#cs au

     I wheeze, the air rushing from my lungs Iris yanks on the laces of my corset, pulling it tighter than I typically wear it – when I can be bothered to wear one at all. I don’t like to be restricted and, no matter how pretty the lacework is, the boning feels like a cage. Asterope had offered to dress me, but the moment she reached for the gown hanging behind the screen – a gown I have yet to see myself – Iris all but snarled at the poor female and shooed her from the room to tend to our mother, who already has two maids of her own attending her. When I feel her beginning to tie the laces, I manage a small sigh of relief as my hands wander towards my curled and coiffed hair.

     The smack of my sister’s hand against my own echoes through the room.

     “Iris!” I huff, rubbing the thin skin on the back of my hand.

     “Stop touching it or it’ll fall. Then Asterope will have to do it all over again, and it already took hours.” After one final knot, she steps back to look at me as I watch her in the mirror, impatient and bored with the tedious task of dressing. I love pretty gowns as much as anyone, but so much goes into getting ready for a ball. We should have requested Day Court fashions since there aren’t nearly as many buttons or laces involved in them. Just yards and yards of artfully draped fabric. “There, now you should fit.”

     “Should?” I grumble, glancing over at the partition hiding our gowns. Iris tugs at the end of her elaborate braid, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. “I thought you’d commissioned this gown with my measurements.”

     “I did, but it’s a new style,” she huffs, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she goes to fetch the gown. Her robe flutters around her ankles, cut from the softest blue silk that reminds me of the morning sky. It’s lovely on her, the right shade to bring out the autumnal hues in her hair and eyes. When Iris emerges from behind the screen, I’m expecting to see a gown in shades of grey or cream, something soft and light.

     Draped over her arms is the most daring shade of crimson I’ve ever seen.

     “Try it on before you say anything,” she interjects as I open my mouth to protest. “Please?” Please. Iris doesn’t often ask me for anything, at least not since I’d returned from my first visit with our grandparents several weeks ago. It’s strange to be standing in my room in their palace now with her at my side after I’d grown so accustomed to being alone here. Well, as alone as one can be with a maid. Iris has been good about keeping out of my way, I suppose the least I can do is humor her.

     She only squeals a little when I beckon her over with the gown.

    “The fabric has cooling enchantments woven in,” she rambles as she kneels at my feet, helping me step into the gown before she pulls it up, “so you won’t be too hot in it. And there are lifting charms in the skirts, so it won’t be too heavy. All things considered, you should be rather comfortable.”

     “My ribs in this corset would beg to differ.”

     “Well, I didn’t say it was perfect, did I?” she asks as I shove my arms through the long sleeves. It’s heavier than I’d anticipated, the silk is far thicker than those we purchase from Dawn. Once the neckline is situated just over the corset and the cuffs of the sleeves are secure, Iris buttons the gown and I watch it transform. The waterfall bishop sleeves sit just off of my shoulders, flowing effortlessly into the deep, heart-shaped neckline; the ruching over the bodice creates the illusion of a sort of explosion, like a heart bursting. When she finally fluffs out the train, I glance back over my shoulder to see beautiful gold embroidery along the hem of romantic swirls and whorls I’ve only ever seen in her lacework.

     “Oh, Iris,” I gasp, twisting to get a better look at the gown. “This is incredible.”

     “Do you like it?” she asks, twisting her robe between her fists as she steps back to admire her handiwork.

     “It’s lovely. Did you help with the embroidery?”

     “I designed it. It wasn’t meant to have any,” she shrugs sheepishly, “but when you returned from your visit here, you were…different. And I thought the dress might need to reflect that.”

     “Different how?” I laugh, turning to look at myself in the mirror. All of my life I’ve had a plethora of beautiful gowns, but nothing quite this dramatic or flattering. It’s truly the most breathtaking dress I’ve ever owned.

     “Softer.” The word falls from her lips like a confession, and I stop admiring the gown to look at her. “A little dreamy, like your head was in the clouds until it was time to come back. Whatever you were thinking of, it looked like it brought you joy.”

     “You didn’t say anything about it.” Iris has never shied away from barging into my business before.

     “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

     “That hasn’t stopped you before.” I wince at the statement. It came out more bluntly than I’d intended, and my heart seizes at the way her face falls before she shrugs it off. We so rarely get along. I always feel as though she clings too tightly to me and I don’t know how to stand it. It’s so easy to push her away. I’ve been doing it for years, telling her I don’t need another shadow. Perhaps I’ve been too harsh.

     “This time it did.”

     “We can talk about it,” I tell her, this time more gently, “if you want. Preferably when Linden and Aspen aren’t around. They’d both have too many of the wrong sorts of questions or they’d bring it up at the wrong time, you know?”

     “In other words, you don’t want it getting back to Papa.” The gleam in her blood moon eyes makes me laugh and I shake my head at the fox-like smile on her lips.

     “I’m not hiding anything, Iris.” That’s not entirely true. There are letters hidden in a compartment of my trunk I only dare to reread in the dead of night, when the world’s gone quiet. I wonder if he keeps mine tucked away somewhere special. If they mean anything at all. “You should get your gown, I’ll help you with it.”

     “Oh, it’s simple enough that I won’t need help. But will you tell me about your secret?” I follow her over to the screen, stopping just shy of the edge to give her privacy as I hear her robe flutter to the floor. Smoothing my hands over the thick, pleated fabric of my skirt, I’m at a loss for what to say. How do I tell her of the male that haunts my dreams? We only shared a moment alone in the garden temple and a handful of letters in the passing weeks, little mementos that began to appear under my pillow a few days after his departure. Surely it will sound ridiculous and make me appear childish, to have latched so strongly onto the idea of someone. But when I think of him, the way my heart flutters in my chest, the deep sense of knowing that settles over me, I just…can’t bring myself to feel ridiculous.

     My name on my sister’s lips spurs me on, unlocking a latch I hadn’t realized was there until the truth comes spilling out of me like the opening of a dam.

     “When I was here last, helping Grandfather with the drought, they played host to Night’s new High Lord and his inner circle for a few days. Something about trade agreements or treaties, I wasn’t really paying attention when they were introduced.” My cheeks flood with heat as I remember the way Rhysand had looked, how his presence had filled my mind so thoroughly it was impossible to think of anything else.

     “You didn’t mention it at your return dinner, when Papa asked you if anything interesting happened while you were away.” Iris says, briefly poking her head around the screen. Her eyes are wide, sparkling with delight, and I shrug in response.

     “It didn’t seem important, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was particularly interesting.” Lie, lie, lie. I should have mentioned it, but I didn’t.

     “But it was, wasn’t it? What happened?” The sound of rustling fabric and frustrated huffing fills the room, and I almost offer to help her again. “Did you get to meet them? Were they as terrible as everyone claims?”

     “You knew Rho as well as I did-”

     “Not true. She didn’t like to speak to me nearly as well as she did you-”

     “-regardless, she wasn’t terrible. I didn’t expect her brother to be either and, well, he wasn’t. None of them were, really. A little cold, perhaps detached…but not terrible.” Not terrible at all. I begin to fuss with the pleats in my gown, running my fingers over the thick fabric until the skin begins to feel dry. “He, uhm…he might have happened upon me in the garden temple on his last day here. We had a…strange encounter, I suppose. I don’t know.”

     “You don’t know? What does that even mean?” Iris crows, stepping out from behind the screen. My lips part in an ‘o’ of surprise as I take in the details of my little sister’s gown. Cut from pale shades of twilight, the bodice is sleeveless, embroidered with beautiful, crystal beaded blackberries and flowers more akin to something you might find in the mountains than the autumnal forest of our home court; the skirt, flaring out from her waist, is constructed of many layers of sheer fabric cut to mimic the petals of a flower opening, occasionally interspersed with lovely, metallic silver accents.

     On a good day, Iris is one of the loveliest females in any room.

     In this gown? My sister is a vision. It illuminates her pale complexion and compliments the deep merlot curls cascading over her shoulder. She fluffs her skirt a bit as she sidesteps me to find the mirror, where she takes in every angle of the gown with an exacting eye. 

     “Oh, wow,” I murmur, crossing my arms as I admire her. “Your dress is amazing, Iris. You look beautiful.”

     “Don’t cross your arms like that, your gown will wrinkle.”

     “Am I supposed to hold them out by my sides all night?” I ask, flinging my arms out wide in a rare show of drama that makes her eyes sparkle. My beautiful, radiant sister. Envy roils in my gut and I do my best to shove it down.

     “I certainly hope you intend to do more than stand around all night. You might actually have to dance or have something to drink, socialize, you know. What people do at balls.” She laughs when I roll my eyes and wanders over to sit on the edge of my bed. “Now tell me more about this new High Lord. If he’s as handsome as his father was-”

     “Iris!” I huff, feeling my own face reddening at the very idea of my younger sister looking at anyone that old with such blatant interest. A heavy knock on my door is all the warning we’re given before it’s thrown wide open and Aspen comes barrelling in, his auburn curls still damp from the bath. His pale trousers and forest green jacket are almost certainly a miniature version of what our father must be wearing tonight. Mother does love for them to match on public outings. Following at his heels with a sour expression, Linden shrugs into a satin jacket the color of marigolds. There’s no trace of my gangly little brother in his soldier’s build or the sharply chiseled jawline, more defined now that his long hair’s been cut, but a familiar glimmer of mischief lights his russet eyes when they cut to mine.

     “Mother will be cross if your jacket is wrinkled, Aspen,” Linden reminds our youngest brother with a lazy grin just before he can barrel into Iris. The boy settles at her side instead, leaning against her as she runs her fingers through his hair.

     “You’re no fun anymore.” I tap a finger over my lips to contain the giggle threatening to bubble up at the pout on Aspen’s freckled face.

     “That’s what military service does to you, Asp,” Iris mock-whispers as she kisses the crown of Aspen’s head. “Makes you terribly boring.”

     “I’m afraid it’s more the promise of Mother’s wrath.” Linden’s nose wrinkles at the prospect as he falls in at my side, lightly bumping my shoulder as his eyes sweep over my gown. “Father sent us to hurry you along. Are you quite finished primping, or should we stall for five more minutes? I doubt it’ll help either of you-”

     “Watch it,” I warn, reaching up to tug the hair curling near his collar, “or I’ll give you another bald spot to fuss over.”

     “The hair’s grown back, no thanks to you,” Linden mutters, batting my hand away. “Some welcome back this is.”

     “Oh hush. A ballroom full of eligible females should make up for your arduous time spent along the northern border. I’m sure the cattle and fields cause many problems.”

     “Laugh all you want, you haven’t seen the creatures crawling down from the north.”

     “I see Papa’s reports, too.”

     “You think they’re putting them in official reports?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “If you have to ask, it’s not my place to say-”

     “Well then don’t start conversations you don’t intend to finish,” Iris huffs, her eyes flashing a violent shade of crimson as the flit between us. Aspen groans, kicking his feet up on the bed as he lays his head in her lap, guiding her hand back to his hair.

     “I’m hungry,” he whines, the very picture of the pampered youngest brother. Little Juniper’s going to need to give Aspen a run for his money soon, or he’ll be insufferable forever. Iris shushes him in much the same way Mother does, running a thumb over his cherubic cheek as she narrows her eyes at Linden. She’ll make a formidable mother herself someday, though Linden remains unfazed. He casts a sidelong glance at me and gives a casual shrug, tilting his head towards the door.

     “Come on, they’re expecting us. Grandfather will be anxious to go down soon, I’m sure, if only to ensure Aspen is fed.”

     If he were shorter, I’d shake him the way I used to when we were small: until his teeth rattled and he told me what he knew. Unfortunately, we’re expected to be adults, so I suck my my teeth and shove my feet into the golden slippers beside my mirror, a perfect match for the embroidery on my gown. Aspen scurries off with a whoop, the sharp clip of his shoes echoing in the hall.

     “Go do something useful beyond stirring the pot,” Iris snips at Linden as she slips into her own silver shoes. I blink at her, taken aback by her attitude, but light sparks in Linden’s eyes as he gives her an assessing glance on his way out after Aspen. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He might like to think he’s worthy competition for you, but Papa would never-”

     “Oh, we don’t know what Papa will do, not that it’s necessarily up to him. And, who knows, perhaps Aspen will beat us all out-”

     “Oh please.”

     “You don’t know how he’ll settle.”

     “He’ll be lucky if he has half the power you do.”

     “Power isn’t everything,” I tell her as we hurry to join our brothers in the family sitting room. Papa, Uncle Lucien, and Grandfather stand beside an open window, looking out over the grounds as Juniper dozes in the crook of my grandfather’s arm, lost in some low conversation the sound of my grandmother’s fussing drowns out. Aunt Jesminda is seated uncomfortably on an emerald velvet sofa, her chestnut hair hanging in wild curls around her slender shoulders as she glances between my grandmother and mother. Her palm rests over the slight swell of her belly, the ruby in her mating ring gleaming in the warm, golden fae light. She smiles up at us as we enter, holding her hand out for me to take as I settle at her side. My head rests on her shoulder as I take in her scent, letting it calm the erratic beating of my heart.

     “Hello, sweetheart,” she whispers, kissing the crown of my head. Her golden gown is stunning, warming her skin, breathing a little life back into her. It seems this pregnancy has been more nightmare than blessing so far, but she’s well enough to be here with us. That counts for something. “How are you feeling? You look beautiful, kit.”

     “Thank you. I’m okay, are you okay?”

     “Perfectly fine, sweetling. It seems your cousin is as stubborn and difficult as the rest of you.”

     “It’s a Vanserra trait,” my mother adds, sitting on the sofa at my other side. Her gown of silver spidersilk is more revealing than she dares to wear at home, and lends towards the haunting image she usually cuts at my father’s side. The smell of dark, blackberry wine drifts up from the dark goblet dangling between her fingers, and I wrinkle my nose at it. She must have already made arrangements for Juniper if she’s drinking tonight. Her fingers curve around my chin, lifting my head from my aunt’s shoulder so she can properly look me over. I don’t know why she bothers, it seems there’s always something for her to be unsatisfied about when she looks at me. “Iris chose your dress well tonight, the color does much for your complexion.”

     “Thank you?” I say, pulling my chin out of her hold. I can hear Iris’s dramatic sigh from her place at my grandmother’s side, and I glance away from my mother’s harvest moon eyes to see my sister scowling down at her. Bright, tentative satisfaction bursts in my chest as I realize she’s taking my side, and how nice it is for her to do so. I should make more of an effort with her. Grandfather clears his throat then, drawing everyone’s attention to him as he hands off Juniper to Papa. My grandmother squeezes Iris’s arm before she drifts to his side, both of them resplendent in white and god.

     “Before we join my court to enjoy the night’s festivities,” Grandfather begins, placing his hand at the base of my grandmother’s back, “there’s something we wanted to share with all of you.”

     I look towards my father just in time to see him share a pointed look with Uncle Lucien. Aspen leans back against Lucien’s legs, fidgeting impatiently while Linden’s vacant gaze is fixed on a point on the far wall. He can’t even pretend to be interested. I feel for the currents in the air that help me generate lightning and carefully form the smallest burst of blue light right against the back of his neck, shocking him out of whatever daydream he was having with a small yelp. The older males glance at him, their faces painted in varying shades of bewilderment, then my father looks to me with a raised brow. I shrug innocently, giving him a bland smile before I turn my attention back to my grandparents.

     “It seems,” my grandmother says, looking to her children and their spouses before her eyes land on me. She smiles so warmly, I can’t help but return it. “It seems we’ll be welcoming another member of our family before spring. Helion and I are expecting a babe-”

     “You can still do that?” I’ve never seen my Uncle Lucien clamp a hand over Aspen’s mouth so fast, but the question is already out there. He received the talk after my mother fell pregnant with Juniper, and it seems he has not forgotten how babies are created. Lucien looks to my father again, something like horrified amusement on his face, and my father slowly blinks in return. Grandfather’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he buries his face in my grandmother’s hair, who looks to be seconds away from erupting into laughter herself. My mother certainly has never looked so pale as she does now.

     “Congratulations,” Papa says diplomatically, giving my grandmother a warm smile before he directs his attention to my mother. “It seems we have more work to do with the boy regarding manners, yes?”

     “That’s an understatement,” Iris mutters, leaning against the back of the sofa. That’s all it takes for laughter to break through the room, and I rise to hug my grandmother. Her arms wrap tightly around my shoulders, and Grandfather’s hand rests between my shoulder blades, warm and steady. This close, I can smell the way her scent has changed, softer and sweeter as a result of the pregnancy.

     “Congratulations,” I whisper. She kisses my temple, pulling back to look into my eyes. All my life, she’s been nothing less than joyous, but I have never seen her quite so radiant before. It’s like the sun itself shines from her russet eyes. Even her beautiful red hair has a golden hue to it. She must have had a glamour on before, hiding these little changes.

    Her hands cup my cheeks, her thumbs trailing along my cheekbones. “My sweet girl. You’ll help me design the nursery, won’t you?”

     “Iris might be better at that than me.” Her joyous expression falters a little at my suggestion, and I quickly add, “but if it’s my help you want, consider it yours. I would like nothing more.” It’s not the truth, but it’s not technically a lie either. There are more thrilling things in life than designing nurseries, but I love my family. And something tells me my grandmother has waited a very long time for a babe she can openly celebrate. Moments later, my mother’s hands settle on my shoulders, shuffling me off to the side for everyone else to extend their congratulations.

     I’m strangely grateful for the intrusion. Father hands Juniper to me before embracing my grandmother, and I take the rare opportunity to look down at the sister I’ve made no effort to bond with. She’s small, with a little, scrunched face and chubby cheeks. Her red hair is a little darker than it was, easing more towards wine red than fire. She is objectively a beautiful baby, but looking at her, I don’t feel that rush of affection or protectiveness I did with the other three. Something must be wrong with me.

     My mother takes Juniper after a minute, handing her off to a nursemaid before ushering the rest of her children into the hall. We’re used to this by now, and arrange ourselves in order of birth, with Linden escorting me while Juniper and Aspen trail after us. We’ll follow behind our grandparents and parents, with Uncle Lucien and Aunt Jes at the back of the procession. Linden pinches me as he threads my arm through his and, the moment Mother’s back is turned, I zap him again. Iris giggles behind us, and I catch her eye over my shoulder. She winks at me, and the affection I’d been searching for with Juniper tugs at my heart. Perhaps it will just take time.

- - -

     The grand ballroom is a sea of gold and glimmering jewels. Fae from every court fill the room, drifting in and out of the archways leading out into the main garden. My eyes search the sea of them, taking in the varied fashions and colors until I find the dark figure I’m looking for leaning against a marble column. The Night Court stands on the periphery of the celebrations in a tight circle, but I notice the shadowsinger drift forward as my siblings and I take our places at the high table. Iris stiffens at my side, like a marionette whose strings have been tugged. I look over, trying to figure out what she’s looking at, but her gaze drops to the porcelain plate as Grandfather’s speech begins.

      I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Are you alright?”

     “Fine,” she mumbles quickly, looking towards our grandparents, her cheeks tinged with pink. Red tendrils of hair have fallen loose around her face, softening her features. She reminds me of something lovely out of an old painting. “I’m fine.” She doesn’t seem fine, but maybe she just doesn’t want to talk about it here. I reach for her hand, squeezing her fingers, and she returns it with a bone-crushing grip of her own. Iris has never been crowd shy a day in her life, I don’t understand why she looks so unsettled now. Once my grandfather finishes speaking and the room fills with thunderous applause, I look back to where Rhysand was leaning. His spymaster has disappeared with the general, and the High Lord of the Night Court is staring straight at me. He smirks, tilting his glass towards me, and I raise my own to my lips.

     He’s beautiful, dressed entirely in black, his jacket trimmed with gold. The blonde at his side, Morrigan, is swathed in a gauzy, delicate white gown. Her tan skin is beautiful, contrasted by the stark fabric of her dress. A cousin, he’d said, distant but family nonetheless. All the family has left, it seems. I try not to let him distract me as the meal appears and everyone else takes their seats. Our plates are soon laden with fish and pasta in a creamy lemon sauce, and fresh, perfectly seasoned vegetables. Golden, crusty bread with oil and fresh herbs accompanies dinner, with light, sparkling peach wine and carafes of cold water.

     This truly is a celebration. Golden orbs blaze overhead like miniature suns, filling the space with light as dusk gives way to dark, glorious night. A string quartet plays in the corner, their music soft and lovely as pixie wings. My heart sings for the joy and laughter and love in this room, even if I don’t quite feel a part of it. After dinner, dessert arrives: peaches and sweet, vanilla cream or light, fluffy limoncello cake that tastes of liquor and sugar. I pick at the peaches, waiting for the rest of the musicians to arrive so the dancing can begin. It’s my favorite part.

     All through dessert, I search the ballroom for a head of raven black hair and that rich, dark laugh. I don’t hear or see him again until well after the dancing begins. The click of the heels of his polished black boots on the floor makes my breath catch as I lean around Linden to see Rhysand stop before the head of the table, giving my grandfather a respectful bow. The look he exchanges with my father is nothing short of complicated. I’ve never seen Papa look at anyone with so much mistrust as he leans back in his chair, his arm draped over the back of my mother’s chair as he sips his wine. Rhysand doesn’t seem to care much as he strides toward me. My brother bristles and from the corner of my eye, I see Iris glancing towards me, her blood moon eyes wide.

     “Lovely to see you again, Princess.” A few of the dancers behind him pause as the High Lord of Night formally addresses me. I straighten in my seat, trying to portray myself as the elegant Autumn lady my mother raised me to be. The wicked amusement in his eyes tells me he’s not fooled, but he’s not the one I’m putting on the act for. “You are a vision in crimson this evening.”

     “You flatter me, High Lord,” I reply, taking another sip of my wine. The flavor of peach and sweet vanilla tingles over my tongue, loosening the muscles in my shoulders, making me a little bolder. “How generous of you, to remember me after all these weeks.”

     “As though I could forget Autumn’s greatest treasure.” A few females in the corner titter, their heads bowed together as they watch the exchange. “You’ll forgive me, Lady, if my methods toe the border of propriety, but I’ve recently been told fortune favors the bold.”

     “And what could you possibly need fortune’s favor for tonight, High Lord?”

     “A dance, my lady. With Autumn’s loveliest jewel, if she would be so kind to oblige a northern lord.”

     I feel Linden rather than see him, his breath against the shell of my ear as he leans in to whisper, “oh fucking gag me. You’re not seriously entertaining this, are you?” I do not even deign to look at my younger brother. I merely shrug and smile at the male before me, elated at the opportunity to stretch my legs.

     “It would be an honor, High Lord.” Our family is hosting the revel, after all. It would be impolite to turn down the request of a guest. Rhysand meets me at the end of the dais, holding out a hand to help me descend the few short steps as the last song finishes. The crowd parts as he leads me to the dance floor, their whispers and my father’s pointed gaze on my back fading into the background as I look at him. He is beautiful. The scent of citrus and seawater wraps around me, marrying my own rain and orchard scent until all I can smell is us. My hand trembles as I set it on his shoulder, the other enveloped in his own. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me far closer than proper as the dark strains of a Night Court waltz fill the air. The music is slow, refined, and will gather speed in no time. It’s been a long time since I trained in this style of dance, but I remember enjoying the feeling of it. The slow, measured seduction of the beginning followed by the flurry of lifts in the middle. It was overwhelming to learn, but-

     “Just look at me, Dove.” His words are a command, and I turn my gaze to his. Gone are the dark shadows. In his eyes, all I see is beautiful, burning starlight. “It’s only us here. And it is so lovely to see you again. Did you receive my last letter?”

     “I did. The portrait you described was stunning, Rhysand.”

     “One day, perhaps I’ll show it to you.” I shiver at the idea of walking into that cruel, wicked court beneath the black mountain at his side. The mere thought of it is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I’ve heard the rumors of how they tear each other apart, of the faerie heads mounted on spikes in a long path before the entrance to the court. Of the beasts that reside in the pits of their dungeons, dark and monstrous things that know no master, only hunger. Only death.

     “I think I’d like that.”

     “You would be a vision there, too. A flame against the dark.”

     “I think you’re mistaking me for my sister.”

     “No. All I see is you.”

      In that moment, I am lost. Entangled in everything he is: the smell of him, the feeling of his body everywhere it meets mine, I am helpless in the face of the sheer power radiating from him. On our first lift, I lean my head back, letting the light wash over me as I begin the slow slide down his body, into his arms once more. Possession drips from his hands, every movement he makes a perfect mirror to my own, and something vicious and beautifully golden pulls between my ribs. A blue flash of lightning stretches across the sky, illuminating the grounds, and those violet eyes are full of unholy delight as he stares down at me.

     “I see you, too.” And, for a moment, I think I truly do. In the span of a breath, the bravado falls away, giving me a glimpse of something almost tender. Almost. But the mask slips back on before I can blink, and he’s spinning me in circles around him, little more than a planet in his orbit, a surety to his movements that doesn’t allow me to falter. Finally, when he pulls me back against him, the room falls into a hush. The music winds down, drifting into something softer and lovelier, and Rhysand’s arm is a solid weight around my waist. He’s looking down at me as though the stars are born and die in my eyes instead of his own, and my chin drifts up like he might kiss me here, in the middle of this room, with my entire family watching.

     Linden appears at my side, his hand outstretched to take me from the Lord of Night. Rhysand’s grip tightens, his expression flickering between possession and rage before his arm falls away and we step back from each other. My chest tightens, the space between us is too much to bear, but I remember myself before I can launch myself at him. We’re in the middle of a ballroom, and we both have roles we must fulfill. Lives that aren’t our own. I sink into a low curtsy, my head dropping as the thick, scarlet fabric of my dress fans out around me.

     Linden’s hand is an insistent presence at my side, and I reach for it as I stand. My brother turns me away, and I don’t hear the High Lord’s footsteps at my back, but I note the way Linden’s expression softens at his obvious departure. The minute the other dancers fill in the dance floor around us, I step on his foot.

     Hard.

     My little brother doesn’t even flinch. Asshole.

     “That was some display,” he grunts, pulling me into a much slower waltz. “What were you thinking?”

     “That a High Lord asked me to dance and I wouldn’t do him the dishonor of saying no.”

     “Well, sister, most of the other High Lords aren’t cold-blooded murders-“

     “Please, Lin, tell me which of them has unsullied hands and I’ll propose marriage myself. Go on, I’m waiting.” His jaw clenches, yet he says nothing. He can’t. To date, every High Lord has come to power with blood-soaked hands, our father included. He hates Night’s High Lord on principal, because their court has a long history of a sort of vicious cruelty our kind likes to pretend we’ve overcome. Rhysand doesn’t apologize for who he is or what he’s done. If he didn’t refuse to play the game, Linden might like him better.

     The fact that he doesn’t play the same, tired game makes me like him more.

     “Father is displeased-”

     “Because I shared a dance with a male who asked me?”

     “Because he was looking at you like he might burn the world for you,” Linden huffs, shaking his head. “And you were staring at him in kind. You know that’s not a match he could ever approve of.”

     The condescension in his voice is what makes me snap. “I’m not asking for his approval, Linden — not his or grandfather’s or anyone’s. And certainly not yours.”

     I disentangle myself from my brother’s arms and leave him in the center of the dance floor, storming off beneath one of the archways into the darkened garden. I hear him call after me, but I don’t deign to respond. Magic seizes me in a flurry of darkness and pressure. I can’t think or breathe, I don’t know where I am.

In the next moment, I step out into the center of the hedge maze. The stars wink to life overhead as the moon begins to rise, and sweet, warm air caresses my face. In the distance, I can hear the tburble of a nearby fountain. I shouldn’t have snapped at Linden, but I couldn’t endure another moment of him talking like he knows what’s best for me. None of them know what’s best for me, what I dream of, what I long for…yet they all have something to say about the way I choose to live my life.

     I’m not there longer than five minutes before the scent of sweet sea air envelops me. Threads of darkness dance along my skin, tugging at my arms, coaxing me to turn around. A warm hand gently clasps my shoulder and, finally, I look back. We don't speak, but we don't really need words. Not now. As day yields to night, I turn and grasp the front of his jacket, sinking into his arms as his lips meet my own.

     I feel like I’m burning alive. The brightness in my chest pushes its way out, expanding with every breath. The kiss deepens, his tongue darts against my lips, seeking entrance I willingly grant. Kissing Rhysand ignites something in me I know I can never extinguish. It is light and life and sweet, claiming darkness. Kissing him like falling asleep. Is this what it is to dream?

I just wanted to say thank u benny for noticing me! You’ve been a big inspiration for me since I appeared in the trolls fandom! And ur the reason i actually decided to learn how to draw trolls!

2023-2024 me would be jumping from happiness rn :3