into a situation she might not be wholly prepared for, but as Brielle laid eyes on her mate, his body twisted in agony as the wolf writhed-
There was a soft whimper, distinctly female. Vera. The Lioness couldn't draw her attention from where Fenrys laid, but there was a gentle shuffle, movement from the corner of the tent a frail body cowered low under a metal table.
"Brielle-"
But she couldn't bring herself to look at Vera now, to let her friend view the rage she knew had take over every inch of her body. Wouldn't turn that on her,
Instead she sent a soft relish of her power, it brushed through the air, encasing The Sorceress in its sweet touch, a gentle brush to note her presence, to swell her muscles with strength for the escape that she was to endure.
But at the scent of her mates blood all that snapped back, power retreating back to its master, to protect her as an ache jackhammered itself into her ribs, the blood marring the white of Fenrys fur.
"Heal him." There was a soothing, almost feral brush to the cool wind that flowed in behind Rowan his command spurring Gavriel into a flash of light, dropping beside Fenrys a second later.
Brielle tried to swallow that panic,
It clawed and ripped through her
A knife striking her heart,
If the pain streaming down their bond had stopped did that mean-
Gavriel shoved his power into action, the warm glow of that meticulous healing magic, a stark contract to the destruction of her own,
Allowing her power to engulf her senses, wrapping around the mating bond to simply hold on. To somehow keep Fenrys from drifting further away, all of Brielle perception lay alive in noting every hint that was her mate.
Too the dull pulse of his heart, to the steadying exhalation of his breath, each stable out take soothing that rapid blinding drumming of her own pulse, thrumming wildly in her skull.
The Lionesses attention drifted warily from her mate to search for the male she knew was laid mere meters away. The cause of such pain. Rowan followed her stare a second later, to where Cairn lay motionless. A gash had been torn from his temple, predicably the blow that may have rendered him unconscious.
As Brielle settled her full undivided attention on him she noted the glances Rowan and Gavriel shared.
"Heal him." Rowan marked how Gavriel eyes him warily when he pointed at Cairn's lifeless body, and as Gavriel began to rise from beside her mate Brielle moved. Halting the continuation of her brothers movements "No." Her word were nothing beyond a nearly silent whisper.
She faced her brothers, "Get Fenrys and Vera out of here." She couldn't allow for her gaze to linger more as she began to prowl to where Cairn lay, standing above him now she didn't wait to see if Gavriel had obeyed her request as she spoke softly, too soft for what Cairn deserved. "Allow me."
The clank of metal and whimper from Vera as she crawled out from under the shelter of the table, she moved for Gavriel, the males extended hand prying the iron shackles bounded around her wrists, discarding them without a thought.
There was a soft shuffle near the entrance of the tent, the presence of her family leaving before Brielle was joined by a male, Rowan taking position at her side, carefully surveying the tools laid out on velvet wraps beside him.
The sight of Cairn's meshed up face shot sparks of pride through her, Fenrys had shredded the male into ribbons, the flesh on his shoulder gushing blood by the second. It was pure satisfaction that almost made her not heal him. Almost.
It was the promise of gratification that let her heal him, only enough for Rowan to drag the male from his limp position on the ground. The pair working silently in unspoken agreement as Rowan dropped Cairn's body onto the surface of that table, Brielle pausing for a moment of contemplation before she crouched to collect Vera's shackles and chains. A fitting addition for what was too come.
Brielle stared at the shackles, a rendering memory of them clasping the joint of her own wrist, Vera's and Aelin's. Silently she held a pair out to Rowan, the male noted them with a hint of amusement before he gently took them and got to work securing them around the males ankles. Brielle copying his movement with Cairn's wrist.
By the time Cairn was secured down, a sharpened scalpel in Rowan's grasp, he turned to nod at Brielle once.
As Rowan wrapped his own icy power around the ends of the tent, blocking out all sound, Brielle focused on flowing her own into the cells within Cairn. Travelling fast it reached for the nerve ending, jolting them enough to stir him from his unconscious state.
Cairn's eye lids lifted slowly at first, until he spied the company that he was surrounded by inside the refuge of his tent.
His first panicked jolt against the chain wrought a pulse of delight through Brielle's heart. She would relish in this, his panic and fear, the alarm he would feel at the mind games. Fear in itself was a torturous weapon, once she intend to use. Brielle didn't particularly care for the details of what Rowan intended with that knife he beheld, only cared about how she could prolong the suffering Cairn was destined to endure.
Cairn's eye bulged in fear as they both moved once more in tandem, in that silently communicated synchronisation. His attention darting between them, the palpable fear inhibiting his ability to identify which of them was the bigger threat.
Brielle observed carefully, waiting for Cairn's attention to avert to Rowan approaching slowly from the bottom of the table, methodically tapping the edge of the knife against the surface. In that split second where he perceived Rowan as the bigger threat Brielle stepped to the side of the table where she would be hidden from the males view.
The music of Cairn's laboured pants of breath perforated the silent aura of the tent, once he realised he had lost sight of the Lioness, craning his neck back against the hard surface of the table in a desperate attempt to bring Brielle back into his sight. Unknowing, he led himself into her trap, for Brielle waited for Cairn to angle his head just right-
Snapping her hands around either side of his head, she held firm as he thrashed upon the contact. Smiling down at him once before she began threading her magic into his skull.
Slow, and at a leisurely pace that would only succeed in spiking his fear, the distinct scent of urine stung her nose, a sharp indication her action had that desired affect.
"Now Cairn," He jerked his head when she gently toyed a finger into a curl of his hair, her eyes flitting to Rowan excitedly before slowly lowering her gaze to the male whimpering in her hold, "I hope you're not afraid of the dark"
Clamping the leash of her power around the electrical signals she could feel thrumming along his optic nerves, Blocking the passage of all visual information to his brain. Cairn's breathing stuttering as she blinded him.
So when Rowan finally raised that sharp sharp knife, Cairn never saw it coming.
Never saw the blade as it lower closer to his exposed body, never saw it coming as Rowan twisted it into flesh and blood, his scream of agony threw spittle from his lips as he trashed against the chains that continued to hold firm.
Unable to see each time as Rowan prepared to inflict that hurt, slicing that too sharp blade and began peeling Cairn's flesh. Skinning the male alive.
A steady stream of Brielle's power flowed through their victim now, maintaining the flow of his system to keep his heart beating. To keep him alive long enough to endure the full extent of his punishment.
To keep him breathing and conscious so Cairn would feel every second, and he did, Rowan assault growing elongated as he turned back to that velvet wrap, each tool meticulously placed in the order of his session. The sight of the whip at the corner of the tent spurring his anger into a near living entity. A reminder of Aelin's promise, she would skin anyone who raised a whip to her. Casting his stare over the red exposed layers of peeled back skin covering every open section of Cairn's body, Rowan Whitethorn couldn't help but smiled in delight.
Brielle lowered to rest her elbow onto the table, chin against her hand. Leaning to whisper to Cairn,"How does it feel?" Drawling slowly as she watched Rowan pluck up a pair of crooked plyers, the metal warped from the force of its previous wielders grip.
Cairn breathed heavily from the back of his throat, vacant eyes wide as he tried wildly to blink past her power, to somehow bring back his sense of sight.
Moving to his other ear Brielle leaned closer, ignoring her own revulsion and focused solely on her own thrill, the instinctual need for the hunt. The excitement that spurred through her stomach as Cairn flinched away from her, actually flinched the chains rattled against the table as Rowan turned his attention to the nails on the males hand, the evidence of his own victims blood still a dark residue under the edges.
"To be... powerless-" She flicked her tongue across the point of her canines, body shaking with the need to hurt him. To destroy the male so thoroughly the gods themselves would fear her reckoning.
Cairn's body went rigid as Rowan squeezed the plyers to pinch hold of his first nail,
Rowan's wind was a feral snap, drawing Brielle's attention to him, she continued to hold Whitethorns stare as she whisper to Cairn once more. "This is for Aelin."
In one swift movement, Rowan ripped Cairn's nail from off the end of his finger, ripped it so thoroughly Brielle felt Cairn's bones rattle through to the metacarpals in his hand. The vibration wrenching a scream from him, a symphony that sung his anguish across the space surrounding them.
"This is for Fenrys." Rowan ripped off the next one, as Brielle smiles, gently swirled a hand into the side of Cairn's head, a mocking display of comfort.
"And Vera." A third nail was discarded as Cairn sobbed, the veins in his neck throbbing angrily at the angle he twisted, in an attempt to ease the suffering shocking through him in waves, amplified by the touch of Brielle's power, each signal flowing though his nerves being intensified like electricity.
Once every socket at the end of his fingers were empty and bloodies, the names of all those suffered at those very hands uttered into his ear, a reminder that he had reaped what he had sowed. As Rowan rose, dropping his tool onto the velvet Brielle took that as her que, silently lifting herself up.
Cairn's chest stuttering up and down rapidly in panic as her presence moved across the space in the tent, Her attention honing onto the laid out selection.
But instead her eyes skipped to where Rowan's hatchet hung from his hip, Her hand twitched in its direction before she moved, stopping beside her brother she wordlessly began unstrapping it. Rowan observed the nature of her calculated movements carefully, spied her attention as it drifted to Cairn's hands, the weight of his weapon being plucked from its place at his side.
When Brielle met his stare this time the Prince nodded, Taking position Rowan held down Cairn's hands, on an open expanse of the table. These hands he now held above the wrist had been the destruction, the cause of the inflicted suffering of both their mates, It was a crime to leave the hands untouched.
Once more, leaving little time for remorse or thought Brielle swung the hatchet down. Fast and powerful it struck through bone. Severing the hand from his wrist. The power within her could have easily cleaved the join free, but the weight of the weapon rested easily in her hold and the spray of blood satisfied that primal urge hounding sharply within her chest.
The pair ignore the males howls of agony as they shifted for the second hand, Cairn's thrashing growing violent as he noted their next intention. The bones connecting his hand to his body was hacked off in that mirrored movement.
Silently Brielle watched, delighting in the sight as Cairn pulled his arms free of the chains, only to bring them up to his face, but as her powers held firm his breathing rasped still unable to see past her influence.
Extending the handle of the hatchet, Rowan firmly took it back, repositioning it against his side as Brielle finally took hold of her final instrument.
A dagger. That had once sat perched in a concealed sheath on Cairn's side.
Plucking it off the velvet and twirling it between her fingers Brielle circled back to the male against the table, a predator closing in for the killing blow, to bring around the end of a hunt.
Drawing back every linger crackle of her power, she watched positioned above Cairn as his attention darted around, able to see once more he searched for where Rowan stood at the foot of the table.
Perception of who was the biggest threat was his first mistake.
Brielle allowed the feral flare of her power to encompass her, drawing both males attentions to her, Cairn bucked into his remaining restraints as he caught sight of the weapon she held in her grasp. His muscles trembling as the glistening liquid coating the blade dripped from the point.
"This is for Isaiah." Then The Lioness slit the poison covered blade across his throat.
Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.
Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx
A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)
6.4k word count.
"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.
I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.
"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.
"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.
I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.
It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.
"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.
Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.
She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."
I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."
I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.
Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.
His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.
"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.
I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.
"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."
I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.
"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.
"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.
"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."
The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.
Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.
But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.
I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.
"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.
"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."
I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.
———
Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.
But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.
I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.
"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.
"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.
"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."
"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."
I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.
His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."
A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."
He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."
"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"
His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.
"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.
"You don't mean that."
"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.
I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.
I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.
I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.
The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.
"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.
I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.
He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."
My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.
Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.
He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."
I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.
He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."
———
My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.
I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.
"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.
He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.
I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.
———
The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.
"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.
"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.
The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.
"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.
"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."
I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"
"Careful," he growls in warning.
A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.
"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.
"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.
Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.
"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.
I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.
He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"
I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.
"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.
"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.
"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.
"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.
"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.
He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.
My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.
Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.
"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.
I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.
"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.
He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.
I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"
He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."
I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.
"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.
"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.
He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.
"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."
"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.
"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."
He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"
"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."
He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."
"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.
The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.
Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.
Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.
He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."
I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."
He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"
I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."
He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."
"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.
He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."
The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"
His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.
I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.
He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"
"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."
He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."
I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."
"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."
"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.
"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"
"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"
I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.
The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.
"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"
I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."
"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"
"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"
I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."
"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."
"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."
He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"
"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."
His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."
I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"
He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."
I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."
"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."
"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.
"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.
We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.
"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."
"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.
"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.
He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."
For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.
When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.
I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.
The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.
I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.
We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.
We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.
We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.
"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"
I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.
I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."
His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."
My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."
"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."
I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."
"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.
"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"
It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."
It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.
"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."
His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.
"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.
We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.
He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.
The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.
"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."
I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"
"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."
There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.
"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.
"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.
"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."
The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.
"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."
I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.
As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.
I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.
Comment or reblog with a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!
Summary: Reader and Nyx meet again, this time exploring Velaris—and much more about their fates are revealed.
Warnings: Minor conflict, protective parents, forbidden love, and some kissing 👀
A.Note: I haven’t posted since last yearrr I am so sorry to all of you, but part two is finally here!! I hope you guys enjoy, it’s a little bit more fast paced but I wanted to speed it along so I could get to the actual good stuff. Make sure you read part one prior to this!
Word count: 7.1k
I was in my bedroom, rereading a book for the sixth time. It was the least favorite on my shelf, worn only from idle desperation rather than love. Father didn't often take me out to buy new books; when he did, it was always after much coaxing. I could go without him, but only with a sentry trailing me. And I hated inconveniencing them with what he called my "silly hobby." So, I waited until my father needed something from the town, and then I'd quietly slip a purchase into our errands.
It had been a week—exactly seven days—since the ball at the Dawn Court. Since I'd talked with a stranger until sunrise. It was strange, missing someone whose name I didn't even know. But I did. I missed the way he teased me, the way I could be me with him—unguarded and, for once, unjudged. My chest ached at the memory, yet I forced my attention back to the book in my lap, pretending not to notice how hollow the words felt tonight.
"I could take you to the bookstore, you know."
I jolted upright at the sudden intrusion in my mind, my breath catching at the unfamiliar—yet eerily familiar—cool tone.
"Who's there?" My whispered words sounded absurd even to me, as I scanned my empty room for a presence that couldn't possibly be real. My pulse thundered, but no one appeared.
"In your head, princess," the voice replied smoothly, amusement curling through every syllable.
My breath hitched. That voice... his voice.
"How are you doing that?" I whispered, my grip tightening on the book.
"Daemati powers," he answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
Daemati. My thoughts raced. Only a few could wield that kind of power, and even fewer had the skill to enter a mind from such a distance, wherever he was. The realization sent a shiver down my spine. "Get out of my head."
"Let me take you to the bookstore, and I will."
"I can't go out." The words came out sharp, though I wasn't sure whether I was speaking to him or to myself. "My father would—"
"Your father isn't home, is he?" he interrupted, his voice dipping into a dry hum. "Come now, are there wards locking you in?"
"No," I admitted, frowning, disliking that he already knew that fact.
"Chains on your doors or windows?"
"No, but—"
"Then you can leave."
"It's not that simple," I snapped, then clamped my mouth shut, wincing at my own volume.
A quiet pause. Then, softly, "What happened to the girl I met at the ball? The one who wasn't afraid to sneak away and stay out until dawn?"
"This is manipulation," I grumbled, though my chest fluttered at the memory of that night.
"Is it working?" he purred, smug.
"Yes," I muttered under my breath, hating the warmth that pooled in my stomach.
"Good. Meet me at the Spring and Summer border."
Before I could argue, the connection snapped, leaving me alone in the quiet, moonlit room. I stared at the book in my lap, then closed it with a sharp thud and tossed it onto the bed.
I shouldn't do this. I couldn't do this.
And yet, I was already moving—slipping into boots, shrugging on my satchel, and inching my window open with careful fingers. The night air kissed my skin as I hoisted myself onto the sill, every creak of the frame sending a thrill of nervous energy through me as my feet planted on the roof below me.
The climb down the flower-covered lattice was agonizingly slow, the wooden structure groaning beneath my weight as I scaled the two-story descent. By the time my feet touched the ground, my heart was racing. I pressed myself into the shadows, my movements silent as I made my way past the lingering, half-awake sentries and through the edge of the wards.
Once outside, I winnowed. The magic tugged at my ribs, spinning me through space until I landed at the Spring and Summer border.
It wasn't hard to spot him. He was already there, leaning casually against a sunstone pillar, his wings catching the moonlight like black silk. Shadows played along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the curve of his mouth as he smiled—a sharp, knowing thing that made my steps falter.
"Evening, princess," he drawled, pushing off the pillar with an ease that made everything about him look so effortless.
"You know my title, but I still don't know your name," I replied, crossing my arms in a poor attempt to mask the way my heart stumbled at the sight of him.
His grin widened, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Let's keep it that way for now. Mystery suits us, don't you think?"
I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, his hand shot out, plucking something from my hair. He held it up between two fingers—a small, pale pink rose. "You've got a knack for dramatic entrances," he said, twirling the flower.
"Must've fallen when I climbed down the lattice," I muttered, taking the rose from his hand, though my fingers brushed his for a beat longer than necessary.
His brow arched in mock surprise. "You mean to tell me flowers don't just grow from your hair? And here I thought you were a goddess in disguise."
"Don't be ridiculous." I snorted, very un-goddess-like. "This, however, I can do." I cupped the rose in my palm, letting a sliver of my magic flow into it.
The transformation was instant. Vines sprouted from the stem, curling down my wrist in an intricate dance, tiny buds blooming along their length. The rose gleamed in the moonlight, glowing faintly with the life I'd breathed into it.
His smirk faltered, replaced by wide-eyed wonder. The silver light of the moon reflected in his gaze as he leaned closer, studying the vines with an intensity that made heat crawl up my neck. "Impressive," he murmured, his voice softer now. "What else can you do?"
I met his gaze, a grin tugging at my lips. "I'll tell you when you explain how you're able to read my thoughts."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Touché," he said, the smirk returning as he straightened. He extended a hand toward me, his wings shifting slightly as if preparing for flight. "Shall we?"
"Go where?" I asked, tilting my head.
"To the bookstore, of course."
"At midnight?" My disbelieving laugh echoed in the quiet night. "They're all closed."
"Not in the Night Court." His grin turned wolfish, his wings flaring just enough to cast long shadows. "Come on, I'll show you."
I froze, my stomach twisting at the mention of his court. My voice dropped to a whisper. "The Night Court? I'm not allowed to go there. My father forbade it."
"Well," he said with a pointed glance at my boots, "he also forbade sneaking out, and yet, here we are."
His smile was the very definition of trouble, but it faltered when he caught the hesitation in my eyes. The sharp edges of his expression softened. "We don't have to. If you want, I'll winnow you right back to Spring. No harm done."
My lips parted to refuse. To tell him I couldn't, I shouldn't. But the way he watched me, that glint of challenge in his gaze, made something reckless and wild spark to life in my chest. Against every ounce of better judgment, I stepped forward and slipped my hand into his.
"No," I said softly. "I want to."
His fingers tightened around mine, warmth spreading up my arm. "Just one question before we go," I said, my voice light but curious.
"Anything," he replied, his tone low and almost teasing.
"Are there monsters in the libraries there? Creatures made of nightmares?"
His chuckle was deep and smooth, like a shadow curling around the edges of my thoughts. "Bryaxis?" He grinned. "They're a friend."
I stared at him, horrified and awed all at once. "You made friends with a nightmare?"
He tugged me closer, a wicked gleam lighting his face. "Oh, princess," he murmured, his voice dipping into something darker, more thrilling. "You have no idea the company I keep."
Before I could say another word, the world dissolved into darkness.
—
The Night court wasn't the stories my father had told me as a child at all. Tales of monsters crawling from the shadows and winged creatures coming to steal me away. Rather, it was breathtaking, even at first glance. The scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter and music drifting from nearby streets. Lanterns hung in the air like suspended stars, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone paths and vibrant market stalls.
I stumbled slightly as we landed, but Nyx's hand tightened around mine, steadying me. "Easy there, princess," he murmured, the warmth of his voice grounding me.
I glanced at our joined hands, but he made no move to let go, so I didn't pull away.
"This... this is the Night Court?" I whispered, my voice a mix of awe and disbelief.
"Velaris," he corrected softly, his gaze flicking over the streets like it was a lover's touch. "The City of Starlight."
I didn't know where to look first. Everything was alive, vibrant, yet somehow soothing, like the city itself was breathing. The Night Market stretched out before us, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Vendors called out to passing patrons, their stalls brimming with everything from exotic spices to delicate jewelry and hand-woven silk.
"You live here?" I asked, glancing up at him.
"Sometimes," he said vaguely, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips.
We began to walk, and almost immediately, heads started to turn. A merchant at a nearby stall beamed when she saw him. "Haven't seen you in weeks, boy!" she called, waving a hand towards us.
He shot the vendor a look, though it wasn't unkind. "Evening, Mrs. Fowley," he said quickly, guiding me forward before I could ask more questions.
But then another vendor spotted him. And another. Each one greeted him like an old friend, their faces lighting up as if his presence alone had brightened their evening.
"Back again, lad?" one called.
"Nyx, come here," Their voice cut through the chatter of the market. His steps faltered, his head turning toward the sound.
"Nyx?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as he guided me toward the voice, his hand still warm and steady in mine.
His eyes flicked down to meet mine, a grin tugging at his lips. "Cat's out of the bag, I suppose."
"Bat's out of the bag," I quipped, gesturing to the wings folded neatly behind him.
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Well, aren't you clever," he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement.
"Who's this pretty girl?" a female asked as we approached, the same one who had called him over. She held a tray of pastries, her expression kind and curious.
He—Nyx—looked at me then, really looked, with an intensity that made my cheeks warm. Before he could answer, a group of giggling girls stumbled down the path, one of them brushing past me and bumping me forward into his chest.
"My girlfriend," he said smoothly, his arm curling around my waist, pulling me closer.
I blinked up at him, startled by his words, but as I caught the wide-eyed, dismayed looks from the group of girls, understanding dawned.
"Ah, careful with this one, love. Just like his father with the ladies," the baker teased her tone light and amused as she gave me a playful wink. Nyx's arm tightened slightly around my waist at her words.
"Here, take a sweet. For whatever trouble he puts you through," she said, plucking a chocolate-covered croissant from her tray with a pair of tongs and holding it out to me.
I hesitated for a moment before accepting the pastry, a blush creeping up my cheeks. "Thank you, Miss," I said softly, my fingers brushing hers as I took the treat.
She waved me off with a warm smile. "Call me Ressina. I run this stand for his aunt's bakery, and I have a feeling I'll be seeing more of you."
I nodded, smiling. "I hope so," I said sincerely, her kindness making the bustling market feel a little less overwhelming.
"Go on, then," she said, shooing us away. "Don't let me keep you."
Nyx didn't need to be told twice. His hand remained firm at my waist as he steered me back down the path, away from the stand.
I glanced up at him, raising a brow as I bit into the croissant. The pastry was perfect—flaky, buttery, and rich with chocolate that melted on my tongue. I made a quiet, appreciative sound before speaking. "You're popular, aren't you?"
He cleared his throat, quickening his pace as though trying to escape the conversation. "They're just friendly here."
"Friendly?" I teased, a mischievous lilt in my voice. "You must be their favorite customer—or maybe something more. Should I be jealous?"
His wings twitched, and a faint blush crept up his neck. "Are you jealous, princess?"
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Hardly," I grumbled before taking another large bite of the delectable pastry.
"The baker is a family friend," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "She seemed to like you."
"Plenty seem to like you," I muttered under my breath, finishing the last bite of the pastry. "Boyfriend?"
He cringed slightly, his expression sheepish. "Sorry. Those girls have been following me for weeks. I didn't want you to have to deal with them."
I grinned, delighting in his discomfort. "You know, if you wanted to keep a low profile, you're not doing a very good job of it," I mumble, finishing off the croissant and debating licking my fingers since it was so delicious.
He shot me a sidelong glance, his smirk returning with a wicked edge. "Jealousy looks good on you, princess."
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth spreading across my cheeks betrayed me.
We turned a corner, the bustle of the market fading behind us as we approached a cozier part of the street. Nyx slowed his pace, guiding me toward a small building nestled between two larger shops. A golden sign hung above the door, marking it as a bookshop.
I paused, taking in the sight. The windows glowed softly, and through the glass, I could see shelves upon shelves of books, their spines glinting like hidden treasures. My heart swelled at the sight.
Nyx pulled the door open, motioning for me to step inside. "After you."
The scent of parchment and ink greeted me like an old friend, mingling with the faint aroma of spiced tea. The warmth of the shop wrapped around me, inviting and comforting, as though it had been waiting just for us.
I turned to him, my lips parting to thank him, but he spoke first. "Go on. Find something you like."
His voice was softer now, the teasing edge replaced by something gentler. I hesitated for only a moment before stepping further in, my fingers trailing over the spines of books as I wandered through the aisles.
Nyx followed at a distance, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze steady on me.
"You brought me all this way for a book," I said over my shoulder, smiling. "You're either very kind or very strange."
"Can't I be both?" he replied, his smirk resurfacing as he leaned casually against a nearby shelf.
I shook my head, letting myself get lost in the rows of stories, their endless possibilities calling to me.
-
I let my fingers dance along the spines of the books, tracing gilded titles and worn leather bindings. Each shelf seemed to hum with stories waiting to be told. A soft sigh escaped me, my heart swelling with quiet contentment.
Behind me, Nyx's footsteps were faint, his presence unobtrusive but unmistakable. I could feel his gaze, watchful and steady, as I explored.
"Find something?" he asked after a while, his voice softer now, almost reverent in the quiet of the shop.
"Not yet," I admitted, my fingers pausing on a particularly beautiful hardback, still pristine and painted gold along its edges. I tilted my head, reading the title.
A smile tugged at my lips. "This seems interesting."
Nyx stepped closer, his warmth brushing against my back as he peered over my shoulder. "Good choice," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair near my temple.
I turned slightly, catching his gaze. "Do you read?"
"Of course," he said, mock offense coloring his tone. "What, do I not seem the type?"
I bit back a grin, holding the book against my chest. "You seem like the type to skim for interesting bits and skip the rest."
His grin turned wicked. "What can I say? I’ve never been one for small talk,"
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the shelves, but his laughter followed me.
"Here," he said after a moment, reaching past me. His arm brushed mine as he plucked a slim, leather-bound book from the shelf. He held it out, his eyes gleaming.
I took it from him, studying the worn cover. Lost Letters Between Lovers. I shot him a look, heat creeping into my cheeks.
His smirk deepened. "Thought it might be useful for you. In case you needed inspiration."
"For what exactly?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Winning me over," he said smoothly, his wings giving a small flick.
I laughed, shaking my head. "You've got it all wrong. I'm the one who needs convincing."
"Is that right?" he drawled, his voice low and amused.
I turned back to the shelves, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing the flush that had spread down my neck.
After a few more moments of browsing, I found another book that caught my eye. I tucked it under my arm, satisfied.
"Done?" Nyx asked, his tone deceptively casual.
"For now," I said, turning to him. He tilted his head toward the counter, gesturing for me to follow.
The shopkeeper, an elderly male with spectacles perched on the end of his nose, greeted us warmly. "Nyx, my boy. Bringing someone special to the shop, I see."
I froze, suddenly hyperaware of Nyx standing beside me. His hand brushed against mine as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins.
"Just passing through, Mr. Tylan," he said smoothly, though there was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks.
Mr. Tylan chuckled knowingly. "Well, it's about time you brought a girl around, the missus and I were beginning to grow doubtful you’d ever meet the one.” He breathes through his nose as he speaks, expert hands wrapping the books in brown paper. “She has excellent taste."
Nyx handed over the payment before I could even think to rummage through my bag, his voice a touch gruff as he replied, "She does."
I glanced at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone. He didn't meet my gaze, instead picking up the small stack of books and tucking them under his arm.
"Come on," he said, inclining his head toward the door.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Tylan,” I say with a soft smile as Nyx ushers me out the door.
“See you around, dear,” He gives me a simple wave.
It was odd, how anxious Nyx seemed in a place as welcoming as this. Everyone was friendly, and everyone knew him, perhaps he was afraid we’d run into the wrong set of people.
The cool night air greeted us as we stepped outside, the lively sounds of the market drifting faintly in the distance. Nyx fell into step beside me, the books still cradled in one arm.
"You didn't have to buy these for me," I said softly as he held them out to me, though he seemed more than willing to continue carrying them for me.
He shrugged, his wings shifting slightly as I took them and stuffed them into my bag. "I wanted to."
I studied him for a moment, the quiet confidence in his stride, the way the moonlight danced across his features. "You're not as insufferable as you pretend to be," I said, smiling.
His lips twitched. "Don't let it go to your head, princess."
We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the books pressing against my side with a comforting weight. Finally, I glanced at him, curiosity tugging at me.
"Why did you bring me here?"
He hesitated, his steps faltering for just a moment before he recovered. "You seemed like the type who'd like it. Thought it might make you smile."
I stared at him, warmth blooming in my chest. "You thought right."
His smirk softened into something gentler, something more real. "Good."
As we reached the edge of the market, I found myself wishing the night didn't have to end.
"Nyx," I called softly, stopping in my tracks.
He turned, dark brows lifting in question, the moonlight catching in his vibrant blue eyes.
"Thank you. For tonight," I said, the words carrying more weight than I expected.
His gaze held mine, something unspoken flickering between us. Then he smiled, and it felt as if the stars themselves had leaned in to listen.
"You think it's over already?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
I tilted my head, curiosity piqued. "What else could you possibly have planned?"
He glanced skyward, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he slid his hand into mine, his grip warm and steady, and winnowed us away.
The world shifted. The cool night air nipped at my skin, sharper here, and I realized we were higher—much higher. Thin air filled my lungs as I took in our new surroundings.
"Where are we?" I asked, turning in place. Encircling us were jagged rock formations, a barren beauty carved by time.
"Look up," he said simply.
I frowned but obeyed, tipping my head back. My breath hitched as the heavens unfolded above me, brighter and closer than I'd ever seen them. The stars weren't merely distant pinpricks of light—they blazed like fireflies caught in an eternal dance, constellations shimmering with unmatched clarity.
"Beautiful," I whispered, unaware the word had even left me.
"Indeed," he murmured.
I turned to him, startled to find him already staring at me. His gaze held the same reverence I felt for the stars, and my heart skipped.
I managed a soft smile, then let my eyes drift back upward, unable to tear myself away from the galaxy stretched endlessly above.
"Come here," he said gently, tugging my hand.
Only then did I realize we were still connected, his touch grounding me even as my mind reeled at the beauty around us. He led me to a rocky outcropping, the path winding into a shallow cave. For a moment, the stars disappeared behind the jagged stone ceiling, and I frowned.
But then we emerged into an open chamber, a perfect circle carved into the roof. It was as though someone had reached into the earth and torn a hole, desperate to preserve this view of the night sky. The chamber's walls cradled us, offering shelter without stealing the stars.
Nyx guided me to a makeshift bench—a cluster of smooth, square stones—and sat. I followed, still entranced, my gaze drawn skyward as if bewitched.
"I used to come here when I was younger," he said after a moment of quiet. His voice was low, intimate in the stillness. "I'd forgotten about it until tonight. You reminded me it existed."
I tore my eyes from the sky to glance at him, curiosity tugging at me. "How could anyone forget a place like this?"
He smiled faintly. "It was my escape from, everything. My family. Expectations. I needed somewhere I could breathe."
I nodded, turning my attention back to the stars. "I get the feeling."
He bumped his shoulder against mine, drawing my gaze once more. "No one else knows about it. But I thought maybe you'd need a place like this, too."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, his words wrapping around me like a soft blanket. I glanced at him, and again, he was already staring at me.
I arched a brow. "You have a staring problem, you know."
His lips curved into a smirk. "Do I? I hadn't noticed."
I rolled my eyes, chuckling as I leaned my head against his shoulder.
Together, we gazed upward. He traced the constellations with his words, his voice soft and steady, while his thumb brushed gentle circles over the back of my hand. Each star above felt like it had been hung there just for us, as if the universe had paused to watch this quiet moment unfold.
For the first time in a long time, I felt peace.
"Nyx?" I asked softly after a few beats of silence.
He tensed ever so slightly at the sound of his name, a shiver rolling through him. I told myself it was because of the chill in the air.
"Hmm?"
"Who are you, really?"
His breathing slowed at my question, as if he were recalibrating, regaining control of a situation he hadn't anticipated losing.
"I have a feeling," I began, "that the power you used to peek into my head knows my lineage. It's only fair I know who you are, too."
He glanced at me, a cocky, almost childish smirk playing on his lips—a look that said, I'm not telling.
"Come on," I groaned, throwing my free hand out in frustration. His other hand still held mine, warm and steadfast. He hadn't let go, and I didn't want to, either.
"Don't you like a bit of mystery?" he teased.
"It's not a mystery when you already know who I am," I countered, arching a brow.
"Fair point, Princess."
Heat crept up my neck at the nickname, one he'd used since the beginning—since before he'd seen into my thoughts.
"You knew," I murmured, realization dawning. My voice wavered, the words trembling like brittle leaves in the wind. "You've known I'm a High Lord's daughter all along. That's why you're entertaining this, isn't it?"
I pulled my hand from his and stood abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest.
His brows furrowed as he looked up at me, confusion—and something like hurt—flashing in his eyes. "What?"
"Don't play clueless now." My voice rose, a mixture of anger and humiliation bubbling to the surface. "You've known exactly who I am. That's why you're showing me the stars, why you're charming me. You're trying to secure a seat on my father's throne."
"You think I'm charming?" he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
I spluttered, words dying on my tongue. "That's not the point—"
"Look," he cut in, his tone steady but laced with urgency. "Yes, I've known who you were from the start. I won't deny that. But, Princess, believe me when I say the last thing I want is your father's throne."
"Why should I believe you?" I snapped, crossing my arms. "You've done nothing but lie to me since we met. Why should I trust anything you say now?"
"Because I didn't want you to see me differently," he admitted, his voice quieter now, raw. "Because of who I am."
I froze, my anger wavering. My voice softened. "And who, exactly, is that?"
"The heir to the Night Court," he said, the words falling from his lips like a confession he'd carried for too long.
The ground seemed to slip out from under me. My vision blurred for a heartbeat, but I blinked hard, willing myself to stay rooted in the moment.
My father had warned me relentlessly about the Lord of Night—engraved the warning into my mind until it became part of me. The Night Court was treacherous. Its people were dangerous.
But he lied about the court. About its beauty.
Perhaps he lied about its people, too.
"Gods, I’m sure a fool.” I sighed, putting everything together. “Nyx Archeron," I said slowly, his name foreign and familiar on my tongue.
He nodded, watching me intently. "When I approached you on the balcony, I didn't know who you were. I swear it. But as we talked, I got comfortable, let my power stretch a bit further. Halfway through the night, I realized who you were. But I... I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't want our parents' feud to dictate—this."
"This?" I asked faintly, though I didn't need clarification.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't want you to find out like this. I can take you home, if you'd prefer."
Disappointment weighed in his tone, a stark contrast to the teasing arrogance I'd grown used to.
I wasn't mad at him for his lineage—he had no control over that. I wasn't even mad he'd lied. I was mad he hadn't told me sooner. Mad that it cast a shadow over everything we'd shared tonight, turning our conversations into something that felt artificial.
My shoulders slumped, the fight leaving me as quickly as it had arrived. I lowered myself back onto the bench beside him.
"I want to start over," I said, my voice hesitant but firm.
Relief washed over his features, and he relaxed slightly, though he kept a cautious distance. "I'm sorry for lying," he said, his words softer now, more earnest. "I was, nervous."
Something told me that wasn't an emotion he felt often.
"I know," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. Perhaps I was the only person who could.
Taking a steadying breath, I turned to him. "It's nice to meet you, officially, Nyx," I said, a tentative smile tugging at my lips.
"Likewise, Princess," he replied, mirroring my smile.
And in the silence that followed, we both silently agreed to leave the past behind us, if only for tonight.
Nyx leaned back, resting his arms on the bench as he looked up at the stars. "You know, I've never interacted with someone who’s an heir too. Should I be bowing?"
I smirked, tilting my head as I looked at him. "Oh, absolutely. A bow is essential. Maybe even throw in a grand speech. Something like, It is my great honor to meet the Princess of the Spring Court."
"That's a tall order," he said, his lips curving into that infuriatingly smug grin. "Would a wink and a smile suffice?"
I scoffed, leaning forward and propping my chin on my hand. "You'd probably trip over your own feet if you tried to bow."
"Is that a challenge?" he asked, one brow arching in amusement.
"It's an educated guess," I shot back, crossing my arms.
He leaned in, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "You know, for someone who called me charming earlier, you're being awfully cruel."
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I refused to look away. "I said no such thing."
"Oh, you definitely did." He grinned, leaning even closer. "You think I'm charming. Admit it."
"Nyx—"
"Say it, Princess."
I narrowed my eyes, pretending to deliberate. "You know what? Fine. I think you're charming, in the same way a stray cat is charming when it's begging for food. Annoying, persistent, but kind of hard to ignore."
He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing fully, the tension leaving the both of us. "Fair enough. But if I'm a stray cat you're certainly a rabbit."
I blinked, caught off guard. "A rabbit?"
He nodded, his grin widening. "Cute, curious, and way too confident for your own good."
"Confident?" I repeated, laughing. "This coming from you? The heir of the Night Court who decided to winnow me across Prythian on a whim?"
"That was a calculated risk," he said smoothly, though the glint in his eyes gave him away.
"Calculated risk, my ass." I shook my head, unable to hide my grin. "You're lucky I haven't punched you yet."
"Oh, Princess," he drawled, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. "If you wanted an excuse to get your hands on me, you could've just asked."
I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat. His proximity was... distracting.
The air shifted, the playful banter giving way to something quieter, heavier. His gaze locked on mine, and I swore the world shrank to just the two of us, the stars above fading into the background.
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the way my heart was suddenly racing. "You're ridiculous."
"I offered to take you home," he said softly, his thumb brushing idly over the back of my hand and I wasn’t sure when they intertwined again, "and yet here we are." His tone was teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something real.
I didn't answer, my throat suddenly tight. He was too close now, his presence overwhelming in a way that wasn't entirely unwelcome.
Before I could overthink it, his hand moved, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. His fingers lingered at my temple, his touch featherlight.
"Nyx..." I breathed, not even sure what I was about to say.
But he didn't answer—not with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in the gentlest, softest kiss.
It was tentative, as if he wasn't sure if I'd pull away. But I didn't. I couldn't help but kiss him back. It was foreign, but filling me with a warmth similar to the sun's morning rays.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
I shook my head, my thoughts a tangle of emotions. "We can't," I blurted, though my voice betrayed me with its lack of conviction.
"I know," he replied, his voice heavy with something that felt like regret—but also determination.
Our eyes remained locked, mere inches apart. We really couldn't, not with who we were, not with who our parents were.
Neither of us seemed to care at that moment, and I don't know if it was me or him who moved first, but suddenly his soft lips were back on mine.
This time, there was no hesitation. His hand cupped my jaw, pulling me closer as his lips claimed mine. It wasn't soft or shy anymore—it was raw, urgent, as though the world might end if he didn't kiss me harder.
I felt myself melt into it, my hands tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his free hand moving to my waist to hold me steady. The air around us seemed to shift, thickening, crackling with an energy I couldn't place.
Then it happened.
A snap, like a tether locking into place.
I gasped against his lips but didn't move away, the sensation overwhelming as something warm and ancient bloomed deep in my chest, spreading through me like wildfire. It was hard to put into words, but suddenly I felt connected to the male against me, connected to his emotions, his thoughts, his very soul. Tethered. Bound.
Nyx pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine as his breath came in quick, uneven bursts. His eyes were wide, filled with equal parts wonder and disbelief.
"You felt that too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I could only nod, my own breath shaking as I tried to process what had just happened.
The mating bond.
The realization settled between us like a living, breathing thing, as though it had been waiting for this exact moment to make itself known.
"Nyx," I began again, but he silenced me with a small, disbelieving chuckle.
He leaned in again, kissing me softly, the smile on his lips brushing against mine like a whispered secret. It was almost as if he couldn't stop himself, as if the bond was drawing him closer with every passing second. When he pulled back, his amusement lingered in his expression, though his eyes were heavy with the weight of what we'd just discovered.
"The gods have a cruel way of amusing themselves," he murmured, his voice laced with irony.
I sighed, our noses brushing as we remained impossibly close. "What are we supposed to do?"
"We'll figure it out," he reassured, his tone soft but certain. His hands, strong and steady, cradled my face, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. "It doesn't have to change anything."
"But it will," I argued, my voice trembling.
"Yeah," he said quietly, his thumb tracing a soothing pattern against my cheek. "I know."
The ache in my chest was something new and raw, a longing that pulsed in time with the bond, an unspoken promise tying us together. It was overwhelming and comforting all at once. My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to sift through the torrent of thoughts crashing over me.
After a moment, his demeanor grew more serious, though his thumb continued its soothing path along my cheek. “We’ll need somewhere safe to be when we accept the bond.”
I tilted my head, my eyes fluttering open as I frowned at him
In confusion. “Safe?”
His lips quirked, a knowing look in his eyes. “I’ve heard stories of what happens to couples during The Frenzy. It’s, intense.”
A shiver ran through me at his words, not from the cold, but from the vivid images that his tone—and my imagination—conjured.
Nyx raised a brow, clearly catching the direction of my thoughts, but I quickly stammered, “Just cold.”
“Cold?” His smirk returned, though it was softer this time, laced with something tender. “Here.”
Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The warmth of it enveloped me immediately, carrying his scent—fresh air, cedarwood, and something uniquely him.
“Better?” he asked, his voice low as his hands lingered for a moment, making sure the jacket sat snugly around me.
I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too widely. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Princess,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on me for a beat longer than necessary before he settled back, his hand casually brushing against mine.
And just like that, the air between us shifted again—lighter, easier, yet still charged with something deeper.
“We’ll figure this out,” Nyx said softly, his confidence unwavering.
Looking at him now, his jacket around my shoulders and a small, reassuring smile on his lips, I knew he meant it.
And then, as if he couldn't resist, he kissed me again.
This one was gentle, hesitant, but filled with so much care it nearly unraveled me. His lips lingered on mine, soft and warm, making it impossibly hard to focus.
"Lucien," I blurted out, pulling back suddenly.
Nyx blinked, his brows furrowing at my abrupt shift. "What about him?"
An idea began to form, one I clung to like a lifeline. "Lucien—you know him, don't you?"
"He's married to my aunt," Nyx said cautiously, his tone laced with curiosity.
I nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place in my mind. "My father lets me visit the Day Court now that Lucien is ruling there. Maybe... maybe I can convince him to let me stay with Lucien for a while. You could find a reason to be there too."
His lips pressed into a thin line, his mind clearly racing through the implications. "And when you have to return to the Spring Court?" he asked, his voice measured.
"We'll figure it out then," I said, shaking my head. The thought of leaving him made my chest tighten painfully, but I pushed through the discomfort. "I just... I want this. I want us."
His answer was immediate, the conviction in his voice struck a chord deep within me. "I do too."
"Good," I said, a small, tentative smile forming on my lips. "Then tomorrow, I'll talk to my father. In the meantime, you can talk to me using your Daemati powers. Can't you?"
He nodded, his sapphire eyes softening as they roamed over my face.
"We'll be fine," I said, my voice steadier now, the words carrying a newfound determination.
Nyx mirrored my smile, and for a moment, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of us. This male—who had teased me, infuriated me, and unraveled me in the span of a week—had somehow wormed his way into my heart. And now, with the bond tying us together, I couldn't imagine life without him.
"Are we okay with Lucien and your aunt knowing?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper as the thought hit me.
"They'd be the first people I'd tell out of my entire family," he said without hesitation.
"Me too," I agreed softly.
His thumb brushed against my cheek again, his touch both soothing and electrifying. "We'll be fine," he repeated as if trying to convince us both.
But as he said it, I believed him.
The warmth between us lingered as we sat on the bench, the conversation flowing back into the easy rhythm of banter. He teased me about my lack of subtlety in staring, while I reminded him that he was the one who practically glowed under the moonlight, making it impossible not to.
But the night was growing late, and the weight of reality began to creep in.
"I should get you back to Summer's borders," Nyx finally said, his voice tinged with reluctance.
I sighed, not wanting the night to end, but I nodded. "You're right."
He stood and offered me his hand, which I took without hesitation. "Three days," I said as we began walking out of the cave. "Meet me in Day."
He smiled, a flash of teeth and mischief. "Three days."
—
When we reached the border, the air seemed heavier, more final. I turned to him, feeling the pull of the bond even as I prepared to leave. I shrugged off the jacket he had draped over my shoulders and held it out to him.
"Here," I said. "Take it back. If my father sees it, he'll have questions."
He crossed his arms, smirking. "Keep it."
I frowned. "Nyx—"
"Nope. You keep it. Hide it if you're worried about your father. Or don't. Either way, it gives me an excuse to see you again."
I gave him a flat look, but his smugness only deepened.
"Nyx," I repeated, more firmly this time, shoving the jacket into his chest.
He caught it easily but didn't take it. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. "Princess, if you give it back, I'll have no reason to track you down. And that would be such a shame."
I stared at him, torn between exasperation and amusement. His logic was infuriatingly charming, and the grin he wore told me he knew he was winning.
"Fine," I relented with a dramatic sigh, clutching the jacket back to my chest. "You win."
His smile softened into something warmer as he leaned down, brushing a kiss against my lips. It was quick, light, and left me wanting more.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice like a caress.
I huffed a laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. "Don't push it."
But he kissed me again, this time slower, deeper, his hands sliding to my waist as he pulled me closer. I melted into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his lips moved against mine.
"Nyx," I whispered against his mouth, the word half a chuckle. "I have to go."
"One more," he murmured, his voice husky with need.
I hesitated, but the bond between us tugged insistently, and I found myself nodding. "Fine."
This time, he kissed me like he wanted me to remember it, to carry the taste of him back with me to Spring. His hands framed my face as his lips claimed mine, the kiss lingering, searing itself into my memory.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing uneven. "Three days," he whispered.
"Three days," I echoed, my voice soft, but my resolve firm.
With one last lingering glance, I winnowed back to Spring Court Manor, the taste of him still on my lips and his jacket clutched tightly in my hands.
It is said all moments in life are valued down to individual pockets of time, time which is only ever borrowed and must one day be repaid. Magic given to and given back in an endless cycle. Each hour, minute and second of life would one day boil down to a moment where it could cost someone everything. Each second as precious as the last, and they can only ever be harnessed or wasted.
In those precarious seconds as the knife flies for Teyra's heart Brielle's whole world stopped, all those little moments ceasing into the existence between the worlds. Watching as all the oxygen depleted. Those ever precious moments growing thin as her heart hammered hard into her bones.
Teyra ducks low, arm raising with the speed only immortals posses as her only defence. The Iron chains still wrapped around her forearm like vines chanting a rattle in the castles quiet foyer.
The approaching blade clattered off the metal links as time returned to itself. The dagger dropping like a weight to the stone as sparks flew, the sound echoing with Brielle's own pounding heart. The force of it still rocked Teyra back, jarring the chains with her. Brielle was yanked forward by the links, wrists still bound by the iron shackles, pain radiates down through her back in thick waves that have her gritting her teeth.
Teyra ascends her gaze, eyes wide as her head lifted from behind the shield of her chain covered arms, still held out before her, quivering from the force that had rattled the metal. She glanced to the metal links still ensnaring her arms, Drawing her attention along the swaying length of them she met Brielle's gaze, Isaiah still at her side.
It was no wondering whether time also faltered for the male as Brielle felt his shoulder sag under her arm still stretched over the expanse of muscle behind his neck.
"Teyra move!" Brielle jerked as Isaiah threw himself out from her hold, She swayed on her feet, willing them to not buckle under her own weight. Thankfully to whatever grace still followed them, Corbin was quick to replace himself under her arm, holding firmly to her side.
Neither could acknowledge it as Isaiah races for Cairn, who had already pulled free another dagger twisting it excitedly in his palm. Positioning it high, aimed straight for Teyra, who's eyes flare in panic from where she began to fumble with the chains in her tight hold.
Pants of air sawed through Brielle's chest as Isaiah barreled straight into Cairn. The sheer force of the hit would have been enough to snap bone, There was an audible exhale from both males as they crash to the stone, within the sprawl of limbs Isaiah desperately tried to wrangle the blade from Cairn grip.
Even as Cairn fights to get himself free.
"Get out of here!" Isaiah belted the words with such effort, and even from where they stood with their backs to the stairwell, Brielle could see the distress on his expression. Cairn twisted sharply, loosening Isaiah hold on the hilt, He snarled up at the male above him.
Corbin was tugging at Brielle's waist, but she couldn't bring herself to move, feet welded to the stone, watching as Isaiah latched to Cairn's wrist with his teeth, sinking them in until Cairn bellowed out, growling as he tried to rip his wrist free.
The sound would have wrung satisfaction through her, if it had managed to loosen Cairn's grip. It hadn't so as Isaiah threw himself back and began slamming Cairn's hand into the stone, hard.
He smashed Cairn's hand into the stone. Once, Twice again trying to force the dagger out from his curled hand.
"I'll buy you time. Get out of here!" He struck Cairn's hand to the ground, growling in effort, the bones of the males knuckles cracking audibly under the pressure.
"I can't leave you!" The word were tight in her throat, screaming them over the sound of the struggle, But Corbin was tugging more persistently now.
Isaiah twisted as he pinned Cairn down, the male thrashing like some rabid beast bursting to be set free. He took in the sight of Brielle, she met her friends gaze, he saw what she knew. They would need all the time, with the chains and her back, she was moving too slow to get herself to safety.
"Corbin!" Isaiah tone had dropped as he roared at The Hunter,
Brielle tried to swing herself from his hold, But Corbin was prying her back. Dragging as she dug her feet into the stone, heels burning with the effort,
Cairn had begun to punch balled fists into Isaiah side,
"Let me go," Even as she tried to will the words to come out strong, shallow pleading which had tears streaming was what emitted from her. Clawing into Corbin's arm, carving his flesh, to release herself from his hold to get to Isaiah-
Teyra rushed to keep up, Hauling the weighted chain in her arms, She too had dried tears streaking her face as she didn't look back, helping Corbin with Brielle as she was dragged to the castle entrance, Only able to watch as Isaiah was thrown off Cairn, the male rising with the dagger still in his grasp as he towered over The Loyal.
~
Isaiah sighed heavily as Teyra and Corbin disappeared, Dragging Brille between them out the entrance of the stone castle.
"Your attempts won't win you anything rat." Cairn's smirk widens, displaying the rows of his teeth glistening with blood, it poured from his top lip.
"You will harm my family no longer." Planting a back foot down into the stone, Isaiah rose, the ache of his ribs screaming at him.
He ignored everything as Cairn lunged forward, the knife outstretched in a sideways arch, a twin movement to what Teyra had done when they reunited in an alley not two street away from the castle. An unhinged fury burned alight under the cover of Cairn's flesh, a roar emitting from him as Isaiah dodged back from each swing,
"Your friends will all die by my blade." Cairn threw his fisted hand at his ribs, Isaiah shifted to avoid the blade swinging in for the other direction, aimed for his throat.
The moments boiled to the lesser of the two injuries, bracing for the punch to land, Isaiah tried to conceal the wince as Cairn's balled fist made contact with his side not two ribs from his heart.
Isaiah had managed to dodge the blade a second after, and shifted backwards quickly, Spinning to meet Cairn's next hit, he froze. Seeing Cairn back up a step, smirking as he watched.
A burning had begun in his side, flaring like liquid fire with each pulse of his heart. Isaiah winced sharply, hand flying to his ribs where Cairn's punch had landed, Palm clutching his side, fingers meeting the warmth of his own blood.
Something wasn't right, the flesh of his palm began to burn as he held it to his bleeding side,
Cairn backed up a step, tucking away the two daggers-
The second dagger, concealed inside Cairn's balled fist dripped a clear liquid...
The burning in his side grew stronger, a poison gnawing at the bone. Something wasn't right,
Cairn walked back smiling as he tucked the blades away, "Better run little rat."
Clutching to his side, Isaiah tried to wrangle enough pressure onto the wound, even as his flesh and finger began to go numb, From the bone out. He had to get to Brielle.
His legs had started to tingle as he panicked, pain lurching through his chest as he spun and legged for the door, down the steps of the stone Castle. To find his family.
~
The chain cuffs bite sharply into Brielle's wrists as she collided into the wall, hand sliding into the stone to support her weight as Corbin slung her from around him.
The chain links rattled as Teyra repositioned her arms, panting against the ball of metal tucked close to her chest.
Brielle pushed up to glance around at the female behind her, tears were streaking Teyra's face, the skin wet from where they had slide off during the run through the city.
"We have to get to the meeting spot," Teyra rasps, gentle tugging the chains, pulling Brielle from the wall. With a heave of effort, Brielle ignored the dull aches to forfeit Corbin's help, the male stayed close as the continued down the street. "We have to get you to your brother,"
Brielle watched sidelong as the lines in Teyra's face pinned, a diluted pain on her expression, her words hollow as she continued leading them into a small side alley, a figure walked hesitantly from the shadows off the wall, petite frame wrapped in a cloak too large to be her own.
"Brielle-" The female started, emerging quickly towards them, Elide's eyes darted between Corbin and Teyra for explanation as she ravaged the appearance of them. Dishevelled from running and Brielle could imagine her own state, Fenrys' shirt hung in ribbons off her beaten body, blood soaking the cloth red. Iron chains clamped like jaws across her wrists.
"What happened?" her words were small despite her voice being stronger than Brielle remembers of the human girl being from that day on the beach.
"We have to get moving," Teyra urged, adverting from Elide's question even when Corbin began to sign and glanced to her for translation, he caught Brielle's eyes, in question or simply to observe her reaction.
"We wait." Her throat was dry, keeping the shake from her words was to fight with her own voice. Teyra stilled, facing outwards to the street, to where the patter of light rainfall had begun, it was something to be grateful for, it would wash away their scents, dampening them to any who might track them.
"We have to leave the city." Teyra didn't glance back when she spoke this time, curling the chains further into herself.
The sting of tension boiled fast between them, "We wait for Isaiah."
Even with the pain of her injuries dulling her senses, Brielle could see clearly enough to notice Teyra's small flinch at the mention of his name. The rain grew heavier, fat droplets hitting her bare flesh now. It stung the reopened wounds, but Brielle could only ignore as Teyra turned back around.
"How could you not tell me?" The utter devastation etched onto her expression drew knots in Brielle's chest, The genuine hurt and betrayal of trust stung more than the pelts of raindrops.
"How could you let me believe one of the few people who cared about me would turn betrayer. Brielle I hate him for what he did to you." She hugged the chains closer, as though they were a blanket of security, "To watch him stab you. To want to kill him at the thought of that very betrayal, How could you ask that of him? Bronwyn-"
"Bronwyn knows of these risk-"
"All we do is risk everything for you and you were going to repay him by leaving him here. Alone,." The displaced anger had turned the edges of Teyra's ears red, her words flowing through that same anger. A barricade of anger allowing the rage to seep through.
Corbin shifts, nudging a knuckle into Brielle's side, She brushed it off, as Teyra drops the chains now, fist bunching tightly.
"His loyalty to you knows no bounds. That is clear. Is that how my sister died? Did Elleneta die through her loyalty to you?" She snarled the words now, all that build up emotion of her past growing hot with rage, "Are we all going to die following the Great Lioness of Doranelle?" She jerked a hand to Corbin, "Are you willing to die for this cause?"
But Corbin wasn't listening, his expression tore an even bigger hole in Brielle's chest, following his line of sight she ignored ever word Teyra had pelted at her as Isaiah stumbled into the alley, the scent of blood drawing thick in the air.
It didn't matter how they had argued, what betrayals had been made as Isaiah collapsed into the stone, Brielle and Teyra rushed forwards,
Her knees snapped in pain as she collided down beside him, Teyra and Corbin worked quickly at turning him over, Brielle taking up position near his head.
"Brielle." Isaiah's words were weak, as he coughed, Blood spurting between his lips.
Panic jackhammered her heart inside her chest, eyes darting to the blood on his clothes, Teyra noticed it in the same moment, ripping the material so she could glance at the wound. A clean slice between his ribs, a couple inches below his heart.
Brielle reached for the wound, to apply pressure,
"Don't" his hand rose to stop her, "Poison." He gritted it between his teeth,
She had to do something, had to help, Diving into her powers if she could just reach them past the iron she could expel the toxins. Delving deeper Brielle slammed into the wall formed like iron inside of herself, struck her fist into it, clawing until her fingers felt bloodied to get inside, to access the power that she knew could save him.
A panicked sob broke her, fighting to keep the shake from her hands she wrapped it around Teyra's arm,
"You need to go get Gavriel. He has to come heal him."
Teyra was crying, red rimmed eyes darting to Corbin and Elide, contemplating why they couldn't be the ones to fetch Gavriel. The males wouldn't understand Corbin's sign language and Elide would be to slow with her ankle and Brielle, with the chains. It would be to late. It had to be her.
"Teyra-"
She was still crying as she nodded once, rising quickly to ignore the thoughts, Brielle watched her take once last tear filled glance down at the male who had become her brother and protector and turned, taking off out the alley towards Madame Ellis' shop.
Isaiah coughed, his breath stuttering out of him as he gritted through the pain, With each second Brielle tried to hammer into her power, to break the wall of iron.
"Brielle." Isaiah gently raised a hand, curling it into her own against his chest, His fingers slipped tight around her own, blinking through the haze of his pain to meet her stare,
Brielle shook her head, "No, don't give me that look." She tried to pull her hand from his, to apply pressure to wound and damn the consequences, but Isaiah twisted his grip tighter, keeping her from aiding him as though he knew she would.
"It's okay." Tears welled in his own eyes, coughing a sound that gurgled at the back of his throat, a choking sound emitting from him.
He fought for breath against it, sitting up to meet her stare,
"Promise me, You will take care of Bronwyn" he chokes, "And the kids." Gods his kids-
He tugged her from her thoughts with his grip on her hands, squeezing tightly, "I promise." she whispered softly, ignoring the sound of Elide crying beside her, Corbin shifting to rest beside the women,
A moment of calm settled over Isaiah now, resting easy as he smiled, Fighting to breath around the blood clogging his airway, "Tell them how much I love them, how I did it all for them."
It was Brielle's turn to tighten her grip, "No. You will tell them yourself, Do you hear me?"
But Isaiah simply continued to smile, turning to her to relive it all, "I trusted you and Elle from the first day we met. When I stole the bag from you both. And I'm glad I did, To be loyal to you was the greatest thing that every happened to me. The greatest gift. " his hand tighten as he emphasised his words.
His grunted painfully, Brielle's hand curling towards her, to hold him close, "Isaiah, you are not dying. You hear me, That's an order."
A gurgle emitted from him, it almost sound like an attempt at a chuckle, "As you say... boss"
At the memory that splurged within her, Brielle sobs, hand tightening in his loosening grip, no matter how tight she held, to hold him to this world, she felt his hand slip from her own. As his chest finally stilled under their conjoined grip.
Gentle tugging, "No, Gods please no" Her head fell to his chest, the lack of movement there stilling her heart as she began to sob, fist trembling against his still hand. Clasping tightly, as she continued to cry.
Curled into his side, her head rested against their hands, Brielle wept letting all the seconds of those moments pass by, closing her eyes she tried to recall it all. The first time they met, Isaiah finding her after the Golden Death, Where Elleneta had died. Of the three of them, she was the last one standing, Alone. As Teyra had accused her of leaving Isaiah.
The sound of footfall at the mouth of the alley drew her attention but Brielle didn't rise from off Isaiah's chest. Trying to savour the lingering warmth of his body, to remember the lines of him.
"Sister.." Gavriel's voice cracked, the comfort that jolted through the centre of her chest had Brielle lifting her head, the tears on her cheek making the skin stick to the back of her hand.
Standing with a crying Teyra was him, Her big brother. Her big brother who had arrived too late.
Hand still in Isaiah's she turns to his calm face, as though he was simply sleeping. She kneeled up, pressing her lips to his forehead, "Say hi to Elle for me."
Then she was forcing herself to stand, Teyra moving closer now, on unsteady legs that shook beneath her, she met Brielle, but the Lioness couldn't look at her, stepping around she moved for her brother,
Gavriel was waiting, despite the urgent concern on his expression he waited for her to come to him, and she did, Brielle stumbled to him, body giving way. He caught her and held tightly,
"It's okay," His hand cupped the back of her head, stroking her hair as she whimpered with tears into his chest, Teyra's own cries mixed into the sound of the rain growing heavy around them. Brielle cried to her brother, allowed herself to be wrapped in the comfort of him as she finally let the darkness consume her vision.
☽⋆❈⋆☾
Rowan Whitethorn led the way through the outskirts of Doranelle, to where Brielle knew an assembly of skilled warriors would be awaiting their arrival.
Brielle tried not to let the panic gets a grip of her once more, for the last four months she had been training to gain strength, not really leaving the city walls since arriving here after Vallen. The mere mentions of it had bile rising at the back of her throat. To think of Elleneta, what that lord had done to her-
Brielle hadn't tried to recall much, hadn't even touched her power in her since Queen Maeve swore her in the elite cable of Fae warriors, on which happened to include Brielle's brother, That had also been something she tried to ignore.
Their share relationship was tense, she had opted to have Whitethorn train her, for her better interest, A mutual ground, which she got the sense Gavriel didn't entirely agree on. Brielle knew her brother had his reasons for distancing himself since he swore himself to the Queen, but she didn't think treating his sister like dirt to be a very brotherly thing to retain in their relationship.
So if ignoring him, gave him a taste of what she had endured, a fact which she doubted, over the years in his absence so be it. Not that she had been alone,
She had met some people, two she could rely upon in her darkest moments, and she had. Trusting them beyond life itself, She didn't know what had become of Isaiah, after her and Elleneta had been taken to Vallen. The last place Elle was alive,
As though sensing the direction of her drifting thought, Rowan gave the female beside him a soft shove,
Brielle glanced sidelong at him, glowering playfully back at her Rowan gestured ahead of them with a nod of his chin, "You ready for this?"
She had met Rowan before everything that transpired four months ago, one of the few times she had reunited with Gavriel over the years, Rowan had been there. It's why she trusted him enough to help train her, Lorcan filled in when Rowan was busy, there was... another, But his presence served as more of a distraction whilst training, his brother trained her well when he wasn't serving Maeve.
"Kid." Rowan urged again, looking back at him now, Brielle sighed,
"Ready as I'll ever be." She didn't like the twist in her gut at the prospect of what they were venturing to do.
Of the assembled warriors, each member of the Cadre was to select soldiers from within their own ranks to join Brielle, to fall under her command, Rowan had stated he would have given her more time, more training but Queen's orders.
So here they went, moving to meet with the rest of Maeve elite Cadre to select her unit of Fae warriors. They duo continued on in silence, even as Brielle tried to ignore the not so subtle glances Rowan kept shooting her way, he wasn't an entirely emotion based male, but she had noticed how his resolve softened around her. Whether it was for her sake or because her brother asked. Brielle couldn't bring herself to care, it was ... nice to have someone watching your back.
The open field or dried yellow grass housed maybe over one hundred soldiers stood in uniform rows, unmoving for they had not been given the command,
Brielle halted at the sight, so many of them, mostly male. Even if they didn't turn their heads to watch her, she knew they watched her from the lines of their formations. Keen Fae senses probably picking out her weaknesses, her fear.
The indescribable worry that is someone followed her they would land themselves with the same fate as Elle-
She shook away the thought as Rowan moved in front of her, shielding her from view with his broad shoulders, his silver hair falling long over them.
"Don't show them your worries. You owe them no explanation for your feelings. You are to command them, They are to obey. You are a blood sworn member of Queen Maeve's court you have no time to explain yourself to lower unit grunts."
Despite the harshness of his words, Brielle knew he was coming from a position of worry, his brow was pinched, Rowan has confined in her about his past, knew of his initial struggle to regain order amongst his rank rooted from his own weaknesses. If she wanted power, to never again be weak to the monsters that prey on their world like those in Vallen that killed Elleneta she needed to be strong now. This she knew.
Taking a quick steadying sigh, Brielle met Rowan's stare nodding once. He moved to be beside her once more, "Each of us chose around 25 warriors, elite amongst our own ranks, You may chose as many or as little as you wish, Maeve ordered for at least one to be selected today." He rounds out his shoulder as he walked, his eyes noting the twins, catching the way Fenrys glanced their way.
Brielle catches the sound of Rowan's muffled laugh, a sound so uncommon it snagged her attention completely.
"What?"
"You seem to have gained an admirer." Following his line of sight, Brielle felt her body hum as she met the familiar set of onyx black eyes. Heat spread along the cartilages of her ears as Fenrys smiled softly. Brielle glanced away the feeling of the males stare still a pleasant warmth against her skin.
Rowan watched carefully, flicking both fae a grin, the obscure amount of amusement breaking way onto his expression. It, much like his laughter was a foreign thing, its odd presence drawing attention.
Brielle might have been content to allow that amusement to hold, had it not been at the expanse of her not so obvious attraction to the males whose attention she could still feel lingering in her direction.
"Mind you business, Bird." she snapped the words at him Through her teeth, but they held no real bite, though perhaps Brielle should have imbued some of them with effort at how Rowan's smirk had turned feral.
"It will no longer be my business once you admit your feelings- Kitty."
Her annoyance simmered at the name, a play on her shifted form. It was easier to focus on that, then the way his others words made panic strike her chest, If Rowan had noticed her like for the male, had Maeve also discovered her secret draw to the male.
"I won't tell a soul until you wish me to." Rowan slows, pulling them both to a stop, Brielle tried to steady her breath but as she glanced out to the rows of warriors lined for her choosing, her breath split an ache though her lungs.
Pulling her attention, Brielle glanced back to the male beside her. The male who had unconditionally taken her on as a responsibility, a choice he had made. Her throat tightened as she met the unfiltered and unwavering surety on Rowan's expression. A usually unbothered mask which now cracked enough to let her in, to let her know it was okay.
Rowan; the male who had stepped into her brothers place, for she had been unable to stomach that interaction after everything. The male who now locked gazes with her and whispered again, "Not a soul." As though speaking any louder would alert even the shadows around them.
Perhaps it was a single tear that warmed her cheek, maybe her hands shook as she fisted them at her sides. But that buzzing in her, was undoubtedly the sound of her fracturing heart for Brielle could ignore it all, for that heart struggling to beat inside her was not strong enough for that acceptance.
Rowan's attention lifted above her, a playfully guarded smile lifting the edges of his lips, "For the love of the gods, Put the male out of his misery" He didn't attempt to hide his amusement as he walked backwards away, nodding to the approaching figure.
Brielle's spine forced itself rigid as the presence drew closer, a crawling sense that she had inheritably knew led to him. Learned to associate him with the settling calm that wormed its way into her bones whenever he was near.
"Hello Fenrys" The male halted behind her, waiting in his spot as she turned to face him.
Although Brielle fought often in the days since Vallen, to ignore the lose of a friend, the pain, the blood oath now tethering her to the Queen, this new feeling when he was near was something she couldn't bring herself to ignore, the distraction that trumps all others.
The sensation that bloomed when she met and held his stare was a warmth anew, the unsaid word was dizzying.
Fenrys studies her carefully, as he had always done since meeting her that day in Vallen, the look of trust there, it gripped that broken thing in her chest. For he had never looked at her with pity or distain, never blamed her for the death toll that followed her, only looked as though he could see everything. Including things Brielle herself had chosen to ignore like she simply couldn't ignore anything when it came to her.
A hand squeezed her own, Brielle glanced to where Fenrys carefully stroked a thumb across the ridges of her knuckles, the bone black and blue from training with Rowan. "hello, Bri" The softness of his voice had Brielle holding her breath, waiting for when that peace would shatter. To be taken from her as Elleneta had-
"I've picked out my best warriors for you." Fenrys mused, turning to rest a hand against the base of her spine, tugging Brielle to continue towards the group, the space between them growing marginally smaller with each step. Swallowing down the spike of panic at the sight of the assembled lines standing before their own generals, Maeve's blood swore.
"Is that so?" Brielle watched wit a raised brow, Fenrys smiled wide, nodding excitedly.
"Although," Fenrys pulled his lip between his teeth in thought,. "I was thinking how much of a shame it is." Turning with concern Brielle met his contemplation
But as Fenrys tried to hid his devilish smirk he continued, "That I couldn't volunteer myself for the position
Now Brielle was confused, laughing softly, "How so?" His hand flared at the bottom of her back, warmth blooming with each delicate stroke and circle of his thumb.
"I can only imagine how magnificent it might be to be under your command" A thumb swirled to dig gently into her spine, "Or simple to be under you"
Something in her flared or bloomed or simply exploded but as Rowan's words rung loud in her mind, her confidence rose to meet the feeling, "Who's to say that still cannot be arranged?"
Fenrys head flew back as a booming laugh belted out of his chest, throwing an arm over her shoulder he securely tucked her to his side, Ever inch of her that touched him seemed to tingle, and as a smile so glorious that it put the stars in their night sky to shame flickered to life on his face Brielle realised she might want to get used to the strange feeling.
"There you are." His words struck, At the appearance of the smile, realisation slammed into her chest. For those moments with him, She had been able to ignore all that had happened - Without guilt or regret for the feelings. Fenrys had seen through it and had worked to bring her from those thoughts. He had seen her.
Brielle fought against those thoughts now as he had done to replicate the smile that hadn't graced her lips since she lost Elle. "Here I am."
Her words were simple but they were enough. Fenrys didn't need more than that to understand.
"You two want to keep us waiting or you want Lorcan to die of his resentment first?" Rowan's booming voice traveled breaking the invisible shield around them, a comfort where Brielle could allow herself to accept the happiness.
Turning to observe the rest of the Cadre, the arm slipping off her shoulder Brielle walked, stepping wide to leave Fenrys' hold all together. It left a coldness in its place, a comforting thread in her chest winked out at that lack of touch. Brielle couldn't ponder it, even if he had made everything right just for those few moments. So irrevocably right. But with Maeve's leash, It wasn't gong to be another risk she was willing to endure, not after Vallen. She had already lost Elle and hadn't seen Isaiah since the day the two of them had been taken to Valle. That familiar ache in her chest returned and began to expand with each reoccurring thought,
A finger brushed her elbow, just a second, a small moment which knocked the thoughts from their war path, Brielle felt Fenrys move around her, caught the way Gavriel noted the touch. His eyes pinching together, a near permanent line on his brow creasing. Did he perhaps mourn the fact he wasn't the one to offer comfort, when she so clearly needed it.
Rubbing the heel of her palm into her sternum, to dull the ache, Brielle moved towards Rowan, Lorcan was scowling at the male as they all walked to address the first line of soldiers.
"I'm not resentful." The tall male had only agreed to offer his warriors because his Queen had orders it so. There was a barrier that he had fortified, to partition himself from Brielle, something he knew that he didn't want her to discover. One day Brielle would find out what.
"Be sure to add that to the list of-" Fenrys flourished his arms around, smirking, "Lorcan's List of foreign feelings and emotions."
Brielle's head snaps to watch as Lorcan swings his gaze to Fenrys, dark and lethal he glowers at the smirking male, a hint of a snarl bubbling in his throat. At the shiver of submission on Fenrys expression even as it hid under the amusement, Brielle can't help the wave of defensiveness for Fenrys as Lorcan continues to stare point at the other male.
"That isn't a thing." Lorcan barks out, as Brielle smiles wide, the males annoyance a trigger.
"Mother's tits, It is!" If she was to stand with Fenrys against Lorcan, even in humour so be it, the males was a grumpy prick ninety nine percent of the time, he could use a slick of enjoyment in his life, even if it was forcefully thrust upon him by two much younger fae.
As Lorcan shifted his stare to her, Brielle could feel the tension of the others around them, The twitch in Fenrys' jaw, and the wariness that both Rowan and Gavriel held as they watched the Lioness shifter stare down one of the most powerful demi fae on the continent as though she was merely a child taking on a fully trained fae warrior.
"It's irresponsible to discuss things you don't understand." Lorcan's words, a threat and a warning only spurred on the shared enjoyment between Fenrys and Brielle.
"I fear to inform you...you need to express something for us to understand," Fenrys swung to meet her attention, as Lorcan bounces his attention between them,
Rocking on her heels as she walked, "So we can't possibly begin to understand, we don't have any evidence."
Even as she spoke, Lorcan glared back at Fenrys, pointing him as the instigator to this whole mini attack,
As Lorcan moved to cross Rowan's side to reach Fenrys, Brielle allowed a small kernel of her power, a forceful wall she hadn't broken through since that day in Vallen, now a foreign hand reaching to her she grabbed tightly and tugged it to the surface in warning.
It had always been a potent power, strong when it struck the senses. Brielle felt the attention of every pair of eyes draw to her, even those of the warriors still standing in formation before them. All now aware of the female that walked surrounded by males who all stilled to watch her glare at the demi-fae male.
No one on the continent had felt that power since the Golden Death, were the magnitude of it struck, leaving ten thousand dead and a city in ruins.
Brielle herself hadn't touch it since that day, not even when Maeve had tried to break it out of her. The Queen's persistence might have made her wonder had it not been for her obvious intentions. Maeve wanted that power to wield it through Brielle as her own sword to use to bring down her enemies. Just as the fate that had befallen Vallen and its citizens.
The same power pulled heat through Brielle's veins, Lorcan observed lowering his hand from where it had risen to strike Fenrys a hand which Brielle monitored carefully, a flicker of muted rage in her gaze.
A figure stepped into the edge of Brielle's view, "Best be sure to score fear off Lorcan's list" Vaughan had folded his arms across his chest as Brielle and the others turned to watch him, he dipped his gaze low, a smirk tugging the edges of his mouth.
Through the stifling thrum of her power, it wasn't difficult to recount the scent of fear, the sense only being described as a wavering uncertainty that tugged against the gut.
"Now if we would," he lifts a hand from his chest, gesturing first to his line of warriors. The Cadre waited for her to move, swallowing deeply Brielle forced her body into movement, simply short steps that drew her closer to the formations of warriors lined watching all with bated breath as she approached.
As the throbbing of her power began to dissipate from her fingertips, the pressure and warmth tightening in her chest Brielle focused her vision to take in the sight of each individual lined. All selected for her choosing.
Brielle could see the drawn lines of exhaustion on their expression, no doubt in tribute to their hours spent training. They didn't meet her stare as she walked before they, rather staring beyond her if she stopped to watch them.
Since Maeve had given the command Brielle knew she had to choose but standing before them now she couldn't help how her hands trembled in worry, to lead them and hold these warriors under her orders? The concept had her shoving her hands into the cover of her pockets.
How was she to select them, to pass them between units so willingly as if they didn't have friends within their own unit. To have people for sanity savour, to hold you up if training got rough, How was Brielle expected to knowingly take them from what might be their people.
As Brielle continued walking, she surpassed more and more warriors, their shoulder sagging in what she could only assume was relief as she passed without noting them with more than a dignified nod of acknowledgement.
"Bri," She had sensed Fenrys behind her, even as he gently nudged her elbow, "Her majesty has demanded at least one must be selected." His words were reduced to just above a whisper as he surveyed the amount of capable warriors she had passed, his twin Connall was beside him, watching her softly, Brielle noted how Connall gaze drop to her shaking hands, shoving them further from view Brielle ignore both males and continued down the line.
The warriors varied in size, height and clearly age, but they all shared the same vacant expression of neutrality, it plastered their emotions. Eyes adverted downwards.
Except one. A gasp emitted from Brielle she hadn't fought to keep it within her, as the warrior locked her gaze. His arms folded behind him in a stance that was so unlike him. He had filled out since she last saw him. The lines of exhaustion marring his brow,
Brielle felt the males of the Cadre pause with her, she didn't care that they watched, couldn't care what the lines of warriors would think of her as she launched herself at Isaiah.
Brielle collided with him, knocking him out of that well formatted line, he wrapped himself around her tightly, holding just as securely as her. The force near bone breaking intensity, forcing the air from her chest in a soft sob.
"She's gone." whispering the word to him as Isaiah lowered her gently. Brille felt him bunching his hands around her back he stiffened against her as he noted the light hair male that watched him with a narrowed gaze. "Elle's gone"
It was something she hadn't been able to admit to herself, the way her heart seemed to crack in her chest at the thought, but having him here, it was somewhat easier to accept what she should have long ago, in spite of her efforts to ignore it.
"I know." Isaiah spoke, pulling away to hold her at arms length, Brielle could discern the mask he shrouded himself in, a cover to hide his own pain.
"It's all my fault," as her word registered, Isaiah began shaking his head, the rim on his eyes glistening,
But since Vallen, Brielle had time to process everything, and her friends absence in this world was her fault, with every web of reasoning she spun that conclusion was always drawn. That was a truth she had accepted in her heart already. There was nothing Isaiah could say that would change what she already knew.
Tugging herself from his hold as Fenrys approached, Brielle looked to Isaiah who despite everything had come for her, "How?"
There was a twinge of pain marring his expression as he averted his gaze, Eyeing up the male now closely at Brielle's back, as though he alone guarded her from all who may seek to cause harm. "That doesn't matter. I'm here now and I don't intent to abandon you a second time"
Something in her chest cinched at his word. Did he also feel at fault for what she and Elle had endured?
"Promise?"
Isaiah nodded once, eyes gleaming with nothing less then trust and loyalty, a stark contrast in comparison to their first conversation when they were acquainted. "Promise. I will always serve at your side, Boss"
She growled playfully at the nickname, a ploy, "You can break yourself from me if you keep calling me that."
His answering laugh ignited a spark of hope. Hope that everything might just be okay. For they had one another.
Brielle's body jolted, the sensation of falling hitting into her chest. The weight of the memory marring every sense as she bolted upright, eyes burning as the pressure behind her eyes pounded.
The rustle of leaves snapped her gaze up-
Gavriel stopped as his sister attention lifted to him, frozen as Brielle took in the sight of him after almost three months apart.
As all control slipped and the weight of that memory began to crush Brielle's chest, Gavriel moved. Crashing to the ground beside his little sister, lifting her small frame into him as a convulsion sob burst from her.
The sound was gutting him from the inside out, a knife carving into his chest as Brielle collapsed all her weight into him, the sound of her screams drawing the attention of the others as they lifted off their bed rolls,
But her cries were world ending as Gavriel gently rocked them, hand splaying across her back to rub into circles.
The ache was uncontrollable as she sobbed harder, breath stuttering from her chest in a great fracturing crack of pain,
He had broken his promise, Isaiah had broken it, He had left her after it all. Her only tether to who she had been before the Golden Death. The only person who had remembered Elle for who she had been since leaving her family, the only person who had been proof that what they had all endured together was real. He had seen it all and now he was gone.
And she was breaking. The Lioness' heart was breaking.
Summary: When Elain's ex comes around to the Starfall Ranch looking for her, help arrives in the most unexpected person.
Pairing: Cowboy!Lucien X Elain
Word Count:
Warnings: Swearing!, hint and mention of domestic abuse, Elain getting hurt(ex hits her) If any of this makes you uncomfortable please don't interact,
Elain stretched into the warmth of her bedding, curling into it with little effort as a shallow breeze stroked her bare legs, the draft billowing up the edges of the bedroom curtains.
Feyre must have come in to open the window earlier, rolling over she reached to the nightstand, the screen of her phone lighting up as she tapped it gently.
10: 17 am
Groaning at the time, Elain pushed herself up, How she had slept that long was beyond her, since arriviing at Starfall Ranch over a month ago Elain had slipped into a routine as sleep, which was less of a routine and more a guaranteed amount of hours sleep. The times when she slept varied, but whenever she woke, she rose refreshed and well rested. A stark contrast to her old minimal sleep routine when she was in the city.
Her sisters had reminded her that it was progress. It was small, but she was still moving. They had reasurred her that what happened between her and Graysen wasn't her fault. His manipulations were not her fault.
Even if he visited in the depths of her dreams to tell her so. All it had taken was for Nesta to see one bruise, and she had lost it, blew up in Graysen's face, coming to Elain's defence, and he had called off the engagement as soon as Nesta lashed her teeth.
Elain knew she should be elated to no longer be tethered to that man, especially after everything he did to her, but it was what she had known for so long. In the city with him, his father was a wealthy man and owned loads of businesses run with their family name, so every where she had turned there was reminders.
But out here, in the expanses of land, the people that knew no one by the name of Graysen, something had begun to settle in her once more, an inner peace that planted itself and grew with each day.
With quick work, she rose and made the bed, emerging from her room to wander the strangely silent main house. She had expected the sounds of at least Rhys or Feyre, possibly a couple of others that swung into the house here and there. But the silence was deafening.
Elain padded through the entrance way, towards the kitchen, it was a Saturday and Nesta had gone back to the city to prepare for a dance show so Feyre had offered to take Elain into the nearby town this weekend.
Confusion wracked Elain as she entered yet another room with no bodies, leaning into the island countertop in the kitchen she spied the paper strewed on the opposite side, slipping around the island she flattened the paper to read it.
Scanning quickly she sighed, a herd of the cattle had gotten out when a fence had given out last night. Feyre was helping the men to wrangle them and rebuild the broken matrials.
Elain knew she wasn't skilled in ranching and probably would have only served as a distraction, but her stomach twisted at being left behind, alone with her thoughts.
At any given moment with distractions, her mind tended to wander to everything that had occurred with Graysen, with less distractions and more silence. The outcome of her thoughts was never good.
She needed to do something, quickly plugging her phone into the kitchen speakers, She clicked on a playlist as she began to clean.
To keep herself busy was to ward away the thoughts, dancing her way through the house, a fuzzy duster in hand Elain decided she would become a distraction for herself.
and she did, swirling around through the hallways, dusting the array of hung pictures of Rhysand's family, the picture of the boys when they had won a team penning event. A picture of Rhys and Feyre standing on the decking of the house at sunset.
Elain smiled to herself at the picture, to know feyre had something good going, to hold onto it and be able to enjoy it as Elain had not.
Allowing the music to drift through the house was prooving a better idea then not as Elain continued on, twirling into the kitchen as she had seen Nesta do many a time before, only Elain coudn't imagine herself being as gracful as her older sister.
"I'm coming" she called aloud, reaching for the handle, Swinging the door open her stomach sank to the floor. For the man there was certainly no cowboy.
Drfiting back into the kitchen Elain was putting away the last of the dried dishes when a knock resounded against the front door, clicking the volume lower on her music Elain hummed the remainder of the tune as she walked through the house.
The knocking resounded agains, more forcibly this time, Whaever cowboy that was is totally impatient.
"Graysen.." Gripping to the door to keep her hands from shaking in his view, "What are you doing here?" He had called the engagement off, why would he come looking for her? How did he find her?
The ravaging questions began to make her panic, her heart thumping up into her hearing.
"My sweet Elain," he stepped over the threshold of the door, Elain dropped her grip on the door and realised that in that moment, she should have simply shut the door straight back over.
"G-Graysen" she didn't like how weak her voice sounded, how it shook, betraying her as Graysen continued to move his body filling the space of the entrance way of the main house, the door still agape behind him,
"Did you think moving out her would keep you from me."
Elain's whole body flinched when she bumped into the wall, spine snapping pinboard straight, in an effort to maintain the space growing smaller between them.
"I had people watching, and when you left.." he tutted between his lips, a shake of his head, "It was smart of your sisters to take you away, but I only need time away to take care of that guard dog sister of yours."
The panic bubbled over in her chest now as Graysen's smirk grew wider. It had one made her swoon now, her bones felt wrong when they shook. Nesta was in the city now, What if he had done something to Nesta-
"Don't you touch her." She tried to make the words sound powerful. To hold her voice from shaking with the rest of her.
In a flash, Graysen's hand had connected with the side of her face, her head snapping to the side. The flesh of Elain's cheek stung as Graysen grabbed her throat, using his own size and weight to push her into the wall, the wooden boards bit harshly into her spine.
"I thought I taught you a lesson last time." he bared his teeth close to her now, spittle escaping his lips as he hissed out his words, "You don't tell me what to do"
"Nice try though, " Graysen slide is attention away from her as he took a slow moment to survey the house, the pictures mounted on the walls, the dull scent of varnished wood and fresh paint.
His distraction warranted her the perfect moment, his closeness offered the window, driving a knee up before her Elain coiled as the bone met with his dick.
He folded, groaning his hand flying from her throat to his groin.
Taking that second to move, Elain hammered down the panic and raced towards the kitchen, the open plan allowing her to reach for her phone.
Graysen swore loudly, as a thump resounded through the house,
Elain's legs clattered off the cabinent, as she grasped her hand around the edges of her phone, ripping it off the speaker she spun for the island, to put distance between her and the man who bolted into the kitchen.
"I'll make you regret that, You fucking bitch!" his expression was red, angry and filled with hatred as he moved to follow her around the counter, Elain shifted to move around to sustain the distance.
Tears were streaming down her face as she tapped at her contacts, even as her fingers shook she pressed down on the call button and rose it to her ear.
"Elain, You're awake-" The soft tones of her younger sister made her sob,
A fact which had Graysen smirking across from her over the counter,
"What's wrong?" The concern in Feyre's voice made the background noise slam to a halt, those around her falling silent to listen in. Elain heard the faint sound of Rhysand in the reciever.
"Feyre" but she cried out as Graysen climbed the counter and launched himself at her,
In her haste to move, she hadn't meant to let the phone slip from her grasp, but as her fingers shook, she didn't have a second to retrieve it.
Graysen swung for her, and turning Elain bolter back towards the open door, Her breath sawing through her chest.
The blood in her veins was hammering a pulse so hard it was painful as dashed forwards, the sound of Graysen propelling himself off the walls behind spurring her to run faster,
Throwing the door wide, Elain lept from the porch, her knees giving way under her as she landed,
Her hands hit the dirt as she scrambled to her feet, It had cost her too long of a moment as she felt a hand twist into the back of her hair.
He ripped the fistful back so forcefully Elain swore she heard the hair pull fro her scalp.
"Hey!" a voice yelled, loud and broke through the moment, a saviour of sound as Elain was jerked to face towards the approaching figure, Graysen holding her to him.
Astride, a dusted grey horse appeared a male Elain had met before, his long firey red hair swung back over his shoulder. The alarm and concern on his face as he met her gaze startled her. A muscle in his jaw twitched before he kicked the horse on, the beast barreling towards them with a punishing speed,
She felt Graysen flinch against her at the sight, the horse not backing down as the male urged it on.
Dropping his hold, Graysen backed up, ignoring as Elain crumpled to the floor sacrficing her to be trampled, curling to protect herself Elain threw her arms around her skull, against the spot that pulsed from where Grasysen had yanked at her hair. She tensed as the pounding of hooves drew closer.
The horse swerved around her, the movement having Elain raise her head from under the cover of her arms.
The male steered the horse, to body block Graysen, using his steeds' size to bully him back away from her. The skill was unmatched as the horse changed direction, shifting with light work at the demands of its rider. A simple tug on the reins, a squeeze of his knee. A duo matched to work silently,
Still watching from the ground, Elain held back the sound of her cries as Graysen held his hands up in surrender. Backing way as the horse stamped its hoof into the ground, panting loudly in threat.
Graysen glowered past the horse and rider, to sneer at Elain. He pointed at her, "This isn't over bitch."
The horse backed up, reversing and swirling on the spot to swing its rear end towards Graysen, its hind legs pounding to kick out, The red hairs male turned his head to glare at Graysen, his stream of hair swinging over a shoulder to rest down his back,
"Get lost!" The timbre of his voice reverberated through Elain, drawing her attention to him "Before I teach you exactly what we cowboys do to weak men that hit women." His threat had Graysen finally backing up, retreating to his car, parked half haphazardly at the side of the house.
The horse and rider duo stayed prenaturally still as the car reversed and sped down the dirt road, Only when the car was far enough in the distance did the rider turn his horse,
Even if he had gotten Grayse to leave, Elain couldn't help the involuntary flinch as the horse turned in her direction, tipping its head as the rider slackened his hold on the reins.
His expression shifted from one of stern determination to concern as he swung his leg around and slid down the side of his mount.
The breath stilled in her chest as Elain watched him pat the neck of his horse, moving around the animal he carefully approached Elain hands raised beside him when she moved to crawl away from him in the dirt.
"Are you hurt ma'am?" his words were soft, perhaps to keep from frightening her.
Elain didn't have an opportunity to respond, the words stilling in her chest, an uncertain feeling overtaking her as a rumble of engines echoes around them.
His gaze darts up to inspect the noise, but Elain only watched him straighten, taking in the sight of him. Clad in a button shirt and loose worn chaps, a familiar tan brown hat purchased upon his head. She took noticed now of the leather work gloves he had shoved into a pocket to display his bare hands to her.
The rumble of engines dies,
"Elain!" the sound of Feyre had Elain swirling to meet her sisters gaze,
Feyre jumped off the back of a quadbike, leaving Rhys alone on the bike, as a truck slammed into the space beside him. Rhys glanced over as Azriel ripped the door open and hopped out. Watching from beside the vehicle as Feyre raced forward,
Her sister didn't take note of the male standing before her as she slide into the dirt next to Elain, hand ghosting clasping her Elain's wrist,
She heard Feyres soft gasp her eyes drifted to the mark, making its appearance on her cheek, where Graysen had struck her.
"Wha-"
"Graysen was here."
Rhysand and Azriel had approached now, taking position beside the male. Elain drifted her gaze back to him, meeting his eye as he studied her face, the muscle twitching in his jaw at the bruising growing dark on her skin.
"I think we should give him the Tamlin treatment if he shows face again" he said it with no feeling, Elain didn't know what that mean but by the way both Rhys and Azriel tensed beside him, Elain could only assume the worst.
She winced, sitting back, Feyre still clasping her hand, as her sister turned to her friend,
"Lucien." she said his name like a reprimand, the male shurgging his shoulder, his eyes flitting to Elain warily to watch her reactions,
"Any male that raises a hand to a woman needs a good kicking." He pulled free the gloves from his pocket and brushed past Rhysand and Azriel, easing a booted foot into the stirrup he hoisted himself up onto the back of his horse, patting its neck gentle as he met Elains stare once more,
"Take care, miss." Rasing a now gloved hand, Lucien tipped his hat to her. Elain couldn't help her eyes from lingering as he gave the reins a gentle tug and steered the horse down the trail, leading to the offside of the Starfall Ranch, closest to his own.
Feyre turned back, hiding a knowing smile with a hand, "Let's get you cleaned up." She pulled Elain to her feet, guding her inside as Rhys and Azriel stood watching from the porch.
Elain allowed herself to be returned inside the house, but not before glancing back over her shoulder to have one last peak at her unlikely rescuer,
Her stomach tightened to find Lucien twisted back in the saddle to watch her. He smirked once before nudging his heels into the sides of the horse. It kicked up into a steady trot as he left the Ranch.
Elain went through the movements, allowing Feyre to help her wash up, ignoring the aches of her bruised body, distracted by the swirling thoughts of the russet eyed cowboy.
Even as her head stung as Feyre disinfected the wound weeping on her scalp, Elain was occupied with the thoughts of the male and what might have happened if he hadn't shown to help.
An unfamiliar sensation made her stomach churn in anticipation, for what she wasn't sure.
But she got the sense she would have to see him again to find out.
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Summary: After moving to Velaris county, Nesta and her sister are new to the countryside life, Trying for a change of pace, they unexpectable meet three brothers where Nesta discovers the priority rule, Wear the hat, Ride the cowboy.
Pairing: Bull Rider!Cassian X City Girl Dancer!Nesta Archeron
Word Count: 4.4k
Warnings: This displays the side of Nesta that is sort of resentful, but it leads to the story, (later on, when I post more), Swearing!
A.N: I have started reading the Chestnut Springs series by Elsie Silver, and I couldn't not obsess with how Cassian gives off cocky bull rider vibes. This is the product.
The soft snores emitting beside her drew Nesta's attention, gazing sidelong at the curled body of her sister in the passenger seat of her car, she couldn't ignore the twist of a knife in her chest. Elain had insisted on the blanket that draped her lap, bundled there due to Nesta's car being 'too cold'. For the extent of their journey Nesta liked to have the windows down.
A journey which had her driving for over the past few hours. A change of pace. It's what Elain needed after her extremely bad breakup Elain had become distant, a shell of herself and the busy bustle of the city wasn't doing her gentle soul any favours.
So here they were, driving out to meet with their youngest sister, Feyre. She had moved out from the city, more than a couple months ago, met some guys and now lived with him on his ranch.
The Ranch, which Nesta was currently struggling to find. With their belongings packed into the small backseat of her car, she had the sat-nav playing softly near the drafts of the aircon.
But the weak signal was making their location jump across the cracked screen.
She didn't want to stir Elain awake, not when her sisters eyes were worn red and shadows dulled the undersides of them. Seeing the asshole break her sister heart had stirred something with Nesta, something she had been content to drown and ignore for the years following their parents deaths', but the distraught aura cloaking her sister had brought everything to the surface, the ugly side of her that now reared its head.
When Feyre had called a week ago, to check on their sister, Nesta hadn't shied from the idea of Elain taking a break from the city, to retreat to...
Nesta scowled at the sat nav on her phones, squinting at the name of the Ranch typed into the top search bar,
Starfall Ranch should be the next turn. But as the phone froze and rejogged their current location the map moved. Leaving her off scale for what felt like the hundredth time.
Groaning in frustration Nesta jerked the steering wheel and clamped her foot down on the break. Taking the car off the side of the dirt road.
Elain shifted, the blanket falling from her lap as Nesta ripped the phone from where it had sat in the stand.
"What's the matter?" Elain asked softly, reaching for the blanket that had fallen into the footwell,
"This is why the city is best, no lagging signal there." She typed quickly at the phone, searching for Feyre's contact, Pulling it up she clicked on the icon, a picture of her sister on a hillside, the sunsetting behind her and a man Nesta could only assume was this Rhysand.
"Hey" Feyre called through the phone as Nesta clicked her onto speaker, Elain sitting up at the sound of their sister sweet voice,
"We're lost." Admitting it had something sour sitting itself in Nesta's gut, to admit defeat and ask for help was never something she found easy, had prised herself on the dance floor for working through shit on her own. She knew it sounded horrible for Feyre, who was putting them up in her new home. Nesta didn't mean for the bite in her tone, but the whole situation was making her skin crawl with unease.
"Well..." Feyre paused as something clunked behind her in the background of the speakers feed, "Where are you?"
Nesta tried to bit her lip in frustration to keep herself from launching the phone out the open window beside her, "I don't know Feyre, some sort of field. Everything looks the same"
She glanced around the car, spotting a sign, a sun carved into the warped wooden boards with spikes of sun beams sprouting out in every direction from the circle.
"There is a sign with a sun symbol on it."
There is a clatter from the line and Feyre paused, to think, "Oh yes! That's a nearby Ranch, I'll come meet you. Give me a couple minutes." Nesta was about to protest, to ask her sister to simply direct her but Feyre had already hung up. The call ending with a single beep that filled the now silent vehicle.
Dropping the phone into her laps, Nesta sighed, falling into silence beside Elain who had snuggled back under the blanket.
They waited for a couple minutes before a burgundy red truck caught Nesta's attention in the rear view mirror, the gaps between their bags obscuring the view of the truck as it got closer.
The plume of dust swirled around her small white car as the truck pulled to a stop beside her. Feyre beamed out the passenger side, swinging the door wide.
She jumped down and came around the nose of the truck, Elain sprung out from the car beside Nesta, running to meet Feyre. They collided into an embrace at the front of Nesta car.
Sighing to herself for strength, Nesta opened the door, climbing out to watch them leave the hug, Elain was grinning happily, a fact that drew a weak smile on Nesta' expression.
The drivers door of the truck slammed, the smile melting from Nesta as a red headed male wandered around, his long hair pulled back into a hair tie, a tan brown cowboy hat rested on his head, he had leaned against the front of his truck watching Elain and Feyre.
He acknowledged Nesta with a stiff nod when he caught her gaze studying him with a narrowed gaze. She hadn't missed the way his attention had snagged and lingered on Elain. She knew from overhearing Feyre's conversations with Elain over the phone in previous months, this wasn't Rhysand. This male was slimmer, paler and had fiery red hair.
"It's so good to see you." Feyre pulled away, keeping her hand on Elain's arm,
To see her younger sister now, Nesta couldn't deny how being here had done her well. Feyre had never been one for the busy rat race of city life. The exposure to country life had someone brought back Feyre's spark, her body was fuller now- Healthier. And her skin seemed to glow, kissed by the sun, a small amount of freckled dusted her exposed arms and the bridge of her nose.
Nesta kept a close eye on the stranger still watching Elain as Feyre approached her for a hug, it was rigid, partially due to the aches in Nesta's muscles from her last show, she hadn't the time to stretch today. Her bones felt too big for her skin, flesh stretched too thin.
Feyre quickly pulled back, taking notice of her eldest sisters gaze,
"Oh" she softly breathed, finally gesturing to the male with a flourish, "This is Lucien. His father Helion owns the Ranch next to our own."
The comfortable nature of Feyre calling the Ranch her own had Nesta's skin involuntarily tightening with guilt. Even if she hide it with a dismissive huff as the male finally pushed off his truck with his hip.
"It was lovely to meet you ladies." He tipped his hat, to them and then does so again in Elain's direction, his action notably extended to her. Nesta stiffened as Elain offered a soft smile in return, but as Lucien straightened he nodded once before moving back around to the driver's door.
He climbed in and rolled the window to Feyre, "Tell Az I'll get those horses over by the next fortnight."
Feyre thanked him waving as he turned down the road, following the Sun depicted sign posts. His burgundy truck spitting up dust and stones as it sped off in the distance.
"Right, let's go then." Feyre chirped cheerfully, excitement thrumming from her as she spun to the back door,
The three sisters gathered inside Nesta small white car, Feyre in the back seat offering the small amount of directions, until they were on the straight drive to the Starfall Ranch.
There was a couple buildings, off the road, Nesta noticed each one they passed and as if she heard her thoughts Feyre chimes in, "This is all owned by Rhys, he inherited it from his father. The houses are other family members and his friends that work her for him."
He makes his friends work for him?
As they passed by, Feyre pointed out a bigger building, "That's the bunk house, where the majority of the field hands and cowboys are accommodated." and then her arm is swinging in front of them once more, directing Nesta into a stone drive,
"This is the main house," she said it with such pride, Nesta couldn't help but hid the small grin, despite the unease curling in her gut about all of this.
As Nesta pulled the car into park, Feyre jumped out, Elain following, blanket discarded onto the passenger seat.
"This is where everyone gathers, it is Rhys' house and we have family meals here once a week." Feyre was beaming as she stood staring at the building,
Nesta could understand why, the house was massive, definitely big enough to house family meals. She couldn't help the venom that burned in her chest, Feyre hadn't ever invited them out for those meals until Elain's asshole fiance dumped her.
Feyre turns to help them unload the car, an effort they all set into routine of working through as Feyre continued to chatter excitedly, "Rhys and the other are out preparing for an event tonight, once we have you guys settled we can drive to meet them, then we can go out for drinks!"
Nesta reared her head back, it was effort enough that she had driven them here today, but being dragged out to meet with Feyre's new family and play nice to complete strangers.
"It will be fun Nes."
"Don't call me that" she barked as she rested a bag on the floor, but as she straightened she caught the look on Elain's face as she turned away, her heart constricted as Feyre spotted it too.
Maybe for a couple hours she could play nice...
☽⋆❈⋆☾
The music roared loud as the entered the stands, Elain clung to Nesta's arm as they followed Feyre. Manoeuvring through the crowd that roared with excitement as a bull sprung from the gate a man tethered atop it.
Elain gasps softly watching as Nesta pulled her through the stands of seating,
"Nes, look!" Elain tugged excitedly at her elbow, aiming to draw her sister's attention to where the bull bucked and thrashed to toss the rider from its back, a viciously violent dance she could recognise as the male released his hold and flew off the animal, racing to get behind the protection of the rodeo clowns.
"Elain, there isn't entertainment in watching egotistical men ride adrenaline pumped beast that want to trample them." she deadpanned, tugging Elain on as to not lose Feyre, she continued to lead them to where Rhys was supposed to be.
"Not much better entertainment then that." Feyre called over her shoulder, a smile plastering her face as she spotted her partner.
"Rhys!" She called, the males head popping up, a second head beside him following the sound of Feyre's voice, they both looked towards them now and even as Nesta's legs continued to follow her sister she grew distant.
These males were breathtaking, rugged yet fully powerful bodies toned from ranch work. Night dark hair and skin worshiped by the sun from no doubt working outside almost every day of their lives, They both rose, the one closet presumable Rhysand by the way he leaned in to meet Feyre in a quick kiss, his hand resting in the belt loop of her jeans, "Hello darling," his whispered softly to her, but Nesta caught it even over the sound as the crowd roared around them again.
"Rhys, Az, these are my sister, Elain and Nesta." She gestured to them, both pairs of eyes drawing up to meet where they stood,
"Nesta, Elain this is Rhysand and Azriel." Elain pleasantly moved to greet them. Nesta stayed put, watching Rhys greet Elain warmly and then the second one, Az.
She knew Elain had possible met them before, over video call with Feyre, given by the way both males leaned in for a distanced hug she guessed correct.
Rhys watched Nesta from under the rim of his hat, she offered a small smile and nod, which seemed to prompt him into movement, he brought a hand up to..
The difference there shook her, bringing her own up to shake his hand, she was quick to drop it and offered a nod to his friend,
"Oh he's about to come out!" Feyre beamed warmly, a hand resting into Rhysand's chest, he watched her delicately, but Nesta turned to ignore it as they all took their seats, Elain moving to be beside Az.
They all edged forward in their seats as the clatter of the next bull rammed itself into the gate, from their seats Nesta could see the movement of the rider climbing up the railings.
He was well muscles and his dark hair pulled back into a small bun at the back of his head. His arm were distracting even from here. Something in her core burned as he smoothed his hands gentle over the rope, fingers curling and gliding down—
"Come on Cassian," Feyre rooted beside her, her hand wringing in...
Was she nervous?
Nesta eyed her sister curiously, perhaps sensing her attention, Feyre tilted closer, hand sliding into Rhysand's lap to clasp his own hand, perhaps for ease of mind or comfort.
"Cassian lives on the Ranch with the rest of us."She jerks her chin to the bull ring "This is what he enjoys doing and if without the nerves we loves watching, to support him."
Nesta's brow rose, "So I'm here as a cheerleader to some cocky bull rider. Great."
Feyre's lips pursed, forming a thin line, as she watched the gate, where Cassian was preparing for his run, "I know you're here for Elain's sake, but you could enjoy this you know."
"With you new shiny family. Yeah loads of fun." She knew these comments would hurt Feyre, it wasn't her intention, not entirely.
Feyre sighed beside her, resting forward in her seat as the coaches and workers prepared to release the bull, "We will talk about this later." Feyre didn't glance at her as she spoke, but Nesta felt every work, the weight and meaning behind them. This wasn't going to be a conversation that went down well.
But for now as the gate swung and the crowd chorused an uproar Nesta settled back, watching as the bull flung free.
The male, Cassian, the name stilling every second that slowed as Nesta watched. The bull flung its whole weight up, body burling down heavy as Cassian threw himself against the movement, free hand spirally above him.
The bull danced up and Nesta drew slow breath as she watched the dance, vicious and volatile, where Cassian's powerful thighs cling to the bulls sides, to keep himself steady and it curled spinning on its front hooves.
From her own experience in dancing she watched the way he moved to balance his core, to keep himself centered to stay on the bulls back.
As a timer buzzed out over the screams of the spectators Cassian released his grip, the rope unravelling from his hand, swinging a leg he launched himself from his seat.
Jumping out the way towards the fencing railings, the rodeo clowns following and corralling the bull as it spun before filing back down the chute,
Cassian stood tall on the fence, a leg hooked over the top for balance, he flung his hat up and the crowd responded with cheers and bellows of excitement,
Despite the curling in her stomach the liquid fire pulsing though her veins, Nesta dampened that desire and rolled her eyes at the sight of the male, revelling in the feedback from the crowd.
Cocky Bull riders.
The first stream of women swirled around him, his swaggering grin drawing them in, from social media types Nesta spied the buckle bunnies amongst them easily,
"Right then, off to Rita's for celebratory drinks!" Rhys clasped his hand down on Feyre's knee, his voice drawing the attention of everyone in their group of even a few others. He seemed to have that affect, to draw gazes, it wasn't a surprise Feyre had fallen for the male.
Even as she fought to keep her gaze from drifting as they all rose, Nesta glanced to where Cassian still clung off the fence, a women, golden skin and slim pulled herself up beside him on the railing, her delicately small hand rising to clasp the curve of his hat, plucking it off his head she rest it down onto her own, Nesta couldn't see the women's expression but the mirror on Cassian's face had Nesta's gut swirling, the grin there rocking a pulse through her.
A soft chuckle rumbled behind her, Nesta flinched looking over her shoulder at Azriel. He too watched Cassian, waiting for Nesta to move before he left the stand,
He shook his head, adverting his gaze from her own when she looked at him, "Buckles bunnies," He flicked a hand up to rub a thumb along the rim of his own hat, tapping it twice with a finger, "Wear the hat, Ride the Cowboy"
He met her stare, unblinking. As though he might decipher the expression on her face, break the mold of her mask and understand every thought. He smirked to himself as he watched her attention flick back to Cassian, for just a second.
Betraying her inner thought,
For what it might be like to ride that Cowboy.
☽⋆❈⋆☾
Nesta stepped into the warmth of the bar, having being abandoned by Elain, her sister opting to enter into the bar beside Azriel, while Feyre waltzed in hooked under Rhysand's strong arm.
Rita's was in the closest town to the Starfall Ranch, and it seemed most of the bull riders and their families came here after the night at the ring.
But as their group wandered in, heads turned. Feyre had explained to Elain more about the Ranch on there drive over, her sister was happy to keep to herself about the comments Nesta had made earlier, a fact Nesta herself was also content to ignore for the time being.
During the journey, Feyre had explained that Starfall Ranch was well known in Velaris County, as not only the biggest by size but also the biggest producer for high bred horses and cattle, and their stream of champion Bull riders and Team Penning. For which Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian were a "formidable team" as Feyre had put it, saying that the other locals renowned them for their silent communication and understanding of one another whilst they worked.
They were respected. Which was more then Nesta felt as the local women eyed her and Elain, noting them with the males. She flung the hardest stare should could muster as she shadowed Elain, making them think twice about going after her sister. Elain had come here to heal not to start petty small town drama. Nesta on the other hand wouldn't be so opposed to a good brawl.
It wasn't uncommon for her to occasionally get into fights in her youth, the countless clubs and bars in the city teemed with prissy country girls who thought they could even contend with the throws of a city girl. And men in the city were weak, fickle. The amount of men Nesta had been with that had slept around whilst with her... She could make a bible sized book of the times its had happened.
Rhysand led the way, Feyre still tucked securely under an arm, to a table at the back, near the far side of the bar.
The lights were warm and emitted soft glows, that only added to the affect of the bar, old whiskey barrels were used as tables, high enough to be up to her waist and patrons roared with life around the open dance floor, where people swung one another around. Arm flung upwards to conjoin with new partners. Lines formed as bodies swirled.
It drew her eye more than she cared to admit, allowed her something to watch other than the happy couple beside her in the booth.
"Cassian said he will be here shortly," Azriel slide a phone into the back pocket of his loose jeans. He assessed the group, turning to Elain, "Gin and tonic?"
"Tonic water will be fine," she smiled at him in thanks, He took a second to stare Feyre and Rhys down, not needing to ask for their drinks before he turned to Nesta. "Gin and Tonic?"
"Whiskey." She didn't look away from the lines of people still shuffling around on the open floor,
When Azriel didn't immediately move she turned to meet his stare, the corner of his mouth twitching up in mild amusement, before he twisted away into the crowd.
Nesta turned back, her bones twitching to dance. It was annoying to watch the almost slopping drunken moves of the dance floor, To dance was to embrace the movement, a message to commit ones soul to something greater than themself. It was release and a battle.
These dancers were anything but warriors, she ached to move, to show them how it was done.
"You should dance Nesta." Elain voices from where she hid in the shadows of the booth wall watching the look on her older sisters expression. Nesta slowly drags her attention to face her sister, to see Elain whither into the shadows, to want to hide from view was a tragedy almost as tragic as those dancing on the open floor.
She swept her gaze back to pity those dancing, "You wouldn't see a queen in a charity shop." silence settled over their table as her word met them,
"So you think highly of yourself then" Rhys added his brow high as Feyre elbowed him,
Trading her attention back to those at her table, Nesta allowed the smirk to tug her lips, "Well, No one else will." She locked eyes with Rhysand now, allowed him to see how much she meant it. If not for Elain she would still be in the city with Gwyn and Emery. Probably at the studio dancing until her body grew too tired to support her own weight.
But Rhysand didn't look away, not initially until Feyre moved against him, nudging him as she tracked the approaching figure.
Cassian had swaggered in, the women glued to his side, his hat still propped atop her head. Be-lining for their usual table he swiftly pushed himself through he crowd to where he could see them.
Pulling the women beside him Cassian slide up to the table, quick eyes taking a scan of the faces now looking up at him,
"Well done!"
Nesta didn't even try to resist rolling her eyes as Feyre beamed her congratulations for her friend, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Rhysand.
"Here we are." Azriel said, skillfully sliding the tray of booze onto the table,
The tray was place almost in front of Nesta, the sting of the liqueur hitting her nostrils, if she couldn't dance, drinking would get her that same numbness she needed. It would have to do,
As Azriel passed out each drink, Nesta already spied her glass, the amber liquid was calling to her.
But Azriel had paid for the drinks, a point she wasn't ignorant enough to ignore, so she waited for her liqueur to make its way to her.
Only for a new hand to reach onto the tray, hand twisting to pick up her glass. Nesta watched it as the hand plucked it from the tray, and brought it to their lips.
Cassian wiggled a brow at her over the rim of the glass. He gulped back almost more than half the glass, before handing it off to the women beside him, she bashfully took it,
Cassian turned back now, meeting Nesta's gaze, He surveyed her with a once up and down sweep, his gaze growing gradually slow over her breasts, and up the column of her throat to settle on her face.
"That wasn't yours." She bite out, ignoring the way her toes curled in her boots as he smirked, head tilting to watch her.
"and you are?"
"Cassian," Feyre held her glass before her, "These are my sisters. Elain" she gestured to her sister beside Azriel, then turned to Nesta, who still hadn't turn away from watching the women screw her face up as she sipped the whiskey. Her Whiskey. "And that is Nesta."
The laugh that bellowed from the Bull rider made her skin itch with warmth, Snapping Nesta attention away from her stolen glass "You're Nesta."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? What had Feyre said about her to the male that gave him that air of amusement.
Pushing up with her palms on the table, Nesta rose up purposefully into his space, her breast so close to brushing his muscled chest when she reached to take the class of amber liquid from the women beside him, the blonde women grasped trying to hold to it, to someone prove herself to the bull riders whose hat she wore.
Taking the glass to her with ease, Nesta met the bull riders gaze, simply ignoring how close they were to distract herself from the rising ache between her legs at his scent, his closeness, as she teased the glass along her bottom lip, swirling it, "And you must be the egotistical bull rider who thinks women wearing your hat gives them the right to ride you. How worthless you must feel. It's cheap."
Then she nocked her head back, downed the whiskey in one, she slammed the glass onto the table before stalking towards the bar. Without pulling a face as the blonde beside him had done at a mere sip.
Nesta didn't look back as she moved through the dancers, the other patrons parting for her, a shark in a shoal of fish. Didn't look back as she felt Cassian gaze linger,
Cassian let lose of the breath that had lodged itself in his chest at her closeness.
Nesta. He mulled her name as a whisper on his lips, intrigued as he watched her, watched the way people moved from her paths as though to warrant her attention was to draw deaths scythe.
Whatever it was they all shied from, he wanted it. Wanted her.
Taking a final glance at the whiskey glass on the table, the lines of her lip gloss rimming the edges, Cassian met his brothers gaze.
With his usual bolstering smirk, Cassian plucked his hat off the girls head beside him, securing it in its rightful place, he stalked off after Nesta. Cutting thought he path she had made for him in the crowd, a direct line to follow, to get to her.
Damn the rule. Hat or no, he had ridden bulls that gave the same fight as her and it had always thrilled him.
And he, the egotistical Bull rider was never one to back down from a challenge. Especially when it was right in front of him.
