#daddy!cassian

The metal clangs loudly against the countertop as he darts from his station, the snack splattering on the stone with a squelch by the time he’s through the doorway, on his way to find his daughter. He can hear her little feet pattering his way and he slows his pace so he doesn’t go barreling into her.

He’d only left her alone for hardly a minute, how could something have gone so wrong already?

“Sif?” He calls out, halting with warrior-like quickness as his daughter rounds the corner, stumbling right into his legs. She buries her face into his shin, wrapping her arms around his calf with surprising strength for a four-year-old.

She has fat tears rolling down her ruddy cheeks and it takes some effort to pluck her from his pants to cradle her in his arms, the doll she’s clasping to sweeping up with her. A quick scan proves nothing wrong; no cuts or bruises to be seen, and Cassian brushes away her unruly hair sticking to her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you hurt?” He asks because he doesn’t know what else to do. She’s full on sobbing now, hugging the doll tightly to her chest like a lifeline. The sight makes his heart ache, he’ll do anything to see her happy.

He’s a split second away from calling out to Rhys or alerting you through the bond because of the absolute pain rushing through his veins. Cassian’s become accustomed to the accidents and cries of his children, but it never gets easier.

“No,” Sif sniffles, blinking the tears from her big, beautiful hazel eyes. She holds up her doll but it’s much too close to his face to be able to see what she’s pointing out. “But Ms. Genavieve is!”

Cassian leans away, uncrossing his eyes to see the slight tear in the little doll, right where her arm and body meet. He lets loose a breath, shoulders melting in relief because Sif is perfectly in one piece, even if her toy isn’t.

“My poor baby,” Cassian coos, brushing her hot cheeks, wet with tears, once more. He rocks her against his chest, soothing the upset babe in his arms, pressing kisses to her forehead. “Daddy can fix her, don’t you worry.”

Tears line her eyes as she looks from the doll to him, and Cassian wants to cry at the way her little lip juts out in a pout, wobbling as she questions him. “You can?”

“Of course, pretty girl,” he soothes, “Let’s find mommy’s sewing kit and then I’ll finish your lunch. You can eat while I sew up Ms. Genavieve.”

“Okay,” she nods, fingering the threads hanging loose from her doll.

Cassian carries her throughout the house, beelining for the closet he knows you keep all of the miscellaneous supplies within the home. Sewing kit, medical box, art supplies, and games line the shelves, overwhelming in itself. 

He lets loose a sigh, beginning his search.

“Come on mommy, come on mommy,” he mutters, scanning the shelves, shoving things out of the way. “Where is it? Ah-ha!”

Sif giggles at his excitement, pulling the kit from the shelf. Cassian kicks the door shut, cringing when he hears something clatter to the ground on the other side.

He’ll blame it on Gideon when he gets home.

They make their way back to the kitchen where Cassian sets Sif in her seat, pulling it up to the counter. He rounds the counter, grimacing at the half of the sandwich that landed face down on the counter. Sif giggles, still holding her doll tightly to her chest as Cassian shrugs, folding the bread in half and stuffing it in his mouth as he reaches for a fresh slice for his daughter.

“Can’t let that go to waste now, right Siffy?” he mumbles through the mouthful.

She wrinkles her nose in response, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, daddy.”

Yep. Definitely her mother’s daughter.

He makes quick work of making her sandwich, humming and making silly faces to keep her happy while he does so. Sliding the plate across the counter to her makes Sif giggle and his heart soar. He fills a cup with milk for her to sip on and clears his station before setting it all up for Ms. Genavieve’s procedure.

Cassian matches the strand to the color of the fabric, and threads the needle and sets the doll before him, all of the supplies he needs are ready by the kit should he need them.

He takes a deep breath, glancing up to his daughter who has her sandwich occupying both hands, a tiny bite taken from the middle of it. Sif chews while she watches intensely, waiting for him to make his first move and it makes him more nervous than it should. He doesn’t want to disappoint his little girl.

Cassian stares at the tear. It’s not big by any means, and Mother be damned if he’s going to wait for you to get home or ask one of the wraiths to help him. He’s sewed up injuries plenty of times, when he’d been on missions or in wars and needed to quickly close a wound so he wouldn’t bleed out before getting to a healer. He’d even patched up Az once, back when they were teens and the shadowsinger was much too nervous to go to the medical tent because of the pretty girl that he couldn’t seem to stay away from. 

The shadowsinger wouldn’t let him near with a needle since. 

“Right,” he mutters, lowering the needle, “Nice and easy now.”

The first stitch is the worst, but Sif doesn’t make any noises to tell him he’s doing it wrong so he keeps going, keeping focused on the task at hand. He makes the suture as straight as possible, taking his time to align them perfectly, not skipping over any areas and pulling the thread tight before tying it off with perfection. 

“Well, little Miss Sif, I think Ms. Genavieve is very happy to once again have her arm at full capacity,” Cassian boasts, holding up her doll like a trophy. Sif cheers from her seat, making grabby hands for the toy and he hands it over before realizing with a start that she’s probably a mess from her lunch.

Indeed, she smiles, hugging the doll tightly to her chest and rubbing her jam-smeared face against the cloth toy. He cringes, sighing as he packs away the sewing kit.

“Besides,” he brushes off, coming around to Baz’s side. He slings an arm over his cousin's shoulders, an easy grin replacing the frown he’d just been wearing, knowing the younger male will be the easiest to convince to agree to his antics, “If we don’t go, we’ll have no cool stories to share when we’re older.”

Wren's mouth parts, another protest on the tip of his tongue but Gideon’s quick to cut him off, “And, if you don’t think that our parents are guilty of sneaking off you’re only playing yourself, Wrennie.”

The latter cringes at the use of his childhood nickname, sharing a look with Nyx.

“You’re not talking about a different bar Giddy, you’re talking about a whole different court,” Sif wrinkles her nose at her older brother, and Castor agrees.

“And one in Autumn.”

“Fine,” Gideon responds breezily, but the rest of his family knows he’s not about to let this crazy idea go. “Stay here. Go to the same hole-in-the-wall our parents have been going to for centuries. Baz and I will go. Right Bazzy?”

Wren's younger brother takes a moment, looking around the circle at each of his own siblings. Wren, with his wide eyes, pleading with him silently not to agree. Zuzu, looking as bored as ever, giggling with Asteria over some male she’d seen in Summer. Jax is as stoic as always, but that pinch in Baz’s gut tells him that his younger brother could use the excitement.

And the twins. Malos, who’s picking the dirt from under her nails with the curved tip of her most precious blade, smirking while Knox speaks into her mind–

The group startles as someone stumbles out the backdoor of the bar and into the alley, clearly drunk out of their mind. The bassy music and loud conversation spill from the building until the heavy door swings shut, cutting it off abruptly.

The male digs deep into his pockets, grunting as he struggles to free his hand from the tight fabric once he’s grasped whatever is so important, unaware of the eleven sets of well-trained eyes watching him, grinning triumphantly when he produces a thickly rolled snout.

He places it between his lips, bringing his free hand to the end of the joint, and with the snap of his fingers a flame flickers to life. Knox’s brows twitch while Malos’ eyes widen with intrigue at the blatant use of magic.

The male hadn't noticed the large group of young adults arguing, for they’d all gone silent in his presence, watching the drunkard struggle with his treat. He suckles at the tip of the joint, holding his breath to let the smoke leech into his lungs, before exhaling all of his worries away, white smoke curling from his mouth like the few shadows sweeping around the group protectively.

Mirthroot.

The male coughs into the crook of his arm at the strong flavor, the smoke sticking to his throat, and finally seems to realize that he’s not alone. He blinks once, twice, trying to clear the glaze from his vision.

He staggers closer to the group, not picking up on the way they all bristle, wings tucking closer to their backs with tension.

It’s Zuzu and Aster he stops next to, of course it is. They’re dressed scantily, ready to head into the bars and immediately wander off from the rest of their families in favor of prowling the dance floor for potential suitors, waiting by the bar drinkless until males and females alike send one their way.

Zuzu looks over her shoulder at the man. He’s a half head taller than her in her heels, not handsome, but not quite ugly either. So she forces her red painted lips into a sultry smile, batting her eyelashes, the face she’s mastered, one that will get her almost anything she wants from any stranger.

It works, the corner of his mouth lifts in response, gaze flicking towards Asteria who’s also smiling at him like he’s the most handsome thing they’ve ever seen, watching with round eyes as he brings the joint to his mouth for another drag, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Two very pretty girls,” he grins, sidling up close to Zuzu. His voice is like gravel, like he’s smoked a tinge too much mirthroot tonight, “Might I have the pleasure in–”

“Yes,” Zuzu agrees immediately, plucking the joint from his grasp. The male’s mouth parts in protest but Asteria’s stepping forward, trailing a red dipped nail down his alcohol stained shirt.

“We’ll look after this while you go inside and get us some drinks,” her smile is alluring. He seems to mull it over for a second, hazy gaze drifting down to where her hand is on his chest, up to her gleaming violet gaze and then over to Zuzu, who has his joint hanging limply between her clawed fingernails.

He agrees then, stumbling back a step as he rushes to get the pretty females their drinks, calling over his shoulder in a rough slur, “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere, pretty girls!”

Malos makes a face while Castor seems awestruck at her older cousins who snicker to each other as the male gives them one last eager look before dipping back inside. They mentally take notes at how easy Zuzu and Aster have made it look.

The males of the group relax slightly now that the male has swooped inside like a knight on a mission from princesses, although, they suppose that’s nearly what they are, with their parents titles. Tension melts from their tight wings. It’s much too early for their talons to be ruffled by some asshole in the street.

“You’re not going to smoke that, right?” Nyx points disgustedly at the man's joint in Zuzu’s grasp.

She rolls her eyes, red lips curving into a wicked grin as she stubs it out on the side of the building and holds it up with sparkling eyes.

“Let’s see what this will get us in Autumn.”

“Not you too,” Wren groans, brushing a hand through his dark hair, free hand on his hip. He looks towards Jax and the twins for some sort of reinforcement, even though he’s the oldest of the six.

“Knox says we’ll get caught,” Malos provides in a bored tone, sheathing her knife and crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn’t want to burst Wren’s bubble, but a part of her is itching to go, to explore a different court.

Wren breathes a sigh of relief but it’s short lived because Baz’s mouth curls into a splitting smile. All of his siblings groan at the sight, knowing exactly what that look means.

“Anyone else care to wager how far we’ll get before mom and dad find us?”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Maude Vanserra meets them at the border of Autumn, her younger sister and brother in tow.

She’s thrown herself into the arms of Gideon, who, despite telling his sisters and cousins that Maude is not his girlfriend, secretly is.

Juniper perks up at the sight of Sif and Castor, nearly flinging herself into a group hug with her two best friends, while Rook grows smaller under the lingering gaze Malos throws his way. The youngest has been forced out of the palace by his sisters, who, for once, actually want him to go out with them.

He’s a dashing young male, with his unruly amber hair brushed back from the glowing embers of his eyes, a crisp white shirt hanging off of his thinner frame, the first two buttons undone in haste.

He’d much rather be at home, reading strategy books or playing whatever wraith he can find in a game of chess, especially when he catches sight of Gideon and Baz, two of the loudest troublemakers in Prythian.

“C’mon,” Maude squeals, grabbing Gideon’s hand and tugging him along to the front of the group, “Let’s get this party started!”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Chlo’s is nestled in the foxholes of the Autumn Court, a place where none of the Night Court children had been before. In fact, they're pretty sure they aren’t allowed to be in here, not because of who their parents are, but because the city reminds them of Velaris, hidden and protected from above ground.

There’s music in the streets, not dissimilar to the music found in the Night Court. Bonfires litter the foxholes as they walk, males and females alike gather around the fiery pits, dancing and drinking and laughing the night away.

Knox shakes out his wings, brushing off the uncomfort he’s feeling from being unable to see the stars in the sky, sharing a look with Jax, who looks equally as uneasy.

He’s regretting not slinking away with Malos, who never truly let herself have a night off from Spywork, their shadows whispering in his ear her whereabouts.

Even Wren has given up on complaining once they’re entered the bar.

It’s nothing like Rita’s, that had been around for ages. Chlo’s is all dipped cedar and dark pine, flanked by a pristine cafė and a rundown storefront that claims to do psychic readings. Faelights beam in colored glass jars that are swinging throughout the room like strobes. The folk music from around the bonfires disappears as the plucky strumming of the guitar and deep bass of the drums plays unabashed, the bodies of fae and creatures alike gyrating to the lust lined music.

“Now this is awesome,” Zuzu breathes, dark eyes casting around the room in wonder. She peels away from the group with Aster on her heels, mirthroot joint tucked behind a pointed ear as they beeline towards the bar, eager to try the autumnal flavored drinks.

Castor, Sif, and Juniper head for the dance floor, giggling like school girls as they slip through the crowd with ease, hands linked together like the flower children of Spring.

Even Jax seems to be feeling lighter, absorbing the would-be overwhelming emotions filling the space, had he not mastered his powers at a younger age. The air is filled with excitement, carelessness, and a hint of lust that makes his throat thick. His hazel gaze glosses over as he revels in it, mouth twitching into a blissful smile.

Nyx and Wren find them an unoccupied table, settling into the chairs with minor struggle, the wings at their backs shifting awkwardly to wrap around the backrest. Jax slips into an empty seat without complaint, looking lighter than he has in years, while Knox kicks out another with a heavy boot, flipping it around to straddle the high back of the chair, wings resting comfortably at his back.

Baz, Gideon, and Maude move towards the bars for drinks, leaving Rook standing nervously at the table full of tall winged males, clad in all black and as intimidating as the cauldron itself.

He really should’ve stayed home, the youngest Vanserra thinks as he slumps into one of the empty seats.

Knox blinks, looking around the bar with all-seeing eyes. He hasn’t called his shadows back, figures it would be safer for Malos to have them creeping along with her while she’s snooping through the Autumn Court. He sends her a mental note not to stay out too long, to which she replies immediately, Missing me already?

Dearly, sis, he replies with a roll of his eyes.

Her laughter echoes in his mind and with quick word that she’s already on her way back to meet them, she’s gone.

Knox tries to settle into his seat, but finds himself at a loss. Malos is on her way and he’s with his siblings, but the bar is nearly too dark for him to be able to sign across the long table to Wren on the other side, and he isn’t sure how to conversate with Rook, if he even knows sign language, and Jax seems to be strangely in a world of his own right now, so fiddles with the thick ring on his finger while he waits for his drink.

Wren and Nyx are in deep conversation when a tray full of drinks slams down on the table between them, held by a grinning Baz.

“You’ve got to try these,” he exclaims, handing out shots to Nyx and his brothers. Maude and Gideon follow with their own trays, pitchers of drinks and a multitude of shots line each, presumably for the rest of their party.

Wren sniffs at the glass Baz hands him. The singing smell of alcohol burns the back of his throat and the tinge of cinnamon chokes him as he swallows the dark liquor down. He makes a face, frowning up at his brother.

“What in Mother’s name is this?” Nyx asks for both of them.

Baz shrugs, clinking his glass against Gideons and Maudes who’s cups are raised in a silent toast to themselves, “I don’t know but it’s awesome, isn’t it?”

The two oldest share knowing looks, well aware not to trust what Baz suggests because it’s most likely the thing that will get them in trouble.

Rook takes his like a pro, slamming the empty glass onto the table and quickly reaching for another. His pale, freckled cheeks have a rosy blush to them from just the first drink, and all of a sudden the first few undone buttons of his shirt don’t seem like they weren’t clasped because he was rushing, but now seems purposeful as his shoulders loosen with the alcohol.

The drink turns out to be some sort of cinnamon moonshine Maude had told them would put them on their asses when they’d each eagerly reached out for a second shot.

Jax forgoes the liquor, opening his senses more and more, letting the happiness and fun wash over him, loosening his tight shoulders. He turns to speak to his youngest brother, catching the prick of discomfort he feels when his eyes lock on a pretty female slinking through the crowd.

His mouth goes dry at the sight of her and he’s quickly mumbling to the youngest as he slides from his chair, “Be right back.”

Knox puffs out a silent breath as he watches his brother go, slinking through the writhing bodies with the stealth of a snake. He sits up in his chair, trying to follow Jax’s path but he loses him quick enough, slumping down, fingering the rim of his glass.

His dark eyes cut to the clock behind the bar, taking note of the time. He knows that their father is going to catch them, there’s a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach that says so, but even so, it’s nice to see Gideon with his girl, his siblings letting loose.

If only he himself could do the same.

Rook looks as bored as he is, tipping back on the two hind legs of his chair, a drink clasped close to his chest as he watches with sharp eyes both the party members and the crowd around. Knox watches intently as the youngest male does so, the gleam of his golden necklace catches in the bouncing faelight but the shadowsinger can’t quite make out the shape of it.

He averts his attention before he gets caught.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Malos stalks into the bar thirty minutes later, her itch to spy around the Autumn Court unfulfilled.

She’d wanted to find out more about the shadow hounds she’s heard so much about, looking to try and lure one out with her own shadows, but hadn’t caught sight of one of the protected animals of the Court.

She pushes through the bodies without a care, and no one dares call her out for her actions once they see her glower, the massive wings and fighting leathers. They don’t even know about the numerous weapons sheathed within them.

She almost wants one of them to bite back at her, stir up some trouble. Preferably someone at least twice her size or with a knack for fighting. 

She feels up for a little challenge.

But no one does, not even her older sister when she brushes through her and Aster, her shadows trailing her like obedient dogs.

Zuzu tugs on her hand but it’s not a fight she wants, laughing tipsily as she tries to get Malos to dance with her.

A smile tugs at the corner of Malos’ mouth, all she will allow before she’s twisting Zuzu into a spin, twirling her right into Aster’s arms. The pair spill into a fit of giggles before deciding to get another drink.

The younger sister takes the unoccupied spot next to Knox, scooping up an abandoned shot and knocking it back like it’s nothing. It’s sweet, the taste of cinnamon coats the back of her throat like syrup and she grimaces at the taste.

Not even her Aunt Nesta would drink this shit.

She doesn’t even get a chance to speak to her twin before Nyx is sliding into Jax’s empty seat, slinging an arm over her shoulders with an easy grin on his face.

Malos blushes at the contact, trying to shove the older male off of her. The heir doesn't budge, just plants a wet kiss to her cheek and beams, holding up another drink for her to take.

“Where’ve you been?” Nyx asks loudly–knowingly–in her ear.

She cringes away on instinct, glaring at the sly look on her twin's face, who blanches under her gaze, smartly averting his gaze to try and catch a glimpse of Jax.

She can smell the liquor on his breath. It’s hard not to, with all of the empty glasses littering the table. He’s faring better than Baz and Gideon though, who have their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, drunkenly serenading Maude and Wren, who are only encouraging it.

“Around,” she replies smoothly, voice even like her father taught her.

If she’s going to be Nyx’s spymaster some day, she’ll have to keep practicing.

“You need to catch up,” is all he replies, cheersing his glass against hers.

Reluctantly, Malos takes the drink, glancing at Knox on the other side of her.

How much longer?

Should be any minute now, he replies, arms crossed as he leans on the tall back of the backwards chair, looking as relaxed as ever for someone who’s awaiting the downfall of their plan.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Baz should’ve seen it coming, he really should have.

But he’s having too much fun in the Autumn Court, with their fast-paced music, whimsical drinks, drunk and partying with all of his family. It’s everything he wanted tonight and more; dancing with the girls, trying to out drink his brothers.

His shadows are hissing in his ears but the bass is too loud and he’s not focused, can’t quite hear the urgency over the fun that he’s having. He bats them away when they ruin one of his toasts, and Rook nearly topples out of his seat when they skitter his way.

Three things happen all at once.

One. 

The shadows beneath the table awaken, shifting and slithering around each of the Night Court children’s ankles and pulling tight, chaining their legs to the ground.

They startle, sharing wide eyed looks between each other and harsh swallows of guilt, knowing they’re in deep shit.

Two. 

Sif and Juniper’s beaming smiles drop, looks of terror replacing them as they catch sight of the bulky figure striding for them. The crowd parts easily, some grumbling about how the night is going to turn chaotic from the sight of those broad wings, some sneering at the Night Court females.

Castor hasn’t noticed, back to the looming male. She’s having fun, buzzing from the spiced cider she’s had and dancing wildly to make her sister and Juniper laugh. Her eyes are shut tightly, grin stretching across her face so hard her cheeks ache, until she runs into the brick wall of the male at her back.

She spins on her heel, ready to tell them off but her mouth goes slack as she stares wide-eyed up at him, a firm frown on his face.

“Dad?”

Three.

A shadow crawls over the shoulders of the two females at the bar, drinking in the attention from a group of fit fae males while they await their cocktails of choice.

If they had been paying more attention they would’ve felt the rippling power throughout the nightclub, seen the fae lights flickering overhead.

They share a quick look and a low curse, before Zuzu and Aster paint on their most innocent faces as they turn towards the crow of darkness standing at their backs.

The High Lord of the Night Court stands behind them, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed look on his face. Rhys has even put on one of his most extravagant crowns for the occasion, dark painted iron and gleaming onyx gems that drink in all of the light.

The young warriors surrounding them cower under the harsh violet gaze of the High Lord, slowly backing away in hopes he won’t notice.

“Let’s go,” he growls, grabbing each female by their wrists and winnowing away into nothingness.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

“Knox wins, again,” Malos mutters, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes.

They’d all been dragged back to the Night Court without a word from their fathers, and now they’re all standing in a line before them, mothers and fathers furious with them for their actions.

Her twin looks down the line of siblings and cousins, a smirk on his face that clearly states ‘I told you so,’ but when his fathers withering glare turns his way he ducks down bashfully, shrugging in defense, signing a lame ‘I’m sorry,’ that he knows will do nothing to get him out of trouble.

“This isn’t something to be won,” Rhysand scolds. His heart hasn’t stopped racing since he’d learnt of his children’s venture to the Autumn Court. And while Beron was no longer an issue at hand, there are many other things that could’ve happened had he showed up any later. “This isn’t some game!”

Rarely have they seen the High Lord like this. Once, when they’d ruined a High Lords meeting by releasing a young snowcat they’d found roaming outside during their snowball fight in Winter, and the other, when they’d all banded together when they were young, trying to steal a slice of the enormous Starfall cake before dinner. The entire table had fallen to the ground, destroying all of the desserts in front of the entire party. They were sent to bed early that night.

Azriel hasn’t spoken. He’s absolutely fuming at what the children have done. A part of him feels so stupid, his shadows screeching in his ears hadn’t been enough to wake him from his deep slumber, after having taken you three times since arriving back from a long trip to the Steppes.

His children had done well in choosing tonight to sneak out, he had to give them that.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. Interrogate them all separately like he used to do when they were younger, though he knows that his children had learned some of his ways and have most likely made up a story to all tell their parents.

On the other hand, it’s quite obvious who the masterminds behind the plan are.

But Cassian asks anyway, slipping easily into the voice he uses when he’s commanding an army, “Who did it?”

For a moment, none of their children move. There isn’t a twitch of a hand, a flicker of a gaze to point out the culprit. 

At least, not until Rhysand and Azriel let their power leech a little.

That would always get them to break.

The rest of the children flinch, frantically pointing at Baz and Giddy, who sway in their spots, though they’ve seemed to sober up tremendously since getting caught, knowing they’re in deep shit.

They seem to realize at the same time that they are pointing at each other, frowning and protesting at the same time, “Hey!”

“Basil, Gideon, stay put,” Rhys’ tone is fierce, a pointed look pinning the two young males to their spots, “The rest of you, get out of my sight.”

None of the other children dare to respond other than quickly filing from the room with you, Feyre, and Nesta on their heels.

Azriel studies his son intently. His eyes are glossed over, cast downwards to the floor because he knows he’s in trouble. There’s a leaf shaped shot glass tied around his neck and Azriel can smell the stink of moonshine from where he stands.

Gideon isn’t much better off. Mouth bruised and neck littered with love bites from the eldest of the Vanserra daughters. His hair is a disheveled mess and his shirt is rumpled.

They look utterly guilty.

Rhys takes the lead. He’s acting as High Lord first instead of concerned father and uncle, since this incident is a multi court disaster, and he knows his brothers are too infuriated with their sons to speak right now.

“Do you know how much danger you could’ve put everyone in?” Rhys asks, violet gaze unwavering, “I had to send a raven for permission to retrieve you all.” He’s disgusted, they can tell. Baz can hardly look at his father, for fear of the utter disappointment he’ll see.

Gideon opens his mouth to respond but Cassian is quick to silence him, “I don’t want to hear it, Gideon. This is the most foolish thing you’ve ever done! And putting your sisters into that kind of danger all for a female? What were you thinking?”

His son shrugs, biting his tongue because he wants to yell back that Maude isn’t just some female. Baz tries, “But we had Wren and Nyx with us! And Malos and Knox! And Jax! We’re all trained, we know how to defend ourselves!”

He doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that Azriel responds with an icy calmness, when Baz wishes he would raise his voice and scream at him, or the fact that of course, his father is right.

“That’s not the point, Basil. You may know how to defend yourselves, but in a different court, should something have happened, it would not be so easy to help you out of it.”

The shadowsinger’s frozen with anger, with fear. He’s immediately brought back to his childhood, when he was locked away from the rest of the world. If his children had been seized and locked away like he was…he can’t even think about it, the churning in his stomach is enough. His mind is racing a thousand miles a minute, and hasn't calmed since getting all of the children back to safety in the Night Court. 

He’s afraid he’s losing his mind.

A gentle thrum vibrates in his chest, like a purr. You, calling out to him through the bond, sensing and sharing his fears, but trying to be supportive in the only way you know how while you’re in separate rooms.

He eases only slightly.

“Your brothers and sisters are not spymasters yet, you should remember that,” each word tastes like acid, he hates the fact that he even needs to be having this conversation.

Baz’s shadows pick up on the well-hidden emotions of his father and his throat goes thick with emotion.

“Dad–”

“Enough, Basil,” Azriel raises a hand in response, shaking his head slightly, “Hear your punishment with no complaints. Then, we are going home.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles, cheeks burning with shame as he steps back next to Gideon to await his punishment.

Rhys looks back and forth between them, trying to decide a punishment worthy of sneaking out the court. He knows that Gideon is a young male in love for the first time, and his heart squeezes in his chest at the thought of what he was like when he was young and in love.

And Baz…he knows Baz means well, that he wants to please his siblings, wants them to have a fun time no matter what they are doing. He has much to learn, if he ever wishes to be as good a spymaster as his father or warrior like his uncle.

“Gideon,” Rhys starts and the older of the two looks up, ready to accept his punishment, “You’re to help Aunt Elain out in the gardens. You’ll be–”

“But what about my allergies?” he protests loudly. A harsh look from Cassian shuts him up, huffing quietly, “Yes, High Lord.”

“Basil,” Rhysand turns to his other nephew, “You’re going to spend one hour a day with Bryaxis.”

Baz’s mouth drops open in shock. He glances to his father whose eyes have widened only slightly, before they get that familiar gleam, and he knows he’s speaking to his High Lord.

You can’t put him down there, Azriel hisses to his brother.

And why not? Rhys’ brows twitch but he doesn’t avert his gaze from his nephews.

This is Baz we’re talking about. Baz and Bryaxis? I can’t even imagine the kind of friendship my son will have with the beast…what kind of trouble they’d get into.

Shit, you’re right, Rhysand agrees, before amending his punishment, “I’ve changed my mind. Baz, you will be bringing Amren her dinner for the next two months.”

“Fuck me truly,” Baz mutters under his breath because she’s a way scarier beast than the monster in the library is.

Gideon can’t help but to be relieved with his punishment, mild compared to his cousins. He’ll take an itchy nose over having to take blood to Aunt Amren anyway.

“And the both of you are on doubles for training until your father’s deem you sorry enough to stop,” his violet eyes cut to Cassian’s, then Azriel’s, a hint of amusement glimmers there before he finishes addressing the young males, “Starting this morning. At first light, which is now only an hour away. Rest up.”

They are definitely going to make their son’s hangovers a living hell.

Baz bites back a groan, shoving Gideon when the older boy starts for the door. He stumbles and throws a glare over his shoulder at his cousin, but chooses not to say anything because the entire thing was his idea and Baz hadn’t ratted him out, even though he easily could’ve.

“And one more thing,” Rhysand calls after them, and they turn slowly, a bad feeling settling in the pits of their stomachs. 

“You’ll be walking the stairs in the House of Wind, right now.”

“Try not to be too late for training, boys,” Cassian adds, siphons flickering with his words.