✨Under the Stars and the Storm - Nyx Archeron next-gen fanfic✨
Nyx was about to sit down, tired of the incessant circles his mind was making, when a glacial breeze invaded the Great Hall.
Every hair on Nyx's body stood on end.
Kaelith walked as if the world belonged to her. Not from arrogance or pride. But because everything seemed to naturally bow before her.
She and the handmaiden—Veyra—chatted carelessly, laughing at something they whispered to each other.
The Colonel stood up before even sitting down completely. He crossed his arms behind his back and straightened his posture—ignoring the cold that gripped his stomach. Ignoring, even more, the erratic beating of his heart at the sight of her.
Scenes from that night flooded Nyx’s mind like an unbridled river.
Kaelith's malicious smile as she froze time and hurled daggers in his direction. The expression of wonderment that had painted her face when he broke free from her temporal prison and pulled them into a reality created by him. Her wide eyes seeing the weapons transform into black roses—dozens of them, falling uselessly to the ground.
Nyx still felt the desperate cadence of Kaelith's pulse when he'd wrapped his hand around hers, preventing another misaligned blow. Still felt the icy touch of her skin when they fell onto the cotton bed he'd created to cushion the fall—her beneath, him on top, the two entwined in a tangle of legs and arms.
The High Lady's metallic gaze met Nyx's and, in that infinitesimal second, his head spun. His ribs ached with the force of the drum his heart seemed to have become.
His knees hit the marble with a crack when Nyx positioned himself to bow to her. One leg bent, body inclined and head curved. His chest heaved, and Nyx prayed Kaelith wouldn't be able to hear the irregular rhythm of his breathing.
Perhaps Lysander was hearing the commotion afflicting his body, and the low, biting whistle his brother let out beside him confirmed it.
The Colonel raised his chin just enough to cast a murderous look at Lys. He at least had the decency to kneel as well—but not without sighing dramatically first.
Kneeling, time seemed to move slowly, as if Kaelith had bewitched it. All Nyx could hear was his own breathing and the frantic rhythm of his chest. All he could see was the reflection of his black hair, combed back, in the impeccably polished marble of the Plateau.
He risked looking a bit further ahead, to where the High Lady stood. Nyx could only see her bare feet.
No... She wasn't barefoot... She wore blue sandals of leather so fine it seemed like a second skin, with straps that crossed the tops of her feet. Her nails were painted white—a light, subtle white that reminded him of lace soft to the touch.
His eyes climbed a bit higher, almost of their own accord. He didn't know why the hell he was looking at her shoes. His gaze slowly rose to where the delicate ties of the sandals embraced her calf, disappearing into the hem of her dress—
The Colonel lowered his head so fast he felt a twinge in his neck. His ears burned and the heat descended down his neck, setting fire to the rest of his body.
He was kneeling before the most dangerous High Lady in Prythian, nearly combusting because he'd looked at her feet.
Kaelith cleared her throat. Nyx could almost hear the mischievous smile in her voice when she said: "It's not every day I have two Illyrian males kneeling at my feet."
Lysander laughed, standing up, and so did Nyx.
His brother had the same expression on his face as when he was enjoying an exciting chess match—when he finally found an opponent worthy of him. Which wasn't the case with Nyx; he was always shamefully humiliated by Lysander in any game involving strategy. Lys was simply more cunning, more sly and calculating. He always managed to beat Nyx despite his dozens of years of military experience.
It was no wonder Lysander was Night Court's emissary. And it was precisely for that reason that Nyx believed he should be the true heir to Rhysand's throne.
The younger Archeron approached Kaelith with his typical provocative confidence, that magnetizing walk that made anyone in the room fix their eyes on him. When Lysander took the Winter Lady's hand, Nyx feared she would freeze his brother or impale him with her ice weapons.
But Kaelith let Lys bring her hand to his mouth, where he placed a light kiss on her knuckles.
The Colonel’s mind once again carried him to dark places—places he had no desire to be. Nyx caught himself wondering what Kaelith’s skin would feel like beneath his lips… he knew it would be cold, like the winter she carried within her, but would it be soft?
Yes... Nyx had no doubt her skin would be velvety as a secret whispered amid satin sheets.
Nyx wouldn't have the same audacity as Lys, however. Of course not. Kaelith would surely murder him in the space of a breath if he dared touch her with his mouth.
Why, in the Mother's name, am I thinking about my lips on her skin?
"I bet my charming brother would love to take you to Illyria, my Lady," Lysander purred, still bent over her hand. "Then you'd have an entire army kneeling for you."
Now it was Nyx's turn to roll his eyes at his brother's not-at-all-surprising attempt at flattery. What surprised him, though, was Kaelith's reaction. Her smile, previously oblique, widened and transformed into something almost sweet.
“Well, I’ll have to find alternative ways to make that happen,” she whispered, casting a sidelong glance toward the Colonel. “Since I have no intention of going anywhere with your charming brother.”
Nyx should feel offended. But instead, he had to hold back a smile from coloring his face. Kaelith's tone lacked the expected bite. She even seemed to be... teasing?
An unknown emotion—something close to joy—warmed the Colonel's chest and spread through the rest of his body. He shifted from one foot to the other, squeezing his clasped hands behind him. Suddenly restless.
Kaelith's eyes were still locked on his. Intense. Scorching, despite the ice that dominated them. And Nyx couldn't sustain the weight of that gaze for long. Cowardly, he stared at his own boots.
"I don't blame you for not wanting to spend much time in the Colonel's company." Out of the corner of his eye, Nyx saw Lysander lean in and whisper in Kaelith's ear: "He's no fun at all."
Oh, how Nyx would have loved to show his brother what real fun looked like—starting by slamming his face into the nearest wall.
“You certainly seemed to be enjoying your brother’s display earlier this morning,” Kaelith murmured. Nyx lifted his gaze and caught something dangerous in her expression. She was playing with Lysander as well. “If I recall correctly, you even applauded.”
Perhaps the gentle features that softened the High Lady’s face were nothing more than traps meant to lure—and snap shut on—Lysander. Perhaps his brother failed to notice the undercurrent of anger vibrating in her voice.
“Forgive me, my Lady, for my frankness,” Lys replied with a smile. “But I did enjoy myself, without question. Martyr does not often provide me with entertainment, and I make a point of taking advantage of it whenever he does.”
By the Cauldron, that would be the day Nyx killed his brother.
The Colonel remained motionless, right behind Lysander, a silent spectator. After all, nothing good would come from his mouth. And the truth was that Nyx didn't want to irritate the High Lady more than he already had the previous dawn. But he observed each of her reactions—the subtle arching of her eyebrows; the imperceptible flaring of her nostrils; the clenching of her jaw and the compression of her lips.
He also noticed Veyra's undisguised amusement beside Kaelith. The sadistic smile had curved the handmaiden's lips since the moment Nyx knelt. Her black eyes jumped from Lysander to the High Lady, and from time to time she let out a low chuckle at Nyx's expense.
"Martyr?" Kaelith's eyebrows rose and she turned to Nyx—speaking of him without speaking to him.
That unfortunate nickname.
The Colonel opened his mouth to defend himself, but Lysander was faster. Obviously.
"You don't know him well enough yet, but Nyx has the glorious tendency of sacrificing himself in absolutely every aspect of his life." Lys looked over his shoulder at Nyx and winked. "Fascinating, isn't it?"
Nyx's teeth already ached from the force with which he clenched them.
Kaelith's eyes traveled over Nyx's body with painful slowness. As if she were meticulously cataloging each of his weaknesses. And only years of military discipline kept him from moving under the weight of her gaze.
She turned to Lys and then to Helion. "What a party you have here, High Lord."
Kaelith finally sat at the opposite end of the Great Hall's long table, Veyra on her heels.
Helion, who had also remained silent before the entire exchange—but who, undeniably, was enjoying himself as much as the handmaiden—laughed. "You know I like a full house, my dear."
"You like chaos, that's what," Kaelith retorted, her tone a mix of impatience and playfulness.
Only when Lysander sat down and cast him an inquisitive look did Nyx realize—he was still standing, watching her every movement. The way she meticulously chose which apricots to place on her plate. How she'd closed her eyes when smelling a succulent peach before biting it. Or how she held the knife and cut a piece of cured ham with the precision of a mercenary.
Nyx cleared his throat and sat beside Helion. His appetite had completely disappeared and when he tried to sip his coffee, the beverage burned his tongue on the first gulp.
"So," Kaelith began, bringing a golden grape to her mouth. "What do the two guests of the High Lord of Day intend to do in Sunspire?"
Nyx let Lysander speak for them both. His brother's mind had always been quicker at conceiving lies, after all. "Helion wanted to discuss a delicate matter about our shared borders." Lys rolled his eyes and sighed. "We'll spend the day locked in his office in tedious and endless debates on the issue."
Kaelith narrowed her eyes. "Poor you."
And there wasn't an ounce of sympathy in her voice for Lysander's diplomatic excuse. The Winter's High Lady didn't believe their false motivation. She knew they were there because of her. But the Archeron brothers would surely not confess the truth.
Unless they wanted to start a war against Winter. For Nyx was certain Kaelith wouldn't look kindly on Night's attempt at intervention.
When Rhysand had told him about the prophecy and the stolen book, Nyx simply knew Sunspire would be her next destination. Helion hadn't even needed to call for reinforcements from Velaris—Nyx had already suggested to his father that they travel to Day in order to monitor the situation.
Nyx kept telling everyone and himself that it was his purpose as the new emissary to Winter. That he had to get close to Kaelith and help her. Help her find a path to justice that wouldn't lead to Prythian's destruction. That, upon hearing her scream, it had become his duty to support her.
There had to be a reason. For the lancing pain she'd projected miles and miles away that only he had felt.
"Thank you for the empathy, my Lady," Lysander responded equally sarcastic, having no problem devouring the mountain of food he'd piled on his plate.
"Do you ever speak?" Kaelith turned to Nyx, who was still studying her attentively. "Or do you only open your mouth when it's opportune to agravate me?"
Lys, Helion, and Veyra laughed almost in unison.
Nyx inhaled, straightening in his chair. "I have nothing to add to this particular dialogue, my Lady."
"I believe that's beneficial for me," she replied, venomous. "I've come to the conclusion that even the sound of your breathing, yards away, is capable of irritating me."
His body burned again, this time with frustration. "Perhaps, then, the problem isn't me, but your unstable temper," Nyx made a point of looking deep into her eyes. "My Lady."
The air in the Hall crackled like a frozen lake cracking under the weight of a wolf. Except for Kaelith, whose chest heaved, everyone seemed to hold their breath.
"Perhaps my temper wouldn't oscillate so much if I didn't have an Illyrian Colonel following me everywhere like a lost dog."
In the seat across from Nyx, Lysander covered his mouth to contain another laugh.
Nyx's hands trembled on the table. "Perhaps I wouldn't need to follow you if you didn't threaten to leave a trail of corpses in your quest for vengeance."
"Justice." Kaelith corrected through gritted teeth. If she possessed the power to kill with her gaze, he'd already be buried six feet under.
"If it's truly justice you seek, do you intend to bring the matter to the High Lords' League?" Nyx pressed, even knowing he was treading on thin ice. "Why not convene a tribunal for investigation and judgment of the guilty?"
"I have no obligation to discuss internal matters of my Court with you, Prince," she spat. Her body trembled as much as his—fingers closed in fists as if Kaelith was restraining herself from attacking him again. "I'm growing exhausted of telling you to stop sticking your nose into matters that are none of your concern. The only reason I haven't tried to kill you yet is out of respect for Rhysand. But I don't know how much longer my patience will last."
"You haven't tried to kill me?" A scornful laugh escaped Nyx's throat. "At every opportunity you hurl frozen stalactites in my direction. Isn't that attempted homicide?"
Kaelith stood abruptly, the chair scraping behind her. "My aim is excellent, Colonel." She slammed her hands on the table's wood, and ice formed like spider webs, moving toward him. "If I'd wanted you dead, I would have done it the moment you dared pull me from my river."
Helion let out a whistle that Nyx barely registered. All his attention was fixed on Kaelith, his vision red with the growing fury that overwhelmed him.
Nyx rarely lost his temper. He took pride in his own control, in the discipline with which he led his life. He was eternally patient with Drazen and Lysander's teasing. Not even the backward commanders of Illyria, always resistant to the smallest changes he imposed, made Nyx lose his serenity.
But never, in his nearly two centuries of existence, had the Colonel encountered someone so insolent, so infuriating, so stubborn as that High Lady. Someone so... so...
"You should try it now, my Lady." His breath escaped his chest in irregular gasps. "I'll take pleasure in bringing you to a place where your power will be useless. And then we'll be trapped, for all eternity, in a distant reality—because in your carelessness, you won't be able to land a single blow against me."
The two stared at each other for a long time—cutting gazes, erratic chests, teeth bared like two enraged beasts.
"Nyx, my boy," Helion's voice seemed to sound in a dimension so distant the Colonel could barely hear it. "Why don't you go to my office now and prepare the papers for our meeting?"
The High Lord was trying to appease the tension that crackled with dense, deadly energy around them. Nyx was fully aware of this.
It wasn't just Kaelith's Winter encircling in the Great Hall—freezing the furniture, making snow fall from the absolute nothing, stopping time and suspending dust grains in the air. Nyx's wings had appeared on his back without him even noticing. And he didn't need to look behind to know he'd transformed half the room into a hell of darkness.
But he couldn't take his eyes off Kaelith. From the vein bulging at her temple. From her tense shoulders, rising and falling with the frenzied cadence of her chest. From her face, always pale, now overtaken by the flush of rage.
Nyx knew she saw the same in him.
"Nyx." It was Lysander's turn to call him, gentle, despite the apprehension in his tone. "Listen to Helion. Go wait for us in his office."
The Colonel tried... tried so hard to calm himself. Fought against the flame consuming him mercilessly. Against Kaelith's gaze that seemed to pour oil on an ungoverned blaze.
But how could he be collected when Nyx couldn't even breathe?
His brother rested a steadying hand on his shoulder, and the touch startled him. Eyes wide, Nyx turned to Lysander.
Still gentle in tone, though his brow was drawn tight, Lys commanded, “Go. Now.”
Nyx couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking back to Kaelith. Veyra had also laced her fingers around Kaelith’s arm—as though a simple touch might restrain her.
Nyx doubted there was anything in the world capable of restraining the wrath of the High Lady of the Winter Court.
And that was precisely why he had to leave. They were on the brink of destroying one another—and taking half of the Day Court with them.
Suddenly ashamed of how completely he had lost control, Nyx swallowed hard. He gave a silent nod and cast a glance toward Helion, hoping the High Lord would forgive the humiliating manner in which he had conducted himself.
With quick strides, Nyx headed for the exit of the Great Hall—passing dangerously close to where Kaelith sat, her flaming gaze still locked on him.
As he crossed the threshold, he heard her whisper, “I will destroy you, Prince of the Night.”
The Colonel should have risen above it. He should not have been so easily ensnared by the discord she wove.
But if Kaelith’s aim that morning had been to unmoor him beyond reason, she had succeeded.
For Nyx’s response—also a whisper—was simply:
“I look forward to watching you try.”
