#cassian angst

You wait for the kiss, the rumble of his voice and the whisper of his breath as lips form the words I love you.

He never says it.

His back faces yours and never once does he reach for you in his slumber. “Is everything alright?” You muster up the bravery to ask the following morning, sheets gripped near your chest like armor as you watch him strap the holsters for his weapons against his back and thighs.

“Fine.”

Even inch of you wants to believe him but his words are short, clipped; utterly uninterested. “Are you sure?”

His mouth purses, parts, closes again as if he’s got something to say but isn’t sure how to word it. “Everything’s alright—just distracted is all.”

Your head nods robotically, hearing but not believing. “You hungry? I can make you something before you go.”

“No need. I have plans.”

He doesn’t stay to watch the way your face falls. Doesn’t linger for a kiss or to brush pillow-mussed hair out of your face. Cassian’s gone before your lungs can even complete the process of a full breath.

You try to brush it off. To busy yourself with fixing the sheets, fluffing pillows and tidying up the space you share. But, instead of finding peace, your cleaning becomes obsessive; reorganizing the closets, shining shoes and sifting through the clutter in bedside drawers.

You don’t even mean to find it—you have no intention of snooping but the folded piece of parchment finds you anyway, catching on the bracelet dangling from your wrist and slicing at the soft skin beneath it. “Ow,” You hiss, inspecting a cut so shallow blood doesn’t even draw. Not until your focus shifts back to the crumpled paper that was shoved in the shadows.

Any comfort you’d accumulated promptly burns to ashes when you read its contents. The hope you’d latched onto smashes like glass, littering the space around you in glittering shards as you read Cassian’s blocky scrawl. It’s filled with confessions of a love not meant for you. Addressed to a name that’s not your own.

You’re not even sure when the tears start, just distantly aware of trails of wetness dampening the slope of your cheeks, traveling down the curve of your chin and neck.

The love note is damn near memorized by time Cassian finds his way back to the room, hours having passed in the blink of an eye and he stands as still as a board when he finds you in a crumpled heap on the floor, paper pinched between your fingers, eyes studying the words as if it’ll change who they’re meant for. He says your name with such caution, clearly expecting you to greet him with anger and malice but that would take up too much energy—energy that had been leached from your bones, leaving behind nothing but the husk of who you’d once been.

“How long?” You finally croak out, voice void and lifeless.

Cassian is too quiet for too long, clearly searching for the right words until the truth takes the reins and spills itself before you. “A few months.”

“A few months.” The way your shoulders cave in is devastating. You look like the sun with no light. A flower with no stem. A bird with no wings. “Then this isn’t just you being overly flirtatious. This is…there’s feelings involved here.”

“I can explain.”

You can’t help but cut him off before he finds some charming way to explain himself out of your ire. Taking the reins of the conversation is all too easy—the power entirely too addicting. “To explain, not apologize.” The breath you take is heavy, settles in your belly like lead. “You’re here to end this?”

Cassian takes a step closer and instinctively you take a step back, arms crossing over your chest in attempts to hold yourself together. “I have to.” It’s then that you pick up on the scent that sticks to him. One you recognize. One that doesn’t belong to you or the bottles of perfume you keep. “I think she could be my mate.”

You can’t work up the nerve to look him in the eye, fearful that the simple act of eye contact would be enough to have the tears bursting free from the dams working overtime to keep the current at bay. A deep breath fills your lungs, spine lengthening as you force strength into the fibers of your tone. “Okay.”

He reaches for you, fingertips millimeters away from brushing the curve of your cheek but you flinch away—creating space. His spine sags with remorse, shoulders set with shame, hand falling limp at his sides with regret pooling at his fingertips and you’ve had enough when hazel irises fill with pity. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be sorry, Cassian.” Your voice breaks, your smile shakes but it still doesn’t rob you of the kindness that drew him in in the first place. “Just be happy.”

—

The shift that follows is immediate, all of his things boxed up and left in front of the door of his old room. You don’t fuss or fight, you don’t even break anything. You just pack it up and return it to its rightful owner.

You remove yourself from family breakfasts and avoid shared dinners like the plague in fears of seeing Cassian flaunt his love with Nesta without a care in the world.

You ignore your found family’s attempts at comfort, brushing off any and all inquiries on how you’re feeling. Turning down invitations for nights out to try to get your mind off things. Shutting down irate rants from your friends as they ramble about all the ways you didn’t deserve this—how they wanted to make it right for you. “Don’t bother,” The words come out so softly, laced with such defeat its devastating.

“No!” Mor can barely contain her disdain, brows furrowed and lips twisted in a sneer. “This is wrong. What he’s doing—what they’re doing is wrong. You and Cass have loved eachother for decades all for him to throw it away over some cauldron-made floozy? I can’t just sit back and watch that happen.” She’s pacing, heels clacking against the hardwood floors so harshly you’re sure dents begin to mark their way through the shinny finish. “Why are you so damn calm?”

“Because, what’s the point?” You shrug, red wine swirling in your glass. It’s strong, a little bitter but it numbs you so gently, like morphine injected directly into your veins. “How foolish do I already look as the female who feels too much for a male who clearly felt nothing for me. Making a scene about it would just add insult to injury.” Your eyes are distant, fixed on a random spot on the freshly painted walls in the new apartment Rhysand insisted on funding. It’s bare; empty, walls void of character and atmosphere sucked dry of all care. “He thinks she’s his mate Mor. Her. I just don’t understand why he can’t see—“ Your head shakes left to right, chest caving in. Wine quickly fills that chasm, glass refilling every time you reach the bottom.

You don’t even mean to say it really.

Drunk words being sober thoughts and all that.

But, Mor latches onto the unfinished sentence like glue. Eyebrows furrow, pupils expand in confusion before dilating to pinpricks when realization settles in. “Can’t see…that you’re his mate.” Puzzle pieces fuse together, a perfect picture being painted right before her very eyes but the image is distorted; the wrong face on a familiar figure. “There is a bond. You are his mate—he just doesn’t know. You never told him.”

You don’t so much as flinch at her conclusion. Only sigh, prettily painted toes grazing through the fluff of your throw rug. “Doesn’t matter much now.” More wine fills your glass until the decanter runs empty, the corners of your mouth tugging down in a frown. “I don’t think it ever even mattered at all.”

The flowy fabric of Mor’s dress billows as she plops down beside you, weight sinking into the soft cushions of your couch. A fresh bottle appears in her grasp, cork releasing with a pop but this one she doesn’t share, just drinks straight from the source. It’s cradled to her chest, eyes trained on the side of your face, cataloging the lifelessness of your skin, the bags growing under your eyes, the way your cheeks begin to thin out from lack of true sustenance. “Just say something to him.” She urges, her tone pleading; eyes begging. “Say anything. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

“Say what?” Your head falls back in something worse than defeat; something more like acceptance as your neck rests on the lip of the couch. “No bond forces two as one, and he wants her.” Fresh tears gather in your waterline, sliding down your cheeks so silently you barely notice them. “He wants her.”

She says your name, vocalizing the syllables so softly, so full of pity it lurches you from your spot before the sorrow roots you in place.

“You know what, if he’s happy, then I’m ecstatic. I have so much free time now.” Clammy hands wipe against linen sleep shorts as you stand, shifting over to a pile of boxes in the corner. You occupy yourself with unpacking, finding new homes for items collected in another lifetime. “I can pick up a hobby or travel or something—I’ve always loved Summer and I’m sure Rhys could use someone to start mending the rift between the courts. It’ll be like a paid vacation.”

It’s obvious your friend wants to object. Wants to call you out on the avoidance that begins to take place but for some reason she doesn’t bother. Maybe she see’s that you can’t take much more—that the flame of your fight has been snuffed out and you’re barely able to keep the remaining embers alive. Instead, she nods, crossing her legs under her and silently watches the way you convert your emotions into finding the perfect place for pictures and obsessing over which wall best suits a rack full of throw blankets. “How long of a vacation?”

“However long it takes to be able to be in the same room as them without feeling sick to my stomach.”

You say it like a joke but nobody laughs.

—

Turns out, Rhys has a soft spot for broken women. Big brother instincts running on overdrive at the sight of your watery eyes, composure crumpling at a voice that cracks under the weight of the world on your shoulders. One look at your torment and you’ve been granted permission for an all expense paid trip for his favorite —only— emissary. The paperwork is drafted hastily, sent out to neighboring courts before the ink even has the chance to fully dry. A few responses return within the hour, requests granted, a list of stipulations attached and agreed upon before basic necessities are packed away and winnowed off to your first stop before the sun even begins to peak its head above the horizon.

You don’t even linger long enough to say goodbye.

Given the fact that there’s no timeline listed in the fine print of your extended leave, guilt lives in your gut at the abrupt departure but Rhys promises to handle the fallout in your absence and you can’t help but admit the distance is a indescribable relief. Perhaps, it’s the way Summer Court accepts you, although a bit hesitantly at first. Tarquin watches you like a hawk your first few weeks, cataloging your every move until he’s certain you truly are there to rebuild trust instead of being some pretty Night Court spy slinking about in search of their secrets or weaknesses.

Six months pass and instead of hovering out of necessity, he deigns to keep you close by choice; your quarters no more than twenty steps away from his own and filled with radiant opulence. Early mornings are spent with breakfasts shared, treaties discussed, plans made for leisurely strolls through his city until a genuine care is curated for his people and the customs they share. “Do you ever come up for air?” The High Lord muses over his fork, sausage speared through the shiny silver prongs.

Fluffy eggs are piled on jammy toast, crumbs catch on the corner of your mouth but you make sure not a speck stains the packet of papers your free hand holds onto, eyes skimming over trade agreements and a list of needs personally extracted from skilled healers, fresh market mangers and dock workers. Things they require from Night Court that they’ve lived without given the strain. “I can hold my breath for quite some time, you know. Nowhere near the end of my reserves yet.”

It’s a cheeky response. A little dry. Comfort in your environment bleeds through your tone and the High Lord before you grins at your casual banter.

“I can see that,” He shrugs casually, leaning deeper into his chair. Ankles cross under the table, his hair tumbling over the bare chest exposed in his unbuttoned linen top. “I suppose, I’m just worried you’ll burnout if you keep at this pace.”

“The wellbeing of your people is important,” You insist, one hand blindly reaching for a flute of champagne and orange spritz. “They’ve gone without for much too long.”

He hums, nodding softly in agreement. Under the table, his foot nudges your own, forcing your attention to him. “And you? What of your wellbeing?” Your brows furrow in confusion. “You haven’t mentioned a word of your family since the first week you arrived. No letters, no visits—your birthday is tomorrow. Were you planning on going back to celebrate?”

You bristle at the reminder, toast falling back onto to your plate, now forgotten. Champagne is sipped as you struggle to clear the knot beginning to form in your throat, guilt gnawing in your belly, forcing you to acknowledge the radio silence you’ve upheld towards the people you love back home. “How do you know about that?”

“Rhysand sent over a summons for your return for the special occasion.”

You groan, papers abandoned in favor of holding your head in your hands. A tension headache begins to form right between your eyes, vision already going blurry at the irritating thump, thump, thump that takes root beneath the surface.

“Well, some greeting that is.”

You jump at the sound of a familiar voice; it’s melodic, sultry, accompanied by the rhythmic click of high heels against polished floors. Wide eyes catch on the approaching figure clad in red, blonde hair falling down in waves down her shoulders. “Mor? What are you doing here?”

“I’m your summons.” She grins, not-so-subtly taking you in from head to toe. A little pout forms when noticing the weight-loss, the eye bags, the way you’ve let your roots grow out. “Rhys had a feeling you might ignore him if he only sent a letter.” You’re too stunned to stand but it doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest as she continues her appraisal of you, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a hug. One nearly too tight.

Patting the arm around your neck, you shoot daggers at Tarquin but he pointedly ignores it, occupying himself by stuffing his mouth with fresh fruit topped with sweet whipped creams. “How proactive of him.” The words grit out like sand stubbornly stuck inside a shoe. “But, I hadn’t really intended to come back until I finished things here.”

“Boo!” She protests, swiftly snagging the glass of champagne you’d been nursing before her arrival. “If I accepted that answer, you’d never come home!” Mor says it like a joke but you can hear the truth in her words, the concern beginning to bleed into her tone, the desperate way she keeps her hands on your shoulder as if she’s afraid you’re going to disappear without a trace. “Please? It’ll be fun, I promise. I ordered a whole case of that good wine you like and I convinced Az to smuggle an ounce of mirthroot from the dealer he refuses to share with us.” She goes on for a few minutes, words running a mile a minute, more pretty promises spilling free until she see’s your walls begin to crumble.

You hate yourself for it, yet somehow, someway, Mor cons you into returning home for your birthday. The domino effect of your agreement is immediate and overwhelming. You, being dragged away from the table and led to your room so she can riffle through your closet and pick out enough clothes to last you a week. “Mor, I’m only going to be home for the night, two nights max—you’re packing my bag like I’m gearing up for war.”

“Just wanted to make sure you have options.” A white lie that’s easily detected, especially when she spends too much time collecting your usual jewelry from the dish resting on your bedside. “Speaking of options, how often do you and the High Lord of Summer spend breakfasts together?”

Shoulders shrug, your ass plopping onto the generous cushion of your mattress. “Everyday.”

A perfectly plucked brow raises. “Oh, really?” A conspiratorial smirk lives in the glossy corners of her mouth. “And does he always arrive at these breakfasts so….scandalously dressed?”

“This is Summer Court if you hadn’t noticed—can you blame the male for showing off a little chest?”

“A little chest?” Mor scoffs, hair flicking off one shoulder. “There’s nothing little about that male, anyone with eyes could get lost in the abs and a v-line peeking through that sorry excuse of a shirt. Don’t even get me started on his piercing.”

Eyes roll, a hint of a blush growing along the curve of your ears. It’d been so long since you’d had anything remotely close to girl-talk. “It’s perfectly normal here for males and females to have their belly’s pierced.”

Breezy pants, skimpy skirts and barely there shirts are robbed from your dresser, neatly folded and stowed away. Dresses with tummy cut-outs and generous necklines, thin tube tops and shorts so small their only purpose is to conceal the naughty bits are waved in the air with a pleased nod. “You’re going to give the boys back home a heart attack when you come through wearing these.”

“I don’t wear them to catch attention, I wear them to work on my tan.”

“And tan you are, one could mistake you for an Illyrian with that hue—it’s pretty. Makes your eyes pop.”

“You know what’ll really make my eyes pop? Some of that mirthroot. Did you bring it with you or was it just a bribe to get me back?” You’re being a brat, you know that. Mor knows that too. Either way, she supplies your needs, procuring a pretty velvet bag and tossing it your way. The scent smacks you in the face the moment you loosen its ties and a giddy little grin smears itself across your face. “Happy birthday to me—have you any clue how hard it is to find a reputable dealer here? Liqour, powder and mushrooms? Easy peasy. Anything else was next to impossible.”

Content with her pickings of your items, Mor leaves them by the door, following your lead to the balcony attached to your chambers. There’s a comfortable seating arrangement, brightly colored flowers blooming in golden pots that soak up sunlight and reflect its beauty. A spiral copper staircase leads directly to a rooftop pool that overlooks Tarquins personal gardens. Birds chirp, fish swim about in man-made ponds and crickets sing their song in the neatly trimmed bushes below. “Since when do you dabble in powder?”

“Since I found out my mate had been cheating on me with another female.”

It’s said so casually Mor freezes in place. Blue eyes slowly flicking over to you but you’re otherwise occupied, fingers breaking up buds, blunt paper unwrapped and catching the ground up plant. Your motions are fluid, practiced; something you seem to do often enough to have it completely rolled and sealed in under forty seconds.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have a problem or anything. Powder didn’t agree with me much.” One hand reaches over and a box of matches and an ash tray is procured from a little nook in the wall by the balcony doors. “Mushrooms were fun at first, until I started hallucinating images of my ex making out with his newest conquest in vivid detail.” The spark of flame to wood is like breathing for the first time again after swimming underwater for hours. Relieving. A saving grace. A life raft in the middle of a turbulent storm. “Liqour was my safest option but after a few times being caught belligerently drunk around town in the dead of the night, Tarquin started following me everywhere I went like he was afraid I was going to take a tumble off the cliffside.” You finally meet her gaze. “That’s why we have breakfast every morning—why we seem so close? He’s babysitting me so I don’t do something stupid to myself.”

Mor’s mouth opens, closes; tears welling up in her waterline. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Legs cross over the other, frame situating itself in the floating wicker chairs cushioned with pillows the shade of teal. “Wouldn’t be great for Court diplomacy if Night’s emissary died on Summer’s turf.” Your shrug on the topic is annoyingly flippant, worryingly detached, painfully numb. “Anyways, how’s home? Anything new?”

She swallows thickly, searching for composure, pushing blonde hair away from her cheeks as the summer breeze shifts through the fabrics of her dress. “It’s really not the same without you there. Things are quiet—tense even. Like a machine trying to move without a vital piece.” Fingers gently pinch around the passed blunt, smoke flowing past her lips when she keeps speaking, eyes memorizing the lush sight of a trim garden, waterfalls and fountains, walkways encrusted with gems that sparkle where the light touches. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t write. Didn’t visit. I—we miss you, you know?”

Vision blurring, throat working over the emotion beginning to knot in it, you nod. “I miss me too.” You brush the vulnerability off as quickly as it appeared. “It’s nice to see you though, hadn’t realized how much until you got here.”

To keep your hands busy, you already begin rolling another, opting to let Mor keep the first to herself so you don’t have to keep passing back and forth. So you don’t have to explain why you inhale too hard and hold the smoke in your lungs too long. Why your hands shake or explain your dissociating when the thoughts get too loud.

All you wanted was something to numb the ache beginning to return in your chest.

“Do you know how much longer you’re going to be here?”

“I’m less than two weeks away from completing the re-organization of trade routes. Tolls and taxes have been reviewed, negotiated and signed off on. Just need to cross my t’s and dot my I’s before it’s time for me to move onto the next.”

Mor sits up straight, ash pooling into a little mountain in the tray. “To the next? You won’t be coming home right away?”

Utter silence fills the gaps, fingers fidgeting as you pick at your cuticles until they bleed.

“Are you ever going to come back?”

“We’ll be heading over after we finish these, I reckon.”

You know that’s not what she means.

You don’t look to see the way she deflates, attempts to fight the choice before giving up altogether. Frustration settles between her brows, sticks to the scrunch of her nose and smudges the corners of her mouth. Mor’s next pull is vicious, compulsive; smoke huffing out her nostrils like an angered dragon fighting not to breath fire. “Suppose I’ll just have to cherish you while you last then.”

It hurts. Stabs a sensitive piece of you that lacks proper armor but you take the hit. Eat the injury and take it to the chest like you do all the other punches thrown your way. “Guess so.”

—

The high that permeates through your bloodstream satiates your nerves long enough to muster up the strength to winnow back to the Court that raised you.

Too bad it doesn’t last nearly as long as you’d hoped.

Perhaps it’s the familiarity of this house and the people in it because your throat begins to swell shut when you step through the doors and are bombarded by a flurry of familiar faces.

Feyre is first to snatch you up, slender arms wrapping around your neck like a cobra ready to coil its body around you to keep you rooted in place. Tears wet your bare shoulders as muffled words of relief is breathed into your neck. “You actually came! I was so worried you wouldn’t.”

Rhys has to pull her back, intuitive to the way you try and fail to relax into the embrace. His welcome is far more tame, though the true extent of his emotion lives in his eyes—shown mostly in the way they scan you over, his smile there but weak as what he sees worries him to the bone. Your skin glows from all the sun but your soul withers like flowers who’d forgotten how to bloom. “I trust Tarquin’s been taking good care of you?”

“More than good,” You fix a smile on your face to soothe his concern. “He hovers worse than you do.”

Something in his posture implies he knows more about that than he lets on, hands rustling through your hair like a fond older brother. He memorizes the scrunch of your nose and the girlish way you struggle to get your hair back into place.

The sound of heavy steps forces you to turn, a tether pulling you taut until your eyes meet the ones that haunt your every dream. He’s a little smaller than you remember, hair cut a bit shorter than you used to do it. A braid you never taught him how to do is weaved behind his right ear, dangling like a reminder that another woman’s hands touch what used to belong to you. Cassian’s voice is all but a whisper when he finally works the nerve to use it. “You came back.”

“Didn’t have much choice, Mor wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Her arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close like she can tell your knees are going weak at the sight of him. “Damn straight.” She pulls you along before you get the idea to retreat and even though you have to pass Cassian to get to your old room, Mor stands as barrier between you and him.

You can’t help the glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting his once more. All he can do is stare, frozen in place; mouth agape as whatever words he’d intended dies in his throat as he looks at you like it’s the first time but you’re already turning the corner before you dare to figure out why.

“Where’s Az?”

“Finishing up some final touches for tomorrow. You’ll see him later.” Excitement bleeds through her every move, the contents of your bag on the bed like a kid sifting through a candy store. “It’ll be really casual tonight, family only—just to catch up. Hope you’re hungry.”

A glass and a half of wine and a blunt later, you are actually quite hungry. Mor forces you into a change of clothes, a comfy tube top and breezy pants that sit low, showing off the shape of your hips and the cute new dermals pierced into the dimples of your back.

It’s the first thing Feyre brings up when you enter the dining room. “Do they hurt?”

More wine is poured, an abundance of food being portioned off and placed before you. “Couldn’t say, I was a little wasted when we got them.”

“We?”

“The High Lord of Summer is incredibly daring off of faerie wine.”

You feel eyes boring holes into the side of your face, hanging onto every word like a fly caught in a trap. Teeth grind auadibly. Strained smiles are carved in the corner of Cassian’s mouth asa you enthusiastically recount your time alongside Tarquin and his people. Nails bite into the palm of his hands beneath a satin table cloth so dark it resembles an abyss.

Everyone’s celebrating, conversations carrying, voices overlapping, laughs bleeding into one another and yet you cant shake the irritating hyperawareness of Cassian’s eyes on your body. Subtly, you search for Nesta, scanning the room for her steely gaze and perpetually elegant updo’s but her presence never appears. You try not to look too far into it, willing your heart not to care at all but the task is a fools arrand.

No matter how many’s attempts made, your line of sight continues to gravitate his way; admiring the line of his shoulders, the width of his chest, the dimples that appears in his cheeks when he submits to the smiles his family draws from him.

You suppose it’s your fault in the end when Cassian mistakes your stare for invitation, his boisterous voice cutting through the clutter of conversation to insert his own inquiries in the mix. “Are you with him?”

Your jaw clenches, lids narrowing. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I think you and I both know exactly why it is my business.”

Instead of taking the bait and outing the mating bond you keep tucked away, you fixate on the soft plush of the rug beneath your toes. Over-analyze the obsidian rimmed crystalware holding specially procured wines. Inspecting the spices used in the roast and mash that used to be your favorite meal but now every bite disintegrates like ash on your tongue.

Fingers itch for a reprieve. A distraction. Another drink. More mirthroot.

A cross fade would ease the tension that lives in your shoulders, setting root in your spine until you sit like a statue in a place that should feel like freedom.

“I’m going to grab more ice, drinks getting warm.”

No one fights you even if they do follow your figure until it disappears into the kitchen. Grounding breaths are taken, hands braced against the countertops as you force your emotions in check, shoving them in a tiny little box so the ache doesn’t render you useless.

The double doors open behind you, a slightly annoyed sigh escaping you. “Mor I—“ Morrigan isn’t the one standing behind you. Elain is, watching you with a knowing look in her doe eyes. “Elain? I’m sorry —“

“You know,” Her soft tone cuts you off in a way that seems more charming than disrespectful. She takes her sweet time putting on her floral mitts before retrieving a fresh tray of baked goods out of the oven. “I dream about you sometimes.” Your jaw clenches, brows scrunching in slight confusion and yet you say nothing. “Of you and your mate.”

Your blood runs cold, heart all but stopping in your chest. “What did you just say?”

Orphaned, half-starved, and unwanted--like so many others in the camps--they'd fought for food, for warmth, for scraps of attention from the males who treated them like dogs and broke them down worse. But while the other boys laughed at her, told her she didn't belong with a sword in her hand, Cassian had simply handed her a blade and said, "Then make them eat their words."

And so she did.

They trained in secret, often at night, after the others had collapsed from exhaustion. Y/N would wrap her fingers tighter around the hilt and mimic every movement he showed her, again and again, until the blisters burst. She bled, fell, got back up. Cassian never went easy on her. That was the closest thing to respect a female could earn in the mountains.

Years passed like that -- cold mornings, warm fires stolen behind supply tents, bruised knuckles, split lips and laughter that echoed across the frostbitten peaks. When Rhysand arrived, still a kid--half-smirk, half-chubby cheeks, already too pretty to belong in the war camps -- they'd eyed him with suspicion, but Cassian, somehow, had decided to trust him.

And where Cassian went, Y/N followed.

It wasn't long before they became something more than just orphans scraping by. Rhys, Azriel, Cassian, and her. A strange little knot of survival. She wasn't one of the males, not really -- not to the others. But to them? She was part of the spine. The only female Illyrian to keep up, to carve her own place into the mud and stone of the war camps and not be broken by it.

She remembered when Mor came, golden and defiant and bleeding, and Y/N hated how much she wanted to protect her. It was Mor who told her she didn't have to prove anything to anyone. That being strong didn't mean being silent.

So she trained harder. Rose faster.

By the time Rhys became High Lord, Cassian was made Commander of the Night Court's armies. And Y/N? She earned her place among the elite aerial units -- flying over territories that once spat at her for daring to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with males. Now, she led them.

Still, even with a blade on her back and command in her voice, she always flew beside him. Always had.

There was a time -- she couldn't remember exactly when -- when looking at him had started to hurt in a different way. A quieter ache. A secret, steady bloom that rooted in her chest every time he laughed, or grinned at her like they still shared everything.

She never told him.

Not once.

Because how could you tell someone you'd loved them your entire life -- when they still looked at you like you were a part of their past, not their future?

There were memories she never spoke of. Ones she kept tucked away like old medals -- quiet, precious things no one else knew existed.

Like that time they snuck out of the camps, bloodied and aching after a brutal training day, to lie on the snow-packed cliff edge and count the stars. She remembered how Cassian had fallen asleep halfway through her retelling of an old Illyrian myth, his head tipped back, mouth parted, curls tangled by the wind. He looked so peaceful -- so young. She hadn't slept that night, just watched the stars fade into dawn beside him.

Or the way he always noticed when her hands were too scraped from sparring. He'd never say anything outright -- just grumble about her being "reckless as hell" while slipping a salve into her pocket and walking away before she could thank him.

He always called her trouble.

And when he said it, it didn't sound like an insult. It sounded like a secret.

There was the time he'd gotten hurt -- truly hurt, chest torn open after intercepting a blow meant for her -- and she sat beside his cot all night. Not as a soldier. Not even as a friend.

But as someone who hadn't known she was in love until she watched the rise and fall of his breath and realized it could stop.

There was one night she'd never let herself speak of.

Years ago, before Rhys was crowned, before any of them had titles or thrones or scars too deep to name, a storm had grounded them in a half-ruined outpost near the border. Rain lashed the mountain walls. The roof leaked. The fire barely stayed lit. But they were warm -- just the two of them -- wrapped in old cloaks, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped barracks room, waiting out the storm.

Cassian had been quiet that night. Not tired. Just quiet in a way he rarely was. She remembered how he kept rubbing a spot just below his ribs--an injury he hadn’t told anyone about. Typical. Always throwing himself into danger first and thinking later.

So she made him let her look. Bandaged the wound. Muttered something about how even war generals could bleed like the rest of them. He didn’t smile. Not then.

But when she finished, he caught her hand--just held it. Calloused, warm, unmoving.

“If we weren’t always fighting,” he said softly, “do you think we’d know how to live?”

She hadn’t known what to say.

And maybe that’s why she never answered. Maybe that’s why she just held his hand in the dark, listening to the thunder, pretending--for a few heartbeats--that his words meant something more.

He fell asleep like that. Still holding her hand.

She never brought it up again. Neither did he.

But sometimes, in the middle of battle, or during those cold, endless nights in the skies, she’d feel that phantom pressure around her fingers and wonder--just once--if he ever remembered, too.

She remembered the late-night flying sessions they used to do just for the thrill of it. No missions, no reports -- just two fools in the sky, racing the wind and whooping like children. He once grabbed her hand mid-air and swung her into a dive with him, the two of them spiraling through the clouds, breathless with laughter.

"You and me, Y/N" he'd said afterwards, as they lay on their backs in the grass. "We're the best godsdamned pair in these skies."

And she'd believed him.

Still did.

Even when things began to change.

Even when the skies they flew together stopped feeling like freedom, and started feeling like goodbye.

Change didn't come with fire and thunder. It came quietly.

It started with Feyre, first brought into the Court of Dreams like a storm with a broken heart. Y/N liked her well enough. Strong, clever, endlessly curious. A fighter in her own right. Y/N admired that.

And she understood what it meant to carry the weight of trauma in your bones. To still wake up every night ready to fight ghosts no one else could see. So she didn't begrudge the attention Feyre received.

But then Nesta came.

And something in Cassian changed.

Y/N remembered the day Nesta was Made -- turned into High Fae by the Cauldron, wrath and ruin forged into a body that hadn't asked for it. She remembered the moment she saw her for the first time -- standing still, face cold, rage sharp enough to slice the air in half.

Cassian was already staring.

Y/N told herself it was concern. Shock. Empathy, maybe. Cassian had always protected those who couldn't protect themselves.

But day after day, month after month, mission after mission...his attention drifted. And not just his eyes. His words, his silences, his moods -- they all began to orbit Nesta inch by inch.

It wasn't that he stopped caring about Y/N. He still trained with her, still sparred, still flew beside her in perfect formation. He still laughed with her after patrols and still called her trouble.

But he wasn't with her anymore.

Not really.

She never told him.

Never interrupted the way his eyes lingered when Nesta left a room. Never stopped him from glancing over his shoulder when Nesta passed them in the training ring.

She smiled through it all.

Because if she didn't -- if she let it show -- what would be left of her that wasn't just pain?

So she kept fighting.

Kept flying.

Kept waiting for the ache to fade.

And it never did.

It started with little things.

"Do you think she likes strong tea or sweet?" he asked one morning, halfway through tying his hair. Y/N had blinked at him, momentarily forgetting they were prepping for a reconnaissance flight. "Nesta," he added, not noticing the way she stiffened.

"I...don't know," she said after a pause. "Maybe both. Depends on the day."

He grinned, as if that answer was charming, then returned to his blade, humming some tune under his breath.

That was the first time he asked. But not the last.

There were days he sought her out for strategy, only to pivot the conversation into "Nesta didn't eat again today," or "I think she likes books about romance -- should I bring her one?"

Y/N gave him advice. Every time.

What else could she do?

Because if she pulled back, even a little -- if she stopped listening -- she was afraid he'd stop coming to her altogether.

One night, after a particularly grueling training session with new recruits, he sat beside her on the wall overlooking the mountains.

"She's colder than the northern ridge," he muttered, tossing a rock over the ledge. "But she burns under it all, I can feel it."

Y/N didn't speak.

Cassian leaned his head back. "You'd like her more if you talked to her. She's not as awful as she seems."

"I never said she was awful."

"No, but..." He turned toward her with that boyish, lopsided grin that used to be only hers. "You don't really give her much of a chance. Why?"

Y/N exhaled through her nose and said nothing.

Cassian leaned forward again, elbows on knees. "I just want to get through to her. Make her see she's not alone in this court."

Y/N's throat tightened. She almost laughed. Almost said, I've been here beside you longer than she's even known your name.

But she didn't.

Instead, she placed her hand on his shoulder and murmured, "You'll find a way. You always do."

Then came the first time she saw them together.

She hadn't meant to stumble upon them -- just returning from dinner and a flight, windburned and half-drenched from a sudden storm, walking through the garden to dry her wings before heading in.

And there they were.

Cassian and Nesta under one of the arches, their faces close, the moonlight casting silver over his siphons and her hair. He said something -- something that made Nesta snort softly and shake her head -- and then he smiled.

Not the loud, showy one he gave to the world.

The soft one.

The rare one.

The one he used to give to her.

Y/N backed away before they saw her. She told herself she didn't care. That she was only tired.

But that night, she flew above the cliffs until her wings ached, just to make sure the wind drowned out the sound of her heart breaking.

She didn't plan on going to Rhysand that day.

But something in her had cracked. Maybe it was watching Cassian walk Nesta back from training as they laughed at something she didn't hear. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, that distant softness he only seemed to carry now when Nesta was around. Or maybe it was just the silence -- how she could be beside him and still feel a thousand miles away.

So she went.

Stormed into the Townhouse, boots echoing down the hall as she made her way to Rhysand's study.

He looked up the moment she entered, unsurprised by her presence but visibly taken aback by the sharpness in her eyes.

"Y/N," he greeted. Calm, careful. "Is something wrong?"

"I want a mission," she said. Flatly. No preamble.

Rhys raised a brow. "A mission?"

"You send everyone else. Spies, scouts, diplomats, Azriel, Mor. I'm not asking for a vacation, Rhys. I need to do something." Her hands were clenched at her sides. She hated how desperate she sounded.

He studied her for a long moment. "No."

She blinked. "What?"

"I said no," he repeated, voice still gentle.

Her jaw tightened. "Why? I've led aerial units. I've fought in more skirmishes than half your court. Don't give me that protective bullshit, Rhys. If this is about Cassian- "

"It's not," he said, standing slowly. "It's not about your skill or record. It's not about Cassian or anyone else."

"Then what is it?" she demanded, the frustration curling in her chest like flame. Rhys's expression shifted then--softer, but heavier. Like a burden he didn't want to speak aloud.

"Because war is coming," he said quietly. "Hybern's army is preparing to move. We received confirmation yesterday."

Y/N went still.

"I'm not sending anyone on a mission anymore," Rhys continued. "Not unless they're tied directly to the front lines and critical strategy. I can't afford to scatter my forces now. We're weeks -- maybe days -- away from open conflict."

She felt like the floor dropped from beneath her.

War.

She hadn't realized it was that close.

Her throat bobbed. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I was going to," Rhys said. "Soon. Cassian and Azriel are already working through the first phase of deployment. You would've been briefed tomorrow."

Y/N stared at him. Her mind spun, trying to process it all -- the sudden shift from emotional wreckage to impending destruction.

Rhys stepped closer, voice lower now. "I know you've been feeling...out of place. But don't take yourself out of the fight just because you're hurting."

Her mouth parted. He knew.

Of course he did.

Rhysand saw everything.

She turned to go, forcing herself to keep her spine straight. To ignore the pounding in her chest.

"Y/N," he said, as she reached the door.

She paused.

"You're not invisible," he said gently. "Not to all of us."

She didn't look back.

She didn't trust herself to.

If only she knew that this was the beginning of her end.

The war room was colder than usual.

Maps sprawled across the obsidian table, dotted with tokens, notes, and tiny carved markers of armies not yet moved. Rhysand stood at the head of the room beside Feyre, both of them grave and steady, their bond humming like quiet lightning between them. Azriel lingered in the shadows. Mor and Amren leaned over the map with creases between their brows.

And Cassian -- he stood near Nesta.

Close.

Too close.

Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the layout of Hybern’s front lines, her hands clasped behind her back to keep them from shaking. She listened to the breakdown of units, flight formations, ground forces. She took note of her assignment. She would lead the flank--high altitude, fast and quiet--sweeping in with her unit from the eastern pass at Rhys’s signal.

No one questioned her role. No one doubted her capability.

And still, when Cassian spoke, when he gave orders or reassurances to the other commanders, he never once looked at her.

Not once.

Near the end of the meeting, Feyre mentioned the civilians being evacuated from a nearby village -- how their movement might delay her forces by half a day. Nesta murmured something about keeping an eye on the terrain, something sharp and practical.

Cassian chuckled softly.

“That’s my girl,” he said.

And that was it.

Y/N didn’t remember the rest of the meeting. Only the roaring in her ears.

"I need to speak with you," Y/N snapped, grabbing Cassian's arm as he exited the chamber.

He gave her a look -- flat, unreadable. But he followed.

The room she chose was small and unused, tucked off a quiet hallway of the House of Wind. As soon as the door shut, the silence snapped between them.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

Cassian blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she hissed. "You've barely looked at me for days. You act like I'm a stranger -- like I don't exist. But the second she speaks- "

He cut her off. "Don't do this, Y/N."

"No, you don't get to do this," she said, voice cracking. "I have stood by your side through every godsdamned war, every loss, every scar. And now- now I'm just what? A name on your flight charts?"

He shook his head. "This isn't the time."

"Then when is it?" she snapped. "After one of us dies tomorrow? After you tell her 'that's my girl' again in front of everyone like the rest of us don't matter?"

Cassian's jaw clenched. "She is my girl."

The silence that followed nearly dropped her to her knees. "I know," she whispered. "Believe me--I know."

But he wasn't done.

"You act like I've betrayed you. I didn't make you stay beside me all these years. I didn't ask you to be anything more than a soldier. If you wanted more, Y/N...you should've said something about your position a long time ago. Don't take it out in jealousy now."

Her breath caught. Like a punch to the gut.

A soldier.

That's all she was to him. All this time, that's all he saw her as.

He thought she was complaining about her title, about her position in the court. About Nesta 'outshining' her.

Gods, how stupid is he. How....how little has she truly known of him.

"Would it have mattered?" she asked quietly. "If...if I had done something?"

One question. Two different meanings.

Y/N knew he didn't get the meaning she wanted him to get.

But she asked him anyway.

Cassian hesitated.

And that was her answer.

He turned to leave, hand on the doorknob.

"I'm sorry," he said over his shoulder. "But don't bring this into battle. We all have our roles. Focus on yours."

The door shut behind him before she could speak.

The air was cold behind the tents.

Y/N had gone out to clear her head before the final camp briefing. Before dawn. Before it all began.

She'd only wanted a moment. But instead, she saw them.

Cassian leaning in, murmuring something to Nesta. Her hand curled in his. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then drew her close, his brow resting lightly against hers.

Y/N looked away.

The next morning, Rhys gave his speech--strong, steady, a High Lord ready to lead his court into fire.

They all embraced one another. Azriel clasped her shoulder. Mor hugged her tight. Feyre gave her a quiet, grateful smile.

Cassian didn't speak to her. She didn't look at him. No goodbyes. No glances.

Not even when they split off in separate directions, wings unfurling into a sky that might not welcome them back.

The battlefield was a storm.

Wings filled the sky, blotting out the sun. Screams tore through the clouds--Illyrian war cries, magic surging through the air like lightning. The earth shook beneath their boots. Blades clashed, smoke rose, and still, the tide of Hybern forces surged forward.

Y/N’s hands were soaked in blood--hers, others, she didn’t know anymore. Her wings burned with exhaustion, her chest heaved. But she didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

She spotted Cassian midair, diving through a wave of soldiers.

Alive. He was alive.

She'd done her part. Led the eastern flank. Cleared the path. Reinforced Azriel's squad. She was ready to die for it. But not like this.

Not like this.

And then-- A pulse. Magic.

Wrong magic.

It throbbed through the air like a heartbeat from something long dead and newly reawakened. She felt it in her bones, in the marrow of her wings. Not just power--unmaking. A rift tearing open the weave of the world itself.

Her head snapped toward the Cauldron, still half-shrouded in smoke and blood and broken stone. It was pulsing--no, breathing. Swollen with ancient energy, black and slick and endless. She saw the last of the Hybern priests retreating, their mouths twisted in triumph, even as they fled.

The wards around the Cauldron had fallen. No one had noticed. Until now.

And the spell--gods, that spell. She could see it. Magic coiling around it, forming jagged patterns in the sky, drawn in impossible runes of blood and bone and sacrifice. It wasn’t just a weapon.

It was a curse.

A final death sentence. A wave of devastation meant to devour the battlefield in one last scream of ruin. No one would survive it—not Rhys, not Feyre, not Azriel or Mor, not Cassian or Nesta.

Not even the Cauldron itself.

One final blow to level the world before falling into silence.

She didn’t wait. Didn’t think. Didn’t call for help or backup or approval. There wasn’t time.

So she moved.

Her blade was slick in her grip as she surged forward, slashing through the two Hybern soldiers guarding the outer ring of magic. They fell without sound. Her wings snapped wide, catching what lift the broken air could still give her, and she launched.

The Cauldron loomed before her now--closer than it had ever been. It wasn’t just an object. It was a force, ancient and alive, and it saw her coming. The runes flared, the spell reacted, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

Because something inside her--deep and quiet and final--had already decided.

It was always going to end this way.

She let her power rise, the last of it. Poured it into her limbs, her wings, her lungs. Not to fight—no, she wasn’t strong enough to undo the curse. But she could interrupt it. She could anchor it. Draw it into herself.

And by doing so, burn with it. It would hurt. She knew that. It would be agony. But pain wasn’t new. Dying wasn’t what she feared.

Being forgotten--that was what had always terrified her.

But now?

Now, there was no one left to remember her the way she wanted.

So she embraced the storm.

He felt it before he saw her.

A sharp shift in the wind. A scream in his chest he hadn’t yet released. And then--

Y/N.

Running. Flying. Toward the Cauldron.

“No,” he breathed. “No -- NO!”

He dove. Wings burning from overuse, pushing harder, faster. Screaming her name.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But right before she reached the Cauldron’s circle--where the magic cracked the earth, splitting stone and sky--she turned.

Just once. Her eyes met his.

And she smiled.

Not bitter. Not sad. Just… soft. Steady. Peaceful.

A thousand memories flooded her mind in that final second.

Cassian holding her hand in the barracks. Cassian teaching her to fly. Cassian laughing, bloodied and breathless, after a spar. Cassian saying, "You and me, Y/N--we’re the best godsdamned pair in these skies."

And then--

She threw herself into the light.

“Y/N!” he roared, his wings tearing at the air, throwing himself toward her like he could still reach her in time, still pull her back, still undo what had already been set in motion.

Nesta called after him, grabbed for his arm, but he wrenched away.

Too late.

A flash of light erupted--searing white, violent silver, threads of raw blue magic exploding outward in a perfect ring.

The sound tore across the battlefield like thunder cracking the world open.

Cassian hit the ground--hard. His knees buckled beneath him. His wings collapsed. He screamed her name again, but it was lost in the storm.

The Cauldron imploded.

Folded in on itself in a pulse of ancient power, taking everything with it. The runes dissolved. The curse shattered.

And when the light cleared--

There was nothing.

No body. No wings. No sound.

Only the faint shimmer of magic still curling in the breeze--burning out, like embers trying to hold onto their last breath.

Cassian stared, chest heaving. Blood on his hands. Dirt in his mouth. The place where she’d stood moments ago was empty.

The world went silent. And he knew--without needing to be told.

She was gone.

The war was won. The Cauldron lay in ruins--shattered, unmade, its dark power turned to dust beneath the morning sun.

But Cassian didn’t move. Didn’t celebrate. Didn’t speak.

He stood where she had fallen, on blackened earth that still hissed with dying magic. Smoke curled in the wind. Bodies lay silent. Somewhere behind him, Rhys was giving orders. Feyre was healing soldiers. Nesta… Nesta was calling his name.

But he didn’t turn.

His hands were filthy. Shaking. Bloodied from clawing at rubble, from searching--gods, from hoping.

And then--buried beneath a patch of scorched soil and ash--he found it.

A small, warped flight pendant. The one he’d given her years ago. A joke, at the time. “You’ll be the death of me,” he’d said when she outpaced him mid-air. “But you’ll look good doing it.”

Now it was half-melted, the chain snapped. The ribbon she’d tied it with--red, like the ribbon she once wore in her hair--burned to nearly nothing.

Cassian fell to his knees.

His fingers trembled as he turned the pendant over.

There--etched faintly into the back, almost missed beneath the grime--was a message.

“If I die, let him know I did it with love.”

His breath broke. Not a gasp. Not a sob.

It was silence cracking.

Because she had never told him. Never once said the words. And now they were carved into metal--buried, hidden, meant to be found only after it was too late.

Cassian bowed his head, pressing the pendant to his forehead as the wind howled around him. His voice was hoarse, empty, barely audible when he whispered,

“You were never supposed to go without knowing. Gods, you were never supposed to go.”

The battlefield blurred.

“You flew beside me in every war. And I never saw you falling.”

And in the Wind…

A breeze swept through the field, warm despite the ash.

And if Cassian had looked up just then, he might’ve seen a glimmer in the sky--something like a wingbeat. Something like a goodbye.

I already felt a headache forming as I watched eleven children scream and run in every possible direction like tiny feral creatures.

I let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of my nose.

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

I straightened, forcing a warm, welcoming smile onto my face as I turned toward the entrance.

The High Lord and Lady of the Night Court stood there, looking far too put together and cheerful for this early in the morning.

I waved them inside and walked over.

“Good morning, Nyx,” I said, bending down to his height. His eyes sparkled like starlight, full of excitement. “Go put your things away, sweetheart. We’ve got some exciting things planned today.”

He smiled up at me before quickly joining the group of kids gathered around the bookshelf. As soon as he joined them, the noise increased: laughter, squeals, and tiny feet running across the floor.

Rhys chuckled under his breath.

“Has it been a long morning already?” he asked, his hand resting gently on Feyre’s back.

I nodded and glanced back at the children.

“On days like this, I have to remind myself that I do, in fact, love my job,” I whispered, earning two sympathetic looks.

“Nyx talks about you nonstop,” Feyre said, her expression soft as she watched her son. “You’re the only teacher he actually likes.”

I smiled at them, and pride swelled in my chest. “Nyx is amazing. I’m thankful to be part of his life.”

Rhys smiled and said, “We wanted to inform you that we will be away for a few weeks. Nyx’s uncle will come to pick him up.”

Rhys glanced at Feyre, who rolled her eyes with a soft laugh.

“Cassian. He’s about seven feet tall, and when he speaks…” Feyre sighed, leaning into Rhys. “You’ll see what I mean.”

I let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Rhys suddenly glanced over my shoulder, eyes widening. “Um…”

I turned and found three children happily emptying the entire bookshelf onto the floor.

I gave Rhys and Feyre a tired smile and a wave. “I’ll see you both when you get back.”

I clapped my hands twice, loud and sharp. The kids instantly clapped back, wide-eyed and waiting for whatever I was about to say next.

By the afternoon, I was exhausted. A whole day of screaming, crying, and keeping small children alive. 

On top of that, Nyx’s uncle was late. 

Nyx, bless him, spent the last hour helping me clean the classroom and set up tomorrow’s activities, humming happily as if this were the world’s best after-school club.

I opened my mouth to ask him to put the papers on my desk when the door opened, and a man walked in.

His shoulders almost touched the doorframe, with his wings tucked tightly behind him.

Cassian.

It had to be.

God, Feyre really hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of him.

Our eyes met. His lips parted slightly, his eyes went wide, and his hand shot out to the doorframe, as if to brace himself.

Nyx screamed, “Uncle Cass!”

He dropped his stack of papers and launched himself across the room. Cassian caught him with one arm, his eyes still locked on mine.

“You’re late,” I said, crouching to gather the papers scattered across the floor.

“Let me help,” Cassian said immediately, bending down, still holding Nyx in his arms.

“I’ve got it,” I snapped, snatching the papers out of his hands. 

Cassian gathered the last few sheets, holding them out to me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes flicking over my face. “Training ran long—”

“I expect parents and caretakers to be punctual,” I cut in, holding the papers against my chest. “Since this is your first time picking him up, I’ll let it slide this time. But, if it happens again, I will have to charge a late pickup fee to Rhys and Feyre’s account.”

Cassian let out a rough laugh that sent tingles down my spine. “You can’t be serious; I was only a few minutes late!”

I turned, narrowing my eyes and crossing my arms over my chest.

“You were more than an hour late, Cassian. Do you think I don’t have a life outside of this classroom?”

The humour in his eyes had disappeared. He shook his head. “No, your time is important. I didn’t mean—”

“We’re done here,” I said, cutting him off. “Drop off and pickup need to be on time. If that’s too much, there are other relatives listed on Nyx’s file. Maybe they can manage to get here on time.”

He shook his head again. “I’ll be on time.”

I ignored him and smiled down at Nyx instead.

“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart,” I said.

Nyx looked between us with wide, confused eyes, then smiled and nodded.

“Bye, Miss.”

Cassian turned to leave. At the door, he glanced back, our eyes met for a moment, unreadable and tense, before he stepped out into the hallway.

I spent another few hours organising and finishing my work before starting the journey home. 

My apartment was on the river and wasn’t far from the school, but far enough to give me the separation I desperately needed.

I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders as I stepped into the streets. A shiver ran down my spine as the breeze came off the Sidra. 

As I walked past the restaurants that lined the streets, my stomach growled at the scent of warm spices drifting through the air.

It had been a long day, too long, my mind tangled with work and thoughts of my family back home.

Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe everything I left behind.

I had been a scholar, an academic at the top of my field, and now I was teaching high-ranking Night Court children.

It felt bittersweet.

I truly loved my job; the kids were far more entertaining than the fae I used to debate endlessly back home. I was an advisor to a high lord who pretended to listen but never actually did.

My thoughts were interrupted by laughter echoing across the street.

I scanned the crowd, and of course, there he was.

Cassian.

His massive form was impossible to miss. He sat with a group of fae, a glass of whiskey in hand, and his wings were tucked neatly behind him. Nyx sat on the knee of the blonde next to him.

Nyx’s voice echoed through the air.

“Miss is teaching us about Starfall!”

“Is she? Are you having fun?” the blonde asked, smiling down at him.

“She’s the best!” Nyx said, bouncing on her knee.

My heart twisted, warm and aching at the same time.

I looked back at Cassian. His eyes were already on me, his glass paused midway to his lips, his body completely still. He looked like he was about to speak, maybe even call me over.

I lifted the hood of my cloak and turned away, continuing down the street before he could say a word.

By the time I reached my apartment, my head hurt, and my feet ached. 

I pushed open the door and stepped into my tiny space, filled with more books and scrolls than actual furniture. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch. The fire crackled to life, and I lay there thinking about my day.

The chaos the kids always brought, especially sweet Nyx with his endless energy, and his painfully irritating uncle.

Cassian. 

The handsome man who somehow managed to get under my skin faster than anyone I had ever met. 

I groaned and buried my face in a pillow, questioning what I was doing with my life.

By morning, after a long and overflowing bubble bath with the expensive bath salts my new coworker had gifted me, I found myself running late.

I shoved my feet into my boots, grabbed my satchel, and slammed the door behind me. 

The weather had turned; the sky was a dull grey, and the wind bit. It was going to rain, of course, but I had forgotten everything.

No umbrella. 

No coat. 

My skirt got tangled around my legs as I hurried down the cobblestone street.

By the time I arrived at the school, I was out of breath, clutching my skirt in one hand while trying to push my wind-tossed hair from my face with the other.

I had just placed my bag down when there was a knock at the door.

My head snapped up.

Cassian stood silently. Nyx held his hand while he carried a paper bag in his other hand.

“Good morning,” Cassian said.

Nyx bounced into the classroom, waved at me, put away his things and immediately sat at the art table.

“Running late?” Cassian asked, stepping further into the room, a smirk forming on his lips.

“It was only a few minutes, and you’re the first one here,” I said defensively, leaning against my desk as I tried to tame my hair with my fingers.

“Oh?” he hummed. “So does that mean I get to charge you a late fee?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “That’s funny.”

His smirk widened as he stepped closer, close enough for me to smell pine and a hint of cinnamon.

He set the paper bag down on my desk.

“Here’s an apology,” Cassian said, gesturing toward it. “I’m sorry for being late yesterday.”

I looked down, crossing my arms as a breeze seeped in from the hallway.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, glancing back at him.

God, he was handsome. His hazel eyes softened as they met mine.

“Nyx told us staying after school yesterday was the best part of his day,” he said, a slow smile forming.

I hummed in response. “I’m glad he had a good day.”

I glanced over his shoulder at the clock by the door.

“Thank you once again for the treats,” I said. “The other parents will arrive soon.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window, wind-tangled hair, goosebumps along my arms. 

I looked like a disaster.

“Well, I’ll see you this afternoon,” Cassian said as he stepped back.

His eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer before he turned and called to Nyx.

Nyx waved at him with a wide grin.

The door closed behind them, and I exhaled, bracing myself against my desk.

“Uncle Cassian asked about you last night,” Nyx said suddenly.

My spine straightened as I looked at him, but before I could say a word, another pair of parents knocked on the door.

I smiled, greeting them warmly. Despite my thoughts, however, they were absolutely not where they should’ve been.

Cassian.

The paper bag of treats still sitting on my desk.

That look in his eyes.

By the time the day ended, my mind felt like it had been twisted into knots.

“Please place your artwork on my desk before you leave,” I instructed the class. “I’ll hang them up tonight. Tomorrow, we will learn about constellations.”

The children packed their things while their parents waited at the door. All I could think about was Cassian and that stupid face of his.

My back was turned to the door as one by one the children and parents left.

“How was your day?” a voice asked behind me.

I jumped, clutching my chest as I spun around. Without thinking, I shoved at the person, or at least I tried to. My hands met a solid, unyielding chest.

Cassian.

“God, you scared me.” My heart was pounding as I looked up at him, his eyes far too amused.

I narrowed my gaze, glaring as his eyes flicked from mine to my lips, then down to where my hands were still pressed against him.

“My apologies,” he said, a smirk growing on his face. “I thought you heard me come in.”

I immediately stepped back, turning away and pretending to organise the stack of papers on my desk.

“Nyx,” I called, my voice tight, “get your things, please.”

“You don’t like cinnamon?” Cassian asked.

I glanced over my shoulder. He was still behind me, his eyes focused on the paper bag I had left untouched.

“No, I do,” I said quickly. “I just haven’t had time to sit.”

“I heard you say that you still needed to hang the solstice drawings,” he said. “I can drop Nyx off with his aunties and come back to help.”

I shook my head and said, “It’s fine.”

He said nothing. Nyx was already by his side, waiting.

“I’ll see you soon,” Cassian said as he tossed Nyx over his shoulder.

The boy shrieked with laughter as Cassian strode out.

“No, Cassian, please don’t—”

The door shut with a loud bang.

I groaned at the chaos of the room, the dozens of drawings still needing to be hung, and the stupid paper bag waiting on my desk.

As I sank into my chair, I reached for it. 

I hadn’t even looked inside.

I slid the bag open.

A cinnamon scroll.

Perfectly glazed.

Exactly the kind I loved.

My mouth watered.

God, I hated him.

I hated that I warmed the pastry with my magic.

I hated that when I took a bite, it was sweet, soft, melt-on-the-tongue perfect.

I hated that I groaned, slumping in my chair.

I hated that I was excited about him coming back.

I brushed crumbs off my dress as the door slowly opened, and a voice called out.

Mira was leaning against the doorframe, holding an armful of papers.

“How’s the larger class going?”

“It’s… fine,” I said, straightening in my seat.

“I keep telling the director that just because families request you doesn’t mean you can take them all,” she sighed.

“I’m honoured they like me so much, but… It’s a lot. Managing the kids and the parents.”

That wasn’t a lie: the kids were lovely. The parents, who had more money than I could ever dream of, were the ones who were exhausting.

“We really need to get drinks sometime,” she said with a smile. “You need a life outside of work.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine, really—”

“You stay late every day, come in early most mornings, work through weekends, or spend your time advising some diplomat. Come on! Join me for a night out. I even have a friend you’d like.” Mira said, rolling her eyes.

I groaned. “I’m not looking to date. I’ve had enough bad relationships to last a lifetime.”

“Come on,” Mira whined. “He’s great. Smart, just like you.”

My lips parted to argue, but then Cassian’s broad frame appeared behind her.

My mouth snapped shut.

Mira turned, following my gaze, just in time to see him smile.

He murmured a polite “excuse me” and stepped around her, placing a coat on my desk, as he belonged here.

Her eyes widened as Cassian looked between us.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” she whispered.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I growled, glaring at Cassian, whose smile only widened as he winked at me.

He didn’t say a word, just settled on the edge of my desk, crossing his arms as a smug, infuriating smirk tugged at his lips.

My face turned red, and Mira’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’ll leave you and not-your-boyfriend alone.”

She pointed directly at Cassian, smiling widely and mouthing, He’s hot, before slipping out the door.

“Did she just call me hot?” Cassian said, glancing at the door before looking back at me.

“She’s single and definitely your type,” I snapped, jealousy flaring deep within me.

I grabbed the stack of drawings from my desk and walked toward the empty wall.

“And what is my type?” Cassian asked, his voice low as he followed.

“I’m going to guess a petite, skinny High Fae,” I said sharply, not looking at him. “Like the blonde you were with last night or one of the golden-haired girls who had to be Feyre’s sisters.”

My hands trembled as I picked up the next artwork, fury burning under my skin.

I rose onto my toes, struggling to reach the top of the wall.

“Mira is incredible,” I continued, my voice strained. “She’s funny, loud, and bright.”

“You sound jealous,” Cassian said calmly.

His warmth pressed against my back as he reached over me, taking the paper from my hand. Pinning it easily to the highest spot.

“I am not jealous,” I snapped, spinning to face him, only to be pressed against the wall as Cassian caged me in.

“No?” he murmured, bracing his hands on either side of my head, leaning down until he filled every inch of my vision. “Then why do you sound jealous?”

“Because you’re a self-obsessed bat, that’s why.”

I glared up at him.

He stepped back just enough to grab another drawing.

“Keep talking, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping. “You look good when you’re jealous.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“You’re such an ass,” I hissed, planting my hands on his chest to push him, but he didn’t budge. 

He just chuckled, reaching easily above me to hang the next drawing.

“What else am I?” Cassian teased, glancing down at me with that stupid grin of his.

“Infuriating,” I muttered.

“Mhm.” His eyes dropped to my mouth again. “What else?”

“Overconfident.”

He took a half-step closer. 

I let out a sharp exhale and turned away to grab the next drawing, but Cassian reached for it first. His fingers brushed against mine as he took the paper, and sparks shot up my arm when I pulled away, as if he had burned me.

“You know,” he said, pinning another drawing onto the wall. “For someone who insists she doesn’t care, you have a lot of opinions about who I’m with.”

“I don’t care,” I said flatly.

He made a low sound in his throat, disbelief, amusement, something warm.

“Sure you don’t.”

I glared at him. “I don’t.”

“Then look me in the eye and say it.”

I opened my mouth and froze because he wasn’t smirking anymore.

He was just looking at me, hazel eyes softened in a way that made my chest ache.

The air shifted between us, thickening, pulling tight.

I forced my gaze away, heat crawling up my neck.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

“I’m not jealous. I just know your type.”

Cassian let out a warm, deep chuckle.

“My type,” he said, his wings rustling as he stepped even closer, my back pressed against the wall, “is not some tiny, little High Fae.”

He kept going, voice dropping.

“And it’s definitely not someone who giggles and bats her eyelashes because she thinks it looks cute.”

He was so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“My type,” he said softly, “is you.”

My breath caught.

“A woman,” he went on, his gaze sweeping down my body slowly, deliberately. “With curves. Soft skin. Hips made to grab and hold.”

My face burned.

“And a mouth,” he added, eyes flicking to mine, “as sharp as her mind.”

My heart pounded so hard my body began to tremble.

“A smartass,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t melt when I walk into a room. Someone who’ll argue with me, push me, challenge me…”

He leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek.

“…someone who isn’t afraid to put me in my place.”

My stomach twisted. 

Hard.

“And you,” he murmured, “are exactly my type.”

I opened my lips, but nothing came out.

He smiled, slow and triumphant. 

“That’s the first time all day you haven’t had something snarky to say.”

“Shut up,” I managed, shoving at his chest.

He stumbled back, only because he let me.

His grin widened, bright and devastating.

“See? Sharp tongue.”

I turned towards the wall, my back to him, but Cassian’s voice dropped to a purr behind me.

“Want me to tell you what else I like?” 

“No.”

He chuckled. “You’re cute when you lie.”

“I’m going to drown you in the Sidra,” I muttered.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

He leaned in, his mouth warm against my ear, and my pulse stuttered.

“And sweetheart?” he whispered. “You’ve been staring at my mouth for the last two minutes.”

A soft huff escaped me, my skin prickling. His coat brushed against my back as I drew a sharp breath.

My eyes fluttered shut as I felt his hand slide toward my waist. Just as his fingers brushed the fabric of my dress, I slipped out from beneath his arms.

I moved to my desk, grabbed my satchel, left the coat he had brought, which was clearly meant for me, and walked out.

“Wait,” I heard him call as I pushed open the doors.

I didn’t.

I moved fast, his voice echoing after me, but the moment my feet hit the street, I disappeared into the afternoon light.

Leaving him alone.

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 2

General Taglist:

You were always the more laid off, the reserved, the less talkative of the Inner Circle. Almost like Azriel, you thrived in silence, yet your observation was never overlooked.

You noticed things that others easily overlooked. Noticed things which at first seemed to be nothing, but later it’d turn out it was significant information.

Now, the thing is, you did talk. You tuned in with sarcasm, thoughtful responses, but unnecessary conversations often made you uncomfortable and icky.

Filling out the silence with useless words? You found silence comforting. It was enough for you.

However, Cassian often forgets that you are your own person. Even if he does it out of respect, answering questions that were meant solely for you, nowadays became unbearable.

You can’t remember when he picked up this habit. You never asked, and he never said so. For a while, you were relieved that Cassian knew you inside and out to come up with reliable answers for you, and answer them, for you. But he never asked if you were okay with it.

For a while now, you felt a shell of yourself. After all this time, you were convinced you were no one else, but Cassian’s opinion. Cassian now lived for two people, you lost yourself in the process.

Is it really me, or is it just Cassian’s opinion? You often found asking this yourself, but never seem to grasp an honest answer.

You knew you should stand up for yourself and confront him, but oh how much you hated it. You went so long without telling him to stop, so why now?

That was your mantra all dinner at the Townhouse.

You were seated between Azriel and Mor, while Cassian, Rhys and Feyre sat on the opposite side of the dinner table. Cutlery clinking and wine sipping, conversations and laughter flew shamelessly.

It was okay. Everything was okay.

Until Mor turned to you.

“How’s house hunting?” She asks, big brown eyes twinkling in the fae lights. Your old landlord terminated the lease agreement, and now you had the pleasure of going all over Velaris to find a new place for yourself.

Rhysand not once offered you a permanent room not only here, at the Townhouse, but at the House of Wind, but you kindly declined the offer.

You liked your peace, and neither place seemed… not quiet.

And the ten thousand steps up to the House of Wind was intimidating.

You cleared your throat, ready to answer, when Cassian beat you to it.

“She didn’t find anything yet.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by the way he was so fast to cut in. You shouldn’t be mad that he was so casual with it.

But something inside you snapped.

Your fork clinked loudly against the porcelain and the floor creaked as you pushed the chair from under you with a sharp movement. Azriel’s shadows swirled around your ankles like they also didn’t expect you to react like this, his neck snapped your direction, Mor and Rhysand looked bewildered, Feyre freezing in her place, while Cassian furrowed his eyebrows the slightest.

“Can you just let me answer a fucking question meant for me?” Your shaking voice echoed off of the walls, as stunned silence grew heavier with each shallow breath.

You never raised your voice. You never threw a tantrum. You suppressed your anger deep and well, locking it away in a tiny box deep within your mind, but it seems the key wasn't thrown away.

Cassian’s complexion paled a little, his usually warm brown eyes growing wary. Your heart was pounding against your chest, like the whole organ was ready to jump out and walk away.

“I know I don’t talk a lot,” you sighed, your voice now coming off broken. “I know it’s easy to push me sideways, because I was never meant to stand out. But please, let me just answer a question for myself.”

Not long after that, you stormed off. You felt bad for the unwanted attention you created, but it was a long time coming.

Because someone as quiet as you, can also lose temper.

—-

Cassian never meant harm.

He knew how little she likes to speak, and every time he said something instead of her, it was purely for the reason she loathes small talk.

He never meant for her to feel uncomfortable, unappreciated.

He liked when she relied on her, and liked the way she felt she could trust him. Guess he took it on a personal level, and now, he might lose that trust they built over the years.

Or maybe, was it just him building that trust? Was it just him seeing that trust?

Cassian stayed rooted in his chair, eyes remaining in her cold seat between Mor and Azriel. He thought she accidentally dropped her cutlery, but when he saw her towering over him with a dangerous glint in her eyes, his pulse dropped.

He never saw her mad.

He never meant to make her mad.

And now his dreams will be haunted by her glare, by her surfaced insecurity of not feeling enough.

Ever.

—-

Being a quiet person doesn’t always make sense to other people. They often think you’re so mean, you know better, or like a hard rock nobody can find the strength to carry, or even crack a little.

Or, it was the complete other way around, when they wanted to split you open with harsh and cruel words, because they just couldn’t accept that quiet can exist in a person.

You never could’ve imagined how easy the avoidance was, almost like a natural thing. Being in your own world, dealing with things at your own pace, no one breathing down your neck every step you make. However, working with the IC meant constant feedback, meetings and responsibilities meant to deal with keeping your people safe.

That’s why your avoidance didn’t last long, because Rhysand ordered everyone at the Townhouse.

Of course, the only person you wanted to avoid a little longer was Cassian. But once he cornered you, there was no escape.

He held your elbow lightly, but still demanded attention.

His eyes held the weight of regret, his expression crumbled.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You never heard his voice sound so light, so out of breath, so heavy with sadness.

You couldn’t look at him for so long.

After your outburst of sudden anger at that dinner a few days ago, you felt cringed and embarrassed. You debated apologising for shouting, but soon realised if you never would have spoken up, you’d always be spoken for.

Your opinions were never his.

Your thoughts were always yours.

As you looked up at him, at your General, you tried to smile, but quick enough morphed into a grimace. “It’s okay, Cass.”

He shook his head disapprovingly. “No, it’s not.”

He waited. He knew, he felt deep within his bones there’s more. That there’s a fight within you saying what you truly want him to know, and saying what he wants to hear.

What you think you want to hear.

But when your eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed like you were in pain, because he knew the inner war brewing inside you was soon coming to an end with the decision solely based upon your own need.

Your own need, which you always buried deeper than it was ever okay.

Cassian waited.

“I appreciate that you were always there,” you said with a small, shy smile on your face. “I know you thrive in chaos and loudness, but I'm not,” you shake your head gently. “I like the silence, the observation. I thrive in that. And you know I'll answer whenever I want to. You don't have to act like a spokesperson for me. I can handle myself. I stayed silent about this for so long because I hate confrontation but even I had enough. Maybe I do need to learn how to be more open like you, but please,” you closed your eyes with a little line between your brows, “Let me answer for myself.”

Cassian couldn’t muster a reply. His fingers still curled around your elbow, but it seemed he was anchoring himself rather than keeping you from escaping him. So, he just nodded, and after a silent moment between you, he let you go, and watched you walk away.

Cassian still remained close to you, although he couldn’t help but feel as if he was still walking on eggshells around you.

But he did what he was supposed to; giving you enough space to decide what counts as comfortable for you.

As a result, he watched you.

He watched you when you had to go and deal with Helion one time, and knowing his flirtatious behaviour, Cassian was ready to jump in if he noticed you felt uncomfortable. His body was spiked up with adrenaline, but once he saw your deadpan expression, he just knew; it was an answer for Helion's attempt.

He watched you closely, when Eris had the capacity of making comments about your companionship with the General.

“And yet, you bring everyone so much joy when you leave the room,” you cocked your head to the side, eyes squinting a little, smirk deepening as Eris’s pointed ears turned red.

Cassian snorted.

For a moment, he had to bite his lips so hard he tasted metal, because as calm as you stayed, he felt his blood boil, but hearing your comeback, he exhaled, relieved.

Once you escaped Eris’s arrogance and cock measuring with Cassian, you held onto his hand.

“Thank you for letting me handle that.”

“Well, I was delighted to see him turn into a tomato,” he says, and you laughed.

He loved the sound of it.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” you looked away, still a little embarrassed at the way you raised your voice at him in front of everyone.

“I deserved that,” Cassian says, his thumb brushing against your palm, breath caught suddenly.

You cleared your throat, and mustered a playful smirk on your face. “Well, it was funny to see your face when I shut you up.”

“Yeah, kick me more,” he scoffed, bumping his shoulders with yours. “ What do you want, beg you on my knees?”

“If you insist,” you shrugged, but when he lowered himself in front of you, your eyes widened. You tugged your hand away, or more like tried, because his iron grip didn't let you.

“Cassian…”

“I am so sorry for the way I acted for so long,” he started, his eyes boring into yours, and brought your knuckles closer to his mouth. “Everyhting I did was for keeping you safe. Keeping you close to me. I wanted you to rely on me, to know that I’ll always catch you if you fall. I was just too blindsided to notice how this was affecting you.”

“Keep me close?” You asked back with a whisper.

“And keep you on your toes,” he added playfully, but quickly turned serious when he saw your confused expression.

“Close to you?”

“C’mon sweetheart,” he kissed your knuckles, “you’re smart. You can figure it out.”

“Is this a subtle love confession?” You raised a single eyebrow.

“For now,” Cassian nodded enthusiastically. “I want anything, but subtle, tho.”

You couldn’t help, but to roll your eyes, however, the smile that spread over your face was anything, but subtle.

“You can never be subtle,” you said and slid a finger under his chin. Cassian smirked with mischief.

“Why would I hold back my charm?” He winked.

“Sometimes I wish you would,” you replied and pulled him up, watching him clean his leathers.

“Ouch, sweetheart. You wound me,” he put a hand over his heart.

“Let’s see how much wounding you can handle,” now it was your turn to wink, before stepping away from the gaping Lord of Bloodshed, and winnowing away, leaving him behind stunned.

Sometimes it was him who needed to be shut up.

Him, a bastard-born Illyrian who was nothing more than dirt on the bottom of his shoe. 

But Cassian was dirt that you’d actually listen to. 

According to Rhys, your father had appointed six high fae to be your personal guard over the past six months. All six had been sent away rather abruptly when they failed to rein you in. But “rein you in” was a ridiculous sentiment, as you called it. All you wanted to do was to get out of the room your father kept you cloistered in and actually experience a life. 

You wanted to speak to people who weren’t your assigned propriety tutors or servants. You wanted to get out of the Moonstone Palace and be a person outside of the marital obligations your father placed on you. You wanted to shop in Verlaris with Mor and make Cassian take you flying and, above all, you wanted to understand your magic—to hone the combination of night and day that your father’s choice of mistress had carefully curated.

Because that union was the entire purpose of your birth, and the moment you turned 50 you were ripped from your family and hurled into the Moonstone Palace to live out your purpose. 

You were to be the figurehead of the alliance between Night and Day and you were to fulfill that duty through marriage. 

It didn’t matter that you were hardly seen as a person; you were a pawn, and as long as your father lived, you would continue to be used and maneuvered as the court saw fit. 

Rhysand had been trying his hardest to keep you from marriage for as long as he could, but the more you acted against your father’s wishes, the closer you got to your fate. 

You knew it was coming. You’d had far more freedom before you turned 50 but you’d still lived under your father’s thumb. Cassian always hated watching you get pulled from quiet nights in with your sister and would cast you sad looks when you were made to watch from the sidelines when everyone else was training. But that had always been your life, and there was never anything he could do about it. 

Cassian clenched his jaw in abject frustration. “Y/n… don’t do this.” 

You scoffed and harshly sat on your bed, the gauzy material of your dress splaying up before floating back down to rest on the blankets. Whatever hairstyle had been twisted upon your crown this morning was unraveling in a pretty mess around your face and Cassian itched to brush away the strands. 

You’d always been so pretty. 

He turned his fingers into his palm as you began to speak. “He wouldn’t even have to know. I wouldn’t leave your side once,” you mumbled. Your words felt more like a routine and less like an actual request. Because Cassian always said no when the other guards always gave in too easily. 

Or you had simply slipped past them too easily. 

“Look, Starfall is coming up. I’m sure your father would let you go out to be with everyone.” 

You twisted your mouth in a way Cassian knew meant you were trying not to cry. You blinked up to look at the ceiling and nodded your head with your teeth embedded in your bottom lip, and Cassian’s heart was dangerously close to breaking. 

When he’d gotten the station report—or rather, demand—to be your personal guard, Cassian had seen it as a good thing. He’d get a break from the grueling hours of being a soldier in the Night Court’s troops and he’d get to spend more time with you. He’d missed you terribly since you’d been sent to Hewn City. 

But then he’d gotten to your room and spent three weeks telling you no and watching you go stir crazy and he was three seconds away from caving. It wasn’t surprising that the other appointed guards had failed so quickly—you were too lovely to deny, especially when you looked so sad. 

Cassian breathed out a sigh and walked to your seat on the bed, his leathers groaning as he moved to crouch at your feet. You were still staring at the ceiling and Cassian was still aching to somehow fix all of this. 

“Hey,” he prompted. When you only tightened your grip on the piles of luxurious blankets on your bed, Cassian took your chin between his finger and thumb and brought your gaze down to him. “There she is,” he smiled, but the hazy gleam in your eye felt like a punch to the gut. 

“I hate this,” you whispered, all shaky and upset.

Cassian tsked. “I know, sweetheart.” 

“I just want to go back home.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s so weird that you’re in charge of me.” 

Cassian snorted. “I’m not in charge of you. I’m the one that has to follow you around.” 

You narrowed your watery eyes. “If that were true you’d let me go back to Velaris. Or go anywhere other than this wretched place.” 

“Well, in that way I guess I’m more protecting you than in charge of you. That’s what a guard does, sweetheart.” 

“Protecting me,” you laughed, jaw clenching as Cassian kept it in his soft hold. “What would be so dangerous about going to Velaris, hm? Or… running away. Really, really far away.” 

“Can’t run away, y/n. We’d all miss you too much,” Cassian teased, but the hint of panic in his eyes was unmistakable.

You raised an unamused brow. “Because you all see me so much now.” 

Cassian offered you a bittersweet smile and gave your cheek a soft pat. “You know I’m not protecting you from the people out there. You know why I won’t let you leave.” 

You looked resigned, but that reality was becoming more commonplace. You sighed and reached up to place your touch on Cassian’s knuckles. “I know, Cass,” you hummed. “I know.” 

~~

You shifted in your seat for the countless time that evening, the stone throne at your back doing little for comfort. The heavy crown on your head was giving you a headache and your father kept yelling, exacerbating the pounding behind your eyes. 

You were made to attend official court business more often, your father assimilating you into the role he birthed you for with more urgency as you rebelled. Cassian stood behind you with a stiff posture and murder in his eye, playing the role of a guard to perfection. And you knew, with all certainty, that if anyone looked at you wrong they would be on the floor. 

That was one benefit of having a personal guard—even more so a guard that you grew up with. 

“—not accept this insolence,” you heard your father bite out. He jutted his hand back to the shorter throne you sat upon. “And you bring it in front of my daughter. I won’t have this. Not in my court.” 

You hid a flinch as the man before the dais was forced to the ground by a free-flowing darkness you could recognize anywhere. 

Your father’s show of power. 

The man screamed and pleaded and you couldn’t remember what had brought him to this, but you knew this was just a ploy by your father to assert his dominance over the court. You breathed through your nose as he continued to scream and plead, pressing your lips into a line and maintaining your mask of neutrality and boredom. 

You were never made out for the life your father expected from you. 

After the man was thoroughly incapacitated and groaning, your father let up and sent him away and you were left feeling sick to your stomach. 

Almost done, you reminded yourself, and then you could rot in your room with nothing to occupy you but the dread of your upcoming fate. You could feel Cassian’s presence at your back and it was somewhat reassuring that he would be rotting along with you. Maybe he would even play cards with you today or you could pass the time begging him to help you with your magic.

He always denied with an apologetic expression and you knew, deep down, that he would never agree to anything. The back and forth was simply a way to get through the day. 

The doors to the throne room burst open with a loud boom, startling you out of your roaming thoughts. You sat up in alarm when a small brigade of soldiers dressed in Day Court armor marched in, preceding a well-built, stoic-looking man with a grimace plastered on his face. 

You whipped around to look at Cassian in an uncharacteristic act of impropriety. Cassian looked just as lost as you were, but he blinked away the concern and sent you a reassuring nod as if he had everything under control. You watched his ruby siphons flicker and his fists clench as he clasped them together by his thighs, but you turned around. You had to turn around because you were not supposed to consult a guard about matters of your court. 

A quick glance at your father told you that he was surprised as well, but pleasantly. “Blaise,” your father greeted, clapping with the word. You hid another flinch. “I was not expecting you today.” 

“Clearly,” Blaise snarked, stopping before the thrones at the head of the room. “Your full court is not even here. Where is your heir?” 

Your father’s expression morphed into a glare. “Training,” he said. And then, “But that shouldn’t be what concerns you. Your bride is just beside me.” 

The world slowed, your thoughts and the movements of those around you sticky and heavy. You thought you might have opened your mouth but the action was delayed and it was hard to find the path to your muscles. Your chest caved. The light in the room became dim. 

Blaise smirked and trailed his gaze to your figure. He let his eyes rove from your feet up to your face, so unhurried, so lax. As if you were already something he owned and he could take all the time he wished. In a way, you guessed he could—it wasn’t as if you had anywhere else to be.

“Huh.” Blaise stuck his tongue against his cheek. “Come.” 

You blinked as the man stuck his hand out and waved his fingers in three harsh motions, beckoning you to him as if you were a dog. 

It felt like you’d been doused in ice water as onlookers watched you expectantly. Rhys had told you he was buying more time. Cassian had told you. Azriel sent shadows to your room and you took them as signs of something. But before you stood your betrothed and behind you stood Cassian and there was nothing to be done. 

You looked over to your father. 

“This is Blaise. He is a duke in Day. You shall be married. Go to him,” he commanded, nodding towards the stern brow in the center of the throne room.

“Father—” 

“Go to him.” 

You rose. Everything fell off its axis, a rush of lightheadedness making you lose your balance and lean back to grip the arm of the throne. A steady hand on your elbow grounded you. You didn’t even need to turn to know it was Cassian, but you did, anyway. 

Hazel eyes bore back into yours, devastation and determination mingling in the hues. Something dropped in your stomach and something else made you tear your gaze away and stare at your fate head-on. Cassian’s fingers lingered. They pulled away when you fully righted yourself. 

“Do you give me an ill bride, High Lord?” Blaise accused with a mean raise of his brow. 

“Of course not. Do not insult me.” No further explanation. 

You passed your tongue across your drying lips and took the steps down to meet Blaise, the man instantly snatching your hand and raising it above your head. He walked around you, inspecting you as if you were something to be appraised before buying, and nodded after completing the circle. Then, to set your stomach rolling, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to your ear. You heard a rushed step behind you, but the sound was drowned out by hot breath and whispers. 

“You’ll do nicely, given that you’re house-trained. Virgin?” 

You pushed back on his armored chest to gain some distance and Blaise cackled, knocking his head back in delight. 

“A bit skittish, but that’s fine. You said she’ll be used to Day? Definitely not staying here.” 

Your father hummed, taking a bored sip from his chalice. “She’s spent time in Day. Her mother hails from the court.” 

The rest of the conversation was lost to buzzing. 

~~

Cassian was wrought with panic. 

He had already opened his mind and shared the information with Rhys, but Rhys was still honing his daemati abilities and Cassian had no idea if his brother even got the information. 

He hid his panic behind a stone wall of neutrality and malice as he walked you back to your room, cataloging the way you took even steps and stared blankly at the walls in front of you. His facade was breaking down with each step you took; you seemed to be escaping into yourself and Cassian was becoming increasingly worried. 

Part of not being able to practice and control your magic came the dangers of it overtaking you. No one was sure if you harnessed daemati powers like your father and brother, but if you did and weren’t aware, you could get stuck. Cassian had witnessed Rhys’s struggles with that when he was first learning to control his magic and emotions were high. 

The moment your bedroom door clicked shut, Cassian’s hands were on your face. 

“Y/n? Hey, look at me,” he urged, tucking his wings into his back because maybe the light from your windows would help somehow.

When you didn’t look, a faraway haze to your eyes, he shook you, rattling your head in desperation. You should be screaming, crying, begging him to let you leave after what you just discovered. And, instead, you were blank. 

His next demands were stern. “Y/n, I can’t get Rhys here. You need to snap out of this. I don’t know how to help you.” 

You breathed a little deeper, but no change. 

“Fuck.” Cassian looked around the room, his head whipping back and forth as he searched for anything that could help. For Rhys, it was easier to develop skills to get him out of this state because he had been expecting it. For you, there was no prep, no warning.

Cassian turned back to you, his heart pounding out of his chest. If he couldn’t get you out of this before your father noticed—

He saw your eyes shift and something clicked. 

You were staring intently at the red siphon gleaming on Cassian’s chest, blinking quicker the longer you stared. 

“This helping?” Cassian murmured, yanking the siphon from his chest without care to hold it up to your eye level. “Okay, we’ll work with that.” You blinked even more with the tone of his voice and Cassian took that as motivation. “Keep working yourself out of this, sweetheart. You do this and I’ll teach you how to use a blade. Haven’t you been asking? Dumb question—you’ve been asking since we were twenty but—”

Cassian cut off his rambling when the first few tears fell down your cheeks. He watched each as they fell, wiping them away with his thumbs as he waited. And waited. And then you choked out a sob, and as much as he hated the sound, relief flooded through him at your state of consciousness. 

“You—you said there was more time,” you stressed, stumbling over your tears. “Rhys… he told me there was more time.” 

Cassian shook his head as he spoke. “I know. I know, sweetheart, but we’ll figure it out, okay? Me, Rhys, and Az. We can—” 

“You can’t do anything,” you cried. Your breath was picking up. “No one has been able to do anything my entire life. Not my brother or you or even myself. I—Cassian, I was only born to do this. No one cares about anything else. You’re only here because my father willed you to be. Because it serves his agenda to have you guarding me.”

Cassian’s fingers buzzed as he wiped more and more tears from your face. He kept opening his mouth to say something, anything, but it didn’t matter. Nothing would make up for this. 

“I—I can’t. I can’t be married to that man. Being locked in here was bad enough. Being coddled and prepped for my entire life was enough. I’m not a princess, Cassian. I’ve never wanted to… and now I…” 

You were hyperventilating now, raucous inhales colliding with heavy, painful exhales. You dropped to your hands and knees and Cassian followed suit but with the sole purpose of propping you up and placing a steady hand on your stomach. You fought him, desperate to claw at the ground and escape the world, but Cassian wouldn’t have it. 

“I need you to breathe,” Cassian requested, his words firm but soft. “I need you to focus on how I’m touching you and I need you to breathe into my hand.” 

He’d done this before, it was familiar. 

You used to get panic attacks anytime your father forced you to stay at the Palace for a weekend to view one of the many horrors at the Court of Nightmares. Rhys helped, but it was Cassian who noticed the tells—the uneven breaths, the panic in your gaze. It was Cassian who felt pain himself each time your throat closed. 

You shook your head at Cassian’s demand, clawing at your chest. 

“Yes, y/n. Try. For me, please.” 

He could tell you were trying, even as you continued to shake your head until that ridiculous crown toppled onto the floor. You tugged at the shimmering black material on your chest and never broke eye contact with Cassian and you tried. 

Slowly, eventually, Cassian saw your chest stutter and your breath begin to even out. 

“That’s it,” he praised, rubbing his thumb along the boning of your dress. Your lashes fluttered until your eyes closed. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, the endearment slipping past and getting lost in the air. 

You reached down and gripped Cassian’s wrist. “I’m okay now. I think I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” 

You nodded. “I mean, I’m not okay. But I can breathe and think.” 

“Those are accomplishments I guess.” 

“I don’t think this is part of your job description,” you joked, the small laugh that followed half-hearted and weak. 

Cassian smiled. “Did the other guards do it?” 

“I can’t say they did.” 

Cassian readjusted his position on the floor and shifted you to no longer sit on your knees. He brushed your hair back and fixed the neckline of your dress. 

“You scared me,” he admitted, still focused on adjusting the mess you’d made of yourself. 

“I’ve had panic attacks before.” 

“No, not that. You got stuck, I think. Like how Rhys would when he was first learning to use his daemati abilities.”

“Don’t tell my father.” The words were so quick from your mouth that Cassian shot up to look at you. “Don’t. I already have a difficult time with the court abilities and I don’t need him to—” 

“Y/n, I would never tell him,” Cassian interrupted, a furrow in his brow. “Why would you ever think I would do that to you.” 

You cast your gaze down. “Well, I don’t know. You’re in his employ—you have to report to him and be loyal. The other guards—” 

“I am not another guard.” 

“Well, I obviously know that. But I just wasn’t sure where that part of you started and my friend ended.” 

Cassian closed his eyes for a long, disappointed beat. 

It was pretty obvious that Cassian was in love with you—at least, it was pretty obvious to himself as of three weeks ago. The moment he saw you again after months away, all pretty and sequestered away and so happy to see him you were glowing, he knew he was a goner. There had been hints of it when he was growing up, but seeing you again made it hit him full force. 

Of course, you could never know, because as much as you said you weren’t and were adamantly against the title, you were a princess, and Cassian didn’t want to add more stress to the plethora of horrors in your life. 

Still, the realization of his feelings only made your questioning tone hurt that much more. 

“Y/n, look at me.” Eyes met in your bedroom. Cassian kept his hands in his lap and you had your fingers pressed to the ground. “My only goal is to keep you alive and happy. I frankly don’t give a shit about your father. Everything I do or have done has been to keep you safe. He isn’t safe, so I make sure to follow his orders because not doing so is dangerous for you. Rhys… Rhys has been keeping close tabs on the situation from the outside and informs me what I need to divulge or keep secret. Nothing has ever been done out of loyalty to your father.” 

You released your bottom lip from your teeth and Cassian watched your shoulders sag in relief. He was about to say more, but then you launched yourself into his chest and his arms were wrapping around you without him willing them to. He had to stop the two of you from lying flat on the floor, jutting an arm out to stabilize the hug before bringing it back around to rest in your hair.

“I thought I'd lost you for a little while there,” you admitted, your face buried in Cassian’s shoulder. 

Guilt ate at his heart. “I thought you said you understood why I was making you stay?” 

“I did,” you mumbled. “Or, I thought I did. I knew you wanted to keep me safe, but I thought you also wanted to please my father.” 

Cassian dragged you back from his chest, hands resting along your head and back. “I’m sorry it felt that way. I have only wanted to please your father for your benefit. I’m—we’re family, y/n—” and I love you, he wanted to add “—you’re my family.” 

You stared back at Cassian, tears still fresh in your eyes and on your face. “Can we leave now?” 

Another piece of Cassian crumbled, shattered. “We can’t. You can’t. Rhys is working on another way out of this but if you try to run right now you know your father will only come after you.” 

“What about the human lands?” you rushed out, hands on Cassian’s chest and so close to his heart. “Or I could go off-continent. I could learn to glamour myself and try. Cassian, I could try.” 

“Y/n, you just got lost in your own head and you have no idea what kind of powers you have beyond that. You have no fighting skills, no way to defend yourself. I know you’re capable, but you’ve had your every need catered since you were born. And your father would be after you. I don’t know if you’d survive.” 

Cassian watched you deflate as he spoke. He brushed his hand up from your back to run a soft touch along your jaw. “And I would come with you—if you ran. But your brother has his head up his ass and he’s going to need help when he becomes High Lord.”

You smiled some—a sad, dejected smile.

“We’re gonna figure this out, sweetheart, just like I told you.” He leaned forward until your foreheads touched. “You’re not going anywhere I can’t go.” 

“And what if none of you can do anything about it?” you whispered.

With the rest of the inner circle, it had been easy. You met the High Lord first after saving his life, and you remembered the day like it happened yesterday.

Rhysand had taken to the skies one night, flying over Velaris and looking down at everything below. An ambush on Day Court had all the high lords on edge, with the message that the attackers weren’t finished being loud and clear. He knew it was bad when Helion reached out personally.

When he was attacked, it was 5 against 1. He ended up plummeting nearly 1,000 feet. As luck would have it, you were just returning home from a very late night trip to the markets.

Ever the quick thinker, you snapped your fingers, and all of your purchased goods floated into your home and all put themselves in their proper place. Then you turned your attention to the man falling from the sky. You held out a hand, and a blue light so dark that they almost resembled shadows, flowed from your palm and slowed the man’s descent just before he hit the ground.

You used your other hand to turn you both invisible until you were able to get him into your home.

To keep a long story short, because that was a tale for another time, it took a lot longer to heal him than you thought. You don’t know how much time passed, all you know is that it was completely dark outside when he fell but when you finished, you could see the sun was about to rise.

Rhysand woke up not long after you finished healing his wings.

You anticipated the first question he asked, so you beat him to it. Giving him a brief version, you explained that you were half witch, half fae. You didn’t explain your family history, or how you came to live alone. There was a sense of relief when he didn’t ask more questions, though you could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to.

“Not that I don’t love hosting you, but shouldn’t you be going? I’d imagine a lot of people are worried about you.”

You felt him trying to get into your mind, and wished you could’ve taken a picture of his face when you told him that wouldn’t be possible unless you allowed it. Centuries of practice ensured that even the strongest mind reader wouldn’t be able to access your thoughts so easily.

When he finally felt strong enough to stand, you followed closely behind him as he headed to the door.

“I’m not officially a healer, obviously, but if you ever need help, you may return. I only ask that you don’t tell anyone that I’m here. If word gets to the wrong person—”

“I won’t tell a soul, you have my word. You’ve saved my life, and I owe you a debt far greater than anything I could pay you.”

You shook your head and insisted you didn’t need, or want, money.

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, no matter how big the request, please come find me.”

“Thank you, High Lord. I will keep that in mind.”

He managed a small smile. “You used magic to stitch part of my wings back together, please, at least call me Rhys. Or Rhysand if it makes you more comfortable.”

You nodded and after he thanked you again for saving his life, and after you said you did it because you wanted to help and not because you wanted something, he took to the skies. You wondered if you’d ever see him again.

But there was still a war going on, and you shouldn’t have been that surprised when he returned a few weeks later. What did surprise you, and even made you a little angry, was that he had not 1, but 2 people with him. Not living under a rock, you recognized them right away. And this was how you ended up meeting Cassian and Nesta.

That anger disappeared when you saw just how injured Cassian was. He could barely stand, even Nesta was having to help keep him upright.

Turning around, you went back into your home and snapped your fingers. Seconds later, everything on your dining table lay in neat piles on the floor. You were thankful that you’d opted for a larger table, and don’t think he would’ve fit on your bed.

You got to work healing him the moment Rhys set him down on the table. Although you worked fast in an attempt to ease his pain, it was clear he was still in a lot of it.

“I need to put him to sleep. He has broken bones and I promise none of you want him awake when I put them back in place.” You looked up at Nesta then, and for the first time since entering your home, her gaze left her mates, and she looked at you.

Unable to speak, she only nodded, silently giving you permission. He was out not long after that, and you worked for another 2 hours until you were satisfied that he’d be alright.

Nesta finally spoke up then, asking if you were going to wake him up. You explained that while putting him to sleep was fairly easy, you didn’t think it was the best idea to wake him up. That required going deep into his mind and wandering around until you found the part of it where he was waiting. That act in itself would give you access to every thought and memory that Cassian has ever had, and you didn’t like to do that to anyone without their explicit permission.

After explaining that it wouldn’t be long before he woke up on his own, as you redid one of Cassian’s bandages, you noticed Nesta give Rhys a look. He only shook his head and whispered that he trusted you.

You were right as you knew you would be, and it was just 10 minutes later that the general of the Night Court was opening his eyes and sitting up.

“Why… am I on a table??”

Nesta hated showing any sign of being vulnerable, so none were more shocked than Rhys and Cassian when she walked over to you and pulled you in for a hug.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly. “I don’t know how we can repay you.”

You smiled when the 2 of you stepped apart. “No payment is needed, or wanted. I promise—” It felt like all the air left your body when Cassian took his turn with a hug, only he lifted you off of the ground and seemed to be trying to squeeze the life out of you.

“Cass, I happen to like her and would appreciate you not killing her.”

“Sorry! Just, you know, thanks for saving my life.“

After they left , all repeatedly thanking you on their way out, you wondered if what just happened was some sort of fever dream.

Over the next few months, the 3 would occasionally pop in, but all for different reasons. Rhys was still fascinated by you being half witch, half fae. All he wanted to do was sit and ask questions, and he’d hang on to every word you spoke as you answered. Cassian, who insisted you call him Cass, did come to you for healing. But for ‘injuries’ he very much could’ve handled on his own. He healed faster than a normal human, but you lost count of the amount of times you opened your door, or he opened it and barged in, telling you about a paper cut or the smallest bruise.

The first time Nesta came to visit, and you greeted her with “Lady Nesta”, you almost laughed at the daggers she sent your way. You quickly learned it was just Nesta, or Nes. During her second visit, the subject of fighting somehow came up. You mentioned your basic knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, but that you wished you were more advanced, or at least knew how to fight with a weapon. Ever since then, she’d come to visit at least once a week to try and convince you to join her on training with the Valkyries.

“I don’t know that I’d actually be any good,” you admitted, adding on that you were so used to fighting with your powers that you genuinely couldn’t remember what it was like to do so without them.

A month of pestering persuading had you finally agreeing to sit in on a training session with the Valkyries. And that was how you came to meet Azriel.

The following day, Nesta showed up at your front door bright and early. Well not bright, since the sun had yet to even rise, but with how you felt as you slowly got dressed, you knew it was definitely early. She assured you that Valkyries didn’t always train so early, but she wanted to get some one-on-one training with you.

After a brief discussion in which she promises you’ll end up having fun, you ask if all of her family will be training. She says no, with the Valkyries it’s usually only her and Cass. Rhys occasionally pops his head in to observe, but has been busy with everything going on so not so much lately.

“Oh I forgot you haven’t met everyone yet. Feyre, my sister and Rhys’ mate, prefers to train solo so you probably won’t see her today. Then there’s Azriel, he used to train with us a lot, well help train the women, but Rhys has been sending him out a lot lately. What with everyone being on edge from the attacks, we’re all eager to find out who’s behind it all.”

She explains where to go and you take her hand, winnowing you both to the training grounds.

“There she is!” You jump a little at Cass’ voice. He’s all the way on the other side of the room, but so loud that it’s as if he’s right next to you. He puts down a stack of papers and quickly makes his way over to you and Nesta. “You’re just in time, look.” He holds up his hand, showing you the tiniest of paper cuts on his left index finger.

You can’t help but laugh as you take his hand in yours and use your powers to close the cut.

Nesta shakes her head. “For a warrior, you sure are a big baby.” She turns to you, “you can just tell him to suck it up next time.”

Cass gasps, putting his hands on his face. “She’d never do that! At least she cares about me.”

“Do I really though?” You tilt you head.

“Hey! Just for that I’m not going easy on you today.”

“Wait you’re training me?”

“I’m going to take that as wait really! Wow I’m so lucky Cassian the general of the Night Court is training me. Now chop chop, let’s go!” He gently pushes you towards one of the larger mats on the ground.

You turn back to Nesta, who only shrugs and mouths good luck, before joining the other women.

Much like when you were focused on healing Rhys and Cass, time goes by in a blur. Before you know it, you’ve managed to knock Cass onto his back for the third time. You look at a clock nearby and find that nearly 2 hours have gone by.

“Woo!” The 2 of you stop and turn towards the door and see Feyre leaning against the door frame, clapping as she calls out your name and shouts his congratulations.

Cass rolls his eyes, but smiles when you hold out a hand to help him to his feet. “You kicked my ass today, I’d be a little upset if I wasn’t so impressed.”

When you use your powers to immediately dry all of your sweat, you’re happy you get to use your powers for more mundane things like this.

“Ahem!”

Now it’s you turn to roll your eyes. Still, you face one of your hands towards Cass, and he’s also dry just a few seconds later.

“Thank you,” he gives a dramatic bow before telling you all he’s going to go shower.

Before you can ask why he made you do that if he was just planning to shower anyway, Feyre finally approaches you and Nesta. You become aware of how affectionate the inner circle can be, when Feyre pulls you in for a hug, not saying anything for a moment.

“You saved Rhys, I owe you everything. Thank you,” she whispers.

“I promise, you don’t owe me a thing,” you shake your head. “I’m just happy he ended up falling outside of my home. If it had been anywhere else I wouldn’t have seen it, or I wouldn’t have been able to slow his fall.”

Cass pops his head back in the room. “Anyone know if Az is coming by to train later? I couldn’t get a hold of him earlier.”

Feyre nods, “he got back less than an hour ago, I think he told Rhys he’d be by here at some point. Oh, never mind.”

The last part of her sentence comes when she looks toward the door, this time towards the ground. You watch as what looks like a series of small clouds slowly makes their way towards you. Upon closer inspection, you realize they’re shadows.

“Azriel is a shadowsinger, right?” When Nesta nods, you continue. “Do they often travel like this without him?”

“No,” Feyre watches them get closer. “I mean they can if he sends them somewhere but I don’t see why he’d send them here when he knows it’s only us…”

When the shadows finally reach you, they move faster as if they’re excited. One makes its way to the top of your head, swirling around your face. It’s a cool, almost ticklish sensation. Another weaves its way around your legs, while the last one circles your hands, as if it can sense the power you hold.

Healer.

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean I guess technically yes, among other things. But I’m still working on my healing abilities so—” You look up to find Nesta, Feyre, and Cass all staring at you. “What?”

Cass just stares at you, now with his mouth open in shock.

“We didn’t say anything…”

“Wait did — were you talking to the shadows??”

Now you were confused. “Yes… it asked, well it said I was a healer and I was just explaining—”

“You can understand them?!”

“I… they don’t speak to all of you?” You watched in amazement as the shadows continued to explore you.

Cass finally breaks his silence. “No. We’ve never heard them say anything. How the hell…”

Magic. Friend.

You smile. Holding your hands out and palms facing up, you produce 2 dark blue clouds a lot similar in appearance to the shadows. They swarm your clouds, but return to you once they realize that they’re not real shadows.

Feyre observes this, a small smile on her face. “Interesting.”

All at once, 2 of the 3 shadows stop their movements, then quickly make their way back out of the room. A minute later, the shadowsinger himself enters the room.

“Dude!” Cass began to make his way towards his brother, but Nesta elbows him in the ribs as she grabs his arm to keep him in place.

When Azriel looks at you, he freezes. He can only stand and watch as the shadow that remained in the room continues to move between your hands and your head. But when you look up at him, your first thought is that you’ve somehow offended him with your actions, so you drop your hands and step back, closer to Nesta.

The lone shadow finally returns to Azriel, hovering around his right ear. You wish you could hear what it’s telling him.

You’re further embarrassed when all Azriel does is quickly look away from you before he asks Cass to speak to him.

Once the 2 men are out of the room, you voice your concerns out loud. “I should apologize when Azriel comes back in.”

Nesta looks at you, clearly confused. “What, why would you apologize? You haven’t done anything.”

“I just… I don’t think he liked that his shadows were paying so much attention to me. I don’t know if he heard me speaking to one but I don’t want to offend him or cause any trouble.”

Feyre’s expression softened. She replaced Nesta at your side, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “That’s just Azriel, at least with someone he isn’t familiar with yet. It’s not often we bring anyone new around. He just needs time.”

You didn’t stay much longer after that, chatting to the 2 Archeron sisters for only a few more minutes before making an excuse to leave. It was obvious why you were in such a rush, but you were grateful that neither woman tried to persuade you to stay.

When you finally winnowed back to your home, you forced yourself to take a shower before collapsing onto your bed. Maybe a nap was what you needed.

You couldn’t help but think about Azriel. Everyone else was quick to warm up to you, and you still thought that you offended him by how you interacted with his shadows.

As you lay there and waited for sleep to pull you under, you wondered if he’d end up hating you.

what a shitty place to end it hahdjdnsdkc BUT part 2 picks up right where this leaves off! if i kept going we’d end the chapter at like 6k which is too long for my liking.

TAGLIST ── FULL! If you want to be notified when I post for this story, follow my backup which i’ll tag in a comment, and make sure you turn notifications on.

It wasn't uncommon for you all to release built up tension after a long hard day, especially when the boys had to deal with Devlon.

"Wait there's something I wanna show you first," you smile standing up.

"Something you want to show us?" Rhys laughed knowing that when it came to the bedroom it was often the other way around.

You couldn't keep from smirking as you let the ward around me drop, my scent filling the room.

They inhaled long and slow before their eyes snapped open.

"You're?" Azriel asked.

"Pregnant," you smile watching as a million emotions float across their faces.

A beat of silence passes and then...

"WOOO HOOO!" Cassian roared. "We did it brothers!" he boasted clapping each of them on the back.

All of them came over to me to give me sniff, as if your new scent was addicting. You had to crane your neck up to meet all their happy faces.

"How far along are you?" Rhys asked caressing my face.

"Not very, only 6 weeks," you. smile feeling their warm hands roam my body.

"Well you certainly smell good," Azriel smiles burying his nose in my hair.

"Really?" you ask.

"YES," they all said in unison.

Cassian's hands find the hem of the night gown and start to lift it up peering underneath curiously.

"Cassain if you even think about putting your dick anywhere near her right now I will fucking kill you," Rhys growls.

"I'm not I'm trying to see if she's showing yet," Cassian said, eyes squinting.

"Cass it's too early for her to be showing," Azriel laughed at his brothers antics.

"Well she defiantly is, take a look." Cassian smiled pulling me flush to him and lifting my nightgown more so his brothers could see.

Rhys and Azriel squinted their eyes, clearly trying to see what wasn't there as Cass slid a hand over my belly.

"Cassian darling I think that's just my dinner," you laugh.

"speaking of dinner did you eat enough?" Rhys asked.

and so it began.

Ever since the boys had found out all chaos had erupted.

At first they wanted you to stay in the townhouse at all times. Literally locking you up and throwing away the key

That idea took you a long time to talk them out of but eventually you did.

Then came Rhys arguing that you needed at least 5 wards. Which Cassian and Azriel objected to as they wanted full access to you AND the baby.

Evetually you all settled on one ward. Strong enough to keep threats at bay, but weak enough so Cass and Az could touch you and your bump whenever they liked.

Speaking of bump, Cassian was determined to do a bump update everyday.

The man was DYING to see you with a bump.

"You think the baby will have wings?" you asked innocently while we all laid in bed.

Every night it was a fight for who got to sleep next to you as you unfortunately had an odd number of mates.

"Of course it'll have wings, look at it's fathers," Azriel smirked rubbing a hand over your belly.

"I don't know I wasn't in my Illyrian form when it was conceived," Rhysand states, his words reverberation through me from where my head was perched on his chest.

"Pfft please, I already told you it's mine," Cassian boasted from behind Rhys, clearly being an instigator since he wasn't getting to sleep next to me tonight.

"Cassian," Azriel warns.

"I know , I know. We don't care who got her knocked up just so long as she IS knocked up," Cassian smirks.

"Okay but what if the baby doesn't have wings?" I ask once more.

"Then we'll fuck another one into you until you have one that does," Rhys smiled pressing a kiss to my brow

"Oh we're putting another one in her either way. I want a whole litter of children." Cassian divuldged.

"You want that princess?" Azriel asked rubbing lazy circles over my barley there bump.

"Yeah I think I do." I smile.

The boys were territorial when you were barley showing, but the second the numerous dresses Rhys bought you couldn't cover the bump that's when things got scary.

The shadows. The fucking shadows

They were fucking everywhere.

Azriel had been freaking out ever since your guys walk the other day.

You had been taking in the fresh air of spring when a unknowing passerby slammed into you nearly knocking you over.

"WATCH IT!" Azriel screamed in his face his grip on the mans shirt like a vice.

The poor shopkeeper just about wet himself before running off.

"Now was that really necessary?" you asked, crumbs falling out of your mouth from the 3rd chocolate croissant you had eaten that day.

"He nearly knocked down my pregnant mate, he's lucky I let him off with a warning," Azriel murmured clearly still pissed.

"You Illyrian babies," I roll my eyes finsishing off the croissant.

Azriel just sighed and dug his hand into the paper sack to pull out my 4th pastry.

Ever since then his shadows seemed to follow you everywhere.

If you dropped something? The shadows would pick it up.

If you had troubles walking? there was always a dark mass helping you to the bathroom for the 10th time that day.

Every time the baby kicked? The shadows swirled around you to make sure you were okay.

And boy did that baby kick...

Cassian was the first to feel it.

It was a rainy night at home, Cassian was sleeping next to your belly whispering sweet nothings to it when it happened. He nearly jumped out of his skin, and you nearly did too from the pain.

"Ahh!" you hissed in pain.

"Darling what is it? Are you hurt?" Rhys fussed, leaving his desk to be there in an instant.

"What did you do?" Azriel growled at Cassian who was still staring wide eyed at your bump.

"I'm fine he didn't do anything. The baby is just kicking." I grit out feeling another thump.

I blindly reach out and grab one of my mates hands and press it to my stomach.

I watched as the scarred hand flinched at the kick.

"Oh my god I can feel it," Azriel beamed, his eyes glassing over.

"Move I want to feel," Rhys ordered

Azriel was too hypotized to care.

"I am your High Lord, move" Rhys ordered once more and I swear the room shook.

"I'm getting kinda tired of that phrase too aren't you Cass?" Azriel rolled his eyes.

"Yeah she's our mate too," cassian grumbled.

They spent the night taking turns getting to feel the baby which became a nightly occurrence.

Out of all your mates Rhys was the most doting. He had an entire wing built onto the townhouse for the baby.

He even used his magic to enchant the ceiling of the nursery to look like the night sky so it would be starfall in there every night.

Rhys didn't like to admit it, but he loved baby shopping with you.

"Oh Rhys look at this one can we get it?" you smile holding up a little onesie.

"Yes darling of course," he chuckled in amusement, he had probably heard that phrase a million times.

Your eyes scanned the shop of onesies and cribs, you already nearly everything in the store. But the shop owner always made sure to let you know when there was a new shipment as she knew Rhys would buy his pregnant mate just about anything she asked for.

"Oh my god Rhys please the baby is going to need this," I shout holding up the bat plushy. "Please, please, please, pleaseeeee"

Rhys laughs walking over to me to take my hands in his.

"Darling how many times do I have to tell you? You can have whatever you want." he smiles placing a hand on my bump and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

Fae labor was no joke, there wasn't a single aspect that didn't hurt like hell.

Rhys didn't send Cassian or Azriel away on any missions in the weeks leading up to your due date so they could be there.

Your water broke when you were standing in the kitchen reaching for a glass on the top shelf.

The scream you let out is enough to have Cassian running in from the other room.

"What is it princess? Are you okay?" He asked kneeling down to where I sat on the floor.

"The baby is coming," I winced through the pain, taking Cassian's hand in mine and squeezing with all my might.

That was the good thing about having big, strong Illyrian's as mates. They were fucking durable.

"oh shit," Cassain murmered his eyes searching for some kind of answer of what to do. "RHYS! AZRIEL! THE BABY IS COMING!"

My other two mates winnowed there are lighting speed from where ever they were in the house.

It wasn't long until Rhys had me in his arms winnowing us all to Madja.

"Help her please," he pleaded, my cries of pain clearly affecting him.

Madja had Rhys bring me into the birthing suite and lay me down. I could see the worry on all my mates eyes as they watched me write in pain, sweat grazing my brow.

"How can we help?" Azriel pleaded.

"You can't, you must leave us to work," she said referring to the other healers already pressing cold towels to my face.

"Over my dead body do I leave her side right now," Cassian grumbled.

"Do you want her to die? You'll only be in the way general. Use your head." she argued ushering them out and locking the doors.

The hours in between the closing of the doors and finally giving birth were brutal, not only for yo but for your mates.

They sat outside the door and listened to your screams the entire time.

Azriel nearly ripped his hair out from the sounds of them.

They nearly jumped to their feet at the sound of a baby crying from inside.

But then they heard you a screaming again.

Any happiness died out.

After a few minutes they heard the baby crying again and your screams stopped.

15 minutes later Madja came out holding not one but two small bundles in her arms.

"congratulations, you are the proud fathers of two healthy baby boys," she beamed.

Twins

Rhys and Cassian took the twin boys in their arms, as Azriel was too scared to touch them at first.

"They have wings," Cassian beamed running his hand over the tiny wings.

"Is she?" Rhys asked Madja.

"The mother is perfectly healthy. She needs to nurse the babies, but she insisted that I bring them to you first." Madja smiled.

"can we see her?" Azriel asked.

"Of course you can," Madja said.

The boys carried the twin babies in to see you once more.

You reached out your hands for the one in Rhys arms, the oldest, by a few minutes. He gave him to you and thankfully he latched right away.

"You did so well mate," Azriel said placing a kiss on your forehead.

"How did you boys manage to put twins in me on the first try?" You rasped out, voice still horse.

"If you recall it was no small feat," Cassain smiled.

After feeding them both you slept soundly.

While Cassain and Rhys might've been the first to hold your sons, Azriel was the first one to fall asleep with them. One in each arm.

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