Requested: No

Warnings: breif mentions of injustices to Lucien, not much in this one.

Author's note: Hello!!! So ive been gone for just under a year which is fucking crazy to be honest but im just glad to be alive an kicking considering last year was kinda hell for me. Anyway😅 I really hope you enjoy this series cuz I know im having a lot of fun writing it. Also if Eris or Lucien seem a little once I apologize, its been a bit since I read the books. Also I named LoA Rohali, just cuz she needed a name and it was pretty. Enjoy Lovelies!

The Autumn Court is a blur of searing oranges and deep, blood-reds. The air here is thick, tasting of dry leaves and old smoke. You walk a half-step behind your uncle, your boots clicking against the polished marble of the great hall. Lucien moves with his usual sharp, feline grace, his mechanical eye whirring faintly as he scans the room.

Working as an emissary is more exhausting than you expected. It's not your preferred line of work but for the sake of the mission, you try to fit the part. Your days are filled with tedious scrolls and the careful navigation of courtly egos. You wanted something beyond the velvet curtains of your father's court, something that felt like your own, but this isn't what you meant...

"Keep your head up," Lucien murmurs, his voice low and cautious. "And for the love of the Cauldron, try to look like you're enjoying the politics. It makes the vipers think you're one of them."

He stops abruptly and you almost walk into his back as he plants his feet. You follow his gaze and your eyes widen as you stand straight.

At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne that looks more like a jagged shard of obsidian than a chair, is Eris. He doesn't look like the monster your family described in hushed tones. He looks like a masterpiece of cruelty. His posture is relaxed, one arm draped over the side of the throne, his eyes tracing the room with a cold, bored expression. He was... beautiful...

As the two of you approach, Eris shifts. His gaze lands on you, and for a second, the boredom vanishes. His eyes narrow, flickering with a sudden, sharp curiosity.

"Lucien," Eris says, his voice a smooth, dangerous silk. "I don't remember you mentioning an assistant. Who is this that's finally decided to grace us with her presence?" You offer a polite, measured nod, keeping your expression neutral. Beside you, Lucien stiffens, his shoulders squaring as he faces his brother. The tension between them is a physical thing, a static charge that makes the fine hairs on your arms stand up.

"This is Y/n Archeron, Rhysand, and Feyre's daughter. I'm training her to be an emissary, Eris," Lucien says, his voice clipped. "And she is here on official business for the Night Court with me."

Eris leans forward, his gaze lingering on you. There's an edge to his curiosity, the look of a male who enjoys finding the weak point in a fortress. He doesn't look at Lucien as he speaks; his focus remains entirely on you.

"An emissary. How quaint," Eris purrs. "I wonder if the High Lord of Night thinks his daughter is suited for the filth of the Autumn Court, or if this is simply a way to keep her occupied."

Lucien's hand twitches toward the hilt of his blade, but he holds himself back. He glances at you, a silent warning to stay out of the crossfire.

Eris rises from the throne. His movements are slow and possess a lethal elegance. He descends the steps of the dais, stopping just a few feet away. He smells of cedar and whiskey.

"Tell me, girl," he says, the name sounding like a secret on his tongue. "What do you think of my father's court, or oh should I say my court now?"

"It's a beautiful estate," you say honestly. Your voice is steady, but beneath the surface, your power stirs. You let a thin, invisible needle of your power towards Eris's mind. You only want a glimpse-a flicker of truth to see if the man standing before you is truly an ally or if you're both walking into a trap of Beron's making.

The moment your power touches him, you hit a wall. It's not a passive barrier; it's a violent, shimmering shield of mental iron. Your magic claws at the edge of his consciousness, scraping against a surface looking for an opening but his shield was so reinforced that it feels like trying to pierce a mountain.

You snap your power back instantly, pulling the threads of your magic tight against your own mind. Eris doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink. But a slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips. He tilts his head, his eyes darkening with an amused glint.

He knows exactly what you just tried to do.

"A little spy in the making," he says. "Treading into places she doesn't belong. You seem to have inherited your father's curiosity. And your mother's lack of patience."

Lucien shifts beside you, his gaze darting between you and his brother. "Eris, enough."

"Am I being unfair, Lucien?" Eris asks, though he keeps his eyes locked on yours. "I asked Rhysand for an alliance and I was told you were coming to see how I run my court, not for snooping through my mind."

"We're here under my father's orders to decide if you're truly different from Beron," you say bluntly. You cut off Lucien mid-breath, your voice sharp and devoid of the diplomatic fluff he's been trying to maintain. A flicker of irritation burns in your chest; you hate the feeling of being locked out, the frustration of a door slammed in your face by that mental shield.

"If you are, we can ally as you asked," you continue, stepping slightly forward. "If not... we report back." Lucien looks at you, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. He looks like he wants to apologize for your lack of tact, but knows you will open your mouth again and his apologies will do no good..

Eris remains still, but the smirk on his face deepens. He doesn't seem offended by your bluntness; if anything, he looks delighted.

"Such fire," Eris says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "The High Lord of Night has raised a little wolf, how adorable...."

He glances over to Lucien, then back to you, his amber eyes scanning your face with an intensity that feels like a physical touch.

"I am very different from my father," Eris says, though the way he says it suggests he might just be better at hiding the darkness. "But I suspect you'll find that 'different' doesn't necessarily mean 'kind.' I'd be happy to show you that during your stay." Eris says, his tone almost snide as if he just knows you'll find fault in him somewhere.

You open your mouth to retort, a sharp comment already forming on your tongue, but Lucien's hand closes around your arm. His grip is firm, pulling you back as he steps forward. The mask of the professional emissary cracks over his face. The stiff posture and the calculated distance vanish, leaving behind something raw and aching.

"Eris..."

Lucien's voice is cut, brittle. He stops just short of his brother, his gaze searching Eris's face with a desperation that makes your chest tighten. In this moment, he isn't the confident warrior or the seasoned diplomatic male who has spent a lifetime longing for the family that was ripped away from him. He looks at Eris as if he's a ghost, praying for a sign -any sign-that a brother has truly replaced the monster who ruled this court.

Eris remains perfectly still. The amusement is still there, but it's dampened by a flicker of something complex-something that looks like a memory of a different life. He looks at Lucien, his eyes tracing the scars and the lines of tension in his brother's face.

The silence in the hall grows heavy. The court attendants in the periphery seem to fade away, leaving the three of you in a bubble of suffocating tension. Eris lets out a breath, a sound that is almost a sigh. He doesn't reach out, or try to hug him as you both had hoped but he nods to himself.

"You always were sentimental, Lucien. Even when we were children."You stand perfectly still, watching them in silence. You stay a few steps back, your gaze shifting between the two brothers. The contrast is stark. Lucien looks fragile, stripped of his armor, his eyes searching for a ghost of a bond to his eldest brother. Eris stands like a statue of salt and ice, his expression a mask of polished indifference.

The silence stretches, filled only by the distant, rhythmic clicking of the court attendants' jewelry and the faint whistle of the wind through the high arches of the hall. Lucien's shoulders sag slightly. He looks like he's waiting for a blow to land or a hand to reach out, and the uncertainty of which one will come seems to be eating him alive.

Eris finally breaks the tension. He shifts his weight, a hand coming to grip Lucien's shoulder, the fine fabric of his coat snapping with the movement. He looks at Lucien, then glances back at you, as if remembering you're even there. Seems to be the only true greeting he will give his brother.

"Since you've come all this way to judge my character," Eris says, his voice returning to that smooth purr, "I suppose it would be hospitable of me to offer you both a tour. Or perhaps a drink. The wine in the Autumn Court is far more potent than the watered-down swill they serve in the City of Starlight."

You bristle at the jab and take a step to say something, but Lucien clears his throat, straightening his posture as he tries to pull the professional mask back over his face and turn his attention. "We are here for business, Eris. If you can show us ou-"

"Business can wait for an hour," Eris interrupts. He turns his head toward you, a sharp, challenging glint in his amber eyes. "It almost seems like you'd rather be anywhere but here little brother." He says, his tone aloof and pointed at the same time.

"We were informed you had offered a week's stay, or was that your mother's generosity?" you ask, your tone flat and professional. The mention of Rohali causes a subtle shift in Eris's posture. He doesn't move, but the air around him seems to sharpen.

Gods, he's a bitch, you think, but you keep the thought locked behind your teeth. Your face remains a mask of cool indifference, though a flicker of pity stirs in your chest for your uncle. Lucien has traveled across courts and risked his pride just to receive a cutting remark and a smirk.

With Eris remaining unmated, his mother holds significant sway as the active High Lady of the court, and the invitation is a formal gesture of diplomacy- one that provides the perfect cover for the tension currently thick enough to choke on.

Honestly, the fact that he appointed his mother to the position of High Lady was the only reason you agreed to come with Lucien in the first place considering he had absolutely no need to do so but chose to anyway. Eris turns his gaze back to you, his amber eyes scanning your features. He seems to be weighing your bluntness against your status.

"My mother is always fond of a guest," Eris says, his voice smooth. "Especially one who knows how to speak her mind. It saves so much time on the pleasantries."

He gestures with a long, elegant hand toward the wide hallway leading deeper into the palace.

"Come then. I'll show you to your quarters before the wine takes hold and Lucien starts reciting poetry about his lost childhood."

Lucien stiffens beside you, his jaw tight. He doesn't say a word, but the way he glances at you suggests he's grateful you're the one handling the conversation. As Eris leads the way, his stride is confident, you can't help but wonder who taught him to keep such impenetrable mental shields. He abruptly stops at a set of heavy oak doors and looks back at you over his shoulder.

"Tell me, Y/n. In a week, do you think you'll have found enough evidence to tell your father I'm a monster like my father?" You leave his question hanging in the air, choosing silence over a retort. You know that anything you say right now would be biting, and you have no desire to give Lucien any worse of a migraine.

Instead, you keep your gaze fixed forward, your thoughts drifting to Rohali. You've heard stories of her. A timid, gentle female who lived in the shadow of Beron's cruelty. From what you were told she seems to have life in her again and you hope she welcomes her youngest son with the warmth that his brother is clearly incapable of providing.

Eris's eyes flicker toward you, his expression unreadable. He seems almost disappointed that you've denied him a reaction, but he doesn't push further. He pushes open the heavy oak doors, revealing a lavish corridor lined with gold-leafed molding and deep crimson carpets that swallow the sound of your footsteps.

"My mother is currently in the solarium. I suggest you both compose yourselves before you enter. She has a fondness for harmony, Lucien remembers..." Lucien just lets out a sharp, tired breath. He glances at you, his expression softening for a fraction of a second, a silent acknowledgment of the shared burden of dealing with Eris.

You step into the room and immediately turn to your uncle as the heavy door clicks shut, sealing you both in the silence of the room.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Lu," you say, your voice soft and genuine. "I know I was supposed to let you take the lead. I just... he is so insufferable! Why is daddy considering tying our court to him?!" You say venting as you start to pace but try to hold it as Eris is technically still his brother and you don't want to make your uncle feel any worse.

You look at him, seeing the way he still looks a bit frayed, the ghost of his father's presence clinging to him like a shroud. You know how deep those wounds go- the trauma of a childhood spent in fear, the scars that never quite fade. This trip was partly supposed to be a step toward healing, a chance for him to find some peace with his family, and you hate the thought that your impatience might have derailed that.

Lucien stands by the door for a moment, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere across the room. He slowly exhales, the tension in his shoulders dropping an inch.

"It's alright, kiddo," he says, though his voice is still thick with exhaustion. He turns to you, a small, tired smile touching his lips. "To be honest, I think Eris needed someone to push back. He's spent too long being the only predator in the room, except for father of course..."

He walks further into the room, glancing at the opulent furniture and the rich tapestries.

"Just... try to be patient with him. And with me. This place has a way of bringing out the worst in all of us." He pauses, looking back at you. "Are you alright? I swear somewhere deep down, he's not like this. Beron made him into this..."

"Daddy taught me to expect it, I just didn't expect his shields to be so strong. I thought I could just slip in and we could be on our way but nope..." you say. The reminder is a grounding one. In your world, the ability to slip into a mind is a rare gift, and your father ensured you knew exactly how to handle a locked door before you ever set foot outside the Night Court on a mission.

You step forward and wrap your arms around your uncle in a tight hug. Lucien freezes for a heartbeat, his body stiff with the lingering residue of the encounter with Eris, before he relaxes and rests a hand on your shoulder.

"I hope your mother and other brother are kinder," you say against his coat. You can feel the slight tremble in him. It's been two centuries since he's walked these halls. two hundred years of carrying the weight of his father's hatred, deaths, and trauma like ghosts in these halls for him. The hope in your voice is a fragile thing, but it seems to be the only thing keeping him upright.

Lucien pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression weary but filled with a genuine, soft affection.

"I hope so too, kiddo," he says quietly. "I really do." He looks toward the door, his gaze distant.

"We should probably head to the solarium. Rohali is expecting us. I'd rather not keep her waiting if you don't mind." He offers you a small, encouraging nod, signaling that it's time to face the rest of the Autumn Court. You nod, though you notice he hasn't actually called her "mother" yet. You keep the observation to yourself, knowing that pushing him towards familial tensions he isn't ready for would only make him retreat.

The two of you take a few minutes to freshen up, smoothing out your clothes and adjusting your composure. When you finally step back into the hall, Lucien leads the way, offering his arm to you. He was a gentleman as always, one of his ways of covering his own discomfort probably.

The manor is a strange blend of architectural grandeur and untamed nature. Thick, emerald-green ivy clings to the gold-veined walls, and potted ferns spill over the edges of marble pedestals. Tiny, pale flowers bloom in the crevices of the stone floor, scenting the air with a sweetness that cuts through the smell of cedar and smoke.

"Aunt Elain would love this place," you say, glancing at a particularly lush wall of climbing vines. Lucien's expression softens as he thinks of Elain, her love for the earth, and the quiet patience she has for growing things. "She would," he agrees, his voice barely a whisper. "She'd probably try to rearrange the entire garden within an hour."

"To be fair it would probably look better if she did." You say with a chuckle and smile, as you glance up at him, just glad you found something to make him smile. He gives a small, genuine huff of a laugh, the first one you've heard since you arrived.

As you approach the solarium, the light shifts, becoming a warm, diffused gold. The double doors are made of glass and white wood, and through them, you can see the silhouette of a female sitting in a high-backed chair, surrounded by a sea of blooming orange lilies. Lucien stops. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. His hand tightened slightly on

"Uncle Lu," you say, stepping into his space. You wrap your arms around him again, leaning your head against his chest just as you did when you were a child. You stay there for a moment, offering him the kind of simple, grounding comfort that doesn't require words. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heart beneath the fabric of his coat, the way his breath hitches as he tries to steady himself.

Lucien's arms wind around you, squeezing tight. He closes his eyes, setting his chin on top of your head. For a few seconds, the politics of the Autumn Court and the cruelty of Eris fade away, leaving only the two of you in the golden light of the hallway.

He pulls back, taking a final, deep breath to settle his nerves. He straightens his tunic and looks at the glass doors of the solarium. The vulnerability is still there, but it's tempered now by a flicker of resolve.

"Thank you," he whispers as he reaches out and pushes the doors open.

The solarium is a cathedral of glass and greenery. Warm sunlight pours in from every angle, illuminating a thousand shades of orange, gold, and deep red. In the center of the room, surrounded by towering lilies and cascading vines, sits a female.

She is slender, with the same fire-etched hair as Lucien, though hers is streaked with silver just about the only sign of ageing on her. Her eyes are a soft, clouded brown, and she wears a gown of pale cream that makes her look like a hand-carved marble statue. She turns her head as the doors creak, her gaze landing first on you, then shifting to Lucien. The woman's breath hitches. She slowly rises from her chair, her movements tentative, as if she's afraid that moving too quickly will make the vision vanish.

"Lucien?" she whispers, her voice a fragile, melodic thread. You reach out with your power, a soft, tentative probe toward the female's mind. Unlike Eris, she has no shield. There is no iron wall, no cold barrier-only a wide-open expanse of raw, shimmering emotion.

You've always found it easier to read the colors of a heart than the specific thoughts of a mind, and Rohali's heart is a torrential flood. You feel a crushing wave of joy, a searing, desperate love, and a deep layer of remorse that tastes like ash. Through the connection, you sense a jagged fragment of a memory: the day Lucien was chased out, the silence that followed, and the agonizing belief that her youngest son had been murdered. She didn't know he was coming, Eris didn't tell her that his brother was alive when he had known for years. Your distain for the male was growing steadily by the minute.

A soft smile touches your lips though as you feel a surge of gratitude that you were here to witness this. Rohali takes a trembling step forward, her hands reaching out, her fingers shaking.

"My boy," she whispers, her voice breaking. "My sweet, brave boy. I thought... I thought you were gone."

Lucien makes a sound, a choked, wounded noise, and collapses into her arms. He sinks onto her arms, burying his face in her shoulder like a toddler being picked, his shoulders shaking as he finally lets go of the tension he's carried for two hundred years. Rohali wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, her fingers tangling in his red hair as she weeps openly.

You stay back, giving them the space to breathe and break, but you keep your magic gently brushed against her, anchoring her joy.

After a long moment, Rohali looks up, her eyes glistening as she sees you standing there. She doesn't let go of Lucien, but she reaches out a hand toward you, her expression one of pure, maternal wonder.

"And this must be..." she says, her voice warm and thick with emotion. "Rhysand's daughter. You have your father's eyes, my dear. Please, come closer." You smile softly as you draw back your power, the emotional echo of Rohali's love still humming in the air. You step forward just as Lucien moves to the side, his movements slow and heavy, as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. He still has a hand entwined with his mother's as he looks over to you.

You've been told your whole life that you're the female version of your father -the same violet eyes, black hair falling over you, the same sharp edges to your beauty. To anyone else, it would look as if Rhys simply cloned himself without Feyre's help. But as you face Rohali, you don't lead with the arrogance of a High Lord's daughter. You sink into a deep, respectful bow.

It's a gesture of genuine reverence for the woman before you. You think of the stories-the years spent under Beron's thumb, the silence she had to maintain to survive, and the grief she carried in secret. You bow to her strength, you hadn't even spoken to her and you already have more respect for the female than her asshole of a firstborn.

Rohali's breath hitches. She reaches out, her small, pale hand gently touching your shoulder to pull you up from the bow.

"Such grace," she whispers, her eyes shimmering. "It seems your parents have raised a wonderful daughter." Lucien clears his throat, though his voice is still thick. He stands close to his mother, his hand resting protectively on her arm, as if afraid she might vanish if he lets go.

"She's... she's a handful," Lucien says, casting a glance your way with a faint, watery smile. "But she's got a good heart." Rohali beams, her face radiating a warmth that seems to brighten the entire solarium.

"Oh I don't know about that, she seems more than behaved to me." She looks between the two of you, her expression becoming more focused. "Now, tell me everything. I want to know every detail of your lives, both of you. Start from the beginning."

The afternoon in the solarium unfolds in a blur of soft laughter and long-overdue stories. You spend the next few hours bridging the gap between the Night Court and the Autumn Court, telling Rohali about your family, the shimmering streets of Velaris, and of course stories of you growing up around her son.

Lucien speaks in fragments at first, his voice cracking as he recounts the years of exile, his life at the night court, and of course many words about his mate, but as the sunlight fades into a deep, bruised purple outside the glass walls, he seems to settle. The tension that had defined him since you arrived has largely evaporated, replaced by a quiet, fragile peace. Rohali holds his hand the entire time, as if anchoring him to the present.

Eventually, the warmth of the solarium begins to cool, and the need for rest settles over you.

"Tomorrow," Rohali says, her voice soft but firm, "we shall have a proper family breakfast. No politics, I just want to have a nice meal." Lucien gives your shoulder a squeeze, his expression more centered than you've seen it in years. As you lead him back toward your quarters, you catch a glimpse of Eris standing in the shadows of the corridor, watching you both with that same unreadable, sharp curiosity. He doesn't say a word, but the look he gives you is a reminder that while the solarium was a sanctuary, the rest of the palace is still a den of vipers.

You reach your room and close the door, the silence of the west wing finally enveloping you. The silence of the room is heavy, the air still smelling of the solarium's lilies and the lingering scent of damp earth from the halls. It's not an entirely unpleasant smell and you find it strangely calming. You lean against the closed door for a moment, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The day has been a whirlwind of emotional extremes. from Eris's sharp tongue to the raw, weeping reunion between your uncle and his mother.

As you move toward the bathroom to change into your pajamas, the gold-threaded curtains flutter in a sudden, cool breeze flowing into the room. You know that the Autumn court wasn't considered a safe court but the manor definitely made you feel as such.

You sink into the plush mattress 20 minutes later, the silence of the Autumn Court settling around you like a velvet shroud. You feel your uncle settle to sit on his side of the book wanting to read for a while before bed. You close your eyes and let your mind drift, searching for that familiar, velvet-dark frequency that belongs to your father. You don't push hard; you just leave a door open, a gentle invitation across the distance between the Autumn Court and Velaris.

'Hey, Daddy. It's going well so far. Rohali and uncle seem to be good now. Eris doesn't seem evil, not like how you said his father was, but he just seems like a bitch. He didn't tell his mother that Lucien was alive for all these years he's known!' For a heartbeat, there's only the silence of the room. Then, a ripple of amusement washes over your consciousness, a warm, golden thrum of laughter that feels like a physical embrace.

You can almost see the smirk on his face, the way he's probably leaning back in his chair in the House of Wind, probably with a book and your mother curled into him. You smile at the thought.

'I do hope you're minding your manners. I'm sure it's hard enough for Lucien, without you speaking so bluntly.' Rhysand's voice echoes in your mind, sounding far too smug. 'Though I'm glad you I inherited my eye for character. I told you he was arrogant, Starlight. I'm not sure why you sound so surprised. Eris views information like currency, if he didn't feel it was necessary to tell her, he wouldn't have.'

A wave of paternal affection pushes through the link, a lingering warmth that makes your eyelids feel heavy.

'I'm glad Lucien and his mother are doing well now though.' he adds, his tone softening into something more sincere. 'Your uncle needed that. I only ask you don't let Eris bait you into a war you aren't ready to fight yet.'

'How did you know that he was..' You don't need to finish the thought before you hear your father's deep chuckle vibrate through your mind.

'Because I know Eris. Thats just how he is and i also know that your incapable of holding yout tongue.' He says, a fondness in his tone showing that even if he dosnt agree with your constant bluntness, he dosnt fault you for it. 'Get some sleep, Starlight. Your mother and i love you, I'll check in tomorrow.'

I stared at the elegant panes of his face, his sharp nose and his hazel eyes scanning the words on the pages rapidly. My eyes trail down to his hands that clutched the book, sickening scars trailing from his wrist down to his fingertips. The white marring was a pattern I've memorized, trailing my hands along the grooves when I got too anxious and occasionally a small kiss to his knuckles to remind him that he shouldn't be ashamed of them.

"You're staring." He grumbled and a small grin formed on my face as shadows curled through my hair.

"You make it hard not to, Shadowsinger." I tease, it was no secret that Azriel was the most attractive of the three Illyrian brothers, no matter what your type was— Azriel was quite the stunner. He closed his book and put it on the armrest beside him.

"What is it that you want then?" He arched a manicured brow and my grin widened as I pulled myself up onto the couch, swinging my legs over his lap as I lounged back.

"I'd like you to tell me something," I ask as shadows come to swirl around my ankles. "Tell you what?" He mutters confused.

"Anything you want, what's on your mind?" I tilt my head and he closes his eyes like he needs to sift through his thoughts before he can answer.

"Beron died." He muttered and I rolled my eyes.

"Old news." I wave him off, the event happening weeks ago.

"Eris's coronation is tomorrow. He asked me to come." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest like the invitation was a threat of some sort. My smile dropped.

"Will you?" My brows knot together and he gives me an incredulous look.

"He invited everyone from the inner circle, but it felt more like a mockery than anything," Azriel grumbled. He knew that talking bad about the people of the Court of Dreams got under my skin more than anything and I had a newfound urge to choke out a certain redhead.

"We should go." My eyes light up and he looks at me like I'm insane, but stays silent, looking down at my feet in his lap. "If he invited us as a joke, we should go." I snort and he shakes his head in protest. "It'll be funny! Not to mention the drama it'd stir." I giggle mischievously and Azriel gives me eyes that were a full lecture on their own. "Oh don't act like you're not a total gossip, shadows tell you every secret you want to know." I kick his thigh playfully and he grumbles under his breath as I remember the nights we would share wine and converse over whoever's tittle-tattle that shadows informed him on.

"I don't gossip, I tell the truth." He states and I snort at the ridiculous claim.

"You need a refresher on the definition then because you've just proven yourself to be a pot stirrer Az." I pat his shoulder and he shrugs me off. We stay quiet for a moment, my hum of laughter filling the silence as he mulls over my ludicrous idea.

"Okay." He nods and I raise a brow.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Okay, we can go to his coronation." Azriel hummed and I blinked, confused as to why in the hell he'd ever agree to such things.

As if he'd seen the shock on my face he supplied a reason, "I have to go there to talk about contracts and alliances the day after so why not just arrive a day early?" Azriel poses and I smile excitedly. "This isn't just some ploy to get me out of the house?" I ask with a chuckle but there is some truth to it.

Ever since Rhys left for Under The Mountain I haven't quite been the same. I didn't leave the house unless I was with another, the whispers on the street about the High Princess. Those long hours spent with Keir in the court of nightmares, hosting it while my brother was away. Hating who I was then, cold and distant, both inside the court of nightmares and dreams. It was rare I got out, much less left courts. I didn't like the rumors, the talk on the streets, the theories. Most of it was idle talk, some of it had truth— and it was that minuscule portion that scared me the most.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I nod and he offers me a gentle smile, slightly forced but comforting nonetheless.

"Do you want to invite the others?" He asks and I take a moment to think about it, but decided that if Mor knew she'd be pissed, Rhys wouldn't go, Amren doesn't care, and I'm pretty sure Cassian would rather chop his own hand off. "No," I shake my head. "Just you and I could burn that court to rubble." I intone, crossing my arms like we'll need to do such things. and he raises a brow— that apparently intrigues him. "Joking." I smack his shoulder and a warm grin came to his face, genuine.

"Are you?" He narrows his gaze on me and I look away mischievously.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face if I took his court." I give him a gleeful smile, something like pride shines in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face in general," I grumble afterward, and the pride he held swapped for something of the opposite. "It's not my fault he's hot!" I throw a decorative pillow at him which he swerves with an ease I envied.

"It's your fault you find him attractive." He pushes my feet from his lap dramatically and I giggle at his childish behavior.

"You have to admit, he could turn you." I tease with a smirk and he glares at me. "If he didn't open his loud mouth he'd be perfect." I sigh dreamily, leaning back into the couch, utilizing the entire space as he gets up to put his book away.

"That's always the problem with the men I date. So pretty, until they start speaking." I huff, standing up and following him to the bookcase like one of his own shadows. "Maybe I should go for the quiet ones." I hum. "I ought to practice on you." I wrap my arms around his bicep and he bristles, lightly shoving me off as I cackle.

"You're not funny." He mumbles, walking over to his desk where he has unfinished work to complete.

"Don't act like I'm some sort of monster for teasing. That's all you and Cass do to me." I roll my eyes as I watch him sit on his stool. "You actually get the ladies, it's easier to joke about when it isn't true." I sling an arm around his shoulder and this time he doesn't shove me away.

"You would get males if you left the house." He grumbled in retort and an idea blooms in my head. "That's the idea for going to the coronation." I grin and he grants me a sidelong glance. "Is that why we're going?" He asks and I shake my head. "No!" I squeeze his bicep. "We're good allies, meaning we're there to support him," I argue and he huffs. He could never say no to me, never has. "And also admire his perfect face." I quietly mutter but it's nothing the Shadowsinger wouldn't notice.

"Go pack your bag." He shakes me off of his arm. "Just for one night. We'll find a hotel on the border." He hums and I nod, following his instructions with a new task rather than talking his ear off like usual.

——

It was the first Friday of the month, meaning that family dinner was afoot. Morrigan had spilled her glass of wine all over the Shadowsinger in a dramatic movement of her hands so he had gone to go change, meaning I was subject to sit in the center of the dining room surrounded by couples ogling at each other, they were practically drooling down their chins— and adding wine into the mix, gods it reeked of arousal.

"Horny bastards," I mutter, standing up and throwing my napkin down onto my plate. I bunch my skirts in my hands and make my way toward the hallway.

"Sister! C'mon!" Rhys races after me, following me all the way to the foyer of the large house.

"What?" I look at him confused.

"Won't you stay for dessert?" He says hopefully and I twist my lips to the side.

"I don't know Rhys, I'm tired." I sigh out and his eyes soften.

"You're always tired." His voice was a whisper his words had my feet bolted to where they stood.

"I trained with Cass this morning, I'm actually tired," I stress and he nods in understanding.

"Let me at least take you home." He reaches his hand out.

"I'm fine." I shake my head.

"Please." He pushes his hand toward me further and I look down at it. "Alright." I accept, sliding my hand into his, mostly out of pity.

He doesn't waste time in winnowing us straight to the house of wind, my feet planted solidly on the marble tiling. "I miss you." He uttered and I looked up at him, detaching our hands.

"I miss you too." I offer him a small smile but it doesn't quite reach my eyes the way he wanted it to.

"I wish you'd come by more often." Something in his violet eyes glazed over and my heart cracked.

"It's hard." I rub my hands together anxiously before deciding it best to just cross my arms. "I should be happy." A frown forms on my face and I don't have it in myself to maintain eye contact. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Something's just, missing." I shrug when he doesn't say anything.

"Something or someone?" He prods and I glare up at him.

"My love life isn't our biggest problem." I shake my head.

"But it is bringing you trouble, therefore it's bringing me grief." He mirrors my stance and crosses his own arms.

"Well that's not something we can just fix, it's an internal problem." I muster the courage to look into his familiar violet eyes. The same color as our father's own but held all the love of his mother's gaze.

"I want to be there for Nyx, for you and Feyre too. But I'm selfish and It's difficult for me to be surrounded by something I want for myself." I confess and he releases a soft sigh, then pulls me in for another hug.

"We'll figure it out, promise." He reassured. I allow myself to sink into the warmth of his hug, how similar it was to our mothers. I nod and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he wraps his wings around us and cocooning the both of us in our own little world of darkness.

"Thank you, Rhys," I whisper. "Feels good to talk again." We haven't really said anything to each other beyond small talk after Nyx's birth, and that's nearly a year ago now. I haven't been the same since the war and found it hard to open up since. It's been a long while since he even hugged me.

"I'll see you again soon, okay?" I back away from the embrace and he nods. "Sooner than next month's dinner?" He hopes with an easy grin coming to his face and I nod confidently.

"Sooner than next month's dinner," I assure.

"Good." He smiles before walking towards the edge of the opening where he winnowed us.

"Night, Sister." He flares his wings outward. "Goodnight brother!" I wave him off and he dives off the side of the house, I'd be worried about him if I didn't hear the steady beats of his wings a moment later.

I release a long sigh and retreat to my room.

————

I stood in front of my body-length mirror, gazing at the gown I wore. It was a deep blue as an ode to my court, I always wore colors of the night when visiting other courts, and today was no exception. The gown itself was beautiful, soft silk material that moved like water. It had a dipping neckline with curtaining sleeves that hung off my shoulders, the excess fabric draping from my back in two long pieces all the way to the floor where the rest of the dress dragged. The skirt was one long piece but had a cone-like figure, excess material swooping along the sides and attaching to my waist, forming a flattering silhouette. The dress was modest in cleavage though had a long slit ripping up all the way to my hip, the toe of my heel peaking out at the base.

I was putting in a pair of silver dangling earrings when Azriel made his appearance known at my doorway. He released a low whistle and I smiled, turning around to face him. "How do I look?" I ask him. "Like the princess you are." He hums, pushing off the frame and extending his scarred hand towards me. "Do they know we're leaving?" I ask, grabbing my bag. "I don't think they'll notice." He shrugs and I slip my hand into his. Shadows twine up our connected arms and I smile at the temporary binding. "Ready?" He asks and I nod with a grin.

He steps into the shadows and pulls me along with him. I squeeze his hand tighter as we walk through the abyss of darkness. It takes a moment to know if I was even awake or not, but by the time I regain consciousness of where I was we were already back in the real world and now in the autumn court.

"I still don't understand how you do that." A shiver runs down my spine and I let go of his hand. "Here," He takes my overnight bag then it disappears into the shadows. Apart of me wonders where it's gone but I know he wouldn't tell if I asked. "Come on." His hand slips back into mine as he pulls me towards the venue of the autumn lords coronation.

At the entrance, we were greeted by two guards with bright red hair and faces that were nearly identical. Eris was a fool to think these two men could hold off Azriel alone. "Court and name?" The guard with a clipboard asked and I rolled my eyes at the extravagance of it, this isn't a wedding. "Night Court. I'm probably titled the Shadowsinger." Azriel hums, his hand squeezing mine a little tighter as the guard flips through the list, going all the way to the bottom where our section resided. "You're here, and the girl?" He glances at me carelessly. "I'm the princess of night, I don't know what the lord would put me down as." I crease my brows and lean over to peer down at the clipboard. Spotting the names put down as high lord of night, high lady, lord of bloodshed— and "Bunny." He glances up at me and my stomach twists. "Section B, seats four and five. Proceed." The two guards step aside. "Enjoy, Bunny." The other guard teases me with a malicious smile and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

"I forgot how much I hate Eris." I huff.

"I forgot he calls you that." Azriel chuckles and I playfully bumped his shoulder. "He clearly doesn't know that bunnies are animals of Spring not Night," I grumble, picking apart the idiocracy of it.

"What sort of a nickname is owl though?" He defends and I roll my eyes, continuing my march down the long corridor, chairs passing each side of me.

"We're awfully close to the front," I mutter as Azriel sits down in the seat we were told to. Second front row and nearly center.

"Eris's motives are always a mystery." He sighed as I sat next to him.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," I mutter. "I mean, is this rude of us?" I whisper.

"He's the one that invited us." He shrugs.

"And it was funny at the time, maybe we should go." I offer but before he can reply the music is starting and people immediately settle. Theres nobody to the right side of me, but people sit beside Azriel. Meaning the rest of my family was supposed to be lined along my right.

Royal coronations aren't nearly as fun as mating ceremonies. The best part of them was admiring the venue and all the dresses others came in. I was nearly asleep until Eris finally came out, on the dais with a priestess.

He wore a dark green tunic, nearly black. His dark red hair was stark against the cream-colored background of the manor walls. His golden eyes were practically glowing with power and I was intent on staring right at them as the ceremony went. The golden irises trailed over the crowd, across his mother, Lucien, and his other brothers who were some distance apart, a group of advisors who used to work under Beron huddled in the back, and then finally me. Our eyes locked right when the golden leaf crown was placed atop of his head and I swore it was pure power that shone in his eyes as he became High Lord. Finally high lord.

He didn't tear his gaze from mine. Not when he accepted the crown and definitely not when he sat on that throne, the one that looked as if it could swallow me whole but when he sat in it he was the one to dominate it, an absurd amount of manspreading at play as he lounged back in it. The flawless picture of a careless king.

A smile curved his lips as everyone stood to cheer. Azriel and I stood, but we did not clap, and he didn't look away even for a second as everyone bowed, and I kept my chin held high.

——

The chairs were cleared out and something like a party began, an extravagant ball morphed from a coronation. A long line of men women and children alike filed down the side of the wall, all leading up to the dais where Eris sat and answered any questions the civilians might have had. Who knew the next time they'd get the chance to speak with a high lord?

"We should probably go," I say, sipping from my wine glass. "I wanted to say something to him but there's not a chance I'm waiting in that line." I huff and Azriel hums in reply, sipping from his own whiskey. The autumn court had the best liquor and the best food. The court was always in harvest and the vineyards were always in fresh bloom. I would visit all the time if it weren't for the male that now ruled this place.

"We can go to the inn if you're feeling tired, if not I'd like to eat more." He plucks a grape from a bowl and pops it into his mouth. "I'm going to find a bathroom or whatever place I can be alone in for a moment." I excuse myself and he nods, bidding me a goodbye.

I failed at finding a bathroom but after trying a few doors I managed to find an empty room, the one for holding the guests' coats, but it was quiet nonetheless.

I release a deep sigh and shuffle through the coats, curiously passing time until the Shadowsinger is ready to go. The door of the closet swings open and I freeze as someone enters, getting caught for stealing when I was actually just hiding would be mighty embarrassing.

But I wasn't met with a guard I was met with a worn-out high lord, his head back against the door with the top of his shirt buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. "Running from your own party?" I scoffed and he startled, whipping his head to me.

"Hello, Bunny." He gave a foxlike grin.

"Don't call me that." I cross my arms but his smirk only broadens.

"It's fitting," He leans closer and flicks my nose. I flinch back but there's a lot less room in this closet with both of us in here. "Is that why you call me it then?" I stumble back as he comes closer.

"Do you know what a fox's favorite thing to hunt is?" He questions and I take another step back, my body pressing flush against the cold wall.

"I don't know, mice?" I raise a brow.

"Hm, would you like me to call you mouse instead?" His long legs close the distance between us in one stride and I'm looking right up at him. He reaches towards me and brushes his hand along the column of my throat, his thumb coming to my bottom lip.

"No," I swat his hand away but it comes right back to where it was.

"Because you're a bunny, and you're all alone with me in here, caught in my snare." His smile is malicious if not a little seductive. "I want a bargain with you." He hummed, his eyes flashing something like mischief in his eyes.

"You have nothing I want." I cross my arms in front of me.

"I have plenty of what you want." His thumb caresses against my jaw. "Your little family needs my alliance to succeed in their peace treaty," He hums knowingly. "Tamlin will go down in a feeble attempt at a fight but he'll give in. But me? With my army and skill set, it'd be war." He purrs and my skin alights with his warm touch. We would win, with the Night Courts allies we would win. But war means death no matter what, and that's the last thing we need. If I can avoid that and make sure he stays true to his word with a bargain I was willing to risk anything.

"What do you want from me?" Bargaining with Eris is tricky. He's beyond smart so any loophole he could find in whatever I make him do must be eliminated.

"I want you," His long finger trails from my ear to my lips where his thumb swipes over the bottom one.

"Me?" I scoff with a raised brow.

"Yes, you." He nods.

"Specify," I command him.

"I want you at my side for three days a week, and I'll sign your brother's little peace treaty." He nods, and my stomach drops to the floor. To give up half my freedom to ensure war won't break out— if he even would. I debate my options. I need Rhys or Amren to make this decision for me. I try to think of what they would do, and how they would approach the situation.

I know deep down they'd both sacrifice themselves and a lot more to ensure the safety of our family. So I think about my terms. "Why?" I ask.

"Does it matter?" He hums with a smile. "It's a yes or no." He shrugs.

"So if I agree to this, you'll never call out a war against my court?" I ask. He nods. "You'll sign the peace treaty and stay true to it?" My brow raises and he dips his head again. "You won't hurt any of them?" My voice is a little more soft. His nod repeats. I go quiet, thinking it over.

"Three days a week, whatever days you want." He hums like that gives me any sort of flexibility. "But you have to be by my side." He crosses his muscular arms that strained beneath his tunic.

"Deal," I mutter and his eyes glow in the dark of the closet. I gasp as ink begins to carve up my thigh. I move it out from my skirt where the slit is, revealing a deep maroon color swirling from the back of my knee all the way up and along to my inner thigh. I've never seen a bargain's ink another color than black, I suppose the cauldron liked the high lord. His pale hand came to my golden skin and brushed over the new tattoo, right along my bare thigh. When I realized what he was doing I moved my leg back under my skirt. He looks back up to me with a smirk curving his lips.

"Your neck," I reach up and brush the back of my hand along the new ink forming there, disappearing beneath his shirt. "Mine is a lot easier to hide." I hum.

"Who said I was going to hide it?" He arches a perfectly manicured brow. "I want yours on display when you're in my court," He grabs my wrist before I can pull my hand away from his neck.

"You're a fool if you think I'm ever letting it show." I snarl.

He smirks. "When your brother asks about where you got it, what you bargained to earn it, what will you tell him?"

I swallow thickly, keeping eye contact with his golden irises.

His smile widens when I don't reply. "I'll see you tomorrow, Princess," He mocks a bow and I narrow my eyes on him, about to retort but— cauldron-willed, bargains were unbreakable. I had no other choice. "Tomorrow," I whisper softly, mostly to myself but I know he heard it. How in the hell was I ever going to explain this mark to Rhys?

Eris Week tag list: @adharanotfound @mp-littlebit @its-me-meg @olive-main @bookwormysblog @inurus @iwishiwasaprincess @randomgurl2326 @tigerlily00 @i-know-i-can @bubybubsters @booklover0318 @lalaluch @hallabongy @weirdo-fun @cognitoergosum41 @adventure-awaits13

Comment an “🧡” to be added to the Eris Week tag list.

Yall I had so many ideas but also NO ideas for what to do for today- I was panicking and all over the place. Buuut then. I could think of nothing but skeleton art for a week. Aaaand it turned into Eris and I came up with a few good lines and well... here we are! I also really liked the idea of a non-typical monster- its not a scary creature, but a living skeleton is still a type of monster. God this came out well I'm actually so happy.

Hey. @irithiadourden . Remember Chasing Shadows? Yeah. I think that fic permanently altered my brain chemistry. Thank you for that, by the way ;]

Many thanks to Bob, my pet skeleton, for posing for me for this. We love and appreciate you Bob <3

Songs- My Time, from Omori

Golden Brown, by The Stranglers

Art supplies I used- pen, marker, color pencils

Taglists

Azris- @eatsbooks @amalhe-koffee @wrraccountant @unanswered-stars @fourteentrout @thesourcabbage @makinglongwordsslutty @talibunny30 @skies-for-eyes-trees-for-knees @shadowsandlint @pippsmcgee @plumita-d-la-sangre @nus4y @mistandmemories @mudandmire @the-darkestminds @jules-writes-stories @ysmtttty @irithiadourden @iftheshoef1tz @futurehunt @g00seg1rl @nightsandflamess @olenvasynyt @chunkypossum @stargazingmellon @astro-h0e-4azris @betweenthelines888 @molcat07 @icey--stars @vanserreneity @bloodyplunder