#vanserra reader

The air smelt of iron and smoke. My chest burned with every breath.

I wanted to scream, to beg, to sob, but I knew better. Any sound, any defiance, would only fuel my father’s rage.

My body shook violently, trembling so hard my teeth chattered, and the open wounds on my back burned where the whip had torn into my skin again and again.

Blood soaked the stone beneath me, and the room swayed as I tried to grip the tiles to stay upright.

The sound of the whip sliced through the air again, and my body instinctively flinched.

He had been doing this for hours, letting my magic stitch me back together just enough before tearing me open all over again.

I refused to break. 

I refused to let him win.

“Have you taken a vow of silence, my precious daughter?” my father asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Pain exploded through me as his boot slammed into my back. The impact forced the air from my lungs, and stars burst behind my eyes as I collapsed onto the stone. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, kneeling beside me, leaning close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath. “I know how to make you scream.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to give him the sound he wanted.

His fingers twisted into my hair, forcing my head back. Flames burned in his eyes as he dragged me across the stone floors.

That was the moment I knew I would either die by his hands or live long enough to wish I had.

Eris found me later that night.

I was barely conscious, curled in a pool of my own blood, my skin torn open and half-healed in jagged patches where my magic had tried and failed. 

The world drifted in and out, flashes of firelight, muffled voices, hands lifting me from the stone.

Autumn Court healers stitched my skin back together while my body struggled weakly to repair itself. I felt needles, the burn of fire, and nothing, all at once, as darkness swallowed me whole.

That night, as I lay unconscious, covered in a thick layer of blood, Eris wrote to the one person he had sworn never to contact again.

The one person he had already failed.

Lucien.

I woke, falling through darkness. Flames wrapped around me, pulling at me, and I knew Eris was winnowing us somewhere. 

My head rested against Eris’s shoulder as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Cold night air brushed over my freshly healed skin, sending sharp shivers through my body.

Voices echoed around me, distant and muffled.

I begged myself to stay awake, but the darkness kept dragging me under.

Flashes of Lucien’s face flickered behind my eyes. I tried to force my eyes open, tried to move, tried to speak, but I couldn’t stay awake.

I woke again in a soft bed that wasn’t mine.

Sunlight poured through tall windows, warm and blinding as it spilled across unfamiliar walls.

For a moment, I didn’t know where I was or who I was.

Then the pain returned.

It burned through every inch of me, deep, aching, heavy, as if my bones had been cracked open. Even breathing hurt.

I forced one finger to move, then another.

My arm twitched, and agony shot through me so sharply that a groan of pain escaped my lips.

“You’re awake,” a deep voice said quietly.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps approached. A figure stepped into view.

Lucien.

I hadn’t seen him in years, and the last time I had seen him was under the Mountain during Amarantha’s rule, during the trial. 

Before that, it was when he lost his eye. And before that, it was when our father murdered Jasmina, and our family was shattered beyond repair.

I stared at him, stunned by how real he looked standing beside my bed. His metal eye whirred softly, and his flame-coloured hair glowed in the sunlight, falling loose and messy from a half-undone braid.

“I am awake,” I whispered, my voice dry and hoarse.

Relief washed over his face, and he exhaled shakily.

He stepped away, pacing the room as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Eris said you were hurt, but you’ve been out for nearly two days. I thought you were going to die.” 

His voice cracked. 

“God, what Beron did to you—”

He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair the same way he used to when we were children.

“Are you in pain?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” I said, barely able to move my lips.

“Where?”

I swallowed, muscles trembling.

“Everywhere.”

Lucien nodded, then disappeared for a moment before returning with vials and balms. 

He held a small glass vial to my mouth, and I forced myself to drink the bitter liquid, fighting the urge to gag as it burned down my throat.

He changed my bandages, rolling me onto my side so he could examine my back.

He sucked in a tight breath when he saw the damage, and shame and dread curled in my stomach at the sound.

But when he lowered the sheet and gently lifted the thin cotton shirt, bandages wrapped around my torso from my lower stomach to my chest. 

Dark bloodstains seeped through the linen.

My breath hitched.

“What… did he do to me?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Lucien’s hands stilled as he met my gaze. The grief written in his amber eyes told me everything before he even spoke. 

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, until something inside me finally snapped.

A sob tore from my throat. 

Something raw. 

Something inhuman. 

Something so shattered that Lucien quickly pulled the sheet back over me, as if he could shield me from what was already carved into my body.

He told me then about the damage our father had done.

How Eris had summoned Autumn healers, and how Lucien had me examined by a Night Court healer while I was unconscious.

The words blurred together, but I knew one thing.

My womb had been destroyed beyond healing.

I would never bear a child of my own.

After that, I didn’t move for weeks.

I lay in bed, silent, grieving the one thing our world had always told me made me valuable, the ability to bear powerful fae.

My father hadn’t just broken my body. He had stripped away my future, my place, and my worth, as Autumn had defined it.

Now I was nothing more than a titleless High Fae, with no court and no purpose.

Lucien stayed.

He sat with me for hours, even when I refused to speak. Sometimes he read aloud from books, stories he thought I might like.

He changed my dressings, gave me medicine, and sat outside the bathing room when I finally had the strength to stand, listening quietly as my sobs echoed through the stone walls.

Healing was slow and painful.

Open wounds turned into scars, large, pale-pink marks that covered my body. Sometimes I forced myself to look in the mirror, and each time I cried in silence.

Eventually, after days of barely moving, I was tired of crying. I had no more tears left to shed.

One morning, after hours of staring at the ceiling, I forced myself out of bed. 

My legs trembled as I shuffled towards the lounge chair by the window. I wrapped my dressing gown around my shoulders, flinching as the fabric brushed my tender skin.

Slowly, I made my way to the door.

It was the first time I had left the bedroom.

The apartment beyond was modest, bright and airy, with sunlight spilling across pale floors.

I shuffled down the hall, my legs stiff and aching, until I reached a room at the end, where I heard the soft rustle of paper.

I paused in the doorway.

Lucien sat at his desk, focused on neat stacks of paperwork. He didn’t notice me at first.

I looked around the office. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lined one wall, and glass doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the river and the city below.

“You look busy,” I said softly.

Lucien jumped, his head snapping up towards me.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I shuffled inside and lowered myself carefully into the chair opposite his desk.

“You’re up,” he said gently, watching me with worried eyes as I hissed in pain when I sat down.

I hummed in acknowledgement and reached for a nearby file. The first thing I saw was the formal title, Emissary of the Night Court, followed by documents detailing relations between the Night Court and the human lands.

I felt Lucien’s gaze on me, and when I looked up, his brows were furrowed and concern was written on his face.

I set the file back on his desk and shifted in my seat, careful not to aggravate the freshly healed wounds along my back. They were closed, but still raw and uncomfortable.

“How are you feeling?” Lucien asked carefully, as if worried I might retreat to my room at any moment.

“Never been better,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

For the first time since I’d arrived, Lucien smiled, a real one, and shook his head slightly.

“You came at a good time,” he said. “I was about to head into town to do some shopping… if you wanted to join me.”

I saw the hope in his eyes, the way his smile lingered, fragile, as if he were afraid of scaring me back into silence. 

Truthfully, I was just as desperate to feel alive again.

I sat quietly for a moment, then slowly pushed myself to my feet, swaying slightly.

“You’ll have to help me with my hair,” I said.

His smile returned instantly, bright and full.

“Of course. Go bathe, and I’ll help you afterwards.”

I nodded once, pretending not to notice that he stood too, his hands hovering, as if ready to catch me if I fell.

I shuffled back down the hall towards my bedroom and into the bathroom. 

I carefully undressed and turned on the water. Steam filled the room as I added salts to soothe my aching muscles and a few vials to help with the scarring.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and barely recognised the person staring back.

The bandages were finally gone, but my skin was littered with scars. My back looked brutal, carved and uneven, and my stomach was marked by a sickening line of damaged flesh. 

I knew that in a few weeks they would fade, that the pain would disappear, and that my magic would heal most of the damage.

But right now their cruelty was obvious, raised, uneven, and angry on my skin.

My eyes were sunken, with dark circles beneath them, and my skin was pale and blotchy.

I looked away from the mirror and lowered myself into the warm bath.

Lucien was waiting in my bedroom when I came out.

I settled into the small lounge chair while he stood behind me, slowly and patiently combing through my damp hair. 

He left to get ready while I looked towards my closet. For the first time since arriving, I chose something other than cotton pyjamas and dressing gowns.

I chose a simple olive-green dress that fell just above my ankles. The soft fabric covered most of my scars without pulling on my skin. I slipped into a pair of shoes and stepped out to meet Lucien in the living room.

We walked down the stairs together, and the warm river air brushed my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

Lucien’s apartment sat near the centre of town, with streets busy with fae. We walked slowly, my legs stiff and aching from weeks of barely moving. Lucien never rushed me.

We paused often, lingering in front of shop windows, sitting quietly by the river, and wandering slowly through the unfamiliar streets.

Eventually, we stopped outside a small music shop.

A piano sat in the corner of the window display, its polished wood catching the sunlight. Before I could think too hard about it, I stepped inside.

My fingers hovered over the keys before gently brushing across them.

I pressed one note. Then another. Before I could stop myself, a short melody slipped from my fingers, simple and familiar, played with one hand.

“Was that Piers Buckland, The Rite of North?”

I jumped, my head snapping up to meet a man’s intense eyes, a blue that looked like the sky.

I nodded hesitantly.

He gave a slow, impressed nod. 

“That’s a difficult piece,” he said, glancing between Lucien and me. “Where did you learn to play?”

“Autumn,” I replied.

Lucien hissed softly beside me, as if I had said something offensive.

The man hummed, his eyes drifting back down to where my fingers still brushed the keys. “Are you a good pianist?”

I straightened slightly. “I am great.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Have you taught before?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

He studied me for a long moment before speaking again. “I have seven children taking lessons here, but I don’t have time to teach them all myself. I’ve been looking for someone to help with some of my more advanced students.”

I heard Lucien shift beside me, a polite refusal ready on his tongue, but I spoke first.

“I’ll take the job.”

“Wait—” Lucien started, but my hand was already in the man’s, and we shook on it.

“Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday,” the man said quickly. “One hour, five to six. You’ll need to lock up, but you keep what you earn, and you’ll get a discount in the shop.”

“Deal,” I said, ignoring Lucien’s hand on my shoulder.

The man flashed a wide, toothy grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nodded, and we left the store. Lucien walked beside me, tense and unusually quiet.

“What the hell was that?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“What?” I replied, continuing down the path toward the apartment.

“You haven’t left your bedroom in nearly a month. This is the first time you’ve even left the house, and now you want a job?” he said, his hand wrapping firmly around my wrist. 

He stopped me mid-stride. I turned to face him, meeting his eyes. 

“I’ve moped long enough,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “I’ve spent a month crying and feeling sorry for myself. I’m good at the piano. I’m good at something, and I need to remember that.”

My voice cracked slightly at the end.

Lucien said nothing for a long moment. His hand slowly slipped from my wrist, and something softer, something close to understanding, flickered across his face.

We walked the rest of the way home in silence.

By the time we reached the apartment, my legs were aching, and I collapsed onto the couch as soon as we stepped inside.

“I’ll start dinner,” Lucien mumbled, retreating into the kitchen.

I stayed on the couch, staring out the large windows at the city. I needed a distraction. I needed something, anything, to ease the ache in my chest.

That night, I couldn’t sleep as my mind buzzed with nerves and a strange, unfamiliar excitement.

The next day, I walked to the store early. The shop owner, Zamir, showed me into a second room at the back of the shop. 

It was large and bright, with a grand piano against one wall. A small desk sat nearby, freshly cleaned, with paper and ink pots.

My first student was a girl no older than 8, with dark, curly hair, eyes like pools of midnight, and a grin too big for her small face.

She was talented and more advanced than most children her age. She listened carefully and spoke little, but left our lesson smiling.

I closed the shop that evening with a smile and walked home in the afternoon light, the sky glowing a soft gold. 

Lucien was waiting for me, and that night I told him every detail over a glass of wine.

Wednesday was the same. 

An older boy named Aster arrived, serious and advanced, already working on his own compositions. He asked more technical questions, asked me how I played, and how he could improve. 

I could see how deeply he loved music. 

I loved listening to him play as much as teaching him.

That night, lying in bed, I thought back to Autumn and to the way music had always been the only thing I was truly good at.

The only thing that had ever made my father somewhat proud. How it was the only time I saw anything other than hatred in his eyes. 

Sometimes, when I played in the forest house grand hall, I would catch him watching from the corner of my eye, always hidden in the shadows, a sneer permanently carved into his face, yet I swore his eyes would soften. 

Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination.

I thought about those fleeting moments, the rare times I had felt like more than a burden, more than a bastard in my own home.

They were small, fragile memories, outnumbered by the pain and suffering he had inflicted on me. Still, my heart ached for them, desperate for a version of him that never existed.

Over the next few weeks, I began a routine.

On Fridays, I had a young boy named Nyx, a child full of laughter, watching me as if I hung the moon.

He improved with every lesson. He began reading sheet music, learning theory, and picking out his favourite composers. 

One afternoon, as he waved goodbye with a grin, I forced back tears as I realised the reality of what my father had stolen from me.

A family.

Week after week, I taught. I smiled more, and in my free time I sat behind the piano, practising in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to in decades.

Until one Friday morning.

I arrived early, before Nyx’s lesson, and sat at the piano. My eyes closed, my fingers moving on pure instinct.

It was the first composition I had ever played for my father, the only time I had ever seen the corner of his mouth twitch into anything other than a sneer.

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes as the final note faded into silence.

Soft clapping broke the quiet.

My eyes flew open.

In the doorway stood the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.

Instantly, the music died inside me.

I wasn’t a teacher.

I wasn’t healing or mourning.

I wasn’t safe.

I was the High Lord of the Autumn Court's bastard daughter.

And they had every right to kill me where I sat.

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 2

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Lucien stared at me, then looked towards Rhysand and Feyre.

I swore his metal eye could see it. The thread that bound us together, the thread woven into fate itself, the truth I couldn’t say out loud. 

His mouth parted, and he whispered, “Oh god…”

Rhysand met his gaze, and something passed between them. 

Lucien swallowed hard before taking a shaky breath. 

“Can I sit with Elain and Nyx?” he asked, his voice gentle. 

Rhys glanced at Feyre, and she nodded.

Lucien looked back at me, and there was something in his eyes, something like understanding, pity even.

Rhys led him out without saying another word. The door to the sitting room closed behind them, leaving Feyre and me alone.

Feyre looked at me, desperation in her eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, stepping toward me.

I stepped back.

“How long?” I asked, my voice cracking, tears forming in my eyes. “Since we met?”

She shook her head quickly, too quickly. I could already see the denial forming on her tongue before she even spoke.

“It wasn’t like that,” Feyre said, her voice trembling. “We didn’t want you to feel pressured or trapped.”

A cruel laugh left me.

“You didn’t allow me to feel anything, you didn’t tell me”, I hissed, flames curling up my forearms, heat burning across my skin.

I heard the door open and then close again.

“I told Feyre not to tell you,” Rhys said carefully.

The sound of his voice made something inside me snap.

“You told her not to tell me,” I repeated, my voice cold with fury.

Rhys nodded once.

“We wanted you to connect with us first,” he said, taking a step closer. “For you to get to know us before telling you that you’re… bound to us. Eternally.”

I took a step back. I needed space between them and me. 

“Is that what you did to Feyre?” I spat.

The bond tightened in my chest, and my magic flared. Flames curling around me as if they could burn through the invisible thread tethering me to them.

Feyre glanced at Rhys.

Her face turned pale, and I could see it in her eyes.

He had done the same to her.

Rhys’s jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment, shame flickering across his face.

“You came here running from a court that controlled you,” Rhys began carefully. “That beat you. Did things to you I can't even imagine—”

“You know what they did,” I hissed. “Don't stand there and lie.”

The flames burned brighter.

“You were in my mind. I’m sure you saw everything my father did. I’m sure you know exactly why I’m here.”

My voice shook with the fury rising in my chest.

“I’m sure you threatened Eris to tell you anyway.”

“No,” Rhys said quickly.

For the first time, his voice cracked with something desperate, but I shook my head.

The bond tightened again, like a noose.

“I don’t want this,” I whispered.

Feyre flinched as if I’d struck her. Rhys looked hurt, wounded.

“Please,” Feyre said again, stepping closer. “Just let us explain.”

“Stay away from me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“We’re sorry,” Rhys said.

Tears blurred my vision and my hands began to shake.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. 

My chest heaved as I tried, desperately, not to break. Not to show them how weak I truly was, but the bond burned brighter with every emotion flooding through me.

I broke.

My legs gave out beneath me, and I sank to the carpet. I cried into my hands, my shoulders shaking so hard it hurt.

I could feel them move closer before sitting on the carpet in front of me, their emotions seeping down the bond.

The worry. 

The fear. 

The rejection.

My mind stopped thinking, and all I could do was feel.

The sobs tore out of me, ugly, broken sounds I hadn’t made since the day I arrived here and learned what my father had done.

“You don’t want me,” I whispered, the words barely audible.

“Yes, we—” Rhys started.

“What could I possibly give you?” I cut in, my voice cracking. “I’m courtless. Titless. I have no money.”

Another sob ripped through my chest.

“I can’t bear children,” I forced out, the words sharp and humiliating. “You don’t want that.”

“You are far more than that,” Rhys said. “Far more than what your father believed you were worth.”

I hated the way the bond softened at his words, as if some broken part of me had been waiting to hear that I am worth more than my last name, more than a vessel for heirs.

Still, I couldn’t stop crying. The grief, fear and shame poured out of me until I could barely breathe.

I wasn’t sure if I reached for them first or if they reached for me, but somehow I ended up in their arms.

My mates wrapped around me as if they were trying to hold me together.

My face pressed into Feyre’s shoulder as Rhys pulled me between his legs, my body tucked against his chest.

Neither of them let go.

Slowly, my sobs began to ease, and my breathing slowed.

“You’re okay,” Rhys murmured into my hair.

“You’re safe here,” Feyre whispered, her fingers tracing patterns down my spine.

And for some reason, I believed them.

Eventually, I pulled away, my vision still blurred with tears as I looked up at them. Feyre’s thumb wiped away the last of the tears.

“We’re sorry,” she said, her voice gentle and angelic.

A small whimper nearly escaped me at the sound of it. My fingers tingled where they rested against Rhys.

“I am sorry,” Rhys murmured, his hand settling on the side of my thigh. “For everything.”

“I ruined dinner,” I murmured. “I ruined everything.”

They both shook their heads immediately, already whispering apologies and reassurance in my ear.

“Eris,” I whispered, my voice desperate. “I just want to know Eris is okay.”

“I don’t think we have to talk about—” Rhys said.

“Please,”

There was a long pause before Feyre nodded to Rhys.

“Tell her,” she said. “Tell them both.”

They helped me back onto the couch. Feyre wiped the tears from my cheeks before Rhys called for Lucien.

Lucien stepped into the room a moment later, his eyes widening slightly when he saw me sitting there, my body instinctively curled towards Feyre.

Then Rhys started explaining everything.

My father’s warpath.

The backlash Eris faced for helping me leave Autumn, and the punishment he suffered because of it. How Beron made him an example. How the scars across Eris’s back now mirrored mine.

Rhys spoke of their plans to help Eris take the throne, the meetings already held between the Night Court and my brother, and the negotiations with other courts.

When Tamlin’s name was mentioned, I noticed Lucien’s expression tighten. His eyes flicked to his hands before lifting again to Rhys.

I listened without interrupting. I just sat there, the warmth of the bond steadying something inside me.

Lucien asked questions, and Rhys answered what he could. He mentioned an upcoming meeting and Eris’s request to see both Lucien and me.

We agreed.

I didn’t know how long we had been sitting there; the food remained untouched and cold.

Then a gentle knock interrupted Lucien mid-sentence.

Elain peered her head through the door. Her eyes lingered on Lucien a moment too long before she spoke.

“Nyx wants to show you something,” she said, her gaze flicked to Feyre and Rhys. “He refuses to go to bed until he’s shown her his piece.”

Despite everything, I smiled. 

Feyre nodded, and we all followed Elain towards the living room.

Nyx’s face lit up the moment we entered.

A grand piano sat in front of a large window overlooking the water. I thought it would be beautiful to play here; my eyes scanned the room as I wondered about the acoustics.

Nyx bowed dramatically before taking a seat at the piano, then he began to play.

The piece we had been practising for months.

His small fingers moved quickly across the keys, his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration.

He played it perfectly.

When he finished, we all clapped, and for the first time that night, I smiled.

I truly smiled. 

Nyx flew straight into my arms, wrapping himself around my shoulders.

“Did you like it?” he asked. “Did it make you feel better?”

I nodded, even though my heart still ached.

“It was perfect,” I told him as he cuddled closer. “It made everything better.”

He laughed and flew towards his parents, talking about dinner and how Aunt Elain wouldn’t let him have ice cream until Lucien said he could.

I watched Lucien’s cheeks flush as Elain laughed softly beside him.

When Nyx finally said goodnight, Feyre and Rhys walked him to his room, both glancing back at me as if they wanted me to follow.

I stayed where I was.

Lucien and Elain stood in silence as the awkwardness stretched between them.

Elain spoke first, her eyes avoiding Lucien’s.

“I know we haven’t eaten,” she said, her hands clasped in front of her. “So I was wondering if you’d like to join me for something in the garden. I could show you the guest room afterwards... once you’re finished speaking with Rhys and Feyre, of course.”

Lucien hesitated.

Shock flickered across his face before Elain quickly said, “I’m sorry, that was silly. It’s very late. I’m sure you have much better things—”

“I would want nothing more,” Lucien said quickly. “I… I would be honoured to join you.”

Elain finally looked up at him, a small smile forming on her lips.

“I’ll tell the twins to set us a table,” she said, turning toward the hall.

Lucien stepped forward quickly.

“There’s no need to bother them,” he said. “I can set it myself if you show me where everything is.”

Her smile grew as she nodded.

Lucien looked back at me, with more hope in his eyes than I had seen in a long time.

He hesitated.

I nodded and mouthed, go.

He smiled, a small and nervous smile, before following Elain down the hall.

I stood there in silence.

My chest still heaved, my palms trembling as everything that had happened began crashing down on me all at once. 

This wasn’t what tonight was supposed to be.

I came here for answers about Eris.

Not drama.

Not long-buried truths being dragged into the light in front of strangers.

Not collapsing on the floor while the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court held me together.

Eris brought me here for peace. For healing.

Instead, I felt ripped open all over again, as if my heart had been pulled from my chest and forced to beat to someone else’s rhythm.

I moved closer to the windows, drawn by the pale glow of the moon over the Sidra. The gentle light from the lamps and the fireplace flickered across the paintings hanging on the walls.

I sat slowly on the bench of the piano, my eyes falling to the keys.

All of this because I wanted a job. 

Because I wanted to prove to myself I was more than what had been done to me. 

Because I needed something, anything, to distract me from the memories.

Now I sat here, knowing my eldest brother had been punished for helping me escape. That the next time I saw him might be the last.

Footsteps entered the room behind me.

The bond softened the moment they crossed the threshold.

“We heard Lucien’s staying,” Rhys said quietly. “He’s having dinner with Elain in the garden.”

I didn’t turn to look at them. I just stayed seated, watching the moonlight shimmer across the river.

I felt them move closer.

“Would you stay?” Feyre asked, hesitation in her voice. “We could have dinner on the balcony. You could stay in the guest suite tonight.”

A long pause followed.

The bond stirred in my chest again, the tight knot of anxiety easing as something warmer replaced it.

Something eager.

Something that told me to stay rather than run.

Every instinct told me to leave.

To hide.

To push every feeling back where it belonged. 

That I had already revealed too much. 

Lost too much control.

“Please,” Rhys murmured.

I felt him move closer, and his hand settled on my shoulder. My body instantly relaxed into the touch.

The suffocating pressure in my chest eased, my muscles relaxed before I could stop them, and without really thinking, I stood and followed them.

Walking between them felt unnatural. 

I was aware of everything: the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the way Feyre’s hand curled into a fist at her side as if she was holding herself back from reaching for me, and the way Rhys glanced at me with a softness in his eyes that made my chest ache.

I didn’t believe any of this was real.

They led me up a staircase and into what looked like the main suite of the house.

The space was enormous, nearly the same size as the apartment Lucien and I shared, with several doors and alcoves branching off into other rooms.

We stepped into a living room where floor to ceiling windows overlooked the river, illuminated by moonlight and faelights.

“Wow,” I whispered.

The room was just as beautiful as the rest of the house, with sand-coloured walls, pale timber floors, and soft rugs.

The balcony doors opened, and warm night air drifted inside.

A small table was set for three. Candles flickered like stars, their flames dancing softly.

We stepped onto the balcony together.

Rhys pulled out my chair before I could reach for it myself, while Feyre slid into the seat beside mine.

I looked down at the table filled with food. Regret and guilt twisted in my stomach.

“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” I murmured as Rhys poured wine into our glasses.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said immediately. “Mor was cruel. You had every right to defend your family.”

He handed me the glass.

“I would have done the same.”

Our fingers brushed as I took it.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“We believe you,” Feyre said, her hand reaching across the table, before resting on mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Why would you believe me over your cousin?” I asked, looking at her. “You barely know me.”

I felt Rhys’s knee brush lightly against mine beneath the table as silence lingered.

Rhys finally spoke.

“Because someone who risks everything just to be left alone wouldn’t risk it all for a lie like that,” he said, staring into his wine glass. “Especially a lie that’s survived centuries.”

He glanced up at me.

“What would you have gained from saying it? We could have called you a liar, sent you and Lucien straight back to Autumn to face whatever punishment your father decided on.”

He shook his head slightly.

“People don’t risk their lives on lies like that. Not when they’re trying to survive. If Mor lied that day, it was because she needed to protect herself from something… something we still don’t understand.”

I nodded slowly.

I didn’t truly understand. 

I had watched my brother be painted as cruel.

As a monster.

As a coward.

All because of a lie.

And tonight I had shattered that lie in a single moment.

“What will you say to her?” I asked.

Feyre started serving the food onto our plates, the gentle clink of dishes filling the quiet air.

“I’ll ask her why,” Rhys said. “Why she felt like she needed that to protect herself from us. From her family.”

There was sadness in his voice now.

I didn’t say anything after that.

I simply thanked Feyre and began eating.

The wine and food helped slowly ease the tension.

They started asking questions about me.

About the piano.

How I had learned to play. What I loved to perform. Which composers I liked the most.

They asked about my life here in Velaris. About the children I taught.

At some point, I found myself laughing, actually laughing, nearly in tears as Feyre told stories about Nyx and his chaos.

Rhys shared his own stories, teasing her and making us both laugh even more.

Slowly, the night softened.

I made jokes. I teased them back. At one point, I touched Feyre’s arm when she laughed, my hand lingering longer than necessary.

Rhys’s knee brushed harder against mine beneath the table.

Eventually, his hand settled on my knee, and I didn’t pull away.

Feyre suddenly giggled again before looking at me, her smile bright and almost shy.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said.

I laughed softly, shaking my head.

“I’m not what you want,” I said, still chuckling. “I’m not like you, Feyre. Or your sisters. Or anyone in this court. I have no value here.”

Feyre’s expression hardened slightly, and Rhys’s hand tightened on my knee.

“You are more than what your father believed you were,” Feyre said firmly. “You are beautiful in ways I’ve never seen before.”

I hummed mockingly, lifting my wine glass.

“You’ve seen plenty of beautiful fae,” I argued. “I’m sure both of you have been with many beautiful fae. Probably shared a few of them. I promise you, I’m not what you want.”

The air shifted.

Rhys’s jaw tightened, and Feyre looked at me with something that looked dangerously close to hurt.

I looked between them, confused, the smile still on my lips.

“What?” I asked, as I set my wine down.

“I do not share my mates,” Rhys said simply.

My cheeks flushed immediately.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I just assumed because of the—”

I gestured vaguely between Feyre and myself.

Maybe I meant the bond.

Maybe I meant the attraction that had been building between us since the moment we met.

She took a slow sip of her wine before placing the glass down gently.

She took a shaky breath.

“You make me feel things,” she admitted, her cheeks turning pink. “Things I’ve never felt before.”

Rhys’s fingers started tracing gentle patterns on my knee, his touch warm and steady.

My eyes were fixed on Feyre’s face, and our knees brushed beneath the table.

“I’ve never… been attracted to a woman before,” she said, her tone careful. “But you… You haven’t left my mind since the moment I met you.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“I keep thinking about you,” she said, her voice dropping. “The way your curves might feel in my hands. The warmth of your skin. The way you smell…”

Her eyes flickered to my lips before lifting back to mine.

“The way your lips would feel against mine,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed a deeper red. “God… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Something inside me snapped.

Maybe it was the bond.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the way they looked at me like I was something worth wanting.

“Then kiss me.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, before I could think of the consequences.

The moment the words left my mouth, I realised there was no taking them back.

Part 3 | Masterlist | Part 5

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“You are very talented,” Rhysand’s voice echoed through the small room, and my body went stiff.

The hair on the back of my neck rose, and Autumn heat began to burn beneath my skin.

“Thank you,” I replied, the words far too tight and a second too late to sound natural.

Silence stretched between us.

Rhysand’s violet eyes darkened, narrowing slightly, and I felt it. His darkness brushed against the edges of my mind.

My mental wards flared instinctively, a wall of flame surging forward to force him back. Heat burned between our minds, sharp and bright.

His brows twitched in surprise.

As if that alone told him exactly who I was. And if he did know, he didn’t say it aloud.

He stepped further into the room, his hand resting on the small of Feyre’s back. 

The High Lady’s golden hair fell over one shoulder as she studied me, her blue-grey eyes flicking across my face as if she could see everything I tried to hide.

“Nyx has told us so much about you that we had to meet you,” Feyre said, her voice almost angelic.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

“He’s great,” I answered, forcing a smile onto my lips.

Feyre’s gaze lowered to the neckline of my dress. To the old, faint scars just visible above the collar.

Her fingers curled into tight fists at her side.

“Nyx talks about you constantly,” she continued gently. “His confidence has truly blossomed.”

Rhysand’s eyes never left mine, as if he were waiting for something, as if he were trying to piece me together.

My stomach twisted under his stare. My skin prickled, heat rising beneath it. My mouth went dry, the air in the room too thick.

Something passed silently between them, their gazes flicking to each other before returning to me.

Rhysand opened his mouth as if to speak again, but before he could say anything, small footsteps echoed down the hall.

Nyx’s face appeared around the corner, and he ran straight towards me, his arms wide.

He threw himself against my waist. I flinched instinctively as his hands brushed my scars along my waist and stomach.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice as I lifted him gently onto the bench.

He grinned and immediately began excitedly talking about the piece he’d been practising at home.

Feyre smiled at her son while Rhys watched us both.

After our lesson, I walked Nyx to the door. I watched him run to his parents. Feyre lifted him into her arms, and Rhys smiled down at his son.

His eyes then flickered to mine.

Just for a moment.

I waved politely.

He returned a small wave, his violet eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

I locked the door once they had left, then went to the back of the shop to gather my things before heading out for the night.

By the time I stepped toward the front, the sky had darkened, and the golden light was fading into deep blue.

I reached for the door. 

Through the glass window, across the road, leaning against the stone wall opposite, stood the last person I expected to see.

Rhysand.

The High Lord of the Night Court stood half-shadowed, darkness curling around him like a living thing. 

He was just standing there.

Waiting.

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to unlock the door and step outside, closing it carefully behind me.

I locked the door, slid the key free, and our eyes met in the glass.

“It’s late for you to be walking home alone,” Rhysand said.

His voice was calm. 

Too calm.

“I didn’t realise the High Lord took safety so seriously,” I muttered, slipping the key into my pocket.

His soft laughter echoed down the street, and once again the hair on my neck stood on end.

My fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

“Am I not allowed to care for my people?” he asked, pushing off the wall.

He stepped closer, close enough that I felt the hum of his magic brush against my skin.

A short huff escaped me before I could stop it.

“I would think a High Lord has far more important things to worry about than walking a music teacher home.”

His head tilted. His gaze drifted slowly down me before returning to my eyes.

“Music teachers,” he said softly, “with fire in their blood and mental walls of flame are rarely just music teachers.”

My breath caught.

He stepped closer still, close enough that I could smell him, night air and starlight.

“Care to tell me,” Rhysand said quietly, “why the only daughter of Beron is in my court?”

My skin burned with flames, as if ready to strike.

“Or should I ask Lucien?”

He paused for a moment. 

“Perhaps Eris would prefer to explain.”

There was no anger in his tone. Instead, he sounded almost concerned.

The memory of that night flashed behind my eyes: my father’s whip carving into my back, the impact of his boot, and the scars it left. 

For a heartbeat, I nearly begged him, begged him, not to send me back to Autumn. But I had not begged my own father for mercy, and I refused to beg another High Lord.

My eyes narrowed, and flames curled inside my clenched fists.

“Are you here to exile me?” I asked coldly. “Or to kill me where I stand? To torture me and send me back to Autumn as a warning?”

Surprise flashed across his face before his perfect neutral expression returned.

“No,” he said. “I—”

“Are you here to kill me?” I interrupted.

He looked almost horrified.

“No.”

“Will Lucien or Eris be punished?”

He shook his head again. 

“No.”

Silence stretched between us.

He didn’t look like a threat.

I took a step back.

He didn’t move closer.

So I took another, then another.

He looked almost sad at my retreat, as if he thought this conversation should have gone differently. 

Then I turned and ran.

I didn’t stop until I reached the apartment, shoving the door open so hard it slammed into the wall. 

Lucien rushed from his office, his eyes wide with worry.

“What happened?”

I began pacing, my thoughts racing.

I would have to stop teaching, leave Velaris, and disappear again.

Lucien asked again, telling me to slow down and talk to him, but I ignored him until his hands gripped my shoulders, forcing me still.

“What happened?” he repeated, slower.

Only then did I realise I was shaking.

“Rhysand and Feyre… they know I’m here,” I said unsteadily. “I teach their son. Rhysand was waiting for me when I closed the shop.”

Lucien’s hands fell away as fear flashed across his face.

“What did he say?”

I told him everything.

Every word. Every look. Every moment.

We sat opposite each other in the lounge room, our eyes fixed on the table between us.

Either this would be fine. Maybe Rhysand and Feyre knowing would change nothing. Maybe they understood I wasn’t a threat, only someone trying to build a life.

Or by morning, Lucien and I would be courtless again.

We considered every possibility. Lucien had an estate in the Human Lands; we could go there. His friends would help us. Maybe even Tamlin would offer shelter if he saw what our father had done to me.

We stayed awake all night, waiting for the knock on the door. But by morning, as golden sunlight filled the apartment, the knock still hadn't come.

We spent the entire weekend waiting for it.

Every sound in the hallway made me flinch. Every shadow felt like the beginning of the end.

By the time I returned to work the following week, I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, half-expecting Rhysand to appear. 

But he didn’t.

Later that week, as I stepped into the music shop, Zamir glanced up at me, a small smile on his face.

I considered telling him I’d resigned, that I couldn’t do this anymore. I imagined turning around, going home, packing, and fleeing before the inevitable caught up with me.

Instead, I forced myself to walk towards the room I had begun to think of as my second home. 

I finished my class; the young girl with dark curls left, smiling and clutching her sheet music. 

As I gathered my things and headed to the front of the shop, Zamir sat behind the workbench, restringing an instrument. 

“You must have made quite an impression on the High Lord,” he said, his eyes never leaving his work.

I froze.

“What… what do you mean?” I forced out, my voice cracking despite myself.

“Go see,” he said, nodding towards the front counter.

A small box sat there, wrapped in black paper tied with silver ribbon that shimmered faintly blue, the exact shade of Feyre’s eyes.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. I pulled the ribbon loose, and I opened the lid.

Inside was a smaller hand-carved box made of deep red wood, with an Autumn forest etched across the top.

My finger brushed it.

The clasp clicked open on its own.

Inside rested a small orb glowing with deep orange flame.

I knew it instantly.

A fire orb.

Eris had given it to me when I was a child, a piece of his magic sealed in metal so that whenever he travelled, I would always have a part of him close.

Tears pricked my eyes before I could stop them as I turned the orb gently in my hand. The sadness and exhaustion eased slightly as the flame inside pulsed, growing brighter and warmer.

Then understanding burned through me.

Rhysand had spoken to Eris.

The fear that had followed me since that night, the memory of Rhysand looking at me with something that felt too much like pity, twisted in my chest until it turned into anger.

He had me believing I was moments away from losing everything, only to reach out to Eris.

To involve him.

To put him at risk.

My flames curled instinctively around the orb, clinging to the familiar warmth of Eris’s magic. A piece of home. A reminder of every sacrifice he had made to keep me safe.

Panic tightened around my ribs, and my anger burned even hotter.

I carefully placed the orb back into its box, my hands trembling.

“I’ll see you later,” I called to Zamir, already walking towards the door before he could answer.

I didn’t know where I was going.

Only that my feet moved, and I followed the fury through the streets.

My footsteps echoed on the pavement as I followed the path along the river. I walked until my thoughts blurred, until fear and anger tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart.

I didn’t know how long I’d been walking.

Only that I somehow found myself standing before the river house, my fist pounding against the door before I could stop myself.

The door opened.

Feyre stood there.

Before she could speak, I shoved the box into her hands.

“Leave my family out of this,” I hissed, my voice shaking.

She glanced down at the box now pressed into her hands

“I am sorry,” she said, looking back up at me.

“You spoke to Eris,” I said, my chest rising and falling too fast. “Putting him in danger. For what? A gift?”

“Rhys reached out to make sure you were safe,” Feyre said carefully. “That you weren’t running from something that could—”

“That could endanger your court,” I spat, my words sharp.

“No,” Feyre said, firm but calm. “That could endanger you.”

I could feel my autumn flames prickle at the surface of my skin. 

“We were worried about you,” she continued. “We saw the scars. The way you flinched. The way your flames were always looking for threats. We were afraid whatever made you flee the Autumn Court might follow you here.”

“You don’t know me,” I said, though the words lacked their earlier bite.

“We don’t have to know you to see what’s happened to you,” Feyre said, her eyes pleading. 

“You know nothing,” I whispered, pain burning hotter than anger ever had.

“We just wanted to help.” 

Before I could answer, Rhysand’s voice came from deeper within the house.

“Feyre?”

He appeared beside her a moment later, that infuriating smile already fixed on his face.

“Afternoon,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his arm sliding around Feyre’s waist. “We are just about to serve dinner. We can set another plate if you’d like to stay.”

The ease of it, the warmth between them, made something inside my chest snap tight.

I wanted to scream. To slam the door in their faces.

Instead, my throat went dry as I stared at them standing together, while I felt as if I were splintering apart.

“I’m here to return the gift you left,” I said, my voice cold.

Rhysand’s smile only deepened, as if my irritation amused him.

“Eris insisted that I have it to you as soon as possible,” he said.

My anger faltered at once.

“What did he say?” I breathed. “Is he okay?” 

Rhys hesitated for a fraction too long, and Feyre shifted slightly beside him.

“He’s okay,” Rhys said finally. “But we shouldn’t discuss this out here. Stay for dinner.”

My gaze fell to the box still in Feyre’s hands. She held it out to me, and I hesitated a moment before taking it. Our fingers brushed, sending tingles up my arm.

“I should go back to Lucien,” I said slowly. “We should hear what Eris said together.”

Something like disappointment crossed their faces, gone so quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

I turned to leave.

“We’re sorry if we overstepped,” Feyre said quickly, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. 

“We just…” She glanced at Rhys, a silent exchange passing between them. “We wanted to help.”

I paused, looking back at them, something tight and unfamiliar twisting in my chest.

Then I felt it again.

Darkness brushes the edges of my mind, like night pressing against a flame.

My walls flared, and my eyes snapped to Rhysand.

“Stay the hell out of my head,” I said.

His expression remained calm, almost patient, yet the pressure vanished immediately.

I turned on my heel and walked away.

I could feel their eyes on me as I walked away, and it took everything in me not to look back.

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 3

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That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, Rhys and Feyre’s faces flashed behind them.  

I clutched the fire orb tightly in my hand as I tried to sleep, but I swore I could feel him at the edges of my mind, and the tingling still lingered beneath my skin.

I tossed and turned until I groaned in frustration. Turning onto my side, I rolled the orb over and over in my palm, the same way I had as a child when I was scared, alone and waiting for Eris to return.

My chest felt tight, and the longer I stared out the window at the night sky, the tighter it became.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm my thoughts, my heart, and myself.

As I lay there, a soft warmth bloomed in my chest. It spread slowly from the crown of my head to the tips of my fingers and toes. My breathing eased, and finally I fell asleep.

That night, my dreams were different. 

There were no flames, pain, or nightmares. Only cool, weightless calm, like drifting through deep water that carried me rather than pulling me under.

 I felt peaceful.

The most peaceful I had felt in a very long time.

By morning, I woke feeling more rested than I had in a very long time.

The usual aches and lingering soreness were gone, replaced by a gentle warmth beneath my skin. It didn’t hurt to sit up or stand, or even to comb through my hair; the familiar stiffness and sharp tugs softened into something almost easy.

When I walked into the kitchen, Lucien sat at the table, a letter in his hands. His eyes met mine, then he slid it toward me without a word.

It was a handwritten invitation for Lucien and me to attend dinner at the River House to speak with the Inner Circle.

Nowhere was Eris’s name written; only mentions of Autumn and Night Court politics.

“Tonight,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucien nod.

His hands trembled slightly. His eyes remained fixed on the letter, his metal eye whirring faintly and unfocused. I knew he wasn’t thinking about dinner.

“Will she be there?” I asked.

Lucien blinked slowly before nodding. 

He knew exactly who I meant.

He closed his eyes, sighed, and then his face fell into his hands.

Silence settled between us. 

After a moment, I stepped closer, resting my hand on his shoulder, my chin lightly against the top of his head.

“It's okay,” I murmured. 

I pushed down my own fear, the thought of Rhys’s darkness brushing my mind again and of Feyre’s knowing eyes. None of that mattered as much as Lucien’s pain.

For the rest of the day, I forced myself to act normal. I smiled, spoke when spoken to, and pretended the heaviness in my chest wasn’t real. 

Zamir watched me with narrowed eyes. He was far more perceptive than anyone gave him credit for.

When he said goodbye, he lingered by the door, as if sensing something was wrong, as if my fear were written on my face.

Maybe it was.

He turned to leave, paused, and looked back at me with a knowing look before finally walking out.

I stayed longer than necessary, avoiding going home and the dinner I knew would be awkward and suffocating. I wanted answers about Eris, not fake kindness and political smiles.

Eventually, I packed my things for the night and locked the shop door behind me.

I walked home through the streets of Velaris. Night Court fae filled the streets, restaurants and bars. Laughter filled the air as the faelights flickered on, one by one.

Something inside me was curled tight, and my magic burned too hot beneath my skin, heat pricking along my arms.

I pushed the apartment door open and was met with the scent of cologne and the sound of footsteps pacing.

Lucien was pacing back and forth. His head snapped up at the sound of the door, panic flashing in his eyes as they met mine.

I watched him for a moment, his stiff shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he shook his head slightly. 

Not now.

He needed space.

So I said nothing and slipped quietly into my room.

After bathing, I stood at the end of my bed, staring at the navy-blue gown I had spent hours choosing. The gown, was meant to make me appear softer, less threatening. 

More Night Court. Less Autumn.

The dress hugged my curves, and the fabric dipped low enough to reveal my scars along my spine.

I wanted them to see the viciousness of my father and the reason for my worry and fear for my family. 

Lucien was already waiting by the door. He was tense, his hands curled into fists, jaw tight, eyes distant, as if bracing for disappointment.

“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

Something like mourning flashed across his face.

“Months ago,” he whispered.

His eyes flicked to my scars, something unreadable passing across his face before he looked away.

“Ready?” I asked, linking my arm through his.

He nodded, and we left the apartment.

The walk to the River House felt longer than the night before, when fury had drowned out every other sense.

By the time we reached the house, Lucien wore a perfectly neutral, carefully composed expression.

I was certain my worry was written plainly across my own face.

The door opened before we could knock.

Nyx stood on his toes, barely reaching the handle.

“You’re here!” he squealed, flying into my arms.

His wings wrapped around me for a moment, then he pulled back, landing beside me with a grin.

“Nyx,” a female voice called, filled with concern.

He giggled and hid behind my dress.

A beautiful fae turned the corner, and I knew who she was from the way Lucien went completely still.

Elain Archeron.

She wore a blush-pink dress, her eyes widened slightly when she saw us.

Silence stretched.

No one spoke.

Lucien stared a heartbeat too long before looking away, a faint blush rising on both their cheeks.

I nearly rolled my eyes.

My brother, who had survived two courts, wars, and horrors most wouldn’t, now stood utterly speechless.

I was about to break the tension when Rhysand appeared around the corner, that knowing smile already in place.

“Welcome,” he said smoothly, gesturing for us to enter.

His smile widened as Nyx grabbed my hand.

“Nyx, why don’t you show our guests to the sitting room?” Rhys added, watching as his son eagerly pulled me forward.

The house was beautiful. Sand coloured walls, pale wood floors, hand woven rugs, and glassblown chandeliers casting soft light over the paintings lining the halls.

It was nothing like the Forest House.

This felt like a home.

I could feel Rhysand’s eyes on me as we walked deeper inside. The tightness in my chest twisted with each step towards the low murmur of voices ahead.

Lucien tensed beside me.

I glanced back briefly. Elain followed quietly, her eyea fixed on the floor. Lucien kept his gaze forward, his expression carefully blank.

Nyx tugged my hand again, smiling up at me.

“He missed you,” Rhys said, his voice low, quiet enough to feel meant only for me.

I stopped myself from smiling as I looked down at Nyx, his eyes bright with excitement.

Lucien glanced at me, something unreadable flickering across his face as we stepped into the sitting room.

My stomach twisted.

The room was full.

Azriel and Cassian sat near the fire, watching us with open scrutiny that made it clear we were unwelcome.

Three beautiful fae sat on the sofas and armchairs. One resembled Feyre and Elain enough for me to realise she must be Nesta. The others were Amren and Morrigan.

Morrigan met my gaze briefly, then lifted her wine glass and looked away.

I froze.

Heat crept up my skin.

Nyx released my hand and flew into Cassian’s laps, his smile bright.

I jumped as Rhysand’s voice cut through the silence. His hand rested lightly on the centre of my back, his thumb rubbing over the scarred skin as if to comfort me.

I nearly pulled away, nearly told him never to touch me again. But warmth bloomed beneath his hand, the tight knot in my chest loosened, and a breath slipped from me as my body relaxed into his touch before I could stop it.

He introduced me.

The Inner Circle’s expressions didn’t change.

Lucien stepped forward first, nodding for me to follow, and I did.

Rhysand’s hand fell away, yet the warmth began to spread slowly through me, as if his magic had seeped beneath my skin.

I sat on the open couch. Lucien took the armchair beside me. Across from us, Rhysand sat with Azriel and Cassian.

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Nyx bounced on Cassian’s knee, blissfully unaware.

Rhys tried to start a conversation, only for the others to nod in agreement or chuckle on cue. 

The silence remained until the sitting room door swung open and Feyre stumbled in, carrying a large tray against her hip and a smaller plate in her other hand.

I stood immediately.

Instinct, maybe, a forced habit. The years of court training carved into my bones.

I stepped forward without thinking, catching the smaller plate as Rhys appeared behind me to take the heavier tray from her arms.

My fingers brushed against Feyre’s, and familiar goosebumps rose along my skin. Our eyes met, and I swore she swallowed before offering me a soft smile.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

I nodded, then placed the plate carefully on a side table while Rhys set the tray down.

The conversation between them all was easier now that Feyre was here.

“I wanted to apologise,” Rhysand said suddenly.

He didn’t look at me at first, only reaching for an expensive bottle of wine and pouring three glasses.

“For what?” I asked, expecting a smart remark about yesterday.

He finally met my gaze, his violet-blue eyes sparkling, and his faint dimples deepened as he gave me a regretful smile that felt almost real.

“For ambushing you at the music store. For waiting for you. For leaving Eris’s gift without explanation.” His voice softened. “For trying to read your mind.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed before I could stop myself.

He chuckled at my reaction, and my cheeks burned as he looked at me, his eyes alight with amusement. 

I looked away, immediately found Feyre’s gaze, and my palms began to sweat.

“I thought we were here to talk about Eris and my family, not to listen to apologies,” I said, ignoring the glass of wine he offered.

“We are,” Rhys replied. “But we would also like to get to know you better.”

“I don’t care about your wine or pleasantries,” I said, harsher than I meant. “I want to know what danger Eris is in.”

The room fell silent.

I could feel every pair of eyes on me.

Rhysand’s expression shifted, the softness gone as he glanced at Feyre. A silent understanding passed between them.

“I’ll take Nyx to the playroom,” Elain whispered, lifting the child from Cassian’s lap. Nyx looked at me, confused, before she disappeared with him.

The door clicked closed.

Then silence filled the room.

“Typical Autumn fae,” Mor muttered under her breath.

Flames curled up my spine.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, my voice carefully calm.

She turned towards me, her eyes sharp. 

“You know exactly what I mean. Demanding. Volatile. Just like your court.”

“Just like my court?” I repeated.

“Just like your court,” she said again, lifting her wine glass dismissively.

Silence fell again as heat began to burn uncontrollably beneath my skin, curling around my clenched fists.

“He’s not the villain,” I whispered, my voice cold. “He did what he had to.”

Mor’s gaze snapped to mine.

“He left me there, naked and bleeding to death,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. 

“He did what you asked him to,” I said, watching the colour drain from her face. “You begged him to leave you there.”

The silence was heavier, suffocating.

Mor looked at me as if I had just said something never meant to be spoken aloud.

“If he had touched you,” I continued, my voice tightening, “if he had helped you in front of his men, you would have been bound to Autumn, to Beron, to a life you never wanted.”

Her fingers tightened around her glass.

“Eris asked you what you wanted. He asked if you would rather die there or be taken back as his. He walked away because that was the only way to keep you free.”

Azriel went still, as if he had just realised something.

“He sent word,” I said, my eyes flicking to the shadowsinger. “Anonymously. Made sure someone found you. Made sure you made it back here.”

Mor’s breathing turned uneven.

“And you let them call him a monster,” my voice broke on the word. “You let them believe he abandoned you.”

Rhys stepped forward, his eyes on Mor. 

“She’s lying,” Mor pleaded, her cheeks flushed red, and the glass in her hand cracked under the pressure.

“I don’t think she is,” Rhys replied, without hesitation.

Mor looked around the room, searching for support.

No one spoke.

Cassian stared at her in shock. Azriel looked at her, his hazel eyes filled with betrayal. Amren looked at her as if seeing a stranger. Nesta’s hand rested on Cassian’s knee, as if to steady him.

Lucien was staring at me, his eyes wide.

“That’s not—” Mor began, but stopped herself. 

She stood, looking at me with such fury that I thought she might kill me where I stood.

A hand slipped into mine. The tingling shot up my arm as my fingers instinctively curled around the slender hand.

Feyre.

“We will discuss this later,” Rhys said, shaking his head.

“Rhys,” Mor whispered, tears filling her eyes as she looked at him, broken.

“Leave,” Rhys said, not meeting her gaze. “All of you. We will speak in the morning. Lucien, stay. We will discuss Autumn. The rest of you, please.”

No one argued.

They left one by one.

Mor’s voice followed them down the hall, pleading.

The door closed, and the silence that followed was even worse.

My ears rang, and my hand trembled in Feyre’s.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” she whispered into my ear as she pulled me into her arms.

I melted into her without thinking.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed into her hair as her fingers slowly traced down my spine.

She held me tighter, whispering that it would be okay and that none of this was my fault.

“I destroyed your family,” I repeated, the words rough and raw.

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, her lips warm against my ear.

It didn’t feel okay.

I curled further into her arm. I felt Rhys step closer. His hand reached out to brush my hair from my face.

Instinctively, I leaned into his touch, as if seeking something I couldn’t name.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t pull away. His fingers slid through my hair, and his thumb brushed softly along my cheek.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, then stepped back, giving us space as he turned to speak to Lucien. 

“You’re safe here,” Feyre whispered into my ear, her fingers trailing further down my spine.

A shiver ran through me as she spoke.

Rhys was watching us.

Watching me.

Something in my chest tightened, sharp and sudden, then snapped.

Heat tore through me, searing down my spine, through my veins, threading through my ribs until I could barely breathe.

The same heat I’d felt when Feyre touched me or when I looked at Rhys. The same warmth that had comforted me last night as I tried to sleep.

Something yanked at my heart, as if a string tied deep inside me were being pulled in two different directions.

A small gasp left my lips as I pulled out of Feyre’s arms.

The thread tightened.

I looked at her, then at him.

Their eyes widened, barely, but enough.

There was no confusion or shock.

They knew.

They had always known.

The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court were my mates.

And I had just shattered their family.

Part 2 | Masterlist | Part 4

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