#prythian

Gathering in Autumn was risky. 

Especially for Eris, who was currently looking at the 3 Illyiarn males across the table. 

“She’s been quiet.” 

Yes the informant that Azriel had in Autumn. 

Eris knew Azriel had people in each court. 

He did as well. 

But accoring to the 3 males this informant in particular had been quiet for days. 

Much like Eris’s own. 

That’s when Eris speaks.

“I know someone who can us information.” 

Rhys glances at him. 

“You have a contact here?” 

Eris raises his eyebrow. 

“It is my court after all, my father might be high lord but, loyalty doesn’t always sit with the current Lords.” 

Rhys nods. 

“They’re reliable as well. Usually.” 

Cassian huffs. 

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

Eris almost smiles. 

Before pushing up and out of his chair. 

Turning to Azriel. 

“I assume you know where the tavern is?” 

Azriel nods before the four men winnow out. 

The tavern is loud.

Messy.

Alive.

And wrong. 

Azriel feels it first.

His shadows slip out. 

Like they’ve found something.

And lost it again.

Eris scans the room.

Once.

Twice.

“She should be here.”

Azriel’s head tilts.

“She.”

“My contact.”

The tavern owner spots them.

And waves them over. 

“Haven’t seen your girl in days.”

Cassian blinks.

“His what?”

Eris doesn’t react.

“How long.”

“Three. Maybe four.”

Too long.

Azriel’s shadows visibly tighten. 

Eris only nodds and closes his eyes.

When he feels it the tug in his chest. 

His gaze flicks upward

At the same moment Azriel’s shadows surge.

“There,” Azriel says.

Movement.

Up the wall.

Fluid and effortless.

She drops onto the bar.

Grinning.

Already mid-trade.

“Pleasure doin’ business.”

The female looks up and makes eye contact with each male, before hoping down from the bar top. 

“Well,” she says, bright, “This is convenient.”

Gone.

Cassian blinks.

Hands cover Eris’s eyes.

“Guess who.”

Eris doesn’t move.

“Remove your hands.”

You laugh.

Lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Missed you too.”

You step around him.

Like you’ve always been there.

Azriel steps forward.

“You’ve been quiet for days….”

You nod and turn to face the shadowsinger. 

“I was busy is all.” 

Rhys blinks at you, before recognition crosses his face. 

Your Azriels contact he’s seen you in Valaris from time to time. 

“How do you know Eris.” 

The question comes from Cassian. 

You pause.

Look at him.

Then Eris.

And light up.

“Oh,” you say.

“Oh this is fun.”

You hop up onto the table behind you. 

Boot hitting a glass.

You don’t notice.

You lean forward

boop.

Right to Eris’s nose.

“What,” you say, mock offense, “fifty years and you say nothing?”

Cassian chokes.

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We agreed,” he says, controlled,

“to wait until it was necessary.”

You grin.

“Nah.”

Cassian laughs.

“You mentioned that,” you add.

“I never agreed, good try though, hun.”

You start pulling things from your pockets, muttering as you pull out each item. 

A ring.

“Guard. Wrongfully taken.”

A pouch.

“Overtaxed.”

You pause.

Tilt your head, and whistle.

Someone moves across the tavern.

Cassian leans in.

“…no way.”

You don’t turn.

Just hold your hand out.

“Summer. Tuesday. Noon. You know where.”

They nod.

“Yeah. Medicine.”

The trade happens so quickly.

They leave.

You watch them go.

“Medicine,” you echo.

A beat.

“Suuure.”

You turn back.

Already reaching into another pocket.

“As I was saying”

You pull out a folded parchment.

Flicking it toward Rhys without looking. 

“Spring Court.”

He unfolds it.

“…when did you get this?”

“Got it last week,” you mumble. 

Like you maybe shouldn’t have said that like that.

“…was going to drop it off.”

A small shrug.

“Got distracted.”

Azriel’s shadows go still.

“You went into the Spring Court.”

You glance at the shadowsinger.

“Mm.”

Cassian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“She’s efficient,” Eris says flatly.

You glance at him.

The corner of your mouth twitches.

Just slightly.

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose again.

“You were meant to wait.”

You hop down.

Walk up to him.

“You needed it. I saw the paper work in your office.”

You wait just a beat, before continuing. 

“You’re welcome.”

Azriel steps forward.

“So you’re working for both courts.”

You look at him.

Really look.

Then laugh.

“Culdron no, I do what I please.”

Silence settles around the table. 

“And if my loyalty’s in question”

Your gaze flicks to Eris.

Your mouth moves before you think too hard about it

“I love to disappoint you.”

You smile slightly looking at each male, before settling on Eris.

“My loyalty is with my mate.”

Silence.

They all exhale. 

You blink once after saying it.

Like maybe you hadn’t meant to say it out loud quite like that.

But you don’t take it back.

Cassian looks at Rhys. 

“…I think she might be the most terrifying person in this tavern.”

“Incorrect,” you say immediately.

You point lazily toward the bartender.

“That male waters down his liquor.”

Before they could question you anymore another whistle goes out in the tavern. 

You perk up a bit before turning and looking up at the second floor, and nod. 

“Well gentleman, I have trading to do.” 

Just like that your moving quick, and swift. 

It’s not even 10 seconds later that they can see you and another patron exchanging words and goods above them. 

Eris huffs. 

“Well at least we know where our contact went.” 

They turn and leave the tavern, heading back to the palace that houses the Autumn courts high lord. 

Dinner in the Autumnn Court is… polished.

Controlled.

Every movement is measured.

Every word weighed.

Which is why when you walk in it throws the entire room off.

No longer in the leather and boots from the tavern. 

A dress of Autumn tones. Elegant, and effortless. 

Two of the smokehounds at your sides. 

Cassian chokes on his drink.

“…that’s the same person?” he mutters.

Azriel doesn’t answer.

He’s watching you.

Rhys is too.

But differently.

Calculating.

Eris doesn’t look surprised.

Of course he doesn’t.

“You’re late,” he says.

You smile.

“I was busy.”

A glance passes between you and eris, just long enough to be anything more than casual. 

The other heirs of Autumnns thrown sit at the table. 

Being told that Barron was in Summer, and that Eris was handling the treaty with the Nightcourt. 

You float from brother to brother on your way to your seat. 

Eris tracking your movements the whole way. 

Light conversation.

Easy smiles.

A hand on a shoulder here.

A quiet laugh there.

No one questions it.

Why would they?

You look like you belong.

One of them frowns before turning to you. 

“Strangest thing,” he mutters. “I had a vial earlier.”

Another scoffs.

“You lose everything.”

You tilt your head slightly, before taking your seat at the table.

“Oh?” you ask softly. “What kind of vial?”

He shrugs.

“Nothing important.”

You smile, one that almost shows concern.

“Then I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

You move on before he can think too hard about it.

Cassian is staring now.

Really staring.

“…she’s doing something.” It’s muttered low enough that only Rhys and Azriel hear it. 

Azriel’s shadows drift lazily after you.

Watching.

Tracking.

Rhys notices the pattern second.

Each brother you speak to something shifts.

A weight added.

A weight removed.

And none of them notice.

Not one.

The youngest brother at the table leans back in his chair.

“I’m heading into town after dinner,” he says casually.

Your gaze flicks toward him for half a second.

Then you smile.

“Of course you are.”

Conversation continues, treaties, borders, trade routes. 

It’s not long after that the youngest leaves. The other 2 brothers followed shortly after. 

Something about needing air. 

You wait.

A breath.

Two.

Then reach for your napkin.

Not a napkin.

Cloth.

You tear a small strip free.

Cassian leans forward immediately.

“Oh no.”

You ignore him.

Already scribbling quickly across the fabric.

Azriel’s shadows curl closer.

Trying to read it.

You fold it before they can.

Then whistle softly.

One of the Shadow hounds lifts its head from the corner of the room.

Trotting toward you immediately.

You crouch.

Tie the strip carefully to its collar.

“Go on.”

The hound takes off without hesitation.

Gone down the hall in seconds.

Silence settles behind it.

Cassian looks between you and the doorway.

Then to Eris, then back to you.

“…you’re using his brothers as delivery routes?”

“My love,” Eris says, voice already exhausted, “you have to stop putting things on my brothers simply to bring items into town.”

You straighten slowly.

“We talked about this.”

“We did,” he agrees.

A moment passes before you speak “I disagreed.”

Cassian breaks first.

Laughing into his drink.

Rhys watches you carefully now.

Not amused anymore.

But curious and calculating.

Azriel finally speaks.

“I found a pouch in an alley in the Summer Court last week.”

You don’t react immediately.

“Oh.”

Your head lifts slightly.

“Gold?” you ask. “Purple sparkles?”

Azriel nods once.

You point at him immediately.

“Can you get that to Ivy for me?”

Your smile slips for half a second before it’s back. 

“Her kids need it.”

Too quick.

Like you don’t want questions after that part.

Silence settles again.

Different this time.

Rhys leans back slowly.

“…you’re running routes in each court.”

You shrug lightly.

“I’m solving problems.”

A pause.

“Someone should.”

Across the table Eris watches you quietly.

Like he’s trying very hard not to look as fond as he does.

And failing a little.

Dinner drags on a little longer after that.

Not awkward.

Just…careful.

Rhys is thinking too hard.

Azriel’s shadows keep drifting toward you.

Cassian has stopped pretending he isn’t entertained.

You finish your drink.

Standing up smoothly.

“Well,” you say lightly, “This has been enlightening.”

Cassian snorts.

“For us maybe.”

You grin at him.

Then start toward the door.

Eris’s gaze follows immediately.

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m busy.”

“Shocking,” Cassian mutters.

You make it three whole steps before stopping.

“Oh.”

You snap your fingers.

Everyone looks at you again.

You point lazily toward Azriel.

“Those documents you wanted?”

Azriel straightens slightly.

“At the townhouse.”

Silence.

You glance toward Eris your smile widening just a fraction.

“And you.”

Eris already looks tired.

“Yes, love.”

You fight a grin and fail.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Cassian immediately starts choking on air.

You continue like nothing happened.

“So you might want to wrap this up.”

A wink.

“Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Then you turn and walk out.

No rush.

No hesitation.

Like you already know nobody’s going to stop you.

The door shuts behind you.

Silence lingers for exactly two seconds, before Eris is up and moving after you. 

Leaving the three Illayrins at the table. 

“…that,” Cassian says slowly, “was not a document tone.”

Rhys exhales through his nose.

“…no,” he agrees

Azriel’s shadows shift suddenly.

Curl tighter around his shoulders.

“My shadows confirm,” he says evenly,

“she put the papers on your desk.”

Rhys stills before Azriel continues.

“…in the townhouse.”

Cassian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Wait, hold on”

He points toward the door Eris and you just disappeared through.

“You’re telling me she made it into the townhouse between bartering in the tavern and terrorizing Eris’s brothers at dinner?”

Azriel nods once.

Rhys almost pales.

“Az,” he says carefully, “for the love of the Mother tell me she’s your contact here in Autumnn.”

Another nod.

“Didn’t realize she was his mate though.”

Cassian leans back in his chair slowly.

“…that feels like very important information.”

Rhys is already standing.

“So she’s your missing informant,” he says to Azriel.

“And Eris’s reliable contact,” Cassian adds.

“And she just walked through my wards,” Rhys finishes. “…and left something behind.”

Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly.

“She wanted us to know.”

Rhys nods once, before glancing at the door Eris had disappeared through. 

“And he let her.” 

Decision already made.

“Then let’s go see what she left us.”

Cassian stands with a groan.

“And figure out how she got in.”

The townhouse is silent when they arrive.

Still.

Untouched.

Rhys checks the wards first.

Instinct.

Everything is intact.

That makes it worse.

Cassian notices the shift in Rhys’s expression immediately.

“…that bad?”

“You cannot winnow into the townhouse,” Rhys says quietly.

Azriel moves toward the study.

Fast.

Focused.

The others follow.

The door opens.

And there—

on Rhys’s desk—

sits a neat stack of papers.

Like they’ve always belonged there.

Azriel reaches them first.

Shadows brushing over the stack carefully.

“They’re real.”

Rhys steps closer.

Flips the first page—

then stops.

There’s a small scrap tucked beneath it.

Cassian leans over immediately.

“Oh no.”

Rhys pulls the note free slowly.

Reads it once.

Then silently hands it to Cassian.

My bad, wrong desk ;) 

Cassian makes a strangled noise.

“She knew.”

“She wanted us to know,” Azriel corrects quietly.

Rhys looks around the study slowly.

“She walked into my house,” he murmurs.

“Left what we needed.”

Another glance toward the note.

“And corrected herself.”

Cassian exhales a laugh.

Half impressed.

Half terrified.

“I liked her more when she was just robbing people.”

Rhys’s mouth twitches slightly.

“You liked her more when you understood her.”

Azriel says nothing.

Just stares at the desk.

At the untouched wards.

At the papers she wanted them to find. 

“Well that obviously didn’t work,” Feyre finally said, “So how are we going to rescue him?”

Rhysand smiled at the fierce resolve in her voice, but there were deep shadows under his eyes and a rare heaviness to the set of his shoulders. She hadn’t seen her mate look this tired since Nyx was born a few months ago.

“Nuala and Cerridwen?” Cassian offered, though he didn’t sound hopeful. “They can be undetectable.”

Rhysand considered for a moment before again shaking his head. “Azriel himself trained the wraith twins. If he could be captured, no doubt they can too. And I suspect this lord would no longer be content with a simple monetary ransom if we were to send yet more spies.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Should we tell… her?”

Feyre had no idea who ‘her’ was, but she blinked in disbelief as her mate visibly paled at Cassian’s words.

“She might already know,” he breathed, rubbing his sternum.

Feyre looked between the two males, feeling as though she was missing a very important piece of context. They couldn’t mean Elain or Mor, for neither elicited quite such trepidation, as though they were both afraid to even utter her name. Even Amren and Nesta didn’t fit. While both would likely become a force to be reckoned with when they heard of Azriel’s capture, they would not cause the dread she now saw creeping across Cassian’s face. Or the barely concealed panic evident in Rhys’ curling fingers.

Who are you talking about? She asked Rhys mentally.

His eyes flicked to hers and she read the clear apology there. I cannot tell you, Feyre darling.

She was a warrior, a High Lady, who had proven herself countless times—why was she being treated like a child now? 

Feyre frowned, and was about to demand a proper answer when Rhys suddenly tensed. His eyes glazed over in the way she recognised from when he used his daemati power over great distances, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as though whoever it was was yelling into his mind.

“She knows,” Rhysand finally whispered as he blinked and focused back on the room, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

Cassian swore loudly. “Let me know when they get here,” he said, striding towards the door. “So I can get the fuck out of the way.” 

And then he was gone, leaving an extremely confused Feyre and an uncharacteristically shaken Rhysand.

“Who is he talking about? What about Az?” she demanded.

Rhys just sighed. “Az will be fine, someone else is on their way to rescue him. It’s us you should be worrying about,” he muttered.

*****

Azriel pulled again at the shackles around his wrists, testing their strength. 

They didn’t budge, and neither did the large chains that secured them to the ceiling above. Thankfully he had been left enough length to remain standing on the cold stone floor, but his shoulders ached from being tied above his head for so long.

How long had it been? Hours? Days?

The faebane made it hard to tell. Without his magic, he didn’t have his shadows to keep watch. And without the power from his nullified Siphons, he couldn’t hope to heal his torn wings enough to rip free of his manacles. They drooped behind him, scraping the dusty floor uselessly.

The cavernous room was wide and echoing, with water dripping from cracks in the high ceiling above. It had the unmistakable feel of something ancient, long-forgotten. Mold slicked the walls in some places, while others were carved with symbols he didn’t recognise, half-swallowed by lichen.

And they were watching.

Lining the far edges of the chamber, stationed like statues, were more than thirty soldiers clad in dark armor. Still as death. Silent and unblinking. Azriel had tried to speak to them. Tried to taunt and provoke, anything to learn about where he was or what they wanted. But they hadn’t responded. Just stood there, swords at their hips, helms shadowing their faces.

They were all male and High Fae, but that was all he would tell from their scents. His senses were too dulled to discern anything else.

The silence pressed in as much as the dark. He could hear nothing beyond this room. No wind. No footsteps. No distant clatter of a gate or muffled conversation. Nothing that might help him understand where he was being held.

He ground his jaw, resisting the urge to yank again at the manacles. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

But he was angry, furious, at himself.

He should have seen it coming. Should have known the tip was too convenient, too timely. But he’d followed it anyway, arrogant enough to think he could ghost into a heavily fortified territory without being seen. And now…he was a liability.

Had his captors made contact with the Night Court? Rhys would be scrambling. Cassian pacing like a caged animal. Feyre and Nesta and even Elain would know something was wrong. And gods, if they sent someone after him—

No.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, steadily. 

They couldn’t come for him. They must not come for him.

Whoever had orchestrated this was baiting them. Trying to draw them in. And Azriel knew well enough how that story ended, with more blood, more pain, more loss.

He couldn’t allow it. He would get himself out.

A guard would be by soon to force-feed him. When they did, he just needed to keep them talking. Keep them distracted long enough to delay his next dose of faebane.

An hour later, the door groaned open.

Another guard stepped through with the same eerie, silent precision they all shared. His boots echoed off the stone floor as he approached, carrying a plain tin tray bearing a hunk of stale-looking bread and a dented metal cup sloshing with water.

Even before the scent hit him, Azriel knew it was laced. The copper tang beneath the damp, the unnatural weight of the magic-stifling air. Faebane.

He lifted his chin as the guard approached, forcing steel into his posture despite the burning in his arms and the screaming ache in his wings.

“No poison today?” Azriel rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. “How generous.”

The guard didn’t respond, stopping just out of reach, face still hidden beneath the heavy black helm. Methodically, he broke off a piece of the bread and held it out, barely an inch from Azriel’s bared teeth.

“You know, if I die, you don’t get paid. Might want to ease up on the faebane if you want to keep your head.”

Silence. The guard stepped closer.

Azriel shifted, trying to look half-conscious, swaying slightly. “Come on. Talk to me. Give me something. A name. A reason. A fucking hobby—”

The guard grabbed his neck with one gloved hand and used the other to shove the bread into his mouth with brutal efficiency.

He choked slightly but managed to spit the dry scrap back out. Retribution was swift— a backhanded slap hard enough to snap his head to the side. But Azriel didn’t react. He kept his eyes fixed on the cup now being raised.

“Wait,” he rasped. “You forgot to ask nicely.”

Still nothing.

The rim of the cup rose toward his mouth, and he was unable to move as the guard forced his lips to open with a grip like iron. It tipped slowly, the first drop readying to fall—

CRASH

A deafening noise from the corridor outside. Metal against stone. A gate slamming open, or off its hinges entirely.

The guard froze.

For the first time since Azriel had been dragged into this chamber, one of the silent sentries moved. Another. Then another. A ripple of unease passed through the ranks of dark-armored males as they subtly shifted, their hands twitching toward weapons, heads tilting toward the sound.

The guard with the cup stepped back quickly, tossing the water to the floor with a dull splash.

Azriel tensed, his heart thudding. Hope and anxiety knotted tight in his gut.

Because whoever had just broken through that door…judging by the sudden motion of thirty trained soldiers… they weren’t supposed to be here.

For a moment, no one moved. The crash echoed through the chamber like a war drum.

Then a scream pierced the silence. Cut off too suddenly.

A second later, another scream joined it. Then shouting. Metal shrieking against metal. The clash of blades rang out in the corridor beyond like a wild symphony, brutal and unrelenting. Footsteps thundered beyond the thick stone walls, the sound of bodies colliding and tumbling, of steel slicing through flesh.

The thirty silent sentries who had stood like statues only moments before suddenly burst into motion. In perfect synchrony, they formed a wall between Azriel and the door, shoulder to shoulder, a unified line of black armor and gleaming blades.

Each one drew their sword in unison. Identical weapons. Same length, same steel, same wicked edge. The scraping hiss of them leaving their sheaths was almost ceremonial.

Azriel’s heart pounded. Whoever was outside wasn’t just attacking, they were winning.

He could hear it in the rhythm of the battle: the stagger of feet, the sharp panicked yells replaced by silence, the lack of orders being shouted from the other side. Whoever had come… they were alone. Or nearly alone. And they were tearing through the guards like paper.

Azriel twisted in his chains, ignoring the fire in his shoulders, straining to catch any voice, any identifying sound. But there was only chaos.

Until something inside him shifted.

A pulse. Faint, golden and familiar.

It thrummed through his chest like a second heartbeat, brushing against his ribs, then his lungs, then the frayed edges of his mind.

Azriel’s breath caught.

He knew that feeling. That presence. That golden thread tying itself around his soul, whispering through his bones like sunlight in a storm.

His mate.

She had come for him.

And she was unleashing hell.

He couldn’t help the dark laugh that spilled from his lips, low and cold. 

“You don’t even know what you have done,” he said to the guards spread evenly before him. “She will show you no mercy.”

No one responded, but he could smell their fear as it blanketed the room.

BOOM

The heavy stone door blew inward on a shockwave of raw force, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crack. Dust and debris billowed into the chamber, curling around the unmoving line of soldiers like smoke before a fire.

And there she was.

Framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the carnage she’d left behind.

She stood tall and unflinching, breathing steady, blades dripping crimson in both hands. Her leathers were dark and slick with blood, though none of it was her own, Azriel realized, as she moved with lethal grace, every inch of her uninjured body coiled and ready.

Her face was unreadable. Calm. Almost serene. But her eyes burned cold as starlight.

They locked onto him first, where he hung suspended, bruised and bleeding, shadows absent and Siphons dark. And though she didn’t speak, he felt her gaze drag over every cut on his skin, every welt, every torn muscle and trembling inch of his wings.

The bond between them thrummed again, tighter now. Sharper. Like a blade drawn against stone.

She looked at him as if nothing else in the world mattered.

And then she blinked. The tiniest shift. Her focus snapped to the guards now standing between them, and a shiver raced down Azriel’s spine at the frozen rage in her eyes.

The first soldier raised his sword. A deadly mistake.

She crossed the distance between the door and the wall of soldiers in a heartbeat, her blades singing through the air. Steel met steel, then screamed apart as she shattered the line with terrifying efficiency.

She moved like smoke, as graceful and lethal as his own shadows. 

Metal gleamed through the darkness as she descended on the guards, never faltering, never missing. 

She slashed with swords and daggers. Spun and sliced and kicked. A deadly storm given flesh.

Enemies fell beneath her blades, before they even realised they were dying. One after the other. Dozens.

Within moments, she was in front of him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of skin splattered with blood. But she just grinned up at him. A thing of wicked beauty. 

“Hello, my love. Missed me?”

*****

Feyre had been pacing in front of the fire for what felt like hours.

Frustration rolled off her in thick, churning waves, so palpable she could feel it crackling along the bond she shared with Rhys. He had barely said a word since Cassian left the study, only watched the flames, shadows flickering across his sharp features, jaw tight.

She’d begged him for information.

Who is this ‘her’ you were talking about?What did Cassian mean?Why won’t you tell me anything?

But Rhys had only met her gaze with those loving violet eyes, regret softening his voice even as he murmured, “I am sorry, my darling. You have to wait.”

Wait. As if she weren’t High Lady. As if she hadn’t fought and bled and died for this court. As if she hadn’t bared everything to him only to discover he apparently hadn’t done the same. 

The secrets coiled around him like mist, and she could feel his guilt about it. But also his unshakable resolve. He wouldn’t budge.

She turned again on her heel, fists clenched at her sides, but before she could again demand answers, the front door slammed open.

Rhys tensed. Slowly straightened behind the desk, eyes distant, as though reaching out with his power.

Two sets of footsteps echoed down the corridor, measured and unhurried. A clicking cadence of boots on polished floorboards, confident and unmistakably calm.

A female stepped in first, Azriel half a step behind her.

Feyre blinked.

The woman was covered in blood. It soaked her dark leathers, crusted along her collar, streaked across her cheek and jaw. And yet she moved as if it was nothing more than water. Like the blood now dripping steadily onto the plush, expensive rug that Mor had gifted them wasn’t even worth noticing.

And beneath the gore… She was stunning. Breathtaking, even.

Dark hair was pulled back from a sharp, striking face, her tanned skin marked here and there with smears of battle, but still glowing. Above a sensuous mouth and high cheekbones, her eyes were a startling green, like sunlight filtering through leaves, and sharp as shattered glass. They cut across the room in a single glance, fixing like a blade on Rhys.

She walked with the kind of fluid, feline grace that only came from years of training. Or dancing. And there were so many weapons strapped to her body. Knives and twin swords, hidden hilts glinting beneath her sleeves and across her thighs. It was a wonder she could move at all.

And Azriel…

He was watching her like the sun had finally risen after a long, dark night.

He looked tired, scraped and worn, his wings and face bearing healing cuts and fading bruises. His leathers were torn at one shoulder, and there was dried blood on his hands, but there was a lightness to him. Like some weight had finally been shed.

And he was smiling. A small, quiet smile that made her chest ache, because she had never seen Azriel smile like that. Soft. Peaceful. Adoring.

He hadn’t even looked at them. Not at his High Lady. Not at his High Lord and dear brother.

Only at the woman in front of him.

Feyre's heart thudded loudly. Rhys stood, but didn’t speak.

Because the female was still watching him. Assessing. Deciding. Like she was debating which of her many weapons to bury in his chest.

Her power, ancient and razor-sharp, seemed to saturate the air, charging it like the moment before a lightning strike.

“You sent him in alone.” Her voice was low, smooth as silk stretched tight over a blade.

Rhys inclined his head, solemn. “I did.”

“I told you,” she went on, a quiet fury simmering beneath each clipped word, “that Hybern’s western provinces were still too volatile. I told you that anyone who rose in the King’s absence would be twice as vicious and half as predictable. And still you sent him.”

Azriel said nothing behind her. Feyre looked to him instinctively, expecting a frown, a grimace, some quiet protest against the female's fury on his behalf. She knew he hated being underestimated and protected.

But he only watched her, that soft smile still lingering. Like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

The female didn’t take her eyes off Rhys. “If he had died, I would have razed Hybern.”

“You nearly did,” Rhys murmured. It wasn’t a retort. It was… weary acknowledgment.

“You’re a spy,” Feyre blurted into the tense silence, her spinning thoughts finally catching up to the present, “like Azriel.”

Her eyes glittered as she shot Azriel a sideways glance. “Please,” she said, tossing Feyre a wink. “Who do you think taught him?”

And then the female’s expression softened slightly, as if only just remembering where she was, who else stood in the room. She turned to face Feyre properly, and when those piercing green eyes landed on her, Feyre braced herself.

But all that came was a graceful bow.

“High Lady,” she said, voice dipped in respect. “It is an honor.”

Feyre blinked. “Likewise… though I have a great many questions.”

The female straightened with a faint, tired smile. “I expect you do. My name is Seraphina. I am a spy and warrior of the Night Court. I serve under Rhysand, as I have since we were children.”

Feyre’s brows rose.

“She is the daughter of my father’s right hand,” Rhys added quietly. “We were raised side by side. And when I became High Lord, she swore herself to me. She’s been on the Continent these past few years, working in secret.”

“Why didn’t I know about her?” Feyre asked, before she could stop herself.

Seraphina didn’t seem offended. “Because you weren’t allowed to.”

And then, pulling back the neck of her leathers, she revealed a small black mark beneath her collarbone. 

Rhys moved silently to mirror her. He unbuttoned the top of his tunic and shifted his shoulder to reveal the same symbol, woven elegantly into the Illyrian ink across his chest. Feyre had never noticed it before, hidden among the dark warriors' mark.

Azriel followed suit and Feyre’s mouth parted in understanding. She guessed Cassian and perhaps Mor bore the same small tattoo.

“Oath magic,” Seraphina said softly. “No one could speak of me. Not my name. Not my mission. Not to friends, family, lovers. Only to the others who knew of my existence.”

“To protect your identity?” Feyre guessed.

“To protect the Night Court,” Seraphina replied. “What I was doing… it required distance and limited communication. Rhys had to be able to deny I existed. To deny the Courts’ involvement at all.”

“What were you doing?” Feyre asked, voice softer now.

Seraphina’s jaw clenched. “Taking down a horrific fae syndicate on the Continent. One that traded in girls. Children. Powerless and scared. The sort that no one misses when they disappear.”

A heavy silence fell.

“I’ve been working city by city,” she continued, “dismantling it from the inside out, one web at a time. It’s why I haven’t been home.” Her voice dropped further. “It’s why Azriel and I…”

She glanced behind her then, and the tension in her shoulders eased at the sight of him.

“I had to stay away,” she said. “But we kept the bond between us open. Always. It was the only way we could bear it.”

Azriel’s voice, low and husky, slipped into the space between them. “When the faebane smothered it, she felt it instantly.”

Seraphina nodded. “And I knew something was wrong. Knew he’d been hurt. So I came.”

“You’re his—” Feyre began, then stopped. Her eyes darted between them.

Seraphina’s lips curved into something far more dangerous than a smile.

“My mate,” she said, finally voicing the word aloud. Her voice vibrated with something primal, elemental. “Azriel is my mate.”

Feyre gasped. Her eyes flew to Azriel again.

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t flinch.

He just looked at Seraphina like he wanted her to say it again.

A slow grin tugged at Seraphina’s bloodstained lips as she turned back to Feyre. “I would be delighted to talk further, my High Lady,” she said, clearly reading the thousands of questions still echoing through her, “but first, I must… reacquaint myself with my mate.”

Feyre opened her mouth to reply, but Seraphina was already turning, already reaching.

Azriel didn’t wait. He met her halfway, as if drawn by a force he could no longer resist. One hand cupped her face, reverent and aching, the other curling tightly around her waist as if to anchor himself to her very presence. She melted into his touch without hesitation, her blood-slicked arms wrapping around his middle as if she needed to feel that he was real.

Feyre looked away from the intimacy of it. Not out of discomfort, but because it felt like something sacred.

But even as she turned, she caught the press of Azriel’s forehead to Seraphina’s, the whisper of his wings folding carefully around them. The sound he made, a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, was so raw with wonder that it tugged at something deep in her chest.

And then they were gone. Swept away by Azriel’s shadows, their soft murmurs lingering in the space they left behind.

“Well,” Feyre said, blinking after them. “That’s new.”

Rhys let out a breath beside her, the first sound he’d made in minutes. “Actually, it’s very very old.” He reached out to her, his large hand grasping hers and pulling her closer. “Thank the Mother for you,” he whispered.

“For me?” She echoed, raising a brow.

“Usually her punishment for putting Azriel in danger is long and painful.” Rhys huffed a laugh and pressed a chaste kiss to her palm. “But I think you being here distracted her long enough to forget retribution for the time being.”

Feyre thought of the tension that had coiled in her mate when Seraphina had stalked into the room like a predator. Of Cassian’s swift exit and parting words of staying out of ‘their way’. 

“You are truly scared of her? Of what she could do to you for sending Az out on a mission?”

Rhys nodded, no trace of bluster or embarrassment in his expression. “If I can give you one piece of advice, Feyre darling,” he purred, “it is to never put Azriel or Seraphina’s life in any more danger than necessary. Each of them would burn down the world for the other.”

One thing hardly ever acknowledged by the fae of Prythian is that Amarantha keeps more than one whore on standby. 

A strong male under her keep would always be looked at with shock and outrage. Because, of course, males were above such things. Females… well that was their natural place, so who would spare a second glance?

Servicing Amarantha was a long affair. Sometimes days long, with all your time spent between her legs, at the foot of her throne, or breathing in clouds of smoke to dull your mind. She was efficient, the one thing you could give her credit for. 

Tonight, though, would be different. You may have been one of Amarantha’s whores, but you were nameless, even faceless to some. You were not a beloved noble, or a frightening lord, only a woman with nothing left of yourself except for this. 

Maybe he could change that.

Eris Vanserra, arrogant heir to the Autumn Throne, lay sprawled out upon the furs in your den. His vignette puffed clouds of smoke behind the gauzy red curtains you used for privacy. “Amarantha has good stuff,” he said, blowing a coil of ash from his lips.

“My Lord,” you greeted, bowing your head.

“Nonsense. I’m not a lord yet.” His sharp amber eyes raked down your figure, trailing down the nearly transparent swaths of fabric adorning your figure. “I’m surprised you accepted me.”

“I’m surprised you offered me the choice.”

He shrugged, his expression utterly apathetic. He acted as if that granted option meant nothing, when really it meant everything to you. “I figure Amarantha runs you ragged all on her own, and I wouldn’t add to that without giving you a say.”

“Thank you,” you lowered your head again. “You are not as cruel as they say.”

“Don’t be so quick to credit me,” Eris said with a smirk. “You can judge my cruelty after I’m done with you.”

His hand, pale from a lack of sun, beckoned you closer. You pushed the curtains shut behind you, and he laughed. “You still seek privacy? Even after all these years?” 

You thought Eris had been jesting at your expense, but no. Quiet rage simmered in his eyes, though he did not press the matter. He found your waist, squeezing the soft skin there as he drew you into his lap. 

“It is a shame you have no bed here, there’s almost nothing for me to ruin as I take you.” Heat pooled in your gut. Your mind was in a haze from the incense and burning herb, but you did not miss the meaning hidden behind his words. A tease of his sexual prowess, but also the kindness that ruining your bed would buy you some time off from working the bedrooms. 

“I think she does that on purpose, my Lord, the furs have less need for… cleaning.”

His long fingers squeezed again, sailing up your sides to cup your breasts. “I said enough with the lord talk.”

“You don’t wish to be called that?” Many males did. My lord, your grace, even my king, though their stations were far below the title. 

“I want to hear my own name fall from your lips, preferably loud enough for all my brothers and their simpering friends to hear.”

You nodded. Eris was offering you payment, and you certainly would make good on it. Centuries ago, it would have been seen as scandalous and offensive, but in Amarantha’s court, she was the only one to receive any benefits. Eris sneaking around her process was dangerous, and Cauldron help you, but it made your heart flutter.

“Are you gonna kiss me now, or what?”

“Sorry… the smoke must have gotten to my head…”

“Enough words, pet.” Eris gripped the back of your neck, pulling you fully on top of him as he licked into your mouth in soft, but intense strokes. Your lips must have been chapped from the lack of hydration, you had heard complaints enough, but he didn’t seem to care. As you kissed him back, truly eager, he only tightened his grip. He kept a tight hold on the hair at the base of your scalp, keeping you positioned exactly as he liked. He pulled away for a breath. “Fuck… you’re good at that.”

“I get a lot of practice,” you said, almost smiling. Cauldron, when was the last time you even had the spirit to joke?

“It’s done you well. Perhaps I’ll have to call on you more often.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” you murmured against his lips before pulling back to crawl down his body.

Eris settled against the pile of fur and silk, his eyes lighting with amusement, and excitement too. “You’re a bold little thing, aren’t you?”

“Only on occasion,” you teased, carefully unbuttoning his stiff brown slacks. He was hard already, surprisingly so. “It’s been awhile for you, then, hasn’t it?”

Shock warped Eris’s features, then anger, and he opened his mouth as if to speak. But he bit his tongue, all the rage on his face warping into a little smile. “Oh, you’ll get what’s coming to you for that one.”

You would. Perhaps it would be at his hand, but likely, it would be at your mistress’s. That was a problem to worry about later, not when Eris’s cock was huge and thick, and throbbing in your grip.

You pulled him out of his pants, holding the base with one hand and tracing your nails over him with the other. 

“Wicked claws you have.”

“They come in handy,” you said, smirking as you trailed the edge of a nail up his shaft. 

“Indeed they do.” His breathing became labored, and his heavy cock twitched as you rubbed the spot right beneath his tip. “Fuck… get on with it then.”

You obliged Eris, lips falling open to take him into your mouth. You started slow, just little kitten licks against his tip, until he was pulling at your hair. He looked as though he wanted to push you down, but he restrained himself, instead staring up at the ceiling to try to calm down.

You couldn’t have that. You slid your tongue out to lick up his shaft, making a show of spitting on it to stroke the base. 

He bared his teeth, but you could feel his balls tightening, already needing to spill their load. “Slower,” he bit out, the admission bringing a flush to his own cheeks.

It really was a sore spot for him then. You had a feeling teasing him now would only end with him fucking your face to hell and back. So you slowed, bobbing your head gently as he returned to reclining in your mountain of cloth.

A sudden knock at the door had you bolting to attention, wiping your mouth with a hand. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

Eris shoved your face back down, ever the picture of unruffled royalty. You went to protest, until you heard the intruder's voice. The most infamous male in Amarantha’s court.

“Vanserra. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“This one’s busy,” Eris said coolly. “Find another.”

“I actually came here to find you,” Rhysand drawled. Your mouth didn’t leave Eris’s cock, sucking him softly, even as Rhysand’s boots thumped to a halt right behind your crouched form. He was watching you, you could feel it. His stare was like little talons crawling down your back and to your exposed rear. “Amarantha said you’d be here.”

Eris’s body tensed, something like fear locking his muscles, and you sucked harder, swirling your tongue along his leaking tip until he recovered. “I’m surprised she hasn’t sent one of her lackeys to chastise me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Rhysand said, a grin audible in his tone.

“Not surprising, it’s best to allocate you for less important tasks.” From the periphery of your lowered eyes, you could see Eris’s challenging smirk. 

“How about we cut a deal, Eris? Let me have a taste, and I’ll tell her you were merely beating the girl for being insolent with another client, rather than wasting your coin.” You gasped a bit as Rhysand’s hand came to rest on your hair, forcing you to take Eris deeper. “I’ll give her some fake bruises, free of charge.”

Eris bit back a groan as Rhysand shoved your head down, then looked at you. “Your choice, pet.”

There was an understanding between them, you could sense, but any other more astute observations were far beyond your reach. It was getting later, and Amarantha’s spellbinding incense was stronger, lulling you into a dull haze. 

You couldn’t think of scheming, of the court politics played by lords. You could think only of what it would feel like to be crushed between two strong, handsome males. Males who were offering themselves to you . “Yes,” you agreed, the words out of your control.

“Good.” Rhysand’s touch smoothed over your back and arms, purple bruises blooming night onto your skin. They looked perfectly real, and yet you felt no pain. “She’ll be none the wiser.”

Eris seemed skeptical, but he nodded. “You can have her after I’ve cum down her throat.”

Your eyes widened, a little squeak in your throat snagging his attention. “What,” Eris said, arching a brow. “You want him now?”

Long, black claws snared your mind, making you freeze. “She wants us both, at the same time.” Rhysand laughed wickedly, and you felt those talons caress your insides, a phantom lover’s touch.

Eris’s answering grin was wicked. “Do you, pet? Naughty… Well, I suppose it has been awhile since I’ve delighted in the pleasures of sharing.”

“Let me take her mouth up, then we can leave her cunt dripping with the both of us all night.”

Terrifying pleasure wracked your body, jittering as you felt the space between your legs run slicker. Your knees wobbled as Rhys hauled you up, setting you aside as the males switched places. 

“A whore’s whore,” Rhys crooned, lounging back in arrogant comfort as Eris pushed you down between his legs. “You’re lucky Eris and I have agreed upon a lie. Being an insolent girl is a better reputation than being a useless slut. Though I bet you’ll suck me like one, hmm?” His broad palm cupped your chin, thumb affectionately brushing your cheek.

You could only nod dumbly, nearly proving his point, but Eris stepped in. “Oh, no, she’s been a very good girl to me. Haven’t you, pet?”

“Yes, my- Eris. ”

Eris laughed, pleased by your self correction. “You’ll learn, I’m sure. But for now.” He lifted your hips, arranging you on your hands and knees before him with your face between Rhysand’s legs. “Show him you can be a good girl, pet.”

Carefully, you undid Rhys’s button. He was just as long and hard as Eris, but thicker. Fuck. 

Rhysand’s eyes sparkled with living stars, practically glowing as he saw the brief look of panic on your face. “You scared?”

Rising to the challenge, you instantly led him home. His cock hit the back of your throat as you relaxed every muscle, taking him deep and laving your tongue around him. The noise he made was utterly debauched. “Shit… yes, you can take it…”

Your breath caught as a finger traced up the seam of your cunt. Eris. He was getting busy as you sucked Rhysand off, thumbing your clit and parting your folds. “Stunning,” Eris muttered, mostly to himself. “You’re utterly wasted here.”

“You could say that again,” Rhysand groaned, head rolling back in bliss. For some reason, you were eager to impress him. He and Eris both may have been reduced to mere toys in Amarantha’s court, but long before then they had been some of the most feared males in Prythian. Someday, maybe, they would return to their pedestals.

If they did, you would have them remember you.

You swallowed around Rhysand, tightening your throat as Eris slid a finger into your pussy. He stretched you slowly and methodically until you were moaning around the thick cock in your mouth.

“Don’t stop now,” Rhysand warned, his hand moving to wrap around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but you knew he could, and that was just as thrilling. 

Rhys held you still as Eris replaced his fingers with his hard cock, pushing into you in one long, complete thrust. Your walls were tight barriers, and Eris thrust a bit, making sure you held every inch inside you before he even started to move.

You went to pull back for air, but Rhysand tightened his grip on your neck. “Not yet, slut… I’m close…” 

Eris fucked you hard, the rocking motion forcing you to keep up as you brought Rhysand to a shuddering climax. His seed was hot down your throat, but pleasurable pride filled you at having made him cum that hard. 

“Good girl,” Rhys crooned, petting your face as you pulled away sticky with him. “Eris, make her cum. She earned it.”

You couldn’t see Eris’s face, but you could feel the wickedness in his movements. Harsh, perfectly angled thrusts had you collapsing to the rugs beneath you, just taking everything he gave you. “Ah- I’m gonna…”

“Gonna cum all over his cock?” Rhys purred, pushing sweaty locks of hair back from your face. 

You tried to agree, but you could only let out a shaky mewl as Eris’s dick pounded against your sweet spot, holding your hips still as you trembled through a climax. 

“Fuck…” Eris grit his teeth. One last sloppy thrust to the hilt had him filling you. He panted, holding the position until he was sure your cunt had taken every drop, then he pulled away. 

“I should get back to Amarantha,” Rhysand said. The desire faded from his eyes until he just looked tired. 

“I should return to my family,” Eris agreed. “If you are asked anything, pet, you were tired from all that incense Amarantha is pumping down here. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything else.” He grinned, adding, “and I’ll take care of you as well, tomorrow.”

You returned to your curtained den, offering the males a grateful smile. “I will see you then, my lords .”

You had never liked parties. Too many people pretending they wanted to be there, too many people with sharp eyes and sharper smiles, too many lights, uncomfortable clothing, bad drinks, intolerable music…the list went on and on.

That didn’t stop your best friend Persimmon from dragging you to one of the High Lord's infamous feasts. You had protested weakly, but Persimmon wasn't one to give up when she wanted something. So now here you were, strapped into a dress that she had picked out for you, sitting at one of the long tables that lined the High Lord's feasting hall. 

You smiled rwhen appropriate, laughed at all the right things, all the while picking at your food without really eating anything-you weren't an idiot. Everybody knew you couldn't trust anything at Beron’s table. 

If you craned your neck, you could see said male sitting at the head of one of the tables, seemingly engaged in conversation with his eldest son. You could also see his wife, Lady Áine Vanserra, sitting on his other side. You couldn't see her face, but her shoulders were slumped and she seemed to have moved her chair as far away from her husband as she possibly could without being noticeable. 

Suddenly, you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned your head to find Persimmon looking at you quizzically. 

“Why were you staring at the Vanserras?” she whispered. “You know they're bad news. If one of them caught you staring…”

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. You knew what happened to those who offended the High Lord. Fuck, there was even a whipping post in the corner to serve as a reminder for those wh forgot. 

That was one of the reasons you hated court so much-the sheer ruthlessness and cruelty. Fortunately, your family wasn't terribly important, so your presence was not required or even expected. 

Persimmon, however, was not so lucky. She was the only child of one of the High Lord's advisors and thus was always forced to attend every event of any importance as a show of so-called family unity. 

A sudden movement in the corner of your vision startled you and pulled you out of your thoughts. You blinked to clear your vision and looked surreptitiously about for the cause of the disturbance. As soon as your eyes landed upon the culprit, your traitorous heart flipped in your chest. 

Eris fucking Vanserra. 

As much as you feared and respected the High Family, you had to admit the eldest son was quite possibly the most jaw droppingly stunning male you had ever seen. You were under no delusions; you knew that he would never notice you, and even if he did, it would only be for a quick fuck and nothing more. 

But still, it was nice to dream. 

Across the hall, you could still see Eris talking to his father. Suddenly, his head turned towards your table and amber eyes found yours. He smirked, that infuriatingly good looking crooked smirk that he was so well known for, and you felt a flash of something hot and dirty in your lower abdomen. 

Arousal, you supposed. 

You only hoped your scent hadn't changed enough for anyone to notice it. 

You must have looked like an idiot, sitting there ogling the most emotionally unavailable male in the autumn court like some whore from the red lotus house. As this thought hit you,  you ducked your head in embarrassment, breaking eye contact and-if you had been looking-bringing a slightly disappointed frown to Eris’ face. 

Gods, you felt awful. 

Your first time at court in nearly a decade and already you had been caught doing the one thing your parents had warned you to never do-draw the attention of any of the Vanserras. You only hoped that the heir would have the decency to punish you in private rather than publicly dishonoring your family. 

Even though your parents were dead (and had been so since the last time you went to court), you hated the thought of disappointing them. 

You quickly engaged yourself in conversation with Persimmon, but your mind was elsewhere- perhaps lingering on a certain handsome redhead who currently held your reputation in his (admittedly gorgeous) hands.

you guys get to decide what the next chapter will be!!!