#ld twe

Sunlight streamed through the billowing curtains that framed the balcony of Nesta’s room. Her face warmed beneath its rays. The gentle glow pulled her tenderly from the deep sleep she’d finally begun to find each night. Beside her was a fresh glass of cool water, courtesy of the House of Wind. It was only in the surprisingly intuitive magic house that she finally felt safe enough to let her body rest. But this peaceful deep sleep had taken all of the nearly ten years since she’d moved in to achieve.  The water touched her lips when she took a sip. It was such a small thing, being able to enjoy cooled water. These little moments reminded her how far she’d come since those freezing waters stole her human life and thrust her into this fae world. The years between the start of this new existence and the aftermath of the war that nearly cost her everything felt simultaneously like seconds and an eternity, and though it’d been almost twenty years, sometimes it still felt like yesterday. A shiver ran down her spine as she folded the blankets back, baring herself to the chill wind coming from the open doors. She loved sleeping with a breeze, the colder the better to help her sleep. Back when she’d been living in her apartment, it had been too dangerous. The first few nights she’d tried more than the wind had found its way inside. She pushed the sheets back further, along with the intrusive thoughts.  As she pulled on her tight pants and bound her breasts, Nesta remembered just how bad it had gotten, and how she’d wound up living here.  “She’s unstable!” Rhysand yelled. Nesta flinched on the other side of the dining room door where her family was having breakfast. She’d decided today was the day she’d tell Feyre just how bad things were, how much she was struggling. Nesta had wanted to save her sister the pain of it, had wanted to hide her failures, but it had gone too far. Here she was crawling with her proverbial tail between her legs to ask the person she’d been placed in charge of all those years ago for help. And instead she’d found Feyre’s husband, no, Feyre’s mate, screaming about the charges she’d placed on their card. “If you won’t do something about her, I will,” the High Lord had continued. Another voice drifted through the crack, equally angry. “She needs help, Rhys! Can’t you see she’s suffering?”  Rhys scoffed. “Suffering with thousands of dollars of booze and a fresh male or several warming her bed each night.”  “That’s enough.” Feyre’s voice shouted. Nesta took two steps back in response, hugging her arms tightly around her too-thin frame. She knew Rhys was right, and so was Cassian. It hurt that things had gotten this far, but she was so lost and so unsure… The door before her opened and Cassian stormed out. He stopped suddenly when he saw her. From his expression Nesta could tell she looked as broken as she felt. “Nes-”  A single soft syllable from his lips and Nesta almost broke. But she wouldn’t, not here anyway. Forcing her arms to relax by her sides as she rolled her shoulders back, Nesta spoke as calmly as she could. “I came to speak with my sister.” 

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The House had been quiet. Too quiet. Cassian was usually comfortable in the silence, preferring the sounds of nature over all others. Well, that was a lie. Cassian could listen to Nesta talk forever. And every word Azriel spoke was a gift, especially the quiet whispers they used to share in the dark of night.  It had been so long since Azriel had confided in him that way, sneaking to his room and laying on the bed beside him, their wings brushing without a flinch from either of them. That should have been Cassian’s first sign. But they grew older and Azriel stopped visiting. Now Cassian could understand why. A lot made more sense knowing he had a mate.  No, not just a mate. Cassian had two mates. Two perfect mates that were so much alike it was almost uncanny. They went quiet in the same way, took space for the same reasons. Cauldron, they both preferred the farthest chairs in the room from the fireplace and had to have their backs to the wall any time they sat. Cassian didn’t like to ponder why they were so similar. Once he did, the doubts crept in. Doubts that he was the reason they were so similar. That the Mother had made one mate for him and realized he was too much of a handful. Now he wondered if she was right to give him two, or if Nesta had simply been made for Azriel instead. They seemed perfect for each other.  And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it. They were perfect for each other. But he wasn’t good for either of them. Azriel had hidden their bond for years out of fear, and Cassian had fucked things up with Nesta more ways than he cared to count. It’s why he’d given her space, given them both space, after he’d realized how truly fucked he was. 

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