#starryevermore

You weren’t sure how many people were saying your name, but they were too damn loud. “Mrs. Kent—” a woman’s voice said “—you need to wake up. Mrs. Kent—” And, God, you really wished you didn’t because the lights were so bright. Did they turn them onto the highest setting? You weren’t sure you had ever seen lights so bright. You squint your eyes, then try blinking slowly to chase away the sleepiness. 

“Would you like some water, Mrs. Kent?” she asked. You think you said yes, because suddenly there was a styrofoam cup in your hand and you had drank half of its contents. You hear a thank you, which you guess is from you, but you aren’t very aware of your mouth moving. 

“Are you okay, sweetie? Does anything hurt?” the woman asked. “Why are you crying?”

Oh—you are crying. The same thing happened a few years ago when you had your wisdom teeth taken out. Maybe you were just destined to sob like a baby when you come to. You wipe at the corner of your eyes. The skin is already drying out. How hard were you crying? Your lip wobbles as you manage to wail, “I don’t know! My belly button hurts!”

The woman giggled and told you, “That’s normal, sweetie, and so is the crying. You wouldn’t believe the amount of big, burly men who come out of anesthesia crying. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Your lip is still wobbling when you let out a weak “okay.”

“Can I check your incisions?” she asks. You managed a nod, so she lifted the sheet. You guess they looked fine, because she let out a satisfied hum and turned toward the monitor. 

You want your Clark. He’s your anchor. You really want to hold his hand. You grip the cup a little tighter.

“We need to check your vitals and then we’ll take you to your husband. He’s already in the room waiting for you,” the woman said. Did you say that out loud? “Your BP is a little high, but that’s because you’re anxious coming out of the surgery. We’ll check a few more times before we move you. It’ll probably be about ten minutes, okay?”

You can see well enough now to know she stepped away to a counter where another nurse is standing. Another sob escaped you as you fail to take another drink. The straw makes that sucking sound when there’s nothing left to give. Where’s Clark? Why did the nurse say you couldn’t see him? 

The blood pressure cuff squeezed your arm. “Your BP is looking better,” the nurse said. When did she come back over? You blinked slowly at the ceiling and wish for Clark again. “Just one more time and you can see your husband, is that alright?”

There’s another thank you and a sniffle. You’re still not sure it’s coming from you, but the woman to your right is chatting about her work and the man to your left is answering questions from his nurse, so you guess it has to be you. 

Suddenly, the nurse is removing the blood pressure cuff and wheeling you down the hall. “There’s a bit of a bump here,” she warns you as she starts to turn the corner. Despite the heads up, it jars you enough to whine. “Alright, I’m backing you into your room.”

It’s a tight squeeze, barely enough to turn the bed into the proper position. Finally, you see your Clark, worry etched onto his face. He can hear your heartbeat, how it’s still a little high, and see a tear streaking down your face. He’s quick to your side, thumb wiping it away. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

You’re too busy pressing your cheek into his palm, so the nurse told him, “She was a little anxious when she woke up. But that’s completely normal, I think she was just ready to see you and go home.”

Clark’s shoulders relaxed. “Good, good.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Mrs. Kent, you can get dressed and then another nurse will come out with your discharge papers,” she said. “There may be a little blood, but it’s nothing to worry about. As long as it’s not anymore than a typical period, you’re okay.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Clark said, shaking the nurse’s hand. She leaves and Clark slips away from your side. When he returns, he has your water bottle and a couple pills. “Are you okay to take the GasX now?”

You nod and press the pills to your tongue. Clark helps you lift the bottle to your lips and only pulls away when you stop drinking. 

“Are you ready for gum now?” Right—gum. The nurse practitioner told you during pre-op that it helps to chew gum as soon after surgery as you can manage. Something about it tricking your organs into “waking up” sooner so the gas the doctor used to inflate your belly can be expelled faster. 

You chew on the gum Clark handed you. “How much was there?”

“He found it on top of your vagina and under your right ovary. They got it all out,” Clark informed you. “He said it was around Stage 1 or 2, and that there was a lot of inflammation.”

“Good, good. Glad I’m not in pain for nothing.” You lifted yourself up. “Help me get dressed?”

You didn’t need to ask, because Clark was already offering you support. You leaned against him as you swayed on your feet. He stepped away briefly to get your clothes, so you prop yourself against the wall as a wave of dizziness hits you. 

“Do you need to go to the bathroom first?”

You nodded and slowly shuffled toward the toilet. Clark held his arms out to catch you in case you stumbled or fell. As you try to go, he handed you your panties and a pad.

“You’re perfect,” you mumbled. 

“I just love you, darling.”

He helped you up again as you got up and shuffled back to the bed. You manage to pull your shorts on, on your own, but ask for Clark’s assistance in hooking your bra. While he’s there, he pulls off the stickers from the heart monitor as gently as he can, pausing each time you hiss. You slipped on your shirt, then sit on the bed to exchange your grippy socks for regular socks. 

Knock! Knock!

“Mrs. Kent?” The nurse poked her head in. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She comes in and presents you with your discharge papers. While you glance them over, she turns to Clark. “How far are you parked?”

“I’m at the garage, ma’am.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes head start to pull the car around. But before you go, I have just a few things to go over with you both.” She ran through the same things they told you in pre-op, but paused when she got near the end. You barely noticed the pointed look she gave your Clark. “—and no sex for at least two weeks.”

Clark looked affronted that she would even imply that he’d do anything to harm your recovery. “Not until she’s fully healed and comfortable,” he said, returning his own pointed look. “She’s the most important person in this room.”

While the nurse appeared satisfied at that, you added, “He’s a sweetie.”

She smiled at you. “I’m sure he is.”

“He is!” and you would not let it go until she unequivocally agreed. 

One thing you didn’t quite realize was that Clark was quite the hoverer. Despite his superhuman abilities, that of being able to see your internal organs and hear every little abnormality, he truly was a worry wart. Any other time, you might have been teasing him, but today you appreciated it. As the afternoon became evening, you grew tired of sitting in your hospital filth and asked for Clark to help you shower. 

He immediately began to look over your discharge papers. “Is that a good idea? It says here to not shower for twenty-four hours.”

“The nurse said that’s just because I might fall because of the anesthesia. Everything down there is waterproof.” You batted your eyelashes at him the best you could manage. “I need my big, blue softy to help me.”

A smile quirked at Clark’s lips. “You tell me the second it feels too much.”

“I always do.”

Clark stood and walked around in front of your recliner. He helped you press the leg rest down, then provided his arms for you to lean your weight on as you pulled yourself up. You were able to walk on your own, though Clark was a half step behind you just in case. You shuffled slowly into the bathroom, wincing at the brighter light. 

You began to pull your shirt over your head while Clark turned on the shower, making sure the water temperature wasn’t too hot. Your bra is next, you hissing as you peel it away. The doctors went a little wild with the iodine around your breasts, so the material stuck to your skin. Clark was by your side in an instant, blue eyes piercing through you as he weighed whether you needed help or if he should be a silent observer. However, when it did come to your shorts and panties, he did have to help as you still couldn’t quite bend over. 

He helped you over to the shower, reminding you to watch your step. You let the water wash over you and do your best to avoid getting your belly button wet. After dampening the wash cloth, you turned the water off and pulled back the curtain. Clark soaped up the cloth then began to gently scrub at your skin. You help as best you can manage, lifting one of your breasts so he can get all of the iodine. 

The soap makes it difficult to keep a good grip, so it keeps slipping from your fingers. “You’re a terrible patient,” he teased.

“It’s slippery!”

Clark helped you hold up your breast up and continued to scrub. Once he was satisfied that the iodine was gone, he moved down to your belly. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“You’re good—” but you winced as he neared your belly button. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He put his hand on your hip and urged you to turn out. Clark scrubbed down your back and down your legs, then wrung out the wash cloth. “Alright, you’re good to rinse.”

You nodded as he turned the shower back on. You kept your back to the shower head and leaned around to let the water wash over your front, cupping your hands and splashing the harder-to-reach areas. Once you were satisfied that you washed away all the soap, you turned the shower off. Clark pulled back the curtain and handed you a towel. 

“Pat, don’t rub,” he said. 

“I need help with my legs,” you said once you finished drying the top half of your body. 

Clark knelt in front of you, caressing your legs as he pat you dry. A part of you felt bitter that you couldn’t have sex with him when he looked so devoted to your health and care. But the idea of being touched made a shiver run down your spine, and not the good kind at that. When you’re better, you decided, you would worship your Clark as much as he is worshipping you. 

The process of getting dressed passed you by. One of Clark’s old t-shirts from his Smallville days was slipped on and a pair of panties. Pretty simple, considering you hated the idea of more clothes touching you than necessary at the moment. And so you began the trek back to the living room.

“Careful, careful!” Clark said as you shuffled over to the recliner. He held his hands out as you sank down and only moved away once you had shifted comfortably into position. Clark was gone and back in a blink, your water bottle placed on the table beside you and your prescribed medication in hand. 

“I’m not that fragile,” you grumbled, but your whine as you adjusted your weight said otherwise.

“To me, you’re always fragile.” Clark smiled softly at you. He lifted your knuckles to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss. “I love you. I want to take care of you. I made vows, remember?”

“You remind me frequently,” you giggled, “as if I’d ever forget.”

after some time of struggling to interpret his work, you finally got through it. to you, it all appeared to be correct. you put his papers to the side and lifted yourself out of your seat to lean against the table to be closer to peter or more so, his laptop.

you were sitting straight across from him and were now leaning in front of him. you had your weight supported on your left arm, your forearm flat on the tabletop while your right arm stretched out to turn his laptop around, but peter wasn't focused on the math problem anymore. his eyes were on your chest.

you wore a button-up sweater that was a little low cut, but for your modesty and some more warmth, you threw a cami on underneath. your cleavage was covered fairly well by the tanktop when you were sitting up straight, but when you were leaning forward, there wasn't much left to the imagination for peter.

he didn't mean to look down. he would never ever disrespect you in any way. but once his line of sight went south, it was hard for him to pull it up. it was like his eyes were magnetically forced down toward your chest which made it way more difficult to move them away. he was so honed in that he didn't hear you calling him an idiot.

you hadn't noticed where his focus was initially, but when he hadn't commented on your name-calling, you knew something was up when you didn't get a response or even a small pout.

"peter?" you called him by his preferred name and dipped your head down a fuzz to get a better look at him. the way his eyes snapped up to yours and widened in addition to how a rosy pink shade dusted over his cheeks and nose, it all told you what you needed to know and a smirk grew on your lips.

"is something distracting you, peter?" you asked tauntingly, leaning forward even more and bringing in your right arm to push your breasts together to make them even more noticeable. the boy before you visibly gulped and you knew him well enough to know what came next: the nervous rambling.

"wha- no, i- i'm good, never better actually. uh, did you, um, figure out what i d-did wrong?" he stammered, focusing extra hard on maintaining eye contact with you so his eyes wouldn't drift elsewhere.

"for starters, you practically undressed me with your eyes without asking me on a proper date first, but as for the math problem, you forgot that dr. hightower said to make sure you put in the negative sign, not the subtraction symbol because this website won't take that and will mark your answer as incorrect," you explained with a grin, loving to tease him.

"oh."

"yeah," you muttered before sitting back in your seat. you two got back to your work in a comfortable silence that lasted all of maybe thirty seconds before peter spoke again.

"hypothetically speaking," he started, pulling your attention away from your laptop screen, "if i were to ask you on a date, would you say yes?"

your smile returned shortly and you leaned against the table, shifting forward a bit just to tease him. "theoretically, it would depend on what you were thinking of doing on this purely suppositional date."

"i was thinking we could go try that new indian place near campus two buildings down from the coffee bean," peter stated before adding, "strictly notional, of course."

"of course," you agreed before pretending to ponder his 'hypothetical' request, "i'd have to say yes i would think."

"y/n, would you like to go out with me to the new indian place near the coffee bean this friday night?" peter inquired, still visibly nervous but not nearly as bad as before.

"are we still speaking in theory or are you being literal?"

"as literal as i've ever been," he responded, a hopeful grin tugging at his lips.

"then, it's a literal date."

remember to support writers & reblog :)

Cardan’s tail swished at his feet. From across the room, he watched as you danced with Jude. A smile tugged at his lips. His wife and his best friend. What luck he had been afforded for the two incredible women in his life to get along so well? He knew, of course, that you would. In your time at school, you often admonished Cardan for any cruel tricks he played on Jude. She didn’t deserve that treatment, you’d always say. Be better, because I know you can be. You were the only person he would allow to speak to him like that. After all, you were the only person who thought him above the part he played. If all of Elfhame thought him cruel, you saw him for he truly was. Jude, eventually, came to see that too—both your kindness and the mask Cardan wore.

You caught his eye and smiled. Cardan watched as you took Jude’s hand, gently urging her out of the swarm of dancing fae. She smiled appreciatively at you. It was difficult for humans to find their way out of these revels. If you were not watching out for her, Jude might have danced until she died. 

“You didn’t have to stop,” Cardan said as you approached him. Jude slipped away to the refreshment table.

“I cannot stand to be apart from you. I’ve had enough of a fill of that for a lifetime,” you said. Cardan’s heart soared. Your arms wrapped around his waist, and your head came to rest against his chest. “Besides, I think Jude was beginning to tire.”

“I do not plan to let you stray from my side for a long time.” Cardan’s tail wrapped around you and pulled you closer. If Cardan could achieve it, he would mould you against him so that you never could leave again. “I am glad you and Jude are friends now. She has so few she feels she can trust.”

“As am I.” Your smile faltered for a moment. So quick that Cardan might not have noticed it if he hadn’t committed himself to memorizing every part of you. He reached up, thumb tugging at the corner of your lips so that the smile might remain in place. “May I confess something?”

“Anything.”

You took a breath. You did not speak immediately. Instead, you took the time to straighten the crown that rested against his brow. “I left because I thought Jude was the one you cared for. After you were crowned High King, you were seldom from her side. It broke my heart to think that I had lost your favor. I would step aside for your happiness, but I could stand by and watch it happen.”

Cardan’s tail wrapped tighter around you. You would not run again, but he couldn’t stop the fear from sinking deep into his veins. “I was scared that you would not like the crown I wore. Jude took a liking to tell me how ridiculous I was acting. Truthfully, I think she liked that too much because it was the one thing that we could always agree.”

“Why did you wait so long then?”

Cardan laughed. “I may have agreed with Jude that I was being ridiculous, but it did little to quell the fear that you would not want me.”

“Well, whatever she said to convince you to act, I am grateful. Even if it did send me running.” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Cardan smiled. “In some ways, I think we both needed it. Who knows how long we may have skirted around our feelings still.”

He combed your fingers through your hair and pulled you in for a searing kiss. He loved this. He loved being your husband. Cardan no longer had to pace the floors of the palace, wondering if he could confess to you his feelings. He no longer had to dream of what it would feel for you to be in his arms, for it was now his reality. And as you moaned against his mouth, Cardan decided he would commit every moment of his long life to bringing you as much pleasure as you have already brought him. It was his duty as your husband after all. 

“Let us retire,” he said, parting from you long enough for a breath.

“It is our wedding celebration. People will talk if we leave too soon,” you said, but your voice was filled with enough lust that he knew you didn’t truly mean a single word. 

“Let them talk, and let Jude run them through with her sword for disrespecting their Queen and King.”

You smiled up at him, and Cardan stole another kiss. “Whisk me away, my love.”

The entire walk up to your shared chambers, Cardan’s tail swished behind him in excitement.

Sex and nakedness are not regarded the same in Faerie as it is in the human lands. Yet, watching as Cardan undressed before you had you positively giddy. It had you even forgetting that you were supposed to undress, too, until your husband was reaching around you, skillfully undoing the laces of your dress with his nimble fingers. 

“You are beautiful,” you whisper, running your hand down his chest to his stomach. “The most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

Cardan grinned. “And to think you tried to deprive yourself of such beauty,” he teased. He kissed your brow, dragged his lips down to your ear. His breath was warm as he whispered, “I should be quite upset, you know, that you tried to deprive me of your beauty.”

Wordlessly, you sank down to your knees. The wood was cool against your skin. A nice contrast to how warm your arousal was making you. Cardan watched you, his mouth falling open to release a shuddering breath as you took his cock in your hands. “Shall I repent, my husband?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Any sign of his teasing had disappeared the moment you touched him. You wondered if he had always been so affected by you. You wondered how blind you must have been to miss it for all these years. “You may do to me as you please,” he breathed out.

Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips, before you took him into your mouth. As you looked up at your husband through your lashes, Cardan looked as though he might just fall apart under your touch. Pride settled in your veins. Neither you nor Cardan were strangers to pleasures of the flesh, but you were certain that no one could make him feel as you were now. You released him with a pop! and began to kiss down his length.

Cardan’s fingers found purchase in your hair. His grip tightened as you ran your tongue up the underside of his cock, taking time to flick over a rather prominent vein. But before you could take him fully in your mouth again, Cardan was pulling you away, gently nudging you back to your feet. 

“Was that not to your liking, husband?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. 

“I will not allow you to steal all the fun, wife,” he said. Cardan gathered you in his arms, carrying you the short distance to the bed and laid you down. He settled between your legs, which he had hiked over his shoulders. You reached down, brushing stray curls from his eyes. “It is my wedding night, too, after all.”

“Ah, yes, but what is that the humans say? Happy wife, happy life?”

Jude had been quite happy to share that one little line with you. Having grown up in Faerie, there was little she remembered from her time in the human lands. But she remembered that, and she shared it with you so that you could add it to your arsenal of things to make Cardan putty in your hands. 

“Oh, I fully intend to make you happy,” Cardan declared before diving in. 

Cardan ate your cunt as if he were a starved man. His tongue lapped at you, collecting your arousal as if it were the sweet nectar of an everapple. Just as he had you, your hand found its own wound through his silky curls. But where he had pulled you away, you drew him in closer. You could feel his smirk when he took your sensitive bud between his lips. 

You breathed out his name, chanted it as if it were the most precious oath. Recited it as though it were your vows to him. A cord deep in your stomach began to tighten, tauter and tauter until it finally snapped. Your chants became a scream.

Your husband emerged from your trembling thighs with a triumphant smile. He crawled up your body until he was draped over you like a blanket. Safe and secure within his arms. Cardan’s forehead rest against yours. His breath tickled your face, but you found delight in the sensation. His every breath was yours, and so yours were his. 

“I feel as though I am in debt to you,” you teased. “How can you let me finish, but not allow me the same pleasure?”

Cardan smiled. His tail dipped between your bodies, wrapped itself around your leg. “Your debt shall be paid soon enough,” he swore. 

You barely processed Cardan pressing his cock into you until the gasp escaped your lips. It had been a long while since you laid with anyone. You had forgotten how delicious that stretch felt. Acting of their own accord, your legs locked around his hips, keeping his thrusts shallow as he began to move. You pulled Cardan in for another kiss and did not let him pull away. 

His moans melted into your own. “I love you,” he chanted. His fingers intertwined with your own. “I adore you. I am yours to command.”

“Mm, don’t stop,” you said. And as though he were yours to command, he did as told, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy. “I love you.”

Cardan gasped, and you felt him finish. He continued to thrust into you, one hand leaving yours to press against the still sensitive bud. He rolled it between his fingers, urging that taught cord to snap again. As though you were his to command, it did, and the tidal wave of ecstasy washed over your once more. 

“I love you!” you shouted, because nothing better encapsulated this feeling than those three simple words. 

Your husband came to rest against your chest, his ear pressed against the spot above your heart. He nipped at the skin of your breast until you scratched your nails against his scalp. His tail had unwound itself from your thigh, taking to swish softly in the air above you.

“I am glad I came home to you,” you said. “I am glad you did not let me stay away.”

Cardan lifted his head, a sleepy smile tugged at his lips. “I would run after you every day if it meant I got to have you in my arms for even a moment.”

“I shall never run again,” you swore.

“But then whom shall I chase through the palace?”

“I may run then,” you conceded. 

Content, Cardan rested against your chest once more. His breaths soon turned shallow, and a quiet snore echoed through the room. You followed soon after, because there was nothing in this life you would do without your husband at your side. 

Ordinarily, you hated when Azriel would leave for long missions. Azriel loved that about you. For so many years, he longed for someone to love him in spite of himself. Throughout his life, he had so many heinous things. He always worried that his hands were stained too red for anyone to ever want to hold. But you, the only daughter of Autumn, looked him right in the eye and proudly declared that he was your mate. You looked at the darkest parts of him and found love for him anyways. And when your family, when Beron, tried to keep you from him, you ran straight into his arms anyways. You were willing to throw away everything you knew for him. Azriel would always be grateful for that. But, now, you almost seemed to want him to leave. 

You had been acting strange a few days before he left. For as long as Azriel knew you, you were fiercely independent. It was something that was appreciated because it meant you could take care of yourself when he was gone for days, weeks, even months at a time to carry out Rhysand’s will. Now, though…You would disappear for long stretches of time, give vague answers when Azriel would ask how you were doing. He supposed, as spymaster, he could figure it out for himself, or at least send some shadows to follow you, but he wanted you to tell him yourself. He needed to hear from you that everything was okay. 

That is, until he told you he was going to be away for a month on a mission. Typically when he would be gone for so long, you would hold him close and rant about how you were going to give Rhys a piece of your mind for taking your mate away. And he would kiss you and cherish the few hours he had left with you before he would have to leave. This time, you only pouted and gave him a kiss goodnight before retiring to bed. 

It was damn near impossible for him to focus on the mission after that. Had Azriel done something wrong? Had you finally reached the depths of Azriel’s darkness and decided you hated what you saw? 

He planned on talking to you as soon as he returned. He would not let you get away with vague answers. He wouldn’t rest until he got the truth about your new behavior. He had to know. 

He almost wished he hadn’t. 

When Azriel winnowed into his shared home with you, the scent of other males filled his nose. If it had been Cassian or Rhys, he would have paid it no mind. But he didn’t recognize these scents. Who had you invited into his home? 

A worse thought crept into his mind—had this been why you were so eager for him to leave? 

You grinned as a shadow alerted you to Azriel’s return home. It had been so hard to keep away from your mate, but you knew that if you allowed yourself near him, you would have spoiled the surprise. And, oh, how you wanted to surprise him. 

It wasn’t easy to keep things from the spymaster. Between his shadows and his observational skills, he had near perfect accuracy when it came to figuring out your surprises. And yet, he didn’t make any guesses or reveal that he knew what your secret plan was this entire time. It almost had you confessing. But then Azriel told you he was being sent away for a month on a mission, and you knew you could hold out until the end. 

You couldn’t keep the secret totally to yourself, of course. You told Rhys and Feyre, who helped you find a reputable group of workers to build the addition onto your home. And you told Nesta and Cassian, who caught you leaving the store with a bundle of bags. Mor guessed on her own. Amren was the one who figured it out before even you knew. Everyone agreed to keep the secret amongst themselves, on the condition that you invite them over for dinner after you finally reveal your secret to your mate. 

And the day had finally come! The workers had just finished the addition a few days before, their timing nearly perfect. 

When you felt the shadows creep up your ankles, wrapping themselves around you, you knew Azriel was home. You jumped up from your seat on the couch and ran to greet him where he stood in the dining room. 

A wide smile stretched across your face as you said, “Welcome home!”

But when you threw your arms around his neck, he didn’t move. You took a step back, watching as he glanced around your home, his nose wrinkling.

“Did the mission go alright?” you tried. 

Still, Azriel didn’t say anything. Worry began to settle in the pit of your stomach. It must have been truly awful for him to be so quiet now. While Azriel usually kept some of the more gory details to himself, he did like to talk to you about his missions. He said it helped him process the things he did. Did you need to go give Rhys a piece of your mind? 

“Az, is everything okay?”

Finally, his eyes snapped to yours. “I don’t know,” he said, his head tilting, looking at you almost like how a predator looks at its prey. “Would you be okay if you found out your mate was unfaithful?”

Your heart dropped. How could he think that? “What?”

Azriel rolled his eyes and gestured widely to the room. “You think I can’t smell the other males who have been here? Do you think I’m stupid?”

Oh. Oh no. You had glamoured your own scent, so that you might keep this all a surprise. But you didn’t think to glamour the scent of the workers. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly well that I have a whore of a mate,” he hissed. 

You reached for him. How could this go so wrong? Why wasn’t he listening to you? “Azriel, please—”

He pushed you away so hard you stumbled, your back hitting the kitchen table. His eyes flashed—with what, you weren’t sure. Certainly not regret, though. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Just listen to me, please—”

“I don’t want to listen to any of the lies you spew,” he snapped. He turned to leave. “When I come back, I expect you to be gone.”

“Azriel!”

But before you could say anymore, he was already gone.

It took everything in you to not sink to your knees and cry. Why would Azriel so easily believe you would be unfaithful to him? Why wouldn’t he let you explain? Did he truly think so little of you? You wiped your face with the back of your hand, surprised by how many tears had already fallen. 

How could Azriel look at the face of his crying mate and not even attempt to hear you out? 

You took a shuddering breath, glancing down at the one shadow that remained with you. Bile rose up in your throat. He wouldn’t listen to you, but he would leave a shadow? To what, make sure you actually left? 

Fine.

Fine, you’ll leave, if that’s what he wishes. You didn’t want to stay a minute longer with a male who thinks so lowly of his mate.  

Azriel stayed gone for a week. He retreated to Rhysand’s cabin, knowing that you wouldn’t—you couldn’t—follow him there. Unlike your brothers, you were unable to winnow. Try as you might, the skill never came for you. It had once pained him, knowing how you had to flee the Autumn Court on foot so that you could be with him. Now, though, Azriel was grateful to be able to put distance between you and him. 

The only contact Azriel had that entire week was to send a letter to Rhys, providing the details of the mission and stating that he would be away for a while. Rhys only responded to tell him to enjoy his time away. Azriel wished he could. But there was nothing enjoyable about learning of a mate’s infidelity. 

Finally, though, the limited food supply at the cabin ran low enough to justify Azriel returning to his family. He went to the River House, hoping to talk to Rhys about what had transpired. What he hadn’t expected was to be greeted with celebration. 

“Congratulations!” Feyre said when she saw him, pulling Azriel into a one-armed hug as she held Nyx on her hip.

Rhys’s lips pulled into a smirk as he approached him. “Where is that mate of yours? I believe she promised us a dinner.” 

Azriel’s heart clenched at the mention of you. As angry as he was to learn you had been unfaithful, it had broke his heart to know that he couldn't be with you again. He would never be able to trust you again. Azriel already spent his days torturing the scum of Prythian. He didn’t need to have a scourge of a mate, too. “Dinner’s cancelled for the foreseeable future,” Azriel said. 

Rhys waved him off. “Understandable. If she’s anything like Feyre was, she must constantly be sick. Whenever she’s ready, though, we would love to have dinner with her.”

Why was Rhysand so focused on dinner? A bitter part of him wondered if his brother was one of the people you took to bed. Would you do that to him, to Feyre? 

Feyre looked Azriel up and down, sensing that there was something more than what Azriel was letting on. “Have you seen her since you’ve come back?”

“I have,” Azriel said, his tone clipped. 

“And were you…excited?” she asked. 

He rolled his eyes. “Why would I be excited to learn my mate is a—” He glanced at Nyx. Though barely a year old, he probably was cognizant enough to babble swear words spoken in front of him. “—that my mate was unfaithful?”

“What are you talking about?” Rhys asked, his brows knit together. 

“I came home to a house reeking of other males. She didn’t even try to hide—”

Feyre gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Finally. Someone understood. “You didn’t—“

Rhysand’s eyes flashed. “Azriel, don’t tell me you excused her of cheating.”

“Why shouldn’t I confront her for what she did? For who she brought into our home?”

“Azriel, that female loves you. She risked her life to come to Velaris. Do you really think that she would throw that all away?” Rhys snarled. “Tell me she’s still at the house.”

“When I left a week ago, I told her to be gone. I imagine she isn’t there anymore.” Azriel frowned. “And I know, it doesn’t seem like something she would do, but the males’ scents were everywhere—”

Azriel’s head snapped to the side. He raised his hand to his face, touching his stinging skin. He looked at Feyre, his eyes widening. Did she really just hit him? Now? “You idiot!” she snapped. “Your home smelled like other males because she hired workers to build an addition while you were gone.”

“What?” Why would you do that? You had always loved the small cottage. You had once told him that the only reason you might ever choose to leave would be to grow your family. 

“She was having a nursery built,” Rhys snapped. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

It was days before you reached Autumn’s borders, and days still before you came into contact with other fae. The female fae, who found you collapsed on her family’s farm, took pity on you. Ordinarily, you would have shuddered at the mere idea of being pitied by anyone. But you were so exhausted. You weren’t sure if you could make it any further on your own. So when she ordered her husband to winnow you to the Forest House, you leaned against him and let him take you away. At the Forest House, you were passed to the arms of a sentry to one of Eris’s guards until your brother was carrying you into your old room, yelling for a healer. 

Save for trips to the bathroom and when your mother dragged you out to family dinners, you scarcely left your bed. The healer would check on you daily to ensure that you were still healthy enough to carry your child and that the child was still doing well—that the stress wasn’t killing it. You were sure the stress was killing you. Aside from her, though, you didn’t speak to anyone. You couldn’t find the energy, not even when Eris was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of what happened. 

“Did something happen with Azriel?” he asked, reaching out to pet your hair. It had been something he often did when you were younger whenever you were upset. 

You squeezed your eyes shut and rolled over, turning your back to Eris. It was the first time anyone had said his name. Whenever the healer would come, she would make remarks about “the father”. But she never said his name. As for your mother and brothers, they mostly kept to themselves. Whether it was to give you time to heal or out of fear of you breaking down, you weren’t sure. 

“Did he hurt you?” Eris asked.

“Not like Father did,” you whispered. It hurt to speak. Your vocal cords strained. You swallowed, trying to alleviate the pain. It didn’t help.

 His hand paused at your answer. When he spoke again, his voice was tight, like it pained him to think your mate could hurt you. “What did the bastard do?” 

Part of you wanted to say nothing. Reliving that pain was too much, and you doubted it would be good for the baby. But now that you had spoken, you doubted that Eris would let you continue your vow of silence. “He accused me of infidelity.”

You glanced over your shoulder, watching as Eris’s eyes turned to slits. You rolled back over and reached for his hand. It was warm, like his fire was just below the surface. “And you let him live after such an accusation?”

“He wouldn’t listen. Was so sure of it that it didn’t matter what I said.” Your eyes welled up with tears. Though you were no stranger to crying in front of your brother, you prayed you wouldn’t do it now. It felt too pathetic—crying over a male. “I had an addition built to the cottage. He smelt the workers’ scents and thought the worst.” 

Eris opened his mouth. You braced yourself for the fire that was about to spew from his mouth. A knock on the door, however, stopped him in his tracks. Both of you looked over as your mother stepped into the room, a piece of paper pinched between her fingers. Eris rose to his feet, then closed the distance between them. “What is it?”

“It’s a letter from the Night Court. The High Lord is inquiring about her whereabouts.”

You glanced down at the shadow, still twisted around your wrist. Huh. Maybe Azriel didn’t leave the shadow behind to monitor you. Otherwise, there would be no need to look for you. The shadow could easily slither back to its master, whisper that you were hiding in the Forest House. A smile tugged at your lips. Even if this killed you, it did bring you some modicum of joy to know the shadows were turning their back on Azriel. 

Your mother and Eris looked to you for any sign of how to respond. Letting out a breath, you pushed yourself up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You tightened the robe around your waist as you strode over to them. “Tell them that I am safe,” you said, “and that any further correspondence is unnecessary and unwanted.”

Then, you walked past them to your wardrobe, plucked a dress and retreated to the bathroom. You were done wallowing in self-pity. If your mate didn’t want you anymore, that was fine. You could learn to live with this. But you won’t allow yourself to become a husk. Not when you had a babe you would need to care for. 

As you shut the door, you heard Eris say, “Tell the High Lord that if the shadowsinger dares to sniff around our borders, I will have his wings mounted to my wall.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

PART TWO

As the only daughter of Autumn, your relationship with your brothers was quite different than their relationships with each other. You were no threat to the throne. A female could never be High Lord. Yet, that did not let you free from Beron’s iron tight grip on his family and their perception by Prythian. The only thing a female was good for was marrying well and producing children. If you ever proved yourself to be an embarrassment to the Vanserra family, you learned the limitless bounds of the former High Lord’s wrath. Your brothers would be there to help mend you, offering comfort in the best ways they could. It wasn’t much, but it meant a lot to you. 

It damn near broke your heart when you realized you had to leave them behind to be with your mate. Beron would never—ever—allow you to be mated to an Illyrian brute. Knowing that your brothers would only be hurt if you told them, you decided that Eris was the best option in confiding your plan to run. Together, you left a note saying that you were leaving to be with your mate and he helped you cross Autumn’s border. You prayed to the Mother that Beron was not too cruel to him, or your other brothers, when he discovered your disappearance. You knew you would likely not see them again, and you hoped they might forgive you for that. Then everything Under the Mountain happened—you were trapped in Velaris for fifty years, all too aware that you would never find out if they did. 

That was the one blessing, you supposed, of returning to the Autumn Court all these decades later. With Beron gone and Eris as High Lord, it was easy to fall back in with your family. Though Eris was ready to march down to the Night Court and burn Azriel where he stood, and your other brothers were ready to follow, things calmed down in the end. The rage still simmered, hovering just below the surface. All it would take was one wrong move by the Night Court and any alliances Eris had previously forged would go up in smoke.

Despite your request for no further correspondence, the Night Court continued to periodically reach out to you. Mostly Feyre because she had been your friend, but occasionally Rhys who would inquire about the status of your pregnancy. Though he never said it outright, you knew it was to find out if your babe had wings. His motives, you were unsure. Was it out of concern for your wellbeing? You recalled how panicked he had been during Feyre’s pregnancy. Perhaps he was worried about you for your sake. A larger part of you thought it was out of concern for his brother. That if your babe had wings, then it would mean you would surely die. And if you were to die, could you find it in your heart to let your mate be by your side one last time? Your skin itched at the thought of Azriel anywhere near your babe. 

Truthfully, you didn’t know. Whenever your healer, a kind elderly fae named Brigid, would ask if you wanted to know, you would always decline. You didn’t want to experience your pregnancy knowing there was an expiration date. You wanted to live it, to enjoy it. Because Nesta could not bargain with the Cauldron any longer. Not even her, in all her power, could save you. You would rather spend your final days healing from Azriel’s betrayal and preparing for the birth of your child than worry about the inevitable. 

Besides, you were worried that the loyal shadow wound up wrist would run to Azriel at the first sign of harm to you. 

Eris was not fond of that choice. He was certain that he could find a way to save your life should it come down to it. You were less convinced. But he was a prideful male, and you had learned long ago to not get in the way of a male’s ego. If he wanted to be delusional, so be it. That didn’t mean you had to feed into those delusions. 

Today, however, was a day of celebration. The Fall Equinox had come and so the Forest House was alive with fae from across the courts. The Night Court wasn’t present—hadn’t even been extended an invitation, if Eris was to be believed. You admired his loyalty to you, but you knew the Night Court was not an enemy to be made. To be their ally was to be protected. In a land still wrought from the effects of Amarantha and the King of Hybern, it would be too costly to be making enemies of a court so powerful. 

You ignored those concerns today, trying to focus on the festivities. It was hard to enjoy them. You were at the end of your pregnancy. Brigid had warned against your attendance, arguing that you needed to rest. But you were stubborn like your brothers. If you wanted one more night of revelry, you should have it. 

That was, ultimately, your downfall. 

You were dancing with one of your brothers, Crispin. Or, at the very least, dancing the best you could. You were sure it looked pathetic—a far cry from the elegance Beron beat into you. You were having too much fun to care. So much fun, you almost missed the pain shooting through. 

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips. Crispin froze, extending his arms out to help steady you. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you need to sit?”

“The babe—there’s something wrong with the babe,” you manage, keeling over from the pain.

“Give me one godsdamned reason not to gut you where you stand.”

Azriel barely glanced up at the male in his house. It was only a matter of time, he mused, before one of your brothers came for him. For some reason, Lucien hadn’t been particularly high on the list he made, ranking the likelihood of each brother to come breaking down the door. Mostly because Lucien spent most of his time in the mortal lands, far away from news of what Azriel had done. But, eventually, all word gets out. 

“Because I deserve a more painful death than gutting me would provide.”

Lucien’s hand wound itself in Azriel’s hair, yanking it back. A blade pressed against his throat. “Damned right you do. She was always too fucking good for you.”

“I know.”

“Do you know how many males would kill for a mate as kind as her? Do you know how many males begged Beron for her hand? You are lucky she ever spared you the time of day,” Lucien hissed. 

Again, Azriel said, “I know.”

And he did. Mother above, he did. Every day of the last nine months, Azriel had been kicking himself for treating you the way he did. How had he misread all of the signs? Why did he let his anxieties, his worries of not being good enough for you, cloud his judgment? Azriel found himself wishing he could turn back time, stop himself from ruining the best thing he ever had. 

Now, he was left in the dark. His friends scarcely spoke to him. Ever since Feyre and Rhys learned of his accusations, word spread among the Inner Circle. Cassian looked at him like he didn’t even know his brother. Mor sneered the first time she saw him. Amren hadn’t said a word to him. And Nesta…He was sure she was going to rip his wings off and throw him off the House of Wind. Even Elain looked at him as if he were a monster. Sometimes, though, Feyre would fill him in on the few replies you sent to her letters. And if he asked pathetically enough, Rhys would send you inquiries about your wellbeing. Those never got a reply. 

Azriel almost wished he had a mission to go on to distract himself. To able to take his pain out on another helpless soul. But Rhys had barred him from his work. A punishment for his actions, Azriel was sure. Rhysand would never call it that. Always said something about giving Azriel time to reflect. But Azriel was tired of reflecting. Reflection wouldn’t undo what he did. Reflection wouldn’t bring you back. 

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a male,” Lucien spat. “Hybern should have killed you. It would have spared the rest of us from your waste of a life.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It would have killed you, he was sure, if he had died. But at least you would know he loved you. At least you wouldn’t be aching because your mate proved he didn’t trust you. You wouldn’t have your babe, but at least you could be assured that Azriel would never accuse you of infidelity. 

“Have you seen her?” Azriel croaked. 

Lucien released his hold on Azriel’s hair. He fell forward, but didn’t turn to face the male. He could hear Lucien’s snarl as he said, “Color me surprised when I return from the mortal lands to learn from Elain that you cast my sister aside, made her leave her home, because you refused to listen to her. You’re lucky that Eris answered my letter with haste, explaining she was safe in Autumn. Consider yourself even luckier that the High Lord made me wait to come here before I got that answer. Do you have any idea how far she had to travel on foot? You made a pregnant female—your mate—travel through Winter alone.”

Azriel held back his sob. 

“A farmer had to be the one to bring her to Forest House. She would have died if not for his kindness.” Lucien’s hand curled around Azriel’s throat, his nails digging in. “Their blood would have been on your hands if they did.”

“I-I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t—”

Hurt,a shadow whispered. Azriel’s head snapped up. He wrenched himself out of Lucien’s death grip, searching for the shadow he hadn’t seen in months. Most of the others had stuck around, hissing their disapproval in his ear. But he knew one had gone missing, prayed to the Mother that it was making sure you were safe when he couldn’t. Come quick.

“What?” Azriel breathed out. No. No. It couldn’t mean you. You were safe, in Autumn. You were under your brothers’ protection. No harm should ever befall you there. None…Unless—

She’s hurt. The babe is stuck. Come—quick.

Azriel jumped out of his seat, moving faster than he had in months. This couldn’t be. The babe didn’t have wings. Surely, if the babe had wings, you would have told Rhysand. You would have told someone. Unless, you didn’t know. He had to get to you. He had to see you. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“She’s gone into labor,” he managed. The room felt like it was spinning. Was he about to lose you forever? No. No, he couldn’t handle that. He could handle you alive, hating him forever. But to lose you like this…For you to not know how deeply sorry he was, he couldn’t live with that. He would sooner follow you in death than live in a world without you. “The babe has wings.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “They’ll kill you if you go. They’ll make me look like mercy.”

“I-I need to get Madja. She has experience with this. I need to give her a shot.” Azriel sniffed, praying the tears wouldn’t fall. Not now. “Even if she never lets me see the babe, I need to do everything in my power to give them a chance to live.”

Azriel half-expected Lucien to drive his dagger into his heart. Instead, his lip curled. “Go. Before I change my mind. I’ll warn my brothers of your arrival. They will welcome Madja’s help. But whatever they decide to do with you, I will not interfere.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you.”

“I know. But…thank you.”

Your screams do not sound like your own. It sounded like, felt like, it was coming from someone else. Nothing about this, truthfully, felt like it was happening to you. You were vaguely aware of your mother on your right side, Eris on your left. Brigid was between your legs, trying to help the babe into a proper birthing position. Somewhere beyond the closed, oak door you could hear your brothers Crispin and Heath shouting at someone. Oh, you hoped they were terrorizing the servants. 

“You’re alright, my love,” your mother was saying as she stroked your hair, “you’re doing so well.”

Your scream was your only response. Fuck. You had never experienced pain quite like this before. Not even Beron’s flames compared to this. It was a miracle you hadn’t passed out yet. Though, the thought of shutting your eyes and closing out the rest of the world was quite tempting. No. You needed to stay strong. If not for yourself, then for your babe. You had to give her a fighting chance. 

Her. You were so certain your babe was a female. Brigid had never told you, because you had never asked. If you had known, the gender or the status of wings, you would want to tell Azriel. It would be the one thing, you were certain, that would break your resolve. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted the shadowsinger back into your life, but…Well, he had always want a babe that looked just like you. A little princess to dote on. To show how to fly. 

Another scream ripped through you. It felt like your soul was being torn out. Like sharp talons raked down your body, gripping at your essence, ready to take you back to the Mother. You wouldn’t go back. Not until your babe was born. After that…If the Mother wanted you, she could take you. Your babe would be in safe hands with your family. 

Desperately, you tried to search out for the shadow that not left your side in nine months. It had become a source of comfort. Its cold nature soothed the flames of Autumn burning inside of you. It reminded you of home. But when your eyes flicked to your wrist, then down your arm, it was gone. How long had it been gone? Why did it abandon you when you finally needed it? Where did it—

Something slammed against the oaken door. 

Eris’s head snapped up to glare at the wood. “What in the Cauldron is happening out there?” he hissed. 

“Go, check,” your mother said. “We need to keep this room as calm as possible. If your brothers are picking fights out there, then they’ll only make it worse. She cannot afford any unwarranted stress.”

Eris gave a tight nod and stepped away from your side. He didn’t even make it halfway across the room before the door slammed open, the wood splintering. A body hit the floor. Your vision was too blurred to make out who, or the person who stepped over him, approaching your bed. That is, until she was close enough for you to recognize the all-too-familiar face. 

“Madja?” you managed. “How—”

“He brought me here,” she said, stepping in between your legs. Brigid made room for you, taking the opportunity to move away to grab some fresh towels. Madja tutted at the sight of you, then got to work. 

“I don’t want him here!” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. 

You barely caught Madja glancing over to the fallen figure. In the haze, you finally recognized the wings. Azriel. He was here. Your breath caught. That was why the shadow had left you. It had gone to find him. Was it out of loyalty to its master? Or was it out of concern for you? A little shadow escaped from Azriel, speeding back to you. The cold thing stroked your face, as if to comfort you, to apologize for leaving you alone. 

Azriel’s head lifted. You were grateful you couldn’t see the hurt in his eyes. Crispin and Heath each grabbed an arm, dragging your mate back up to his feet. Though you all knew he could easily fight them off, he didn’t make a single move. Purple was already beginning to blossom on his exposed bits of skin. Had that been why you heard your brother’s shouting? 

Too pained to stand the look of him, you focused back on Madja. “Better or worse than Feyre?” Your voice was tight. It took every bit of your energy to not roar in pain. 

“The babe is starting to come out, but her wings are stuck,” she said. “We’ll have to break bones to get her out.”

“Mine or hers?” you nearly cried. 

“Both.” Madja glanced up at you. She masked her sorrow well, but you saw through it. You knew the next thing she was going to say, and you knew your answer, too. “I don’t know that I can save you both.”

“Her. Save her.”

“NO!” Azriel shouted. 

You barely processed Eris’s body slamming into Azriel. He let out a low groan at the contact. If you weren’t already in so much pain, you would have been able to feel how much that hurt through the bond. You wondered how much Azriel could feel. For the last nine months, you had kept your end closed. But after going into labor, it took too much effort to push him away. 

“You are the last godsdamned person who gets to make decisions about her,” Eris hissed. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you in the fucking dungeon—”

“I already gave him the whole speech, brother.”

Lucien? How did he get here? How did he know? 

Azriel ignored your brothers. To Madja, he pleaded, “Give her a chance—both of them a chance.”

Eris’s fist landed square on Azriel’s jaw. “Don’t even look in her fucking direction.”

“All of you, out!” your mother shouted. The males all froze in place. “What did I say about removing unnecessary stress? Eris, take him to the library and let him stay there until this is over. The rest of you, make yourselves useful.”

Your attention turned back to Madja, ignoring the sulking males, as her cold hand touched your knee. “We have to make a decision, dear.”

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Azriel stiffened. He wouldn’t be pleased with you, you were sure. And perhaps it was cruel to subject him to the cold pain of losing a mate. But that was mercy compared to what he did to you. 

To Madja, you said, “Do what you must.”

Azriel stared at the oak doors of the library. Eris and Lucien had been left at his guards while Crispin and Heath disappeared to gather more supplies for Madja and Brigid. He paid them and their snarls no mind. Nothing could distract him from your wails of pain echoing through Forest House. Every inch of him, every fiber of his being, called for him to go to you. To be by your side. It was only your words that kept him still. 

“I don’t want him here!”

Five words was all it took for you to rip Azriel’s heart out. How you did it so succinctly, struck him right to the core, when it took an illogical rant from him to break yours was a mystery to him. Worse yet, Azriel wasn’t sure you were even aware of what you were saying. You looked like you were barely processing Madja’s appearance. Did you truly want him gone? 

Visions of your near-lifeless eyes looking at him flashed through his mind. He was going to lose you today. Was it a kinder fate for you to die than live in a world with him? Would things be different if he hadn’t fucked things up so spectacularly? Azriel imagined you in your shared home, your family—the Inner Circle—surrounding you. Love for you would be in the air, not contempt for him. Would that have been enough to save you? 

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Your family—the Vanserras—loved you, too. Perhaps more than the Inner Circle. While his family was content to ignore his existence, yours was willing to strike him down where he stood for even deigning to show his face in Autumn. He was sure Crispin and Heath would have actually killed him if they hadn’t drove his body through the door first.

Azriel flinched as another scream ripped down the halls. 

“Don’t act like this is painful to you,” Eris snarled. 

Azriel managed to lift a glare to him. “I can feel everything she does. If she is hurting, so am I.”

“That mattered little to you when you accused her of being a whore,” Lucien said. 

“And I will regret to the day I die. I will spend the rest of my days atoning for what I did.” Azriel lifted his chin. “But would killing me save her?”

Eris stepped closer to him. “Don’t even pretend to care about her. Where have you been these last nine months? Where were you when her morning sickness left her unable to leave the bed for days, unable to keep anything down? When she would go to Brigid for updates on the babe? When she couldn’t even pick out things for a nursery because the perfect one was left behind in the Night Court?”

He jerked like he had been slapped. Sometimes, he could still feel the sting of Feyre hitting him. Until today, she had been the only one brave enough to hurt him for what he did. Azriel would take every beating, though, if it meant you would live. 

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, but fell short. Silence rung through Forest House. Your screams—they had stopped. The cries of a babe did not fill their place. He tugged desperately at the bond, hoping to feel your pull. Nothing. There was nothing. 

No.

No, he couldn’t lose you. 

No. 

Against his better judgment, Azriel fled from the library. He raced down the hall, the eldest and youngest Vanserra hot on his heels. He needed to see you. He needed to know that you still lived. Perhaps you were asleep. Birth was exhausting. Azriel remembered Feyre slept for hours after having Nyx. Perhaps you were doing the same. But then why wasn’t the babe crying? 

The door was ajar when he reached it. It took little effort to push it open, to open himself to the scene on the other side. On the far side of the room, Madja and Brigid had the babe. A beautiful little girl. His beautiful little girl. Azriel’s eyes flicked back to you. Your mother was covering your body with a blanket. Were you truly sleeping? No, you were too still, even by fae standards. Your chest didn’t rise. Your eyelids didn’t flutter.

Azriel’s gaze fell to your limp hand hanging from the edge of the bed. He sank to his knees, reaching for it. He half-expected Eris or Lucien to rip him away, to throw back back over the border. But no one touched him. 

“Let him mourn,” he heard your mother say. 

“He doesn’t deserve it.” Whether that was Eris or Lucien, he wasn’t sure. 

“It matters little what he deserves now.”

You couldn’t be gone. You couldn’t be. Somewhere beyond, a faint cry rang through the room. A weight lifted off his chest. At least the babe survived. At least Madja managed that. But…None of that mattered if you weren’t here, too. None of it mattered if you couldn’t hold her. 

A hand touched his shoulder. He lifted his head to stare up at your mother. “Her name is Bronwyn.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“We’re going to take her to a wet nurse. But…you may stay for as long as you like. Ignore my sons. They are in pain, too.”

“Thank you,” he said again. 

Silence filled the room again. Azriel was certain he was alone again, until he heard padding of footsteps along the wooden floor. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Madja. 

“She could still live. It is not…It is not the worst birth I have seen. I have seen weaker women pull through from more horrible circumstances.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“We believe, when people are in this state of limbo, they can still our world. Talk to her. You might be able to pull her back.”

“She wouldn’t come back for me.”

“Then why did she nearly tell her mother to come get you?” Madja patted his shoulder. “Food for thought. Do as you wish, Spymaster. I will be back to check on her later.”

Azriel did not move for three days and three nights. Despite what Madja had said, he couldn’t find any words to share with you. Everything felt wrong. What was he supposed to say? Apologies would scarcely suffice. Should he beg? It was tempting, but he wasn’t sure his pathetic snifflings would return you, either. 

Every so often, your mother would come in, Bronwyn in her arms. She would lay the babe on your chest and coo about how much she was growing already. Lucien would come in to tell you about what he had been doing in the mortal lands. Eris was rant about the politics of being a newly minted High Lord. Heath would talk about the latest book he had read. Crispin came once—sobbed about how he should have realized what was happening, should have gotten you help sooner. 

Everyone else had something to say. Something more moving, more earth-shattering, than whatever grovel he would wretch up. 

But on the fourth morning, as the morning sunlight began to stream onto you, he lifted himself from his knees. There was just enough space beside you that he could curl up to. It cramped his wings, but he was willing to ignore the pain. 

“I should have cherished you,” he whispered. His throat was tight. “I should have trusted you. I do, trust you I mean. Before you, I never knew unconditional love. Even through the last few centuries together, it still boggled my mind that you could look at me and find something worth loving. When I came home that day, I was so scared that you had finally found something better. It will never excuse what I did.”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Come back, my wildfire. Not for me. I could spend the rest of my life making up for that mistake, but it would never be enough to warrant your forgiveness. But your family…They shouldn’t be hurt because of what I did. Come back for them. Come back for Bronwyn. Come back, and you will never have to see me again unless you so wish it. Just…live.”

Azriel’s eyes squeezed shut. He felt wetness drip down his face, onto your soft skin where his face was pressed. “Please, live.”

Your eyes opened. 

When you were younger, you always thought that finding your mate would be the happiest day of your life. Your parents were the happiest people you had ever seen, and you thought your mate would make you feel that same level of joy. Why wouldn’t he? You didn’t know of the hardships of having a mate that wasn’t well-matched to you. Of a mate who did not adore you the way you adored him. Once, you thought Azriel thought the same way you did. That finding his mate would be a sort of heavenly high. Once, you dreamed that you and Azriel would be mates—because who would be better together than two lovesick fools? 

And yet, as you felt that golden bond tug deep in the center of your chest, all you felt was the overwhelming sense of dread. Because you had just seen your mate kiss another female. A female that was mated to someone else. You watched as Rhysand pulled him away, no doubt to talk to Azriel about the colossal mistake he was making. You caught Elain’s eye as she turned to leave. She said your name softly. 

“Follow your heart,” you said as your own was breaking. “Don’t let anyone tell you what you feel is wrong. You are the only one who knows what is right for you.”

Elain stared at you as if she could see right through you. Maybe she could. She was a Seer—who knew the limits of her power. Her voice was as gentle as a hug, “You should, too.”

It would have been kinder, would have hurt less, if she had strangled you. Fought you for Azriel’s affections, even if she would always win in the end. “Be well, Elain.”

“Be well.”

After you left that night, you didn’t see your friends for a long while. It was better that way, you supposed. You only became friends with the Inner Circle after befriending Azriel. He had come into the café you once worked at for some peace and quiet. It had been late, so you and him were the only ones there. Though he sought solitude, you ended up chatting his ear off. He didn’t seem to mind. Azriel came every night for months, save for the days he was gone away on missions. Eventually, his brothers got curious about what Azriel was doing with his nights and followed him. And, well, the rest was history. 

Nowadays, you were a researcher for Rhys. Ever since Feyre became fae, ever since Elain and Nesta were made, ever since Nesta was showing how deep her powers ran, that meant you spent most of your time holed up in a library, nose shoved in a book. No one ever questioned why you were gone. It made it all so simple to slip away. 

If only you noticed the inky tendrils of Azriel’s shadows lurking in the corners of your apartment. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been surprised by the Shadowsinger’s sudden arrival. 

“You’re leaving without a goodbye?”

You jumped at the sound of the deep voice echoing in your near-empty bedroom. When you turned, his hazel eyes were narrowed suspiciously at you. “I thought it would be easier that way.”

Azriel lifted his chin, glared down his nose at you. You noted the way his fingers twitched into fists, as though he was barely constraining his anger. His hurt. “How could you ever think that?”

“Because I cannot watch my mate love another female.”

He didn’t react. Not for a long time. Long enough for you to carefully place your clothes in your suitcase, to go to your wardrobe for another load and fold them up. Before you could place them, too, in the suitcase, his hand caught your wrist. His eyes looked pained when you looked up at him. 

“I wish you told me,” he said. “How long have you known?”

Not, I would rather be with my mate. Not, to hell with Elain. Not, I want to try. 

“Since you kissed Elain at Solstice. So, a few weeks.”

Azriel gave a tight nod, looked anywhere but at you. His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to resume packing. He didn’t stop you again.

“That…was probably for the best.”

And somehow, that hurt more than seeing him kiss Elain in the first place. Azriel wasn’t going to fight for you. For how many years had he longed to meet his mate? How many stories had he told you of how he would spoil his mate rotten, never let her know a day where he didn’t love her? Was there something wrong with you? Azriel didn’t want you as a mate. Certainly that meant something was wrong with you. 

You shook off a shadow that was trying to wind itself up in your hair. 

“Where are you going to go?”

“I think it’s for the best you don’t know.” Maybe it was petty, maybe it was justified. You hoped it hurt Azriel regardless. 

He nodded again. “Right. Plausible deniability when everyone else is wondering where you’ve gone. That’s smart.”

You weren’t sure they’d notice, but you nodded anyways. You crossed the room to your chest of drawers and got your underwear. Once, you might have blushed at the idea of your mate seeing your lacy unmentionables. Now, you kind of wanted to throw them in Azriel’s face and taunt him over what he was losing. 

“You…didn’t want this either, did you?” he asked. If you shut your eyes and pretended hard enough, you might have heard hurt in his voice. Pleading. Hope that maybe you would tell him otherwise. But when you looked at him, you only saw the same cold apathy he came into the room with.

You sucked your tongue over your teeth. “Why do you think I didn’t say anything?” you lied. “I didn’t want to burden you with this decision.” 

Another shadow tried to wrap itself around you. Despite your best efforts to shake it off, this one was more stubborn. Why wasn’t Azriel keeping a tighter reign on them? You paused. Why were they even here in the first place? The shadows had to have been the reason he came. But why?

“Why are you here, Az?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Fight for me, you begged. You tugged on the bond, hoping that he might feel something. If he did, he gave no indication. “My shadows made me believe you were in trouble.”

“Well, I’m not. So, you can feel free to leave.”

His mouth opened, then shut. He nodded. “Be well,” he said. 

You didn’t say it back. 

Lucien watched as you basked in the glow of the Day Court’s sun. When he had last seen you in the Night Court, you had often slunk in the shadows with the Court’s Spymaster. You almost seemed like a different female. As though you were finally shining. He found himself hoping you always shined.

The two of you had grown close. Lucien had never expected the two of you to become anything remotely resembling friends. You were kind to him in the Night Court, of course. But you once had been glued to Azriel’s side. Hiding in the shadows, never allowing anyone too close. Now, it was by Lucien’s side that you stayed. It was him who you smiled at, who you told your jokes to, who you would drag to the library so you would have company while you worked. Lucien Vanserra had become your closest confidant, and he wore that title with pride. He would not forsake you as Azriel had done. 

Months ago, when Lucien arrived here, he had been surprised to see you hiding in the palace. It had been his understanding that you so rarely strayed from the Spymaster’s side. At first, Lucien thought you had been sent to Day for research. With its ten thousand libraries, there was little you couldn’t find. Yet, the longer he stayed to reconnect with his apparent father, the stranger it was that you remained.

“This is her home now,” Helion explained when Lucien asked at dinner one evening. One of the frequent evenings where you were buried away in the library and had forgotten to come eat.

“Night is her home.” It had been for as long as he knew you. 

Helion raised a brow. “Not any longer.”

Lucien’s heart clenched. Had something terrible happened? Did you have a falling out with Rhysand’s Inner Circle? He asked Helion as much.

“Her mate sought the love of another,” he said gently. Helion looked over at your empty chair across from Lucien. “Perhaps you should bring her down a tray. Your lonely hearts might enjoy each other’s company.”

Lucien wanted to laugh in his father’s face. You had never so much as looked at Lucien as anything more than an acquaintance. You were kinder than the rest of the Inner Circle, of course. You knew he had been Feyre’s friend, and you felt like he should be treated nicer than the rest of the Night Court did. No one ever followed your suit. He was Spring Court’s scourge. For all they knew, he would run to Tamlin at the first opportunity. You never made him feel like you distrusted him. In another life, maybe he would have fallen for you then. But Lucien remembered how you always gazed longingly at Azriel. How the last time he saw you, you looked like a shell of yourself as he and Elain inched closer and closer together during Solstice. If Azriel had been your mate, the mate who won Lucien’s own mate’s heart, then perhaps Helion was right. 

That evening, as Lucien sat in the library with you, watching you eat and laugh at the stories he had gathered from his time with Vassa and Jurian, he vowed to never let you become that shell again. 

Which was why he dreaded telling you that Rhysand had asked for permission to use Day’s libraries and the Inner Circle would be joining him. 

So he didn’t. 

“Come to Winter with me,” Lucien said as he stood above you, extending a hand for you to take. 

You smiled as you slipped your hand into his. As you rose to your feet, Lucien helped to steady you, a sturdy arm wrapping around your waist. He liked the way your soft body felt pressed against his chest. He liked how you made no effort to pull away from him even more. “Why are we going to Winter?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” Lucien asked. “Jurian told me of how humans would build men out of the snow.”

Your eyes twinkled as you looked up at him. For a second, he was sure you would buy it. Not question a thing. But then your smile faltered. “They’re coming here, aren’t they?”

“I want to build a snowman with you. A whole snowfamily, if you’ll let me.”

“Since I left, Rhysand has been down a researcher. He and Helion are still allies, so he asked if he could come here to talk with the librarians. He’s bringing everyone with him, isn’t he?”

Lucien lifted your hand to his mouth, brushed his lips over your knuckles. “Come to Winter with me,” he repeated. 

“Is Elain coming, too?”

“I don’t care if she is.” Oddly enough, he meant it. When Lucien came to the Night Court, he tried to be there for Elain. At every turn, she pushed him away. He didn’t blame her, of course. This transition was not easy on its own, never mind adding a mating bond to the mix. Eventually,  the desire to be around her dulled. Lucien didn’t want a mate who didn’t want him, so he put distance between them. He was grateful he did. Otherwise Lucien would never get to feel you in his arms. “I’ve moved on, but I know the ache is still fresh for you. Come to Winter with me, and let us pretend the Cauldron made us mates instead.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up again. You pulled his hand toward your mouth, kissed his knuckles. Lucien’s heart fluttered in his chest. “When do we leave?”

The wails of his shadows had not ceased since you left the Night Court. Though Elain had bought him refill after refill of that headache powder in an attempt to relieve the pounding in his head at their constant somber songs, it had done little to alleviate his pain. Not the ache in his head, nor the ache in his heart. Azriel once thought he was grateful that you had decided to reject the bond. As wonderful as you were a friend, he had been so sure his heart laid with Elain. That there was something more powerful, more beautiful, about choosing to love another when fate demanded otherwise. Now, he only wondered if he should have chosen you. 

Only Feyre was the one able to figure out why Azriel had become more withdrawn than usual. Everyone chalked up your disappearance as to why he faded more into the shadows, believed that the loss of his twin flame so suddenly had left him reeling, but they didn’t understand why. But Feyre, Feyre understood. She had found him standing outside your old apartment building too long, had found him staring at the door to your room in the River House too often, had found him turning to whisper something to you only to remember you were gone too much. When he heard whispers throughout his many missions about how you lived with Helion, there were many nights where Feyre watched as Azriel stood on the edge of the balcony, ready to fly off and bring you home. Perhaps that was why she encouraged him to join her and the rest of the Inner Circle at the Day Court. She thought she was being helpful. Maybe if you saw him again, she thought, you would decide to be with your mate. 

You wouldn’t, and Azriel knew that. He had once told you he would forsake his mating bond, should it ever come, to remain with Elain. He shouldn’t be hurt that you believed him. 

And, yet, his shadows sang as they arrived in Helion’s home. Helion’s home, where you were not at. 

At first, Azriel thought you might have been hiding away. Helion would not be so cruel as to not give you a warning that your former family would be coming for a visit. But as the week wore on, Azriel realized the brief hints of your scent he caught were stale. Like you had been gone. Like you had left. 

He didn’t blame you. 

On the final night of their visit, Feyre finally broached the subject of your whereabouts at the end of a meeting. 

“She and Lucien have gone to Winter for the week,” Helion said as he led everyone out of the meeting room and into the hall. “They should be arriving soon.”

Azriel was suddenly aware of how Elain hung onto his arm, her grip tightening at the mention of her rejected mate. A good partner would have comforted her, would have reassured her that he would stand between them should Lucien dare to try anything. Azriel wasn’t a good partner, for all he could think of was why the Hel were you with Lucien?

“I hope we can catch them before we leave,” Feyre said, sparing a glance at Azriel. 

The air shifted. Down the hall, you appeared with Lucien. Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. He watched as you leaned against Lucien’s arm, beaming up at him. Had Azriel ever seen you smile like that before? What had Lucien done to deserve such a look from you? He wasn’t aware the two of you were even close. Sure, you had been friendly to him, but you were friendly with most people. Azriel struggled to wrap his mind around how so much could change in a few short months. A blip in the life of a fae, and yet he almost felt like he was staring at a stranger. 

Beside him, Helion smiled fondly at his son. “Ah, I am glad he finally made a move.”

Azriel glanced at Day’s High Lord then back to you. 

Rhys, however, took the bait. “Oh? I would have thought Lucien would still be heartbroken over Elain rejecting the bond.”

Helion’s face hardened for a moment, before he smiled at the way Lucien softly kissed the side of your head. Azriel wanted his shadows to strangle the male and he might have allowed them to, if it wasn’t for the glare Feyre was sending him. “They both were heartbroken, then they found each other.”

“I wish they would get lost,” Azriel muttered to himself.

Helion looked at him, brows pinched together. He looked as though he could see right through Azriel. Did he know? Did he know that you were Azriel’s mate? It wouldn’t have surprised him if Helion did know. You had to have provided some reason for why you fled your home. “Pardon?”

Feyre jumped in before Azriel could do something to lose one of Night’s few allies. “I believe Azriel was saying something about being hungry. Will dinner be soon?”

Helion’s face softened at Feyre. “You will have to try harder to distract me, High Lady. But your Shadowsinger may join us all for dinner in a few minutes if you can keep your leash on him.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Elain looked up at him. He did not meet her gaze. He couldn’t stop staring at you.

“He’ll behave. Won’t you, Azriel?” Feyre said. 

Still, he stared. You and Lucien came closer, but neither of you seemed to notice. Was this his punishment? To watch you so wrapped up in the love of another, just as you had done to him? He would take it all back. He would beg to the Mother for a chance to do it all over again, to finally see you. 

“Won’t you, Azriel?” Feyre repeated, a little firmer this time. 

You froze, eyes going wide as you finally, finally, saw him. Lucien tensed, taking a slight step in front of you, as though to shield you from Azriel. What harm would he cause you? You were his mate. He was supposed to protect you. 

“Are you well?” Azriel managed to ask. His voice was tight, as if his vocal cords might snap if he said anymore. Around him, his shadows began to dance. He fought hard to keep them at his side, though a few still slipped out to swirl around your feet.  

Your eyes slid up to Lucien. A soft smile curled across your face. What had happened in Winter between you and him? What had been happening while you resided in Day? You took Lucien’s hand. “I once believed love would be black and white,” you said, “but…it’s golden, like daylight.”

Azriel’s chest seized. He shook off Elain and stumble backwards. Cassian sent him an odd look, and he felt Rhys’s talons scrape down his shield.

“You’re well?” he repeated. He had to be sure. Had to know there was not a chance in Hel that he could win your favor again somehow. 

“Yes.”

“You deserve it,” he said. 

You looked at him again, your eyes softening. “So do you.”

Azriel was gone before he heard you. 

Coriolanus Snow’s rise to the throne was something you never expected to come to fruition. When you were younger, you remembered your peers talking about how Snow wanted to one day rule Panem. At the time, you thought it was just another wild dream of a child. Something a child would say when an adult asks what they wish to be when they grow up. “A pirate!” one might exclaim. Or, perhaps, “A painter!” The sort of thing that a sensible parent would shrug off and not dedicate anymore thought to. The Snow family, as it turned out, was not particularly sensible. 

When the Former King Ravinstill died without warning, the throne was left vacant. Everyone knew that the old man had little life left in him. Yet, despite his age, he had a tendency to power through. No one thought he would have lived as long as he did, but he had. So, the Electors had not yet begun considering his replacement. No one had been prepared enough to seek candidacy. No one, except Coriolanus Snow. A few other eligible persons put forth their names, but no one garnered support quite like the young man. From a prominent family, the son of a general, had served briefly himself, intelligent, and had the financial backing of the Plinth family? There was no version of history where Snow could lose. 

Within weeks of Ravinstill’s death, Snow was crowned King. 

You did not care for politics, so you knew little of his reign. But your father seemed pleased, talking often and loudly about how the young Snow would restore Panem to its former glory. You weren’t so sure of that. Though you did not interact with him often in your younger years, you remembered Snow as someone who was self-serving. Who would pretend to care if only it could further his own interests. He very well might let all of Panem burn if it meant he could gain from it. But your father was quite pleased with Snow as King and, when word began to spread that Snow would be seeking a bride this next social season, your father pushed hard for you to woo the King. 

“If you wish to serve your family well, my little dove, you will convince the King to marry you,” your father told you the moment he heard the news. 

You all but scoffed. “I hardly think I am the sort of woman he wishes to marry. A man like him would want someone meek, someone who would not challenge his authority. We hardly ever agreed on the schoolyard, and for that reason, he never considered me a friend. How could he ever see me as a wife?”

Your father’s eyes narrowed at you. “It is your responsibility, then, to make yourself small so that he may choose you.”

“I would rather die than sacrifice my ideals, Papa,” you said. “Why can I not vie for any other’s attention? I know Lord Plinth quite well. I’ve always enjoyed his company. It would be easy to win his heart and have our family set for life. Certainly easier than winning over the King.”

He sneered, “The only thing the Plinth family is good for is their money. I want to be respected. We would be little more than social pariahs if you wed the Plinth boy.”

“I shall not marry the King—”

Your mother stepped in before you could say something you might come to regret. She placed a hand on your arm, directing your attention to her. “Never mind that now. There is still time before the season begins for minds to be changed.”

“I shall not change my mind, Mama.”

She looked over at your father, who was the perfect picture of irate. She looked back to you. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. Let us go clear our minds, yes? We should go order new gowns at the modiste before everyone else floods her with demands.”

“You cannot distract me with fashion.”

“But you would do well to pretend that I have.”

Your efforts to convince your parents that you would not, under any circumstance whatsoever, marry Coriolanus Snow did not do anything for you. Despite your best efforts, you now stood in the palace for the King’s Ball, wearing the most beautiful powder blue gown fresh from the modiste, trying and failing to hide from your mother, so that you might delay her forcing you onto Snow. For now, though, she had been distracted by a conversation with Lady Dovecote about…whatever mothers talked about. Surely some scheme that would end with either you or Clemensia as Snow’s betrothed. You rolled your eyes at the thought. 

A familiar voice said your name. When you turned, you were greeted by the sight of Sejanus Plinth, holding two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to you, remarking, “I never knew you to be one to hide from the crowd.”

“I shall hide from the crowd when my mama is convinced I shall become Queen by the end of the season.”

“Ah.” Sejanus took a drink and laughed. “Strange, isn’t it? Seeing everyone we grew up with vying for Coryo’s attention.”

Coryo? Oh, yes. That was the nickname those close to Snow would call him. You had forgotten that the two were friends. Hmm, perhaps you could use that information the next time your parents try to force a connection with Snow. Something about how getting close to his friend might make him interested in you. “That it is. It seems as though everyone has lost their minds just for a glimpse of the crown.”

Sejanus laughed again. Then he looked at you a little more seriously, and said, “If I am honest, I am surprised you are not among those fighting for Coryo’s attention.”

Your brows pinched together. “You think I am interested in climbing the social ladder? Lord Plinth, you should know me well enough that I care more for a love match than gaining a title.”

“No, no. That is not what I meant. I remember in school that you and Coryo always had a sort of connection. Truthfully, I thought one of you might have acted on it sooner when you entered society.”

“The only connection we had was that of hatred. We despised each other.”

Sejanus shook his head, his curls bouncing. “I do not think that was true for Coryo. He liked that you challenged him. He has never been the sort of person who liked people who switch their position when the tide seems to turn. He likes people who are firm in their convictions.”

You laughed. “He’s told you this?”

“Not in so many words. But you have to wonder why he always sought you out.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he is crueler than we all think.”

Sejanus moved to protest, but another beat him to it. “Or perhaps you judge without truly knowing.”

You froze. Oh, how you had hoped that you could have avoided him tonight! Damn Sejanus and his friendship with Snow. So much for him being your safe haven during these balls. You might as well have lit a beacon leading straight to you. Alas, you did not want Snow to see the hatred you had brewing for him. Even if you did not like the man, you would be a social pariah if you made such feelings known to him. So, you painted on a smile as you turned to look at Snow. “Or perhaps I made an educated guess supported by the evidence of past interactions.”

Snow snorted, turning his gaze to Sejanus. “Always so quick with a response, she is.”

Sejanus glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes. If you were a mindreader, you could imagine him gloating in his mind about how he was right, that this was a sign that Snow cared for you in some way. But you only knew it to be yet another indicator that you and Snow could never, ever, get along. “Her wit has never dulled.”

“Should we see, then, if her dance skills are still equally sharp?”

Sejanus looked at you again, a brilliant smile on his face. Oh, how you wished to wipe that look off. This was not proof of anything. This did not prove his point. “I could not think of anything better.”

Damn you, Sejanus Plinth. Damn you. 

Snow held his arm out for you to take. You stared at it, not moving. “In order to dance with a lady, you must ask her. I do not recall you asking me anything.”

Snow glanced just beyond you. When you turned your head to follow his gaze, you saw your mother and Lady Dovecote watching the interaction carefully. As you looked back at Snow, he said, “Your mother would be disappointed if you did not dance with me.”

“It is amazing you became King when you are so lacking in manners.” But you knew your mother—the entirety of the ton, perhaps—would consider you insane to turn the King down so openly. So you took his arm and let him lead you onto the dance floor. 

He snorted. “You are the only person who speaks so freely to me.”

“Ah, so this is one last dance before my execution? How kind. Perhaps I was wrong about your cruelty.”

“There is much you are wrong about,” Snow said. You had reached the dance floor. The crowd parted around you, allowing you and Snow to take the middle of the floor. You faced him, allowing his hand to fall to you waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder, and let him take the other in his free hand. “It would be far too much of a shame to take your life.”

“Such a kind and gentle king.”

“Only for those who deserve it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mother miming for you to smile. You fought the urge to sneer instead. Even if you would rather do anything else than be courted by Coriolanus Snow, acting out would not do you any favors. If you had any hope in finding a love match, you had to at least be cordial to him. So you smiled as prettily as you could. But you couldn’t help yourself from saying, “Then perhaps you should go see a physician. You seem to have lost your mind.”

To your surprise, Snow laughed. The sound almost scared you. When was the last time you heard Snow laugh? An actual laugh, at that. None of his snorts of derision or half-hearted chuckles when he was trying to charm someone. Had you ever heard him laugh before? You tried to wrack your brain, but you could not recall anything. In school, he had always been so serious—focused more on using the tools available to him to climb the social ladder rather than being a kid like everyone else. Though, you supposed, Snow was a far cry from everyone else. 

The music began to play, and Snow spun you around the dance floor. As you turned, you locked eyes with Sejanus. He wore a large grin on his face, seemingly sure that you and Snow were making nice. Why else would he have laughed at something you said? You wished you could yell out to Sejanus, tell him that he was dead wrong. 

“What is it that people say? Something about love driving people mad?”

This time, you did roll your eyes. “Oh, come off it. You and I both know perfectly well that you do not care for me. I hardly understand why you’re even entertaining this nonsense, if for no other reason than to torture me.”

Snow considered you. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I seek a bride who will produce me an heir. There are few women here who meet my standards. A woman of good breeding, from a respectable family, and intelligent enough to keep up with me. Someone who will be a good Queen and a good mother.”

“Someone that you can control.” You scoff. “You truly must see a physician, Your Majesty, if you think that I will fall in line with whatever you ask of me.”

His lips curled into a grin. Your stomach churned. “Not yet.”

The next morning, your mother promptly reported that you had danced with Coriolanus Snow not once, not twice, but three times to your father. To say he had been pleased was something of an understatement. He was certain that Snow would soon be reaching out to discuss a proposal. It did not matter how much you tried to downplay the situation—explain that he was only dancing with you for some other reason than him wishing to marry you. Your parents minds were made up. By the end of the season, you were to be Queen of Panem. 

“It’s just the nerves,” your mother dismissed as you sat in the drawing room, waiting for any suitor to call on you. “You will be more than confident once you are wed.”

You ground your teeth together. “I do not wish to marry Coriolanus Snow. I would marry anyone else. I would let you or Papa pick anyone else in the ton and I would not let out a single complaint. I cannot marry that man.”

Something just beyond you caught your mother’s attention. Your father, you supposed. “You should not say such things—” she began to say. Of course. Of course she would say that. 

“Why not? It is true. I would be miserable with him. I would rather die than be his bride, bear his children. Frankly, forcing me to marry him may as well be a death sentence.”

“Dear, you do not truly mean that—”

“And you must not know me at all if you think I am not being completely, and utterly, truthful right now. Coriolanus Snow is the last man I would ever wish to marry.”

Your mother leaned in close to you, hissing, “Stop talking right now, young lady.”

A frown settled on your face. Why was she so bothered about you speaking so freely? There was no one in the room but you, her, and a maid. Perhaps she was concerned about the maid spreading gossip with other maids and that slowly enveloping the ton. It wasn’t a non-possibility, to be sure. But why was she acting so…scandalized by your words? 

Unless…

You turned your head toward the entrance of the room. There should Coriolanus Snow, dressed in a dark red suit, holding a bouquet of white roses. Your mouth went dry. Oh, why does he keep showing up when you least expect it? “The butler typically announces when a guest has arrived,” you said. 

You couldn’t read his face. A part of you wondered if you had offended him. You didn’t particularly care about offending him, but you also knew that such an act could have dire consequences on you marrying anyone else. “He was going to, but I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.” He took a step closer to you, holding out the roses. “I just had these freshly picked from my garden.”

A part of you wanted to smack the roses out of his hands, but you had already embarrassed your mother enough in front of Snow. You took the roses, yet couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “I cannot believe a man like you could grow something so beautiful.”

Your mother let out a loud—obviously fake—laugh. “Oh, isn’t she just funny? She always says the silliest things.”

Snow chuckled. He smiled at your mother—the sort of smile that your stomach twist into knots. Like he knew something no one else did, and he was reveling in that. “It is one of her more…charming traits.” He turned his attention back to you. “As lovely as this is, I came to ask if you would like to promenade with me in the square.”

Oh, Snow. Why was he so good at backing you into corners? You took a breath and passed the bouquet to the maid so she could put them in a vase. “That would be nothing short of a delight.”

He held out his arm for you to take. You slipped your hand around his bicep, your nails digging in. If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned down so that you could only hear him whisper, “It seems like you fall in line much easier than you would like to believe.”

“So how’s it going with that one girl? Been seeing her a lot lately.”

“Eh, we’re just keeping things casual,” Ruhn said, eyeing a pretty faun from across the bar. 

You watched as his friend—Declan, you realize—arched a brow, took a long sip of his drink. Ruhn couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes as Declan said, “That why you keep bringing her around so much?”

“We both know what this is. I like her company, so I invite her out sometimes. That a crime?” Ruhn didn’t wait for an answer. He set his drink down on the bar and began to make his way to the pretty faun. 

“Guess not.” Declan looked away from his friend, eyes somehow finding yours. Despite the distance and lighting, you couldn’t miss the flash of pity. 

Before he could say anything to you, you turned on your heel, ready to leave the White Raven with whatever scraps of your dignity you had intact. You pushed through the throngs of people, ignoring the annoyed voices of those who you accidentally elbowed in the process. You just needed to get out of there. 

A hand caught your arm just as the exit was finally in sight, pulling you to a stop. “Hey! Where are you going? The fun’s just about to start!” Bryce cheered. Behind her stood Hunt, who offered you a smile and a soft “hey.”

Wriggling lose of Bryce’s hold, trying to maintain an air of playfulness, you managed a laugh. “Some of us have early mornings and can’t party til dawn.”

Bryce rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a buzzkill. Do I need to drag Ruhn out of whatever corner he’s hiding in and convince you to stay?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you prayed neither Bryce nor Hunt could hear it. “Didn’t realize he was here. Saw Declan for, like, half a second.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at you. “So that’s a yes? Getting your boy toy will get you to stay?”

“He’s not my boy toy,” you said, “and it makes me feel icky for you to call your brother that.”

“You’re no fun!” Bryce whined. 

Hunt, either because he believed your story about an early morning or because he could sense your unease, took Bryce by the waist and slowly began to urge her away. “C’mon, this is a losing battle.”

“Fine, but you’re coming to the party this weekend, right?”

You probably weren’t, but if agreeing was what it took to get out of the White Raven without crying in front of Ruhn’s friends, then that’s what you’d do. “Duh, you think I’d miss it?”

Bryce grinned, and Hunt finally successfully urged her into the crowd to find the rest of their friends. You loosed a breath, rolled your shoulders, and made your escape. No one stopped you again, or even spared you a glance. For that, you were grateful. You weren’t sure how much more people-ing you could handle. 

Unfortunately, you did plan on making one more stop before you went home. 

Ruhn really needed a better hiding spot for his spare key. Was there anything more obvious than a potted plant by the door? It would have been laughable if you weren’t effectively breaking into his home. (Is it really breaking in if you found the key? And when the owner of said key told you where it was hidden?) 

You didn’t bother being quiet, figured that all of the home’s residents were out at the White Raven. Yet, when you shut the door, a voice had you jumping out of your skin. 

“Ruhn come back with you?” Flynn asked, leaning against the entry to the kitchen. 

You tried to steady your breathing and racing heart. “Nah. Think he’s at the White Raven with Declan. I was just swinging by to grab a couple things I left behind.” You held up the spare key for him to see. “Y’all need a better place for this than the only potted plant on the property. You’re practically asking someone to steal all your shit.”

Flynn nodded. “Cool, cool. Shout if you need anything, and try not to rob us blind, yeah?”

“Eh, I’ll leave your shit alone, but can’t say the same for Ruhn and Declan,” you joked despite yourself. 

He snorted out a laugh. “You’re funny. Shame Ruhn got to you first.”

You shrugged. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

As you walked up to Ruhn’s room, Flynn disappeared into the kitchen. He’d probably leave you alone. As long as you don’t take a long time, probably. You didn’t plan on sticking around, though. You just wanted to grab your things and get out before Ruhn returned with that faun he was eyeing. If he thought this was casual, the last thing he would want is for you to be hanging around while he was trying to get lucky. 

Thankfully, you knew where most of your things were. A couple of shirts thrown in his closet, a jacket strewn over a chair. Some miscellaneous socks mixed in with his laundry. You grabbed your lipgloss you thought you lost from the bathroom, and the pretty hand towel you brought because there was no way in hell you were using the scratchy ones they bought in bulk. Your favorite bras, buried in the top dresser drawer. 

Once you were satisfied you got everything you cared about, you made your way out of the home, praying that you wouldn’t run into Flynn again. 

He was on the couch when you came out. He eyed the bundle of clothes in your arms. “Moving out?” he teased. 

“Getting this stuff out before he thinks I’m trying to move in.”

“You and I both know Ruhn wouldn’t mind if you did. Honestly, he’d probably be more offended you were sneaking all that shit out.”

Liar. “Eh, I need to wash all this and I don’t trust you idiots to not fuck all my nice stuff up.”

Flynn laughed, throwing his head back. “You make us sound like beasts!”

“Excuse you, I was here when your sheets were stained pink after a sock made its way into the machine, and when half of Ruhn’s clothes got bleach stains after one of you forgot to rinse out the drum,” you giggled.

Fuck, you wished you had fallen for Flynn instead. Or even Declan. They were easy to talk to, and wouldn’t make you feel like an idiot for thinking that something more than casual was going on. That was more your fault than anything, you supposed. You knew who Ruhn was when he approached you at the White Raven all those months ago. He never tried to hide who he was. You were the idiot who thought he might settle down.

“Fair enough,” Flynn laughed. “Hey, you be careful alright? Ruhn’d kill me if you got hurt after leaving here.”

You were already hurt, but Flynn didn’t know that. Didn’t need to know that. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, you mother hen.”

Flynn flipped you off as you left, still laughing. The bitter part of you thought he was laughing at you, knowing how big of an idiot you were. The more rational part knew he was just having a nice time joking around with you. Whatever. You probably weren’t going to be seeing him around much either way. 

Loud knocking on the door woke you up. When you glanced at your phone for the time, it was barely one in the morning. Several more hours until you would need to start the day, and way too late for anyone to be bothering you right. With a groan, you got out of bed, wrapped yourself up with a robe, and went to the door, fully prepared to chew out whoever was interrupting your beauty sleep. 

You yanked open the door. Ruhn stood on the other side. Whatever steam you had rising up inside you dissipated when you saw him. 

Pulling the robe closer around you, you asked, “What are you doing here?” More questions stayed locked in your mind—Why aren’t you home? Why aren’t you with that pretty faun? 

“Flynn said you stopped by to get some of your things,” Ruhn said. “Looked like you took more than a few. Just wanted to see if you were alright.”

You opened the door wider so he could see into your small apartment. You gestured to the couch, where your laundry basket sat, topped off with the clothes you took back from his place. “Was needing to do laundry,” you lied. “Wanted to make sure all my stuff got washed.”

He pouted—actually pouted. “I could’ve done that for you.”

“It’s no big deal—”

“Or you could’ve done it at my place. Throw in a couple of my things if you didn’t have enough for a load,” he continued. Ruhn took a step into your apartment. You took a step back. “I like having your stuff around.”

“It’ll all probably end up there again anyways,” you shrugged. You doubted it. Ruhn might have wanted to keep this casual, but you weren’t that sort of person. You craved intimacy, the closeness of a relationship. If Ruhn wouldn’t offer that, you didn’t see the point in sticking around. 

Ruhn’s violet eyes searched yours. You weren’t sure what he was looking for. It would probably be easier to walk into your mind than try to pick it up with context clues, but you also didn’t want him anywhere near your head. You didn’t want to hear any excuses he had. Anyways, Ruhn was good about staying out of your mind. He said he didn’t want to violate your trust. What a joke. “Why didn’t you talk to me tonight?”

“Huh?”

“Dec said he saw you, and Bryce said you two talked. I was there, too. I know we didn’t plan on doing anything tonight, but I would’ve liked for you to say something.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why are you really here, Ruhn? I know it’s not because I got my things or didn’t talk to you tonight.”

“Are we good?”

The scoff fell from your mouth before you could stop it. Seriously? Why did he even care? If this was casual, why did he care about your feelings? “You don’t have to pretend, Ruhn. I know you want to keep this casual.”

Ruhn blinked, slowly working his jaw. “What are you talking about?”

“If you want this to be casual, that’s fine. I mean, you wish you had told me that, but I can’t change the past. If you want, you know, company or whatever, that’s okay. But I’m not that sort of person. Let’s not let feelings get any more involved than they already are.”

Realization dawned in his eyes. It took him long enough. Ruhn was far from stupid. It didn’t make sense for it to take this long for it to all click. “You heard me and Dec.”

“And saw you with the pretty faun.”

Ruhn looked away. His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Does it matter that I was? I mean, if this is casual, you can flirt with anyone you want. You can fuck anyone you want.”

“Stop saying that,” he near-growled. You raised your brows. What right did he have to get upset? At you no less? Fuck, you needed to put an end to all of this. Tonight. Now. 

You couldn’t hide your own ire as you said, “Why? Only you get to call it casual? I get to sit around thinking that maybe you actually give a shit about me, that you want to stick around for the long term, but you get to sleep with half of the city. Do I have that right?”

“No.”

“No, I think I do,” you said. You reached out, started to push him toward the door. Ruhn snatched your hand and tugged you against him. “Ruhn, let me go.”

“No.”

“Let me go and get the fuck out of here.”

“No,” he insisted. It was hard to ignore the desperation in his voice, but you weren’t going to fall for any of his tricks. You fell for enough of him already. 

Tears pricked at your eyes. Godsdammit, you weren’t going to cry in front of him. He didn’t deserve to see you so vulnerable. Not anymore, at least. “I am not going to be the idiot in love with you,” you said, your voice thick, “not when you don’t give a shit about me.”

Ruhn’s eyes flashed. With what, you weren’t certain. “I fucking care about you!” he shouted. Oh, what you would’ve given to hear that just hours ago. Now, it meant nothing. 

“No. You either lied to Declan about this being casual, or you lied to me about wanting something with me. Either way, you lied. You do not lie to the people you care about.” You wrenched yourself away from Ruhn, grabbed the door, and pointed out to the hall. “Go. I won’t ask again.”

“I want to talk about this.”

You gestured into the hallway again. “I have nothing left to say. I’ve got neighbors, Ruhn, and you’re probably waking up the whole building.”

He said your name, so softly your resolve nearly crumbled. But you looked away, steeled yourself. You weren’t going to let yourself be treated like shit just for a fae who would never respect you. 

“Lose my number.”

Ruhn stepped toward you. He stopped right in front of you, brushed away a strand of hair that fell in your face. His eyes scanned over you, as if memorizing you. But you wouldn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Then he stepped through the threshold of the door, and you shut the door before he could say anything else, twisted the locks before he could try to open it.

You pressed your back against the door and sank down to the door. Face pressed against your knees, you began to cry, and you pretended you couldn’t hear Ruhn still standing on the other side. 

It was better off this way.