~~ If you would like updates on this fic please follow the tag “acotar: restrung”~~
Individual tags on tumblr have been very temperamental and haven’t working well for most people so I don’t think i’ll be doing it with this fic anymore.
Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.
If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same?
Azriel is sitting out on the back porch of the cottage style home that him and Elain moved into right after they got married three years ago. The backyard is currently filled with kids running around and chasing each other, well all but one child that is.
Next to Az on the porch is his four year old nephew, Emerson who’s the oldest of Cassian and Nesta’s children. He’s a lot like his mom and isn’t much for people or social events. So he just watches the three families gathered at Az’s house with his uncle.
It’s the last weekend of the summer before sending the kids back to preschool and kindergarten for Emerson. Elain had decided to host a cookout as a last little get to getter before all their lives got crazy again. Not that Elain’s business hasn’t been keeping her very busy.
When Elain finally opened her shop a few years ago she already had a waiting list of orders and the business has only grown since. Last year she opened a second location in another part of Velaris and now she’s working on another location in the capital of Winter, where Vivianne moved two years ago to be with her boyfriend recently turned husband.
Due to the growth Azriel decided to step back from Rhy’s law firm and focus on new goals that he started to grow passionate about alongside Elain. Now he runs a non-profit Rhys helped him build from the ground up and at the beginning of the year they finally were able to open up the office.
The charity focuses on helping victims of abuse whether it’s with a partner, parent, or even a stranger. Az even hosted the first event for the charity in the spring where they held an auction and donated the proceeds to several women’s shelters in Velaris. In October he’ll host a Halloween party filled with rides and haunted houses and games for all ages. Then in December he’ll partner with Rhys at the Starlight ball as well.
On top of all the success Elain and Az have both accomplished in their work lives there’s also been rewards in their personal lives. A few months after they got married Elain discovered she was pregnant with their daughter, Hope. Then six months ago they welcomed their second little girl, June.
Currently Hope is running around playing with Rhys and Feyre’s oldest, Hunter. The two were born three weeks apart, Hunter being the older one and since then they’ve been inseparable. As for June she’s currently playing with the other babies by their mother’s.
Feyre is pulling a car toy out of her daughter, Rose’s mouth while Nesta is yelling at her third child who takes after her father. Marley is currently two years old and in the middle of her first prank war of many with Cassian. Oliver, Nesta and Cassian’s youngest is laughing as he watches his troublesome sister.
Azriel chuckles as he watches the failed prank Marley attempts on Cassian who likes to call himself the King of Pranks. When he catches his daughter she shrieks and runs away only to have her father race after her. Those two are going to be trouble, Az thinks as he takes a sip of the mixed drink Feyre had made for all of them.
“Mom’s going to lose her voice again,” Emerson says, watching his little sister be caught by their dad. “She just got it back too.” Nesta had always been the one to yell when she gets mad and ever since Marley learned to crawl Nesta’s been losing her voice every few weeks.
“Yeah but it’ll only get worse if Oliver takes after those two,” Az responds. He can only imagine how much Nesta will start drinking if she ends up with two meddlesome kids, especially considering Cassian is trying to convince her to have another baby within the next year.
“That’s why Marley won’t be allowed to influence my brother,” Emerson says sternly. He’s definitely like his mom, Az thinks as he watches the young boy next to him. Emerson may act like his mother but he looks just like his father. He has the say dark hair, skin tone, and grin as Cassian the only difference is the eyes, those are grey like Nesta’s.
Rhys, who’s been manning the grill calls out that the burgers and hot dogs are done. The kids rush to their seats, even Emerson who has the same love for food as Cassian. Azriel walks over to his wife and takes June from her so she can run into the house and grab the side dishes.
There’s already potatoes and corn out on the table but Elain had made a salad and chopped up some fruit before everyone came over. Az puts June in her high chair they had set in between him and Elain’s seats. Strapping her in putting a bib around her neck Az shakes out a bag of cereal for her to snack on.
His wife comes back out and adds some fruit to June’s tray as well before sitting down and grabbing her own food. Bowls and trays of food get passed around the table as they all make their plates for themselves and their children.
Once everyone is settled the conversations start. There’s talk of the kids which is everyone’s favorite topic. Then there’s talk of work and some charity events Az hopes to do throughout the next year. They also talk about the little things that have taken place throughout their lives.
“Sometimes I wish we took a page out of Amren’s book and waited to have kids,” Nesta tells her husband as the conversation switches topics once again. Amren who is Nesta’s closest friend has spent the past year travelling the world with her fiance, Varian before getting married and settling down.
“If you went the Amren route you probably would never have kids,” Rhys comments knowing his former partner. When Amren got back together with Varian she decided to leave Rhys’s firm and work at a different one in Adriata.
“That’s very true and why would you want to miss out on this cuteness?” Cassian says as he bounces Oliver on his lap, their son having scarfed down his dinner. Oliver realizing that people are looking at him, smiles and babbles as he looks up at his mother.
Nesta smiles widely at her youngest. “Yeah I guess you’re right for once,” she tells her husband as she takes Oliver from him. Hugging her son close. Elain is smiling just like everyone around the table who all know what Nesta went through to get where she is now.
“So does that mean we can have another?” Cassian says hoping he’s finally broken through to his wife.
“Ask me when he’s one,” Nesta responds, rocking Oliver who’s starting to doze off.
“Deal,” Cassian says lovingly watching his wife and son. Az knows his friend is also thinking about what he did in a past life to deserve this.
“Anyone else want more kids?” Feyre asks curiously.
“Maybe in another couple of years,” Elain says looking over at Azriel.
“Sounds good to me,” he tells his wife with a smile. Back when they had first started talking about a family Azriel had told her he didn’t care how many kids they had as long as she wanted them.
“You want another baby darling?” Rhys asks his wife using her nickname.
“I don’t know,” Feyre says honestly. Rhys nods, smiling.
“Well whatever you decide I’ll support you all the way,” Rhys reaches down into Feyre’s lap for her hand bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. Feyre smiles.
“Even if she asks you to get a vasectomy?” Cassian asks with a shudder.
“Yes because I actually listen to my wife,” Rhys combats.
“Hey I listen to Nesta!” Cassian argues.
“Rarely,” Nesta mumbles, causing Cassian to huff in annoyance mostly because he knows it’s true.
Az laughs as he watches his friends, his family and appreciating that this is his life. It’s a life he never thought he would get to hold. Then a woman with the kindest soul moved into his building and made him crave a life like this one.
Looking over at the woman that changed everything for him, his love, his wife, his Elain Az can’t hold back his smile. It’s a smile she reads easily and returns knowing that he changed her life just as much as she did his.
“I love you,” Elain whispers to her husband, all the unsaid feelings and emotions wrapped in those three words and he’s hit with it all as he grasps and squeezes her hand.
“I love you,” Azriel whispers right back with the same impact as Elain’s own whispered words.
They both hang on to each other as the banter between their family continues until it starts to grow dark and the children grow restless along with the dimming light. Saying goodbye they watch as Nesta and Cassian drive back to their home as well as Feyre and Rhys.
Elain and Azriel walked back into the house, hand in hand with Hope running ahead and June knocked out on her father’s shoulder.
Laughing Elain follows her oldest into Hope’s room while Az puts June in her crib. With the girls in bed they head to their own bed together.
“I still can’t believe I get to do this every night forever,” Az whispers into the darkness as he pulls his wife into his arms. She rests a hand on his chest and smiles at her husband.
“We have to be up early,” Azriel tells her as she continues down his body.
“I don’t care,” Az chuckles before pulling his wife back up and flipping her onto her back.
“Well then I guess it’s about to be a long night,” he whispers in Elain’s ear, rocking his erection against her sensitive core. Elain moans into a searing kiss.
This is the dream, Azriel thinks as he kisses his wife and pours all the love he feels for her and all the love she’s given him into one beginning kiss.
Elain woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and what could only be homemade waffles. Stretching herself out she threw herself out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The kitchen she now officially owned with Azriel.
After they had unpacked some last night once their friends and her sisters had left Az had gone down to turn in the papers he had previously signed. Technically he was supposed to sign them this morning but he hadn’t wanted to wait so he went down to their landlord after they moved all of Elain’s stuff into his place.
Heading down the hallway that leads to their now shared bedroom Elain finds Az holding a bowl of batter that he’s pouring into the griddle. Smiling at her boyfriend she leans against the wall, arms folded and relaxed. It’s hard to believe that just within a week their lives have taken a complete turn for the better.
There was a time when Elain believed she would never get to feel this happiness with her best friend let alone anyone else. Yet here she stands watching Azriel as he makes them breakfast and there’s no doubt in her mind that he’s as much hers as she is his.
“You just want to stare at me all morning?” Azriel askss, smirking at her as he closes the waffle maker and let’s it cook. “I mean I don’t blame I’m a very attractive view.”
“And a very cocky one as well it seems,” Elain responds with a smile that Az returns. Pushing off the wall she makes her way around the counter and to his side where he tucks her in under his arm.
“How was your first night in our apartment?” Azriel asks as he plays with a strand of her messy hair.
“Very restful,” Elain responds, her fingers trailing the band of his grey sweatpants.
“I see you’ve also found my side of the closet,” Az says as he tugs on the shirt Elain had pulled on in the middle of the night when she got up to use the bathroom. It’s one of her favorites he notices as well. Most of his closet is made up of dark and plain t-shirts but this is one of the few graphic shirts he owns. It’s also the one Elain had talked him into buying when they went to a music festival last summer with a few friends.
“Well it is our closet,” Elain smirks, looking up at him with her innocent little face.
“So does that mean I can wear your dresses?” Azriel asks, teasing her. Elain laughs, still smiling up at him. The look fills him with warmth and happiness, something he hasn’t felt since before his mom passed.
“If you really want to,” Elain says just before the timer dings. She moves to the other side of the island as Az takes the waffle out and sets it on a plate. He pushes the plate in front of her along with the syrup, a fork, and a glass of fruit punch because it’s the only type of juice she will drink.
With a smile Elain starts cutting up her waffle as Azriel pours more batter to make his own. Once it’s done he sits next to his girlfriend and they enjoy a peaceful breakfast together. Elain cleans up breakfast once the waffles are consumed and Az goes to get dressed.
They’re planning on having dinner with some friends tonight but until then they have the day to themselves. Azriel pulls up the website for the local drive-in theater to see what they might be showing this afternoon.
Turns out today is a flashback theater today where there’s a showing of Gone with the Wind, which Elain hates. Then there’s The Wizard of Oz which is a favorite of his, and lastly Dirty Dancing.
“Feel like going to the drive-in theater for a showing of The Wizard of Oz?” Azriel asks, taking a seat on a barstool and watching his girlfriend in the kitchen. He can’t get enough of calling her that even if it’s only in his head.
“That sounds like fun,” Elain says as she hangs the towel she used to dry her hands once again. “You grab snacks and drinks while I go get dressed.”
“Deal,” Azriel says. With a bright smile on her face Elain runs off into their bedroom while Az grabs a couple of bags for snacks and drinks. Starting with the cooler bag he grabs some water and a few of the lemonade flavored sparkling waters that he knows Elain loves. He also adds some fruit from the fridge and an energy drink or two for himself.
Zipping that bag up Azriel heads for the small pantry in the corner of the kitchen. He tends to keep the pantry fairly stocked with a variety of snacks considering how Cassian is always radding his food supply. There’s a few snack sized caramel corn popcorn bags which Az grabs because how could they go to a movie without popcorn.
There’s also sour gummy worms that he adds to the bag. It’s a big bag but Azriel always finds himself craving the candy in the middle of the night. Lastly, he adds a couple big bags of unopened chips from a party he had gone to a couple weeks ago.
“Got everything?” Elain asks, walking out of the bedroom in one of her many sundresses. This one is yellow and white in a plaid pattern, which is her second favorite right after floral. She’s pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she walks back into the kitchen.
“Yeah, ready?” Azriel asks, shouldering both the bags onto his shoulders. Elain smiles with a nod before heading to the small entrance hall where a pair of brown sandals wait for her to slip on her feet. Elain then grabs her purse off the hook Az had installed on the back of the front door.
Opening the door they head out and down to the parking garage where they decide to take Azriel’s truck, having more room for them to lay out the blankets and pillows they had grabbed from Elain’s car beforehand.
It’s quiet for a bit as Azriel drives. The theater is on the outskirts of the city in the more rural area of Velaris. It’s a place he knows Elain is very familiar with as she gets antsy when she’s in the city too long.
“So I’ve been thinking,” Elain says, breaking the silence. Az turns down the music he had put on so he can hear her better. “Since I know longer have to pay full rent and with the bonus I’m expecting soon it might be time to start my business.”
“Really?” Az asked, a little surprised. Elain had been saying that she wanted to wait another year before looking into renting out a space in downtown Velaris for her floral arrangements shop. “You don’t want to wait any longer?”
“Some events have taken place recently in my life that are causing me to rethink things,” Elain says, smiling over at him. He knows she’s talking about their recent relationship status. “I don’t want to wait any longer and I plan on starting small.”
“What do you mean?” Azriel asked. He’s smiling, feeling the joy and happiness along with her at finally being able to kickstart her dream.
“I’ll start as an assistant with a local floral shop in order to learn everything else I don’t already know,” Elain says. “The owner wants to help me so she’ll help create my website and even let me start independent orders as I learn.”
“That sounds amazing,” Azriel says, taking the exit ramp that’ll lead to the drive-in theater. “What about after that?”
“Well I’m thinking I’ll do this through the winter and look for my own space to rent and hopefully by spring I’ll be set up in said space and ready for the summer season,” Elain explains.
“Also known as wedding season,” Elain smiles at him, loving that he knows that little tidbit.
“It’ll be the perfect time to start,” she says.
“Well I can’t wait to watch you succeed.” They’re both smiling as Azriel pulls into the drive-in and pays for the movie. Pulling into the lot where the movie is set up he finds a space right in the center of the lot.
Elain sets up the bed of his truck with the pillows and blankets while he unpacks the snacks and drinks. Settling down together Az kisses the top of her head as he tucks her into his side.
The movie starts and Elain’s focus is on the black and white opening scene while Az watches her intently. A part of him still doesn’t believe that she is his and yet here they are finally in each other’s arms. And all he can think is that he can’t wait for more moments like this throughout the rest of his life.
This is a little project I’ve been working on as an acotar/tog crossover. I thought I’d give you guys a sneak peek for if I ever decide to post the full thing. Anyway, you’ll never guess who Fenrys’ lover is. (Don’t tell me I’m weird if you figure it out)
*****
Whimpering, Fenrys put a shield around himself that he knew would do no good, his body shivering as the house shivered. His ears rung with every crash, the grumble bouncing around in his head.
The bedroom door opened. He should have locked it. Should have left before this city of light was torn apart, cast into eternal darkness along with all the people within it.
“Fenrys?”
Fenrys squeezed his eyes shut as thunder sent the windows rattling.
Someone was in front of him. Kneeling there. She was using his lover’s voice, coaxing him out only to go for the throat in the next. He knew it. She’d done it before.
“Hey, what’s going on? Fenrys. Look at me.”
No. Because when he opened his eyes, it would be real. She’d take him, thrust him back into a nightmare of her own making.
“Puppy.Look at me.”
The pure command in that voice called to him, a shout in the dark. And that name. She didn’t know that name. Only those here, those in the City of Starlight, had ever called that name and only to one would he listen for it.
Quaking, he peeled open his eyes to find a man before him, hands hovering over his body. No. Not hovering. The faint glimmer of gold in the air told Fenrys his shield had worked.
“There you are,” his lover breathed and the shadows around Fenrys tightened. “Can you put down this shield for me?”
*****
Anyway, let me know if you’re interested and if you have any guesses to who Fenrys’ lover is.
*I want to preface this by saying I know absolutely nothing about medical stuff sooo
*Also this chapter contains some content that might not be suitable for young readers. Read at your own risk**
The surgery lasted hours. Shvan wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm and called Madja over.
“I need you to reconnect a few nerves. Your hands are steadier than mine.”
“I’ll do my best.” Madja took up the tools. “What about the tendons?”
“I have the left wing almost done.”
She paused. “Do you… will this really work?”
Shvan smiled. “I have done this once before, on a young girl. She still flies to this day. But…” Her smile faded. “She fled the camps before they could clip them again, or worse. I’m afraid that dear Marlee may have to do the same.”
“Ares will keep her safe. I will keep her safe.”
“I know.”
It was three more hours before they were finished. Madja was so exhausted, she wasn’t sure she could see straight, but she bathed in the wealth of knowledge she had learned. She gave Marlee careful instructions to not move the wings for several weeks, as they need to heal. The girl cried through it all after the anesthesia faded.
Heavy on her feet, Madja returned to the dining hall to find it empty, save for servants cleaning up dinner. One paused. “I can send a plate up for you so you can rest,” he said.
“Thank you,” Madja murmured, and braved the stairs.
Once she reached the top, exhaustion took over. She collapsed onto the bed, too lazy to change from her blood stained clothes. When she opened her eyes again, the room was lit by candles, and a plate of steaming stew lay on the nightstand. She dove into it hungrily, grateful that someone had kept it hot.
As she scraped the bottom of the bowl, the door opened, bringing Ares with it. She set the bowl aside, chewing a bit of potato slowly.
He wordlessly passed her a nightgown that she quickly changed into before climbing back into bed.
“How’d it go?” he asked her.
“Pretty well, I hope. Only time will tell.”
Ares put a knee on the bed, leaning in to give her a swift kiss. “I’ll never get to thank you enough for what you did.”
“I would do it for anyone.” She cupped his face. “Plus, Illyrian wings are absolutely fascinating.”
“Really? How so?”
“Well.” She sat up, reaching a hand towards his wing. “There’s a tendon right here.” She traced just along the inner top edge. “It leads directly into the back of your thigh. And here, that goes up your shoulder.”
He shuddered as she traced that one too.
“Really, most of your wing movement comes directly from the muscles of your back and legs. Are you… are you okay?”
His face was flushed, eyes closed. “Yeah. Just… um.”
Her brows furrowed. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”
“No. Er. I don’t know if you know this, but Illyrian wings are very sensitive.”
“Of course they are. There are so many nerve endings, especially along the inside.” She flattened her hand over the thin skin. “I assume it helps in sensing airflow and temperature.”
“Yes, but not that kind of sensitive.” He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist.
“I’m not sure I catch your meaning.”
He leaned his brow against her wrist, letting out a low laugh. “How do I say this? Many males can… find completion just from having their wings touched.”
“Completion? You mean…” She trailed off as her cheeks began to burn. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Come; you need to rest.” He tugged her down onto the bed, drawing her against his chest, and whispered, “You can touch my wings anytime you like.”
*****
Madja awoke the next morning to the impression of Ares laying on the center of her chest. The position made it a little difficult to breathe, but she relished his weight. His head was pillowed on her breasts, his wings splayed across the bed and dipping off the sides.
Madja lifted a hand slowly, careful not to jostle him. She ran her fingertips lightly over the top edge of his wing, feeling the texture of the bone beneath paper-thin skin.
Ares shifted at that, nuzzling his face into her breast. “Mmm, don’t stop.”
She smiled, brushing her fingertips back down to the joint between wing and back. She traced a vein there, one that feathered out across the expanse of the webbing.
Ares groaned, his arms tightening around her. “Feels so good.” His voice was rough, his stubble stretching at the sensitive skin on her chest.
Heat shot through her as she felt his hips shift between her knees. “Are… are you…”
He ground into the mattress again, nodding.
Madja laughed, raising her other hand to run it through the soft locks of his hair. “Shameless.”
“Only for you.” He lifted his head, dragging himself up the bed to kiss her lips lightly. “How does a bath sound before breakfast?”
“Amazing,” she whispered, her body tingling.
Ares grinned, scooping her up in one swift movement, gripping the bottom of her thighs. She reached up as he carried her, dragging her palm up the bone to drag his talon a little closer to her. “These really are fascin—”
Ares pushed her hard against the wall next to the door, cursing.
Madja ignored him, thumbing at the skin just beneath his talon. “Are these a defensive tool or is it more of a dominance thing? Kind of like an elk’s horns.”
“Fuck, don’t talk science to me.” He kissed her throat, biting softly at the skin there.
She grinned, tightening her legs around his waist. “I think that they’re mostly just an accessory that never evolved out. You don’t use them much.”
Ares let out a series of unintelligible sounds as she wrapped her hand around the bone beside the talon. She blushed as she felt a certain hardness pushing against her center when he ground his hips into hers.
“You’re trying to ruin my plans,” Ares groaned.
Madja laughed, sliding her hand away from his talon to press against the webbing just beneath. “What plans?”
He gathered himself enough to pull his head back, snatching her hand away from his wing. He breathed hard for a few seconds, leaving her biting her lip to hide a grin. He kissed the inside of her wrist. “I was planning on taking you away for a week or so and going to a mountain retreat so we could be alone.”
“Alone for what?”
Molten gold eyes lifted to hers. “Hopefully for our mating ceremony.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten about that.
“If that’s something you want to do.”
“Hmm.” She smoothed her hand over his chest. “Do you promise to be a good mate?”
“I promise to be an extraordinary one.”
She gave him a smile. “Then I do too.”
He swung her around, making her squeal. “We’ll leave today after breakfast.”
“Today? What about my responsibilities? Yours?”
Ares shook his head as he walked them into the bathroom. “Shvan won’t mind, and she can watch over Marlee. I couldn’t care less what else I have to do here—they can handle me being gone for a while.”
“How irresponsible of you.”
“I want to do so many irresponsible things.” He set her on the counter, kissing her softly. “The only thing we have to do now is hold out until we get there.”
“I think you can manage,” she said against his lips.
“I don’t know. Having you naked in the bath… with me, naked in the bath.”
“Well, I have a solution for that.”
“Oh?”
“Mhmm. Step back.”
He obeyed as she hopped off of the counter. She took another step, forcing him back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the tub.
“What are you—”
She planted her hands on his shoulders and shoved him into the tub. Water splashed everywhere as his wings tried and failed to catch his fall. He stared up at her from where he splayed in the tub, the water soaking into his clothes.
Madja caught the gaping look on his face, and laughed.
Ares tried to glare at her but his own lips wouldn’t turn down. “Why you…” He moved too quickly for her to follow, leaning forward to snatch her around the waist.
She squealed, scrambling to get out of his grip, but he was relentless as he dragged her into the water with him.
For good measure, Ares also grabbed the pitcher, filling it all the way before he dumped it on her head.
She glared at him, wiping the water from her eyes. “That was unnecessary.”
They both stared at each other for a long moment before breaking into laughter. Ares’ laugh was a healthy boom that came from deep within his chest, rumbling through her. His face completely changed— the harsh lines of the warrior she’d met in that tent melting with mirth into the man she’d come to know.
As the laughter faded, his face remained like that, lines creasing the sides of his eyes as he grinned at her.
Madja cupped his cheek, drawing him down for a kiss, but paused. “I can’t kiss you properly if you’re smiling like a drunk fool.”
“I can’t help it.” He leaned against the back of the tub, pulling her into his lap. “You make me forget what it’s like to frown.”
Her own smile softened at that. “You got all of the water out of the tub.”
“OhIdid that?” But he switched on the faucet, shaking his head. “You’ve made a massive mess on the floor. The people below us are likely going to think it’s raining.”
“I’ve solved your problem.”
“Yes, because now we are both fully clothed in the bathtub, rather than naked. As I was hoping.” He tugged on her nightgown, giving her a pout.
Seeing her opportunity, she kissed that jutting lip, making him smile again. “Then take them off.”
“More like peel,” he muttered, but indeed lifted the garment over her head.
She helped him out of his own clothes, tossing them from the tub with a wet slap. “We’ll be gone before they can complain about the mess.”
“How noble of you.” But he was running his hands up and down her waist, his eyes clearly not on her face. He leaned his head back against the tub, humming. “I really don’t want to wait until we get there.”
Madja’s cheeks heated. “You can be patient.” She didn’t want to be patient, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “The faster we get clean, the faster we leave.” She laughed again as he lunged for the soap.
Confused, she patted the sheets beside her to find them still warm, as if he’d only just risen. It was hardly dawn, but she supposed it wasn’t abnormal for him to be up this early.
Her sleepy eyes trailed away from the abandoned sheets to the light coming from beneath the bathroom door, where she could hear the sounds of a bath beginning to fill. She slid out of bed, padding on bare feet to the door.
Cassian was washing his face in the sink when she came in, squinting against the lamp light. He smiled at her in the slightly fogged mirror. “Good morning, my love. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She scrubbed her eyes. “What are you… why are you up?”
“I’m just gonna take a bath before heading into Illyria. They need me to speak to some of the camp lords.”
She grumbled and shuffled closer to wrap her arms around him from behind. “‘Ts cold.”
He ran loving hands up and down her forearms as she rested her head between his wings. “You can go back to bed, my love. I’ll be back later today.”
She let out a low whine and squeezed him tighter.
“Nesta,” he sighed, unwrapping her from him so he could turn around. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”
She deposited her face in his chest. “Mmm, no.”
“Well, I have to take a bath, so you can either get dressed or go get some more sleep. Aren’t you helping with the young Valkaries today?”
She whined louder.
“Alright.” Cassian bent down to pick her up by her thighs and she hooked her feet behind his back.
Burying her face in his neck, she began to grumble again when he made his way back into the bedroom.
“What?” he asked, exasperated.
Her hands lifted to tug at his hair. “Bath,” she mumbled.
“You don’t have to be ready for a few more hours, my love. You can take your bath later.”
“Noooo.”
“You’re just gonna fall asleep in the tub.”
“Nooooooo.”
He sighed once more before turning to set her on the bathroom counter. “Alright, but no funny business or I’m gonna be late.”
Nesta lifted her arms in signal for him to take off her sweater.
He peeled it off of her effortlessly before discarding his own night clothes and ridding her of the rest of hers.
The bath was thankfully big enough for them both as well as a pair of Illyrian wings. Nesta sighed in content when he set her in the water, blissfully hot. She tugged him insistently down in front of her so she could cling to his back once more.
He huffed but resigned himself to the treatment as he went about washing himself. Nesta laid her head on his shoulder, content to watch until his hands lifted to his hair.
She hissed, wriggling away from him. “Nooo. Let me.”
He looked over his shoulder at her to deliver a single brow raise. “You want to wash my hair?”
She nodded, moving to sit on the far bench. “Pretty hair.”
“Has anyone ever told you how articulate you are in the mornings?”
Her half-lidded eyes lifted to an almost-glare.
He laughed softly, but leaned into her arms.
She grabbed the pitcher beside the tub, filling it with water to pour over his head until his hair was as soaked as the rest of him. Then she lathered it with shampoo, her long fingers massaging his scalp.
Cassian let out an animal-like purr as he closed his eyes, his wings going limp inside the water. “Mmm. Fuck. So good.”
“Very articulate,” Nesta mumbled as her hands worked the soap in. Once he had almost fully melted, she rinsed it from his hair before reaching for the conditioner.
He turned onto his stomach as she did so, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. She didn’t mind, though. Not as his brow leaned against her sternum, his arms wrapping around her. He hummed while she worked the conditioner in, nuzzling into her.
She rinsed that too, his hair going silken in her grasp, and grabbed the rag he’d abandoned, filling it with soap. She scrubbed at his shoulders and upper back, down the column of his spine as far as she could reach. When she made to start on his wings, however, he lifted his head to glare at her.
“I said no funny business.”
Nesta pouted but resigned herself to rinsing the rest of the soap from his body. When she was done, he rose and lifted her with him, both of them dripping wet.
“Will you go back to bed now?” Cassian asked as he wrapped her in a fluffy towel and set her on the edge of their bed.
She shook her head, watching him in growing appreciation as he dried himself.
He huffed, grabbing his hair brush from the vanity.
Nesta snatched it from him, arching a brow when he tried to contradict her. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the space between her legs on the floor.
He plopped down at her feet and her legs swung carefully over his shoulders and wings to keep him in place. As she brushed through the dripping tangles of his hair, he massaged her calves, occasionally turning his head to kiss her knee.
“Stay still,” she said as she set the brush aside.
His hands paused when he felt her beginning to part his hair. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer and he didn’t push, instead surrendering himself once more to her ministrations.
Ten minutes later, she was done, finally allowing him to rise. He went to the vanity mirror to find four braids neatly worked along the left side of his head, stopping just above his ear. His smile was the one reserved only for her as he turned back. “Thank you, my love.”
She gave him a similar smile in return, if a little more sleepy, and let out a yawn, lifting her arms. He obeyed the unspoken command, moving her further onto the bed so she could lay properly on the pillows. “I’m going to cancel your training today,” Cassian said, working the towel out from under her.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Why?”
He tucked the comforter into her sides with expert care. “Because I want you just like this when I get home.”
She didn’t have the energy to fight, instead snuggled into his pillow. “‘Kay.”
He pressed a kiss to her brow, but she had already drifted off. “I love you.”
Mother’s brow was creased in that way it always did when she was worried. She gripped my hand, tugging me through the endless halls, surprisingly quick despite her growing belly.
We stopped outside of Father’s study and she turned to me, brushing off the shoulders of my new leather jacket she’d insisted I wear.
“Mama, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, taking my hand again, and leading me into Father’s study.
Father rose from his desk, pressing a kiss to Mother’s furrowed brow, then bending to press another to her belly. “Is there a reason for this interruption, my love? Have you settled on a punishment?”
I cringed. A week ago, Mother had caught me and Mor sliding down the oiled ramps of the library, bringing scholars and priestesses tumbling after us. My parents still hadn’t decided on a good punishment.
“He’s coming with me to the Illyian camp. I want him to learn of my people.”
“And when was this decided?”
“I decided it. Our belongings are already there.”
“Who said you could go?”
“I am the Lady of the Night Court. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”
I could almost see Father’s temper start to rise. He had been in a good mood until the word Illyrian slipped from Mother’s mouth. “You have to answer to me. You are no High Lady.”
“I am your mate and I will be doing what’s best for our child.” Her hand tightened around mine. “We’ll be leaving now. You are free to visit.”
“Ellie–”
She set me on her hip, marching to the large window in the back of the study.
Father started shouting, “Don’t you take one more step. Ellisya–”
She took off in a gust of wind.
The last thing I saw was Father, raking his hands through his hair, his desk thrown on its side.
*****
“Why is it so muddy?” I asked Mother as we strode towards the camp, kicking the squelching dirt beneath my new boots. Everything I wore today was new–boots, leather pants, and a jacket to go with it.
“Because when the snow melts, it wets the dirt.” She stopped so suddenly I almost slipped. Just outside of the line of tents and buildings, she knelt in front of me.
“Mama, you’ll get the mud on your knees–”
“Hush, Rhysand, I need you to listen to me very closely.” She combed my hair with her fingers. “You will go into this camp and you will train as the other boys your age do. You’re not special here. You will get spat on, beaten, and dirtied and you will learn. I will not be able to help you.” She cupped my face in her hands as I felt myself tensing. “I will be in the biggest house on the south side. Find me once you’re done.” With that, she stood, looking down at me. “Summon your wings.”
“But, Mama–”
“Summon your wings, Rhysand.”
My lip wobbled at the harshness of her tone but I did as she said.
She let go of me completely. “Wipe your tears away and hurry along. I’ll have supper ready when you get back.”
I indeed wiped at my eyes, taking in a shaky breath. Mother didn’t say anything else as I turned away.
I hoped my face was clean when I strode into the camp. There, a tall man found me, his greying beard doing nothing to make him look friendlier. He stared down his crooked nose at me. “What’s your name, soldier?”
I had never been called soldier before. “Rhysand.”
His thin lips nearly disappeared. “And why aren’t you with the other boys, Rhysand?”
“I–”
“Go before I give you the lashing you deserve.”
I scrambled away, running towards where I saw a few boys around my age.
They were on some sort of lunch break, chatting noisily with each other. I hovered between two tables, looking for possibly someone to sit with.
A hand tapped my shoulder.
I turned and the first thing I saw was the grin that could cut steel. The boy looked no different than all the others except for that and the feral thing that danced in his hazel eyes.
“You’re new,” he said, eyeing me.
I shifted on my feet, not enjoying the way he was looking at me. “So?”
“I challenge you.”
“Pardon me?”
“I challenge you to a fight. If I win, I get those fancy clothes.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
“Oh, don’t be a bore.”
I frowned, but my father had taught me never to back down from a challenge. “What about if I win? What do I get?”
The boy winked. “All the riches in the world.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I know. Come on.”
We squared off in one of the rings for the older boys. I set my feet as I assumed was right, but the boy’s were in a different position. In fact, they were lifting from the ground and–
He slammed his fist into my jaw. Pain, like I’d never felt before, shattered through my skull as I collapsed. I barely registered the other blows the boy rained, barely reminded myself to put my hands up.
The world went black for a moment but a swift punch to my ribs had me back up again. My face was wet. I didn’t know if I was sobbing, or if it was blood.
Then, as swiftly as it began, it was over, one of the warriors yanking the boy off of me. I blinked the black spots from my vision as I, too, was hauled to my feet.
“What the hell did I say about fighting?” shouted the man that had called me soldier.
“Devlon–” the boy started to say but he had no pity.
“Ten lashes, each of you. To the posts, now!”
I stumbled after the boy as he sulked over to a large wooden post. I stood awkwardly next to him, not quite sure what was going on.
“What are you staring at?” he snapped. “Go to your post.”
I saw then the twin post beside his and went to it, looking at the warriors who had gathered with frowning faces.
“Take off your shirt and jacket,” one of them said.
The boy beside me already moved to the task but I hesitated. “What?”
“Did I stutter, boy? Take ‘em off.”
I obeyed, finally understanding when a warrior grabbed my wrists, yanking them to hug the pole.
They were going to whip us.
“Wait!” I shouted. “Wait, no! You can’t do this!”
“And why not?” Devlon purred, walking around the post so I could see him.
Beside me, I heard the boy scream in pain. “Because I’m Rhysand! My father is the High Lord!”
Devlon laughed, a deep, cruel sound. “You think that matters here, boy? You are nothing but a halfbreed.”
I screamed at the first strike of the whip.
*****
Mother tended to the wounds on my back while I cried.
“I don’t wanna go back, Mama,” I sobbed. “I want to go home.”
“I know, my love. Today was bad, but it will get easier.”
My face, luckily, had mostly healed on its own. Mother hadn’t liked it one bit when I told her about the boy, but I never did get to give him my clothes.
Mother made dinner for us, or rather, it appeared on the table. I shovelled the food eagerly into my mouth but when I reached for seconds, Mother slapped my hand away. “You’ve had enough. Go get your books.”
I grumbled, sliding out of the chair to fetch them. I joined her by the window, the camp bustling below us. I was just about to start reading aloud to her when something outside caught my eye.
The boy who’d beaten me was trudging through the snow to a line of shabby tents.
“What is he doing?” I asked Mother.
She shrugged. “Bastards are given nothing. They are to find their own food and their own shelter. If he ever gets to the war bands, he’ll have those but he’ll be bottom ranking forever. Until then, he’ll stay out in the cold.”
Unease settled in my stomach but I stayed quiet. I went through my lesson with Mother until we’d finished the chapter. She tucked me into bed, pressing a kiss to my brow before slipping out.
I tossed and turned for what could have been hours. I had food; I had shelter. I’d never grow hungry or cold. Comfort sat at the edge of my fingertips and yet that boy didn’t have a glimpse of it.
Before I could consider the consequences, I slipped out of bed, tugging on my breeches. Then I levered open the window and dropped into the mud. I found the tent I’d watched the boy wonder into, teeth chattering.
The boy was awake with a dagger in hand when I flung open the flap. “Come on,” I whispered, rubbing my arms. “You’re going to live with me.”
“What?”
“You’re going to live with me. Do you have anything you want to bring?” It didn’t look like he had anything at all.
He mutely shook his head. “Why?”
I hissed through my teeth, “Just shut it and hurry up.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
He was right. “Well… what is it?”
“Cassian.”
“Let’s go, Cassian.” I grabbed his wrist, pulling him along with me. He stumbled, bare feet slipping in the mud outside.
I found my window had closed in my absence so the only way left was the front door. Mother would be asleep by now, thankfully.
I eased the door open, motioning him through after me. We tiptoed through the living room but then a light flicked on.
Cassian and I froze like two deer caught before a bow as Mother stared us down.
“What’s this, Rhysand?”
I winced. It was always bad when she said my full name. “This–this is Cassian. I told him he could live with us.”
She looked positively furious, glaring down at me, her huge wings spreading slightly, but her face softened as her gaze settled on Cassian. “There’s a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.”
Cassian disappeared instantly down the hall she indicated like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Mother turned back to me. “You cannot go bringing every bastard out there into this house.”
I fiddled with my fingers. “He was the one that beat me.”
She rolled her violet eyes. “No more surprises like this or I’ll be the one beating you. Back to bed, now.”
I was almost asleep when the door opened, Mother ushering Cassian in. “Into bed, now.”
Indeed, another bed had appeared across the room, twin to mine.
Cassian balked, bumping into the wall. “I–but–”
“I understand. I’ve been in your shoes,” she said, kneeling in front of him as she had for me. “It will feel like you’re being swallowed up but it’s here for as long as you need it.”
He looked at her like she was an alien. “But–I’m a bastard.”
She shook her head. “The circumstances of your birth do not matter to me.”
His lower lip wobbled but he climbed into bed. Mother pressed a kiss to his brow and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
In the leftover silence, I was barely able to hear the quiet of Cassian’s weeping.
*****
The next morning, I caught Cassian halfway through the window, about to slip out.
“What are you doing?” I asked, sitting up. It was barely dawn. “You’re letting cold air in.”
“I’m going back to my tent,” he snapped.
“Why?”
“Because!”
That’s when Mother came in, taking in the scene with pursed lips. “Cassian, darling, what are you doing?”
“I don’t want your help!” he shouted. “I don’t want your kindness!”
She took a step forward, holding out her hand. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
There were tears streaming down his boyish face. “I’m a bastard,” he sobbed, “I’m supposed to sleep on the floor.”
I rose from bed, pausing when he flinched. “Please don’t go. I don’t care if you’re a bastard.”
He shook his head, angrily wiping away his tears, but stayed quiet.
Mother wrapped her fingers around his, guiding him gently back from the window. “Let’s get some breakfast, shall we?”
I trailed after them, jealousy sparking that Mother was holding Cassian’s hand over mine. We were all quiet at the breakfast table, Mother having set out plates of bacon and eggs.
Cassian started shovelling the food into his mouth with his bare hands, much to my horror.
Mother quietly set down her fork. “Cassian, darling, use your silverware.”
“My what?” he asked around a mouthful.
She pointed to the fork.
He wiped his hands on his pajamas and picked up the fork, looking at it skeptically.
I daintily demonstrated how to use a fork while he scowled at me.
Alone with Lucien, Elain has to set her feelings straight. When an innocent hike, turns to something a little more meaningful, she finds it hard to breath.
(Hi, so I haven’t exactly decided who I ship Elain or Lucien or anyone with, but I was toying with the idea and that’s where this fic came from.)
Warning: Contains mature content not suitable for some readers. Read at your own risk.
*****
Elain wrung her fingers as she watched Lucien approach. The house was empty for once, even baby Nyx had gone with his parents to the theater. So it was just her and Lucien tonight.
She didn’t know why that made her nervous.
He passed by her on the way to the kitchen. giving her a small smile that barely lifted his lips.
He didn’t smile around her.
“Do you want anything? I think Feyre left some cake for us.”
“No, thank you,” Elain chirped, searching for a way to leave without being rude. “I’m full from dinner, so I’m just gonna head to bed.”
His expression flickered, but it was too fast for her to read. “Alright. Sleep well.”
She nodded absently as she retreated to her room, her heart hammering. She wasn’t sure why. Desperately needing to cool down, she opened the window to her room, glancing over the edge to see the night-blooming flowers she’d planted earlier in the season. They were just barely opening as the sun made its descent, having flourished well in this land of moonlight.
Elain tugged her hair from its braid, smoothing a hand through it. She sighed as a tingling started at the base of her spine. It did that whenever Lucien was near, warning her of his presence.
A moment later, a soft rap sounded at her door.
“Yes?”
The knob turned, revealing that golden face. He’d cut his hair in the past months so it was now short as most males preferred. She would never admit it aloud, but it made him more handsome, showing off the sharp angles of his face.
“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a hike. I know it’s late, but the view is better at night.”
Elain hesitated. Walking alone with any high Fae through the woods already sounded like a trap, but him… being alone was already miserable enough.
Lucien watched her face carefully, the pupil of his metal eye narrowing slightly. “You don’t have to say yes. I was going to go anyway— I just thought you’d like the fresh air.”
She glanced back to her window, where the flowers rose just beyond the pane. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”
“Brilliant. You’re gonna need better shoes.”
She looked at her slippers and chewed her bottom lip. “Alright.”
*****
In Feyre’s ill-fitting boots, Elain panted as she climbed after Lucien. Of all the things being high Fae had given her, stamina wasn’t one of them.
“You alright back there?” he asked over his shoulder, face washed in patches of moonlight coming through the leaves.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, catching up to him. The ground leveled finally, allowing her a bit of reprise. Thankfully, her wheezing breath had made talking difficult for the past mile or so they’d walked, but that advantage was quickly fading.
“You know,” Lucien said, eyes fixed on the trail, “your father talked about you a lot.”
She nearly tripped. She often forgot that Lucian had met her father, traveled with him. It was a fact that she buried deep with all the other uncomfortable knowledge of this world.
“What kind of things?” she made herself ask. She could be pleasant, even if she was craving the next slope and the asphyxiation it brought her.
Lucien kicked a rock out of the way, his boots torn and dusty. “He talked about how you used to collect wildflowers for your sisters when you were younger, and horrify your mother whenever you braided them into your hair.”
Elain chewed on her lip. She remembered those moments, before they’d installed a garden on the estate. The village girls would often help her, creating giant bundles to leave on people’s doorsteps. It was when she returned home with mud on her hands and in her hair that her mother would curl her lip and call a maid to bathe her until her skin was pink. Of all the things her mother did, that was one of the lighter punishments.
“I never understood why she didn’t like them.”
Lucien let out a small laugh. “He also talked about you finding a fruit from a poisonous tree and then puking for a week straight.”
Her nose crinkled. “Yes. That was a punishment in and of itself.”
She looked up, finding another hill for them to scale.
“We’re almost there,” Lucien said, shouldering the pack he’d brought with. She wasn’t sure what was in it, only that it bulged at the seams with cargo.
As they crested the hill, Elain finally caught sight of what they’d been hiking to. A small stream rushed through the trees, barely a dozen feet from a cliff. Beyond that, the lights of Velaris twinkled and winked at her, as if they were sharing a secret. From here, she could see the House of Wind, crowned in gold above the city that only really lived at night.
“This is stunning,” she said, stepping over a root. “How did you find it?”
Lucien shrugged as he eyed the stream. “I like exploring. I don’t really do much else here.”
At the tone of his voice, she glanced up. He was balanced between two rocks above the bubbling water, shifting his weight.
“Why don’t you find a hobby? Like painting or reading?”
“Or gardening?” he asked, throwing a wink over his shoulder. “This is my hobby. Besides, of course, lowering Rhysand’s opinion of me and avoiding my brothers.”
“Rhys doesn’t think badly of you.” She approached the bank just as Lucien finished crossing. From this distance, the stream was starting to look more like a river. A very fast moving river.
“The stream connects with some more down the mountain and helps feed the Sidra,” Lucien explained, as if trying to fill the silence.
Elain cautiously set her boot on a rock and found it didn’t immediately shift under her weight. As warm as the night was, she didn’t particularly feel like cooling off with a dip in the water.
“Step on this one,” Lucien said. “No. Your right foot.”
She obeyed his instructions and found both sides of the stream beyond her reach.
“Left foot on the red one. There you go. Good girl.”
She was so distracted by his choice of words that her right foot slipped, sending her forward. Lucien caught her by the elbows, one of his boots submerged in the water. She hadn’t even seen him move.
“Are you alright? Did you twist your ankle?” He guided her to the next rock.
“Is the water cold?” she blurted, then nearly smacked herself. He was still holding onto her, and that tingling in her spine grew to a tickle.
He let out a breathy laugh, not answering until she was safely on the other side. “A bit, but that’s alright.”
“Your sock must be wet.”
He laughed again and Elain found herself enjoying the sound. “Yes. My sock is wet. Is your ankle okay?”
She nodded, biting her lip. He was still touching her, a hand on each elbow, despite both of them being on dry ground. His hands were warm through the sleeves of her shirt.
As she looked up, one of those hands moved, cupping her face. His thumb smoothed over her bottom lip, drawing it out from between her teeth.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered, before seeming to catch himself. He let go of her as if she burned, instantly putting space between them. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s alright.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. I’m going to get a fire started. There’s a blanket in my pack if you want to sit down.”
She nodded, blush high on her cheeks as she went for the pack he’d set on the bank. So that was why it looked so big. Inside the blanket, a bundle of cheese and meats were carefully wrapped. She set those aside to lay out the blanket on the sand ground, kicking away a few rocks.
By the time Lucien had returned, she was munching on a bit of cheese, watching him as he carefully stacked the firewood he gathered. Barely a moment later, the fire sprang to life, sparks flying in the air.
“Why get the firewood at all? Doesn’t your magic just… keep it burning?”
“I don’t want to be focused on the fire,” he answered simply, before sitting beside her, a good foot or two away. He leaned back on his hands, staring at the city below them.
“How often do you come here?” she asked, the silence burning a hole through her brow.
He shrugged. “Whenever I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“What are you thinking about now?”
He glanced at her, arching a brow as a little smile pulled at his full lips. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“Well now I’m actually curious.”
His smile bloomed into a grin. “Small talk not enough for you?”
“You’re my mate,” she said, the words like sandpaper on her tongue. His smile died. “I want to know more about you.”
“Thank you for reminding me.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“You know why.” Because you don’t want me. Because I am not enough for you.
The words didn’t come from her mind, but from a vision, of perhaps a future between the two of them. In a dark meadow, too much space between their bodies. She wasn’t sure who said it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know at all.
She blinked as the image faded.
Lucien was still looking at her. “Do you really want to know?”
“What?”
“What I’m thinking.”
She considered him for a moment and realized she didn’t want that vision for them at all. She’d changed the future once before, she was sure she could do it again.
“Yes.”
He rolled his head back to look into the sky. “I’m thinking that after everything I have lost, you are the gift I’d never once thought I’d be given and yet you’re still just out of reach.”
“I’m right here.”
“Are you?” He lowered his chin, face framed in moonlight.
Elain swallowed. “I am.”
“Then come here.”
Eyes widening, her body registered the words before she did. Going molten in all the right places, she found herself shifting so they were knee to knee.
Lucien said softly, “Lay back.”
She did and didn’t know why. A moment later, Lucien’s face was above her, his hand cradling her cheek. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
More than anything. But she said, “Yes.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as the ghost of his mouth brushed across her cheek. “Like that?” he asked, the words a hot rush across her skin.
“No.” More.
He pressed his lips to her jaw, tilting her head back slight. “That?”
“Please.”
Her eyes were still closed as his mouth finally met hers, softer than she’d expected. He kissed her lips once, twice, before nipping.
She gasped and he used that to his advantage. As his weight settled fully over her, he deepened the kiss, his tongue hot in her mouth. She welcomed it, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer, if such a thing were possible. His chest pressed into hers, his other hand resting on her hip as they kissed and kissed and kissed.
It was over before she wanted it to be.
He pulled back, lips bruised. “Have you ever… Are you…?”
“A virgin? No.” She laughed. “Though I’m not very experienced.”
“Do you want me to show you?”
The tingling at the base of her spine grew, as if in warning. She said, “Show me.”
He grinned and a moment later she found herself on her stomach, having been flipped faster than she could register. She laughed a little, pushing herself to her elbows as he pulled off her boots, then her pants.
“What about the socks?” she asked breathlessly.
“I can throw one in the water so we’re even,” he said as he pulled those off too.
Elain laughed again, for some reason not at all bothered by the fact that her ass was exposed to the moon and everyone else in the company of two.
Lucien pressed a kiss to her ankle, trailing up the back of her calf. She warmed at the feeling until he bit lightly at the curve of her ass.
She gasped, tempted to turn over to smack him, but before she could make the decision, he pulled her up by her hips, guiding her onto his lap where she could feel the press of his against her backside.
He ran his hands up her thighs as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder, content to let him touch. He lifted her shirt, guiding it over her head to toss it somewhere with the rest of her clothes. Then his hands met her breasts, squeezing gently. He twisted a nipple between his fingers, earning a sharp breath as the sensation shot to her core.
His chest rose and fell behind her with breath. “Are you already wet for me, my dear?”
She bit her lip, earning another harsh pinch to her nipple.
“What did I say about that?” he asked, nipping her ear.
“You said not to do it.”
“Good girl. You remembered.”
She blushed as one of his hands trailed down, gliding across the band of her underwear.
“Do you want me to touch you here?” he asked hotly.
“Yes.”
He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck as that hand dipped into her panties, trailing down through her core. He hummed at what he found waiting, brushing his thumb over her clit.
She let out a soft sigh, head lulling against his shoulder while he began careful circles, his other hand still working her breasts.
“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of you,” he said, guiding a finger inside of her. “How long I’ve craved you.”
She moaned while he pumped that finger in and out, curling slightly to touch that spot she wasn’t sure existed until now. As he added a second, she tucked her face into his neck, arching into his touch.
He worked her slowly, his thumb grinding against her clit. She felt release build in her faster than it ever did with her own hand, fueled by the rough calluses of his hand and the feeling of him hard behind her.
She came with a cry, convulsing around his fingers. He held her while she shook, working her through the throes of it until she was too sensitive to enjoy his touch. She pulled his hand away, but he guided it to her mouth.
“Open up. Taste yourself.”
Her lips parted around his fingers, taking in the salty flavor. Her tongue flattened under the pads, teeth scraping gently at his knuckles.
“Don’t you want some?” she asked as she pulled her head away, eyes heavy.
“I’d rather taste it from the source.”
Heat shot through her again, making her turn in his arms. His mouth met hers like it was made to be there, hands lifting her slightly so she could properly straddle his lap. She fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt, dimly aware that she was one piece of clothing away from full nudity yet he hadn’t even taken off his wet sock.
Lucien helped her with a flick of his fingers, the shirt disintegrating from the seams with a small orange flame. Elain stared at his chest. “You didn’t burn yourself.”
He shook his head, leaning forward to kiss her neck.
“But what are you going to wear on the way back?”
“That is the last thing on my mind right now.”
“But—”
“Just touch me. Please.”
It was as close to begging as she thought she’d ever get him. She ran her hands over his chest, dusted with scars and freckles. He was skinnier than the Illyrians, though no less built. His torso was all slim muscle and carefully hidden strength.
Lucien lifted them suddenly, moving forward with a hand braced on her lower back as he lay her back down on the blanket. He glanced appreciatively down her body. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
She didn’t know why, but she blushed. She’d been doing a lot of that recently. Her skin was pink from where he’d squeezed and pinched her breasts, but he didn’t seem to care as he lowered his mouth to them, tongue smoothing over a nipple. She moaned softly, running her fingers through his hair while he sucked and toyed with her breasts.
He moved on when she began to squirm, lips dancing across her belly. Fingers hooked beneath the straps, he pulled her underwear off before guiding her legs open for him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee as he watched her, his single eye dark as coal.
“You don’t have to,” Elain said, uncomfortable being completely open like this. “I know that men don’t really like—”
“There is nothing I want more in this world than to taste your cunt and see you come from my mouth.”
She choked at the harsh words, more filthy, she hoped, than any of Nesta’s books.
“So let’s not pretend otherwise,” he purred and lowered his mouth.
The first touch of his tongue set her on fire. She moaned as he licked her clit, hands twisting in the blanket beneath her. He set an easy pace, sucking and drawing whimpers from her lips. She managed to release one hand from the blanket to put it in his hair, the red locks like silk between her fingers.
He growled, sending vibrations straight to her core as his hand slid up her thigh, parting her legs wider. He spread her folds, the next touch making her arch against the ground.
“So delicious,” he whispered, his thumb circling at her entrance while he sucked her clit.
She moaned as he pushed that thumb inside of her, his tongue moving in time with it. The sensations had her mind reeling, wondering if his cock was as big as it had felt beneath her.
She came with the image in her mind, fingers twisting in Lucien’s hair while wave after wave washed over her. He lapped it up greedily, drawing her slowly down from the high.
When he rose, Elain was delirious with pleasure. She grabbed the back of his neck, drawing him in to kiss her. He responded in kind and consumed her, hands sliding up and down her bare flesh. His hips lowered, grinding into her sensitive core.
“Elain,” he said. “My Tigerlily.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “What are you waiting for?”
“I— I don’t want to go any further.”
“What?” Her heart raced. He didn’t want her? It made sense. After making him wait so long, maybe he’d lost interest. Maybe—
“Because when we are joined like this,” he said, hips making a slow circle against hers that had fire stirring in her belly. “I don’t think we’ll be able to stop. And as tempting as it is, I don’t want to have you in the middle of the forest for the first time.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”
Her face must have looked like a tomato. “Well, I don’t really know what to say.”
“Say that…’’ He drew her hand from his shoulders, studying the lines of her fingers before threading them through his, and kissed the back of her palm. “Say that there is a future for us. No matter how far.”
She swallowed hard, looking into his eyes, one of brass and one of gold. They glowed like sunlight. It was hard to draw breath, her heart in her chest filling up the space her lungs were supposed to occupy. “There is. No matter how far.”
Madja had never laughed so much in her life. She lay on the giant bed beside Ares, covering her pink cheeks. He had just finished one of the most lewd stories she’d ever heard about a warrior turned launderer.
She couldn’t draw a deep enough breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “You are… absolutely terrible.”
Ares gave her a shit-eating grin, propped on his elbow beside her. “You love it.”
She rolled her eyes, finally able to lower her hand. “Where do you learn those stories?”
“I’ve been commanding legions for three years now. You start to appreciate the things heard around campfires.”
Her mouth popped open. “Only three years? But so many people know you.”
“It’s less than you’d think, but I’m not that old. I turn ninety-seven this year.”
“Why did you become a commander?”
“Well, it’s one of the most respected things you can be as an Illyrian.” He lay back down, tucking his arms behind his head. “It also pays much better than a librarian.”
It was her turn to move towards him, propping her head on a fist. “You wanted to be a librarian. It explains all the books.”
His smile softened. “Believe it or not, I do know how to read.”
Madja laughed quietly. “I won’t believe it till I see it.”
“Oh?”
“Read something to me,” she ordered, poking his shoulder.
“I’ll have you know, that I can read in two languages,” he said as he rose from the bed. “Let’s see who looks stupid when you’re trying to understand the ancient language of Illyria.”
“Why would you learn a dead language?”
He examined the books on his shelf. “It’s not entirely dead. Some people still speak it. There are branches of it in the far North. It’s also just a beautiful language and makes me feel closer to my people.”
Madja chewed on her lip, watching his wings shift as he reached for a book off of the top shelf.
Ares returned to her with another grin, settling carefully onto the bed so he didn’t bend one of his wings the wrong way. “Come here.” He held out an arm, opening up his side.
Madja couldn’t help herself. She snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. His tunic was soft beneath her cheek, but his heart beat wildly. He cleared his throat, propping the book up against his thighs, and began to read.
His voice soothed something deep in her core, washing over her in a wave of prose. Sooner than she’d like her eyes drifted shut, lulled by the sound of him.
His voice lowered a fraction as her body grew heavy. “Tired already?” he whispered.
“Mmm.” He was so warm beneath her.
“You go to sleep. I’ll be right here.”
“M’kay.”
*****
Madja awoke to the feeling of eyes on her. At first, she thought it was Ares, but she could feel his face tucked into her chest, fast asleep.
Her eyes peeled open and saw a little standing at the foot of the bed. She resisted the urge to jump and wake her mate. “Can I help you?”
“What are you doing?” The girl wasn’t fully grown, but well into her teen years. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Madja. “Get out of his bed.”
Ares finally chose that moment to wake up. He stirred against her chest, lifting his head slowly. His voice was gruff as the first time she’d met him, injured and delirious with pain, as he said, “Get out, Marlee.”
“She needs to get out. This isn’t even her house.”
He turned over finally to glare at the girl. “She is a welcome guest and she is my mate. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Marlee scowled but indeed turned on a heel, stomping away.
Madja sat up and raised a brow at Ares. “Care to explain?”
“My little sister. She’s very over protective.” He traced her collarbone. “She’ll warm up to you.”
Madja hummed. “You never told me about your family.”
He shrugged, his wings rustling. “There’s not much to say. My father was the camp lord here, and my mother was the daughter of a lord in the far North. That’s how Marlee and I learned the language.”
“How did your parents meet?”
He chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t really know. My ma says they met at a camp meeting, but my dad said he met her by chance while exploring. They always thought it was funny to confuse us when the question came up.”
“That’s so mean.”
He grinned. “Where do you think I get it from?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that where your sister gets it to?”
His eyes darkened a shade. “No. She used to be so bright all the time.”
“What happened?” The question slipped out of her before she could stop it. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to ask such things.
But Ares answered anyway. “A few months ago, they crippled her wings. It happens to all female Illyrians once they come of age.”
“That’s horrible.”
He wouldn’t meet her eye. “I should have done more to stop it, but… it’s tradition. She loved flying just as much as I do.”
“That tradition is terrible. They cripple all females?”
He nodded solemnly. “I don’t know why. Suicide rates are high for Illyrians who can’t fly. It’s.. our life.”
“Can they be fixed?”
“Not that I know of.” His eyes widened. “But you could try! You’re already a great healer.”
“I’d— I’d have to take a look.”
He grabbed her hand, hauling her out of bed. “Let’s go.”
*****
Madja chewed on her thumb as she examined the girl’s wings. They’d cut the major nerves and tendons, making moving them nearly impossible.
“We’ll need Shavan,” she said. “And if it works, a lot of physical therapy.”
Marlee looked over her shoulder, tears shining in her golden eyes. “But it could work?”
“I don’t know.” Madja’s heart strained in her chest. “But, like I said, I’m willing to give it a try.”
Marlee turned and threw her arms around Madja, nearly knocking her off balance. Madja held her tight, and prayed.
*So this story might be a little longer than I intended, only because I have some painful plans for Ares and Madja, but not in the way you think. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.*
*****
The house was brilliant. Madja would never admit it, but she worried she’d track mud onto the fine sunstone floors. It was far bigger than most houses in Velaris, reaching nearly three stories high with a balcony on each floor. In fact, the entire house was built for Illyrians. The grand staircase in the center was wide enough to fly up, the doors were all double and at least eight feet high. All the chairs had low backs and everything was just… bigger.
“Take any room you like,” a servant said, bowing to Madja and Shvan as they passed. “They’re all on the third floor.”
“Thank you,” the healers said in unison.
Shvan left Madja to check on a few of the injured, telling her she was still a little pale. Madja glared at the back of her dark head as she retreated.
Madja wandered the house for a bit before she settled on a room. Like all the others, the bed was massive, decked in grey sheets. This one had an adjoining bathroom as well as a balcony. She closed the door and curtains before stripping down to wash any lingering blood or mud off of her.
The bath, to her surprise, didn’t take long to heat at all. She poured some of the scented soaps inside that lined the rim, lavender wafting up to meet her. With a sigh, she sank into the delicious heat, letting it ease the sore muscles that had plagued her for weeks. When was the last time she’d had a proper bath? At the war camp, the best she could do was pour a few buckets of water over her head, with no soap to be found.
After her bath, she towel dried her hair, wrapping another around her body as she drifted back into the bedroom.
And screamed.
Ares was sprawled across the bed, his wings hanging over the sides, with his arms folded behind his head. He grinned. “I hope you left some hot water for me.”
Madja sputtered. “What— what are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you the same thing.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, seeing as you’re nearly naked in my room. After taking a bath in my tub.”
Her eyes widened. “This is your room.”
“This is my house.”
“But I thought it belonged to the camp lord.”
“It does.” He shrugged. “But that’s alright. You can stay in here if it suits your fancy.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Please. I insist.” He sat up, wings slithering along the sheets.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“You love it.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”
“Absolutely not.” She took a step back, clutching the towel.
He sighed dramatically. “Well, if you don’t want to play, I’m going to take my bath now.”
“What do you mean, ‘play?’”
His grin widened as he stood. “I mean exactly what just went through that pretty head of yours.”
Blush stained her cheeks crimson as he took one step forward, then another. She matched each with a step back until her back hit the wall and he was there, barely a hair’s breadth away.
“What are you doing?” she breathed.
He reached up, plucking the towel from her hair. “Going to take a bath. You stole all the towels.”
There were more in the bathroom, but she wasn’t thinking about that. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all.
He leaned closer, his nose brushing hers. “You smell good.”
Her eyes fluttered shut. “You smell like sweat.”
He laughed, pushing away from her. “I suppose you’re right.” With towel in hand, he padded to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Madja let out a breath.
*****
She was faced with a new problem— clothes. Hers were all being laundered, and Madja wasn’t about to put on the dirty dress she’s been wearing before.
She resigned herself to digging through Ares’ dresser, searching for something that would fit. She settled for a shirt and a pair of leggings that she had to roll up thrice at the waist to fit. As she tried to do up the panels in the back, a thought occurred to her.
“Did you fly here?” she blurted as Ares emerged from the bath.
He gave her a weird look. “Of course I did.”
“Your wing isn’t healed yet.”
He’d take off the splint, but she knew it would have to be another week before he was good without it.
He shrugged, holding a towel around his hips. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you did. You could have had—”
“Someone carry me? Not only would that be mortifying, but it isn’t very easy to fly with another Illyrian. Too much drag.”
“But—”
“But, what, sweetheart? I feel fine. Better than fine.” He gave her that shit eating grin. “You look good in my clothes.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I’d rather fuck you instead.”
Her eyes blew wide. “E-excuse me. I am—”
“Shocked? You shouldn’t be.” He inched closer until she was trapped between his chest and the dresser. “I thought I made myself clear earlier.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “But…”
His fingers danced up her arm. “You see, I have a theory.”
“A theory?”
He hummed. “I think you may be my mate.”
“Your mate,” she said stupidly.
“All it would take would be a taste to know for sure. Prove me wrong, sweetheart.”
Her heart was doing somersaults in her chest. “A taste of what?”
“You.”
She put a hand on his bare chest, not knowing if it was to push him further or pull him closer. His heart beat just as wild beneath her fingers. “Why do you think I’m your mate?” She had to do this logically, otherwise she risked losing herself in him. To him.
“Your eyes,” he said, cupping her face to turn it up to him. “I’ve dreamed of them every night since I met you. They’re so dark, I thought I would drown.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’re right. Shvan told me something changed in your scent and mine. Something familiar.” His thumb smoothed over her cheekbone. He leaned a tad closer. “Prove me wrong.”
Her eyes fluttered shut. She couldn’t think again, which really wasn’t helping the situation. “Alright.”
With her eyes closed, she didn’t see the flash of the grin that spread across his face, but a moment later his lips fell on her own, his body closing any remaining distance between them. He kissed her like she’d never been kissed before— like she meant something.
Like something lost had come back to him.
She pushed on his chest before the kiss could deepen, unsure she would be able to handle herself if it did.
His eyes were wide as saucers. “You taste… you taste like heaven.”
“Do you have your answer?” she breathed.
He shuddered so deeply it wracked his entire body. “Yes,” he said, and kissed her again.
She responded in kind, her hand on his chest traveling up to his neck, where his hair brushed her fingertips, feather-soft. He nibbled her bottom lip until she provided him entrance, his tongue brushing hers and leaving electricity in its wake. She sighed softly, unable to help herself as she responded in kind.
He pulled back to press his brow to hers, his lashes fluttering against her cheek. “You are everything I dreamed you would be.”
She opened her eyes to find his still closed, his breath fanning across her mouth. “We should, um, go eat something.”
That pulled him out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into. His eyes opened. “Dinner should be ready down stairs. Just let me get dressed.”
When he stepped back, her hand trailed him, sliding down his arm before finally letting go. He grabbed it, bringing it up to kiss her fingertips. “Wait in here. I’ll be right back.”
She perched herself on the edge of the bed as he grabbed some clothes from the dresser before retreating back into the bathroom. She watched his back as he walked, the Illyrian tattoos traveling down his spine and across his ribs.
He closed the door with a click.
Madja let out a breath and tried to remember how she had gotten here.
*****
The dinner was far grander than she expected. It was a relief to eat something other than oatmeal and grey mashed potatoes. She was silent between Shvan and Ares, the only sounds the scrape of knives on porcelain and the murmur of some of the other healers that met them here.
Madja died a little inside as the awkward silence finally ended and she went to find another room.
A moment later, however, there were steps behind her, eating up the distance. She wasn’t sure when she’d learned the sound of his footfalls, but she did now. She turned just as he was there, lifting her chin.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Finding a room.”
“You have a room.”
“No. You have a room.” She crossed her arms.
He mimicked her stance. “I told you that you should stay with me.”
“Thank you, but I still hardly know anything about you.”
“You know that I am your mate.”
“What a fuckload of information that is.”
His lips quirked around a laugh. “What do you want to know?”
Her eyes rolled. “Well, I don’t exactly have a list.”
“I’ll make you a deal. You stay with me and I’ll answer any questions you have with complete honesty.”
She squinted at him. “Tempting.”
His face lit up like a child opening presents. “Really?”
“No.”
“Madjaaa,” he whined, drawing out her name. “Please?”
She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, before sighing. No one could deny him like that, with his eyes huge and his mouth pushed into a familiar pout.
At only eighty years old, she’d been Velaris’ most famous healer’s apprentice for just over forty of those years, dealing mostly with the sick and dazed among the beautiful city.
But this place was much different than Velaris.
Mud squelching beneath her boots, she followed Shvan to the tent— the largest on the field.
“I know you haven’t done a lot of this kind of work,” the healer was saying, “but these people make up the majority of the High Lord’s army. They are brutish and arrogant, but you must learn.”
Madja nodded, curling her fingers tightly around the leather strap of her medical bag.
“You’ve been studying wing anatomy, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll need it.”
For she had seen Illyrian’s before— with the great and terrible black wings spread behind them. Had seen them in this camp, soaring overhead or lugging their comrades to safety.
Shvan lifted the tent flap, bidding her forward.
But Madja had never seen so much blood.
*****
Nearly dizzy with exhaustion, Madja moved onto the next patient— and hopefully the last. She’d been on her feet for eight hours, stitching wounds, setting bones, giving medicine. The Illyrians, she found, were a proud people, and often tried to hide their pain. This made working with many of them extremely difficult. They would turn their brows away from her hands, grit their teeth when she asked them where it hurts. But for them to be in this tent, she knew it had to be fatal, and had already lost nearly eight men who were too far gone to help.
Each death weighed on her soul, even if she knew there was not much she could do.
Her next patient was face down on the bed, his wings spilling out onto the floor beside him. She was careful not to step on them, studying the large tear down one that was hastily patched with red magic and an odd twist that suggested something broken.
“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked as she came to his bedside.
It was the first question she asked each patient. Some were too far gone to give her a coherent answer. One told her he wished he’d forgotten it. She still didn’t know what to make of that.
The man grunted, his face buried in his arm. “Ares.”
“Well, Ares, your wing is badly injured. Are there any other injuries I should know about?”
“Spear went through m’ shoulder.” He didn’t lift his head, but she lifted hers, spotting the clear puncture wound on his other side, wrapped in someone’s dirty shirt. Likely his.
“Alright. I’ll have a look at that one first, then get to your wing.”
“No,” he grunted, face still hidden by his arm. “Wing first.”
“The shoulder is more pressing. You could get an infection or—”
“Wing first.”
She sighed, rising to step back over said wing so she could get a better look at it. She’d take care of the tear first, then the break. His body shook slightly as the red magic flickered and faded away, providing her a clear view. The wound was at least eight inches wide, traveling up about a foot and a half into his wing. She gently cleaned the remaining dirt and dried blood from the area around it, marking the shivers that wracked his body. If he was shivering, that could be a sign of fever. Fever from infection. That shoulder—
“The most I can do for this is sew it back up, but you won’t be able to fly for a few weeks. I’ll also put your wing in a splint and set the bone. But first—”
“My wing,” he mumbled again.
She sighed again and went to work. The sewing was the easy part, with Illyrian wings being so thin. The bone, thankfully, wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. It was a clean break, but easy to set. The splinting would have to wait till later when she could build something proper for him. His wings were bigger than average, and each had to be custom made anyway.
She smeared a salve on the area that would numb it and speed along healing. His hiss found her ears, making her look up. “What is it?”
“Tha’s cold.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m going to look at your shoulder now.”
“What about the splint? You said some’in about a splint.”
“That’s going to have to wait until I look at your shoulder.”
He grumbled something she chose not to hear. That was another thing she’d learned about Illyrians. They were always grumbling. She knew by now how much they cared for their wings— clearly more than life itself— but her job was to keep him alive first.
The spear had hit just above his armpit, she found when she unwound the dirty cloth. It went all the way through, but thankfully didn’t hit bone.
“I need you to sit up so I can see the other side. Can you do that for me?”
He grumbled some more, but shifted, pushing himself up on his good arm.
Madja had to pause.
With him no longer covering his face, she could see him clearer now.
He was stunning. A long, thin scar trailed just below his eye, all the way down his jaw and part of his neck, but it did nothing to dull his strange etherealness. There was a fine dusting of coarse hair over his jawline, kept well groomed. His chest was a patchwork of the scars and muscles every Illyrian carried, so she didn’t know why she was so shocked. Maybe it was his eyes.
They were gold, where most of his kind had hazel or brown. His were molten gold.
She cleared her throat awkwardly, gaze shooting to the wound on his shoulder. She bent to clean it, earning a soft hiss in her ear. “It’s not infected— thankfully. And didn’t hit anything important. After I wrap it, this arm is going in a sling. You’ll only have to wear it for a day or two, just so your body can remember properly how to heal it.”
“I’m not wearing a damn sling.”
At that, Madja straightened, glaring at him. “It wasn’t a question. You will do as I tell you, or I’ll make you sleep for days so you won’t have to wear one. Oh, you don’t think I will? Want to take a gamble?”
He shut those too-full lips, pouting almost, and looked away. With both sides clean, she wrapped the wound carefully, applying a yarrow salve to the cloth. Then she grabbed a new and wider strip of cloth for the sling.
“So you can make a sling right now, but can’t do a splint.”
When she went to wash her hands, though, he opened that damned mouth again.
“Do you know how to make a splint?” she hissed, then, at his silence, added, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He continued to glare at her as she worked, but thankfully didn’t say anything else. Once she was finished, she took another once over on his body. The legs, she couldn’t see beneath his trousers, but nothing appeared damp with fresh blood or misshapen. His torso was bruised, but nowhere immediately concerning. Good.
“What about my splint?”
“I’m debating not getting you one and letting you heal all wrinkled. Shut your mouth.” With that, she went to find some wood and maybe ask Shvan to put the splint on.
*****
Madja sighed as she collapsed onto the simple cot the camps had provided her. She was tired down to her bones, her movements heavy as she pulled off her boots. It had been nearly two weeks here, patching up soldiers who fought a war she knew nothing about. Few bothered to thank her before hefting up their swords if they were well enough, but she didn’t mind. Seeing them back on their feet was thanks enough.
Laying down, she didn’t know she had fallen asleep until she woke to the sound on mud squelching outside her tent. It had rained yesterday, leaving more infections to deal with, and trying to pull mud from a drowning soldier’s lungs.
She sat up, eying her oil lamp, which was about to go out. She hadn’t meant to leave it on. Where would she even find more oil? Who could she ask—
The tent flap lifted and Madja shot her eyes towards it, snatching the knife from beneath the pillow. She had no real fighting experience, and the knife was a small surgical one, but she hoped it would be better than nothing.
Just when she was about to stand, a dark head ducked inside. “Shvan told me I could find you here.”
“Are you injured?” She lowered the knife, but only slightly. The man stood just beyond the light of the lamp, his features cloaked in darkness.
He laughed slightly. “Not anymore.”
“Who am I speaking to? Step forward.”
He did and the dim light fell on his features. Ares.
“What do you want?”
“To thank you.”
That threw her off. She’d begun to think that those words simply weren’t in many Illyrian vocabularies.
“Your thanks is accepted. You may leave.”
He didn’t. Instead, he stood there. Awkwardly.
She sighed, setting her knife down. “What do you want?”
He cleared his throat. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry for being an ass when you were just trying to help. And I’m sorry for waking you up just now.”
She waved him away. “Your apology is accepted too.”
And he still stood there. Still awkwardly.
“Get out of my tent.”
“Right.” He bowed, seemed to stop half-way and correct himself, then turned on his heel and left.
*****
“Your studies paid off,” Shvan told her almost a week later, looking over the room of slowly healing soldiers.
Madja bristled with pride. Compliments from Shvan were few and far between, each one coveted like gold. “Thank you. You taught me well.”
“Nonsense. I never hinted that we would be working with Illyrian. More importantly, however, you seem to have caught someone’s eye.”
“What?” She turned to her mentor, a single brow raised.
“Ares is a good friend of mine. I remember when he was just a child, coming to represent his camp when his camp lord died.”
A child? She knew Shvan was old, but how old was Ares? And why would they send a child?
“He’s asked after you several times,” the healer went on.
“I’ve only seen him twice.”
She snorted. “What a coward.”
Madja pushed the thoughts of Ares from her mind. “When do we leave for Velaris?”
“When the work is done,” Shvan answered, which was her answer to all questions like that.
“And when will that be?” Madja always asked, but didn’t this time.
She had a feeling it was going to be a long while.
*****
A new rush of soldiers hit that night after a bomb went off somewhere in one of the camps. Madja found herself busier than she liked, wobbling on her feet from the effort of working endlessly with food or rest.
Black spots swarmed her vision as she stood from a soldier’s bedside to meet the new ones coming in, pointing to empty beds— only three were left.
Fuck. She really should have gotten something to eat.
She went to help the soldiers but Shvan was already there.
Turning, Madja’s head swam again, but she shoved it down— made her steps straight as she checked on a soldier that had had his leg amputated just a few hours earlier.
She braced her hand on the bed, cataloging that he was thankfully still asleep.
“Madja?” A voice came from behind her.
She turned— too quickly.
Taking a lurching step, her vision went black for a moment before she found herself being help up— two strong hands at her elbows, flecked in mud and blood.
“I’m so sorry—” she started to say.
“What are you doing? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
She lifted her head, the face before her taking a moment to come into focus. Ares. She pushed away from him. “I’m fine. I just—”
But before she could finish the sentence, she was being swept up, her head lulling against his muscular chest. “You’re done for the day.”
Then Shvan was there, a hand on her brow as she tried to rid herself of the hulking Illyrian. “Madja, why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”
“Not ill,” she mumbled, kicking her legs slightly. “I need to help—”
“You’re of no use to me on the verge of passing out. Take her to her tent, Ares. Make sure she drinks water and eats something useful.”
“Shvan—” Madja struggled some more, but Ares held her tighter, guiding her face into his neck.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Madja gave up. If Shvan said so, maybe she really did need some rest. And she wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. She had a nice view of the strong column of his throat, his pulse pounding just beneath the golden skin.
Ares carried her from the tent, crossing the camp unperturbed despite the stares from the people around them. Her eyelids fluttered, and grew heavy.
Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep in his arms.
*****
Madja blinked against the light that had woken her, letting out a hiss as she turned her face into her pillow.
“Well, that’s certainly a sight.”
The tent flap dropped behind Ares, cutting off the band of sunlight.
She blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I got you breakfast, since you slept through dinner.” He set a tray at her feet before handing her a glass of water. “Drink this. All of it.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly not if you didn’t recognize your body’s own limits. Drink.”
She glared at him, but indeed tipped the glass, taking a long swallow. The water was cold and welcome, waking her up fully. “What time is it?”
“I’ll answer questions after you finish that glass.”
Blowing air sharply through her nose, she resisted the urge to spit the water at him. After she finished the glass, she asked again.
“Just after ten.” He sat on the bed beside her. Unwelcome. “A truce was signed this morning. We’ll all be going home soon.”
He said it in a way that interested her. “Me and Shvan too?”
“Shvan and I,” he corrected. “But I have other news.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense.”
He glanced at her, then quickly away. “Shvan would like to stay with our camp. She said it would be good for you to learn other things about Illyrians, besides battlefield healing.”
“And why haven’t I heard about this yet?”
“We only spoke last night.”
“That’s rather convenient.” She glared at the space in front of her.
Ares shifted, drawing her eyes to him. He put the tray on his lap, holding up a spoon of oatmeal that was just a tad too thick.
Madja balked. “I can feed myself, thank you very much.”
He pursed his lips. “Just eat it. You’re wasting my time.”
“I’mwastingyour—”
He shoved the spoon into her mouth.
She sputtered, nearly gagging as she pushed his hand away. “Excuse me? What the hell—”
Then his other hand was on her chin, cradling as he wiped away a bit of oatmeal on her lip. For a moment, she forgot she was angry.
“You need to eat,” he said, voice dropping.
“That doesn’t mean you need to feed me.”
His hand was still on her face. That was all she could think about.
“Are you going to fight me, or am I going to have to make you eat.”
“I was going to!”
“You’re taking too long.” He held up another spoonful. “Don’t make a mess this time.”
“I swear to—”
“Madja.”
“What?” she snapped.
“You’re cute when you blush.”
She gaped, and therefore gave him the ability to shove more in her mouth. This time, she took it easier, but still considered spitting it on him. “I’m serious. I’m not an invalid. I can feed myself.”
“I like feeding you.” He offered another spoon.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, waving the spoon a bit in warning. A thick glob fell off and landed with a splat on the tray.
She sighed and took the bite. It was dry and tasteless on her tongue, making her regret drinking all that water at once. “Have you eaten anything today?”
He rolled his eyes. “Really? I’m not as stupid as you are.”
“I’m not—”
Another spoon in her mouth.
She seethed. If he wasn’t so damn pretty, she’d have covered him in the dish by now. Probably.
“You need to keep up your strength today,” he said, still feeding her like she was a damned baby. “Shvan needs your help getting the soldiers ready who are too injured to move themselves. Open.”
“I’m going to hurt you.”
“Open.”
She opened her mouth.
“Good girl.”
Her eyes widened and she nearly choked.
*****
“Do Illyrians bathe in mud?” Madja asked Shvan.
The healer gave her a skeptical look. “What?”
“There’s mud everywhere and I haven’t seen a drop of naturally clean water. I’ve also never seen one bathe.”
“As bold as that observation is, no, they don’t bathe in mud. That defeats the purpose of bathing.” Shvan smoothed a hand down the front of her healer’s gown. “Why are you thinking about Illyrians bathing?”
“Because they’re always disgusting. Please tell me we’re not staying in a tent anymore?”
Shvan gave a rare smile. “No tent. There’s a house that belongs to the camp lord. We’ll be staying there.”
“Brilliant.”
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“About that.” Madja kicked a rock as they awaited the last of the Illyrians’ preparations to leave. “Why did you have that damned man come to my tent and feed me as if I couldn’t myself.”
Shvan choked, eyes shooting to hers. “He what?”
“He fed me. It was mortifying.”
She seemed to be suppressing a smile. “I didn’t tell him to do that. I told him to make sure you ate— I suppose he thought he had to go to extremes. Is he why you’re thinking about Illyrians bathing?”
Sorry about the wait and the short chapter, but I hope you enjoy.
Land, when she came to it, was welcome. Nesta climbed from the water on two legs and collapsed onto the sand until the tides rose and threatened to take her again. Then, under the cover of night, she slipped into the nearest village, snatching clothes from some poor woman’s home. She also managed to find some stale bread and sweaty cheese, gnawing on the food as she tried to figure out where she was.
And so her journey began.
Traveling across Asia, then Europe, it was months before she heard word of the Velaris.
“It was rescued by Hybern’s men,” a man said, wiping grease from his hands. “But that was months ago. No one has heard anything since.”
So she went to Hybern.
He was a busy man, living at the tip of Italy. It took her a week of pestering to get an audience.
Nesta didn’t bother to straighten her ragged clothes, to make herself look anything more than a beggar on the streets as she entered the ostentatious office.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
“Where are who?”
“They people of the Velaris. There had to be survivors.”
“Ah. I was wondering when someone would come asking about that.” He scribbled something on a paper before folding it and handing it off to a trembling servant. “Most survived. Casualties were few and far between thanks to my men.”
“What happened?” she breathed, trying not to let her relief show.
“Ship caught fire. Tragic, really. But… you don’t believe that, do you?” His cold eyes finally lifted to hers. “If I tell you where they are, what will you give me, little siren?”
“What do you want?”
He rubbed a hand across his beard, a smirk playing on his lips. “Would you give up that last hope? That last chance of being human? What about your memories? Would you give me those?” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, sirens only remember when they have given up their heart. A heart for a mind. Who has your heart, little siren? I want it.”
She didn’t answer and, carefully, pushed Cassian from her mind.
“I will tell you where your friends are if you will meet me on the cove at midnight tonight. I have an experiment I’d like to perform.”
“Done.” “Brilliant.” His wicked smile gleamed. “The people you are looking for have been imprisoned by the Navy for piracy. They were granted pardon on the condition that they work their sentences building houses for the homeless. Their workshop is three blocks to the East.”
She didn’t thank him as she rushed from the room.
Those three blocks were the furthest she’d traveled. She ran as fast as she could, finding the building instantly amongst the others. It was a large warehouse, nearly falling apart at the seams. From inside, she could hear the sound of hammers and drills.
Many men heaved and sweated the day away, driving cars to the build sites, stacked full of lumber. Nesta found Rhysand first, wiping moisture from his brow as he fed a length of wood through a saw, a black P branded onto his wrists.
He looked up when he felt her gaze, eyes widening as he realized just who stood before him.
Nesta could bring herself to say anything.
Rhys roared and launched himself at her.
She braced herself for the beating, but Feyre was there first, her arms thrown around her sister. Then it was Elain. Nesta thought her legs might have given out, but their embrace held her up.
Distantly, she heard Rhys yelling, but it was muffled, as if she were underwater. Elain pulled back, cradling her face like she was a child. “I can’t believe you’re okay. We didn’t know what to think when you both disappeared.”
“Where’s Cassian?” Azriela asked cooly from behind her. “If he’s dead, tell us now.”
Nesta wiped at her face, detangling herself from her sisters. “He’s alive.”
“Then where is he?” Rhysand snarled.
She swallowed. “I… I think we should all sit down.”
*****
Nesta stared at her hands in the silence.
Rhys was the first to speak up, his voice breaking. “This is all your fault. You did—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Azriel snapped. “We just… we need to find a way to fix this.”
“There’s no way,” Nesta whispered. “There’s no way to reverse the curse.”
“No way that anyone has found.” Elain glanced at her, eyes wide with hope. “According to the books, sirens have been around for hundreds of years. I’m sure… I’m sure we could find something.”
Nesta’s eyes burned, but she swallowed thickly as she said, “We can look.”
Feyre shook her head. “We’re not allowed to leave.”
“What? Why?”
She turned her wrist, revealing the dark P branded there. “It’s the law. It was either this or death row.”
Nesta’s upper lip curled and a bit of the siren surfaced. “I’m going to kill them all. Slowly.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
She turned, finding Amren wiping her dirty hands on a rag as she approached.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re leaving. Today. And we’re going to find him.”
*****
Nesta couldn’t help but gape.
Because before her, balancing between beams thicker than her, was a pirate ship.
“This… you built this?” She looked at them all, caught a hint of pride on Rhysand’s face beneath all the fury.
“At night, when everyone was asleep.” Amren was dwarfed by the ship. “That’s what we’ve been doing all these months.”
“How… how did you hide it?”
“Nobody comes into this part of the warehouse. And those that wandered in, we offered a seat. Everyone wants out of here.”
The fact that such a large section of the building could go empty this long was astonishing in and of itself. “How do we get it into the water?”
“Connections,” Azriel said and that was all.
She didn’t dare to ask if she’d be welcome on the ship. She’d swim beside it if need be. “What did you name her?”
“Dreamer,” Feyre said, reaching up to run her hand across the boards. “We’ll leave tomorrow night if everything goes as planned.”
Nesta nodded even as her heart sank a bit. How long had it already been? Weeks? Months? Could they even convince him to come with them, or had he already… had he…
She pushed the thought away. She’d already crossed continents for him.
The ocean would be nothing.
*****
He stared at the girl beneath him as he ripped her heart from her chest. It was warm in his hand, a slight weight that he’d grown used to.
He left the corpse just above the drop off, strings of blood still drifting up from her body. The animals would get to her if the sea didn’t sweep her to shore first.
He didn’t know her name.
But his… What was it again? He’s heard it once, lifetimes ago, but it had been swallowed by the sea as all things were.
He backed away from the drop off, the endless ocean opening up beneath him.
Notes: Hello! So many of you asked for a second chapter of this prompt that I’ve written a second chapter. A hefty one, at that. 12k, a second part in Nesta’s POV, an insight into her insecurities, her thoughts on Cassian. I loved writing it, even though it took me a long time to get it right. I hope you guys love it, too.
For those of you who haven’t read the first chapter–or who need a refresher–have a lil read of A Golden Opportunity (Part One) here.
And if you enjoy reading it, please do reblog and tag–it makes my day :)
A Golden Opportunity (Part Two) Nesta
Tomas had ruined men for Nesta.
This was a readily known fact. Just as Nesta knew that Darcy had been a proud asshole when he’d first proposed to Elizabeth, she knew that she would never hand over her heart to someone who might learn to master control of its beat.
After all, the first and only time Nesta had trusted someone else with her heart, it had taken a very long time for her to get it back. It had taken months of summoning courage from deep inside of her, packing her things around the bleating of her ribcage, and, finally, learning to stand on her two feet.
I know we talkedabout this but of course the finished piece blew me away altogether. I thought myself marginally prepared, and I was very, very wrong.
The level of connection, Cassian’s attentiveness and cataloguing of all things Nesta. The way his insistence on consent was so attractive.
And while you proved yet again the wordsmith you are a hundred times over (there were so many things where I thought— I want to be her when I grow up), I think what did me in the most was:
A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration.
This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy
——————————————————————————
Her bones ached.
The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.
The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.
TW: violent thoughts, implied past sexual assault, depressive thoughts, canon-typical death, scars, blood, murder, drowning, poison
__________
A/N: For @cascadingmoon. Thanks for the request! I love writing these kinds of Elain fics. Thank you for being so patient with me despite the long wait! I’m so honored that you wanted me to be part of this project & that my fic gets to be paired with such stunning art!
Thank you to @thewayshedreamed for beta reading. I loved discussing & brainstorming it with you! @duskandstarlight also gets a shoutout for helping me with ideas!
Don’t mind me, just doing another re-read of this beautiful, engaging fic ❤️
I know I’ve already gushed to you about how much I loved this fic (both in concept and execution), but it’s worth mentioning again that this is inspired!
Beautiful work, Bby Sayo! I can’t wait to read more of your Elain in the future
a/n: Based on a fanart by Lucielart, commissioned by @booknerd87 on tumblr. Part of her “A Picture and the Story Behind” collection. Happy Birthday, lovely!
The cool of the blade spread across his skin. It was pressed hard enough to be felt, but not so hard it would leave a mark.
Az almost wished it would.
“Do you yield, Shadowsinger?”
He couldn’t help but flash a half-smile to the redhead. “I never yield, Berdara.” She pressed the flat side of the blade harder against his neck, bringing her body nearer to his.
This close, he was overtaken by water lilies and a river rushing through the forest. The scent so strong, he felt as if they’d been transported to a clearing by a small brook.
“Cassian says otherwise,” Gwyn challenged, not easing up on her hold of Az.
“Cassian says a lot of things."
Her lips twitched upward, as if she wanted to laugh in agreement but wouldn’t let herself. "He also says there’s no dishonor in yielding to the better fighter.”
“Yeah,” Az chuckled. “I’ll believe him when I see him yield.”
Adding more pressure to the blade, Gwyn watched Az carefully, her eyes scanning his face, looking for something. Likely insight into what he’d do next.
He lifted his hands and rested them on hers, wrapping them around her fingers and the dagger’s hilt. His callouses wouldn’t let him appreciate the smooth backside of her hand, but they didn’t stop the tingling sensation that buzzed up his arms from the point of contact. “A knife to the neck is a good power play, but if you’ve left both of your opponent’s arms free, they’ve got far more room to fight back, even if you do have their legs pinned.” His shadows danced up his wrists until they were swirling around their joined hands.
Swimming in deep pools of teal, Az couldn’t look away from her eyes as he pushed the dagger away from him. Gwyn attempted to hold it where it was, but he was stronger. And once it was far enough from his skin, he managed to wrangle it out of her hand. The metal clanged against the floor of the training ring, the sound drawing Gwyn’s gaze away for a minute.
His shadows retreated slightly, back to their perch on his shoulders, watching Gwyn. Marking every tiny move in case Azriel missed one.
He never did.
“I guess I still need more lessons,” Gwyn breathed, slowly looking back toward Az. His hands were still holding hers. She didn’t pull away.
“Whenever you want, Priestess.” Az could feel his chest expanding and contracting with each breath he took. Gwyn was so close to him, her eyes bright and contemplative. A faint blush spread across her cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to lift a hand and brush the color softly. But he dare not.
Gwyn had recently become more comfortable with his touch. Letting him direct and guide her, to take her hand when necessary. All for teaching purposes. Their touches were no more than a mentor helping a student learn a proper stance or move. That’s all they could be. It didn’t matter how much more they might mean to Az, how much more he wanted. Gwyn’s comfort came first.
Still, this close, it would be so easy to lean in. To just ghost his lips across hers, to chance a quick taste, knowing it would likely be his only one.
Azriel would never disrespect Gwyn like that. It was just a dream, another fantasy. That’s all he was ever granted: fantasies. He tried to shut them off, to keep his mind occupied with other thoughts. Consciously, he refused to think about Gwyn in that way. But in his dreams, on the nights he actually managed to sleep, there was no stopping them.
Picture after picture of a possible life flooded his mind. Picnics by the Sidra. Getting a small house together. Private game nights at the House. Spying together on various missions. Stolen kisses in the garden. Secret moments in hidden alcoves that only the House would witness.
He would wake smiling every time they came. And it would quickly fade when he remembered it was a dream he’d never have.
Gwyn’s eyes flicked down to the hands that were still holding hers.
Idiot. This touch was far beyond that of a teacher helping a student.
He moved to slide his hands away, but she turned her palm and linked her fingers with one of them as the other fell away.
It was as if his entire body had expanded, only so that he could feel even more hollow. And yet, it was warm and welcome, and entirely daunting.
He swallowed as she locked her stare with his again.
Everything was pounding. Everything was silent as a grave.
Gwyn leaned in slightly, her movement slow, cautious. Az was frozen in place. And even if he could move, he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what was going through Gwyn’s mind. What she was thinking or doing. But whatever it was, he would give her the control. He would always give her the control in such a close proximity. Whenever she wanted it.
She stilled, her face a few inches from his, her breathing as heavy and ragged as his had become.
“Az,” she whispered, her eyes flicking between his and his mouth. In five hundred years, his self-control had never been so tested as it was in that moment. He was practically shaking with restraint, only he couldn’t do that either. Not as Gwyn sat on top of him, able to feel his every heartbeat.
Drums started to sound in his distant corners, announcing an army that would march through his entire body. He could feel the vibrations of the footsteps in the depths of his chest.
Gwyn’s eyes never left his. They held his stare and wouldn’t let it go. Not that Az wanted them, too. No, he would gladly stare into that sea of teal all day if Gwyn would let him.
He felt a nudge at the back of his head, something cool and not entirely corporeal. One of his shadows, pushing him closer.
Az let it, bringing his face closer to Gwyn’s. From this distance he could easily find shapes and images in the freckles across her nose and cheeks, like constellations in the stars. His hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing through her hair and pushing it out of her face.
Images from his dreams flashed across his mind, more determined than ever before. He attempted to shut them down, to quell the hope that was building.
“Gwyn?” he breathed, barely making a sound. Something was on her mind. He could see it in her stare, in the tension in her lips.
The corners of her mouth ticked upward and then she was leaning in again.
His shadows began to swirl around them, shrouding them, as if trying to offer some privacy. As if that were possible at the House in any sense. Especially out in the open in the training ring.
Az couldn’t breath as Gwyn inched closer. He’d dreamed of her getting this close for months. Of her smile and lips, her laugh, her bright eyes. And now it was happening. She leaned her face into his hand, even as she moved toward him, tilting her head.
It was her choice. He stayed still to ensure it remained that way, but Cauldron did he want this, for her lips to reach his, to brush them, press against them.
“Don’t even think about it!"
The cry sounded through the air, making Az’s shadows retreat as Gwyn jolted away.
"Don’t think about what?” a deeper voice chuckled.
Az groaned as he recognized the voices. As he heard the footsteps on the stairs coming from the House to the ring.
Gwyn stood, straightening herself. Az followed her lead, moving slower than her as he mentally cursed his brother. Cassian would find a way to chase Nesta up to the ring at the worst possible moment.
Az held out the dagger to Gwyn. She accepted it and muttered, “Thanks, again. For the lesson and…yeah."
He nodded and watched as Gwyn put the dagger back in its place and then rushed through the door just as Nesta and Cassian got there. His eyes remained on the emptying stairwell behind the two idiots who were now staring at him with shit eating grins.
"Did we walk in on something, brother?” Cassian wondered, his words full of amusement.
Az rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dagger lessons.” He shot a quick glare at Cassian and then spread his wings, taking off for a much needed flight to expel some pent-up energy.
a/n: Shorter update for you all, but hope you enjoy! It’s short because I’m sticking with the one pov per part thing, and I want to do breakfast in Cassian’s.
“You were out last night. Again.”
The soft voice was distant and flat in a way it never used to be.
Nesta finished pinning up her typical, braided coronet and turned to see Elain sitting up in her bed.
“I awoke in the middle of the night,” she explained. “My dreams enjoy doing that to me these days. When I did, you weren’t in your bed.”
Nesta sighed and sat on her own bed, facing Elain. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I’ve been helping the healers.”
“Past midnight?”
“Sometimes.” Elain gave her a knowing look that was so classic Elain, Nesta couldn’t help but smile slightly before admitting, “But not last night. No. I was…with a friend.”
“Oh,” Elain sighed, nodding. “That’s good. Cling to your friends, Nesta. With their support, you’ll grow wings.”
Easy come, easy go. Nesta knew she was supposed to heed these comments from her sister. That they were some form of prophecy. But she missed the old Elain. The one who smiled and entertained, who liked meeting new people, who found enjoyment in every aspect of life. This Elain just felt like a shell of her old self, not changed just…emptied.
“Right…” Nesta stood, looking at herself in the small mirror provided over the basin. “Will you join me for breakfast?”
It was almost a full minute before Elain replied with an airy, “No.”
Of course not. She never joined for meals. But the fruit basket was less full than it had been the day before. So at least she’s been eating. And the bread and cheese Nesta brought back the night before was gone as well.
“Nesta.” She paused, fastening her hook as she started back out the tent. “You belong here, you know. More than me, even more than Feyre, I think. I’m glad you’re finding the comfort you never found back home. No matter who it’s with.”
Her feet quickened, but everything else in Nesta seemed to freeze over. As soon as she was out of the tent and far enough from her sister, she sank down onto a log.
Elain’s words were ringing through her like a gong, and Nesta couldn’t handle it.
What did that even mean? That she ‘belongs’ here? In this wicked, cruel, magical land. With creatures that would hunt her as much as any human. And Fae who…actually cared? Who wanted to help the humans, to keep them safe. Or, at least, were willing to do so since they needed to keep their own land safe as well.
But, no. Maybe that was true for some, but not all of them. Nesta knew, some of the Fae here truly did want to ensure humans were safe, even if they didn’t think about helping those living in squalor. She couldn’t blame them, really. That wasn’t their responsibility. And it was an easy thing to forget about, especially when dealing with problems closer to home.
Still, that didn’t mean Nesta belonged here. That she’d found comfort in this strange world. What a ridiculous notion.
Though, she had found some comfort, hadn’t she? She’d slept well these past two nights. The best she’d slept since Hybern. And she couldn’t blame the cot. Not when she’d been sleeping on the most plush beds she’d ever felt up in the Night Court.
There was only one other possibility.
No.
That couldn’t be it. That wouldn’t be it. She was just swept up in the war, and those earnest eyes, and the romance of it all. Nesta had certainly at least once read a book about a nurse and a warrior during a war, how they found love in a battle camp. Clearly she was letting the fantasy of her novels take hold of her life.
Well, no more. This wasn’t a book. She wasn’t in some carefully thought out plot that had a guaranteed happy ending. No, this story would likely end in tragedy or heartbreak, because that’s how real life always ended.
At least, that’s how it ended for her.
She could fix it, though. Stop getting swept away. Take back control and force some distance. Give herself a chance to think clearly, rationally. To step away from the danger that was Cassian.
It shouldn’t be too difficult. Right?
Quickly, Nesta made her way to the area where she’d had breakfast the day before. She’d find Cassian and Kastas, excuse herself, and be on her way to help the healers, away from Cassian. Simple.
The morning sun was just becoming visible over the mountain peaks, the sky painted in pinks and oranges no person could reproduce. A few warriors were appearing from their tents as Nesta walked, but most seemed to still be resting, possibly in need of a brighter sky to pull them from their sleep.
“Nesta!” The familiar voice called her name as soon as he was in her eye line. His dark hair was half pulled up in a messy bun, the rest falling in loose waves around his shoulders. She tried to keep her breath from hitching, but it was pointless. It was always pointless when it came to Cassian.
She walked toward him, noticing Kastas across the fire and giving the older male a kind smile.
“Mikrívasí, how are you this morning?” Kastas asked softly, stirring the eggs he was cooking.
Cassian scooted over on the log, but Nesta remained standing as she answered, “I’m well. I’m looking for Althea.”
“Surely you can have breakfast with us, first. I’m making bacon.”
Kastas’s hazy eyes were wide and pleading. Nesta wanted to say yes, but a quick glance at the other gaze around the fire reminded her why she needed to take a step back. It was too damn entrancing for her own good. “I don’t think so. We don’t know when we’ll need to move, so we have to make sure everyone is healthy and ready.”
Kastas scoffed, “Don’t be silly, mikrívasí. We’re Illyrians. Far tougher than we likely appear to you, I promise.”
“I’m sure you are, but I am here first and foremost to help, so I-”
“Althea!” Kastas called, waving to someone behind Nesta. She turned around to see the head healer walking toward them, her black hair braided back in a fierce hairstyle that was as fitting for a warrior as a healer.
The female offered a greeting nod to Kastas, saying, “Good morning.”
“Surely you can spare this lovely female for breakfast before you work her to the bone today,” Kastas requested. “She needs a proper meal in the morning.”
“Oh, of course, Nesta,” Althea breathed, giving Nesta a kind smile that sent her stomach plummeting. “In fact, I was just coming to find you and let you know that you can take the day off. There’s not much else to do, most of the warriors just need rest. So take it easy. You’ve earned the day.”
Nesta was certain she’d seen Cassian flash the same mischievous smile Kastas was now wearing as Althea said a quick goodbye. “Well, there we have it. Sit, mikrívasí. I wish to learn more about you.”
Schooling her features, Nesta took the seat beside Cassian, ignoring the questioning look he was giving her. She couldn’t risk meeting his gaze and giving him that access. He always read her so well, and if he knew what she was thinking, he’d find a way to charm her out of it. And she’d let him.
Damn her, but Nesta would let him in far too easily for her own good.
a/n: Do you see what I did with Elain? She’s not necessarily talking about Cassian…she’s a Seer, who knows how far ahead she can see. lol
Gwyn’s legs carried her toward the small pond almost without thought. The cool breeze from the Illyrian mountains a refreshing balm to her overly warm skin.
She had woken in a sweat from an unexpected nightmare, mindlessly searching the bed in the hope that Azriel had returned from his last-minute mission. To her dismay, she had quickly realized she was still alone. She hadn’t been able to shake the nightmare. She wanted nothing more than to feel the comforting warmth of a certain Illyrian, but she found herself leaving the small cabin in search of solace instead.
As she wound her way down the darkened path, she remembered the first night she had found herself here. Azriel had brought her to the pond when she had lamented the lack of any nearby place to swim. He had simply smirked, then escorted her through the trees near camp until he revealed the small pond, just big enough for an Illyrian to float comfortably.
Only a moment later, her memory gave way to the real thing. The pond materialized before her, the soft light of the moon illuminating the picturesque pond surrounded by lush trees. The breeze caught the silk of her nightgown, gently swaying the light blue fabric as if to remind her that these woods were far from empty. But Azriel had told her everything about these woods, ensuring she would be safe even in the deepest parts.
Without so much as a pause for fear, Gwyn stripped off her nightgown and tossed it by a nearby tree. She quickly twisted her hair into a loose knot, then waded into the water, reveling in the cold caress on her skin. The water felt like home, instantly washing away the lingering fear her nightmare had conjured. She stepped in further, the water rising until it was rippling just above her breasts, sending bursts of goosebumps across her freckled skin.
She closed her eyes, letting her mind rest while the water calmed her nerves. She had grown accustomed to Azriel being gone on missions, but it had become increasingly difficult to avoid the inevitable longing she felt when he was away. She was in love with him. Madly, hopelessly in love with him. She had realized it weeks ago but had been secretly hoping he might say something first. But he had remained silent – as patient as ever.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to shove her nightmare away. Azriel’s silence didn’t have to mean anything. He had always been patient with her, so there was no reason to believe that he didn’t want her. Her nightmare was just that: a nightmare.
Another breeze rippled across the water, bringing with it the subtle scent of cedar. She breathed it in, not realizing that the trees around her weren’t cedars at all. It wasn’t until a shadow caressed her cheek that she looked up, her teal eyes meeting a pair of amused hazel ones.
“Azriel!” She gasped, her face flushing when his lips quirked into a knowing smirk. She took him in, her eyes hungrily roaming over him. To her relief, he appeared unharmed. Still in his leathers, he was as handsome as ever. He was barefoot, which likely accounted for how he had snuck up on her, and he was leaning casually against the tree where she had dropped her nightgown earlier, making her wonder how long he’d been there.
“Hello, Gwyn,” Azriel rumbled, his eyes dipping to where the water moved across her breasts. She blushed deeper but let him look his fill. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, but…when did you get back?” She asked, moving toward the shore slowly. His eyes followed her, tracking the dip of the water down her chest. “I didn’t think you’d return until tomorrow, at the earliest.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “I got back a half hour ago,” he explained, hazel eyes dancing playfully. “I was tired.”
“Then shouldn’t you be sleeping?” She laughed, moving just far enough that her breasts were almost completely exposed.
“I can’t sleep,” he responded, his eyes filling with heat and…something else. “Now… are you going to come over here or are you going to make me come into that pond with you?”
“You’re standing by my nightgown,” she giggled, her eyes darting almost involuntarily to his mouth when his lips spread into a devilish smirk. “And you’re staring at me.”
His eyebrows rose, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “So?” He said simply, challenge filling his tone. “I’ve seen you in far more scandalous ways, Berdara.”
She flushed crimson, warmth spreading through her. Her mind filled with memories of their nights, and sometimes days, spent exploring every inch of each other. He had seen all of her – even the parts she had been afraid to share.
“Very well then, but it’s your fault if I die of a chill,” she teasingly chided, taking deliberate steps toward him.
He threw his head back with a laugh, reaching his hand out when she got close enough. She accepted his offer without question, letting him pull her toward the tree near the shore. Water dripped in a puddle around her, but Azriel seemed unperturbed by it as he dipped his head, pulling her tightly against his chest before he claimed her mouth.
She melted into his kiss, clinging to his warm leathers while his hands roamed everywhere. She felt a warm caress of magic across her skin, drying the now cold water that still lingered. But she barely noticed, too caught up in the feeling of Azriel’s mouth on hers to care about anything else.
A moment later, they finally broke apart with matching grins as they caught their breath. Azriel gave her one last peck on the cheek, his lips lingering for a second, then turned to grab her nightgown. She lifted her arms gratefully, letting him slide the garment over her skin.
His hands lingered at her waist, which she took full advantage of a moment later. She gripped his hands, tugging him down against the tree with her. He fell between her legs with a lighthearted laugh, twisting carefully until his back was resting against her chest. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he rested his head against her breasts, his wings dropping to either side of her.
She brushed his hair back, gently rubbing his shoulder while they sat quietly together. She could sense how tired he was, echoing her own fatigue. His shadows swirled between them, seeming almost to try and soothe them both. She wondered if they were as tired as she felt.
“Azriel, why couldn’t you sleep?” She murmured, leaning her cheek against his soft mess of black hair.
“What do you mean?” Azriel urged softly, eyes still peacefully closed.
“You said you couldn’t sleep before,” she said, sensing his body slowly relaxing against her. “I was just curious what you meant by that? Is something wrong?”
The hint of a smile graced his features even while his eyes remained shut. She opened her mouth to question him further, but he unexpectedly sat up, shifting until he was on his knees facing her.
“You weren’t there,” Azriel stated, a scarred hand coming to gently cup her cheek. “I sleep better when you’re with me, Gwyn. Hell, I barely sleep at all when you’re not with me, and when I do…I don’t like waking up without you next to me.”
She sucked in a breath, intimately aware of how quiet his voice had gotten. He was nervous, yet she was the one trembling. She shifted forward, moving to her knees before him.
“I had a nightmare tonight,” she admitted, ignoring his puzzled look and leaning into his gentle touch. “I was afraid you didn’t want me. That’s what woke me up and drove me here. I…I sleep better when you’re with me too.”
The smile that lit Azriel’s face radiated happiness, sparking something deep in Gwyn’s soul. She matched his smile with one of her own, laughing when he scooped her up into his arms with a deep kiss.
“Then let’s go to bed, Berdara,” Azriel murmured against her lips, his shadows engulfing them in darkness a moment later.
Hours later, deep in the dark, silent hours of the night, Gwyn drifted off in Azriel’s arms. His warmth radiated through her, calming her earlier nerves and erasing any doubts she had left. The soft tickle of a breath against her cheek was the last thing she felt before sleep claimed her, the whispered words mixing with her dreams.
This is it, everyone. Words cannot express how humbling and encouraging and amazing this journey has been. I posted my work on the internet with the intention for people to read and enjoy, but it still boggles my mind that it has reached so many and that people have loved reading it just as much as I have loved writing it. That being said, I will post the text of Chapter 32 here along with the links for both chapter 32 and the epilogue.
Thank you all so much, again, for reading and laughing and crying with me. And stay tuned! I’m far from done with this fanfiction game.
Chapter 32 (You’ve waited literally an entire book for this… NSFW)
Gwyn’s laugh echoed through the empty hallway as he swept her off her feet, cradling her under her knees and around her back as her arms wrapped around his neck. Azriel continued walking, as familiar with the House as he was with breathing. He stared deep into his wife’s shining eyes - his mate’s eyes - allowing himself to feel all the love and adoration that glittered within.
“You know I can walk, Az,” she giggled, even as she leaned into his chest. His answer was a playful growl.
“Nonsense. It is a husband’s sacred duty to carry his wife over the threshold to their marriage bed.” He kissed her hair. “And what manner of male would I be if I did not consider my duty with utmost seriousness and dedication.” Gwyn snorted.
“Gods, you’re ridiculous.”
The shadowsinger hummed in agreement as they reached his door, the lock clicking as dark wisps gently pushed it open. He smiled, happy that Nesta had helped him with the room before she and Cassian took their leave. The woman in his arms gasped as they entered. Countless flames floated from candles that littered the space, enough to cast the entire chamber in golden light.
“Azriel.” He felt her words against his jaw before her lips pressed there. “This is beautiful.” He settled her gently on the edge of the bed, crouching in front of her and grasping her hands atop her thighs.
“You deserve all the beautiful things in all the world. This is the very least of that.” The Illyrian gazed up at Gwyn, chest squeezing as he took in her form in the candlelight. The lace that hugged her lithe frame seemed so delicate, and he felt the need to feel it under his fingertips. He traced her neckline, the ridges of the pattern so at odds with the silken skin underneath. He could feel the hammering of her heart under his palm, and when he looked up he found her blushing. One of his thumbs stroked over her knuckles while the other moved from her dress and up over her collarbone and up the column of her neck before tracing the line of her jaw. “I nearly wept when I saw you walking toward me tonight. Every time I think it’s impossible for you to be more beautiful, you end up proving me so, so wrong.” The corners of her lips lifted, her hand reaching out to trace along the collar of his dress jacket. Azriel blew out an exhale, tenderly pushing tendrils of copper away from her face. “How are you feeling? About everything?”
They hadn’t had much time to themselves since the mating bond had made itself known to him, the couple having been swept into celebratory dinner and dancing at the High Lord’s river estate. They took care to avoid giving each other food, however, unwilling to invite the frenzy without speaking about the whole situation first. But it had been an incredible night, and he had never felt so loved and cherished and happy.
“About everything?” Gwyn echoed. “I’m… thrilled, to be honest.” His heart stuttered.
“You are?”
The Valkyrie rolled her eyes before gripping his tanned face in her hands. “Of course, I am, Azriel,” she cooed, a tiny hint of exasperation singing in her voice. “I became your wife today. You married me. And, as if that weren’t enough to make me the happiest woman in the world, the mating bond snapped for you - something you’ve desired for so long.”
“I confess, I was anxious that perhaps it might be overwhelming for you,” he conceded, giving a small shrug. “I know the mating bond is not something you’ve coveted like I have.”
“That may be true, but…” His wife studied him, chewing on her bottom lip while she chose her words. “My heart belongs to you, Azriel, and I cannot imagine being anything but joyous that I am your mate. I need time, of course, before we accept. I’m not sure I’m ready for the frenzy. But I love you, and I trust in that. In you. In us.”
Heart swelling, soul set on fire, Azriel surged upward and kissed her hard, cradling her nape so as not to push her backward. He felt her hands roaming over his chest and shoulders, and there was never a more arousing caress than that of his wife - his mate - desperate to feel him. He released her and stood, pulling her up with him. His hands settled upon her hips as he leaned in to brush his lips over hers once more.
“I love you, Gwyneth Berdara,” he vowed, thumbs tracing tiny circles over her stomach. They both knew what they had planned for this night, but he wanted to make it abundantly clear that she had nothing to prove to him. “As always, if you feel even the slightest twinge of anxiety or discomfort -”
“I know, Az,” she cut him off, lifting herself to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. “I love you. I’m ready. I trust you.” Calluses scratched over the delicate gown as his hands drifted around to her back and up, finding the dainty zipper pull at the top.
“May I see you, Gwyn?” His breath tickled the shell of her ear as he had her bracketed in his arms. Her mouth branded the skin below his jaw, her stuttered yes the answer to a lifetime of prayers. Azriel lifted his chin, granting her easier access as he dragged the zipper languidly down her spine, his other hand following and reveling in the heat of her bared flesh. Gwyn’s arm fell to her sides when the zipper fell, allowing him to push the dress down over her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in a pool of ivory. And there she was, clad in lace again, albeit much less. He groaned. “Fuck, Gwyn.”
My dear friend has finished this lovely fanfic and I could not be more proud. She has worked so hard on this and the ending is simply beautiful. If you love Gwynriel, then you should definitely consider reading this.
There is a trend I’ve noticed that smut fics tend to be much more popular than anything else and honestly I just want to have something to look at to remind myself and that writing doesn’t have to have sex to be worth putting out into the community.
Popping out of my sad corner to share this because wow….YESSSS. 10000000000000000% agree.
Yes, I write smut.
Yes, I enjoy reading smut.
But smut is not necessary for fanfic to be good. Nor does smut mean the fanfic is good fanfic.
Some of the best fanfic I have ever read had zero smut, and some of the fanfic I am proudest of writing also had zero smut.
As a fanfic writer, it honestly hurts me that I know I will not do well unless I pack my fic full of smut most of the time. And if you think that’s not true, I can prove it with numbers. Because numbers don’t lie. Time after time I will watch as pieces I love and am proud to share completely flop while my smutty pieces continue to get notes and comments months and months after I have shared them.
So, just think for a moment, if I am a fanfic writer that does both no smut and smutty content, and I struggle with readers not caring unless I put out smut. Then how do you think other writers feel who don’t write smut at all???
We all like what we like, and I respect that, but it’s awful and hurtful to know that a fic that is loaded with smut will automatically do better than one without it almost every time. Yes, there are exceptions, but the majority of fics do better the more smut they have. Regardless of if it has good writing. Or if it’s in character or not. Or if the smut itself is even good. Smut out performs no smut every time and it’s a shame.
SMUT DOES NOT EQUAL QUALITY
Lastly, just a note on this topic. While I know, and I’m sure many others do as well, that numbers don’t matter, our work is still worthy of sharing, blah, blah, blah, etc. At the end of the day, the numbers are nice. The comments are encouraging. The likes and shares and all of the interactionhelps drive us to write more.
So if a writer sees fewer and fewer notes simply because it’s not smutty, it can be incredibly discouraging and hurtful. Which leads to less motivation and desire to write at all.
So, please, support fic even when it doesn’t have smut. I say this not only for myself, but for the many lovely writers that I know choose not to write smut. They are amazing and they deserve just as much love as the smut writers.
After eating a slice of pie in the Spring Court, Gwyn finds herself desperate to be closer to Azriel and put an end to their accidental bout of abstinence.
Warnings: NSFW. Very NSFW. Smut. Smuttiness for days.
This is part of the Cherry Pie: ACOTAR Kinktober Smut Extravaganza collection. Make sure to check out the rest of the collection and the other authors!
Gwyn and Azriel spend an intimate evening playing chess as they finally take the next small step in their relationship.
Note: I won’t be updating A Song of Shadows for a few weeks as I focus on midterms and a couple things for Kinktober. I will be back with a fresh chapter in a few weeks though. As always, thanks for the patience. <3
If you would like to be tagged in updates, please let me know!
After helping Azriel relax, Gwyn finds herself restless and a little needy, which leads to a vivid dream.
Note: I have some very big life changes happening, which will impact my schedule a lot very soon. I will try to continue to upload consistently, but please be patient with me if I miss a week or so here and there. I will never abandon my stories, but my writing time will be very limited. I appreciate the support and the patience with my crazy schedule. <3
If you would like to be tagged in updates, please let me know!
Not going to lie at first I didn’t think people would like Iris and Nyx as a pairing, but so far it seems like I have a few people who ship them, I’m excited for everyone to see how their story unfolds. Along with my future plans for Melody and her love interests. Because I have a lot of lines that I just live in my head along with some really important scenes between the two that even I thought were soul crushing. Thanks everyone for the support this story had been getting! I literally couldn’t have gotten this far without all your words of encouragement and praise!!
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
It had been another sleepless night. He did not know how sleep could come easy to anyone after the events of the previous day. He was certain that Feyre would have been awake, fearing over whatever Rhysand wanted from her. He doubted that Lyriel had been able to sleep after he had kissed her, which he knew was the biggest mistake of his life.
Hell, he knew that Lucien and most of his guards had yet to sleep. He’d had them looking for any trace of Feyre all night. They had not come back yet. Not to his knowledge at the very least. They would know better than to come to him with bad news. Or no news at all.
He sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the breakfast that had been laid out before him. He didn’t care about it, about anything beyond the debates roaring in his head. He couldn’t think about Lyriel, about how it felt when she was against him. He couldn’t think of the way she had been on the verge of tears before they’d kissed.
She wanted the best for him. That alone was enough to kill him.
Feyre was the one who mattered to him. He would find a way to get her back. He would get her out of her deal. Then maybe he could explore whatever this was with Lyriel. Or maybe he and Feyre would work out whatever issues they had. He could be done with the Winter Court soldier and focus on who actually made him happy.
She strode into the dining room. Her leather pants were back, hugging the curves that he had briefly thought about running his hands over. Briefly was perhaps the wrong word. It seemed as though the thought of her body pressed against his had been there from the moment she had slipped into his bed.
“Morning,” Lyriel drawled as she took her seat across from him.
Tamlin tried to avoid her gaze. He didn’t know how to act around her. What was he supposed to say in reference to their kiss?
Lyriel didn’t seem to notice his lack of attention. She slathered a piece of toast with butter and jam, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the day before. Why did she have to behave this way? Didn’t she know that he was reeling? That he needed to be told how horrid he was, that he needed to be out hunting for Feyre or for answers. Not sitting at breakfast with the woman who was supposed to be his mate.
A warm sensation began in his stomach, slowly moving to envelop him fully. He knew it was her. She was trying to help him in the ways only she could.
“Lyriel,” he nearly snarled, knowing that he didn’t deserve the gentle feeling of comfort. Not from her at least. Not when he was doing all he could to ruin her.
“Yes, Tam?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. He hated that it made him think of the way she had looked at him yesterday. When her eyes had been concerned, when she had been on the verge of crying over him. His chest ached, the warm feeling being replaced by the pain.
“Whatever you’re trying to do … Knock it off.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Lyriel savagely bit into her toast, flecks of jam finding a home just above her upper lip. Tamlin hated that he wanted to lick it off. “If anything, I’m just making sure you don’t decide the dining table would look better as splinters. I’d prefer to enjoy my breakfast.”
He didn’t know if his temper flared or not. A sound erupted from his lips. A mix of a scoff and a laugh. Something that he had not heard in a very long time. Why did she have to be the one that brought him comfort? Why did he feel as though he needed her by his side? It was the damned bond. He knew that he could reject it. Just three simple words that would leave them severed. He’d never have to see her again. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Life with Lyriel had been hell. She was brash, abrasive, and didn’t know her place. She questioned him at every turn, pushing and shoving against everything he wanted. But Mother above he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He knew that he needed to get his priorities in order. She was not going to be the one he spent his life with. No matter how badly he wanted to.
The fact that he even wanted to was enough to cause him to worry. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps losing Feyre had meant losing everything he held dear. Including his sanity. He needed to talk to someone about this. But it wasn’t like he could say anything to Lucien, he’d end up telling him to tell Feyre the truth. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to break her heart and crush her spirit. Nor could he tell Ianthe. Not when she was already threatening him.
“I take it you didn’t sleep last night,” Lyriel said as she looked at him.
“I won’t be until Feyre is returned to us."
He could not tell if Lyriel’s expression darkened or if it was a trick of the light. One second she looked nearly murderous and the next she was back to her usual, smug self. It was maddening trying to determine what she was or was not feeling. How was anyone supposed to do this? How was anyone supposed to understand her and what she wanted in her life? Tamlin certainly had no idea how she felt about any of this. Did she want him? Did she want to accept the bond and be with him until the end of time? Or did she wish to return to the home that she had known? He barely knew her. How was he supposed to read her?
"Making yourself ill isn’t going to help Feyre,” she said softly. “All it’s going to do is make you nearly impossible to be around. Besides, we all know there’s no getting out of bargains. Otherwise, you would’ve found it by now.”
“I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“You’ve been looking since you got back to the Spring Court,” Lyriel pointed out. “Lucien told me as much. Honestly, you shouldn’t beat yourself up so much. Rhysand might be a monster but he’s not going to do anything to her. He’s infatuated by her.”
Tamlin’s fingers dug into his palm. What the hell did she mean by that? What did Rhysand have to be infatuated with? Feyre was his soon-to-be bride. There should have been nothing that made Rhysand think twice about her. Unless it was all some sort of horrid punishment for him. He wouldn’t exactly put it past Rhysand to do anything of the sort.
“He might, just to spite me,” he grunted as he glanced over at the white-haired woman.
Lyriel gave him a gentle smile. “If he really wanted to spite you, I think he would figure out the truth about us first. If people were to find out the whole … mate thing,” he cringed as she said it, “they wouldn’t exactly be happy about it.”
“And why is that?"
"Why would the High Lord of the Spring Court be mated to a Winter Court soldier? Truly, Tam, the whole thing is ridiculous. It’s understandable why you’d go for the hero of Prythian instead. No one would fault you for that. But … They might look at this whole thing like the Mother was playing some sort of cruel joke.” Lyriel didn’t look at him as she spoke. It was almost as though she didn’t want to see the truth of her words. Tamlin knew it was ridiculous. But he had been thinking those same things from the moment they had met.
He knew that he needed to get his head out of his ass. After all, Feyre should have been entitled to find her mate as well. It clearly wasn’t going to be him. But that didn’t mean anything.
Mating bonds could be wrong. It had to be. He and Lyriel could barely be in the same room without her managing to get under his skin. The way she spoke made him want to rip a door off its hinges most of the time.
And yet, it felt as though she understood him. More than anyone he’d ever met. Had anyone ever tried to calm him before? Had anyone approached him when he was angry before? Had anyone ever seen him as anything other than a beast? Feyre had never calmed him, had never approached him when he looked like he was going to go mad with rage. Only Lyriel. He hated her for it.
She should’ve run from him. She should have treated him like he was a monster. She shouldn’t have shown him any sort of grace. There were thousands of things that Tamlin wished Lyriel had done. He wished that she had pushed him away instead of trying her damndest to do whatever it took to bring him joy. She had no right to do any of that. No right to think of his happiness.
“I would rather keep talk of the Mother away from the breakfast table.” He didn’t need Ianthe overhearing the truth of the matter. It was bad enough that she thought something was going on between the pair.
If Ianthe discovered that he was abandoning his mate … He didn’t know what she would do. Perhaps hang him from the highest tree by his balls.
A shudder went through his spine at the mere thought.
“We should do something today,” Lyriel stated as she looked at him, a grin on her lips. She had yet to wipe off the jam. “Get your mind off of things.”
“What do you suggest?” One of his brows rose, despite the fact that he knew he could not give in. It wouldn’t do to blow off any steam when Feyre could be being tortured.
“Leave that to me. Just meet me in the gardens in half an hour.” Lyriel wiped her mouth as she stood. He didn’t like the wicked glint in her eyes, nor did he like how his heart seemed to speed up when she looked at him.
He watched as she strode out of the room. Lyriel acted as though she owned the Spring Court. It felt as though she was at home here, more than she had ever been in the Winter Court. He didn’t know the story, he doubted that it was anything interesting. She was a soldier. Nothing more and nothing less.
And yet someone had thought they were each other’s equal. Perfect for the other in every way. It was not the first time Tamlin questioned the validity of the bond, nor would it be the last. Why had a High Lord been paired with a soldier? It made no sense to him.
He knew better than to deny her though. He could deal with a lot but he didn’t want to deal with a pissed off Lyriel. Not when he already had to worry about everything else in the world. He had never thought that it would be quite so tiring to be a High Lord. Or at least dealing with his feelings for two different women.
As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that he had feelings for his mate. The kiss from the night before had remained in his thoughts until he had thought he was going to implode. How he was supposed to handle himself around her was beyond him. She probably knew what he was thinking which only made the whole damned thing worse. Tamlin wasn’t sure what to do about the whole situation nor did he think he wanted to actually deal with it. Not for a very long time at least.
He trudged back up to his room, ignoring the splinters of wood and the ruined portraits. He ignored how he had ruined his room, how he had turned his manor into a wreckage. It was worse in Feyre’s room.
He changed into clothes that had managed to escape the wrath of his claws the night before. The silk shirt fit him well, showcasing his muscular chest and the arms that seemed more beastly every day. What would happen if he just gave up? What if he just lived as the beast that resided underneath him? Would Lyriel still want to be there? Would she still sit with him and try to calm him? Or would she finally see what the rest of the courts did? A monster.
Tamlin swallowed once, allowing the thoughts to linger in his mind as he pulled on breeches made of soft doeskin. He would not think of any of this once he was around Lyriel. She would more than likely stab him if she realized that he was thinking ill of himself. That or she would look at him with disappointment. He had no idea which was worse.
He tried not to think of what her retaliation would look like as he headed down to the gardens. He didn’t know what she planned for him. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. It was certainly going to be something that he didn’t want to deal with. There was no telling with her.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” she stepped out from behind a rosebush that looked as though it were about to grow wildly.
She looked as though she was supposed to be there. The sunlight made her pale skin glow, her hair had been braided with a few roses tucked into the strands, and her eyes twinkled with the hope of adventure.
“I figured you would stab me,” he admitted with a shrug. “What exactly are we doing out here?”
“Despite how long I’ve been here, you’ve never given me a single tour,” Lyriel stated as she looked at him. Her canines showed as she smiled. He wondered briefly what they would feel like against his skin. Mother above, he was a horrible person. His pleasure or his pain shouldn’t have been at the forefront of his mind.
No matter how Lyriel was trying to distract him.
“I don’t see how that’s important,” Tamlin sighed, fighting against the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t need a fight with her so early in the morning.
“I’ve had plenty of time to explore on my own,” Lyriel said, ignoring his interruption. “So, I’ve decided that I’m going to give you one. All the places that you’ve been too busy for. You’re being reintroduced to your Court, My Lord.” The bow she fell into was so mocking that he struggled to not look exasperated.
“Lyriel, I don’t have time for this."
"What else will you do? Mope around the manor for the next two weeks? Worry yourself into ill-health?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. He had never noticed the way they seemed to stand out in the sunlight, each small hair appearing almost silver in the blinding light.
“I’ll research how to end the bargain."
"And you won’t find anything,” she gave him a kind smile as she stepped closer to him. “Tam, you’ve got to let her save herself. I know that probably scares you, but she’s stronger than you know."
He tensed at that. How could she possibly think bringing up Feyre and her captivity was a good idea? The worst part was the fact that he knew she was right. He’d watch Feyre save herself more than once. He knew exactly what kind of woman she was. She was capable, she didn’t need to rely on anybody. She didn’t need him to be her savior. But that was the only thing he was good at.
"Lyriel,” he began. She pressed her index finger to his lips, a grin on her lips that was more feral than was proper. He had to fight the urge to suck the finger into his lips. Mother above, she was killing him.
“You’re not fighting me on this,” she removed her finger. Lyriel took his left hand, her fingers fit perfectly with his. He hated it. Hated how perfect she was for him and how he could not think of how Feyre’s hand had felt in his. “Come now, my lord.”
Tamlin still was unsure if he liked the way she said that or not. Most of the time, it sounded taunting. But sometimes, he was certain that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, it sounded seductive. Lyriel Chaeren was going to be the death of him. She was going to make him more volatile than he had ever been. Or at least, he assumed as much. There was no telling when it came to her, which was perhaps the worst of it.
She didn’t wait for him to say yes or no. She just began to walk. He knew that he could just stand there. It didn’t matter that she was a soldier, he was more muscle than man. He could hold her back if he wanted. But he didn’t. He walked with her, almost nervous. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Lyriel despised him or anything of that nature. All she cared about was making him happy. All she wanted to do was make him feel loved. He couldn’t even hate her for it.
She walked him through the gardens he had played in as a child, making up stories about battles lost or won on the land. He didn’t know why she was trying any of this. She hadn’t grown up there, she had no idea what any of these places had actually meant to him as a child. Nor did he want to explain any of it.
“Lyriel,” it didn’t seem to matter what he did or did not want. His tongue seemed to work before his mind did. “None of that has ever happened.”
“I know,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “But what else was I supposed to think? You haven’t told me anything, Tam.”
He didn’t know if he felt guilty or not. Tamlin had been more focused on finding out about Lyriel than telling her anything about himself. It just so happened that neither of them were open people.
“A truth for a truth then,” he murmured softly, his hand squeezing hers. Her skin felt cold against his. She was ice and death and cold, he was warmth and strength and life. How the Mother had assumed they would be a perfect match … He would never understand it.
“Trust me, Tamlin, you don’t want my truths,” Lyriel flitted away from him, heading deeper into the gardens. His heart nearly stopped beating as she stepped into his mother’s rose garden. They were overgrown, wild, more natural than they had been in years. Lyriel looked at home in the roses.
The sunlight seemed to bounce off her hair, the roses were more vibrant when paired with her pale skin, the smell of the frozen berries mixed with the roses made his knees unnaturally weak. Tamlin didn’t know what in the hell was wrong was him. He didn’t know why he had to be so conflicted about this whole damned mess. She was his mate. He should want her, he should choose her. He knew that.
But no matter what, he knew that he would choose Feyre. She was the one who had broken his curse. She was the one who had taught him how to love and how to feel something.
It wasn’t his fault that Lyriel hadn’t come first. It wasn’t his fault that she had waited too long to find him. None of this was his fault. Was it?
“I want them,” he murmured as he followed her. She disappeared into the maze of roses, her fingers gently caressing each petal. Tamlin wished her fingers would ghost across his skin like that. He hated that he wanted it.
“Do you?” Lyriel looked at him, a defiant gaze in her eyes.
“Yes,” he didn’t know when she had stopped walking. He didn’t know when he had gotten so close to her. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, he worried that he’d lose control. Instead of kissing her, he would kill her. He didn’t know why he had such an issue controlling himself.
Lyriel looked up at him, so small and so fragile. But so damned strong, so damned ready to fight her way out of situations that didn’t include him. She’d been fighting for so long, he could see it in her eyes. In the way she didn’t trust him to see the real her. The sarcasm had to be the only thing keeping her safe.
“Tell me who you are, Lyriel,” he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers. He could feel her breath against his skin, he could feel the chill of her running through him. Mother Above, she was the one he needed. The one he wanted. But she was the one that he could not have. He was a proud man. A man who would keep his word and his promises. That just meant finding a way to free Feyre from the bargain she had made and marrying her. It didn’t matter that neither of them wanted it anymore.
To be fair, he had no idea how Feyre was feeling anymore. She could very well still want all of this. He’d never know because he was too afraid to ask. Tamlin had lived his life being afraid of the truth. He’d crafted lies to avoid being hurt, but he knew that it was time to change. To grow from this whole damned thing.
“You won’t like it.” Lyriel stepped away from him, a sad smile on her face. “Who could ever love a bastard?”
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
The wedding seemed to come before he had a chance to process anything. He didn’t know what he was doing with Lyriel. Ianthe still wanted him to banish her. Lucien told him how stupid it would be. But they didn’t know. They couldn’t know. Ianthe may have thought she knew something was up, but she could never be sure. Tamlin counted on her not being certain of anything. If she figured him out, everything would be chaos.
Feyre had sunk into herself more and more. He wanted to fight it, wanted to bring her back to life. But he felt as though he couldn’t. He didn’t know the full truth of the horrors she went through. He just knew what he’d had to do. He couldn’t compare either experience. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
Needless to say, the wedding felt as though it was the least important thing happening. He had briefly thought about postponing it. But Feyre had worked so hard on the plans. She deserved a perfect day. One where she did not have to think of anything, where she didn’t have to worry about anything. Tamlin wouldn’t allow his troubles to ruin anything for her. He wouldn’t let any creatures come and interrupt the festivities either.
If only he had known what she was hiding from him.
His suit clung to him, making him feel claustrophobic. He had never felt so stifled before. The beast inside of him wanted to rip free of the clothing, wanted to react to the whole thing in a way that Tamlin would not allow. His emotions were all over the place. He felt as though he could barely breathe.
It was a miracle he hadn’t destroyed something yet.
A gentle knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he called out as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Lyriel slipped silently into the room, her frozen berry scent giving her away. He glanced at her once through the mirror, his mouth going dry at the sight of her.
She wore a dress of silk, as green as his eyes. A slight ran up her left leg, revealing a dagger sheathed at her thigh. The gown hugged the curves that her corsets and pants had never bothered to hide. But it seemed different. This was far more inviting. The beast inside of him wanted to touch her, to feel the soft skin of her thigh, of her arms. Her skin looked just a bit more tan than when she had first come, yet it still held the glow of the winter. Her hair fell in waves down her back, white as snow and so soft that he wanted to run his hands through it.
The scars on her arms were still visible, as were the ones that ran up that delectable thigh. He wondered how many more were hidden underneath her gown. She had been a warrior for a long time. Longer than he ever would have expected.
“You look beautiful,” the words left his mouth before he could think about them. He swallowed once, trying to wet his dry throat. “But, uh, I doubt a dagger is an appropriate accessory.”
Her lips quirked into a smirk, a dimple appearing on the left side of her mouth. Had it always been there? Was he just noticing it now? “You’ll have to take it from my dead body.”
Even when they were about to be parted for the rest of their lives, she still found it so easy to be Lyriel. Tamlin knew this wouldn’t hurt her. She would get away from him without ever taking a backward glance at him. The thought killed him. Yet, at the same time, he knew he had no right to expect less of her. She deserved everything that he was getting. She deserved more.
“Don’t say that,” he said as he turned to face her. He didn’t miss the sparkle of amusement in her frozen eyes as she took in the sight of him in his finery.
“You don’t look like yourself,” she stepped towards him slowly. Unsteadily. Tamlin glanced down once, noting the black heeled shoes she wore. She wasn’t used to them, her steps small and uncertain. Or maybe she didn’t want to be close to him. He couldn’t blame her. She was losing a mate that she had never known. He was giving her up without ever actually rejecting her. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. But he couldn’t stop it. Neither could she.
“What do you mean?” His voice was strained as she stopped just inches away from him. He kept his gaze at the wall behind her, trying not to think of the way her scent tickled his nose. He tried not to think of how her body had felt next to his. He tried not to think of how her hair had felt against his cheek.
That night had been a mistake. One that he replayed over and over again in his mind. He would never have another night like that. Not with her.
“You’re not meant for finery,” Lyriel stated, her hand slowly coming up. Her fingertips gently traced the shape of his cheekbone, going to his beard. She dropped her hand just before he had a chance to shudder. He hated what she was doing to him. Hated that she was playing with him. “You’re meant to tear down kingdoms, to end tyranny. You’re a warrior, Tam. Same as me.”
He stilled, hating the truth in her words. He had never wanted any of this. Had never wanted the responsibility. But he didn’t want to be the monster everyone thought he was. He didn’t think he was a warrior. He just didn’t like to see injustice being done. Even if he knew, at this point, that there was very little he could do to stop it.
“Lyriel,” he whispered her name, it felt like the beginnings of a secret song. “You should go. Home.”
A flash of something shone in her eyes as she stepped back from him. It was gone before he could figure out what it had been. “I understand. After the wedding, I’ll depart with the rest of your guests. We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would we?"
Her voice had hardened. It wasn’t the soft lilt she’d used when speaking to him of who he was. She sounded as though she had just spoken to her general. Maybe the respect should have made him happy, but it just chilled him.
He went to open his mouth, to say something else. Anything to make this moment different. He didn’t want to say goodbye to her, didn’t want to let her go. But Tamlin knew that he would have to. It had donned on him when she had slipped into the room. When her dress had begged him to tear it from her, he had known that they could not do this. She needed to go her own way, find her own happiness. He had to allow her the opportunity. He couldn’t be selfish.
Not when it came to her.
Lyriel slipped from the room before he could find the words to say. Her scent lingered, his body ached with the need to go after her. To comfort her. He didn’t though. He just turned back to the mirror, wiping whatever emotion may have been lingering in his face. He wouldn’t allow any of the guests to see what he was feeling. All anyone would see was a man who was about to marry the woman he loved.
The only woman he loved.
"Tam,” Lucien spoke from outside the room, his knuckles gently rapping on the wood. “It’s time.”
Tamlin took a deep breath, looking himself over once more. He nodded at himself before he turned to leave. He stepped out of the room, clasping his best friend on the back. “How’s Feyre?” It felt wrong not to ask, even if he knew it was probably inappropriate to ask about her.
“About as nervous as you are,” Lucien could read him too easily. It came from knowing each other as long as they had. He had never hated it before. “It’s all going to be alright. As soon as you two are married, we can finally settle everything.”
He knew that Lucien was right. They had a long way to go to make damn well certain that the Spring Court would make it through the aftermath of everything. Not to mention preparing for a war that may or may not come. He had to hope that the wedding would at least give his people some faith that things were getting better. He had to hope they believed it. Even if he wasn’t sure if he did.
They made their way to the gardens, Tamlin painting a smile upon his face as they walked. He wanted everyone to see what they should. A man who was finally getting everything that he wanted. He greeted guests, laughing at jokes and making his own when it felt appropriate to do so. His gaze flickered around, not taking in the decor.
The flowers were beautiful, wrapping around columns that had been erected for the wedding. He didn’t care about them, didn’t care about the way the breeze fluttered around them and wrapped them in warmth. His gaze searched for Lyriel.
She was standing with a group of Spring Court lords, a glass of champagne in her hand and soft laughter falling from her lips. His stomach twisted. She looked so at ease. She didn’t look like the woman who had just told him he wasn’t meant for this life. She didn’t look like the soldier that he knew she was.
She looked like a lady of the court. Lyriel may have thought that she was not suited for anything but a blade and a shield, but he knew better. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way she had wrapped his lords around her finger. She belonged in court life. She would do well in it. Mother above, he wished he hadn’t of thought about it.
He knew that Lyriel would sooner take a sword to the throat than belong to this world.
“Lyriel’s leaving tonight,” he murmured to Lucien. Needing to get the words out before they festered in his chest and became a disease.
“What did you do, Tam?” Lucien’s smile never faltered, the perfect portrait of a man at ease with his lot in life. Even if it had been particularly shitty. “Did you say something to her?”
“No,” he was somewhat affronted that Lucien had even thought that he could do something to Lyriel. “It’s just time for her to go. We’ve got enough on our plates without worrying about the Winter Court and what information they could be gathering.”
“Why haven’t you had Ari check her out?” Lucien questioned, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. Feyre would not show for another half hour. Plenty of time to get drunk on faerie wine. Celebrations often turned into week-long events. That was one of the many reasons why Tamlin had not wanted to postpone the wedding.
“Didn’t think she would have the time,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “She’s been too busy dealing with Rhysand and his moods.”
He did feel bad for sending the girl to the Night Court. But the opportunity had never presented itself before. A mating bond had snapped into place, a bond that they could easily exploit. It was a wonder that he had yet to do the same thing with Lyriel. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted.
Lucien gave him a quick look before he slipped away to speak with others. More people came up to Tamlin, laughing and talking with him about things that did not matter. None of this mattered. At least, he didn’t feel as though it did. He was stupid for thinking it. Stupid for thinking anything bitter on the supposedly happiest day of his life. Tamlin hated to think that he was in a foul mood. He hated to think that anything was going to ruin this day.
Feyre deserved so much better than him. He hated himself for thinking that.
“It’s time,” Lucien murmured to him.
Tamlin’s throat felt dry as he watched Ianthe take her place at the head of the alter. He took his own place to the right of Lucien. The guests took their seats, Lyriel in the very back. He hadn’t noticed the flowers that she had braided into her hair until then. The periwinkle petals were bright in her white hair. She spoke in soft tones to a man who sat by her. Good, she didn’t need to be alone during this.
He tore his eyes from her as the music began to fill the air. Feyre stepped out of the manor, her gown more taffeta and looking as though it was the most uncomfortable thing she had ever worn in her life. He painted a smile on his face for her.
Her own smile did not reach her eyes. She looked anxious, as though she was afraid of everything that was happening. He chalked it up to the last time she had been in front of a crowd of this magnitude. He could imagine how she would have to tell herself that they were okay. She wasn’t being made to compete in trials that would possibly end in her death. She was walking towards him. Towards their future together.
Until she stopped.
His brow furrowed, his feet already beginning to move toward her. Something was wrong. Something was happening that he was unaware of. Had something happened? Had she decided to hide from him again? When would they get to the point where they could actually speak to each other?
A gentle breeze that smelled of spiced wine and the depths of depravity was the only warning. Rhysand appeared in the blink of an eye, a cruel smile on his lips as he looked down at Feyre.
“Feyre, darling,” Tamlin wanted to rip him limb from limb. His claws felt as though they were ready to poke out. He heard the sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. “I’ve come to make good on our bargain.”
Before Tamlin could say a word, Rhysand had her in his arms.
“She’ll be back in two weeks,” Rhysand winked casually at Tamlin. A snarl tore free from Tamlin’s lips as the scent of spiced wine and depravity filled the air once more.
A dagger embedded itself in the pillar just beside Tamlin’s head. If it had been thrown a second earlier, it would have caught Rhysand straight in the throat. The dagger was unadorned, a simple blade that had been used countless times if the smoothness of the handle was anything to judge by. If anger had not clouded his senses, he would have realized it carried Lyriel’s scent with it. He would have seen the woman standing up, the flower petals falling from her hair and a look of rage painted on her face.
“Find her,” Tamlin shouted, his voice carrying farther than usual with his rage. His entire body was shaking, his claws out and the fangs pushing at his gums. It hurt, it hurt so much. But he couldn’t stop the beast from taking over.
The guests fled, his guards and sentries quickly rushing off in order to figure out the impossible. Tamlin didn’t know how to feel, how to react. He just went into the manor, his rage causing him to go through the home blindly. He ripped doors off of the hinges, tore down paintings, and crushed statues that were in his path. Anything to release some of the tension. Anything to release some of the rage that he felt.
He wound up in his office, the desk becoming splinters as he pounded it over and over again with his fists. He had known Rhysand would take her. He’d done all he could to find out how to break their deal. Yet, nothing had ever come up. He’d never imagined that Rhysand hated him so much that he would go out of the way to ruin his wedding. Despite the hatred that he felt for the High Lord of the Night Court, he had respected him enough to think that Rhysand was better than this. Better than this dramatic bullshit.
But he wasn’t. No one was ever better. No one ever would be.
He didn’t hear her footsteps. He didn’t smell her frozen berry scent. No, he didn’t notice a damn thing until she gently touched his arm. His hand twitched, not knowing if he should shove her away or pull her closer. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing would ever make sense again and he knew it.
“Tamlin,” Lyriel spoke softly, kneeling on the floor beside him. The splinters of the desk tore her dress, ceramic pieces from the lamp tanged in the silk. “Tamlin, look at me.”
She didn’t look afraid of him. He picked up on that before anything else. Her eyes were wide, but with concern. She was willing to put herself in a vulnerable position in order to try and speak with him. Tamlin trembled slightly as he looked at her. He was afraid.
Afraid of himself. Afraid of her. Afraid of what Rhysand was doing to Feyre. What he would do just to fuck with Tamlin. It all left him feeling powerless, unable to change anything or protect anyone that he loved. It was like he was a child again. Watching as his father did things that he wasn’t proud of. The things that still haunted him at night.
“I’m right here,” she spoke softly, as though she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. Perhaps that was all he was. “I’m not leaving. We’ll get her back. I promise. Everything is going to be alright, Tamlin. You’ll find a way to get her out of whatever deal she made. You’ll get married and have multiple children.”
Despite the fact that she could have easily been sarcastic, Lyriel sounded sincere. She sounded as though she believed that he would get those things. That he deserved those things. No one had ever made him feel as though he deserved to be happy. No one had ever made him feel as though he were anything but a monster.
Feyre did her best. She had done better as a human when he had saved her from a life where she would have died before age twenty. She loved him because he had protected her. She had needed a protector. Now, she needed something different. Tamlin just had trouble realizing it. He never would.
“I just need you to breathe, alright?” Lyriel’s eyes were brighter than he thought they had any right to be. He didn’t know how a frozen evergreen could look bright, wide, and … Perfect. His stomach ached at the mere thought of it all. This was too much. All of it was too much.
“Lyriel,” he breathed out, his fists clenching in front of him. He looked away from her, his eyes shut tightly. “You should go.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” it was infuriating how she never did as he asked. How she followed her own desire. He’d never known a soldier who didn’t listen to orders. “You might tear down the manor if I do.”
He knew that she was right. He knew that she was just trying to help. She was trying to be a better person than he deserved. Tamlin felt as though every single thing that Feyre had ever been through was his fault. Everything Rhysand, Lucien, and everyone in the Spring Court fell on his shoulders. He knew that it was nonsensical to think that way. But he did.
He always did.
“Please,” his voice was so small. So much smaller than it had been since the day he had become the High Lord.
Lyriel took his hand in hers. He tried not to note how small her hands were in his. Hers were just as calloused as his own, just as full of scars and of stories that she may never tell him. He shuddered slightly at the chill her skin brought but he did not pull away.
“We’re mates,” she had to bring that up now? When the world felt as though it were coming to an end. “Even though you’re choosing her, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
He opened his eyes then, looking at her. Really looking at her. The periwinkle petals had fallen from her hair, one had been left behind. Her eyes were filled with tears, perhaps due to knowing that he wouldn’t pick her over Feyre. Yet, she clung to his hand with as much strength as she could muster. She held his hand as though he was her one lifeline. Tamlin had always wanted to be someone’s protector, someone’s lifeline.
He didn’t dare believe he could protect Lyriel.
He brought his right hand up, his claws shrinking back into his skin, and gently moved it to her hair. He plucked the periwinkle petal from her hair and let it fall slowly to the floor. His eyes didn’t follow it. Neither did hers. Instead, he allowed his gaze to travel from her eyes to the other areas of her face.
With her time in the sun, freckles had begun to bloom across the bridge of her nose. He wanted to trace them with his forefinger but he did not. The bridge was crooked, having been broken a few times. He wanted to know those stories, wanted to share his own with her. His gaze fell to the small scar above her upper lip. It cut into the cupid’s bow and made her lips look much more kissable.
He didn’t think about it. Not for the first time in his life, Tamlin took action without thinking. He leaned forward, lightly brushing his lips against hers.
She tasted of those damned frozen berries. The sweetness of them was addicting and he cursed the Winter Court for it. Her lips were soft, perfect against his own.
He kissed her again, hungrier. Desperate. It felt right. Like some switch in his brain had been flipped. His right hand tangled in the white-blonde hair, pulling her as close as he could. She kissed him back, just as hungrily. They were teeth and tongue and fire and ice.
They were berries and roses and pine and peony. Everything they shouldn’t be and everything they should.
Lyriel pulled away first, a shuddering breath leaving her. She stood, her gown showing more skin now that it had been ripped by splinters of wood and shards of ceramic. She looked at him for a few seconds, he could taste the tension in the air, before she turned on her heel and left.
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
She was in his arms when he woke the next morning. The storm had passed, leaving nothing more than a light condensation on the windows of his bedroom. The light was distorted as it came through the window, hitting Lyriel almost perfectly. She was asleep, perhaps for the first time since she had come to the Spring Court. Her brow was smoothed, her fingers clenching around the blankets as though they were a hilt of some sort.
Tamlin’s heart ached as he took in the gentle slope of her nose. He tried not to focus on her lips and the gentle way they were parted, her breath coming out in the softest snores. Mother above he did not need this.
Slowly, he untangled himself from her. He did not know when he had begun holding her. Perhaps sometime after the storm had passed. He wished he knew. He wished he could remember how it had felt to first wrap his arms around her. At least then he would have that memory. He would have been able to think on it when she eventually found someone better.
Even if he kept her in the Spring Court, he was certain she would find someone else. Someone who would spar with her, who would laugh with her, who would give up a mating bond for her. She deserved that. Even if he would want to kill whoever tried to get close to her.
It wasn’t fair. He knew it. He knew that he was holding her to a different standard. There was no excuse for it. Maybe if he was a better man there would be. Yet, he was anything but a better man. It seemed as though the whole world was right about one thing. Tamlin was a bastard. A brute. Someone who would trap their mate and marry another woman
Wouldn’t his father be proud?
The thought made him sick. He had to shove it down, shove everything down as far as he could as he began to ready himself for the day ahead. He did it as quietly as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Lyriel. She needed more sleep. He didn’t know if she would take it well should he actually tell her that.
From what he knew, Lyriel didn’t take most things well. At least if they came from him. He had no idea how she reacted around other people. Maybe he just antagonized her. Or it was her way of fighting back against the bond that neither of them truly wanted.
She shifted, a soft grunt escaping her. A shiver went through him at the sound.
Mother save him. He knew that he should just leave her there. That he should not think of what other sounds might come from her throat. How he could make them.
Tamlin quickly finished strapping on his bandolier before he slipped from the room. He willed himself to not return to that bed. To stay as far from her as he could. He worried that her scent would be all over him. Worried that Feyre would be able to scent it. It had been a mistake. But not one that he could find himself regretting.
This whole thing was a mess. One that Tamlin had never foreseen. He had always assumed that he would never find his mate. He had thought the Mother would be cruel in letting him go his entire life without that bond. He had gotten over it.
It seemed that she was cruel in another way.
Tamlin huffed softly as he shoved open the door to his office. He hated to hide himself away, but it was the only thing he could do. After Amarantha had been dealt with, his lands had cleared of the beasts roaming them. Now, he was focusing more on rebuilding villages and his lords’ lands.
Occasionally, he would find something prowling. It was easily dealt with most of the time. That or he would have to go and deal with one of his lords. They had been more of a nuisance than he had ever imagined. He had assumed they would be supportive, especially after the hell they’d been through for forty-nine years. Yet, it appeared as though all of them wished to see him fail.
Tamlin did not have many supporters.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Ianthe stated as she looked over at him. She was sat in front of his desk, a languid smile on her face as she took in the room. “I hope you slept for once. The Spring Court needs you at your best.”
He hid his irritation as best he could. He hated to show Ianthe when he was displeased with her. He wouldn’t risk losing his High Priestess. Not when the Spring Court needed her now more than ever. Yet, it did feel far too early in the morning to be dealing with her and her schemes.
“Good morning, Ianthe,” he said lamely. He sat down at his desk, not bothering to ask why she was there. She had a habit of telling him before he could say a word.
“I’ve already written up the letter to Kallias,” she seemed too eager. There was no reason for her to hate Lyriel. Not that he was aware of at least.
She hadn’t found out the truth, had she?
“It won’t be necessary,” Tamlin cursed himself for how quickly he’d said it. “Lyriel and I spent last night speaking about her actions. We’ll be seeing a different side of her.”
They wouldn’t. But the lie had slipped from his lips as easily as a breath. Perhaps he should ask her to keep up appearances, to keep from bringing too much attention to herself. However, he was almost certain that this would just make it worse.
“I suppose that’s why her scent is all over you?” Ianthe’s eyes darkened, the look making her look less beautiful and more like a vengeful spirit of some sort. He would not say it but it did scare him just a bit.
His fingers curled around the arms of his chairs. His claws biting at the skin. “It was a long conversation.”
“Tamlin, if you’ve fucked the girl it’s just another reason for us to be rid of her."
"I haven’t laid a finger on her.” It didn’t matter that he wanted to. It didn’t matter that she haunted his thoughts in the late hours of the night. He would never hurt Feyre in that way. Would never hurt anyone by betraying their trust like that. He was a monster but he was not cruel.
“Of course you haven’t,” Ianthe sat forward, her eyes twinkling in a predatory way. “I won’t judge you for having needs, Tamlin. But you might think of the Cursebreaker.”
His spine straightened as he realized just what she was doing. He knew that Ianthe had her ways. That she plotted and manipulated things. But he had never expected her to go after him. He had always assumed that she would use it for him.
“I think of Feyre constantly. Mind your tongue, Ianthe. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Tamlin’s claws slipped from the skin, causing him to nearly wince. Contrary to popular belief, he felt the pain that came with losing control. He did not do it for fun. Even if the world thought it was something he had fun with. The world was quite wrong about most things that had to do with Tamlin.
The door burst open before she had a chance to respond. Lucien stood in the doorway, a letter clenched in his hands and an easy grin on his lips.
“Tam, you’re going to want to hear this,” he stopped once he noticed that Ianthe was there. His easy grin slipped from his face, a tension coming to him that Tamlin had not noticed before. He wondered if he could sense the tension in the room or if Ianthe just bothered him that much. He knew which he assumed it was. But that didn’t often mean that he was right.
“Ianthe, we’ll discuss this later,” he told the priestess without a glance. She was going to threaten him? He would show her exactly who she was dealing with. He had been known to be petty on occasion.
Ianthe bristled but she stood nonetheless. “Of course,” was all she said before she slipped out of the room. She sent a glare his way before disappearing down the hallways. He just had to hope that she would not be going to find Feyre. Not now. Not ever.
He would rather die than hurt her. Knowing he spent the night with Lyriel? It didn’t matter the context, it would hurt her.
“What is it Lucien?” He asked as his friend stepped into the room, shutting and latching the door behind him. Lucien sank into the chair that Ianthe had vacated, tossing the letter onto the desk.
“We’ve received word from Cari,” Lucien never used the woman’s full name. If Tamlin hadn’t of known better, he would’ve assumed that he was sweet on her. “Rhysand has shockingly not said a damned word about his plans. But she does know something about Azriel.”
Tamlin’s brow rose as he picked up the letter. It was coded. The words were written in the small footprints of her green finch. She and Lucien had spent weeks with the creature devising the code. Tamlin had never really gotten his head around it. But his spymaster had been too proud of it for him to tell her to change it.
“What exactly does she know?"
"Besides the fact that he doesn’t want a mate unless it’s Morrigan?” Lucien began to smirk slightly as he watched Tamlin. “Well, apparently the shadowsinger has been watching the human realms. According to Cari, he’s spending more of his time there than at the Night Court. It makes you wonder what exactly they’re doing over there.”
A soft sigh escaped Tamlin’s lips. “That doesn’t tell us anything! Just that the Night Court is interested in another Feyre,” he wasn’t completely certain that was the case. However, there was something that told him it wasn’t.
There was something else going on. Something that he was unsure if he wanted to know. He knew that Prythian was not safe. Hybern would surely send another monster to their shores. War would come sooner or later. They could not just sit around and wait for it.
Despite knowing this, Tamlin knew that he would try to ignore the signs as long as possible. They had already been through too much. He didn’t think he could stand going through all of it again. He couldn’t stand putting his people through hell after telling them that it was over.
He had lied to so many people in his life. What was a lie to protect them?
“Or that something’s coming and we need to prepare for it,” Lucien pointed out with a soft sigh. “Besides, we all know that there’s no one that could replace Feyre. She’s unique.”
That was one word for it. Tamlin knew she was better than unique. She was … Perfection. Everything that he had ever wanted. Someone who was actually worthy of him and of being the wife of a High Lord. Feyre was everything to him. She was the one person that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Still, the news about the Night Court was distressing. He began to pace the room, his fingers twitching towards the knives on his bandolier. He didn’t think about how he had seen Lyriel do the same thing. Her fingers constantly itching for a blade when she was concentrating. He didn’t think about it because he had not truly realized they did the same thing. Why would he when his mind was constantly elsewhere?
“Should we send scouts to the human realms?” He questioned, speaking more to himself than Lucien. “They might think we have another curse if we do. Fuck.”
His head tilted back, golden hair falling just to the middle of his back. He wondered how in the hell he was going to get anyone to understand the stresses. How was he going to deal with managing the blunderings of the Night Court as well as his feelings for a certain Winter Court soldier and his upcoming nuptials? It was all too much for any man. He didn’t think anyone would have dealt with this nearly as well as he had.
But considering he spent most of his nights sleeping as a beast at the foot of Feyre’s bed, that wasn’t saying much.
Something had to give. It had to be soon. Otherwise, he was destined to run the Spring Court into ruin. The thought alone made him want to be sick.
“I need to think,” he announced. Lucien nodded his head, understanding clear on his face. That was the one good thing about Lucien. He always seemed to understand Tamlin. He knew that sometimes it was just better to let the beast wander off on his own. It was better to keep away from him. To give him space and time.
He slipped out of his office, his fingers gripping the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his chest. He missed the days when he didn’t have to keep his knives close. He missed when he could travel his court with nothing more than his fiddle. He missed writing about the beauty of his lands, of witnessing a child’s smile when they heard his music. He doubted he would ever get a chance to experience that again.
Soft words escaped his lips as he walked out of Rosehall. He had never been a mumbler until becoming the High Lord. When problems became too much, he was either prone to letting the beast out or talking to himself. One was definitely a bit healthier than the other. Even if he wasn’t sure which it was at times.
Tamlin hardly paid attention to his surroundings as he walked. His feet taking him in the direction that he needed to go. His mind too distracted by whatever it was the Night Court was planning. None of it made sense. Why were they so focused on the human realms? Why was his spymaster so worried about the whole thing? Why did he want to question everything and not leave this whole mess up to Lucien and Cariaru? That should’ve been his go-to. He should’ve been focused on the wedding and getting rid of these feelings he had for Lyriel.
The Night Court really did have to ruin everything. Didn’t they?
He strolled into the maze of roses. It was not the ones his father had given his mother but something she had done herself. She had taken him to the maze at the northeast corner of the grounds often as a child. They’d played for hours while his father trained his brothers.
He missed her most of all. He knew that it was shitty and that he shouldn’t have missed one of his family members more than the others. But he did. His mother had been the only one who had ever seen him and cared. The only one who had wanted the best for him. Maybe that was why it hurt the most that she was gone.
The scent of roses had once been overwhelming to him. He had thought that it would one day drown him. That he would die by an overwhelming amount of roses. They had wound up in his nightmares. But now … Now they calmed him. Now he realized they were more of a birthright than anything to ever be afraid of.
He sank down on a stone bench that was still slightly damp from the storm that had ravaged them last night. He didn’t mind it. The chill bit into him and kept him thinking critically about what was happening.
He rested his elbows on his knees, his forefingers resting on his top lip to keep himself from speaking anymore. The wind blew through his hair, his eyes fluttering to a close. He would figure this out. Somehow, he would figure this out.
The human queens had to have something to do with this. Maybe Azriel hadn’t told Cariaru yet. They had only known her for a few months. It wasn’t long enough for her to gain their trust. Soon though, she would be able to give them the information they required. Soon Tamlin would know exactly what was happening beyond his borders. At least, he hoped so.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him. The restless energy that had been building in him suddenly ceased. Whoever was approaching him would find that sneaking up on the High Lord of Spring was one of the stupidest decisions that one could ever make.
“Tamlin,” her voice was soft, soothing his soul more than anything else ever had. What he wouldn’t give to hear her say her name a thousand times. His name had never sounded like a song before. But Feyre made it sound so beautiful that he wanted to cry.
“Feyre,” he turned his head towards her. He tried to smile, tried to make her feel as though everything was fine. That he was at ease. Yet, would he ever be at ease? He had no hopes of understanding the Night Court. Nor did he know how he was supposed to marry Feyre when it felt as though everything was quickly beginning to change. It was a mess that he did not quite know what to do about. “What are you doing out here?”
“I needed some fresh air,” she admitted as she sat down beside him on the bench. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. He wanted nothing more than to keep her close for the rest of his life.
At least then he would be able to protect her. He needed to protect her.
“You didn’t come to bed last night.” He stiffened at that. Ianthe had been able to smell Lyriel on him. Would Feyre? Had she been able to figure out different scents yet? He didn’t know but he hoped that she hadn’t. Hoped that she was still so confused about that and everything else that came with being a High Fae.
He felt like the world’s shittiest person just for thinking it.
“I had work to attend to. Nothing serious,” he added quickly. “Just precautions. I don’t want anything ruining our wedding.”
He tried to ignore the grimace that flashed across her expression. He had been trying to ignore the fact that whatever bond that had once been between them was quickly evaporating. He no longer felt that strong pull towards her. He knew that she avoided him as much as he avoided her. But he was fighting every single day to get that spark back. Maybe this whole thing was Lyriel’s fault. Maybe they both just needed some time apart. Time to just process all that they had been through. All that they continued to go through.
But if she was away from him he would be unable to protect her. Who knew what the other High Lords would do if they found out anything about Feyre. He was keeping her as safe as he possibly could by keeping her contained.
He just didn’t know that it was slowly killing her. He didn’t want to know.
“Are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said, his green eyes almost glowing with the concern that he felt for her.
Feyre nodded her head, sheets of golden brown hair falling around her. “I’m fine, Tam. Just … Just concerned with how fast everything’s been happening.”
He could understand that. Could understand how frustrating the whole thing must have been. She had died, been brought back, and was now about to marry him. It had been a long few months. A long time that had somehow not been long enough. He wished he could have done more to help ease her into the whole thing. Wished that they could put off the wedding longer. However, he thought it would be the best way to put all the horrible shit behind him.
Behind them.
Feyre deserved to not worry about any of this. Not to worry about Amarantha or Hybern or any of it. She had done enough. She deserved to rest.
“We’ll get through it,” he promised her as he gently took her by the hand. “We always do.”
Her hand felt stiff and cold in his. It felt more like the hand of a corpse than of the woman that he loved. What had changed between them? Had they been through too much? Could they ever go back to what they had been? They deserved a happily ever after. He had been her fairytale prince. She had been his knight in shining armor. They were done now. They could sit back and rest without worrying about any of it.
Yet they were broken. Perhaps they always had been. Two broken people who had tried to make each other whole. It just wasn’t working this time.
They had been broken down beyond repair. Tamlin just could not see it. He could not begin to let her go.
