#cassian fluff

It’s likely due to a combination of factors. Your family was never overly affectionate in this way; hugs and kisses fizzled out rather quickly in your youth and now, hugs are merely reserved for hellos and goodbyes. 

It’s also probably in part that you’re a horribly shy creature and don’t wish to be perceived in any capacity, and Cassian’s hand landing on your knee only goes to alert you to the fact that you are, indeed, a perceivable being. 

If it’s at all possible, you shrink even further into yourself, hoping to eventually blend into the cushion of the loveseat that you’re currently occupying. You’re silently chanting don’t look, don’t look, don’t look as you scan the room to see who might be looking in your direction.

Cassian must hate you, though, because he lets out a sharp bark of laughter that has the majority of the room turning to look at him; sitting so close to him, you’re thus perceived by association. 

He launches into some story that apparently requires both hands to accurately recall it, lifting his palm from where it was warming your knee and leaving it cold in his wake.

Great, now you miss his touch. You – ever so slowly – shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other in a poor attempt to recreate some of Cassian’s warmth. 

You fail, and you look up to find that Rhysand has witnessed your hopeless aim at self-soothing, the male sending you a comforting wink that brings you no comfort at all and sees you subconsciously shifting further into Cassian’s side, wondering if he might not extend his wing for you to hide behind. 

Cassian must’ve felt you thinking about him, or maybe he really does just hate you, because he chooses that moment to turn in his seat in order to look at you. It requires him to shift his entire body since you’ve all but melted into the cushions behind him.

“You doin’ okay, gorgeous?” 

You hum in the affirmative but the sound is all wrong; pitchy, high, and a little bit wobbly. 

“What’re you doing back there, hm?” 

Busted.

“Hiding,” you admit, knowing better than to lie to him (again). 

This time it’s Cassian who hums the affirmative, turning even further in his seat until his knees brush yours and you are granted the entirety of his attention. “Rhys said you look like you’re trying to figure out how to winnow.”

You turn to look at the offending male who has the audacity to wink at you. 

Squealer.

Rhysand throws his head back in laughter; you might have thought that particular thought a little too loudly. 

“Awe, don’t be mad at him, sweetheart,” Cassian chuckles, calloused fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before hooking underneath your chin and tilting your face up towards him. “He can’t help but notice the most beautiful fae in the room.” 

“Cassian,” you hiss, face heating at his blatant flattery and you’d like for his hand to move away from your cheeks lest he realize what effect he’s having on you. “His mate’s sitting right there.”

“I said what I said.” 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You whisper, closing your eyes in resignation though you can’t help the smile that dances at the corners of your lips.

“Doing what?” Cassian replies with a laugh that fans across your face. “What am I doing to you, huh?”

“Torturing me.”

“I’m loving you,” he counters proudly. “You’ve got a problem with that, sweetheart?”

“Maybe I do.”

Cassian lets out a huff of acknowledgement. “Yeah? Well, tough.” 

He punctuates the sentiment with a gentle kiss to your lips before he finally lets go of your jaw, but he takes a moment to bump his nose against yours before pulling away as a silent apology for any discomfort. You both know if you truly had an issue, though, that he’d back off. 

His hand doesn’t stray far, however, returning to your knee as he jumps back into the conversation happening around him, this time the touch is paired with the occasional squeeze or a stroke of his thumb along your inner knee.

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?”

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:

He stands in the middle of the living room, wings half-furled in that restless was that always gives him away. He's dressed for Illyria--dark leathers, siphons gleaming, hair tied back--but he keeps glancing at Y/N like he's waiting for an excuse not to go.

"Cass," she says gently, one hand resting over he stomach, "you're going to miss your mission if you keep on stalling."

"I'm not stalling," he lies immediately, tugging at the same shoulder strap he's tightened three times.

Y/N raised a brow.

He sighs. "Okay maybe I'm stalling a little."

He crosses the room in those slow, heavy steps that always make the floorboards creak--the steps he takes when he's reluctant, when he's torn. His hands cradle her face before she can say another word, thumbs brushing her cheeks, gaze flicking down to her belly like he can see right through her.

"You'll call for me the second anything feels off," he murmurs. Not a questions. A plea disguised as an order. "Even the smallest thing."

"I will."

"And you'll stay inside."

"Yes, Cass."

"And keep the wards up."

"They're already up."

"And you won't- "

"Cassian." Y/N laughs before wrapping her arms around his waist before he can spiral into another list. "I'll be fine. You'll only be gone for a day. Maybe two."

His breath shakes--enough for her to feel it against her forehead as he presses his to hers.

"I hate leaving you right now," Cassian admits, voice low, rough. "Every instinct in me is screaming to stay."

"I know," she whispers, leaning into his warmth. "But Rhys made his orders clear. And I'll be right here when you get back. Besides, everyone is going to watch over me like I'm some type of a porcelain doll. I know you made sure of it."

He places a hand over hers--over the swell of their child--and closes his eyes. Something softens in him, and something tightens.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." he says, like he's promising more than safety. Promising safety. Promising return.

When he kisses her goodbye, it's slow, lingering, almost cautious--like he's memorizing the shape of her before he goes.

He pulls back just enough to look at her again. "Two days," he repeats. "Three at most."

"You'll be back before we even notice you're gone."

But the truth is--Y/N notices already, in the way the space beside her feels colder the moment he steps toward the door.

He hesitates one last time, hand braced against the frame, wings drawn tight. "I love you," he says quietly. "Both of you."

And then, with one last look--heavy, reluctant, full of that protective ache he'll never admit aloud--Cassian leaves.

Y/N watched the door close behind him, the echo of his boots fading down the hall. The room suddenly felt too large, too quiet--like the air itself was holding its breath. She placed a hand over her stomach, tracing the swell there, trying to anchor herself in the familiar warmth, in the life she carried.

The morning dragged on slower than it ever had before. Tasks that usually passed in a blur--tidying, preparing food, reading--felt heavy, their edges sharp in the silence. She noticed little things she'd never paid attention to before: the subtle creak of a floorboard, the wind brushing too harshly against a window, the way shadows pooled in corners that usually stayed bright.

A shiver ran through her, she told herself it was nothing. Cassian would have said the same if I'd fretted over every noise, she thought, trying to summon a smile. She spent the day keeping busy, her mind repeating the same thought over and over: He'll be back before I even notice he's gone.

By afternoon, the light had softened, golden and warm, filtering through the windows like it always did. Feyre and Elain had come and visited her soon after Cassian left. But now, as she sat alone once more in the sunlit room, there was a weight pressing at her chest--a tiny, almost imperceptible unease she tried to shake. She shook her head, counting the minutes until dinner, until anything that resembled normalcy returned.

Evening arrived quietly. She lit candles, their soft glow casting dancing shadows on the walls, and tried to setlle herself. She hummed a song softly, brushed her hair, and prepared for bed, telling herself the day had been ordinary, that the quiet had simply been peace.

And yet, as she moved through the dim hallway toward her chamber, the feeling prickled again. Something was off--just on the edges of her perception, like a shadow that didn't belong. Her heart ticked faster for a moment, then she shook her head firmly. It's nothing. I'm imagining things. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the warmth of the fire, the softness of her bed.

Night crept in fully, and with it came the quiet that pressed a little too close, that made every small sound seem larger. Y/N slipped beneath the covers, tugging them close, and tried to ignore the whisper of unease curling at the edges of her thoughts. She told herself to sleep. To rest. To trust in the world she knew.

But then-

A sound.

The first sound didn't seem dangerous. A faint creak somewhere downstairs. The kind the house sometimes made when the wind shifted.

Y/N shifted in bed, blinking into the dim orange glow of the dying fire. Then came a second sound. Not a creak. A thud. Heavy. Deliberate.

Her heart stuttered.

She pushed herself upright slowly, listening. the silence that followed was worse than the noise--it was too complete, too controlled, as if someone were holding their breath, waiting for movement above. That uneasy flutter from earlier slammed back full-force.

Too loud. Too heavy. That wasn't the house.

Y/N slid one leg off the bed, then the other. Her breathing shortened, her pulse quickening in her throat as she padded to the door. A faint vibration tremored through the floorboards--another thump, followed by a low scrape.

A voice--deep, rough, unfamiliar--muttered something she couldn't catch.

Her blood turned to ice. Someone is inside.

Her hand cupped her belly instinctively. She moved silently across the room toward the small dagger Cassian insisted she keep "just in case," tucked inside the bedside drawer. Her fingers trembled as they curled around the hilt.

Another voice joined the first. This one closer. "Upstairs."

Y/N's breath hitched. A chill carved its way down her spine. They were coming for her.

She backed away from the bedroom door just as footsteps started ascending the stairs--slow, heavy, confident. Not rushing. Not searching. Moving like they knew exactly where she'd be.

Wards. The wards were up. How-

A sharp crack echoed from below, as if a window frame had been forced open, splintered. She flinched at the sound. Y/N moved quickly--silently--toward the wardrobe, easing its doors open. She'd barely stepped inside when something on the stairs groaned under an enormous weight.

Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.

She pulled the doors almost closed, leaving the smallest sliver to see through. The crack between the doors framed the hallway, swallowing it in shadow.

The footsteps reached the landing.

A figure emerged. Wingless. Massive. Illyrian leathers stripped on insignia, armor darkened and roughened from misuse. A broad scar ran across his jaw.

Y/N's breath stilled entirely.

A rogue. A brute. One of them.

"I smell her," the male rasped, sniffing like a damn animal. Her stomach clenched painfully around the child she carried. Another figure joined him--slighter but no less brutal, carrying a wicked, jagged blade still crusted with something dark.

"Cassian's mate," he sneered. "Alone. Fragile. This'll break him."

Her throat tightened. Her dagger shook slightly in her hand.

The first brute bared his teeth. "General thinks he can fix Illyria. Thinks he can change us. We'll show him what happens when a bastard forgets his place."

Y/N's breath caught on a silent gasp. Her pulse roared. Her palms slicked with sweat. And still-she didn't move. Couldn't.

Every instinct screamed at her to remain small, unseen.

But then-

The floorboard just outside her hiding spot creaked. Not from her. One of the men turned sharply toward the sound.

A third intruder stepped into view, climbing the last step of the staircase. Smaller, quicker, feral-eyed.

"I checked the downstairs," he hissed. "She ran. Must've heard us."

"She wouldn't get far," the leader growled. "She's heavy with his child."

A violent heat shot through Y/N's chest. Fear, anger, instinct--everything twisted together. Her baby kicked, sharp and sudden, almost as if reacting to the stress. The sudden movement caused the wood under her foot to whine.

Three heads snapped toward the wardrobe. Silence. Total, suffocating silence.

Then...the leader smiled.

"There she is."

He strode forward. Too fast.

Y/N shoved the doors open and darted out, dagger raised--not to win, but to survive. To create space. To run.

The brute lunged. She ducked under his arm, slashing desperately--her blade scraping across his forearm, drawing blood. He roared, spinning with frightening speed for his size.

A hand snatched her hair. Another grabbed her wrist, slamming it into the wall until the dagger clattered away. Pain lanced down her arm. Her vision blurred.

"Feisty little thing," the second brute laughed. "Should've expected that. General always did like his females wild."

"Don't- " Her voice cracked, strained. "Don't touch me- "

A fist crashed into her ribs. Agony burst across her side as she choked on a cry.

One of them grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her face up to his, breath rancid with old ale. "You won't die yet," he purred. "Not until we've used you to our complete pleasure. After all, we can't let a pretty little thing such as yourself go to waste one last time. Hm?"

She clawed at him, nails scraping skin, anything--anything--to break free. He hissed and slapped her hard across the cheek. The room spun. Her ears rang. Her stomach seized painfully.

Cassian.

His name was a silent scream in her mind.

She stumbled backward as they advanced again--but before they could reach for her, a windless, unnatural silence fell over the house.

Not quiet but...stopped.

The air tightened. The candles guttered. Shadows distorted across the hall. The leader froze, eyes going wide.

"What is- "

The entire house shuddered.

A violent pulse rippled through the room--raw power, cold and unforgiving. The intruders staggered.

Y/N fell to her knees, clutching her stomach, gasping through the pain. Footsteps--slow, lethal--approached from the stairs below. A voice sliced through the quiet:

"You broke into the wrong house."

Rhysand.

And before the intrudors could run, a blast of magic threw them down the hall, bodies crashing into the far wall with bone-cracking force.

Cassian should've known something was wrong the moment he felt it.

The fear. The anger. Sharp, stabbing, impossible to ignore. It came from Y/N's side of the bond, a trembling, lashing pulse of something raw, desperate. And yet...he had ignored it.

He should've known when she didn't answer him the first time he called her name, when he reached out and felt only silence in return. And when that silence stretched on, deeper than ever before, he should've stopped to consider it.

But Y/N had these moments--these small, infuriatingly human, infuriatingly endearing moments. She would go silent sometimes because she was too immersed in finishing a new tapestry she was working on, or because she was convinced she could sneak into the kitchen to bake bread without him noticing, and answering him would ruin the perfect stealth. She would also grow stubbornly angry at him over the silliest things--like when he sneakily ate the last piece of cake she had reserved for herself--and refuse to answer, fully absorbed in her indignation.

And because this routine had happened a dozen times before, Cassian hadn’t thought much of it. Routine. Nothing more.If only he had known how wrong he was.

He was with Azriel when the message came. They’d stopped for a quick bite before meeting with Captain Kaelir to discuss the new Illyrian training units--joking, laughing, teasing each other like the old times. Cassian’s laugh had carried lightly across the table, and even Azriel’s lips had twitched in something that resembled amusement.

Then came the words.

"Y/N has been seriously attacked. She's unconscious and in the townhouse under our watch. Get your asses over here. Now."

Time stopped. The world shifted, froze and left Cassian standing there, a slice of that familiar, joking male snatched away from him and replaced with something darker. Something cold. Something sharp. Rage. Fear. Guilt. All of it rolled together into a twisting knot in his chest.

Azriel’s hand settled on his shoulder, firm, grounding, steady. “I’ve got it,” the Silent Shadow murmured, his voice low, unwavering. “We’ll get to her. I’ve got it.”

Cassian didn’t move at first, couldn’t. His entire body was vibrating with the kind of fear he had never known he carried--the fear of losing her, of walking into that house and finding the worst possible outcome waiting. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t shift.

Azriel gripped his shoulder tighter, a silent anchor against the storm raging inside him. “Cass. I’ve got it. I’ve got you. Let’s go.”

The words barely registered. They didn’t need to. Azriel’s hands on him, the calm certainty of the Shadow, were enough to pull him out of the frozen haze.

He inhaled sharply, fists clenching at his sides, wings twitching with the tension he could no longer contain. The fire that had always burned bright and reckless inside him flared. His rage for those who had dared touch her mingled with guilt for not sensing it sooner--and fear for what might have already been done.

The world blurred as Azriel winnowed them, the familiar sensation ripping through space and air, disorienting but utterly precise.

In that heartbeat of movement, Cassian’s mind raced: Her. Alive. Please be alive. Please be okay.

Azriel’s steady presence kept him tethered, even as every muscle, every nerve, every beat of his heart screamed in panic. “I’ve got you,” Azriel whispered again, just for him, the words threading through the chaos like a lifeline. “We’ll get there. I’ve got it.”

Cassian nodded once, tight, rigid, utterly consumed by the thought of Y/N. The humor, the lightness, the joking man from a mere two seconds ago was gone--replaced by something primal, something sharp, something that would not forgive anyone for what had been done.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. All he needed was to get back.

Back to her. Back to the life that had almost been shattered.

Cassian’s boots pounded the stairs, three steps at a time, wings tensing behind him with every movement. Azriel was beside him, silent as always, but the bond between them thrummed with the urgency of what had come over the bond.

When they reached the top, Cassian skidded to a stop in front of the doors, chest heaving, and froze.

Rhysand and Mor stood there, halfway in some heated argument, voices low but sharp, and both stopped immediately the moment they saw him. Azriel followed, silent and alert.

“I need to- ” Cassian started, reaching for the door.

“Listen first,” Rhysand cut him off, voice calm but firm.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit!” Cassian snapped, shoving against Rhys with one hand, the other still pressed to his stomach. His eyes were blazing, every inch of him vibrating with danger and panic.

“LISTEN FIRST!” Rhysand’s voice rose, loud enough to make the hallway echo, and before Cassian could react further, Rhys slammed a hand against the wall, pinning him there.

Cassian froze, every muscle coiled, every impulse screaming to break free.

“Mor, go inside,” Rhys said without even looking at Cassian, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Mor sighed, glancing at Cassian with a brief, almost apologetic glance, then stepped past them into the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Cassian’s jaw tightened. Azriel’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, grounding him, but he didn’t even notice.

“Before you lose your marbles,” Rhys said, voice sharp but measured, “she and the baby are both safe. Alive. But she’s been hit pretty badly in the ribs. Madja says she’ll need to rest in a medicated, immobilized brace for the next few days, minimal movement, and constant monitoring. The three shits are locked up and waiting for us to deal with once we make sure of Y/N’s condition.”

Azriel opened his mouth, perhaps to speak, but Rhys cut him off again, voice rising slightly, tinged with the sharp authority Cassian had always known:

“Now. Go into the room. More gentle. Not like a wild animal.”

Cassian let out a low, frustrated huff, jaw tightening, but he nodded once. His wings flexed as he stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides.

He entered the room.

The moment he did, everything else fell away.

His eyes immediately found her--Y/N--lying unconscious, pale under the soft glow of the room. Her hair spilled across the pillow, one hand still curled protectively over her stomach. The air was thick with quiet worry, the kind that made his chest tighten unbearably.

Everyone else--Feyre, Elain, Nesta, Amren, Mor, and Madja--froze the instant Cassian looked up, each holding their breath, waiting to see his reaction.

Cassian’s gaze didn’t leave her. Every second felt like an eternity. Every muscle in his body ached with fear, rage, and relief all at once.

He stepped closer, wings flexing, ready to shield her from anything, anyone, even the world itself.

Cassian didn’t remember moving. One heartbeat he was frozen in the doorway, the next he was at her bedside, knees hitting the floor so hard the impact echoed.

His trembling hand reached for hers--gently, like she was made of glass--and he sucked in a shuddering breath when he saw the bruising along her ribs, the dried blood at her temple.

His chest cracked open.

“Sweetheart…” His voice broke. He bowed his head, pressing her limp hand to his forehead. “Gods, I’m so sorry… I should’ve been here. I should’ve- ”

The words dissolved into a harsh exhale. His shoulders shook. Tears dripped onto her skin, warm against her cold fingers.

Azriel looked away to give him privacy. Nesta pressed her lips together tightly. Even Amren softened a fraction. The whole room held itself still, suspended, waiting.

Then-

A twitch. The smallest movement.

Cassian’s breath caught. His head snapped up, eyes wide, just as her fingers curled weakly around his.

“Y/N?”

Her eyelids fluttered… once, twice…

Then she blinked up at him, dazed and unfocused but alive.

“Cass…” she whispered, the syllable barely there, fragile but real.

A broken laugh burst out of him, wet and relieved. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing every knuckle before bringing her palm to his cheek. Tears slipped freely down his face now, but he didn’t care.

“Hi, baby,” he breathed, voice thick. “Hi… Gods, you scared the shit out of me.”

Soft sighs of relief rippled through the room, but no one spoke. No one moved. They all knew this moment wasn’t for them.

Cassian leaned forward, brushing the faintest kiss to her forehead, then another to her cheek, then he placed a trembling hand over her belly, his lips following, voice breaking:

“I love you. I love both of you. You hear me? I’m never--never--leaving your side again. Not for anything. Not for anyone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N’s smile was weak but warm, her eyes shining even through the haze of pain. Her fingers slipped into his hair as best she could, a tiny gesture, but enough to make his throat tighten all over again.

He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in, letting the bond fill with his love and relief and devotion.

They stayed like that, wrapped in quiet, fragile peace, until Feyre finally cleared her throat gently.

“Alright, big boy,” she said softly, but with a smile, “you got your moment. Now let us give her some space.”

Cassian exhaled shakily and nodded. He pressed one last kiss to Y/N’s temple, whispering, “I’ll be right outside,” before reluctantly standing.

The females immediately moved in--Feyre checking her pulse, Elain adjusting her pillows, Nesta brushing hair from her face, Mor whispering comfort, Amren inspecting her injuries with a clinical eye while Madja resumed her work.

Cassian stepped out into the hallway with Rhys and Azriel behind him, the door closing softly.

His face changed.

Shadows hardened his expression, the softness melting away and leaving behind something ancient and deadly. His voice when he spoke was low, cold, and terrifyingly controlled.

“You two take the other two bastards,” he said, not looking at them.

His eyes glowed with pure, unfiltered rage.

“I will deal with the leader myself.”

Rhys didn’t argue.

Azriel didn’t flinch.

They just nodded.

Because there was no mercy in Cassian now. Only vengeance.

The quiet guy that has been tinkering in the kitchen until now walks over to smack Cass on the back of the head and the first guy just drops his head, chin to his chest, letting out a deep sigh.

You try not to giggle, thinking to yourself that maybe this would work out— they don’t look like creeps. You bite your lip, mentally considering the pros and cons of living here (even though they have not officially made the offer yet) and you are heavily leaning towards yes. What could possibly outweigh living with three drop-dead gorgeous men? And the rent is doable, the place looks clean, it’s in a good area of the city, it's close to your work— it’s pretty much perfect.

"Rhys," the quiet guy says, "what in the hell made you think Cassian should be in charge of writing the ad?"

"Honestly, I just didn't want to do it myself." Rhys sits back on the couch and looks back at you. "Well, ___, I apologize about the weird ad— apparently that was too much to ask for of this meatball."

"Meatball?" Cassian sits up and flexes his arms, smirking. "I think you mean beefcake."

You laugh, loud and embarrassing, and nod, trying to talk through your giggles. "It's okay." You swipe a tear from the corner of your eye and clear your throat. "Okay, so I can do the rent, but I don't get paid until next week, is that okay?"

Rhys nods, "I'm sure that can work. Az?"

The quiet guy crosses his arms over his chest. "Yeah, that works."

Rhys turns to Cassian. "Cass?"

Cassian winks at you, "Hell yeah."

Rhys rolls his eyes. "Okay since we all agreed, you are welcome to move in at any time. If you need help moving any of your stuff, we can help you. Now, apartment rules: Keep your girly stuff contained to your room— no offense but I don't want to hear 'you have a girlfriend?' every night." Az snorts, and Cassian nods sagely. "Dinner is at 6 every evening— Azriel runs a tight ship— and we have a chore calendar on the wall over there." He points at a whiteboard hanging on the wall. "Other than that, I mean, we're all adults here. Any questions?"

Cassian raises his hand and Azriel frowns, "Not you."

"What? I can have questions."

Rhys rubs his temples, "What questions do you have?"

Cassian turns to you, "Do you have any hot friends? Preferably single but I like a challenge."

"You'll have to ignore him," Rhys sounds and looks comically tired and you bite your lip to not laugh. "He'll calm down once you've been here for at least a week."

A phone rings and Azriel excuses himself to take the call and walks down the hall. You watch him leave and then turn back to the other two men. "Okay so I actually brought everything with me in my car, I think I can get it all but thanks for the offer to help. Uhm... let's see what else..." You tap your chin dramatically. "Yes, I have hot friends, but I love them too much to introduce them to any of you."

Rhys puts a hand to his chest, "I'm hurt. But I understand."

Cassian gets up, stretching a little before walking to the kitchen and getting a bottle of water from the fridge. "Well, as much as I am enjoying this conversation, I need to get to work. See you later, ___."

He walks out the door and Rhys stands up. "I have to go too. Go ahead and get settled in, let me know if you need anything— my number was the one on the ad. Cass and Az's numbers are on a note on the fridge along with the wifi password and the code for the door lock. See you later, ___, welcome."

You sit on the couch for a long moment, messaging your friend group chat to let them know you're okay and that the apartment worked out. You giggle at the wave of emojis they send in response to your brief breakdown of everything that just happened. You giggle when your best friend says she is immediately packing her bags to move as well.

"Bye, ___. I'm off to work, but it was nice meeting you." Az's low voice startles you and you drop your phone, which bounces and lands right next to his foot.

You feel your face burn as he leans down to pick it up and you see the gif of a woman fanning herself that one of your friends had sent. "Oh, that's—" he hands you your phone, and you suddenly wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Az grins, a single dimple on his left cheek making an appearance, and the faintest pink staining his cheekbones. "I didn't see anything."