#eris fluff

Eris Vanserra was a walking, talking danger.

At least, that’s all you’d ever been told.

You weren’t entirely sure what to believe, anymore. After all, perhaps danger was only a preconceived notion.

You lived amidst danger every day. The fae lands you’d once had no choice but to call home was filled with danger. The people who you now called friends were dangerous. Cauldron, even your sisters had become like living, breathing weapons in their own ways.

Which was probably why despite being grown, your three sisters still hovered over you, protected you, kept you from immediate danger—especially after being turned fae. It was even worse now than when you were mere humans.

Legend had it that before your mother died, it was Elain that was once the most protected one of the Archerons—at least by Nesta. You were so young when you’d lost your mother, you’d barely remembered her or what life had been like when she still lived.

Being a little more than a year younger than Feyre, you were just shy of your seventh birthday when your mother had passed. Somehow, at some point—you were never clear on how—your sisters had banded together to protect you, the baby.

As if they realized since you’d no longer had a mother to tend to you, they would be the mother you lacked.

Even if they always didn’t get along—Feyre and Nesta the most—they tried, for you. At some point, it was no longer Elain the one that was coddled, it became you. At a point so early in your life, you hardly remembered that either.

Even when your sisters bickered, they’d always rally around to make sure you were taken care of. Especially when your father had lost his fortune and your family fell into poverty. You were always the one your sisters made sure had enough food, had the warmest blanket, was always in the middle of the bed, cocooned by them.

But your lives now were so far removed from that dilapidated cottage. Just four of you remained from your original family, having lost your father in the war with Hybern—killed by the King, himself, in front of Nesta.

Life being protected by your sisters was all you’d known.

When your family was destitute, you’d let them. Back then, you were a mere girl who didn’t know how to take care of herself, didn’t have a need or desire to.

Everything had changed when you, Nesta and Elain were forcibly turned fae by the Cauldron. That was following Feyre becoming immortal herself after months spent in the faerie lands of Prythian, living and experiencing horrendous things that you’d once only could dream of.

But in the aftermath, after all of your sister’s trauma and healing journeys combined—plus yours, you supposed—they still continued to rally around you tighter, closing in ranks.

You weren’t the same person you were when you were human. You weren’t the same female as the one that had went into that Cauldron.

For now, you despised being smothered.

Their insistence to keep you from harm's way was inevitably what led you to noticing a specific male, after all.

The first time you’d met him—been allowed around him more like—was at the Winter Solstice ball in the Hewn City almost a year ago now. The only way you’d even been allowed to go was because you’d insisted your sisters take you.

Even if you’d despised having to beg to do something.

So you had accompanied the group to the Hewn City.

You, Nesta and Elain were all dressed in Night Court black—Nesta in more of a revealing dress, Elain more modest. You, on the other hand, had somehow fallen in the middle.

Though you’d had to argue just to wear the semi-loose black dress you’d donned.

It had shorter, ruffled sleeves—unlike Elain’s long sleeved dress—and a billowy skirt of sheer black gossamer. The fabric was layered over a black satin lining that lay underneath, fitting closer your body. Though more risqué in comparison to Elain’s dress, it was nowhere near as tight or revealing as Nesta’s or Feyre’s outfits. But what had caused the argument was the neckline that had plunged, just enough to show off a decent amount of your breasts.

You’d clearly won the argument.

You may have been their baby sister, but you were an Archeron—you didn’t come without bite.

You and your two eldest sisters had entered the throne room after the two Illyrians and Mor, but before Feyre and Rhys. The crowd murmured as the three of you approached the dais.

Which was when you’d first caught a glimpse of the male—one of two that stood at the dais, awaiting the arrival of everyone.

Tall, long red hair, dressed in Night Court black—seemingly coming with an air of arrogance and self importance.

Eris Vanserra, the heir of the Autumn Court.

You had been intrigued almost immediately.

Nesta was supposed to dance with him tonight—all for a plan you’d had little knowledge of. As per usual, your sisters kept you out of the loop when it came to most courtly matters.

It was only after Feyre and Rhys had been seated on their thrones—and dismissed the gathered court to their festivities—that the two males had finally approached the dais. One was a tall, blonde male that resembled Mor too much to not be her father. Keir, you’d taken it.

Your sisters may not have involved you in much, but your snooping and deduction skills were immaculate because of such behavior.

The other one—Eris—had been the one who’d kept your attention.

Feyre and Rhys had spoken to Keir, dismissing him, but you’d hardly heard them, as your eyes had kept wandering to the heir. Though he never once turned to you in that short amount of time, something told you that he had been aware of every peek and glance you’d sent his way.

You couldn’t help the way your stomach had swooped in reaction to how attractive he was.

Sure, you’d been surrounded by beautiful males from the moment you’d been turned fae, but he was different. Off limits. Dangerous in a way you’d never been allowed to touch.

You’d had a brief recollection of the first time you’d met his younger brother, Lucien. At how you were practically smitten with the handsome face and well mannered male—all to find out that this was the male that was your second eldest sister’s mate.

Clearly you’d been too traumatized after being turned to be able to remember that it was Lucien that was your sister’s mate—had hardly remembered the fact that he had whispered to Elain that she was his mate.

Perhaps it was fury that drove you to act out more. Disdain for the fact that even Elain—the one who was the most gentle sister and once even briefly coddled—could have a mate and spend a few years ignoring him with little repercussions.

But had you ever been allowed to experience anything like that? Of course not.

Which is why you’d allowed yourself to look at Eris Vanserra that night. Maybe out of sheer foolishness, maybe as a way to invite trouble.

Maybe out of something far deadlier.

His amber eyes had roamed the three of you—snagging on Elain, assessing. He’d known good and well his little brother’s mate was standing in front of him.

He was to dance with Nesta, but before he’d turned to your eldest sister, his eyes fell to you. Something sparked in them as his eyes raked over your form. The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a smirk.

“Now, who do we have here?”

It was the next to youngest Archeron who had spoken, your sister only a year older than you—your High Lady.

“She is none of your concern.”

You’d wanted to grimace at the dismissal. Wanted to argue against the statement—to say you could speak for yourself. But amber eyes still remained steady on you.

“Can you not speak for yourself, dove?”

You hadn’t shown your surprise, but you’d certainly felt it, hearing the heir voice the words you’d just been thinking.

“Eris.”

There was a warning growl in Rhys’s tone. You’d practically sighed dramatically. If there was anything worse than overprotective sisters, it was overprotective brothers.

Having mated sisters also meant you’d gained a small army of overprotective males—which wasn’t anything you weren’t used to from your own blood, the overprotectiveness, that was.

But Eris had turned from you, finally offering Nesta his arm.

You’d watched his retreating form all the way to the dance floor, something sparking in you by his mere existence.

Later, you had wandered from the dais under the pretense of getting refreshments. While that was partially true, you had been growing bored standing on the dais simply watching the festivities. You wanted to join, wanted to explore.

Your wandering had resulted in you running into Eris. You’d been slightly shocked he hadn’t still been glued to your eldest sister. They’d already danced three dances together—or more—by that point.

But his attention had snagged on you, borderline predatory as the corner of his mouth curled up. You’d almost run right into his strong build and one of his hands had hovered over your waist, so close to touching your body, but not. You’d felt the way his touch had skimmed the material of your dress though before he’d dropped his hand, finally speaking.

“Where have they been hiding you?”

You’d only tilted your chin up, in defiance, not in the slightest intimidated by the boldness of his direct question.

“Maybe I haven’t seen a need to trouble myself with such boring, courtly matters.”

It had been a flat out lie. You’d have done anything even for the monotony of a boring meeting or courtly discussions. Even Elain—a warrior in quieter ways than your other two sisters, preferring baking and gardening in her spare time—somehow managed to be more involved in the dealings of the Night Court.

She certainly seemed to have more of a life than you did.

Perhaps it was because like Feyre and Nesta, she too had extraordinary powers granted by the Cauldron or in Feyre’s case, gifted from the High Lords.

You’d never developed any sort of Cauldron blessed powers.

If the Cauldron seemed to think Nesta was a thief and hated her for stealing something from it—if the Cauldron seemed to love Elain and gave her something, it seemed to have been pretty apathetic towards you. Its indifference had left you with nothing more than the normal High Fae powers. Nothing grand. Like it, too, had conspired with your sisters and didn’t deem you trustworthy with something as powerful as your sisters’ powers.

It was one in a long list of things that infuriated you.

Not necessarily the lack of powers, but the fact you always seemed to live in the shadows of the other three Archeron females.

As for the matter of your life…there seemed little for you to do really, other than just exist for them to protect.

There had been only so many times you could go to the quarters to shop. Or help Elain prepare a meal. Or even do menial housework like you were a servant.

You’d helped Elain in her garden so often, you were sick of the sight of it. Not that it wasn’t lovely—your sister was amazing at growing and tending beautiful flowers.

You simply just yearned for…more.

You knew your sisters loved you, but you were tired. You were so incredibly tired of this life.

Which is exactly why you’d set your sights on him.

He’d only grinned fully—likely not a comforting thing to most. It had been a cunning and mischievous smile. But it still sent a thrill through you anyway.

“You appear akin to the type to leap at any chance of excitement.”

His voice had been cool, amused, as he studied you.

You’d studied him right back, eyes roaming over the pale, freckled face, amber eyes focused on nothing about you. You tilted your head casually, innocently—perhaps a touch flirtatiously.

“You sure you’re not thinking of yourself, Eris?”

If his name on your lips had any sort of affect on him, he sure hadn’t shown it outwardly. He’d simply slipped his hands into the pockets of his black pants, that grin only sharpening even more.

If your sisters had been anywhere nearby they’d have probably fainted at your carelessness with the male—or likely exploded into balls of fury. Either would’ve been possible knowing them.

“So you can speak for yourself,” he’d chuckled, clearly amused at your quip back to him.

“I don’t see anyone else that happens to be a part of this conversation, do you?” you’d snarked.

That deep chuckle had sounded again and you’d luxuriated in the sound. The rich smoothness of it, like velvet.

“I noticed you haven’t taken to the dance floor. Is there any reason why?”

You had just quirked a brow at him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a tad too bold and brash?”

“Every day of my immortal life, dove.”

That smile still hadn’t left his face, eyes taking you in as you’d been conversing with him.

“Perhaps I have no interest in dancing,” you’d lied smoothly.

“Perhaps you’re kept on a leash. One that you seem to thrash against.”

It had been incredible how much the male seemed to observe about individuals. You’d barely met him and he’d already seemed to have an incredibly accurate read on you.

“I think you happen to be dramatic, on top of thinking highly of yourself—and your skill set,” you’d drawled.

He’d known you were evading the truth. You saw it in the way those burning amber eyes sparkled. He was very aware that there was much you weren’t voicing.

Whatever he’d assessed about you in the following beats of his silence had him humming, eyes raking over you in interest.

“What a shame. You seem to be the most entertaining thing I’ve encountered yet.”

You’d simply grabbed a goblet of wine, facing him. You’d given him a sharp smile of your own before inflicting your parting shot.

“You must’ve lived an incredibly boring life for an immortal then.”

You’d left him there, still smirking at your retreating form.

It was then that the bare bones of an idea started forming in your mind.

Now, in the present, nearly a year later, your sisters still tried to keep you from Eris. Though so far, you’d managed to finagle your way into going to some meetings he was involved with.

While you’d had your fair share of trauma like your sisters, you were also the most restless of them. Perhaps it was due to the fact you remembered nothing but being coddled, sheltered and overprotected.

So you’d managed to get them to loosen their hold—slowly, at first—but even just a little bit. Enough to let you be helpful in small matters. To attend meetings. Listen to conversations.

To be around a certain Autumn heir.

Though that was for pure selfish reasons as an idea had been weighing on your mind since last winter.

Due to your sister’s overprotectiveness, you’d never taken a male to your bed. No male had stood a chance, not with three Archerons circling you like a pack of wolves.

You’d hated that fact.

Feyre had been allowed to make mistakes, learn from them. Nesta had been allowed to lose her maidenhead to a random fae male and keep male company in her bed for months on end. Elain had been allowed time to heal, explore her own options, even ignore her own mate while she processed her own trauma.

Two of your sisters were now happily mated. Even Elain was getting to know her mate, not entirely open to completely rejecting the bond yet.

Meanwhile, you felt like you couldn’t do anything without being treated like the child they clearly still saw you as. Despite the fact that they’d started allowing you to do small things just to appease you, you were still far from being involved. The tighter they’d tried to hold you, the more you wanted to rebel.

Which is how the idea truly came to form.

You’d been watching the male for some time—granted, only in the times you were allowed to be around him. The word allow always made you want to roll your eyes into the back of your head in annoyance and frustration.

But you’d had an idea. A reckless one perhaps, but one nonetheless.

And Eris Vanserra was the perfect male for it.

•••

You’d been waiting for him in the hall outside of Rhys’s study—leaning against the wall—for about an hour.

You’d known he was in Velaris to meet with Rhys for some things they needed to discuss—not like you had any knowledge of what, though you were half tempted to peek through the crack of the wooden doors to eavesdrop.

But you were above that.

Sometimes.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to approach him today, but when you awoke this morning, you’d vowed the next time you saw the male, you’d take the chance.

It turned out that opportunity just happened to come a lot sooner than you’d expected.

You straightened the moment you heard approaching voices, signaling one—if not both of them—were approaching the door. Then the heavy wooden doors opened and he walked out.

Mercifully, alone.

You glimpsed Rhys still at his desk, dark head of hair bent over as he scribbled something on parchment. Then the doors closed behind Eris.

The corners of his lips curved upwards, delighted by your presence.

“Well, if this isn’t a surprise. Should I flatter myself by thinking you’re waiting for me or were you waiting for Rhysand?”

You didn’t beat around the bush, you just blurted what was on your mind.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He looked at you, intrigue shining in those amber eyes. He assessed you briefly—likely weighing your words, your body language, your demeanor.

“Walk with me,” he finally said.

You chewed on your lip nervously, following the tall redhead. You were already starting to have second thoughts about going through with this.

But it was something different—exciting. Hadn’t you craved that for so long?

His long legs took him a few strides down the hallway and away from Rhys’s study doors. You followed, suddenly wondering how the hell you were gonna manage to put this request into words and not sound like a complete fool.

You finally caught up with him, coming up at his side, displaying a lot more bravado than you certainly felt.

“Do you preoccupy all your spare time with dull court politics or attempting to thwart your father?”

He turned to look at you, lifting an amused brow.

“My duties never seem to cease, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s a mere observation,” you replied casually.

At this point, the two of you had sauntered down the hall far enough from Rhys’s study so when he finally paused—crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to look at you with curiosity—you weren’t worried about eavesdroppers.

“Quite the curious thing, aren’t you, dove?”

You shrugged, seemingly unruffled.

He studied you for a moment, eyes narrowing infinitesimally.

“If you have something to say, I would encourage you to just voice it.”

Truly you had no idea where the courage came from.

“You haven’t taken a lover in a while.”

His eyes sharpened, something flaring in them that you couldn’t put a finger on.

“Been utilizing that shadowsinger, haven’t you?”

It was true. Somehow, you’d managed to convince Azriel to do some snooping. You’d convinced him—and the others, when they’d found out—that it might be good information to have, to keep him in line if he ever acted out. To see if Eris had any lovers, anyone that could potentially be used as a pawn.

Though it was born out of purely selfish reasons and you had absolutely no intention of using any potential individual in such a way.

You’d been shocked when Azriel’s intel had come back with nothing. As far as he could sniff out, it had been some time since Eris had taken a lover.

That was the final push you’d needed, determined to proceed with your plan.

“I— What if we— If I said—”

So much for the bravado you’d just had. That all came tumbling down like a house of cards. You were now stumbling over your words, awkward and nervous.

You tried again.

“I wanted to know if— I thought perhaps—”

The smug smirk on his face was annoying—and annoyingly attractive—as he watched you fumble for what you were trying to say. He wasn’t even bothering to put you out of your misery, happy to allow you to continue to stutter.

“Dove, if you can’t use your words, I’ll be leaving now.”

You blurted it out before you even had any idea what was coming out of your mouth.

“Take me.”

Gods, the words that came out of your mouth made you internally groan and want the floor to swallow you whole, simultaneously.

Those lips twitched in amusement—he was practically vibrating with it.

“Take you where?” he quipped, smoothly, absolutely unbothered.

The bastard probably knew exactly what you meant, too.

You just gave him an exasperated look resulting in one of those deep, sensuous chuckles of his.

It was enough to give you goosebumps.

“What if we made a bargain?”

Now, he certainly looked intrigued.

The male, who usually appeared so cold, face like stone, looked genuinely interested. The arrogant amusement from earlier had banked a tad as he eyed you. He wasn’t mocking you, wasn’t dismissing you. He was clearly waiting a moment before speaking—either to give you an opportunity to continue or to gather his thoughts.

Clearly it was the latter for he dropped his arms, straightening from where he’d been leaning against the wall. His face was now serious, giving you nothing but his full attention.

“What would motivate the precious, youngest Archeron sister to want to make a bargain with me?”

He was a head taller than you, face bent down to look at you. Those intense amber eyes bore into you, face free of anything he could be potentially feeling or thinking.

Gods, no wonder some were terrified of him.

“You have not had a lover in some time,” you began after taking a breath, steadying your nerves, “And I have never had one.”

The speed of which his brows flicked up surprised you—certainly coming from a male that had mastered the art of keeping a blank face as to never give anything away.

You pushed on anyway.

“You end a drought and I…” you trailed off, straightening your shoulders, “I make a choice that is for myself, for once.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone before you could hardly register it, let alone identify what it was. He looked to be choosing his words carefully, as if he had much to say, but was sifting through all the possibilities—careful to pick the best answer.

“That isn’t a bargain. That’s theft.”

You gritted your teeth. You should’ve anticipated that he wouldn’t take what you offered so easily. He was a male that thought through things thoroughly, assessed every situation from every angle, observed what would and would not benefit him the most.

Which is why, completely unplanned, you added what you did.

“Then if you agree to this, I will owe you a favor. Of any kind. You need to win favor with Rhys? I’ll argue your case.”

You weren’t about to back down as you stared up at him defiantly. Even if he refused or gave you a hard time, you would see this through to the end at least.

“A favor of any kind. Whatever you want.”

He finally leaned back a little—you hadn’t even realized he’d been hovering so close. He once again folded his arms over his chest, fingers curling on his biceps.

Biceps you tried not to focus on—even if they were displayed quite nicely in his courtly finery.

You tried not to fidget under his gaze. You remained calm outwardly, though, willing to see this through.

“That is a fool’s bargain. You have little to offer me. After all, you cannot offer me what I truly want anyway.”

Likely his father’s throne.

You may have been kept from much, but you weren’t stupid.

“Anything you want,” you pressed.

“Anything I want?”

“Yes.”

He eyed you curiously, eyes trailing your form lazily, even slower on the way back up. When he spoke, his voice was the icy cadence you’d heard from him in the past—more on par with the horrible male your own family and friends made him out to be.

“Didn’t Morrigan tell you I torture virgins?”

You had to restrain the urge to roll your eyes. Your sisters, Mor, everyone had spun tales about Eris Vanserra like he was a frightening bedtime story. Yet they all seemed to interact with him fine. For Cauldron’s sake your own sister was a sister-in-law to him—sorta.

You betrayed none of your irritation or whirling thoughts, just leveling him with a piercing gaze.

“Is it truly torture if one wants it?”

He just hummed, saying nothing more, though he kept that unwavering stare directed on you. Gods, he could be intimidating.

You weren’t about to let him scare you though.

“Do your sisters approve of this?”

Irritation flooded your senses at the mention of them.

“My sisters have nothing to do with this.”

He hummed once more, eyes continuing to take you in, likely turning everything about this situation over in his mind.

“I only ask because I’d prefer avoiding the wrath of three Archeron sisters.”

You bristled further.

“This is my choice. I chose to approach you. If you haven’t picked up on it, today’s theme is my choice.”

At some point your hands had planted on your hips, fingers digging into the material of the pants you’d stolen from Feyre’s wardrobe. Mercifully, they didn’t dictate what you wore, but it was an unspoken sentiment that they assumed you’d prefer being much more like Elain—prim and proper and clothed in dresses.

You never minded the more feminine clothing, often having bonded with the eldest of the two middle sisters over beautiful dresses. But you diverged from Elain, desiring to not always be clothed in them.

Even more so now that Nesta often lived in pants.

You could see the thoughts churning in his mind, the unsaid things swimming in his gaze. It was an insane thing to ask of him—of anyone, yet you were.

But you knew if anyone would, Eris Vanserra wouldn’t make it a big deal. You knew he had knowledge of navigating deals however he saw fit—mostly ones that could benefit him.

This would most definitely benefit him. He was a male, after all.

You didn’t know what you would do if he said no. Likely try to save face and not slink away with your tail between your legs—not give him the satisfaction of your humiliation and desperation.

Though you supposed you likely already permeated the scent of desperation—if the fae could actually scent that, that is.

But you were tired, so tired of the shackles you’d been forced into.

So it came as a surprise when he finally spoke.

“Fine. I’ll…assist you for a favor. Of any size I wish.”

“Then it’s a bargain?”

“It is indeed a bargain.”

You extended your hand for him to shake—to seal the bargain—though it was a bit preposterous in the scheme of things. You were bargaining for Eris to be the first male you laid with, shaking his hand now almost made you want to laugh.

His large hand slid into yours and shook it firmly.

Then something happened that you hadn’t anticipated.

The feeling of magic zapped between you and Eris, like a shock. A slight burn-like heat—like flames—briefly consumed the skin of your right wrist. The same hand that had just shaken his.

At the first sensations, you’d jerked back, hand falling from his at the unusual magical reaction. Lifting your hand, you saw a tattoo on your wrist.

You briefly recalled Feyre and Nesta mentioning that Night Court bargains often came with a physical marking too—in dark as night black ink.

Yours was wildly appropriate. It was a tiny tattoo, perhaps barely over an inch big, but like a beacon of light on your once smooth, unblemished skin. The outline was of a singular flame—the ink, the darkest black.

Gentle fingers circled your wrist as he turned it to study it. A thumb ran over the newly marked skin, gently, sensually. Your breath hitched slightly at the movement.

“How very appropriate—flames right over the pulse that I’ll soon have speeding…from my own sort of fire.”

For indeed, right where the tattoo had been inked into your skin was just over your pulse.

Something caught your eye as you noticed an identical tattoo on his pale wrist—on his right wrist as well. The same hand he’d used to shake your own.

He seemed to track your stare, his own eyes following. Gently releasing your own wrist, he held up his own to admire.

“Huh—can’t say I’ve ever received a tattoo from a Night Court bargain before.”

“Well, glad to be your first,” you quipped.

You didn’t know why you felt so shaken, all of a sudden. You didn’t regret it, but you were left uncertain. Now that the bargain was quite literally inked into yours and Eris’s skin, you didn’t know what to expect.

He seemed to read your thoughts and he finally stepped away again, ready to make his exit, likely back to Autumn.

“Don’t you worry dove, our bargain will be fufilled—eventually.”

With that, he gave you no further inclination on just when that would be.

No, Eris just winked before he winnowed away, disappearing right before your eyes.

Leaving you with the realization that you now had proof of a bargain you would somehow have to hide from your sisters.

•••

Months passed.

Months.

You’d grown rather crafty with hiding the flame tattoo from everyone. Lots of long sleeves were worn or—when you were in shorter sleeves—a stack of jeweled bracelets sat on your wrist.

Feyre never questioned why you seemed so intent on occasionally raiding her massive jewelry collection. Likely, she was pleased that it was an inane, innocent interest. One that kept you preoccupied and safe.

Little did she know.

You’d borrowed a small collection of beautiful bracelets yet you’d barely made a dent in her own collection of jewelry. She did have quite an array between Rhys spoiling her and what he already owned prior to meeting her.

You’d concluded the pieces you’d taken were some of the cheaper ones, since Feyre seemed to have no issue with you wearing them.

Besides, you didn’t want anyone discovering what you’d done. Especially not Feyre, Nesta or Elain, though the males were to likely be as insufferable about it if they found out. Not only about the bargain, but who you’d made a bargain with.

You were already treading on thin ice.

You’d continued to conveniently appear any time Eris was around. If he was in Velaris to discuss courtly matters, you’d happen to be in the same location—or happen to have an important question for Rhys that you just had to ask him, while he was meeting with Eris. Sometimes it was a tiny lie that someone needed Feyre. Once, you pretended to need a book that Cassian had asked you to fetch. In Rhys’s library. Just as your next to youngest sister and her mate were happening to expect Eris.

You’d even managed to worm your way into a meeting—something about reinforcing Autumn’s borders that his father had turned into a bigger problem than necessary.

“How am I supposed to learn anything if you don’t let me learn?” you’d asked Feyre earlier that day.

You’d felt smug when she couldn’t find an answer for that question and had reluctantly let you join.

Admittedly, you weren’t that enamored with the business that required discussing.

It was nice to be included though, especially since two of your three sisters were included, along with the two Illyrians, Rhys and even Amren, though how Rhys managed to pull her away from her apartment and Varian was beyond you. Mor—probably grateful to be—had left for the continent again this morning.

No, you weren’t there for business, but to feel out Eris.

Every time you’d run into the male, he always smirked like he knew a secret. But, of course, he actually did.

It was always in the knowing looks, the sly smirks, eyes dipping to your covered right wrist. It was like he was burning with the knowledge of what had occurred between the two of you.

But he’d yet to approach it. You would still owe him any favor, but he’d not even fulfilled his part of the bargain yet. It was like he found the utmost enjoyment in keeping you on your toes, extending the suspense for as long as possible.

During said meeting, you busied yourself trying to listen to the flow of conversation, even if you only understood half of it. You sat lazily, chin resting in your hand, attempting to keep your eyes from straying towards him.

Eris noticed every time, amber eyes flicking to you and catching you in the act. Even if his face remained neutral, his eyes danced with amusement, intrigue and a whole lot of mischief.

Later, when he stood, stretching slightly, the material of his shirt pulled taught across his chest—just enough to give you an idea of the toned physique underneath. Accompanied by a deep chuckle at something that was said, you found your body reacting before you could stop it.

You felt heat curl low in your belly, your thighs pressing together. When he turned, eyes falling to you, you swore you felt that desire deepening.

If he truly went through with the bargain, he would be the first male you’d take to your bed. What started out as something born of a desire to clear this milestone in life had suddenly—and sneakily—turned into actual attraction to the male.

You no longer wanted Eris for what he could do for you, you wanted him because it was him.

“Is it too warm in here?”

You blinked, realizing he was talking to you.

“I’m sorry?”

“You look rather flushed. Mere observation,” he shrugged.

He strolled past you towards the door with no further comment. But you still caught the sly flicker of his eyes as they slid to you, just as he passed you, intent and promise in them.

Soon, he seemed to say.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but you knew the day was rapidly approaching that Eris would come knocking.

And you’d be prepared for it.

•••

The night that Eris appeared at your door followed a really horrible day.

You were still tense, your mood sour from leftover anger and frustration following a horrible fight with your sisters. What had started as an innocent question had resulted in your defenses rising—thus turning it into a whole ordeal.

“Is there something going on between you and Eris?” Feyre had asked pointedly, earlier that afternoon.

For once, you, she, Nesta and Elain were all in the same place. Something that was rarer nowadays with Elain kept busy flitting across different courts, falling into a natural emissary role—a title Rhys thought was perfect for her with her bubbly, social personality.

Nesta was usually off with Cassian or the Valkyries and priestesses. In the last months, she’d started finally merging into a teaching role alongside Cassian and Azriel—at least teaching the beginners.

You were no warrior, but sometimes you’d wished you were even allowed to desire the option to train.

Feyre, of course, was kept busy between being High Lady, mate, friend and sister.

All to say it was a rare occurrence that the four of you were gathered at the same time.

Nesta had been reading a book by the fire, content to relax with a good story after a busy morning. Feyre had been at a small desk in the room, reviewing correspondence from another court—not that she was likely to fill you in on just what it entailed. Elain was at her back, sipping her cup of tea and reading over her shoulder. Perhaps it had to do with a court that Elain had just returned from visiting.

You? You’d been sitting in the window seat, staring out at the beautiful day, unable to focus on the book of Nesta’s she’d lent you. You weren’t sure if you’d even made it past the first chapter yet.

Restlessness had always plagued you, but more days than not, lately, you felt like you drowned in it from sunrise to sunset.

You’d snorted, finding the accusation utterly ridiculous, even if there was a hint of truth to it.

“That’s preposterous!”

“Is it?” Nesta peered up from her book, putting a finger between the pages—to mark her place—as she closed it, “Because any time that male is around, you somehow find a way to be involved. Or make an appearance. Or happen to be passing through.”

You’d recalled that maybe you had been a bit obvious.

“Well he’s certainly more exciting than you lot are,” you’d mumbled.

It had been the wrong thing to say.

“Exciting doesn’t mean throwing yourself into danger at every turn,” Feyre had reprimanded, “We are trying to spare you from such things.”

You could’ve laughed—purely out of exasperation and frustration. You almost had. Which was likely why you had downright exploded.

You’d hopped up from the window seat and flung your arms into the air.

“I am not like you three! I don’t have any powers!” you’d screeched, “So what are you trying to protect me from?!”

Though you weren’t proud of your tone thinking back now—further proving you were no better than the baby they’d always seen you as—it’d felt good in the moment to unleash the anger and frustration.

“There are many dangerous things in Prythian,” Nesta said, icily.

You’d leveled your glare on her.

“Oh? You mean like the ones that Feyre has faced? You have faced? Even Elain has been involved in more than I am!”

It was true—though Elain wasn’t the long babied one, Nesta had always had a desire to protect Elain just a bit too. Wisely—unlike you—Elain knew when to speak up for herself and demand space to breathe.

Maybe if you’d done that long ago, you wouldn’t have been in this position.

“That is different and you know it,” Feyre had snapped.

“Oh really? How so?” you’d challenged the three.

Elain—sweet, sweet Elain, who was always the most gentle, even if she did possess an occasional edge to her—had still been gentle when she’d finally piped up. Until this moment she’d been silent, monitoring the conversation. Her perception of things was excellent, you knew many underestimated your second oldest sister.

“Not everyone in this land is a friendly face. There are dangerous individuals—males—around.”

You’d nearly snorted in disbelief.

“I’m surrounded by dangerous males every day! I have four brothers—three which you lot are mated to, need I remind you?”

“They would never hurt you, either. They only want to protect you, too.”

It had been Elain with her soft tone that only further kindled your anger—the way they were treating you like a child expected to throw a tantrum. Even if you sort of had. But it had been the condescension that made the conflagration in you burn hotter.

“Is this truly about Eris or the fact you just want to control every aspect of my life?” you bit out.

“Eris is not good. He’s—” Feyre had begun.

“Dangerous. Cruel. Awful. An arrogant bastard. A snake. Bid for Nesta’s hand once over a year ago,” you listed off.

That last one had been an intriguing development, back when you weren’t as invested in your interest in him. Unsurprisingly, Nesta didn’t even entertain the offer. After all, she had a mate. One she very clearly loved. But she was powerful and for reasons still unknown to you, Eris had wanted her as his bride.

Little had they known that his attention had shifted to a different Archeron.

“I know all of this. You’ve been over it with me so many times,” you groused, “But has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re grossly underestimating him? If he was so awful, why do you continue to ally with him? And manage to interact with him just fine?”

“We know how to handle him. You do not,” Nesta had simply uttered.

That had almost made you laugh.

“He’s selfish. He will take advantage of anyone or anything if it will benefit him in some way. He’s cunning,” Feyre had tried to explain.

You hadn’t wanted to give anything else away, didn’t want to let on to the fact you were more closely connected to him than they were aware of. So, you’d pivoted to your next point. One that you knew would slice, one that you’d found wholly unfair for a long, long time.

“Why is it that Nesta was allowed to fuck strangers and drink as much as she wanted?”

They had actually flinched at your language and tone.

You were not the innocent baby sister they’d believed you were for so long—you hadn’t been her for a long time.

“Why is it that Feyre got to make the mistake of dying for a male that didn’t deserve her—one she thought she loved, almost married. Why did she—like Nesta—get time to process her trauma then get to fall in love and become High Lady?”

They’d all stared at you, an array of reactions on their faces. Elain had paled, eyes as wide as saucers. Nesta’s lips were set firmly, blue gray eyes blazing. Feyre looked pained—like she wanted to fix things for you, like she always used to.

“How come Elain was met with no arguments, no pushback when she spent years, years avoiding her mate. Never acknowledging the fact that she even had a mating bond. Was she not allowed to go about it the way she needed to?”

But it had been like once everything started pouring out of you, you couldn’t stop it.

“You all had the chance to go on your own journey of self discovery and make mistakes. That was fine. There were no issues. It was all: ‘Feyre’s healing. Nesta’s dealing with trauma. Elain just needs time’, well what the fuck about me?!”

You’d struggled plenty with your own trauma—even if in different ways than your sisters. Yes, you’d been chased from dreams many nights from the fear of being kidnapped from your bed, drowning in the Cauldron, the uncertain anxiety from the first weeks of feeling foreign in this new body.

But you’d found it easier than they first had with adapting to your new life. You’d gotten used to being fae—especially when you’d never felt like you’d fit anywhere else—never knew your own identity outside of being the youngest Archeron sister.

Which is why you’d been so desperate, so adamant for Eris’s help.

For once, you’d wanted to be allowed to do something for yourself—something you had control over.

No special powers. No mate. No journey of your own.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d finally reached your breaking point—a long time coming, too—and it hadn’t been pretty.

They’d had little to say to you after that, considering you’d stormed out of the room. You’d been locked in your room ever since, even skipping dinner.

You didn’t trust yourself to not say anything else hurtful to your sisters. There would be time to apologize, later when everyone had cooled off. You weren’t sorry for what you’d said, but you were sorry for the way it’d come out.

Despite the fact you’d wanted to get it all off your chest, you hated fighting with your sisters. All it did was dredge up bad memories of how tense the relationships between all four of you had been when you were destitute.

You sat in front of your vanity, in your room at the River House, running your brush through your long hair. Despite still being tense, you felt tinges of guilt creeping in. You still appreciated all your sisters had done for you, still loved them in what way you knew how.

You just wanted space, sometimes.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t even hear a knock at your door. It wasn’t until you heard a more insistent, slightly louder knock that you’d realized someone must’ve just knocked and you’d completely missed it.

You stood, the hem of your satin nightgown brushing your thighs.

As ridiculous as it was, once you’d started rebelling against your sisters, you’d gone to the shop in Velaris and bought yourself comfortable—and more risqué—nightwear. Even if you wore them for yourself only, it gave you a sense of control.

You’d grown to love them, the silkiness of the satin, the straps that bared your arms and shoulders. Some were lacy and delicate, a tad more modest. Some were more scandalous, dipping low in the front and exposing what the other three would likely find to be an indecent amount of your breasts.

You thanked the Mother that you’d been in one of the latter when you opened the door and discovered who was on the other side.

Eris.

Calm, unruffled and looking positively delighted at the outfit you were currently clad in.

His eyes dipped and traveled, rather quickly, before he spoke.

“I do believe I have a bargain I still need to fulfill.”

His voice was deep, slightly raspy, enough to send a chill along your spine—not helped by the piercing gaze on you.

You managed to keep from gaping at the male though your hand tightened on the doorknob you still held.

“I didn’t realize you were in Velaris.”

“I’m a male of many surprises.”

The corner of his lips curled upwards, peering past your shoulder into your room.

“Oh, right,” you said, shuffling to the side awkwardly, inviting him in.

Despite wanting this—making a bargain surrounding this—you were suddenly unsteady at the fact that this was actually happening.

After you closed the door behind him, you turned to find him waiting in the middle of your room, intensity lining his features as he watched you approach him.

“Right. Okay. So we just do this then?”

You automatically reached upwards, going for his shirt, his face, something—to kiss him. To just launch yourself into this headfirst.

He halted you, a broad hand curving around your waist, the presence of it feeling heavy—like his touch seared through your thin nightgown. It was incredible how your body immediately reacted to him from a simple touch.

“Settle,” he murmured soothingly, not a hint of mocking in his tone, “I won’t bite.”

His other hand slid gently up your arm, over your shoulder and his palm caressed your neck, thumb barely brushing your jawline. His eyes stayed locked on your face as he continued.

“You’re not the little bird your sisters have diminished you to. But you still deserve to be treated with respect and care.”

Your breath came out in a whoosh, surprise filling your body at the unexpected comment from a male you’d been told was nothing but cold and cruel—even if you didn’t believe it.

“I know how to be more decent than those Illyrian brutes you’re used to,” his mouth curved in a grin.

“Watch it,” you glared.

Even if you were sick of your sisters, those Illyrian brutes were still your brothers and your friends.

He just chuckled, thumb brushing ever so lightly over your cheek before he bent his head, bringing his lips to yours.

You’d kissed plenty of men before—something you’d surprisingly managed to keep from your sisters, something you’d once thought was just for yourself, that your sisters couldn’t control.

Perhaps you’d never been able to lie with a man because the handful that you had kissed knew exactly what sort of protectors the other three Archeron sisters were.

But Eris…Eris kissed unlike any other before, though it could be likely due to the fact he wasn’t a man but was a fae male.

Whatever it was, you absolutely loved it.

His lips moved languidly against yours, savoring the glide, the press of them, the weight of yours against his pillowy soft ones. The hand on your waist slid further around to the dip in your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

You tilted your head, letting the kiss naturally deepen—letting his tongue brush effortlessly against the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing it to sweep in and tangle with yours. As he kissed you, as the two of you shared breath, your hands found his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt.

Your lips immediately moved against his faster, with more desperation and heat. He followed your lead with little issue, until he felt your hands scrambling over his clothes, trying to get him out of his clothes. You’d already managed to get his shirt halfway unbuttoned when he pulled away.

Your lips followed his, momentarily thrown off from his departure.

“Slow down,” he murmured, lips dropping a kiss on your jawline before moving back to look at you.

His hands rested on your hips, slightly bunching the fabric. His roaming eyes said he wanted to do anything but.

“As much as I want to enjoy you, it’ll be a lot better if we take our time. I’m free all night.”

He bent again, smirking against your jaw, where his lips had found purchase, sucking and nibbling. You gasped slightly, head falling back as he kissed a line forward, moving away from your ear.

You just wanted him to touch you.

Clearly, he wanted to as well for his hands slid up your sides, closing over your breasts, even through your nightgown.

“Mm,” you moaned, chest arching, strong hands kneading them, massaging them just right.

You pressed into his touch further, feeling the way your pebbled nipples pressed against the now irritating satin, how they felt against his palms, even through the fabric. You wanted—no needed his hands on your bare body.

All over your bare body.

The drumbeat increased in strength between your legs, arousal pooling in your underwear as his hands grasped and explored, as his lips traced over your neck, tongue coming out to lick over random spots of your skin. Growing impatient you pulled your arms out of the straps of your nightgown, connecting your lips to his again.

You pulled your other arm free, hand tangling in the lengths of his hair as your hand cupped his jaw, kissing him with more fervor. He grunted against your lips, reaching down to grab the backs of your thighs.

He lifted you in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as you continued to kiss him.

He stayed there for a moment, hands spread across your ass, mouth hot on yours, then he was moving. Before you knew what to expect, you were yelping and freefalling. You landed on the bed with a dramatic bounce, eyes wide as you stared up at the smirking pale face—one full of heat.

“I should’ve warned you to expect a bit of excitement with me, dove,” he smirked as he joined you on the bed, crawling over you.

You weren’t in any mood to complain as you raised onto your elbows, reaching for him. Just as your mouth met his, your fingers finished off the rest of the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

Despite your earlier nerves, you were slightly amazed at the fact that he put you at ease rather quickly, though you still felt like you were fumbling some.

When he broke the kiss to remove his shirt the rest of the way, you took the opportunity to take in the glorious sight of the pale muscled physique. Broad, strong shoulders, defined pectorals, biceps—and then your eyes dipped to the contours of his abdomen. The vee of his pelvis dipping into his pants.

You might’ve slightly been drooling.

He was…stunning. No other word could describe him.

“Keep looking at me like that. Does a male good,” he hummed, capturing your lips in a kiss again before his mouth was descending, long fingers coming to the neckline of your nightgown.

Hot presses of his mouth traced a path down your throat as his fingers hooked into the neckline and pulled it down, exposing your breasts. The cool air of the room hit them, making you shiver, but all you could focus on was the way his gaze fell to them.

You swore you heard him mumble something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a, “Mother above”. You didn’t have time to question him though because then his head was dipping, his tongue flicking over one of the nipples before taking it in his mouth.

The breathy inhale that came from you didn’t even sound like you. You’d had no idea you were even capable of such instantaneous reactions. Meanwhile, his other hand came to the opposite breast, fingers pinching the nipple.

As if the pulsing between your legs couldn’t get any worse, his teasing made it strengthen and you squirmed under his attention. His free hand pushed the rest of your nightgown up, bunching it at your stomach, revealing the matching underwear—made of the same fabric and the same color as the gown.

Of course, you’d bought these just for yourself but they sure came in handy now.

His eyes dropped to the item that hugged your hips, a devilish smirk barely gracing his lips as he peered up at you.

“It is too forward of me to say I hoped you weren’t wearing underwear?”

You snorted, but it wasn’t derisive. It was amused. You looked down at him, a smirk growing across your face.

“Maybe next time.”

He growled lowly in response and you saw his hips shift against the bed. If he was enduring anything like you were right now, he sure managed to allude to still managing to have some sort of control.

He certainly wasted no time in ridding you of both articles of clothing, leaving you bare to him.

You should’ve felt shy, but the way he was looking at you made the heat pool like molten lava in the pit of your stomach.

“So what, we just have sex now?”

The deep laughter that followed your comment made you want to scowl, but the reaction wasn’t at your expense, though he was genuinely amused.

“Dove, I’ve got much to teach you. I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”

“Ready for you?” you repeated dumbly.

His hand slid over the expanse of your stomach, painfully slow and sensual. Your eyes dropped to the movement, even as he spoke.

“Aching. Desperate. Slick with need,” he murmured, hand dipping between your legs, fingers brushing along your soaked slit. You whimpered, hips automatically bucking towards his hand.

“And even then…I’m not taking this lightly. You’ll take all that I give you.”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant, but nodded anyway. His tongue came out slowly, moistening his bottom lip, just as fingers began to explore. You felt the gentle push of a finger into you and you gasped, hand flying to one of his biceps.

“You’re okay,” he cooed.

You knew he was right. It was just…new.

But you felt how you were gushing, your arousal dampening your inner thighs—all of this in reaction to him before he’d even done anything. So much so that he had little resistance inserting a lone finger. He groaned at the way you clenched around the digit as he slid it in and out of you.

Despite you never having experienced the sensation before, you suddenly ached to be filled—preferably by more than just his fingers.

“Gods, already so eager for me,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything.

You nearly quipped back that you’d have to be blind to be wholly unaffected by him, until he added a second finger. It was tighter, but not unpleasant.

You moaned quietly, the pump of his fingers already making your vision spotty. You felt a brief sting as his digits spread and came together again then he repeated the action, over and over until that initial brief discomfort had faded.

“What— what are you doing?” you asked.

You’d let go of all fear of appearing foolish, earlier. Whatever happened in this room between you and Eris would clearly stay in this room. You were curious and you were going to ask.

“Just stretching you a bit,” he hummed, placing a kiss to your hip bone, “Preparing you for my cock.”

You swore your mouth went dry at the thought.

Apparently that wasn’t the only way your body reacted and he flashed you a wicked smile and provided you with another languid pump of his fingers.

“I felt that. Getting you all excited for my cock, hm?”

And there it was again, the way your cunt contracted, squeezing around his fingers. All he did was chuckle, scooting backwards—touch not leaving you as he did so. You watched him curiously and then he was leaning forward, some strands of his red hair pooling against your bare abdomen as he licked over your clit before taking it into his mouth.

“Ohh, fuck,” you moaned, arching.

Another wicked chuckle—this time against you—and you moaned again at the vibration. He pulled away just enough to comment.

“I never realized you had such a mouth on you, dove.”

“Shut up and do that again,” you hissed.

He just smirked up at you, fingers curling within you as his mouth lowered again, tongue coming out to press flat against your clit—all while his eyes still remained on you.

Gods, you could’ve come from the sight alone.

“Eris,” you whimpered.

His eyes flashed—a hint of fire sparking to life in them as he groaned against you, clearly pleased to hear his name fall from your lips.

He shifted against the bed again and your eyes fell to the movement. Though his bottom half was still clothed, you had the good enough sense to know he was extremely aroused, himself, by this point.

You nearly cried when he pulled his fingers free of you. But he moved so quickly you barely had time to process the fact that he’d licked just over your entrance, as if tasting you for the first and only time before he slid his tongue in you.

“Gods!” you gasped, back arching clear off the bed, one hand automatically threading into his hair.

Your mind—your body—felt like it was on overdrive. You had known pleasure before, but it had been at your hand alone and nothing like this.

“Oh gods— that’s— Eris—” you whimpered.

You pressed closer to him, body having a mind of its own as your hips moved, grinding against his mouth, pushing your hand into his hair.

You couldn’t help it, you were greedy and it felt so incredible. You wanted to come, wanted him to make you come.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you chanted, losing all control of your mouth, too, “Feels so— fuuuuck.”

You were moaning louder, unabashedly as his tongue thrust, licked, swirled, lips kissed and sucked. He was winding you tighter and tighter and you weren’t sure if you were going to last much longer.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pushing his head down further against your cunt. He licked his way back towards the apex of your thighs, giving a gentle kiss to your clit before beginning to lap at it.

“You— are— delectable,” he murmured in between pauses, licking against your clit with each pause.

“Please,” you whined.

He groaned, more than affected now by your responsiveness to him.

“Don’t worry, dove. I’ll take care of you.”

As his lips closed around the bud, sucking gently, you felt the building pressure deep within you—that had seemed dormant and far away—grow suddenly hotter, stronger. Your legs kicked against the mattress weakly—involuntarily—unable to control your body and the incredible amount of pleasure that was building.

He slid the two fingers back into you—with much less resistance this time around, you were so soaked for him. You heard the grunt deep in his throat as he noted that observation too.

“Eris, Eris, I can’t— oh gods you’re—”

You were babbling without even meaning to, words bubbling up before you could stop them, being interrupted by gasps, moans and other small sounds of pleasure.

You weren’t too far away from falling and once again you ground with more determination against his face, adding a tad more friction.

You came apart with a cry, that tension finally snapping so abruptly and swiftly that it sent the sound up and out of your throat before you could stop it. The feeling of euphoria swept through you with such force, all you could do was arch into him, press closer and grip a combination of his hair and the sheets at your side.

Your chest was heaving when it finally ceased enough for you and your body to relax. He gave one last lick along your slit, tasting your release and you whimpered, sensitive from what he’d just pulled from you.

“Cauldron,” he breathed, when he finally sat back, mouth still slick from you.

He looked devastated—though maybe devastated wasn’t the word for it, but Eris did not look unaffected. You briefly wondered if any of his past lovers ever showed such enthusiasm or appreciation for the things he’d done for them—or if he even did those things for them.

You knew you felt pretty damn appreciative for what he’d just done for you.

“I do believe someone once said you had a sharp tongue…I may have to reevaluate just what they mean,” you muttered.

You were still blinking, dazed from what had just happened. But Eris only chuckled, though you could’ve sworn it sounded strained to your ears.

He looked ready to eat you alive.

When he was at your head again, you pulled him down by the shoulders, kissing him hard. It was a hot, open mouthed kiss, tongues tangling with one another and you groaned, tasting yourself on his mouth. Somehow, it made the kiss that much hotter.

His mouth moved with yours, as his hand slid up your bare leg, opening you wider for him to settle between your legs. He kissed you with nothing but pure intent and urgency, his own desire for you bleeding into the act.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, tongue sliding against his. His hips pressed forward, letting you feel just how much he wanted you.

His hardness pressed roughly against you and you moaned, breaking the connection of the kiss.

“Gods,” he groaned, head falling, looking down to where the arousal in his pants pressed against your bare cunt.

You whimpered, squirming, pressing closer, canting your hips to rub against him. His breathing deepened as his hips jerked forward, grinding against you. If this had your lashes fluttering at how good it felt, you had no idea what to expect when he was inside you.

His arms braced the sides of your head as he kept kissing you, kept grinding against you. It was as if you were two young lovers that’d been separated for too long. When he pulled away for a moment, your eyes fell to one of the toned biceps in your periphery.

Perhaps because you’d lost all control of your senses, you turned, kissing a line along the sculpted muscle—from shoulder to the crook of his arm. The feel of the taut muscle underneath your lips nearly drove you wild.

You simply grinned up at him mischievously as his heated gaze burned on you, desire written all over his features.

He’d had plenty of time to explore you, perhaps you’d wanted to explore him a bit.

He pushed away from you, leaving you entirely as he stood from the bed. You mourned his presence for half a second until you realized what he was doing.

Strong fingers worked at the button of his pants as he unbuttoned them, pushing them off his hips. Your eyes stayed locked on his, breathing becoming labored, caught in his intense stare like if he’d tied you to the bed, making you unable to move.

Motion snapped you out of your trance only for you to realize he was fully bare now.

Your eyes dropped only so, then slowly rose up that powerfully honed body, lean muscle everywhere you looked. Your eyes dropped again—further this time—your chest expanding in a slow inhale.

Oh gods…

You had not been prepared for the sight that greeted you—even to the point of being slightly overwhelmed by it.

Not only by the obvious cock that was on full display—hard, the tip flushed the prettiest shade of red and leaking—but the entire sight of him.

“What’s the matter? Never seen a naked male, dove?” he purred.

Normally you’d have a smart remark to match his swaggering arrogance, but you only swallowed hard, face warming a bit as you sat up against the pillows.

While no, you hadn’t, you hadn’t thought it was such a big deal. But here—in this moment at least—you felt off kilter, vulnerable in a way you’d never expected to feel. You said nothing, just pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in slight apprehension.

You watched the smugness quickly dissipate from his features as he took in your unnatural silence. Perhaps thinking he’d gone too far in his comment—especially when you didn’t rise to challenge him like you normally would’ve.

He grew more serious, perhaps a shade softer, though his voice became rougher around the edges, like he was undone from this entire situation.

“Despite what you may have heard, I would never force you to do anything you did not wish for.”

“I realize that,” you said plainly.

You didn’t want sympathy or pity for your inexperience, but at the same time you felt very out of your depth. Mercifully, he didn’t push the matter, said nothing more—didn’t continue to tease you either—and stepped closer to the bed again.

Your eyes dropped to the movement of his hand as he reached out for yours. He then led it to his cock, his hand staying over yours.

Your fingers wrapped around him and you just barely repressed the gasp that crawled up your throat.

You hadn’t known what to expect, but if you had been told it was like velvet warmth, you'd have thought the individual crazy. But, it was. Though he was hard as granite, the skin was so soft and warm—a part of you wondered if it came from the fire that was in his blood.

If anything, he was definitely way more well endowed than you could’ve anticipated. Perhaps that attributed to his arrogance—he certainly had good reason to where that was concerned.

He groaned at your first touch, involuntarily arching into you, as if he had no control over his body. Your eyes flicked up to his face, a shade hesitant. His eyes didn’t leave yours as his had guided yours upwards in a slow, gentle stroke.

His lashes fluttered, a deep grunt coming from his chest. Your own lashes lowered as you watched the way he guided your hand along him, showing you what to do—what he liked.

You weren’t sure why you suddenly craved to put your mouth on him. You wanted him everywhere—in your hand, mouth and cunt.

“Your hand feels amazing on me,” was all he could rasp out, breaking you out of your thoughts.

Heat curled tighter within you, hearing how affected he was by your touch. But you didn’t continue as he moved from your reach, climbing over you, your body once again falling back against the pillows.

He stared down at you momentarily and you found yourself a tad shaken—even more left in awe—at the look on his face. The face you’d once known as nothing but cold, devoid of any joy, was now more at ease—you could even go as far as to say it was almost soft.

In an attempt to distract from the intense moment, you spoke.

“Now’s likely not the time for an utterly inane comment about it not fitting, is it?” you uttered.

Though you truly were wondering if it would.

He just chuckled deeply, bending to brush his nose in a short line along your cheek.

“You’re adorable,” he purred.

“Not exactly an answer,” you huffed.

“Believe me, dove, it’ll fit.”

One of your hands braced his thigh—palm flat against the muscle—and you had to bite back a moan at the reminder of the strength of him.

While he was preoccupied elsewhere—lips peppering kisses over your jawline and neck—your hand slid inward. You figured you might as well get acquainted with the part that would soon be inside your body.

You weren’t afraid, nor were you nervous. You were…curious. Treading unfamiliar territory, yes, but eager to learn and explore, even if you’d already touched him once. But that had been with his help, you wanted to try on your own this time.

It wasn’t like one touch would ever be enough for you either.

Once more, your fingers wrapped around his cock, dragging your hand in a slow pull upwards. Your thumb brushed over the thick head and you swore you watched his control crumble before your eyes.

Oh, this held power. You bit back a smirk at that discovery.

“If you don’t want this to be over before it even starts, I highly suggest you stop that,” he gritted out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grinned widely up at him, dragging your hand back downwards again.

“You’ll have time to play later,” he grunted, removing your hand.

You just cocked a brow.

“Oh? I will?”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “If I have a say in it, you will.”

You repressed a snicker, though your mouth curved upwards. His face loomed closer before he dipped his head, kissing you.

If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was you wouldn’t ever get tired of the way his lips felt—or tasted. You took the brief moment to explore other places on him as well.

Even if your hands were hesitant, they slid over his chest, up to his shoulders and down to his upper back as he kissed you, just enjoying the feel of your mouths connected.

He pulled back, tongue flicking over your bottom lip, sitting back.

His fingers circled your calves, pushing your legs up until they were bent, the soles of your feet flat against the mattress. Then, with gentle care, he pushed your knees further apart, giving himself room.

“I need you to relax for me, dove,” he murmured, a hand sliding under your hips, lifting them slightly to position you better.

“You know saying something like that is only gonna make me do the opposite,” you quirked a brow.

He gave you a half smile.

“Just trying to make it less…intense for you.”

“Isn’t sex intense to begin with?”

He almost looked exasperated at your questioning and you couldn’t help but bite back a giggle—especially since he didn’t look truly annoyed. More like amazed at your rapid fire questions.

“I meant there can be some discomfort,” he supplied.

You…hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t known that, though you figured that made sense.

“It’s going to hurt?”

You hated how small your voice sounded. So much for being confident and in control.

His brows pinched together ever so slightly, face tightening. His voice was rough when he answered you.

“Not if I can help it.”

Then he turned back into the matter-of-fact Eris you knew him to be.

“I will leave right now if you no longer want this.”

“I am no coward,” you scowled.

“I didn’t say you were,” Eris’s gaze was steady on yours, serious, “I’m giving you choice.”

“Then I choose to stop you from leaving,” you said stubbornly.

He chuckled lowly, as if impressed.

“I always knew there was fire in you.”

“According to you, I haven’t had enough in me.”

He snorted.

“I never said that.”

“It was implied.”

You gasped feeling the head of his cock press at your sensitive, untouched center.

He’d been distracting you through the last few traded remarks, loosening you up further. You couldn’t explain why that made you warm towards the male further.

He didn’t ask, but his eyes questioned one more time and you gave a short nod. Then he was pushing in, slowly.

Even with the slight movement, you felt a deep sting—not exactly painful, but unusual. Slightly uncomfortable, the deep stretch, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, repeating his words from earlier.

He retreated, the sting easing before he pressed a bit further in. The dull sting grew but instead of fighting in, you kept breathing—kept trusting him.

Assessing amber eyes never left your face.

He repeated the action over and over—retreating and pushing a tad further with each movement. He leaned closer, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and with every inch you gave, your arms tightened just slightly.

He took his time, didn’t rush, accommodating his movements depending on how hard your touch dug into his back.

You weren’t sure how long it’d been, if he’d already filled you fully, but on the latest press forward, the burning sting was sharper this time, more noticeable and you inadvertently tensed.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he mumbled, thumb brushing your hip soothingly.

Your eyes found his and once again instead of panicking you kept your focus on him.

The hand that had fallen earlier—subconsciously gripping the sheets from the deep discomfort—reached up, fingers trailing softly over the splatter of freckles on one cheek.

“Your freckles are pretty,” you mumbled.

Eris looked like you’d slapped him across the cheek instead of caressed it. You smiled at his stunned expression, your thumb brushing over the top of his cheek.

The comment wasn’t meant for pure distraction, you actually meant it.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured his praise.

He pulled out again, pushing the furthest he had yet, causing you to squeak the tiniest bit at the feel of him bottoming out.

The discomfort was still very much present, accompanied by a strange, foreign sensation of feeling full. Almost overwhelmingly so. To the point it seemed to radiate outward a bit.

His hips pressed flush against yours, in as far as he could go, as close as he could possibly get to you.

“Still with me?”

You couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so concerned and caring.

His hand shifted, planting on the pillow next to your head, stabilizing himself. He’d yet to move an inch since fully entering you, staying still, letting you adjust to the size of him. You studied him, felt him grip the pillow next to your head, watched the way his eyes closed, watched his brows slightly scrunch.

As if he was in pain. Suddenly a wash of fear and concern filled you.

“I’m not hurting you am I?” you bit your lip, worried.

After all, you weren’t exactly…familiar with the logistics of this. You knew you were feeling quite the deep and momentarily uncomfortable stretch and burn, but what if you were somehow hurting him too?

His laugh was more of an exasperated, strained exhale of breath than anything.

“No. You’re not hurting me, sweetheart.”

Something funny twisted within you at his abnormal nickname.

Your arms fell from around him, hands coming to rest on his biceps.

“You promise you’re not lying to make me feel better?”

You studied his face as he finally opened his eyes, heat burning within them.

“I’m just trying real hard not to push you past your limits,” he gritted out, “And it’s a…struggle.”

Perhaps you were a touch naive, but you asked anyway.

“Why?”

Those flames came to life in his eyes.

“Because you feel so good all I want to do is fuck you for days—and you’re not ready for that yet.”

You may have blinked in surprise. But then you tilted your head in curiosity.

“What does it feel like?”

Instead of answering, he pulled one of your hands away from where it rested on his bicep, taking it in his hold.

His lips brushed across your knuckles briefly before drawing one fingertip past his lips. The sensation of a warm, slow and gentle pull of suction surrounded the digit, making you gasp. He released your finger just as slowly as he’d brought it to his lips, tongue lightly flicking across the pad of it as he did so.

“Like that.”

You were positive you’d gone utterly breathless.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he smirked.

The discomfort had begun to ebb, your body adjusting to the new intrusion. You shifted slightly, impatience setting in.

“Okay,” you nodded, giving him the go ahead.

You were surprised at how gentle he was the first few times as he eased out and re-entered you. It was such an odd sensation, being so full in an area you’d never experienced such a thing—but it wasn’t unpleasant.

He groaned as he moved.

“Gods, you’re tight.”

The slow drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, gripping his biceps harder. The discomfort had completely faded—had blossomed into something warmer and much more pleasant.

Then your next issue was you had no idea what to do.

Though he felt the way your body had relaxed, he also quite likely sensed what was running through your mind—the nature of your anxious, uncertain thoughts.

“Don’t overthink it,” he uttered against your mouth.

Which was easier said than done.

But as he kissed you, slow and gentle thrusts into you accompanying his kiss, you found your body taking care of that worry, taking over for you. As your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to you to kiss him harder, your body shifted, clearly growing impatient.

The tiny movement provided extra friction as he moved, hips speeding up the slightest. You moaned against his mouth, fingers curling even tighter into his locks, hips experimenting again.

A small rock of them had him groaning, breaking the kiss.

“There you go,” he murmured around another groan.

His hips pulled back and thrust forward again, a little faster with a tad more power. You were still feeling the overpowering pressure, that fullness of him filling every inch of you, but your lashes fluttered, starting to enjoy it.

“Gods, you—”

He growled lowly, clearly trying to hold back as he moved forward again repeatedly, head dropping towards you, a strand of his hair falling along the side of his face.

But you didn’t want him to be careful with you.

“More.”

His head lifted, gauging if you truly meant the command. Your body felt warm, tingly, the sensations pleasurable. But despite whatever you tried to do, it didn’t seem to satiate you enough.

Since you were still so unfamiliar with the act, you were more than content to let him take the lead.

The hand not braced by your head slid down your side, sliding under your hips once again, hand splayed across your backside as he shifted you again.

The way it gripped your ass—quite cheekily, you might add—made you moan as his hips thrust forward again. He was deeper, the angle different from before and you were definitely beginning to see why people raved about the act.

His own moan of pleasure ignited the fire in you and your eyes fell closed as you did nothing but let the incredible feelings—ones you weren’t sure you could even describe—sweep you away. With your eyes shut, you didn’t see his approach, but you felt his lips close over yours, capturing them with his and you groaned, automatically kissing him back.

Your hands slid down the length of his back, feeling the way the muscles shifted and moved as he thrust repeatedly into you.

You felt his groan against your lips, the way strands of his hair fell to your bare skin, brushing it as he moved over you. Your body completely relented to him, giving over to the pleasure that was unlike anything you could’ve imagined.

Then his lips were moving beyond yours, attaching to every inch of skin in his reach he could. They left hot kisses against your jaw, down your throat, nipped harshly at your collarbone.

You were so close to him, hard muscles pressed against your soft skin and it was driving you wild. You needed more and more and more.

You had the sneaking suspicion that this was only a fraction of what he was capable of, but you swore you still saw stars as his pace sped up, cock hitting spots within you that you’d never imagined could exist.

If it could always feel this good, you never wanted it to end.

You heard a low grunt come from his deep in his throat as your body finally rejoined his movements, needing more of something—though you couldn’t pinpoint what. His head dipped, mouth coming to one of your breasts.

“Eris,” you gasped, arching into him.

He was slowly driving you mad with each and every movement. He timed every thrust of his cock perfectly to the flick of his tongue over your nipple. You felt your own body inadvertently react to him, inner walls tightening around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled your hips to meet his.

You’d never heard him sound so utterly undone and it made you spiral, lose all sense of your mind as your fingers dug into his back. You felt the sensations of the pleasure and was clearly enjoying it, but thought it was odd that you weren’t feeling the building of it like you had earlier, when his tongue had been between your legs.

He was cursing again, the sentiments falling from his lips repeatedly. You could feel his body tensing underneath your touch, a low groan falling from his lips as he stilled.

Then you felt warmth, slick on your thighs and it was over.

You blinked, coming back to reality, not sure if you were disappointed or not. It hadn’t been awful but it hadn’t really been quite what you’d expected either.

Your heart was still racing though, breathless from exertion as he finally moved again, pulling out of you gingerly. Which was a blessing because suddenly it hit just how sore you were.

It was quiet as he sat back, detangling himself from you and you lay there, peering at him, unsure what you should even say. You watched as he stood, bending for his pants. As he pulled them on, he peered over his shoulder at you, as if assessing your state after such a life altering event. You had sat up by this point—sheets pooling at your waist—and those eyes roved every inch, as if just to make sure you were alright.

“Expect some soreness tomorrow,” Eris murmured, a cocky upturn of his lips accompanying his remark.

You rolled your eyes, mumbling under your breath.

“Cocky bastard.”

When it fell silent again you knew at the very least you should thank him. He had actually come through with his end of the bargain and helped you.

You had no idea what possessed you to do it when you stuck your hand out to him.

Eris turned around to face you fully, still shirtless—with said shirt dangling from one hand—brows high. You didn’t balk, even if you cringed internally at your action. But truly, what did one do in this situation anyway?

You pushed your hand out further, refusing to let him dismiss you.

“Thank you,” you said pointedly.

His lips twitched, amusement evident on his face.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had anyone thank me for fucking them with a handshake before.”

You were about ready to drop your hand when he reached out, sliding his own into yours, giving it a firm shake. But before he let go, his thumb brushed your wrist once and your eyes dropped to the black as night ink still present on your skin.

“Why is it still there?” you scowled.

“Because it’ll only disappear after I’ve called in my favor. Not a moment sooner.”

You huffed, pulling the covers up over your bare chest to chase away the chill, looking up at him as he finally pulled his shirt on, buttoning it up.

“And that will be when?”

“Soon, dove. When the moment’s right.”

He gave you a wink and winnowed away before you could even question what his vague, cryptic remark meant. In turn, you were left staring at the space where he'd just been standing, long after he’d left. Swirling thoughts and emotions warred within you, along with the knowledge of an unfulfilled bargain that would remain a secret.

Until whenever Eris Vanserra decided to call in his favor.

Which left you standing there, arms crossed, staring at the filled seats.

"Well, where am I supposed to sit?" you asked, arching a brow as your so-called friends barely spared you a second glance. Even Amren—tiny, ruthless Amren—had somehow managed to claim a spot.

Before anyone could answer, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you forward with a familiar, effortless strength. A gasp left your lips as you tumbled into a broad, solid chest, your mate's scent of sea salt and citrus washing over you as he caught you with ease.

"My lap is right here, darling," Rhys purred into your ear, his voice a velvety caress. His arms caged you against him as he leaned back into the booth, utterly at ease with you in his lap. "This seat is always reserved for you."

A flush crept up your neck, heat coiling low in your stomach as his lips ghosted over the sensitive spot just below your ear. You swatted at his arm half-heartedly, though you didn't move away.

"Get a room," Cassian groaned, shaking his head. "Or at least wait until we've had a few drinks before you start eye-fucking each other."

"Oh, please," Mor cut in, already sliding out of the booth. "Tell me about it, Cass. I'm getting a round."

"Get us doubles!" Amren called after her. "We're going to need them." She sighed beneath her breath.

The table erupted in laughter, but Rhys barely paid them any mind. His fingers traced idle patterns along your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your ear.

"You don't mind sitting here, do you?" he murmured, the hint of amusement in his voice making it clear he already knew the answer.

You tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze, violet eyes dark with mischief. "I think you planned this," you accused, narrowing your eyes.

His smile was all wickedness and charm. "And if I did?"

You huffed, shaking your head—but you didn't move from his lap. And judging by the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, you doubted he had any intention of letting you go.

Let Mor bring the drinks. You had everything you needed right here.

Azriel

"Hi, handsome," you greet, a smile curling at your lips as you swing open the door to your apartment. The crisp scent of rain drifts in with the night air, mingling with the warmth of your cozy home. Azriel stands in the doorway, shadows curling subtly around him as if hesitant to cross the threshold.

His hazel eyes soften as he takes you in, lingering on the comfortable sweater you've thrown on, the glow of candlelight flickering in the background. He steps inside, shaking a few stray raindrops from his hair, and you close the door behind him, shutting out the storm.

"You're soaked," you remark, reaching out to help him shrug off his damp jacket. His fingers brush against yours as he hands it over, and even with the chill clinging to the fabric, his touch is warm.

"It's cold out there," he murmurs, eyes scanning the space around him. He's never been to your apartment before, and you watch with amusement as his gaze sweeps over the small but welcoming interior—books stacked in uneven piles, a few blankets draped over the couch, a candle flickering on the coffee table. A place lived in. A place entirely yours.

"But it's nice in here," he adds, his voice dipping lower as he turns back to you.

You barely have time to process his words before his lips are on yours—slow, deliberate, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw as he deepens the kiss. You melt into him for a moment, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest before you pull away with a playful smile.

"Come on," you say, tugging him toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable."

Azriel hesitates. It's subtle—the slight shift of his weight, the way his wings twitch behind him as he glances at the couch. It's not exactly built to accommodate a six-foot-something Illyrian warrior with a wingspan that could cast an eclipse over your entire living room.

"Uh... where should I sit?" he asks, the uncertainty in his voice so rare it almost makes you laugh.

You smirk, patting your lap in invitation. "Right here's an option."

His lips twitch in amusement, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he makes his decision—easing down onto the couch beside you instead. His wing unfurls slightly, shifting behind you before settling around your shoulders like a warm, protective cloak.

You hum contentedly, pulling a blanket over both of you and nestling into his side. The steady beat of his heart thrums against your ear as you relax into the comfort of his presence.

"Thought you'd take me up on my offer," you tease, tilting your head to glance up at him.

His lips brush against your temple, voice low and amused. "Maybe next time."

For now, you're more than happy with this—wrapped in the warmth of him, the scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to his skin, and the quiet, unspoken promise that he is exactly where he wants to be.

Cassian

"Babe, you in here?"

Cassian's voice carries through the library just before his head peeks around the doorway. You don't bother looking up, too engrossed in the book cradled in your hands—a detailed account of art created during the war. Nestled beneath a thick pile of blankets in a massive leather chair that practically swallows you whole, you simply lift one hand from the cocoon of warmth and wave lazily.

"Here."

He steps inside, brows knitting together. "I called you through the bond. You didn't answer."

"I'm reading," you murmur distractedly, flipping a page without sparing him a glance.

"Reading or not, answer next time. I was worried, okay?" His voice dips into something softer, more serious as he strides deeper into the room.

You hum in vague acknowledgment but don't respond, eyes locked on the words before you.

“Baby," he tries again, tapping a finger against the edge of your book.

You snap your gaze up at him, blinking as if just now remembering his presence. "Huh?"

Cassian exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "Okay?" he repeats, waiting for some kind of confirmation.

Not entirely sure what you're agreeing to but wanting to return to your book, you nod absently. "Yeah, okay."

He watches you for a long moment, his broad shoulders deflating when you go right back to reading. The silence stretches between you, filled only with the soft crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustle of pages.

"Aren't you going to ask why I was looking for you?" His voice carries the weight of expectation.

"...No." You shrug, completely unrepentant.

Cassian lets out a dramatic sigh, his hope for your attention swiftly diminishing. "If you look at me right now, I'll leave you alone with your book," he mutters.

Your head snaps up instantly, locking onto his warm caramel gaze.

"Cauldron, you're determined," he grumbles. Then, in one swift motion, he swipes your book from your hands and snaps it shut.

You gasp, eyes widening as you reach for it. "Cassian!"

"You can read later. Give me attention now," he hums, looking far too pleased with himself.

You narrow your eyes at him, lips parting to protest, but then an idea strikes. You soften your expression, tilt your head slightly, and give him the biggest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes you can manage.

His smirk falters. Then crumbles entirely.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he blurts, scrambling to return your book. He flips it open and, somehow, miraculously lands on the exact page you were on.

You blink in surprise before shooting him a suspicious look.

"What?" he says innocently, though the glint in his eye suggests he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, you smile in triumph, sinking deeper into the chair and pulling the book back into place.

Cassian frowns at you, clearly still unsatisfied, and before you can react, he swoops in, effortlessly lifting you from your seat.

A startled yelp escapes you as he sets you on your feet, stealing your chair for himself. You huff but refuse to be deterred, standing directly in front of him, reading as if nothing had happened. Every so often, you flick a page, ignoring the weight of his amused stare.

A sudden shiver wracks through you, the realization settling in—you had been so warm under that blanket. You glance up to find Cassian comfortably wrapped in it now, looking entirely too smug.

"Give me my spot back," you grumble, crossing your arms.

"My lap is right here," he counters smoothly, patting his thigh.

You roll your eyes but don't hesitate long before crawling into his lap. His arms immediately come around you, securing you against his chest as he reclines the chair back. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your back, melts away any lingering annoyance.

Without another word, you resume reading, far more comfortable now than you had been before. Cassian presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair in a way that is both distracting and soothing.

You silently thank him for keeping your hair out of your face, appreciating, despite everything, that he always finds a way to take care of you—even when he's being insufferable.

Eris

The golden throne is a masterpiece—intricate carvings of twisting flames and autumn leaves adorning the armrests, the deep red cushions a striking contrast against the polished gold. But the true vision of perfection is the male seated upon it.

Eris, legs spread carelessly, his head resting against his palm, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. His auburn hair catches the flickering candlelight, a halo of fire framing his sharp, impossibly beautiful features. His amber eyes—always so sharp, always so calculating—soften slightly as they land on you.

You shift your weight, feeling oddly out of place as you stand before him. "So... do I get a throne too?" you ask, tilting your head.

Eris raises a single brow, amusement flickering across his face. "Why?"

You blink at him. "Because this is the throne for the ruler of Autumn," he explains, as if the answer is obvious.

"Right," you say, crossing your arms. "But I just mean... I'm High Lady. Shouldn't I have a throne too?"

It feels strange, asking for something like this, but before you were even married, Eris made it abundantly clear—you are his equal in all things. He's never once treated you as anything less.

He exhales softly, watching you as if he's trying to puzzle something out. Then, finally, he shrugs. "We share a bed. Shouldn't we share a throne?"

Your lips part in protest. "It's not exactly large enough—"

But before you can finish, Eris moves. With a fluidity that makes your breath hitch, he reaches forward, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward him. A startled gasp escapes you as you stumble, catching yourself on the arm of the throne just as you land in his lap, straddling one of his thighs.

The position leaves your faces mere inches apart—your wide eyes meeting his entirely relaxed, smirking expression.

His hands settle on your waist, fingers drumming idly against the fabric of your dress. "We can get you your own throne if you really want, pretty," he murmurs, his voice a silken promise. "But what's mine is yours. So share this with me—for now, okay?"

You stare at him, still slightly stunned by the sudden shift, the warmth of him seeping into you, the firm press of muscle beneath you. His scent—smoke and crisp autumn air—wraps around you, grounding you in the moment.

Slowly, you nod.

"Good," he whispers, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to adoration before he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

A kiss that lingers, that tastes of fire and devotion.

And as you melt into him, you think—perhaps his lap as a throne was a perfectly good alternative.

Lucien

The gathering was already in full swing by the time you and Lucien arrived. The grand hall, adorned in golden candlelight and autumnal tapestries, was packed with High Fae from various courts. A long banquet table stretched through the center of the room, lined with platters of rich food and goblets of deep red wine.

You had expected a formal meeting—discussions of trade agreements, court relations, maybe a bit of posturing. What you hadn't expected was an entire buffet spread out on the table, and for every seat to be taken.

Lucien, of course, had found one easily, already seated comfortably among the dignitaries. His russet-red hair gleamed under the chandelier's glow, and he looked completely at ease, one arm draped over the back of his chair, a goblet in his other hand. He was already speaking with someone from the Winter Court, his voice warm and smooth—an effortless diplomat.

You stood at the edge of the table, scanning for an open seat. Nothing.

Lucien's keen gaze flicked to you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips. "Problem, darling?"

You crossed your arms, pursing your lips. "There's nowhere to sit."

Lucien took a languid sip of his wine, clearly reveling in your predicament. Then, with all the smugness in the world, he patted his thigh. "My lap is right here."

You shot him a sharp look, but he only raised a brow, entirely unbothered. His amber eye gleamed with mischief, the gold in it catching the candlelight. "Unless you'd rather sit in one of my brother’s advisor’s lap?" he mused, tilting his head toward the older men at the end of the table, who were giving you disgusting looks but thankfully too far away to catch wind of Lucien's ridiculous suggestion.

Your glare hardened. "Absolutely not."

Lucien grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Then by all means, make yourself comfortable."

You let out a long, suffering sigh before lowering yourself onto his lap, doing your best to maintain your dignity. His arms came around you without hesitation, one resting lightly at your waist while the other adjusted to make space.

“You know,” He started, lips brushing your ear. "You could have at least pretended to resist a little longer," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you.

"If this makes a scene, you suffer the consequences."

Lucien hummed in amusement, fingers absently tracing patterns against your hip. "I think I rather like these consequences."

You were about to retort when a voice from across the table chimed in. "Comfortable?"

You looked up to find Helion watching the two of you with raised brows, his expression far too entertained.

Lucien didn't miss a beat. "Very," he replied smoothly, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.

Helion chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing more. Like father like son.

You, on the other hand, were going to murder Lucien the second you were out of sight of the High Lords.

But for now, as the night carried on, his warmth steady beneath you, his presence grounding in a way you weren't entirely ready to admit—you allowed yourself to relax, just a little.

And if Lucien pressed an occasional kiss to your shoulder throughout the evening, well... you supposed you could let that slide.

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Eris woke to movement, deliberate, quiet, not meant to wake him, but the warmth beside him faded, and the mattress rose as weight left it.

His eyes snapped open.

She was dressing. The Night Court healer, his mate, stood a few paces away, sliding into freshly laundered robes.

Her hands trembled slightly as she tied the sash at her waist.

She ran shaking fingers through her hair, and her breath caught when she noticed him watching from the bed.

Eris sat up, the blanket pooling at his hips, heat rolling off his bare skin. Sometime in the night, he had shed his shirt, burning too hot beside her. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not quite meeting his gaze.

His brow furrowed. “Why are you sorry?”

“I woke you.”

“You could stab me and I wouldn’t expect an apology,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and irony. He rose, pulling a shirt over his head.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, moving toward his desk. Three fresh pages of the dead waited for him there, names inked in blood and duty.

“I need to assess the wounded for transport,” she said, her voice quiet, clipped.

Her eyes tracked him, then lingered too long on the long, angry wound stretching from his cheek to his collarbone.

“Your wound is irritated.”

Her tone shifted, clinical, but laced with something else. Concern, maybe.

She approached slowly, as if he were something dangerous. Eris stayed still, watching her through narrowed eyes as she reached for him.

He bent slightly, letting her examine the wound.

Her fingers trembled against his jaw.

When her magic touched him, cool and silver, so unlike the fire-forged spells of Autumn, it stole the breath from his lungs.

It slid through his skin like silk.

Like moonlight.

It bloomed beneath the surface, coiling gently around torn tissue, quieting the pain.

The mating bond responded, sang.

Pulled taut.

He hated it. He wanted it. Her hands. Her magic. Her.

When she stepped back, too soon, something inside him ached. Wanted her to stay. Wanted more.

“You should apply a cooling balm, something with honey, chamomile or lavender,” she said, eyes averted. “Your court’s healers will have something suitable.”

He straightened. “I will.”

“I should go.”

The words struck him like an arrow. Something inside him recoiled. The chain of the bond wrapped tightly around his ribs.

“Your name?” he asked. Not a command, a plea.

She hesitated. “Y/N.”

He repeated it, quietly. The syllables curled on his tongue like smoke. It tasted like fate.

“I need to go,” she said again, more gently this time.

Eris hesitated. “You could come back to Autumn with me.”

She tilted her head, blinking as if confused by the offer.

“No. My home is the Night Court,” she said, like it was a fact, and it was. The Night Court was her home, no matter his feelings about it.

“But you’re my mate.”

“I’m a fae with a job—a home. A family,” she said sharply. “I’m not only your mate.”

It stung, but more than that, her words acknowledged the bond. She had accepted it, at least on some level.

That alone was enough to make something in him stir, something dangerously close to hope.

He swallowed the grin threatening his face and simply nodded. “Of course. You have work to tend to.”

She looked briefly startled by his calm. Like she’d expected a fight, but she only nodded once and turned to leave.

At the tent’s entrance, she paused.

She glanced back at him, still slightly dishevelled, his hair mussed, skin littered with bruises, new and old scars and cuts.

“I’ll be safe leaving your camp?” she asked. 

The question stung more than it should have.

What did she think he’d do?

What did she think his people would do?

What stories had she been told?

Aloud, he said, “No one will touch you. You know the way back to the healer’s tents?”

“I think so.”

She reached for the canvas flap, peeking through. The morning light filtered in warm orange, dawn was just breaking, and the camp was beginning to stir.

“Okay,” she said softly. Hesitation lingered in her voice. She didn’t look back again. Just mumbled a quiet goodbye and slipped out.

The flap closed behind her, slow and silent.

Just like that, it was as if she’d never been there.

No, only memories, and the dead remained. That’s all that was left in his tent now:

Tangled sheets.

The scent of a Night Court fae.

His mate.

Reader POV – 

The canvas flaps closed behind her with a whisper, but she heard it like a door slamming shut.

For a moment, she just stood there, eyes scanning the waking camp, as though someone might emerge from the shadows to drag her back.

She wasn’t truly afraid of him, but she was scared of his name.

Of what it carried.

Power. Politics. History.

Eris Vanserra was not a male she should have touched, let alone allowed to touch her soul.

The dawn was sharp and quiet, the air cool against the heat she carried from his tent. Being near him was like standing too close to a flame, dangerous, intimate, consuming.

Even now, her skin hummed faintly from his warmth, from the memory of his body beside hers.

Autumn’s camp was quieter than expected.

Still. Tense.

She caught the glance of a soldier near the fire, but they barely acknowledged her.

No one stopped her, just as he’d promised.

Still, her fingers trembled as she pulled her robes tighter around herself. Her sleeves smelled like smoke.

Like him.

It felt absurd, how easily she had left that tent, how little resistance he had given.

He hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t demanded anything and hadn’t pressed. Just asked for her name and let her go.

God, she shouldn’t have given it.

He had said it like it meant something.

Her pace quickened.

She shouldn’t have gone with him.

Shouldn’t have healed him.

Shouldn’t have felt guilty when watching him sleep with his head bowed over a list of the dead.

There had been something devastating about the way he clutched that quill, like the weight of it was too much.

Yet, she had felt safe in that tent. That part, she hated most of all.

Even now, the bond lingered at the edge of her awareness, tight, quiet, waiting. It was like a string wound around her chest, not pulling but present.

She glanced back once. The tent had vanished behind rows of canvas, swallowed by the mist.

Her chest ached.

He hadn’t asked her to stay. He hadn’t told her to go.

He’d just let her.

She should have been relieved.

Instead, she felt haunted.

Inside the healer’s tents, the scent of blood was thick, metallic, and sour. It turned her stomach.

The night-shift healer passed her a quick report, half-asleep, fingers shaking, their skin waxy from too little rest.

She offered a soft word of thanks, hoping they’d manage food and sleep before they crumpled under the weight of it all.

She had also planned to collapse the night before. Instead, she found herself in his tent, washed, fed, and warm.

Her job was simple, on paper: triage, assess, stabilise, prepare for transport.

It demanded focus, accuracy, and mercifully, no time to think.

Her magic moved quietly, with instinctive precision.

A bandage tightened. A pulse steadied. A bone was set. Bleeding slowed.

Her fingers didn’t falter, not even as her body screamed from lack of rest.

Not even after a night spent wrapped around a male born of fire, fury, and unbearable gentleness.

She didn’t let herself remember the way his breath had ghosted across her skin. The warmth of his palm against her ribs. The steady press of his brow into the hollow of her neck, as if she were a sanctuary.

She didn’t allow herself to feel the bond as it stirred beneath her magic, tightening and alive.

She couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

There were too many in pain, too many dying, and too few left to help.

A male with a shattered femur. A female pierced by ash arrows. A child, barely past their first century, gasping for breath through blood and fever.

One by one, she moved between them, did what she could, and assigned the rest.

She told herself she was fine.

Even when her hands began to tremble.

Even when her magic began to flicker, it was dim and uneven.

Even when the ghost of him echoed low in her bones, like a war drum beating in the distance.

Time passed slowly and in a haze.

Three more died before she stepped outside the tents. One Illyrian soldier had begged her to stop trying, his wings severed at the root, his mind already gone.

The sky had shifted. Grey clouds, heavy and low, rolled overhead. The trees stood still.

She sensed it, the tug, gentle and low.

The bond was awake and aware. 

She turned before he could call her name. 

Eris stood a few steps away, dressed in Autumn Court reds and golds. He looked every inch the heir, handsome, powerful, untouchable.

“I didn’t expect you here,” she said.

“I didn’t expect to find you elbow-deep in triage,” he replied.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you. I have work to do.”

“I can see that.”

A wide, stretching pause.

“Why did you come?” she asked, exhaustion creeping in.

“Because I needed to know you were all right,” he said quietly.

“I’m not yours to worry over.”

“You’re my mate,” he said softly, like the words hurt to speak.

She flinched.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Food? Clean clothes?”

She noticed the tension in his shoulders and the twitch of his fingers—the faint glaze in his eyes.

The bond throbbed between them.

Slow. Steady. Unwavering.

“Eris…” she whispered.

He looked at her as if it pained him to hear his name from her mouth.

“I’m okay,” she lied. “You should go. You have duties.”

He nodded slowly, gathering himself. “I do.”

But then his voice shifted, lower, rougher, cracking just slightly.

“But knowing you’re here, worn thin, buried in blood and grief... it makes it hard to think of anything else.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand before she could remind him of who she was or what she had to be.

“I know what you are. A healer. Night Court.” He swallowed. “But you’re also mine. And I can’t pretend that means nothing.”

She felt the tears burning behind her eyes.

“What if I want it to mean nothing?” she asked, voice splintering.

He hesitated. A beat. Another.

He spoke softly, “Then I’ll walk away. I won’t force it. I won’t become someone you fear.”

Something inside her shattered.

She looked toward the tents, toward the wounded. Toward anything that wasn’t him.

“I have to get the wounded home.”

“I know.”

She didn’t answer; she only turned and walked away. He didn’t follow, but she felt his warmth against her spine, a tether she hadn’t severed.

She returned inside.

By dusk, she was unravelling.

Her magic thinned with every life she tried to save. Her hands had been cleaned over a dozen times, yet she still felt the blood caught in the beds of her nails, soaked into her skin, staining something deeper.

Her limbs were heavy, her breath too shallow.

Every sound, the clang of steel, the murmurs of pain, the wind brushing through canvas, felt too sharp.

She moved toward the healers’ bathing tents on instinct more than will.

One more step.

One more hour.

Then, maybe, she could rest, finalise everything here and head home to Velaris.

“Y/N—” His voice caught her like a hook behind the ribs. “I just came to say goodbye.”

She turned before she even processed the words.

Eris stood a few steps away, his long coat swaying softly in the breeze, hair tousled as if he’d been dragging his hands through it all day.

His expression, too calm, too silent, veiled something deeper. Something breaking.

The edges of her vision dimmed.

Her knees gave out.

Eris moved before she hit the ground.

“You’re burnt out,” he said firmly, catching her as she collapsed into him.

“I’m fine,” she spat, though her voice cracked on the lie.

Still, she raised a shaking hand to wipe her face before the tears could fall, but she didn’t pull away.

Her head rested against his chest, as if she just needed… something.

A breath of stillness.

A place to fall apart.

Eris didn’t speak. Didn’t press. He simply held her.

She folded inward, the weight of grief and exhaustion hollowing her out.

Too many lives lost. Too many wounds she couldn’t close. Her body had given all it could.

His coat darkened beneath her, damp with tears, blood and sweat. Her fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his chest.

Not to hold him. Just to remind herself, he was real.

He was warm. Steady. A quiet flame in the chaos.

And he said nothing. Didn’t tell her to rest. Didn’t ask her to let go. He just stood with her, unmoving.

A wall of strength against the storm, she hadn’t realised she’d become.

Her magic sparked once, dimly, against his skin, like a fading ember.

The bond, soft and subtle, stirred within her.

Not urgent. Not demanding.

Just… present.

A steady hum in the hollow of her chest.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that.

Only that she could, and Eris would take whatever she would give him.

The High Lord, your older brother, did a marvelous job, now accompanied by his High Lady. You loved Feyre like a sister, but what nobody really expected was the friendship that had built between you and Nesta. Nesta, loud, strong, sharp– Lady Death. You, socially awkward, shy around strangers and definitely not loud. An unlikely pair, but it worked. When it came to reigning the court and politics, you mostly kept out of it. It simply wasn’t your thing. You didn’t even consider yourself part of the Inner Circle. You worked as a healer in Velaris’s healing quarters, having started as Madja’s trainee centuries ago. Now you lead your own department, mostly conducting studies, always on the hunt for new treatment methods and medicine. 

You walked past a crowded cafe in the Rainbow, when you heard someone whisper ‘the forgotten sister’; your stomach churned. A nickname given to you after the death of your mother and younger sister. Most people found it funny. Forgotten, so tragically typical for a middle child. 

You hated it. 

You were just about to enter your street, when you heard wings flapping, followed by a harsh thud next to you. Cassian. You abruptly stopped walking as Cassian landed. He was breathing heavily, clearly indicating that he'd flown here in a hurry. The realisation that he had sought you out so urgently made your forehead wrinkle in worry. “What's wrong, Cass?”

He paused to catch his breath, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly. Despite his exhaustion, he managed a half-grin. “We need your help,” he panted. “I'll explain on the way.”

“Just tell me everyone's okay.” You quickly said as Cassian already lifted you into his arms, pushing the two of you off the ground and rising into the night sky, the crisp air taking your breath away for a few seconds. Unlike Rhys, you couldn't just summon a pair of perfectly fine wings whenever you pleased. You used to have wings, but during a very unfortunate evening in Windhaven, a group of Illyrians had thought it funny to remove them from your back. Your father made them pay with their life's, but none of that brought back your wings or the feeling of soaring through the sky. The thought made you nauseous and you forced your attention back to Cassian. “Rhys, Feyre, Nyx... Everyone is alright?”

Cassian's expression grew more serious. “They're all fine,” he assured you, his voice a low rumble above the wind. “It's not about them.” He paused, and you sensed there was more to come, something he hesitated to share. You looked at him expectantly and waited for him to continue. “It's Eris. He needs a healer.”

Eris Vanserra. Autumn Court heir and major prick. You were aware that he had been working with your family for a few months now. His plan was to overthrow his father and become High Lord himself and despite the hatred the entirety of the Inner Circle harbored for him, they helped. Because while Eris might be a prick, he cared for his people. Beron cared for nothing but satisfying his cruel needs– he was dangerous. Eris was merely annoying. “And they don't have healers in Autumn?”

Cassian huffed, his grip on you tightening slightly. “They do.” He sighed. “Look, he's pretty messed up. Beron sometimes interrogates him, the bastard is more paranoid than Tamlin during the High Lord meeting. Let's just say his methods to extract information from Eris are... debatable.”

Your brows furrowed. “He hurts him?”

Cassian glanced at you, his usually playful eyes now tinged with dark concern. “Hurts him. Tortures him, more like,” he took another breath. “He even gets creative sometimes. Eris hasn't budged so far, never says a word about our alliance. But it's pretty bad this time. Beron has sent word to the Autumn Court healers not to treat his son.”

“Gods…” You muttered under your breath. The last time you'd seen Eris must have been about 200 years ago. Some kind of ball, you remembered. But you never paid much attention during these events. All eyes had usually been on your parents or siblings.

Cassian nodded, the cold air tousling his dark, messy hair. “He managed to winnow into the Night Court, Azriel picked him up.” He spoke over the rushing wind.

You were just about to ask where they had brought him, when you realised that Cassian began descending towards the Town House. The place had been vacant ever since Rhys, Feyre and Elain remained in the River House and Cassian, Nesta and Az occupied the House of Wind. As of late, you knew, Eris had been allowed to enter Velaris for the Inner Circle meetings. But winnowing directly into the city was impossible, due to the magic barriers.

Cassian landed smoothly in front of the Town House and placed you back onto your feet. He tugged his wings back as he led the way inside, a hint of urgency in his steps. The Town House’s foyer was dimly lit, the silence broken only by soft creaks of the old wood beneath your boots. Cassian gestured for you to move upstairs, voices already sounding from the upper level. When you entered the guest room, you were greeted by your brother. Rhys had his arms crossed in front of his chest and looked down at Eris, who was laying atop the luxurious bed, writhing in pain. Az stood silently in another corner of the room, brooding– as usual. The three males you'd grown up with were all extremely protective of you and Cassian and Azriel were just as much your brothers as Rhys was. The fact that they'd brought you here to help, despite knowing how much you hated being part of politics or court business, meant that they needed this to be handled as discreetly as possible. The repercussions of Beron finding out that Eris liaised with Rhys and his Inner Circle would be catastrophic. You took in the sight of Eris, his pain certainly evident. The sharp edges of his face seemed softer under the duress, his strong jaw clenched tightly in agony. He was trying to suppress the groans that threatened to escape him, his eyes squeezed shut. Rhys looked up as the door closed behind you, his violet eyes meeting yours before darting back to Eris. “Good timing,” Rhys murmured. “He's in rough shape this time.”

You took a few steps towards the bed and assessed Eris's battered body. He was wearing a beige button up shirt that had been partly ripped, the frayed edges sticking to what looked like burn wounds. You swallowed hard. The damage seemed to have mostly been done to his torso and it seemed as if Beron particularly enjoyed using his firepowers on his eldest son. “You need to take off your shirt.” You said to Eris as you dropped your jacket on a nearby chair. 

He barely even responded, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. His eyes slowly opened, the amber glinting through slits of exhaustion and pain. “No need to look for excuses to undress me, sweetheart,” he groaned. A weak attempt to keep up his usual arrogance. Rhys rolled his eyes, while Cassian huffed out a chuckle. Az just looked like he was restraining himself from throwing something at Eris. You chose to ignore his remark and wordlessly stared at him, waiting. Eris flinched a little as he pulled at his shirt. His efforts were futile, though; the fabric was sticking to his wounds. It was most likely just as painful as it looked and you felt a surge of pity hit the pits of your stomach. Who did something like this to their own son? You leaned over, your skilled fingers carefully unbuttoning his ruined shirt, trying your best not to hurt him as you removed it from his body bit by bit. The fabric had practically welded itself onto his wounds. Despite how gently you tried to peel it away, you knew that it still caused him great pain. His breathing became choppy and a few stifled grunts escaped him, his body tensing with each movement of your hands over his battered shape. Each burn and laceration looked worse than the one before it. Most of them were still open and raw, weeping yellowish discharge that was clearly the start of an infection. Not to mention the deep gashes that must have come from some form of lashing. How had he even found the strength to winnow here? 

“Some of the wounds look inflamed, which means they're not fresh. It took you a while to get here.”

Eris winced and he needed a moment to find his voice. “My father likes to take his time.” He gave a strained laugh, the sound almost lost within the ragged panting.

“Why hasn't it started healing yet?” His natural fae powers should have already started the healing process by now, but the wounds looked barely better than they would have on any average human.

“Beron has been experimenting with various forms of faebane,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fighting back another groan.

“He puts faebane in your wounds?” You couldn't possibly imagine how heartless you'd have to be to do something like this, let alone to your own flesh and blood.

Eris chuckled dryly, a mirthless sound. “Indeed, he does,” he managed between breaths. “He's rather efficient at inflicting pain without killing.”

You looked over at Cassian, who was standing closest to the door. “I'll need a bowl of cold water and clean rags.” Then your eyes darted to Rhys, who looked rather sceptical, most likely doubting if it was the right decision to bring you here. Not because he didn’t have faith in your abilities, but because he was irrationally careful when it came to you. “I'll need a few things from the healing quarters. A disinfecting tincture, burn salve and some numbing cream. Oh, and a suture set. Could you winnow there and get them?”

Cassian immediately left the room, heading downstairs, eagerly fulfilling your request. Rhys stood his ground for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. He seemed to be contemplating whether to argue, but then simply nodded. “I'll be back in a bit,” he said, then glanced at Az. “Keep an eye on them.” With that, he winnowed away.

You rolled your eyes imperceptibly. As if you needed a chaperone to treat a patient. “I'll clean the wounds and try to treat them as best as I can. But unfortunately, until the faebane has left your system, it's going to hurt.”

Eris gave a short nod, his dazed eyes slowly shifting to your face. He seemed to have run out of witty comebacks, all his energy focused on enduring the pain. His knuckles had turned white from the iron grip he had on the sheets, the muscles in his arms uncomfortably tense. You knew that every second in which his father's torturous treatment remained in his bloodstream would be agony. You dipped one of the rags in the ice cold water and decided to start with one of the burns that at least didn't seem infected. As gently as you could muster, you dabbed the wet fabric above it. Eris let out an involuntary hiss. Even the slightest contact with his wounds had to be torment. His breathing turned shallow, his chest expanding and deflating rapidly as he tried to breathe through the pain. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow, glimmering in the low light of the room. Despite his ache, however, he remained silent, as if stubbornly refusing to give Beron the satisfaction of screaming, even if he couldn't hear him. You drenched the rag in water again, wringing it out, looking at one of the wounds that looked worse. Eris was still trying to breathe through the pain, but he sucked the air in way too quickly for it to have any effect on his nervous system. “Hey. Look at me.” Eris's unfocused eyes searched for yours, finding them with effort. The frazzled breathing continued and although he seemed to be making an attempt to steady himself, his chest still heaved. “Inhale, slowly. Through your nose. As deeply as you can. Then hold it.” Eris nodded in understanding, his entire body stiffening with the pursuit to breathe in and follow your instructions. His chest expanded as he filled his lungs with as much air as possible. He held his breath, his eyes fixed on yours, pupils dilating. You hovered the cloth above the burn that looked particularly inflamed. “Now exhale through your mouth and take your time, focus on letting the air out slowly.” Then you pressed the rag down as gently as you could. As soon as he felt the cool, wet fabric touch his raw skin, Eris gasped sharply, but didn't break eye contact. He fought to maintain a steady flow of air out of his lungs, but pain made his attempt shaky at best. As soon as he was done exhaling, you removed the cloth again and drowned it in the bowl one more time. “Good. Again. Inhale.” Eris obeyed once more, inhaling slowly and deeply. He held his breath as instructed, his eyes drifting closed for a moment. When he opened them again, his pupils were wider than before, his pulse visible in the throb of a vein along his neck. “And exhale.” You said, continuing to clean his injuries. The routine repeated, this time the exhale coming out as a stifled whimper. Despite his strain, Eris could not suppress the sound. He clearly struggled to cope with the agony each small touch caused. Nevertheless, he continued to do his best to follow your advice, breathing in and out on repeat.

Rhys returned with a soft whooshing  noise, carrying all the supplies you'd asked for and you gestured for him to put them down onto the nightstand beside you. Then you turned your attention back to Eris. “If you lower your mental shields I can take the pain away until we're done.” A rare offer you barely ever made. While you shared Rhys's daemati powers, you usually strictly refrained from using them. Something about it had always seemed unethical to you. Eris had learned how to put up mental shields a long time ago, right after he found out what sort of damage could be done with these kinds of powers. A well trained daemati like Rhys could shatter a mind completely. “I won't do anything else in there. I promise. You can trust me.” You said softly.

Eris didn't answer immediately, but his eyes met yours again. This time they searched not only for instructions but also for a sign of deception. He looked exhausted, the pain etched into every feature of his elegant face. Yet, he seemed to be weighing the risks and benefits of your proposal before finally giving a subtle nod. You concentrated on entering his mind, smoothly breaking through the leftovers of the shields he had held in place. You couldn't blame him. If you were in his shoes, you wouldn't go near Rhys without any mental shields up. You swiftly gained a grip on the pain Eris had been feeling and turned it off. Just like that. As if a switch had been flipped. The effect was immediate and powerful. Eris let out a low sigh and sank back into the pillows. The tension that had turned his body to rock vanished completely. Eris closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if savoring the lack of hurt. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse and quiet. “Thank you…”

“You're welcome.” You grabbed the disinfecting tonic from the nightstand and a fresh cloth. “I don't use my daemati powers often, if you feel something again, let me know. I'll try to refocus.”

Eris hummed, still getting used to the absence of agony. He watched silently as you readied the bottle and fresh rags and swallowed a lump in his throat. “Just out of curiosity... Would your promise to refrain from doing anything else in my mind include my memories?”

Your eyes darted up to meet his and an almost grin made your lip twitch. “I have no desire to look at your memories, don't worry.”

The corner of his mouth quirked in a weak, dry smirk. “How reassuring to hear that,” he drawled. “Especially during a moment when my powers are so heavily depleted that I'd be unable to fight you should you change your mind.”

Your brothers were still watching you like three grandmotherly hawks, but you paid them no mind as you reached for the needle to suture some of the deeper gashes. “I won't change my mind. Besides, I'm not very trained at entering minds. You'd know if I'd be doing anything else.”

Rhys and the others simply stood guard, watching in silence. Not once did Eris attempt to raise his mental shields again, leaving his mind wide open the entire time. Either he already trusted you that much, or he had decided to gamble despite the risk. “Are you truly unskilled?” he asked, still eyeing you with a hint of suspicion. “Or are you telling me that to make me feel more comfortable?”

You raised an amused eyebrow. “The question is, considering that I'm burrowing around in your head, is me being unskilled really the better option?”

A faint smirk reappeared on Eris's face. “Well, if you were an untrained, clumsy beginner, you wouldn't be able to do much harm even if you tried, would you?”

“I wouldn't be so sure about that.” You tugged on the thread that weaved through his skin.

Eris's jaw clenched at the pressure he felt from the sharp needle piercing his skin. Although it didn't hurt, the feeling was still rather uncomfortable. He seemed to be focused on suppressing any grimaces as well, clearly stubborn enough to at least keep a shred of his dignity. “Noted,” he said dryly, his eyes fixing on your face again. A lock of his auburn hair fell into his face, poking his eye, the strands sticking together with sweat. He clearly considered asking you to move it, but swallowed the request. Without hesitation you lifted a hand and tenderly pushed his hair aside, your fingertips brushing over the warm skin of his cheek. It seemed that Eris had not expected the kind gesture, his expression betraying his surprise. His eyes locked with yours again, the amber orbs searching for a trace of mockery or derision, but finding none. For a few seconds, the silence that fell over the room was almost deafening. You could feel the stares of your brothers burning into you.

Clearing your throat, you quickly pulled your hand back and focused on patching Eris up again. You were absolutely certain Cass and Az were going to relentlessly tease you about this later, while Rhys wouldn't mention it unless the opportunity for a rather crude joke arose. “Almost done.” You assured Eris and moved to the last wound that needed stitching.

A moment of silence passed. Then, Eris let out a low hum. “Thank you again,” he repeated hoarsely. The words were quiet, almost a whisper, as if thanking you meant admitting a weakness. And perhaps, to him, it was.

“Don't mention it.” You replied, finally putting the needle aside. “I'll wrap you up in some bandages. They're laced with a healing tincture, but I suspect it'll take around twelve more hours until the faebane is fully out of your system. You shouldn't expect too much before then.”

Eris nodded, his shoulders slumping. It was obvious that he was beyond exhausted. Although the pain had been numbed for a while now, the memories of it still left their visible traces. The sweat, the shallow breathing, the way his hands had trembled slightly. “Twelve hours,” he repeated, as if trying to convince his weary body that he could hold out a little while longer.

“He shouldn't winnow like this,” you said, glancing at Rhys as you helped Eris into a sitting position so you could start with the bandages. “I suggest he stays here, at least until tomorrow evening, so I can be sure his blood is clear of faebane.”

Eris seemed to have accepted his fate, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the need to make a jab. “Lucky me... I've never felt more welcome in my life.”

“Lucky, indeed. You'd be dead otherwise.” Rhys shot back without hesitation. 

You looked between your brother and the future High Lord of Autumn. “The three of you can go then. I'll finish wrapping him up and stay here for the night.”

Azriel made a face, surely not particularly fond of the thought of leaving you alone with Eris. He started to protest, but the look Rhys gave him shut him up instantly. Rhys knew that it was important to you not to be treated like an imbecile and after countless fights and you almost leaving Velaris all together, the High Lord had promised to better himself, giving you more space instead of smothering you. “We'll be nearby if you need us,” Rhys said, his eyes flickering to Eris. “Don't do anything stupid.”

Your brothers reluctantly left, leaving you behind with the injured Autumn Court heir.  It was only a matter of time though until you'd find one of Azriel's shadows lurking in the hallway, that much was clear. You silently slung another layer of dressing around Eris's body. He remained motionless, the taut muscle beneath your touch giving away his fatigue. The fact that he didn't even utter a sarcastic, condescending comment spoke volumes; he truly was at the edge of his limits. “Do you enjoy doing this? Healing, I mean.”

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your eyes to meet his, but Eris kept his gaze fixed to the door in front of him. Was he trying to have a conversation with you? “I actually don't do much healing these days. I mostly conduct research to develop new treatments.”

Eris nodded thoughtfully. “Research.” He repeated. Perhaps the fact that he seemed so weary had dulled the sharp edge to his nature, perhaps the pain he had endured today made him grateful. For whatever reason it was, the tone in his gravelly voice was almost polite when he spoke again. “Are you any good?”

You shrugged, tugging the end of the bandage in as you finished up. “I guess we'll have to wait and see how you're doing tomorrow and then you tell me.”

A subtle smirk pulled at the corners of Eris's mouth. In spite of his feebleness, he was unable to abandon his signature air of arrogance entirely. However, there was more to his grin than his usual, patronizing demeanor. “Fair enough,” he said, watching as you tied the bandage with an expert movement.

You stood up straight, wiping your bloody hands on a damp rag. “If you prefer, I can stay in the guest room next door and check on you regularly, but my daemati powers are too frail for me to keep a hold on your pain from there. Or I'll stay here and keep the connection intact. It's up to you.”

Eris swallowed. Although the absence of the pain must have been more than pleasant for him, the thought of having you rooted firmly in his mind seemed to unsettle him. Having to endure twelve more hours of agony clearly seemed even less appealing to him though. “Stay here,” he muttered reluctantly. A single nod, then you got rid of the supplies that were still scattered around him and rummaged through one of the drawers of the mahogany dresser standing in the corner of the room. You dug out a black cotton shirt and handed it to him wordlessly.

He gingerly accepted it, but glanced at it with suspicion. “Do I want to know who that belongs to?” He questioned dryly, seemingly unwilling to wear another male's clothes.

“It's new. Rhys and Feyre keep a set of basic necessities in every guest room.” You slumped down in a big armchair next to Eris's bedside and crossed one leg over the other. “It's called hospitality, I know that's a foreign concept to the Autumn Court.” A smile began spreading at your own joke.

Eris rolled his eyes but amusement remained in his gaze. “We aren't incapable of courtesy,” he said dryly. “We simply prefer to show our hospitality with actions, not with... commodities.”

“Like torture?”

Eris shot you a withering glare, but you could tell that your remark didn't really bother him by the glimmer of humor in his eyes. “It builds character.” 

“I can tell.” You said sarcastically, staring straight at him and your smile widened.

There it was again, that slight twitch in the corners of his mouth. An almost smirk, a nearly genuine smile. And you had to admit that you found him quite handsome. “Who would have thought the forgotten sister would be that mouthy.” 

You flinched internally. That gods damned nickname. Every time you heard someone say it you weren't sure whether to laugh, cry or ignore it. You mostly went with the latter. You'd never admit it, but it sent a pang of hurt straight through your core and for a moment your grasp on Eris's pain wavered as you tried to keep your composure. Eris's expression twisted in misery. His breath became shallow again, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sheets. In a matter of seconds, everything he'd felt before returned full force. “Gods,” he winced and swallowed a hiss.

“Sorry.” You mumbled and quickly gathered yourself again. The nickname still rang through your ear like a curse you hadn't been able to shake off ever since you'd been born.

Eris nodded, trying his best not to show how relieved he was upon feeling the numbing sensation of the pain fading away again. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. “That wasn't pleasant,” he commented dryly, his heartbeat slowly regaining its regular rate.

“Neither is being called names.”

Eris went quiet. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, weighing his next words carefully. “Does it bother you, being called that?”

“Hm. Does it bother me?” You asked yourself loudly, obviously irritated. “Does it bother me that besides the fact that 80% of the healing methods the healers all over the courts are using have been developed by me and I successfully discovered the antidotes to over fifteen common poisons, all people call me is 'the forgotten sister'? Does it bother me that no matter how hard I work I will always be secondary to my brother, the most powerful High Lord in the history of Prythian, and my sister, the girl that died a horrible death?” You shrugged, your face devoid of emotion. “I don't know. I think it does.”

Eris seemed slightly taken aback by your outburst. You hadn't meant to snap at him like this and scolded yourself inwardly for losing control like that. “I apologize,” he said, as sincere as you had ever heard him. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

You stared at him for a moment, then swallowed hard, averted your gaze at once and walked over to the little bar cart that stood in the guest room, grabbing a glass. But instead of pouring any of the expensive liquor into it, you walked in the adjacent bathroom, turned on the tab of the sink and filled it with water. You didn't meet Eris's gaze again as you moved towards the bed and handed him the glass. Eris accepted the water with a nod of thanks. His eyes followed your every step as he gulped down a few sips. “My intention wasn't to hurt your feelings,” he clarified.

You lowered yourself back into the armchair. “It's okay, I shouldn't have lost my temper like that.”

“And I should have watched my tongue.”

You couldn't stop the grateful half-smile that crept onto your face. For a moment you wondered if the Eris Vanserra that usually only graced the people around him with snide remarks and condescending comments was just a wall he'd built and this, right here, was the real him. “You should try and sleep.”

Eris sighed in agreement, his eyes lingering on your features for a moment longer before he let himself settle more comfortably into the heap of pillows. It seemed like he wasn't used to being fussed over, especially not by a female. “What about you? Don't you need any rest?”

“If I sleep it'll break my connection to your mind and the pain will be back.”

“You're staying awake so you can keep blocking my pain?” he inquired, sounding incredulous.

“Yes.”

For a while, Eris was silent, mulling something over. You could tell that he didn't quite know how to handle your concern for him. “How is this not going to leave you exhausted?” He asked eventually, his gaze drifting up to you once more.

“It will.”

His eyebrows drew together in a frown, clearly unsatisfied by your answer. “How long do you intend to stay awake?”

“Until the faebane wears off.”

“That's another twelve hours, at least. I can't expect that from you.” He closed his eyes, his head sinking further into the pillows.

“You're not expecting it, I'm offering it.”

A bitter scoff escaped his lips. “No one would voluntarily deprive themselves of sleep for a whole night just to nurse an injured stranger. I find it hard to believe that you're doing this without expecting anything in return. Or that you're doing this merely out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Your trust issues are not my concern. Do you want a painless sleep or not?”

“The painlessness would be preferable,” he said dryly. Silence fell between you, his eyes fixed on you wearily. It was obviously still hard for him to comprehend that your offer came without any hidden motives.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and your face softened. “Then sleep. I'll keep it painless.”

His gaze lingered for another moment, as if he was trying to decipher your intentions, before his eyelids finally closed. The room fell quiet, the only sounds the occasional whirling of wind outside the window and the steady rhythm of his breathing as it grew deeper with every minute. And as he lay there, you felt a spark in your heart that you quickly chose to ignore, but something told you that Eris would be pervading your mind just as much as you did his in that moment.

Taglist: @impossibelle @simplyme-fornow @loving-and-dreaming @firebirdsalvatore @celestiallovers17 @lilah-asteria @caticorn61 @babypeapoddd @stained-glass-eyes0708 @azrielsmate3 @melsunshine

You shouldn’t be here.

Neither should he.

Correction. He didn’t want to be.

You more so. He at least had the freedom as prince to slink about where, when, and how he pleased. The viper pit disguised as a ballroom was meant for nobles, for silky promises falling from silkier lips.

So why—how—were you here?

Eris didn’t know whether to be impressed, appalled, or an unforeseen third option as to how you got here and in one piece.

The evening began as per usual. Dressed in courtly finest, tailored to an inch of his life, and the usual mask of sly calculation even tighter. He observed, noting everything worth his time either now or in the future. Eris would always find the right time to pull a loose thread if he knew it could benefit him.

His usual perusal of tonight’s occupants was routine at this point. If he were any younger, any less trained to survive the gilded prison called the Autumn Court, he would’ve missed it.

Peeking from a terrace archway on the the third floor and shrubbery, was you. Eris's gaze lingered for a second, only looking away when he briefly considered it a hallucination. But there you were again, a faint movement in the foliage with leaves and shadows as cover.

This was the most interesting thing to happen all night, and Eris did love unexpected entertainment.

He moved through the crowd, indifferent, plucking a goblet from a passing server. He didn’t nod or smile in response to what he received. He remained unruffled, like it was all a bore, which, to be fair, it was.

As soon as he ducked into the staircase leading up, he winnowed to the terrace he’d spotted you at and ended up right behind you.

His grin only grew at the sight. You were dressed unremarkably and crouched just past the doorframe. You who seemed to be intently…sketching something?

"Your attempt at inconspicuousness needs some work," he said simply, taking a sip from his wine, like he’d it was you who’d walked in on the occupied terrace.

Your breath hitched, head whipping back so fast your neck nearly strained and your braid almost smacked your face. Your wide eyes met his.

“I—I am so sorry—I was—I swear I wasn't—"

"Weren't what? Plotting?" Eris mused, a brow lifting. He watched you quickly stand, clutching a book to your chest. "If you’re a spy, you’re a bad one.”

You blinked, shaking your head quickly. "N-no, I'm not, I swear! I…I was just observing. Studying, actually. I promise. I was just leaving.” You hurried out, bowing at the waist to turn and leave only to stop short. “Deepest apologies, my lord.”

Eris watched with intrigued amusement as you stepped and retracted several times. You were hesitating.

If you go back in there, you’d get caught for sure. You knew it, and he knew you knew it.

"Prove it then," he called out as you hesitated a third time. Your gaze met his again, searching across the balcony. For a moment neither of you moved. Neither did the wind, as if time really did cease.

"I…pardon, my lord?” you blinked, fingers tightening around your book.

"You heard me. You claim you were studying, so show me. Surely you’d know how it would look otherwise.”

Your gaze flickered between his, and he only held steady. You swallowed thickly as he leaned back against the stone railing, completely unbothered for someone who found a trespasser in his home.

You knew your options were limited: comply or look suspicious and be charged with trespassing. At the bare minimum. You knew which was the lesser poison.

You extended the book towards him. simple black leather, worn at the corners, freckled with paint.

He watches you swallow again as he takes the book, setting his goblet aside atop the stone.

Eris was bred and built to suspect everything, to constantly stay ten steps ahead. You may not claim to be a spy, but he knew deceit and lies thrived in Autumn; dying leaves displaying beauty and hiding rot.

So when the cover cracked open, Eris was still suspicious. but also interested underneath—more than he should be. Yes, you claimed to be studying, though he wouldn’t have guessed, people.

You were studying people, movements, and anatomy.

Each page was filled with charcoal or graphite streaks and smudges. Patchworks of anatomical close-ups, from hands, lips, and eyes, all with different expressions, shapes, and angles. Another page filled messily—sketches in the rawest sense—with bodies. Some whole, some portions, some clothed, and other naked. Yet, all detailed. It was controlled chaos. There was a layer of intricacy from the most minimal scribbles.

Eris scanned the pages, occasionally glancing up at you. You watched as he did, fidgeting with your linen dress.

"You're an artist then?” It was rhetorical, but questioning was instinct.

"I…yes, I suppose. Aspiring, really," you began carefully, cheeks warming when he huffed a nervous laugh, lips tugging in the corner.

"Only an aspiring artist would be foolish enough to trespass here.” He replied low and smooth as he paused to scan over a full page sketch. The background was vague, like how it’d appear in a dream, but the subjects were clear. The way pairs danced, skirts and hair flaring in spins and turns all frozen in time, in gravity. The abstract gestures of a smile or arms bent above their heads as they danced happily. It wasn’t the ballroom; it was far to open and lacking. Must be the square as confirmed by the Autumn Equinox date scrawled in the lower right corner.

“I deeply apologize, my lord. I sincerely apologize if I've offended you or His Lordship. I only meant to stay long enough to study a bit and then leave without being in the way or noticed. I—" you rambled, your heart skittering only to drop as he held up his free hand. You shut your mouth with a clack of your teeth, nervously watching him as he continued to study your drawings.

"Aspiring, yes?” he muttered, glancing through his lashes with a raised brow as you didn’t reply for a few seconds.

"I—yes! Yes, I am." you stammered, blinking and catching up to his question.

He made a noncommittal noise, thumbing through the pages until he landed on the last sketches. It was from tonight—right now—given how it was half complete. True to the drawings preceding it, you’d captured detail and movement from your hiding spot. People drinking, mingling, dancing—

Him.

Interesting.

The overall study was half-finished, and yet he found himself complete amongst your crowd. Somehow with distance, graphite, and a little charcoal, you managed to catch his expression and the detail of his finery.

His gaze lingered, yet his mind worked. He looked at you again, examining—considering—for a moment. The sketchbook clapped shut in his hand, and you tried and failed to suppress a startle. The familiar Vanserra smirk appeared.

“You’ll be working for me from now on.”

You blinked at him slowly, owlishly, as the grip on the sketchbook slackened momentarily. "Huh?!"

"I'm not in the business to repeat myself."

You stammered, failing to find the right words or your mental footing as you clutched the book to your chest. You were sure he’d burn you where you stood for trespassing. As if he read your thoughts—

“While I should try you for trespassing, I find your talents rather…useful to me. At the very least, entertaining," he began, swirling his wine thrice. "You'll find things get quite mind-numbing around here after a few hundred years of monotony.”

You were frozen to the stone, staring at him as your mind reeled. Eris found great amusement from that look on your face.

“Noon. Tomorrow. Don’t be late.” was all you got as he stepped past you and back inside.

— • —

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Shackles and torture if you were honest. You may have been sober doing it, but sneaking into the Forest House was either the stupidest or luckiest idea you had. The jury was still out for that one.

But alas, you would make it last as long as you could.

Now, hours since your timely arrival, you trailed behind Eris as he walked through the surrounding forest with three of his smokehounds. He didn’t give you any instructions. In fact, he said little to nothing to you after fetching you from the gates, and that left you walking a tightrope over a bottomless pit.

You observed him, the dogs, and the forest carefully for a long while. Your bag of drawing supplies bounced on your hip, softly clattering inside in rhythm with the crunch of leaves under boots and paws. A pencil twirled in your fingers as you worried the inside of your cheeks. It felt like you used a lifetime’s worth of luck to have this be the outcome rather than a trial.

After debating for the past half hour and getting annoyed at yourself for hesitating for so long, you bit the bullet.

You watched him walk ahead, glancing between him and the fresh sketch blooming across a new page in your sketchbook. Your hand swished across the page, the pencil arcing like an extension of your wrist, scratching quietly. The rough outline of his form, the fabric shifting with each step or turn, and how his hair stirred with wind and movement.

Eris glanced briefly over his shoulder at the new and delicate sounds from you, the movement unnoticed in your periphery during your focus. He smirked to himself as he faced forward again.

That’s how it went.

Once a week, you’d follow him around for an afternoon and draw. Sometimes it’d be walks in the forest. other days were spent in his study as he worked. The conversation was little, but the silence wasn’t awkward. You’d follow, draw for a while, get paid handsomely and go home.

You also found a new doorway in your mind, like a wall finally collapsing and opening to a new world. Neither your tool nor your hand could move fast enough as they worked in tandem to sketch him. Page after page began to become Eris alone. By the third week, your artist’s block had dissolved, and by the seventh, you found your muse. 

You’d caught yourself sketching details of him on your own time, long after you’d left his presence. From his hand curling around a quill to strong, pale fingers buried in smoky fur to full candid portraits of him. 

There was a page dedicated to just his eyes and all the subtle expressions they’d make. 

Deep at night with nothing but a handful of faelights and restlessness, you found yourself streaking paint across a canvas. Graphite or charcoal could never capture color. From the rich copper of his hair to the muted gold of his eyes. Slow where it mattered, and rushed where it didn't, your fingers danced with brushes until the first rays of dawn kissed the canvas. Only then did you step back to finally see your work.  

A portrait yet not like the clean, sharply elegant ones lining halls of the Forest House. This was raw, capturing his essence.

The eyes you painted glinted back at you, sunlight winking off wet paint. His lips—at first glance—appeared straight. The image of indifference, of the anger and violence begotten by living under Baron. But a few steps closer showed the slightest lift at the corner.  

Your fingers ghosted over the paint streaks along his strong jaw, his nose, sharp brows, and planes of freckled cheeks. 

You managed to capture his likeness, and yet it was dull compared to the vision in your mind.

So, you sighed, leaving the canvas to dry on the easel to go bathe and finally sleep.

The impromptu painting of him stayed tucked away in your apartment between other paused artworks. As you sank into the warm water, you knew Eris could—would—never see it. It was too raw, too free for someone of his station. His personality.

Too raw for your own heart.

You may not have grown up directly under Baron’s thumb the way Eris had, but as a member of the court, there was indirect cruelty you were forced to toughen under.

Feelings of softness were no different than turning belly up. A bleeding heart held in another’s hands was a target between your eyes. Safety was a hoax dressed like a knight and loved the dragon it was destined to slay.

So you buried the blooming deep under bones, blood, and drawings. You crushed it under your boot like the very leaves you stepped on as you followed Eris through the forest yet again.

Eris had become your muse and to remain nothing more, your demise too.

a/n: 🫣

She couldn't quite look at him, not yet. Not when every part of her screamed with nerves, with anticipation, with the terrifying knowledge of hat tonight meant.

Her first time.

With him.

The thought alone sent her skin burning hotter than the flames crackling behind him. She could feel the weight of his gaze as he leaned casually against the mantel, a glass of deep red wine turning lazily in his hand. He wasn’t impatient, wasn’t rushing her. If anything, the faint smirk tugging at his mouth was softer than usual, stripped of its usual edge.

"You're quiet," Eris murmured, his voice velvet and fire all at once. "Lost in that pretty head of yours."

Her breath caught. The words, the way he said them--tender, teasing, yet careful. He always knew how to thread reassurance into the sharpness of who he was.

She forced herself to meet his eyes then, amber flames catching amber flames, and whispered, "I'm...I'm nervous."

Something in his expression shifted--the smallest drop of that untouchable mask he wore. He pushed off the mantel, set aside his glass, and crossed the room with deliberate slowness until he stood before her. Not looming, not demanding. Just...there. Present.

"I would be more surprised if you werent," he said softly, crouching down so that he was eye-level with her. His hand brushed over hers where they clenched in her lap, his touch featherlight. "But I need you to know--we go at your pace. Only what you want. Only when you want it. Do you understand me?"

She whispered, voice barely above a whisper, "Yes."

And for the first time that night, her nerves loosened just a little. Because it wasn’t just Eris the cruel heir of Autumn standing before her--it was Eris, the male who was patient enough to wait for her, to listen to her, to ease her fears instead of feeding them.

It was Eris, her mate.

Her hands were slightly trembling when Eris lifted them from her lap, threading his fingers through hers. The bond between them thrummed like a living thing, tugging and humming inside her chest, pulling her closer to him with every heartbeat.

"Mine," he whispered, the word a reverent vow as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "My mate. Do you have any idea what that does to me? Knowing it's not just anyone, but you?"

Her lips parted, a small breath shuddering free as warmth spread through her. She shook her head slightly, unable to form words.

Eris smirked faintly, though softer than the usual sharpness. He leaned in, his lips grazing her jaw, trailing upward until they brushed her ear. “It makes me want to worship you. To make sure the first time you ever feel this… is so good, so unforgettable, that you’ll never doubt who you belong to...and who belongs to you."

Her thighs clenched together instinctively, heat flooding her belly. She dared to whisper, "Eris..."

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, amber flame locked on hers. "Say the word, and I'll stop. But if you don't..." his voice dropped, deep and husky, "...then I'll spend tonight learning every sound that leaves your lips. Every place you want my mouth, my hands, my cock. You'll have all of me, love."

She swallowed hard, pulse hammering against her throat. And still, she whispered, "Don't stop."

A low growl of satisfaction rumbled from his chest, his lips immediately claiming hers in a kiss that was searing, hungry, and yet gentle all at once. His hands slid to cup her face, tilting her head to deepen it.

When he finally drew back, he was grinning, eyes alight like embers catching flame. "Gods, the way you taste..." He pressed another kiss to her mouth, softer this time, before trailing them down the curve of her throat. "You'll ruin me."

She gasped as his teeth grazed over the sensitive spot beneath her ear, his tongue soothing it after. One of his hands slid lower, down her arm, until it rested carefully at her hip. His thumb brushed slow circles against her skin, coaxing her into relaxing under his touch.

"You're trembling," he murmured, kissing along her collarbone now. "But I'll take every shake, every shiver, and turn it into pleasure. You have my word."

The bond pulsed--steady, strong--and she realized she could feel his certainty, his raw hunger restrained only by the need to be gentle with her.

Her voice was small, almost breaking as she whispered, "I trust you."

That was all it took. His restraint cracked into something hotter, more desperate, as he pulled her closer, laying her back against the sheets with infinite care. Hovering above her, he whispered like a vow, “Then let me show you what it means to be mine.”

Her breaths were shallow when Eris's mouth lingered against her throat, her skin buzzing where his lips traced fire. But when his hand slid lower, resting lightly just beneath her breast, she stiffened, her body torn between want and hesitation.

Eris stilled immediately. He lifted his head, eyes burning amber in the dim light, searching her face. "Shy?" he asked, no mockery in his tone--only warmth, only patience.

She swallowed, cheeks flushing, unable to meet his gaze. Her fingers twisted nervously in the sheets.

And then his lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Good," he murmured, voice like velvet. "Be shy. I like that." He brushed his thumb over the curve of her breast, but stopped there, waiting. "But don't ever doubt what I want, love. You. Every part of you."

Her lips parted, breath catching, but words failed her.

Eris leaned closer, nipping gently at her lower lip before pulling back. His eyes never left hers as he said low and rough, "If you hesitate, then take it out on me. Tear it off. My shirt, my jacket--rip them to shreds if it helps. I don't care. Take what is yours. I am yours."

The flicker of command in his tone lit something inside her. Hands trembling but bold, she fumbled at his shirt, then tugged hard until the fabric tore free, baring the muscled chest beneath. She gasped, staring, unable to stop herself from drinking him in--the scars, the strength, the warmth of his skin.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, reverent.

That made his expression break into something darker, more dangerous. His mouth was on hers in a heartbeat, swallowing her words, kissing her until she was dizzy. When he pulled away just enough to whisper against her lips, his voice was hoarse. “It’s not about me tonight. It’s about you.”

And then his lips began their descent. Slow, burning kisses down her throat. A wet press between her breasts, his tongue tracing the valley there before moving lower. His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking gently, teasing until she gasped his name. Then the other, lavishing the same attention, his hand cupping her breast, kneading tenderly.

"You taste like sin," he groaned against her skin, nipping lightly before soothing with his tongue. "Every sound you make is mine."

She withered beneath him, torn between covering herself and clutching at his hair, fingers threading through fiery strands as he kissed lower, down her ribs, her stomach. Each brush of his mouth was reverent, as though worshipping.

By the time he reached the plane of her abdomen, his gaze lifted to hers, locking her in place. His lips hovered, breath hot against her skin.

"One last time," he rasped, thumb stroking along her hip. "Say the word, and I'll stop. But if you let me- " his tongue flicked out, tasting the skin just above her skirt, "-I'll ruin you for anyone else."

Her body trembled, heat coiling deep inside her. Her lips parted, and with a breathless nod, she whispered, "Yes...please."

Permission. That was all he needed.

With a flick of his hands, he slid her skirts down, dragging them off her legs until she lay bare before him. The cool air hit her, but the way his eyes drank her in--as though she was the most devastating sight in existence--set her aflame.

His tongue swept over his lower lip as he growled, "Perfect. Gods-damned perfect."

And then he was lowering his mouth to her. The first hot stroke of his tongue against her cunt made her jolt, a strangled sound tearing from her throat.

"Sweet," he murmured, before diving back in. His mouth worked her with a hunger that had her thighs trembling, his tongue circling her clit before sucking gently.

Her hands shot down, tangling in his hair as her hips jerked involuntarily.

"That's it," he praised against her, the vibration making her moan. "Let go for me."

Two fingers slid inside her, stretching her gently as his tongue never relented. Slow at first, coaxin her, then deeper, curling just right until her back arched off the bed.

Her gasps turned to whimpers, to broken moans, each one making him groan like a man starved. "Gods, your sounds..." He thrust his fingers in a steady rhythm, tongue circling mercilessly. "Don't hold back. Give them to me."

Her body seized, the knot inside her snapping as pleasure tore through her in a blinding rush. She cried out, thighs trembling, her fingers clucthing hard at his hair as her release spilled into his waiting mouth.

Eris groaned low in his throat as if tasting something divine, his tongue lapping up every drop, his fingers slowing their pace to guide her down from the high. He didn't stop until she whimpered softly, too sensitive, her hips twitching away.

Only then did he lift his head, his mouth wet with her, his eyes molten with fire. He licked his lips deliberately, savoring her. "Delicious," he rasped.

Before she could find her breath, he was already crawling back up her body, crushing his mouth to hers. The kiss was urgent, consuming, his tongue parting her lips so she could taste herself on him.

Her chest heaved, lungs burning, but when she finally pulled back just enough to speak, her voice came out breathless and needy. "More," she whispered, almost a plea. "I want more."

The words hit him like an arrow. His eyes darkened instantly, hunger igniting into something feral. A growl rumbled in his chest as he sat back on his knees, his hands going to his pants.

Her eyes widened when he shoved them down, freeing himself before her gaze. He was thick, hard, and ready, the sight of him alone making her pulse quicken. Heat flooded her face as she swallowed hard, her thighs instinctively pressing together.

Her reaction didn’t escape him. Eris stilled, his chest rising and falling as he watched her carefully. Then, with a gentleness that contrasted the wild fire in his eyes, he leaned back over her, bracing his weight on one arm as the other stroked along her cheek.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice soft now, coaxing. "Look at me."

She did, though her breath still trembled.

His thumb brushed her lower lip. "Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you. I'll go slow. You'll tell me when it gets too much and I'll stop. Always." He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then hovered above her mouth. "You're mine, love. And I'm yours. Tonight is ours."

Her worry eased, replaced with warmth that spread through her chest. She nodded, whispering, "I trust you."

His answering groan was almost pained as he kissed her deeply again, pressing her back into the bed, his bare skin hot against hers.

Eris's kiss softened again, his lips coaxing hers, easing her into the heat that still lingered between them. His hand drifted down, not to rush, but to reacquaint her body with his touch--brushing over her waist, her hip, the swell of her thigh. Each caress sent sparks skittering across her skin, reminding her she was wanted, cherished.

When he pressed his hips to hers, she felt him, hot and heavy, and her breath caught. The sheer size of him made doubt flicker across her face again, but he caught it instantly.

“Shh.” His forehead rested against hers, his voice nothing but a murmur meant for her ears alone. “Breathe. Just feel me.”

He rocked against her, not inside yet--just the slow press of his length sliding against her slick folds. The sensation made her body jolt, pleasure sparking, and she gasped. His mouth caught hers again, swallowing her sounds, whispering praises between kisses.

“You’re perfect.”

“Made for me.”

“Look at how ready you are for me, love.”

Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more of the friction, and when her shy hands gripped his back, pulling him closer, he groaned.

"Eris..." she whispered, voice unsteady but full of need. "Please."

That single word nearly undid him. He pulled back enough to meet her eyes, firelight flickering in his gaze, burning and soft all at once. "Are you certain?" he asked, voice rough with restraint.

She nodded quickly, desperation lacing through the motion. "I want you. I want this. With you."

He kissed her hard then, sealing her words with his own vow. "I'll make it good for you," he promised against her lips.

Guiding himself, he pressed to her entrance, waiting. Her breath stuttered, but she didn’t pull away--instead, she clutched at him tighter, her thighs parting in welcome. Slowly, so slowly, he pushed forward, giving her body time to yield to him.

Her sharp inhale echoed between them. He stilled instantly, muscles trembling with restraint. “Tell me, love. Do you need me to stop?”

She shook her head fiercely, eyes squeezed shut, hands clawing into his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Please… keep going.”

His chest heaved as he kissed her temple, whispering endless encouragements, moving again in careful increments. Each inch stretched her, burned, but with every kiss and every soft word, her body began to melt beneath him, adjusting, accepting.

When he was finally seated fully inside her, his lips were at her ear, voice a hoarse growl. “You’re mine now. All of you. Every part of you, bound to me.”

And though her body still trembled from the intrusion, a single word slipped past her lips, shaky but full of certainty.

"Yours."

Eris didn't move at first. He stayed buried inside her, letting her body adjust, letting her mind catch up. His mouth traced down her jaw, kissing her trembling skin, whispering against it.

"Breathe with me, love. Just breathe."

So she did--shaky inhales, uneven exhales--until the sharp edge of the burn began to dull. Slowly, her body grew used to the fullness of him, her walls fluttering around him almost experimentally. He hissed at the sensation, clutching her tighter.

"That's it," he murmured, a rough pride in his voice. "Gods, you're perfect. Taking me so well."

Her hands, still shaking, slipped from his shoulders down his back, feeling the corded strength beneath his skin. She whispered, "Move, Eris...please."

His restraint snapped. Just slightly. He drew back, inch by inch, then pressed into her again--careful, controlled, but enough to make her gasp. He stopped at once, searching her face.

But this time, her lips curved into the faintest smile, her eyes glassy but certain. "It's okay," she whispered. "I want it."

His groan was almost guttural as he obeyed. Each thrust was slow, deliberate, dragging her body into the rhythm. At first, it was strange, the pressure overwhelming, but soon the sharpness gave way to something else--something warmer, deeper. Every roll of his hips lit sparks in her belly.

“Eris…” she breathed, clutching him as if he were her anchor.

Her voice--his name like that--nearly undid him. He pressed his forehead to hers, thrusting shallowly, whispering praises between ragged breaths.

“You feel incredible.”

“You’re mine, always.”

“Let me make you feel good, love.”

And then, her body betrayed her shyness: her hips lifted to meet his. Tentative at first, then bolder when his answering groan told her she was doing something right. The pain was gone now, replaced with something entirely new--molten, consuming.

His pace deepened, still gentle, but heavier with every thrust. Each one drew more sound from her lips, more heat to her skin. And when his thumb brushed down to circle her sensitive bud, the pleasure tipped, flooding her in waves. She cried out, clutching him, her body tightening around his length.

The sensation tore a strangled sound from him as well, his pace faltering, his restraint slipping. He kissed her through it--through the arch of her back, through the way she gasped his name, through the claiming fire of their bond snapping tighter with every second.

When her tremors eased, he kissed her forehead, holding himself over her as if she were made of glass. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“Never again will you doubt how much you’re wanted. Never again, my mate.”

And with her still pulsing softly around him, she managed to whisper back, breathless but sure, “Always yours.”

Her release left her trembling beneath him, but Eris wasn’t finished. The feel of her fluttering walls around him, the way she clung to him as though he were her only tether--it undid him. His thrusts grew more urgent, harder to control, and his head fell to the crook of her neck as he groaned her name like a prayer.

“Gods, you’ll ruin me,” he rasped, teeth grazing her skin as his body finally gave in. He spilled deep inside her, shuddering, the bond between them burning bright and whole.

For a long moment, the world was just the two of them--tangled breaths, slick skin, the faint glow of their bond pulsing in their chests. Slowly, carefully, he eased out of her and gathered her against him, pulling blankets over their bodies as he pressed soft, reverent kisses across her temple, her cheeks, her swollen lips.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, stroking her hair back. “So brave, so beautiful. And you’re mine. Always mine.”

She blushed, burying her face in his chest, but her voice was steady when she whispered back, “Always yours.”

And though exhaustion should’ve claimed her, the fire in her eyes told him otherwise--hat her shyness had burned away, leaving only hunger.

Oh, they had a long night ahead of them.

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆

After dinner you'd laid on the couch using Azriel's lap for a pillow. His fingers gently play with your hair, being mindful of any tangles. Your breathing evens out as you fall asleep, soon your soft snores fill the room. Azriel's shadows retrieve a pillow and give it to their master. Azriel carefully lifts your head so he can slide the pillow underneath it. “Your neck will thank me when you wake up without a kink in it.” He whispers as your eyes briefly flutter open before closing again. He pulls the throw blanket from the back of the couch and covers you up when he notices the tiny goosebumps along your arms. He tucks it around you before leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Rest well, princess.” He whispers as he goes back to playing with your hair. 

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆

You curled up on Rhys's couch in his office, just wanting to be close to him while he worked. You fell asleep to the sound of him shuffling reports and taking notes. He smiles when he sees you sound asleep with your head on the arm of the couch. He sits the unread reports to the side before walking over to you. He admires how peaceful you look before he gently slides one arm under your knees and the other around your back. “Just moving to somewhere more comfortable, go back to sleep.” He whispers sweetly as you stir in his arms. You mumble an incoherent agreement as you go back to sleep. He gracefully manages to settle in bed without jostling you around enough to wake up. He pulls the blankets over both of you  before falling asleep with you. 

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆