night triumphant and the stars eternal

Acotar lover / writer of fics

[acotar-writing]

Masterlist

▪️ ACOTAR

▪️ Fae & Alchemy

[acotar-writing]

Autumns Fated Scriptures - Part 1

Eris x Reader

Summary: The eldest Archeron sister has spent years building a quiet life in Velaris as a bookbinder, far removed from court politics and the chaos that seems to follow her family. But when Eris Vanserra approaches her during Dawn Court’s Firstlight Celebration with an ancient hidden tome stolen from Beron’s study, curiosity drags her into a dangerous alliance. Warnings: none Word count: 2.7k

The ballroom of Dawn Court looked as though someone had captured the first breath of sunrise and trapped it beneath glass. Golden light spilled from enormous chandeliers adorned with rubies, refracting against polished marble floors veined with amber and cream. Massive arched windows lined the far wall, thrown open to the warm evening air and the sprawling terraces beyond, where distant music drifted in alongside the scent of dewy freshness. Silk banners in shades of ivory, soft gold, and rich red stirred lazily from the high ceilings, the entire palace seeming to glow beneath the gentle radiance the skies exuded all day long. 

Everywhere you looked, there was movement. Nobles flaunting glittering jewels and flowing fabrics, drifted elegantly over the dancefloor, servants weaving between them with trays of wine and honeyed desserts. 

It was beautiful. 

Far too beautiful for your taste. 

You swirled the wine slowly in your glass from your position near one of the marble pillars, content to remain at the edge of the celebration rather than within it. Large gatherings had never suited you particularly well, not before the Cauldron and certainly not after it. While Feyre had long since adapted to life as High Lady, and Nesta could command a room without so much as lifting her chin, you had always preferred a quieter lifestyle. 

Books. Solitude. The comforting rhythm of steady tasks. 

Your workshop in Velaris felt impossibly far away tonight. You could practically picture it if you closed your eyes- the cramped little space tucked behind the bookstore near the Sidra, shelves overflowing with worn tomes waiting to be repaired, loose thread and scraps of leather scattered across your worktable. Most days, your world consisted of cracked spines, faded ink, and the scent of parchment dust lingering stubbornly on your fingertips no matter how often you washed your hands. Compared to that, the Firstlight Celebration felt like a fever dream. 

Across the ballroom, Feyre stood beside Rhysand in a shimmering gown the color of midnight, the pair of them deep in conversation with the High Lord of Dawn and several aristocrats you did not recognize. Feyre looked perfectly at ease beneath the attention, one hand looped lightly through Rhys’s arm as he smiled that charming, devastating smile that always seemed half genuine and half trained. 

Not far from them, Elain had somehow already gathered a small orbit of admirers without appearing aware of it at all. Soft laughter floated from her corner of the room as she spoke with an older female draped in pale yellow silks, sunlight catching against Elain’s hair like strands of spun gold. Was there any court your youngest sister did not effortlessly blend in? 

And then there was Nesta. She was seated several tables away beside Cassian, both of them already well into what looked to be their third bottle of expensive Dawn Court liquor if Cassian’s increasingly dramatic gestures were anything to go by. Nesta, surprisingly, appeared dangerously close to enjoying herself. You hid your faint smile behind another sip of wine. Perhaps the evening would pass peacefully after all. 

A shadow fell across the marble beside you. Not enough to draw attention. Not enough for anyone else nearby to notice. But every instinct sharpened quietly beneath your skin anyway, the fine hairs at the back of your neck rising a fraction before a smooth male voice drifted over your shoulder. “You look about as thrilled to be here as I feel.” 

You turned slowly, and found yourself face to face with Eris Vanserra. The heir to Autumn Court stood far too close for someone you had never properly spoken to before. He wore a dark red jacket that stretched over his broad frame, intricate golden embroidery glinting along the lines of the fabric like living flames. Every inch of him looked composed with deliberate precision, from the neatly arranged auburn hair to the cool arrogance resting naturally across his handsome face. 

He was devastatingly Beautiful. 

The realization arrived annoyingly fast. His amber eyes flicked briefly toward the wine in your hand before returning to your face, one brow arching slightly as if he already knew exactly what you were thinking of him. You had seen him before, of course. During meetings. Gatherings. Across crowded rooms thick with political tension and filled with discussions. But always from a distance and surrounded by the reputation that seemed to follow him wherever he went. 

Cruel.

Cunning.

Beron’s vicious son.

And yet the male standing before you now looked almost bored. Like this entire party exhausted him. 

“I was under the impression that the Firstlight Celebration was one of Dawn Court’s more enjoyable traditions,” you replied carefully, your voice remaining pleasantly neutral despite the quiet suspicion settling through you. 

“It is,” Eris said easily, glancing toward the dancing nobles with poorly concealed disinterest. “For people who enjoy pretending they like one another.” 

A surprised huff of laughter nearly escaped you before you caught it, and his eyes immediately sharpened at the sound. “I take it you are not one of those people, then.” 

“No,” he drawled. “Though I perform adequately when required.” 

There was something unnervingly deliberate about the way he spoke to you. As though this conversation had been planned long before he ever even crossed the ballroom. Wearily, you let your eyes wander over your surroundings. Talking to Eris Vanserra like this, in the middle of a public event, felt almost traitorous. “What do you want, Eris?”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at your bluntness, subtle enough that you might have missed it had you not been watching him so carefully. Then he stepped closer, and the faint scent of spiced cider and cloves curled through the space between you. 

“I want to know,” Eris said smoothly, “why a female who would clearly rather be elbow-deep in bookbinding paste is standing alone at a celebration surrounded by people she barely seems to tolerate.” Amber eyes held yours, sharp and keen. “And,” he added after a brief pause, “whether she’d prefer to disappear onto one of the terraces with me instead.” 

A laugh loud enough to stir the group of people beside you burst out of your chest. “Absolutely not.”

He was clearly unaccustomed to hearing that particular response, and for the briefest moment, he looked almost offended. Not genuinely wounded, but surprised enough that the confidence he wore cracked slightly around the edges. “You find the idea of spending time with me that appalling?” he asked, tone dripping with sarcasm. 

“Doesn’t everyone?” you replied before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out far more brazen than intended. Regret settled uncomfortably in your stomach at the sight of the twitch that moved his elegant features, almost like a flinch, followed by that fleeting glimpse of something vulnerable beneath the arrogance and effortless composure. Just a small fissure damaging the mask he wore so carefully before it vanished entirely. After a moment, Eris forced a humorless smile. “I suppose I can’t entirely blame you for that. My reputation precedes me, it seems.”

Guilt pricked your insides. You had meant the comment lightly, carelessly– the sort of thoughtless remark people made whenever his name surfaced in conversation. But standing this close to him now, watching that brief flicker of something strained pass across his face before he smoothed it away again, it no longer felt quite so amusing. And perhaps that should have been the end of it. 

A polite apology. A return to opposite sides of the ballroom. 

Instead, against all better judgement, you found yourself curious about this male. Because for all the stories whispered about Eris Vanserra, none of them had ever mentioned this version of him. The one standing quietly beside you with tired eyes and a brittle sort of humor. 

Nosiness, you decided, was a terrible weakness to possess. 

A servant walked past a moment later, balancing a tray laden with crystal glasses filled to the brim with expensive Dawn Court wine. Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out and plucked two from the tray with practiced ease. Turning back toward Eris, you held one of the glasses out to him, tilting your head slightly toward the open archways leading deeper into the palace. “The south terrace has a view over Thesan’s pools. If we are fortunate, perhaps we’ll catch someone attempting to skinny dip.”

For a heartbeat, Eris simply stared at you, as though genuinely uncertain whether he had imagined you saying it. Then a low laugh slipped from him. “Now that,” he said as he accepted the wine, “is the first interesting thing anyone has said to me all evening.”

Side by side, the two of you slipped away from the heart of the celebration and into the quieter corridors winding deeper through the Dawn Court palace. The distant swell of music and conversation softened gradually behind you, replaced by the sounds of trickling fountains and the echo of your footsteps against polished floors. Warm light spilled from ornate wall sconces carved to resemble rising suns, their glow dancing across the pale stone and the rich red fabric of the curtains framing the giant windows. The south terrace revealed itself through a pair of towering glass doors bordered by white marble and climbing ivy. Cool evening air brushed against your skin as you stepped outside, carrying the scent of fresh water and night-blooming flowers. Dawn Court was perhaps the only place in Prythian that reminded you even remotely of Velaris, at least in its ethereal beauty and lightness. Far below the sprawling terrace, Thesan’s famous pools glittered beneath the moonlight, connected by waterfalls and winding streams that disappeared into lush gardens overflowing with vibrant flowers and towering cypress trees. For a few moments, the two of you simply stood there in easy silence, the distant murmurs blending gently with the rushing water below. Beside you, Eris rested one arm against the balustrade, lazily swirling the wine in his glass as he rolled the stem between his fingers. 

A quiet chuckle left him then. “Never thought I would live to see the day, that I’d be sneaking away to a secluded terrace with the elusive Archeron sister no one ever seems to speak about.” 

It was meant to be a harmless quip, you knew that. But still, the comment stung, which was probably far more revealing of what you thought of yourself, then Eris’s intent. 

Not as brave as Feyre. 

Not as resilient as Nesta. 

Certainly not as pretty as Elain. 

Intrusively as ever, the thoughts slithered through your mind like tiny insects, clawing at old insecurities you never learned to let go of. With a clearing of your throat, you swatted them away and gulped down a generous swallow of your drink. “Just tell me what you want, Eris.”

Eris did not answer immediately, the hubris fading from his expression. 

“You truly are observant,” he murmured. A breeze stirred through the terrace, tugging at the strands of auburn hair near his brow before Eris straightened from the railing. “I need your help,” he said plainly. “And before you decide whether to throw your drink at me or walk away entirely, I would prefer the opportunity to explain.” 

Your gaze trailed slowly over the intricate gold embroidery decorating his tailored jacket, buying you a few seconds to process the words that had just left his mouth. 

“Alright,” you said carefully, lifting your eyes back to his, “explain.” Gods damned curiosity. 

Eris studied you, seemingly surprised you had not immediately dismissed him. His eyes shifted briefly toward the glowing ballroom behind you both, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear before his attention settled back onto you. 

“A few weeks ago, I found something hidden in my father’s study.” A muscle feathered briefly in his jaw. “It was concealed inside a locked compartment beneath his desk. Protected heavily enough that I nearly lost two fingers attempting to open it.”

Slowly, Eris reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. The object he withdrew looked ancient. A small bundle of weathered parchment bound carefully in dark leather, the edges of the pages brittle with age and stained a faint brown. Strange symbols had been inked across the worn cover, most of them so faded they were barely visible anymore. Even from where you stood, something about it felt... wrong. 

“I cannot read it. Half the pages are tattered beyond recognition, the ink is too pale, and whatever enchantments were placed upon it have made restoration nearly impossible.” A pause. “But I was told there is a female in Velaris capable of repairing books most people would consider unsalvageable.” 

Instinctively, you reached for the book, but Eris withdrew it with one quick motion. “Why do you need it restored so badly?” you asked.

“Because my father does not hide things without reason,” he said quietly, looking as cold and calculated as he usually did. “I have spent my entire life trying to understand Beron’s weaknesses.” A humorless breath left him. “The unfortunate reality is that he appears to have very few.” His fingers tightened around the ancient tome. “But whatever this is, it was hidden beneath enough wards to rival those protecting Autumn’s treasury. That alone makes it valuable.” 

You did not involve yourself in Inner Circle affairs or the endless maze of court politics, but you were hardly oblivious to them either. You knew Eris had been working alongside Rhys and Feyre for months now, all of them united by the same objective despite their mutual distrust: Beron’s eventual downfall. Differences aside, Eris ascending as High Lord of Autumn instead of his father continuing his reign was undeniably the better outcome for Prythian’s long-term survival. That much even you could recognize. 

“And why are you not discussing this during an Inner Circle meeting?” 

Knowing amusement crossed Eris’s face. “Because your family would never have allowed me near you long enough for this conversation to happen in the first place.” He leaned his hip against the balustrade. “Rhysand would insist on involving half of Velaris. And then everyone would spend weeks debating safer alternatives, theorizing over possibilities, attempting to pry information from the book through brute force or magic instead of simply repairing the damned thing.” 

His mesmerizing golden eyes locked with yours. “I do not have the time or the patience for that.” A quiet breeze stirred the ivy climbing the terrace walls. “So, I decided to bypass the middlemen and ask the person actually capable of helping me.”

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. You had learned that lesson long ago. It was curiosity that made people open locked doors, linger too long in conversations they should walk away from, reach toward things that clearly were not supposed to be touched. And standing here beneath the moonlight with Eris Vanserra, an ancient enchanted tome lingering between you, every instinct told you this situation fell firmly into that category. You should refuse. Gods, you absolutely should refuse. This involved Beron, unknown magic, secret texts hidden by wards powerful enough to maim even Eris, and enough political complications to give Rhysand a migraine for the next century. And yet– “You know, I’ve been wondering about something…”

Eris arched one elegant brow. “Do tell.”

“What if you are not the son who ascends the throne?”

The question caught him off guard. He didn’t seem offended, just surprised. As though the thought had never truly occurred to him before, or perhaps he had simply refused to entertain it, which was utterly absurd. Upon a High Lord’s death, power did not simply pass to the eldest son. Magic chose its heir. The most worthy. The most capable. And Eris Vanserra had four brothers. Well– technically three. Because while the rest of Prythian still believed Lucien to be Beron’s youngest son, you knew the truth whispered quietly amongst the Inner Circle. Lucien carried none of Beron’s blood in his veins. But the remaining Vanserra brothers? You had met them before. And the thought of any one of them inheriting Autumn made your stomach churn. It honestly baffled you that no one else seemed concerned by that possibility. 

Before Eris could respond, you spoke again. “I will help you. But first, I need to know with absolute certainty that it will be you who becomes High Lord of Autumn after Beron dies.” 

Nostrils flaring, he let out a frustrated huff. “And how exactly am I supposed to prove something like that?”

The ancient tome remained clutched in one of his hands, knuckles white and jaw rigid. Meanwhile, your mouth curved into a bright smile and your eyes glittered with mischief. “Tell me, Eris, have you ever visited a Fortunewitch?”

Taglist (no idea if this is still up to date, haven't posted in a while):

@impossibelle @loving-and-dreaming @firebirdsalvatore @lilah-asteria @caticorn61 @babypeapoddd @babypeapoddd @talesofadragon @celestiallovers17 @kmc1989 @marina468 @stained-glass-eyes0708 @azrielsmate3 @melsunshine

[nestasblade]

Casual

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

WC: 4.4k

Summary: Azriel and you have been friends for centuries. For just as long, you’ve hid your feelings. But a recent development slowly pushes you to your breaking point. Azriel calls it casual. To you, it’s everything

Warnings: ANGST, allusions to sex, Az is a bit of a bonehead here but we’ll fix it dw.

Azriel rolled off you, landing on the empty spot next to you in the bed. You looked over to him, catching your breath, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching yours. His eyes met yours, and you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks, as if he was a small crush in the marketplace rather than someone who had just made you see the heights of pleasure.

“Had fun?” You asked, a smile creeping up on your face.

He looked over at you, rolling his eyes.

”Wonderful, as always.” He teased. His eyes trailed over the length of your body, covered only by a thin layer of your sheets. The sunlight of the late morning crept in from your balcony window, illuminating the twinkle in his eyes. You had to look away, entranced by the beauty of him. Here, in your bed. Lying here with him like this, it was easy to pretend. The world narrowed to the two of you in this room, together. Here, your past no longer haunted you, there was no trauma, no secrets, no pain. If you closed your eyes and focused on the way his bare arm brushed yours and the breathing from right beside you, it was as if all was as you imagined.

“I have a light workload today. I was thinking I could take Elain to the marketplace, or through the River House’s garden for a walk.”

The cocoon shattered. For just a moment, your breath caught in your throat, and a surge of shame and embarrassment rushed through you, down to your fingertips. Quickly, you grabbed a hold of yourself.

“Are you…sure that’s a good idea?” You asked, trepidation heavy in your tone.

“Why not? I’ve been busy recently. I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he justified. “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”

Ugly jealousy coursed through you, and you had the sudden urge to be alone.

You took a deep breath, willing your racing heart to control itself. “It’s just that Lucien will be in the city for dinner in two days.”

Defensiveness filled his expression, and you feared that perhaps you had made a mistake.

“So?” he started. “I’m not afraid of Lucien, Y/N.”

“I know that, but he’ll likely want to see her. You don’t want to start anything. Rhys will be unhappy. Maybe wait until after his visit.”

“Why are you being like this?” He asked. “Lucien can’t force her into anything, and I’m not going to refrain from seeing her just because of her so-called ‘mate’ visiting.”

You forced a teasing tone into your voice, trying to keep the mood light in spite of the knot in your stomach. “Az, he is her mate.”

He was silent for a moment, contemplation heavy in his voice. He rolled over onto his side, facing you. His wings shifted, and the sheet covering him from the waist down moved slightly. You forced your eyes up to meet his.

“What if…what if the Cauldron was wrong? What if he isn’t her true mate?”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Azriel.”

“I know. I know what you’re going to say, Y/N. But I just can’t help but feel like he doesn’t deserve her. She’s a Cauldron-made seer. He’s just an emissary.”

That sent a jolt through you. Just an emissary. In the logical part of your brain, you already knew that you weren’t necessarily special. At least, not in comparison to your chosen family in the Night Court. Feyre the Cursebreaker. Lady Death. The Shadowsinger. The Seer. And you were just an emissary. To your home court of Day that you once fled in fear, no less. You tried not to let that comment simmer in your brain for any longer.

“Doesn’t it make sense that she should be with someone else, someone who’s as exceptional as her?” he continued on. “She deserves better.”

He didn’t even seem to notice the effect those words had on you, the shock they sent through your system. For someone so observant, he never seemed to notice such things about you. Not with the comment he made, and certainly not with the fact that he was lying naked next to you, lamenting about his desire for another woman. You used to think him lowering his inhibitions so fully around you was a sign of his comfort. His innate relaxation in your presence, reflecting your own feelings. Recently, you’ve wondered if it was just a manifestation of how little he cared.

But Azriel loved you. If not in the way you’d hoped for, then as a friend. As a member of this family.

Didn’t he?

”Azriel, she has a mate.”

“I know that, but…”

“But nothing, Az,” you stressed. “You may want her, but it’s not a mating bond.”

Azriel remained still, but his wings shifted slightly. A tell of his exasperation. You always knew of his tells. You knew him better than anyone.

“Y/N, you wouldn’t understand. Mating bonds are difficult,” he sighed. “I should go.”

Azriel shifted up into sitting, silently as ever. The mattress dipped slightly as he turned his back to you, his wings dragging off to the side of your bed. He stood, and the emptiness of the other side of the bed was reflected in your chest.

“You’re right,” you said quietly.

But you knew about mating bonds. Knew them quite well, really. You knew what a mating bond felt like when a mate didn’t want you, and you felt for Lucien. He would take Elain any way he could have her, just as you did for your mate. Even if it hurt, even if it left your insides bleeding and yearning.

He paused his motions just slightly, as if sensing the poorly masked fatigue in your voice. Your gaze fixed on the sheets twisted between your fingers, unable to look up at his form moving about your space.

”I’ll see you later. Family dinner, tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Right. See you then.”

_____

You couldn’t really pinpoint when it started. The physical affair between you and Azriel had been unexpected, and you didn’t know exactly what it stemmed from. Loneliness, maybe. At first, you held out a little bit of hope that it would grow into something else.

“You’re not being serious, you did not.”

“I am not. I spilled wine all over him. It was mortifying!” You burst out laughing, and Azriel followed suit, the drinks flowing between you.

The two of you sat in the House’s study, illuminated only by the hearth in front of the room. The untethered mating bond hummed in your chest, filling you wholly with warmth. On a night like this, laughing with him sitting so close, it almost seemed silly to keep it a secret from him. He felt like home. Like the two of you belonged.

“I’m lucky that the High Lord of Day is such a flirt. He took no offense, and instead offered that I assist in bathing him.”

Azriel let out a barking laugh, inhibitions down in a way that made your cheeks heat. “Of course.”

The laughs died down, and for a moment the two of you just stared at each other, smiles lingering on your face. You couldn’t recall who moved first, but after another breath his mouth was on yours, and his hands wandered in places he had never dared touch before.

Through the haze of it all, a spark of joy burst within you. The mating bond sung within you, and fulfillment took over you in a way you’d never known before. It was happening, you’d thought. Finally.

Afterwards, the two of you lay in his bed, your head on his bare chest. His wing was underneath you, and warmth engulfed you from the tips of your fingers to your toes.

He was with you, and he was happy. It was an unconventional start to a relationship, but nothing about you and Azriel had ever been normal.

“I’m glad we can be like this, Y/N. Some…relief. No strings.”

Something within you broke, and the warmth of the mating bond grew cold.

“What are you thinking about?” A voice came from behind you, breaking you out of the memory.

You turned in your seat in the House’s kitchen to see Rhys approaching.

“Nothing, really.” You replied, taking a sip of the tea in front of you, Rhys taking a seat in the chair to your left. “Just thinking.”

”Hmm.” The High Lord started. “Does this have anything to do with a certain spymaster escorting my sister-in-law to the marketplace?”

You shot him a warning look. That bastard. “Rhys.”

“You can’t keep it a secret forever, Y/N. It isn’t fair to either of you, and I can only warn him off Elain for so long.”

Rhys learning of your mating bond had been a freak incident, the result of him catching onto a longing gaze last Solstice. He had agreed to keep it a secret, and to let you deal with it in your own way. You’ve had more than your share of men taking choice from you, and Rhys was not inclined to add to that list.

However, that didn’t stop him from meddling. He took every opportunity to encourage you to shout your bond from the rooftops, whether mentally at family dinners or through surprise check-ins. More recently, he had been more active in his intervention, barring Azriel from pursuing Elain. He claimed it was to prevent the Blood Duel. But from the moment Azriel relayed those events to you, you had seen right through it.

“I do not need you to warn him off Elain for me, Rhys. A mating bond will hardly change who he wants.”

“How do you know that?” Rhys stressed. “It can change everything. He deserves to know.”

The two of you have this conversation at least once every fortnight. It always ended the same way.

“Things would not change, and there is no point burdening him with a mating bond he will surely abhor.”

”It is not a burden. And you must know Azriel would never see you that way. It is a gift, to be mated to someone who is already so dear to your heart. One kiss, Y/N, could change everything.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. Letting the silence sit for a moment, you prepared yourself before speaking again.

“We have…done more than kiss.”

A beat passed between the two of you, before you spilled the details of the last eight months to Rhys, who watched with poorly contained shock. His eyes sat wide, and his mouth hung open. For the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, one could observe his ability to resemble a fish.

“This has been going on for nearly eight months,” Rhys repeated slowly, “And still he chases after Elain so brazenly?”

”He has never led me to believe this would grow into a romance. Any hopes are my delusion.”

Rhys covered his face with his hands, letting out a deep sigh, “It is not delusion. It is a natural response to a mating bond.”

“Perhaps, Rhys. But there is nothing I can do.”

Your fingers curled around the warm porcelain of your teacup.

“Nothing I wish to do,” you corrected, tone softening. “I do not want a mating bond that exists solely because he feels obligated to me.”

”You cannot truly believe that Azriel would see you as an obligation.”

”I think,” you said, “that if the Mother had some plan for him to joyously accept our mating bond, he would not leave my bed in the mornings with plans to pursue another female.”

—-

Family dinner was delicious, as always.

The aroma of perfectly roasted lamb and beautifully seasoned potatoes lingered throughout the River House, as empty plates signalled a meal well-enjoyed. Elain’s cooking was wonderful, but an ugly part of you couldn’t help but feel the weight of envy taking root in your chest.

Is there anything she can’t do?

Around the table sat you, Rhys, Amren, Cassian, Feyre, and Mor. Wine flowed generously as you discussed plans for a meeting with Lucien and Eris tomorrow. As a fellow Court emissary, you would be in attendance, so you did your best to focus on Rhys’ talking points despite the wine buzzing in your system. Luckily, your two most likely distractions were not here. Elain had excused herself to bed hours ago, and Azriel had left just moments ago to recon with some spies he had placed in Autumn. The table felt lighter without them here. All night, you had sat through Azriel sitting to the right of you, staring holes through Elain. It had been an effort not to burst out sobbing right there in front of everyone.

Recently, that had become a familiar feeling.

After seemingly hours of listening to Rhys drone on, making mental notes for later, you excused yourself to your room. You opted to crash at the River House, too weary to winnow to the House of Wind. Besides, you figured that a change of scenery might do some good. A futile attempt to chase the peace that had evaded you all week.

It didn’t matter that you’d be down the hall from Elain. You had no reason to be angry with her. Not really. She didn’t control Azriel’s overwhelming indifference to you. If he wasn’t focused on her, it would be Mor. Or someone else who met his standards. Someone special and outstanding and worthy.

Just an emissary.

Walking down the halls of the River House, you pondered on a future for yourself. Would you spend the rest of your life pining after a man who would never view you romantically? Would you ever tell him about the bond, wrecking a 200 year friendship and tying him to you in a way that could only lead to his misery?

The thoughts ruminated in your head until you heard the unmistakable rumble of Azriel’s voice.

Soft and low. Gentle in the way he speaks to you when you lay beneath him and you could pretend.

You looked up, eyes setting upon a slightly ajar door, moonlight filtering through.

Azriel’s room.

Your feet moved before your brain caught up to you. Rushing towards the doorway, you stood in the space of the open door before you truly knew what was happening. There stood Azriel and Elain, his arms just barely grazing upon her waist. They stood close, lips about to touch in a stance that you had been in with him just two nights prior.

Something was tearing in your chest. You tried to keep quiet.

But Azriel was an observant male. It was his job. Maybe not in the sanctuary of your bed, but certainly when he was tasked with protecting something as precious as Elain. His head snapped towards you in the doorway as if a fawn coming upon a faelight. His eyes widened slightly as he met yours.

The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes, and the sight of them made your own vision blur with sudden tears. And all Azriel did was stare.

One moment he stood frozen, his form blurry through your watery vision. The next, he jumped back from Elain as if her touch had burned him. His gaze never left yours, though his expression shifted to something raw, something almost terrified. It was a jarring change, especially for a male so stoic and controlled. Some instinct deep within you recognized the strangeness of his expression.

His shadows surged forward from the corner of the room, wrapping around his form. They curled up his back, peering over his shoulders towards you. His gaze never left yours, and Elain’s eyes shot rapidly between the two of you, confusion painting her beautiful face.

It was then that you felt it. A tug deep within your chest, reaching down into a place that you knew all too well. Something strong and ancient thrumming within you. Light surged in your soul. Never in your life had you imagined a fulfillment like this. As if the centuries of your life had been black and white, and now you’d seen the colors of the sky for the first time.

The sensation flooded your body, bright and overwhelming, dimmed only by the absolute fear and shock that spread throughout your body. The look on Azriel’s face matched the war happening within you.

Oh gods. He knew. He knew.

Another tug pulled through you. Then another. The silence of the room was overwhelming, and you willed him to say something. To get it over with. To reject you. To end it. But all he did was stare.

“Y/N,” he rasped out, voice heavy. “You…”

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bear the words he would inevitably say. The disgust he would regard you with.

The bond tugged once more in your chest. Azriel’s wide, wild eyes were on you.

You turned and ran.

—-

Two weeks.

You’d successfully avoided Azriel for two weeks before the inevitable confrontation. For his part, he had stayed away from your meeting with Lucien and Eris. Immediately afterward, you had left for Dawn to meet with Thesan. An emergency alliance negotiation.

In your mind, it was a blessing from the Mother. Perhaps a small act of repentance after the stunt she pulled revealing the bond to Azriel.

The journey back to Velaris felt far heavier than the one that had taken you away. Dawn had been bright, orderly, predictable. Everything that Velaris couldn’t be until you had settled this with Azriel.

Winnowing to the House of Wind, you headed straight for the kitchen, intending to grab a cup of tea and hide away in your room.

”You’re back.” The voice came from behind you.

The male had an innate talent for silence.

Mother help me.

You took a slow breath, then another. It was time, you supposed. You turned to look at him, wanting to memorize the exact details of his beautiful face. Once he rejects you, would you ever see him this closely again? Could you bear it?

“I’m back,” you said, keeping your voice light, moving towards the kettle on the counter.

Azriel stared at you intently, unspoken emotion deep within his eyes. As if he too, had been anticipating this moment. Dreading it.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with everything that had gone unsaid for two weeks. His eyes stayed heavy on you.

He finally broke the silence, tension laden in his voice. “You knew. Didn’t you?”

Your eyes slid shut “I did. I’ve known for almost a hundred years.”

The memory hit you hard.

“How’s the lemonade?” Azriel asked, taking a sip of his own in the chair across for you.

“You were right, this is delicious. Best I’ve ever tasted,” you took another sip of the sweet liquid, “How did I not know about this place?”

“It’s one of Velaris’ many hidden gems. You could live here for years and not know of every treat.”

“Well, I suppose I have much to learn.”

A laugh burst out of him, and you his eyes. It was full and deep and brought heat to your cheeks. His large form, wings brushing along the floor, seemed almost comical in this small, intimate cafe. For a moment, you just watched him. His beauty.

Warmth filled you, and you felt something snap within your chest. Like a key slotting into a lock, something had slid into place within your soul. Your mouth dropped open slightly, and all you could do was blink.

“You ok?” He teased. “Missing the Day Court?”

Your hands trembled slightly from the shock of the revelation. “I’m fine. Just…enjoying the lemonade.”

You gazed up at him, and his expression held shock, betrayal, a hint of anger. “A hundred years? You have known of this for that long?”

You nodded once, fixing your gaze somewhere over his shoulder.

Azriel leaned back slightly, as if the distance might help him process what you had just said. If anything, it only heightened the tension between you two.

“I-” he paused, swallowing before continuing. “Why have you not told me, Y/N?”

“I wanted to, at first. I didn’t wish for you to be disappointed, I suppose.”

He gawked. “Disappointed?” He took two steps closer to you, a smile barely there on his face. “Y/N, I am far from disappointed. I am…elated. But I cannot understand why you’ve hidden this so long.”

Your breath stopped. He took another step toward you. You tried to calm the panic in your brain. This is not what you were expecting. Not how you’d envisioned this moment at all.

”You don’t understand?” You parroted, a mocking tone creeping into your voice. He stood so close to you now you could see the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw.

Something soft crept into his voice. “You truly believe that I would be disappointed to learn that the Mother chose you for me?”

Your laugh came out brittle. Disbelief flooded through you at his words. “The Mother may have chosen me for you, but you have never chosen me, Azriel.”

”What?”

You laughed again. Surely, anyone walking by would think you mad.

”When this bond snapped for you, you were ready to kiss another female, Azriel!”

”So this is about Elain?” He exhaled slowly. “Y/N, that was a misunderstanding. I believe she might be my mate.”

”She has a mate!” You were shouting now, your voice rising despite yourself. An overflow of emotions betraying you. In the past, you’d always thought this moment would be defined by his anger, his emotions towards such a disappointing pairing by the Mother.

“I understand the timing was awful. I’m sorry.”

”You’re sorry,” you deadpanned.

Azriel shook his head, speaking slowly. “I know…I know that I have failed you in many ways. And I can understand why you wouldn’t have told me.”

He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. It was a stark change from his usual directness. Your hands shook slightly, tears welling up in your eyes.

”Please. Please don’t cry, Y/N.” He sounded desperate, pained.

“So what happens now?” You posed. “Elain is not your mate, which anyone with half a brain could have told you.”

”Now you are my mate. Everything has changed, darling.”

”Don’t call me that.” Gods, why couldn’t you stop the tears? They streaked down your face, staining your cheeks. “Nothing has changed.”

Azriel only gaped at you. “How can you say that? We are mates. Elain does not matter.”

”Doesn’t matter?” It was your turn to stare at him like a fish out of water. “You have no feelings for me. And I am not interested in you pretending to care for me.”

”I- I would not be pretending.” He stuttered.

You stepped back immediately.

“Yes, you would,” you argued, insistence heavy in your tone. “Two weeks ago, you lay with me in bed and told me that you wish to be mated to another!”

You had to shut your eyes before continuing. “Do you think that I don’t know you? I have watched for two centuries how you look at women that you actually want.”

“I want you.”

”Because of the bond,” you shot back.

”No,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t say that.”

A bitter breath escaped you, “What would you have me say, Azriel? For hundreds of years, you have looked at every female but me. And when you finally-“ a sob cut through your words. “When you finally touched me, and I had hope, you broke that trust. Stress relief, isn’t that what you said?”

He flinched at the words. “I did not mean to imply-“

”You implied nothing. You said it quite clearly.”

”I thought you were happy with our…arrangement. You never asked for more.”

”So you assumed that I was happy with just sex while you pined for another?” You let out a scoff at that. You were being petty, you knew. But you found that you didn’t care. This was uncharted territory.

You’d never imagined that you’d be the one with the power in the situation. Here he was, and he seemed as if he wanted you. Desired you. But that couldn’t be right. There was no way. He was only trying to do right by you.

“Azriel,” you continued, “You have never desired me romantically. Physically, clearly. But do not stand here and lie to me.”

His shadows peered at you from over his shoulder, and his brow creased slightly with effort. As if he had to work to hold them back from you. “I am not lying to you. I have never lied to you, Y/N.”

“But you still do not love me.”

Azriel huffed. “How can you say that? You are my mate!”

”But you do not love me!” Your voice raised again. “This is why I never told you about the bond.”

”It isn’t like that,” Azriel tried, anguish heavy in his voice. “Please, let’s sit and we can talk about this.”

”There is nothing to talk about.” You sniffled, hand moving to wipe a tear from your cheek. “And we’re stopping our little…arrangement, if it wasn’t clear.”

”Ok,” he nodded, frantically. He moved to take your hands into his. “How about this? We’ll start over. No past.”

You shook your head, sniffling. “No, you don’t understand.”

His expression fractured. “Tell me then. Help me understand how to fix this. We’re mates. And that means something to me, Y/N. It can mean something to both of us. We just need time. I know I was awful to you. And inconsiderate.” He lowered his forehead down to yours, and you felt a tear drop from his cheek to yours. “Let me fix it. I’ll do whatever you want.”

For years, you dreamed of this moment.

”We cannot be together, Azriel. I won’t be your second choice.”

”You would not be my second choice. Never. We are mates.” He stressed.

”But that is the problem,” you stressed. “The bond has chosen me for you. But you would never do so.”

“That isn’t true, Y/N. The Mother has linked us. And that means something to me. We can figure this out.”

Gods, you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face him as he attempted to placate you.

Here was Azriel, a male that you had dreamed of loving you since the day you met him. And now he was telling you he wanted you. As a mate. As a lover.

You broke out of his hold, maneuvering your hands away from him, “I spoke to Rhys before I left for Dawn. I’m moving back to Day.”

He froze. A beat of silence passed between you, then another. “What?”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! :)

[acotar-writing]

A Court of Snow and Misery - Part 1

Devlon x Reader

Summary: When a mysterious sickness begins killing Illyrian warriors in Windhaven, Cassian brings you, the Inner Circle’s healer, to the one male who wants you there least– Lord Devlon. Warnings: Language, light description of sickness, symptoms and injury. Word count: 4.018

“There’s no way in all fucking hells I’m having this... female running around in my camp.” Devlon said calmly, but with a deadly stare towards Cassian.  

Well, this was going well. The Illyrian war-lord was vehemently ignoring you, and not even the general had been able to convince him to let you into Windhaven– yet. You weren’t going to give up that easily, and it had been clear from the beginning that convincing him to let a female member of Rhysand and Feyre’s Inner Circle into his midst would be a struggle at best. 

“Your men are dying. I think the time to be stubborn is over.” Cassian urged, and you decided to finally chime in. 

“I’m sure I can find what’s killing them. But I need access and time. And your word that I won’t be attacked.” 

It had been a tough two weeks for Devlon. That much was obvious if the bags under his eyes and the tremor in his hands he tried to suppress were any indicator. A sickness had befallen the war-lord’s camp, and the healers that resided in Windhaven were at their wits end. Cassian had offered for you to take a look days ago, but Devlon kept refusing. His stupid pride prevented him from letting you anywhere near his camp. Because you weren’t Illyrian, because you were female, because you were a part of the infamous Inner Circle. All good reasons for him to condemn you, you knew. But he was running out of options and fast. 

Devlon’s chocolate brown eyes seemed almost bronze in the candlelight, a deep frown forming on his features. The war-lord was a massive male, tall and broad, and in his black Illyrian fighting leathers, he looked like the epitome of a warrior. His wings shifted behind him, an annoyed huff pushing past his lips. A long moment of silence passed before he spoke, his narrowed stare flickering from Cassian to you. “And why should I believe you’ll be of any use, girl?” 

Gods, how you despised males like him. But no matter how much those Illyrian brutes irritated you, you had sworn an oath when you entered the healing quarters in Velaris all those years ago; to heal and protect anyone who sought your aid, without question. No life was worth more than another. That was how it would always have to be. It was the first lesson Madja had taught you, and maybe also the most important one. 

“I’m not a girl,” you replied with as much authority as you could muster. “And I know what I’m doing. I’m good at my job, and I can mend your warriors, but you’ll have to let me.” 

The leathery membrane of his wings caught the dim torchlight as he scoffed, folding his arms across his muscular chest. 

“Fine.” The word was bitten out between clenched teeth, as if it physically pained him to concede. “But you step out of line, one breath of disrespect, and you’ll have another thing coming, Inner Circle or not.” Contempt furrowed his prominent, dark brows. “And if any of my warriors die under your care, healer,” he added, voice dropping dangerously low, “you’ll answer to me.” With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off, his wings slicing through the frigid mountain air like blades. 

Cassian smirked at you. “Well. That went better than expected.” 

You snorted a laugh, shook your head, and wearily rubbed your palms against your closed eyes. “I’m not so sure.” 

Cassian’s grin only widened, and he clapped you on the shoulder, his amusement palpable. “Oh, come on. You managed to wrangle some sort of agreement out of Lord Grumpy. That’s more than I’ve managed to do in all the centuries I’ve known him.” 

Devlon had disappeared in the misty clouds of the Illyrian mountains. The meeting point you had agreed on was a clearing in the woods, not quite Velaris, not quite Illyria. With a deep breath, you swung your bag over your shoulder and nodded towards Cassian with a tight smile. It was time for him to fly after Devlon and bring you to Windhaven. 

Perched near the peak of a forested ridge, the camp was a collection of a few permanent stone buildings crouched near the tree line, constructed from the same gray mountain rock that surrounded them, as if the land itself had begrudgingly coughed them up. Smoke coiled from the chimneys in thin, reluctant trails, swallowed quickly by the frigid winds. The rest of Windhaven sprawled haphazardly; a patchwork of large firepits circled by simple tents. Mud slicked the paths between them, frozen in places and sloshing in others. To the far end of the camp, where the wind howled sharpest, the sparring rings resided. Brutal spots packed with weapons and all sorts of training supplies. Nothing about this place was particularly inviting. 

“Charming...” You mumbled sarcastically, unaware of Devlon who had stepped up behind you and Cassian. 

“Keep your commentary to yourself,” the war-lord barked. You turned to find him scowling down at you, arms crossed over his broad chest, wings tucked in tight against the cold. Unfortunately, you found the sight very attractive, which made you want to claw your brain out of your skull. “This isn’t Velaris. You’re not here to sightsee.” 

Cassian bristled beside you, the casualness he usually wore now gone. “Enough, Devlon.” 

But the burly Illyrian’s glare didn’t waver, not even for a heartbeat. “If she cannot behave herself–” 

“Then you’ll do nothing,” Cassian cut in sharply. “You might run this camp, but you’re still part of the Night Court. You’d do well to remember who your High Lord is.” 

Devlon’s jaw worked, the twitch in his temple seeming like a sure sign of him holding back an array of very colorful insults. 

Slowly taking a step towards the commander of Windhaven, Cassian crowded the only slightly larger male. “Azriel and I will be checking in daily. We so much as find a scratch on her, we’ll put you so far underground the Mother will forget you ever existed. Understand me?” 

The cold silence that followed felt suffocating, but then, Devlon’s lip curled, and he gave a begrudging nod, as if forced to swallow something bitter.  

Cassian pivoted around, his face softening when your eyes locked. “You’ve got this. Keep your wits about you, don’t let them rattle you.” 

You nervously chuckled, despite yourself. “I’ll try my best.” 

With that, your friend took to the skies, vanishing into the thick, gray mist, and leaving you alone on the frigid mountain with the callous camp leader. The quiet stretched out for a beat longer than comfortable, and Devlon’s gaze traveled up and down your form. You felt as if every inch of you was being analyzed and judged. 

“What?” You snapped when his critical glare didn’t waver. Somehow, the sharpness in your voice seemed to pull him out of whatever examination he was conducting.  

“Nothing,” he replied bluntly and walked off, calling over his shoulder, “Come on then. The sooner you’re shown around, the sooner we can get this over with.” 

With hurried steps, you followed him through rows of tents and past skeptical looking Illyrian’s. Every single one of them was broad and massive, pure-bred warriors wearing grim expressions, armed to the teeth and itching for a fight. After a few minutes, the muddy paths gave way to firmer ground as you neared the tree line, and the stone buildings that made up the outskirts of Windhaven loomed ahead. Moss crept up a few walls, and dark, narrow chimneys puffed thin coils of smoke into the colorless sky. Devlon didn’t speak as he led you to one of the smaller structures, half-sheltered by the trees. Its thick door creaked when he shoved it open, stepping aside to let you pass. You crossed the threshold tentatively, heeding Cassian and Azriel’s advice to be cautious at all times. But the inside was not what you’d expected at all, and you couldn’t hide the obvious surprise that creased your forehead.  

A fire was already crackling in the hearth, the flames’ shadows licking along the uneven rocks that made up the walls. The furnishings were simple but oddly cozy– a worn, brown leather armchair and a dark green sofa. Weapons were neatly arranged in a rack behind the door and to the right was a small cooking nook that was well kept and clean. It felt strangely lived in. Functional, but warm in a way nothing else in Windhaven had been so far. Once you’d taken everything in, you noticed the scent; fir needles and sage. It smelled exactly like... him. “You’re letting me stay in your home?” 

“I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe anywhere else,” he muttered, confirming that the ill-tempered war-lord had indeed opened his doors for you. “The males in this camp don’t take kindly to outsiders. Less so when they’re female and working for Rhysand.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but Devlon stepped past you to open a cabinet, taking out a thick, woolen blanket and throwing it on the sofa unceremoniously. His movements were rushed, like he didn’t want to linger in the same room with you for longer than necessary. 

“That’s my bedroom,” he said without looking back, nodding once to the lofted space tucked beneath the sloped ceiling. “You’ll sleep down here. The sofa is comfortable enough.” 

Glancing at the green cushions again, you decided that it didn’t look too terrible. Used and maybe a little lumpy, but not the worst sleeping arrangement you’d had. 

“And let me be clear,” Devlon said, glaring down at you. “You’re not here because I want you here. You’re here because Rhysand decided to shove you into my camp, and I’d rather have you under my roof than cleaning blood off the snow come morning. So don’t mistake this for hospitality. And don’t touch my shit.” 

You met his stare without flinching. “Don’t worry. The urge to snoop through your undergarments is overwhelming, but I’ll restrain myself.” 

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, the barest hint of intrigue. But it was gone just as quickly, buried beneath that permanent scowl of his. “Well, fuck me, you’re going to be a real nightmare, aren’t you?” 

You gave him a saccharine smile. “Takes one to know one.” 

At that, he actually huffed. A small, involuntary sound that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t died in his throat so fast. Devlon blinked, as if surprised by the noise himself. Then his frown deepened once more, like he could erase the moment entirely through sheer force of will. Without another word, he turned on his heel and yanked the door open, letting in a gust of icy air.  

“Come on,” he muttered, not bothering to look at you again. You followed him back out into the cold, the door snapping shut behind you.  

The walk was brisk and mercifully quiet, save for the clatter of weapons from the sparring rings. The healing house stood at the far edge of the permanent structures, gray like the others, but marked by a red piece of fabric that swung by a nail above the door. Devlon didn’t pause as he shoved it open and stepped aside, letting you enter first. Immediately, the familiar scent of herbs and alcohol mixed with blood greeted you. The warmth inside was faint but welcome, pushed out from a small hearth tucked into one corner. Several cots lined the walls, all of them occupied with Illyrians suffering to various degrees, and countless shelves groaned under jars, vials, and folded linens. It wasn’t pristine, but it was organized and functional. You stepped further inside, eyes scanning the space. Pale faces, damp bandages, low groans– whatever sickness had taken root here, it was no small thing. Your fingers itched to start sorting through the vials and medicines, but Devlon’s boots thudded behind you. 

“Elaira,” he called, the authority in his voice eliciting goosebumps on the surface of your skin. From behind a partition of hanging fabric, an Illyrian female emerged. She looked to be around your age, maybe a little older, her dark hair braided tightly against her scalp. Her eyes were sharp, assessing you in a single guarded sweep. What caught your attention immediately, though, were her wings. Or rather, what remained of them. Clipped clean at the middle joint, the scars were a horrible reminder of what still happened to females all over Illyria. “Elaira’s the head healer,” Devlon explained. “She’s in charge.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, inclining your head with a small smile on your face. 

Elaira didn’t smile back, but her chin dipped in acknowledgment. “We’re glad to have another pair of hands,” she said. “Even if they come from Velaris.” There was no anger in her tone, just dry humor, the kind that slipped easily between people who floated on the same wavelength. “I don’t mind where help comes from,” Elaira added, already moving toward a shelf and grabbing a roll of fresh bandages. “As long as you’re not squeamish and you don’t talk too much.” 

You followed her, reaching for a jar of antiseptic. “I’m a healer. I’ve seen everything and then some. But I can’t promise anything when it comes to the talking.” 

That earned you a side-glance and the ghost of a smirk. “Hm. We’ll get along just fine, I think.” 

Behind you, Devlon shifted, and his brow furrowed slightly as he watched the two of you move around each other with ease. “Right,” he muttered, clearly confused by the entire exchange. “I’ll pick you up for dinner.”  

Before he left, you turned just enough to catch his expression, something between wonder and mild concern, like he didn’t quite trust what he was seeing.  

“Why is he such a prick?”, you asked Elaira once Devlon was out of the door. 

Elaira didn’t even blink. “Because he was left out in the snow too long as a babe.” 

Huffing a laugh, you set down the jar with a soft clink. “That would explain a lot.” 

Elaira tore open a packet of dried feverfew, her hands moving with steady confidence that only years of fieldwork could give. “He’s not as heartless as he makes himself out to be,” she said after a moment. “But he is a prick. And a stubborn one at that.” 

You raised a brow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Centuries of firsthand experience,” she said dryly. “Still, he keeps the worst of the bunch in line. And around here, that counts for something.” Then, nonchalantly, she added, “he’s also my brother.”

It took a few seconds for her words to fully register, then your eyes widened in shock. “Devlon is your brother?”

She nodded, reaching for a roll of bandages. “Half-brother, technically. Our father was a busy male.”

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks at the realisation of how you’d spoken about Devlon before. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

You moved, muscle memory taking over as you set your bag down and began laying out supplies. The warrior on the cot was young, barely more than a boy. His skin was clammy and sickly pale beneath the torchlight, and his breathing was shallow, each inhale rattling faintly in his chest. 

“Don’t be,” she interrupted with a wry quirk of her lip. “You’re not the first to be put off by his winning personality.”

Elaira gestured toward the nearest cot with her chin. “We’ll start here.”

“Fever spiked this morning, then the tremors started.” Elaira explained.

Pressing your pointer and middle finger against his wrist, you counted. The Illyrians’ pulse was too weak and slow. “Have you been able to get some food or water into him?”

“Not much,” she admitted, her frown deepening. “He’s been barely coherent, and it’s getting worse by the hour.” Elaira handed you a damp rag, nodding for you to take over and continue the assessment.

For the next few hours, your world narrowed to the steady rhythm of your work. You cleaned wounds that should have been healing but weren’t, checked milky pupils clouded with fever, coaxed sips of bitter tonic past cracked lips. Elaira moved beside you seamlessly, handing you what you needed before you even asked for it. Whatever sickness had taken hold of Windhaven was cruel and horrifyingly subtle. By the time you straightened, flexing your sore fingers, the sky outside had turned dark. 

“I think this is some form of poisoning. But I’ve never seen anything like it before. There must be a cause, something that connects all of them,” you mumbled, partially to yourself and to Elaira. Wild eyes flicked between warriors as you thought long and hard if you could recall a time during your work with the Inner Circle where something similar had crossed your path, but your mind was blank. “Have they eaten something? Is there a water source only they have used?”

Before Elaira could answer, the door to the healing house flew open so hard a few vials on the shelf beside you rattled. Devlon barged in, his boots thudding on the stone floor and that ever persistent frown lingering on his rugged, but oddly beautiful face. Both of you looked up as he strode inside, a breeze of chilled mountain air obediently following him. His eyes, dark as the sky outside, darted around the infirmary, taking note of the beds filled with Illyrians, the vials and instruments littering the tables, and finally, you and Elaira. 

“Tell me what you found,” he barked, peering down at the warrior writhing in the cot before you.

“I think it’s poison,” you answered plainly. Devlon didn’t seem like the kind of male to beat around the bush, so you decided neither would you.

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “Explain.”

You met his gaze unflinchingly. “Their wounds are showing no signs of healing, even though we’ve cleaned them thoroughly. They’re weak, pale, and feverish. Their hearts are slow, and they’re struggling to breathe properly. I’m sure you’ve noticed the tremors, too. That’s not how an infection behaves. Besides, I have countless remedies for various illnesses– nothing is working. Which makes me wonder if it’s an antidote we really need.”

As you spoke, he nodded slowly, seemingly weighing your every word in that stoic head of his. A long moment passed, and his eyes swept the infirmary again. Finally, he grunted in acknowledgment. “And the common denominator between them?”

“That’s what we’ll need to figure out,” you replied, glancing over at Elaira, who was busy again, changing a warrior’s bandage on his thigh.

Devlon huffed through his nose, arms crossed. “They were on patrol together,” he gestured around the room, “the ones who got sick. They all drank from the same spring.”

Biting your lip, you followed that thought for a moment, but ended up shaking your head. “A spring that’s available to everyone. More people would be sick at this point if that was the source.”

That gave him pause. “You sure you’ve never seen anything like this before?” Devlon asked, an edge to his tone that rang with a hint of desperation.

“No, but I think the poison enters through the blood rather than through food or drink. It seems potent, works quickly, and affects the entire body. Plus, if the poison enters through the digestive system, there’s a risk that the victims will vomit, which would render it useless.”

Spending years with the Inner Circle, especially with Azriel and his spies, who needed the most medical attention, left you with a vast knowledge of all kinds of deceit on top of your healing skills.

Devlon’s eyes flared with bright red fury, and he kicked a metal bucket beside one of the cots, sending it flying. “Fuck!”

Neither Elaira nor you flinched at his reaction. Instead, you lifted your hands, palms forward, and carefully placed one atop Devlon’s bicep. “Look, we’ll figure this out. For now, block off the training grounds that these warriors used. We can thoroughly examine the area tomorrow. I’ll make us something to eat in the meantime, and then we can think about what to do. Rash decisions will only escalate this situation.”

He froze at the contact, his entire body going tense beneath your touch. The muscles in his arm went taut, his warm skin radiating through the leathers that clung to his solid frame. But he didn’t pull away, and after a heartbeat, he gave a barely perceivable nod. “Fine.”

With that, he pulled away from you and shot a glare at his sister. Then, he stormed out of the healing house once more. When you glanced towards Elaira, she smirked and shook her head.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“Oh, nothing.”  Elaira went right back to her work, her face schooled into a look of utmost concentration. But that didn’t hide her grin. Or the amusement gleaming in her dark eyes. You chose to ignore whatever thoughts were clearly brewing in her mind, helped her finish up in the healing house, and then made your way back toward Devlon’s place. Since you weren’t permitted to roam the camp alone, Elaira walked with you, her presence already becoming a comfort. The air in Windhaven was much drier and more stinging than in Velaris. Crisp mountain cold filled your lungs with every breath, and you found you didn’t mind it at all. With each inhale, it felt as though something inside your chest loosened, as if the tight knot of stress and endless responsibility you carried was slowly unraveling. It was an odd sensation, considering the task you had to fulfill here, but your mind and body were too exhausted to give it much thought. 

By the time you reached Devlon’s front door, your shoulders had dropped without you even realizing it. Elaira turned toward you, a broad, unmistakably smug grin spreading across her pretty face.

“You know,”  she started casually, “my brother might be a stubborn, ill-tempered prick with a tendency to brood, but he’s not so bad. Most of the time at least.”

“Alright…” you replied, eyes narrowed incredulously.

“And he’s alone, without a female,” Elaira tacked on unceremoniously. “Has been for a few centuries now.”

It dawned on you what she was trying to imply and your eyes widened, mouth falling open in shock. “You cannot be serious!”

She shrugged, turning back toward the camp. “I am, actually. Have fun cooking.” Then, she shot you a devious smirk over her shoulder and called, “Oh, and Devlon hates peas.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath as you pushed open the wooden door to Devlon’s hut. For a long moment, you simply stood there.Elaira’s words churned inside you, simmering like a potion left too long over the fire. You tried to ignore them, but they clung stubbornly to every corner of your brain. And far worse, you couldn’t quite ignore the flicker of relief that threaded through your veins at the idea of Devlon being… available. You cleared your throat sharply, as if the sound alone might banish the notion. Wiping your damp palms against your hips, you shoved the thought as far from your mind as you could manage and moved into the cramped little kitchen nook. Devlon’s home was modest, a simple stone structure built with function in mind, meant to shield its occupants from Windhaven’s unforgiving weather and little else. A worn wooden table, just large enough for two, sat near the stove, a single chair tucked on either side. No decorations adorned the walls, and you couldn’t find a single trinket or personal touch to soften the space. It was neater than even Azriel’s quarters, which until now you had deemed impossible. With a quiet sigh, you turned your attention to the cabinets, opening them one by one until you eventually uncovered a loaf of bread and a few tins of mushroom stew. You poured the contents of one can into a cast-iron pot and set it over the stove, starting the flame beneath it. You had only just begun stirring when the front door opened and Devlon returned.

ADHD is weird, because one second, I'm totally into Brimstone, writing non stop and the next I develop an obsession with the Illyrian war-lord Devlon?! Anyway, I hope a few people enjoy this. ✨

Let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2.

[erin-bo-berin]

A refresher course in what is canon:

Lucien and Elain are mates.

Azriel is not Elain’s mate.

Something sparked in Azriel’s chest for Gwyneth Berdara and Gwyneth Berdara only.

Azriel and Elain are not in love. At most, they’re in infatuation, if even that.

[moonlitstoriess]

Heyyy! I have a little fanfiction idea with Azriel x reader with a vibe similar to the film She's a Man or Mulan, or maybe the protagonist pretends to be a man in the camps to escape marriage and she befriends the three boys, especially Azriel, so of course when he discovers she's a woman, all hell breaks loose! Thaaaaaaaank’s💋

Clad in Honor, Built on Lies- Azriel x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, angst, fluff towards the end, happy ending

A/N: Hello there! As someone who loooves Mulan, this was such a blast to write. I loved this request so much that I just HAD to do it justice🥹 (some parts have been written somewhat similar to the scenes in the animation)

See masterlist

She learned that silence was safer than honesty.

In her father's house, words were weighed like weapons, and hers were always found wanting. She was praised for stillness, for obedience, for the way she learned to disappear into corners when men spoke of alliances and advantages. Her life wasn't measured in years, but in usefulness--what she could secure, who she could bind herself to, what her body and name could purchase for her family.

The marriage was decided before she was asked.

An Illyrian male, older, brutal by reputation alone. A reward for loyalty. A transaction dressed up as honorary. She was told it would protect her family that this was the way of things, that fear was merely the cost of being born female in a world that prized strength above mercy.

She didn't cry when she heard.

Crying would have meant hope. And hope, she had learned, was the most dangerous thing of all.

She ran away the night before the ceremony.

No jewels. No farewell. Only a blade she barely knew how to wield and a cloak stolen from a servant's peg. The city gates were unguarded at that hour, the sentries half-asleep and drunk on routine. By the time dawn broke, she was already bleeding--hands torn raw from climbing, lungs burning from running without rest.

She did not stop until the world narrowed to survival.

It was in a nameless village near the mountains that the idea took shape. Not all at once--nothing so dramatic--but piece by piece, stolen from overheard conversations and the way soldiers moved through the streets without being questioned. Men were allowed to be angry. Men were allowed to fight. Men were allowed to leave, to do as they please. Men were allowed everything.

Men were allowed to live.

The transformation was not elegant.

She cut her hair herself, hands shaking as the strands fell into the dirt. Bound her chest until breathing hurt. Learned to walk heavier, to take up space instead of shrinking from it. She practiced lowering her voice, roughening it with disuse and hunger, until it sounded passable enough to avoid scrutiny. Every movement became deliberate. Every instinct--rewired.

She chose the name Bran because it was simple. Because it did not invite curiosity. Because it could belong to anyone.

The Illyrian camps did not ask many questions. They never did. A body willing to bleed was more valuable than a story. She arrived thin, bruised, eyes too sharp for her age, and claimed she had nowhere else to go. The male who recorded her name barely looked up.

"Bran," he repeated, scratching it down. "You'll either last or you won't."

That night, lying on a thin cot among strangers who smelled of steel and sweat, she stared at the ceiling and felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Not safety but possibility.

She did not know then who she would meet in those camps. Did not know how deeply a lie could root itself, or how dangerous it was to be seen for the wrong reasons. All she knew was that she had chosen survival over submission.

And for the first time in her life, the choice was hers.

Life as Bran was...surprisingly tolerable. Not easy, but tolerable.

The camp was brutal in the ways it had to be--cold stone or muddy floors, yelling instructors and commanders, rations barely enough to keep a body moving--but she noticed quickly that as a male, no one tried to push her around. She could exist without commentary, without the thinly veiled condescension women were trained to endure. She could sweat, bleed, curse, and no one would think twice.

Bran learned fast how to survive. He bathed in the river when he could, careful to hide himself behind a large rock or a cluster of trees. He learned to keep his hair very short and messy without it being suspicious, to mask softness in his hands with calluses, to lower his voice just enough that no one questioned it. Every meal, every manoeuvre, every training exercise was approached with the same quiet calculation: don't slip. Don't let anyone see the cracks. Don't give anyone a reason to ask too many questions.

Training itself was...merciless. Marching, running, lifting, weapons drill--all of it she could handle. But the hand-to-hand combat, the brawls, were the worst. They required too much proximity. Too much trust. Too much exposure. Every grapple, every thrown punch, made her pulse hammer in terror-not of pain but of discovery. One misstep, one too-close moment, and her secret would crumble.

And yet, she survived. Slowly, her body hardened. Her reflexes sharpened. Bran became just another soldier, at least one on the surface.

Until Cassian appeared.

He was brash, loud, and impossibly confident--exactly the sort of person she would have rolled her eyes at in any other situation. But there he was, leaning against the training wall, smirk in place as he flicked a short blade up and down in one hand.

"You," he called out, pointing at her, "yeah, you with the awkward stance. Ever consider fighting with style, or is that a full-time commitment to looking like you're about to fall over?"

Bran scowled. "I'll have you know I've almost mastered style. Just...not your style."

Cassian grinned, eyes lighting up like he'd found a new toy. "Oh, you got fire, huh? I like that. I'm Cassian. And you are?"

She hesitated, then gave the practiced name she'd chosen so carefully. "Bran."

"Bran, huh?" he circled her like a hawk inspecting prey--or maybe just a friend looking to annoy someone. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Before she could reply with a pointed remark (or shove him into a mud puddle), a voice cut through.

"And I'm Rhysand," said the newcomer, with a polite smile that carried a hint of mischief. "And if you're going to let him harass everyone, I'll be the one to call him out. Pleasure, Bran."

Bran raised an eyebrow. "You're in on this too?"

Rhys only shrugged, perfectly calm while Cassian laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.

Then there was the third. The quiet one. Shadowed at the edge of the group, observing rather than participating. His eyes were dark, sharp, and impossibly still. He spoke little, but when he did, his words cut through the noise.

"Don't encourage him too much," he said to Bran, nodding at Cassian. "He'll think he's invincible."

Bran blinked. Who...was this? He didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't look like he belonged in the same circus. He simply...existed, watching, judging, interfering only when necessary.

"Bran," Cassian said, louder this time. "don't tell me you're intimidated by him already."

Bran scowled. "Intimidated? No. Just...annoyed. Very annoyed."

Rhysand smirked faintly. "He's Azriel. Don't let his quiet fool you. He'll have the last word eventually. He always does."

Bran groaned. Great. Two loud idiots and a quiet one who somehow made you feel like a misstep would end in public humiliation. And yet… despite all of it, there was a spark of amusement she couldn’t quite hide. The days as Bran had been tense, exhausting, and terrifying. But these three idiots… these three boys would make surviving camp slightly more bearable.

At least until one of them figured out she wasn’t actually Bran.

They days settled into a rhythm--somewhere between gruelling training and stolen moments of quiet--but Bran quickly realized she wasn't alone in her misery.

Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel had taken it upon themselves to stalk her, or as they called it, "watch over" her. Bran didn't appreciate it. Not at all.

“You know,” she said one afternoon after being nudged into another push-up contest, “I’m starting to think I’ve been singled out for some cosmic form of punishment. Why am I the chosen victim of your constant stalking?”

Cassian leaned back on his elbows, grinning like the world was a playground and she was his favourite toy. “Because you’re… fun to annoy?”

"Fun to annoy?" Bran repeated, incredulous. "Do I look fun to annoy?"

Rhysand, ever the calm one, smirked faintly. "You're...different. Not in a bad way. It's refreshing."

Cassian’s grin widened like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this gem. “Alsooo,” he said, nudging Bran again with an elbow, “we just want to be friends. You’re the only guy who actually isn’t acting like- ” He paused dramatically, “like every other soldier who thinks training is a contest of ‘who can look the toughest while being completely insufferable.’”

Bran blinked, torn between exasperation and something else she didn’t recognize. Friendship? Not that she trusted the word just yet, but… she allowed herself a small, reluctant smile.

From that day, they followed her less like predators and more like...companions.

Training sessions became collaborative rather than competitive. Bran found herself laughing at Cassian’s ridiculous claims: “I’m going to be the greatest warrior of all time, probably the king of the skies too, and maybe invent a weapon that slices through literally anything”while Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering things like, “And pigs might fly, while we’re at it.”

Rhysand, surprisingly, was the voice of reason and sarcastic commentary all in one. "Try not to die while inventing impossible weapons, Cassian. The camp would miss you...barely."

Bran began to notice small things:

Azriel’s quiet attentions, subtle but intentional--he’d nudge her back into line during drills or be there in the shadows when she had trouble keeping pace.

Rhysand’s calm patience, the way he offered advice without making her feel incompetent.

Cassian’s energy, which was exhausting but strangely comforting.

She started feeling...something she hadn't allowed herself in years: normalcy.

It came out one night, around the fire, when the three of them were sharing stories of why they were in the camp--more like Cassian and Rhysand were sharing their stories while Azriel just watched--and what they hoped to be. Bran had just survived a particularly gruelling sparring match and collapsed into the dirt, listening.

Cassian talked first, of course, puffing out his chest as he kept loudly dreaming about his new glorious visions for himself...again. "I'm going to be the greatest warrior. Maybe I'll have my own squad one day. I'll be the hero everyone talks about in songs!"

Azriel, leaning against a tree, raised an unimpressed brow. "And you'll probably get yourself killed before breakfast."

Cassian laughed. "Details, details. Heroism is never tidy."

Then came Rhysand's turn, quiet as ever, voice low and smooth. “I was sent here by my father. Not… voluntarily. To train, to survive, and to prove myself.”

Bran tilted her head. “Your father?”

“Yes,” Rhysand admitted softly. “I am… not just another soldier. My family expects more of me. One day, I’ll… rule.”

Bran blinked. Prince. She almost choked on the word. For a second, the boy who had teased and joked with her every day seemed impossibly distant. But just as quickly, he leaned back, joking again, “And yes, I am still better at archery than both of you, so quit whining.”

Neither Azriel nor Bran spoke about why they are here, about their pasts. Maybe because the words felt too heavy, too sharp to be handled without drawing blood. Or maybe because some truths, once spoken aloud, refused to stay in the past and demanded to be lived through all over again.

The banter resumed as if nothing had changed, but Bran felt the shift. She was slowly, surprisingly, allowed into their world--not just as Bran, but as someone they trusted. Someone they wanted around.

Bran noticed Azriel most in quiet moments. He was slower to speak, slower to laugh, slower to let her in--but always there, just on the edge of the group. He watched, assessed, and sometimes, in the middle of training, would offer a word or a nudge that made her heart skip without her knowing why.

Cassian and Rhysand’s friendship was loud, full of jokes and jostling, but Azriel’s was quiet, deliberate, and far more dangerous because it made her feel… seen.

And Bran didn’t trust it. Not yet.

But every day, every laugh, every sparring match, every sarcastic comment and ridiculous boasting brought her closer.

Even if she still considered them infuriating little pricks.

The day had started like any other, crisp air, the sound of swords clanging, Cassian's obnoxious laughter echoing through the training yard. Yet something felt off.

Azriel hadn't shown up. Not once.

Normally, it wasn’t alarming. He disappeared into shadows often, brooding, wandering, doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t training with them. But today… he hadn’t even met them at their usual routine--the stretch by the cliffs before breakfast, the morning sparring sessions, the practice run along the ridges where Bran, Cassian, and Rhysand would inevitably fall laughing into the mud.

"Have you...seen Azriel?" Bran asked, trying to sound casual as she wiped dirt from her hands.

Cassian shrugged, twirling a blade lazily. "He probably went ghosting in the mountains again. You know him."

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Cassian, hesitated. "Yeah...he tends to disappear for long stretches sometimes. It's...normal."

Bran frowned, frustration prickling her skin. "Normal?" She pressed. "How is it normal to just vanish for an entire day without anyone knowing?"

The two boys exchanged a glance. "He'll be fine. trust us, we have known him longer than you." Cassian said finally, but Bran wasn't convinced. Her stomach twisted into anxious knots she didn't usually allow herself.

By nightfall, she could no longer stand it. Every fiber of her being demanded she find him. Wrapping her cloak tight around her, she followed the familiar trail through the woods until the camp faded behind her, and the lake came into view. Its surface was frozen, moonlight glinting off the ice, and there he was--Azriel--sitting at the edge, unmoving, as if carved from shadow himself.

She hesitated, then stepped closer, boots crunching over frost, and sat a respectful distance beside him. Silence stretched between them, long and heavy, filled with all the words neither had yet said.

Finally, he stirred, looking at her with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her carefully constructed mask. "Why are you here?" he asked, voice low, almost startled as if waking from a dream.

"You didn't show up all day," she said, softly, unsure if she was speaking to Bran or to herself. "And...I guess I just got worried. A little."

He scoffed, turning his gaze back to the frozen lake. "No need to worry for me. I can handle myself."

Bran’s chest tightened. She got up slowly, standing behind him, voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know better than anyone what it’s like to be trapped, to have no one care if you live or die. But… there are people who do care. Who would search for you. Who won’t leave you behind. I know that.”

He was silent, taking in her words. After a moment, he finally exhaled a long, tired sigh while staring at the stars. “Today,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “is the anniversary of my escape.”

Bran's heart stuttered. Escape? "Your...escape?" she asked cautiously.

He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, and let out a cold, humourless laugh. "You think I had these shadows from the moment I was born?"

"No?" she whispered, shocked, unable to hide the awe and horror in her voice.

He glanced at her briefly, expression hardening. “My father… my stepbrothers… they locked me in a cell for years. Tortured me. Separated me from my mother. Thought they could break me. Thought no one would care.”

Bran’s chest tightened so painfully it was almost physical. The parallels to her own life--her escape, her family’s sacrifice, the constant weight of survival--hit her in waves. Carefully, carefully, she recounted her own story, twisting it to fit Bran’s persona, leaving out every detail that would betray her, every softness that would make him suspect.

For a long while, they shared silence again, letting the frozen lake hold their secrets.

Then came the voices--soft but insistent.

"Azriel? You up here?" Rhysand called.

Cassian's voice soon followed, teasing and loud, "Don't hide in the shadows forever. The world's missing your broody glare!"

Azriel only gave a small nod in response, and for the first time that day, Bran saw a faint shadow of a smile tug at his lips. As they headed back to camp, Bran moved to separate from the boys, but Rhysand's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"No," he said firmly. "Come with us."

Bran raised an eyebrow, cautious. "Am I...allowed?"

Cassian laughed. "Of course you are."

Rhysand smiled. "My mother already knows about you. There's plenty of room in our house for you too."

Bran's eyes widened. "Your...mother?"

Azriel, for the first time ever, made a joke, voice low and dry: “Yes. And she makes the best meat pies in the entire world.”

Her chest twisted with unease, scepticism, and a flicker of fear. Yet the boys calmed her, insisting, guiding, and by the time she followed them, the warmth of their trust felt heavier than any weight she’d carried in years.

The house was… everything she had imagined a prince’s home would be, but somehow more understated. Stone walls and polished floors, tapestries that didn’t scream wealth but whispered it, rooms that were large yet intimate. She found herself marvelling quietly as they moved through the corridors, the firelight glinting in polished wood.

And then she met her.

Rhysand’s mother. She was luminous, serene, and powerful in a quiet, commanding way. Her smile when she saw Bran was warm, like she’d been expecting her all along.

“You must be Bran,” she said softly. “Rhys has told me so much about you.”

Bran’s throat tightened. Rhysand was the spitting image of his mother--same dark eyes, same easy charm. And yet, she could see the gentle warmth he reserved only for those he truly cared for.

And then… the youngest. Estelle. A bright, bubbly girl with a smile that immediately made Bran feel at home. She spoke freely, laughing with her mother and with Rhysand, asking questions, welcoming Bran as if she had always belonged.

Bran allowed herself to feel it--the warmth, the safety, the home. The food placed in front of her, the soft bed in a room just for her, the easy camaraderie. The friendship.

And for the first time in a very long time, she let herself think maybe… maybe she could belong somewhere, be herself, and not just survive.

But then everything changed.

It happened at dawn.

Not the slow, creeping kind that gave warning--but the violent kind, when the sky was still bruised purple and the camp lay half-asleep, weapons stacked, guards relaxed. The first scream cut through the air like a blade.

Then fire.

Spring Court colors flooded the horizon--greens too bright, magic too wild--soldiers pouring in waves, their war cries shattering the morning calm. Tents went up in flames. Steel rang. Orders were shouted and lost all at once.

Bran didn't think. She moved.

Her sword was in her hand before fear could catch her, body responding on instinct honed by months of punishment and repetition. She ducked beneath a blast of magic, rolled through mud and ash, and came up swinging. Training took over--feet grounded, strikes precise, breath controlled.

She didn't know where Rhysand and Cassian were, who they were fighting. But Azriel was there.

She didn’t remember how they ended up back-to-back, only that suddenly his presence was solid at her spine, shadows snapping and striking like living things. They moved as one--her blade flashing low and fast, his daggers ending fights before they began.

"Left," he muttered.

She pivoted, blocked, countered.

"Behind you," she warned, breathless.

He didn't look--just trusted.

The camp was chaos. Illyrians fought desperately, pressed back toward the cliffs that bordered the frozen lake. More Spring Court soldiers kept coming. Too many. Far too many.

They couldn't win this head-on.

Bran's eyes flicked upward--and then she saw it.

The ridge above the lake. Ice layered thick from weeks of cold. The magic blasts cracking the earth beneath it. One well-placed strike...

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"Azriel," she shouted, grabbing his arm mid-fight. "The ridge. If we bring it down- "

He followed her gaze, understanding flashing instantly. "You'd bury all of us."

"Not if we time it," she said, already moving. "Cover me."

He swore under his breath--but nodded.

She sprinted.

Magic scorched the ground at her heels as she climbed, fingers burning from the cold, lungs screaming. She reached the ridge and drove her blade into a fracture already spreading through the ice. Another strike. Then another.

The world held its breath. Then the ridge gave way.

Ice, rock, and frozen earth thundered down in a roaring wall, swallowing the front lines of the Spring Court soldiers whole. Screams vanished beneath the crushing weight. The lake shattered, water exploding upward in a violent surge.

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then cheers.

They had done it. She had done it.

Relief flooded her--too fast, too soon.

She turned to run back...and that is when the blast hit.

Magic slammed into her side, white-hot pain tearing through her body. She was lifted off her feet, thrown hard against stone. Something cracked--maybe bone, maybe more. Her vision blurred, blood warm against the freezing air.

She tried to crawl. Tried to stand.

Another blow grazed her shoulder. Her sword slipped from numb fingers. Azriel shouted her name, but it sounded distant, warped, like she was already underwater.

Her strength gave out.

The sky spun. The noise dulled. Cold crept in where fire had been.

The last thing she felt was the ground rushing up to meet her...and then nothing at all.

Azriel had survived worse fights. That was the cruel irony of it.

The Spring Court attack had been brutal, yes, tents reduced to ash, blood frozen into the mud, bodies carried away in silence, but the fighting itself had been familiar. Manageable. Something he understood. He had moved through it like he always did, shadows striking, daggers precise, instincts honed by years of violence.

What he did not understand was the hollow ache in his chest afterward.

The camp was a ruin by nightfall. Fires smouldered where laughter had once lived. Healers moved endlessly between stretchers, hands glowing, faces drawn tight with exhaustion. The wounded were everywhere, groaning, bleeding, clinging to life.

And Bran was nowhere he could see.

He knew where he was, of course. The healers had taken him immediately, carried him away among hundreds of others. Unconscious. Broken. Still breathing, at least, that was what Azriel told himself, over and over, like a prayer he did not believe in.

They sat on a bench outside the healer tents, the three of them. Cassian restless, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Rhysand unnervingly still, hands clasped, eyes dark with thought. And Azriel--silent, staring at the ground as if it might open and swallow him whole.

“He saved us,” Cassian said hoarsely, breaking the silence. “You know that, right? If he hadn’t--if he hadn’t done that- ” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Gods. That was insane. Brilliant. Completely reckless.”

Azriel swallowed.

Reckless. Yes. That was the word.

Bran had seen what none of them had. Had acted without hesitation. Had trusted that the earth and ice would fall exactly as needed--and it had. Hundreds of Spring Court soldiers buried beneath it. The camp saved.

And Bran nearly killed for it.

“He shouldn’t have had to,” Azriel said quietly.

Cassian stopped pacing, turning toward him. “None of us should have. But he did. And now he’s lying in a healer’s tent while we’re out here breathing.”

Rhysand exhaled slowly. “We can’t pretend this didn’t change things,” he said. “The camp won’t. The commanders won’t. Someone that young pulling off something like that?” He shook his head. “They’ll take notice.”

Azriel didn’t respond.

All he could see was Bran sprinting toward the ridge, jaw set, eyes burning with purpose. Could still hear the crack of ice, the roar of destruction. Could still feel the moment afterward, the split second of relief before the blast hit him.

Before Bran fell.

His hands curled into fists. He had covered him. He was supposed to protect those beside him. That was the rule. That was always the rule.

Footsteps approached.

Azriel’s head snapped up as a healer emerged from one of the larger tents. She was pale, exhaustion etched deep into her features. When she spotted them, she stopped--and bowed deeply.

“My prince,” she said, voice low. “We need to speak.”

Something in her expression made Azriel’s shadows stir uneasily.

Rhysand rose immediately. “Of course.” He glanced back at Cassian and Azriel. “I’ll be back.”

Cassian frowned. “About Bran?”

The healer didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked back toward the tent.

Rhysand followed.

Azriel stayed seated, but every instinct screamed for him to move, to follow, to do something. Instead, he sat there, helpless, listening to the sounds of the camp around him, to the groans and murmurs and crackling fires.

Waiting.

And for the first time in a very long time, Azriel realized something terrifying.

He was afraid.

Not of war.

Not of pain.

But of what he might lose--of what he already feared he cared about far more than he should.

Cassian broke the silence first. "He's going to be fine."

He dragged a hand down his face, pacing again. "He has to be."

Azriel didn't answer. His attention was splintered--half on the healer tents, half on the memory of Bran crumpling against stone. Every second stretched too long. Every sound scraped against his nerves.

Then it happened.

Both of you. Get here. Now.

Rhysand's voice slipped into Azriel's mind without warning--tight, controlled, unmistakably urgent. Azriel's head snapped up. Cassian froze mid-step.

They exchanged a single look and that was all it took.

They were on their feet immediately, striding toward the tent Rhysand had entered minutes earlier. Azriel’s heart began to pound harder with every step, dread coiling tighter around his ribs. He prepared himself for blood. For death. For the words we did everything we could.

The worst possibilities clawed at him. The tent flap was pulled aside. Inside, the air was heavy--too still.

Rhysand stood near the foot of a cot, arms crossed tightly over his chest, face pale and unreadable. A single healer remained, her expression grave. And there--lying motionless beneath thick blankets--was Bran.

Alive. Unconscious.

Azriel's breath hitched despite himself.

Cassian glanced around, confused. "Where are the others?"

Rhysand didn't answer. He only stepped aside.

The healer moved then, hands trembling just slightly as she reached for the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled it down.

Azriel's world tilted.

Bran's chest was wrapped tightly in bindings. Not bandages.

Bindings.

They were soaked through in places, darkened with blood, stretched tight enough that the shape beneath them was unmistakable. The rise of a chest that had never belonged to a male. The curve that months of illusion, posture, and discipline had hidden from them all.

From him.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Azriel couldn’t.

His thoughts scattered violently, crashing into one another--anger, disbelief, betrayal, horror, fear. His shadows recoiled, writhing, as if shocked into silence.

Female.

Bran was-

No.

She was-

Cassian’s voice broke through, sharp and incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he blurted. “You’re telling me Bran...Bran was a female this entire time?”

Azriel barely heard him.

His gaze was locked on her face, too pale, lashes dark against her skin, lips parted slightly with shallow breaths. Unconscious. Broken. Vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be while awake.

She had fought beside him.

Trusted him.

Lied to him.

Anger flared--hot and vicious--followed immediately by something worse.

Fear.

She could have died. Had nearly died. Had gone into battle bound and bleeding and hidden, carrying a secret that could have gotten her killed long before today.

Azriel couldn’t breathe.

He turned sharply, stalking out of the tent before anyone could stop him. The cold air slammed into his lungs, but it didn’t help. His heart hammered violently, thoughts spiralling out of control.

Female.

All this time.

The jokes. The camaraderie. The quiet moments by the fire. The trust. The escape, she had said. Her voice echoed back to him now, twisted and raw.

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, shadows flaring erratically around him. Fury burned--but it had nowhere to land. Not on her. Not when she lay unconscious, broken because she had saved them all.

He had been fooled.

And somehow… that hurt more than the lie itself.

She woke to pain.

Not the sharp kind--but the deep aching weight that settled into her bones, made every breath feel measured and deliberate. The air smelled of herbs and smoke, of clean linen and old blood. Canvas rustled softly overhead.

A healer sat beside her cot.

Y/N froze.

Memory rushed back all at once--the ridge, the ice, the blast, Azriel’s shout. Her breath hitched sharply as awareness snapped into place, and instinct took over. She gasped and reached for the blanket, fingers trembling as she tried to pull it higher-

A gentle hand stopped her.

“There’s no need,” the healer said softly. “I already know your secret. You’re safe here.”

Y/N's chest rose and fell too fast. Slowly, she let the blanket fall back into place, exhaustion crashing into relief so heavy it almost hurt. She swallowed.

"...Did you tell them?" she asked, voice rough.

The healer hesitated--just a fraction.

"I had to," she said quietly, "he is the prince."

Of course.

Y/N closed her eyes, a long breath slipping out between her lips. So they knew. All three of them. The boys she had fought beside. Laughed with. Lied to.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. "Does anyone else know?"

Fear edged her voice now--real, unmasked.

She knew what the Illyrian camps were like. What they did to women who broke their rules. She knew she wouldn’t survive a single night if the wrong ears heard the truth.

“No,” the healer said firmly. “No one else. I swore silence, and so did the prince. You are protected.”

Y/N nodded, relief and dread tangling together.

“I’ll call the prince and his friends when you’re ready,” the healer added gently. “But first, you should know your condition. You’ve broken two ribs, suffered internal bruising, and lost a dangerous amount of blood. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lucky.

Y/N let out a quiet, humourless breath. “How long… how long was I out?”

“Today is day three.”

She absorbed that in silence.

Then, after a moment, she said, “Okay.” Her jaw set. “I’m ready. Please tell them to come in.”

The healer studied her carefully. “Are you sure? You could rest. Take more time.”

Y/N shook her head. “No. I just want to get this over with.” Her voice dropped. “It’ll make my exile easier.”

The healer didn't argue. She only nodded and slipped out of the tent. Alone again.

Y/N stared up at the canvas ceiling, heart pounding, mind racing. She replayed every moment, every joke, every shared meal, every quiet look. She now braced herself for fury, for disgust, for disappointment.

For losing them all.

Footsteps approached and then the tent flap opened.

Rhysand first: calm, composed, eyes sharp but not unkind. Cassian beside him, expression conflicted, worry and disbelief warring across his face. And Azriel...

Azriel didn't look at her. Not once.

His jaw was tight, posture rigid, gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Shadows clung to him unnaturally still.

Y/N exhaled slowly. "...Well," she said hoarsely. "I suppose you caught me at last." A pause. "I am female."

Silence.

"Yes," Rhysand said calmly. "I know. And I have known this whole time."

All three of them froze in shock.

Cassian whipped his head toward Rhysand. "You--what?"

Even Azriel turned then, eyes flashing in disbelief.

Rhysand sighed lightly. “When you first arrived at the camp, I checked your mind. Without your permission,” he added, glancing at Y/N. “For security reasons. My father taught me to. I saw… everything. Your life. Your escape. Why you were here.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. “Then why didn’t you tell them?” she asked quietly. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Rhysand met her gaze evenly. “Because I knew you would tell them yourself. Or circumstances would force the truth out.” A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “And because it was never my secret to reveal.”

Something in Y/N’s chest loosened, just a little.

Gratitude welled up, sharp and overwhelming. She nodded once, swallowing past the tightness in her throat.

The truth was out.

And nothing--nothing--would ever be the same again.

Y/N drew in a steadying breath.

"For the other two of you," she said quietly, gaze lifting to Cassian first, then--briefly--to Azriel, "who didn't know...let me explain."

Rhysand inclined his head once, giving her the space.

She stared at the tent wall as she began, as if the words were etched there already, waiting to be read.

"I was promised to a male before I ever knew what marriage truly meant," she said. "A political match. Convenient. Beneficial. And everyone told me I should be grateful."

Her fingers tightened in the blankets.

"I knew what he was," she continued. "What men like him do when no one is watching. I knew I would lose everything--my voice, my freedom, my body." A breath shuddered through her. "So, I ran."

Cassian's face softened, all humorous gone.

“I cut my hair,” she said. “Bound my chest until I could barely breathe. I stole clothes too big for me and learned how to walk, how to speak, how to exist as a male.” Her mouth curved in something bitter. “I saw the way the world opened for them. How they’re allowed to be angry. Loud. Reckless. How no one questions their presence...or their worth.”

She finally looked at them.

“I wanted that life. Not for glory. For survival.” Her voice wavered only once. “So, I became Brandon. And I never looked back.”

Silence stretched thick between them.

“I know you might feel anger,” she said softly. “Or betrayal. But you were the only real friendships I’ve ever had. The only place I felt… peace.” Her eyes burned, but she didn’t look away. “And even if it was brief--those moments meant everything to me. I will always be grateful for them.”

Cassian blinked.

Then he scoffed--not cruelly, but in disbelief--and shook his head. “Are you serious?” he said, stepping closer. “Angry? No. Shocked, yeah. But impressed?” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Absolutely.”

Y/N frowned slightly.

“You survived Illyrian camps,” Cassian went on, voice growing animated. “You fought beside us. You saved our asses more times than I can count. I’ve been yelling at commanders for years that this place needs female warriors, and they never listen.” He gestured at her like she was proof incarnate. “You just proved them all wrong--and they don’t even know it.”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “That’s- gods, that’s impressive.”

“Cool,” he added.

Azriel’s head snapped up.

“Cool,” Azriel repeated sharply. “Not cool.” His voice cut through the tent like a blade. “And certainly not something to praise.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didn’t stop.

“You lied to us,” Azriel said, finally turning toward her fully. His eyes were dark, furious, not with hatred, but with something far more dangerous. “You built an entire false identity. You stood beside us under a name that wasn’t yours.”

Y/N lifted her chin. "I was going to be married off to a man who would've owned me," she said. "Who would've hurt me. Once I escaped, I had nowhere to go, to stay. This camp, as weird as it sounds, was the only place left."

"That doesn't change the fact that we trusted you," Azriel shot back. His voice rose--not shouting, but tight, restrained. "We shared our lives with you. Our histories. I considered you one of us."

"You still can," she said quietly. "I did this to survive."

"You don't get to decide that for us," he snapped.

Her patience finally snapped.

"No. You don't get to decide anything about this," she said, voice fierce now. "You have no idea what it means to be a female in this world. You don't get the right to speak freely. Or choose your future. Or even exist without being owned by someone else."

She held his gaze, unflinching.

"You don't get to be angry at me for doing what I had to do, because you'll never live what I have lived."

Something shifted. Just barely.

Azriel's jaw clenched. His fury faltered--not gone, but fractured. He looked away with a sharp scoff, crossing his arms.

"Whatever," he muttered.

Cassian broke the tension gently. "So," he said, softer now. "What's your real name then?"

"Y/N," she said.

The name settled into the space between them--real, vulnerable, irrevocable.

Rhysand exhaled softly, as if steadying himself.

"We need to get you out of here, Y/N. Before anyone finds out."

The words hit her like a blade.

She swallowed hard, heart plummeting. “Yes,” she said quickly, panic threading her voice. “I know. I- I understand. I’ve committed a vile mistake, and I accept the consequences, I need to be exiled, but please...just give me one day. One day to stand on my feet again and I’ll leave. I swear I won’t cause trouble.”

Rhysand blinked.

“Exiled?” he echoed, genuinely confused. “No. You’re not being exiled.”

She froze.

“I’m getting you somewhere safe,” he continued gently. “I’ve spoken with my mother. We both agreed--you cannot stay in the camps. Not now. Not ever again.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“There is a city in the Night Court,” Rhysand went on, careful with every word. “Far safer than this place. But my father resides there, and while he is just--while he is kind--he is also bound by tradition. If he knew your story, he would feel compelled to punish you. Severely.”

Her hands trembled beneath the blankets.

“So, for now,” Rhysand said, “I’ll send you to the Court of Nightmares. My cousin, Mor, will take care of you there. You will be protected. You won’t have to hide.”

The world tilted.

“You may decide where you wish to go afterward,” he finished. “What life you wish to build. But that choice will be yours.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

“I- ” Her voice cracked. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to repay you.”

“You don’t,” Rhysand said simply. “You live.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she managed. “I- thank you, truly.”

“I’ll winnow her there.”

Azriel’s voice cut in quietly.

Everyone turned.

He stepped forward, extending a hand, not demanding, not rushed. An offering.

“I’ll make sure she’s settled,” he said, eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “Safely.”

Something unspoken passed between them: regret, shame, understanding. An apology without words.

She felt it.

And she took his hand.

Cassian cleared his throat, then grinned, though his eyes were warm. “Yeah,” he said. “And if anyone gives you trouble until then, I’ll break their legs. Politely.”

A breathy laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

For the first time since waking, her chest felt lighter. And for the first time since running, she wasn’t alone.

"...and that happened over four hundred years ago."

Silence.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta stared at Y/N as if she'd just grown two heads.

Then Feyre blinked. Once. Twice. "...Whoa."

Y/N laughed, soft and bright, leaning back against the cushions of the River House sofa. “Yes,” she said. “Whoa.”

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, catching on the Sidra beyond. Time had moved gently here--centuries folding into peace. Elain sat cross-legged on the rug, absently twirling a curl of Nyx’s dark hair around her finger as the boy dozed against her chest.

“And you just- ” Feyre shook her head, grinning in disbelief. “You just became a soldier?”

“A very angry one,” Nesta muttered dryly.

Y/N smirked.

Elain tilted her head, eyes soft. “And… did you and Azriel reconcile fully after that?”

Before Y/N could answer, Nesta snorted. “Obviously. Otherwise why would they be mates right now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile lingered. “It didn’t happen all at once,” she said. “It was… slow. Painfully so. Trust had to be rebuilt, brick by brick. Azriel needed time. I needed patience. And somewhere between shared silences, late-night training, and him learning how to listen instead of brood...” She paused, lips curving. “...things changed.”

Nesta scoffed. “Shocking.”

Feyre laughed and then looked at Nesta. “Well,” she said lightly, “looks like your mate did end up becoming the warrior-commander he once dreamed of being.”

Y/N laughed too, but then her expression softened, something tender and sad settling in her eyes as she looked at Feyre, then at Nyx.

“I just wish you’d met Rhys’s mother,” she said quietly. “And his sister. They were the kindest, most welcoming fae I had ever known.”

A hush fell.

Feyre swallowed. “I know,” she whispered. “Rhys has told me so much about them. But I believe they’re still here--with us.”

Elain hugged Nyx a little closer, smiling gently. “You really are one of a kind, Y/N.”

“You’re right about that.”

Azriel’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside.

Y/N barely had time to turn before strong arms wrapped around her from behind, a kiss pressed to her temple. She leaned back into him instinctively, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Cassian followed, immediately dropping onto the arm of Nesta’s chair. “Are we telling war stories again? Because if so, I demand a rewrite. I was far more impressive than she made me sound.”

“You praised yourself enough in her version,” Nesta said sweetly.

Rhysand entered last, Feyre rising to meet him as Nyx stirred, murmuring in his sleep.

Laughter filled the room--warm, easy, earned.

Y/N let it wash over her.

Once, she had been a girl running for her life. A soldier hiding behind a borrowed name. A secret wrapped in armor and fear.

Now, she was surrounded by family--chosen and found. By love that had survived lies, war, and time itself.

She caught Azriel’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

Then and now, she thought, this is what survival became. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[erin-bo-berin]

Terms of Seduction

ACOTAR Masterlist

Tasked by your High Lord to seduce Eris—in an attempt to further solidify an alliance between him and the Night Court—you go a little off script, forming your own plans involving the Heir of Autumn.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, oral (f), hand job (Eris comes in his pants oops), rough sex, slight choking, teasing, sexual tension, some canon events, some canon quotes, this gets filthy

A/N: Thank yous go to my friends @garricktavisfanclub & @harvest-bunny both for helping me brainstorm different parts of this fic and for always being such a great support system! This was inspired by the canon events from ACOSF but focuses specifically on what if reader was tasked to seduce Eris but wanted to seduce Eris into bed as well. This got lengthy and filthy so prepare yourselves. 🤭

“I want you to seduce Eris.”

Six words uttered from your High Lord, a month ago, had drastically changed the trajectory of your life.

You blinked, not sure you had heard Rhys right.

“You want me to what?”

“Not into bed,” he clarified.

Your mind had still been reeling from the initial request before you could process his added words.

While part of Rhys’s court—his Inner Circle—you were never one to really dabble in the courtly matters. You’d only been to the Hewn City a couple of times in the two years you’d been a part of your newfound family.

Maybe it was because you were such a new addition—newer to the court than even your High Lady and her sisters—who’d arrived a few years before you had.

But now, you were a bit flabbergasted at the request. You gave Rhys a chance to explain though, as you gaped at him.

“The Winter Solstice ball in the Hewn City is coming up soon,” Rhys said, almost like he was thinking aloud, “I’ve invited Eris.”

“Okay…” you drew out, trying to follow.

“I think it’s time we reinforce our alliance—make absolutely sure he has full confidence in the Night Court as allies. I want him to weigh the benefits of what he might gain in continuing to be a cooperative ally.”

Despite a long standing alliance with Eris—even though it’d been several years of this secret alliance between Eris and the Night Court—he’d been a helpful ally through multiple conflicts. Rhys still felt it was needed, though. Especially with Beron Vanserra still very much alive and a constant threat to Prythian’s stability and peace.

Rhys didn’t want to risk any chance that Eris may one day turn on the Night Court.

You didn’t think he would.

Not that you would know exactly. You didn’t know the male—you hadn’t even met him.

You’d seen him once on one of your rare trips to the Hewn City. But it’d only been when he was in a deep discussion with Rhys and the heir of Autumn hadn’t noticed you.

You’d noticed him though.

And it was impossible to not take note that he was clearly very attractive.

Finely dressed, not a wrinkle in his elegant clothes or a strand of long red hair out of place. Creamy, pale skin. A straight nose, pale pink, plush lips that constantly curled into a smirk or arrogant grin—at least in the moments you saw him. All encompassing and searing amber eyes completed the very appealing male.

Not to mention his body radiated powerful masculinity. He may have been a court trained bastard and a sneaky, silver tongued courtier, but he was also a warrior, if the toned body was any indicator. You had spotted toned biceps through his shirt as he crossed his arms mid-conversation.

Not to mention your eyes had roamed the strong shoulders on the male.

You weren’t proud of your short lived ogling, but even still, it had happened.

But just from what little you knew of the male, how he had managed to hold up his end of the deal at every turn over the years, you didn’t think he would risk something as foolish as turning on Rhys.

You were still willing to help, even if it baffled you that Rhys wanted you to help.

“But why me?” you questioned.

“Because, you’re someone he won’t ever see coming,” Rhys said simply, hands sliding into his pants pocket.

“Okay,” you brows furrowed in confusion, “What am I to do?”

“As I said, seduce him—again, not into bed. But I want you to dance with him. Remind him how essential it is to keep an alliance with us. Flatter him, keep him appeased.”

It seemed easy enough.

“You’ll have lessons with Mor twice a day until the ball,” Rhys said.

Your brows now raised, “Twice?”

“Mor has said she’s going to turn you into the deadliest weapon the Night Court has ever seen.”

Rhys’s lips curved into a smirk as he continued.

“We’re going to make it seem like it’s his idea. He’s going to expect to dance with a female of this court, so he gets his choice. Knowing the male, he will always choose what’s new, exciting, something that’s a challenge.”

“Nesta? Elain?”

“He knows them. He’s met them. But you…”

“It scares me when you get that look on your face,” you mumbled.

He just laughed deeply. You were still a tad uncertain.

“What if I mess up?”

You couldn’t imagine what could happen if you failed. Not that you weren’t willing to do this for your court, but you still wondered.

“Oh don’t you worry, I think you’ve got enough fire in you that will draw the fireling, himself.”

And that had been that.

For a month, you’d had two lessons daily with Mor.

She taught you many dances from the Hewn City and a few Autumn ones, too.

It turned out she’d had the right idea for so much practice because the week of the Solstice ball, Mor had done just what she’d set out to do.

She’d turned you into a weapon alright, an absolute tool of seduction.

Mor, of course, had dressed you.

“Eris is all about appearances, so you need to wear the right thing.”

The moment you’d stepped into the dress, earlier, something in you had changed.

You felt confident. You felt powerful.

You felt ready to be the best seductress Eris Vanserra had ever encountered.

Between the extensive dance lessons and your attire, you felt like you had a good shot of pulling this off.

Now, you were waiting out in the corridor to make your entrance—separately from the rest of the Inner Circle, on purpose.

You remembered Rhys’s words from earlier in the month.

“We’re going to really play up your importance, make you obviously stand out. To the point that Eris won’t be able to ignore you. The moment he lays eyes on you, he’ll want to play.”

So the plan had been for everyone else to arrive at the ball and settle before you made your entrance. Cassian, Azriel and Mor went first, likely taking their places at the dais, followed by Nesta and Elain. The people of the Court of Nightmares were accustomed to the sisters’ presence now after so many years and they, too, were just as respected as the rest of the Inner Circle.

After them came Rhys and Feyre.

You were to wait five minutes for everyone to settle before you were to make your entrance, alone.

Mor—with the dress she chose for you—also played into Rhys’s plan of drawing extra attention to you, to make Eris notice you even more.

The dress wasn’t the usual Night Court black like most of the Inner Circle and the guests of the ball wore—it was a deepened maroon. Dark enough to still fit the Night Court’s aesthetic, but rich enough to look like the deepest shades of the jewel toned leaves of the Autumn Court.

Your family sure hadn’t been joking when they said they intended to make you stand out to the Autumn male.

For the dress was deadly.

It was sleeveless—the straps meeting behind your neck and drawing attention to the deep plunging back. So deep it left nearly the entirety of your back exposed, the fabric dipping to your lower back. An inch or two lower and your bare ass would’ve been on display.

Similarly on the front side, the neckline dipped low, to your breastbone, displaying a very scandalous amount of your breasts—which looked wonderful in this dress. You had to give props to Mor, for picking a dress that would compliment your body well.

The bodice was covered in a vast amount of tiny sewn on gems that sparkled, no matter which way you turned.

It sparkled, even under the dim lighting of the Hewn City.

The rest of the dress was equally as breathtaking and show stopping.

The deep neckline met a sheer band of fabric across your midsection, displaying a few good inches of the bare skin underneath. The main skirt of the dress was a more solid panel of fabric covering just enough to keep you decent—despite the fact the slit in the dress reached all the way to your hip.

The remaining fabric was an overlay of loose gossamer that flowed around your legs, showing off a good portion of your bare legs as well.

It was more revealing of an outfit than you’d ever worn and basically very little of you was truly covered. Yet it was still a gorgeous dress—all starlight and cobwebs—perfect for the Hewn City.

The gold heels on your feet were barely more than soles and a few straps, but they seemed to compliment the dress well.

Your hair had been fixed elaborately by Nesta, who mastered the art of braids. A braided style, different from her usual coronet, was how your hair was fixed tonight. Achieved by two thick braids on either side of your head meeting in the middle—where the remaining hair joined the braids and was swept up in a knot at the nape of your neck. A few strands of hair had been left out of the updo, framing your face.

There were so many hairpins in your head, you felt like a pincushion.

Mor had painted your lips in a deep shade that was almost an exact match to the dress and smeared kohl along your lashes.

When the whole look had come together, you looked like sin personified.

You definitely had a good chance of attracting Eris Vanserra’s attention tonight, that was certain.

You heard Feyre’s commanding voice offer Solstice blessings, then order the masses to enjoy the festivities. That was your cue.

With a deep breath, you put both hands on the double wooden doors and pushed them open.

Rhys’s earlier instruction came to mind.

“You enter like you’re someone of importance. Like you’re expecting everyone to stop and stare. You command the room before you even take a step into it.”

You paused for a moment in the doorway, held head high as you surveyed the room.

Just as expected, a majority of the attendees had turned to see what all the commotion was about—who had entered.

Your heels click-clacked across the floor as you approached the dais where Rhys and Feyre sat on their thrones, parallel to each other. Flanking them were Cassian and Azriel, the Acheron sisters and Mor in attendance as well. The Illyrian’s faces were solemn, but amusement danced in Cassian’s eyes, a twitch of an eyebrow from Azriel showcasing his own reaction. Mor, though her face looked bored, gave you an appreciative once over as if proud how her look had turned out.

Everyone at the dais had eyes on you.

Especially the prince of Autumn, who was clad in Night Court black. You didn’t look at him, but you swore you felt his eyes watch every step you took towards Rhys and Feyre.

“You summoned me?” you drawled, voice flat and bored, following what Rhys had advised you to do, prior to tonight.

“Act like you’re irritated to be there. That you’re inconvenienced to even be summoned by me.”

“Yes.”

Rhys’s lips curled into a devious smile, answering you, but offered no more.

You sighed, impatient.

“Why?”

More instructions from Rhys rang in your ears—you remembered everything Rhys had told you. You’d made sure to memorize it all.

“Push back against me a little bit. That’s the quickest way to get Eris’s attention—pique his curiosity.”

“Eris is to have his choice of a female from the Night Court to dance with. I thought it’d be the courteous thing to do—to make sure he saw all of his options—though I’m sure he’d like to dance with Nesta.”

You gave your most withering look, like you were truly annoyed to have your precious time wasted.

“Then why am I here?”

“Well, I did want to introduce you to Eris here,” Rhys said, casually.

Your eyes cut to the male, scanning the length of him in one—utterly put on—disinterested and bored glance while Rhys introduced you to him.

But Cauldron help you, was the male attractive. Probably too much for his own good.

You didn’t let that show on your face, though.

“I would be lying if I said it wasn’t an absolute delight to meet you,” Eris drawled.

Your eyes returned to him to find amber eyes already on you.

Intrigued amber eyes were on you.

You softened your demeanor ever so slightly, like you were truly flattered by the compliment and dipped your head in recognition.

You turned your attention back to your High Lord, the snarky demeanor back on your face, in your voice.

“Can I go now?”

“Before I have the chance to dance with you?”

Once again, you turned to Eris.

He already looked like an animal ready for a chase.

Rhys spoke from behind you.

“I did promise Nesta that she’d have a chance to dance with you.”

A lie. But again, Rhys was clearly leading Eris to…

“I’d rather dance with her.”

His eyes hadn’t left yours, sparks of curiosity filling them.

You looked to Rhys.

“If you wish,” Rhys said to you, motioning to the dance floor.

Eris extended an arm to you. You tried to look bored as you took it and he led you to the dance floor. You didn’t miss the way he kept sneaking peeks at you the entire way there.

He paused when the two of you reached the edge of the dance floor, separating long enough for him to raise a graceful hand in mid air. Smoothly, your hand glided through the air to land softly in his.

His eyes sparked with actual fire as he slid a hand across your back, warm against your bare skin. The corner of his lips twitched as the first strains of the lovely music began.

He led you elegantly and you let him, letting him believe you weren’t as talented as he in the skill of dance.

That is until the tempo picked up, calling for the quicker, yet sharp and precise movements. That is when you took over.

Surprise shone in his eyes as he held your hand above his head and you gracefully glided around him—in a perfect circle—at a brisk pace before letting your hand go as you spun.

Your eyes never left him the entire time, your head whipping around even in the lone spin, to meet his eyes.

You wanted him intrigued, wanting, ready to play.

You wanted him to eventually crawl.

His smile grew as he took you in—your sophisticated and polished moves—and silently, you were extremely smug.

Mor had given you dance lessons, yes.

But your secret weapon?

Nesta Archeron.

The lessons that Nesta had joined you and Mor for had definitely come in handy. Coming from Nesta who was such a skilled dancer herself, you’d felt like you’d been taught by two of the best.

Not only that, Nesta had taught you how to entice. Not the art of seduction like typical, but in dance alone.

With the deadly combination of those two, your appearance and a bit of what your own personality could bring to the table, you thought this would be a cinch.

You had definitely been prepared for Eris Vanserra, at least.

Enough to know as you rejoined him, hand clasping in his as he swept you into the next movements, that he was thoroughly impressed.

You knew to expect him to be good at the dance, but you couldn’t help but find yourself impressed as well. He moved through the steps like it came to him as easily as breathing.

You mastered each dip, turn and spin, even twirling on the tips of your toes once—just like Nesta had taught you.

You didn’t dare search for her in the crowd or look to see if she still remained on the dais, not wanting to break the spell you were weaving around Eris. You knew if you did though, her eyes would glimmer in delight at her student executing each movement flawlessly.

Eris’s hand tightened against your back, fingers firm along your spine as he led you across the dance floor. Left and right, sideways, diagonally.

You were barely aware that the crowd had stopped just to watch you and Eris dance, for you didn’t break his gaze. Even when he spun you, when you twirled or when you circled him—which you did again, his hand still in yours, like you orbited him—your eyes never left his.

For this circling, you were light on your feet. As the sweet, beautiful notes played, a small, teasing smile upturned your lips. His amber eyes never left yours, utterly blazing as he watched you.

When the dance ended on a symphony of high notes, Eris spun you back into him, where you landed with your back against his chest, firmly. His hand splayed across your stomach, where it naturally fell.

There was applause, gasps and whispers from the crowd as they rejoined you and Eris on the dance floor, the beginnings of the next song starting.

Before you even moved, you peeked over your shoulder and you spotted just the brief flash of desire sparking in the flames of those amber eyes.

The plan was working.

But in your mind, you were beginning to form a new one.

•••

Dancing was similar to making love. The intimacy, the partnership, the sensuality of it.

Both were just as intoxicating.

Maybe that was why the idea sparked.

Rhys had said you were just to seduce Eris—dance with him, keep him happy and willing to be an ally.

“I want you to seduce him—not into bed.”

But what if you wanted to?

Your heart still raced after that initial dance, partially from the exertion and partially from the male that held you in his arms.

The next dance was less grand, serving the purpose of actually being able to talk to the male. That cunning smile was already on his face before he even spoke.

“Where have they been hiding you?”

“Obviously a different rock than they hide you under.”

His chuckle was low, sensuous, deep. It sent chills skittering over your skin and that wasn’t even you acting.

“You’re quite delightful.”

“Wish I could say the same for you,” you quipped.

His low chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

Eris—like many of the rest of the attendees—wore Night Court black. Every inch of him was immaculate. Not a wrinkle in his clothes or a hair out of place, which was quite the usual for the heir.

That red hair gleamed like embers under the lights of the ball, sparking just as much as his eyes did as they’d watched you dance, earlier.

This close to him, you could make out the dusting of freckles over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, lighter ones nearly blending in with his pale skin. From a distance even his more prominent ones seemed to also blend in. You realized you hadn’t even known the heir had such unique markings, due to never being in such a close proximity.

“You’re as quick on your feet as your tongue is with remarks.”

“Isn’t it a little improper to talk about a lady’s tongue?” you batted back, fighting the smirk.

His eyes studied your face and you caught the amusement dancing in them.

“Something tells me you’re not a typical lady.”

You gave him a sharp smile laced with flirtation, with intent.

“Perhaps not,” you amended.

The half formed plan that had started in your mind earlier started to solidify even more as you and Eris conversed.

Rhys had wanted you to flatter Eris, to keep him a happy ally, on the Night Court’s side. You had no problem with that.

But what if you had a side quest of your own?

You willed yourself not to shiver as his hand stroked down your back. You glanced up at him through your kohl heavy lashes, a small smile on your painted lips.

You swore you saw his jaw tighten just the slightest—his eyes squint infinitesimally.

He was falling into your trap beautifully.

Which was what made your desired side quest even more appealing.

Rhys hadn’t asked it of you—to seduce Eris into bed—but there was a niggling desire, an intrigue within you.

It wouldn’t necessarily hurt to take it one step further.

You’d always tried to ignore the small part of you that’d been drawn to the Autumn Court male—the part of you that was curious, intrigued and wanted to play.

Despite the fact that up until now you’d had no idea just how to play such a game with the male.

A small part of you wondered how you were managing to do so even now.

But something about Eris seemed to bring it out in you. You wanted to tease, to flirt, wanted him to play back.

You were barely even beginning tonight, but you’d come to realize it was a bit fun.

There was no denying there was a sort of spark between you and Eris—something that had sparked to life. Though you didn’t know if it was just the magic of the music and the dance, a part of you wanted to poke it, prod it, explore it.

Not only did you want to seduce Eris with a dance, you wanted to seduce him into bed now, too.

After all Amren had once said fae males would stick their cock in anything. It might even be…well, fun.

Your lips curved as you had the rapid fire thoughts. Eris’s eyes still remained glued to your face as your body moved with his.

“Something tells me you’re dangerous when you get a look like that on your face,” he quirked.

You lifted your chin, looking him square in the eye.

“Maybe you’ll just have to find out.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“Indeed I will.”

You moved the hand not in his from where it rested on his shoulder, sliding it over his chest. His eyes dropped briefly to the position of your hand before returning to your face, brow twitching ever so slightly—like he was amused by this little game.

It was then that his head dipped, hair falling forward as he whispered by your ear.

“Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

You waited until he’d pulled back, looking at your face, to answer.

“And what if I haven’t?”

He almost looked a shade surprised.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have danced with you if I thought you were this horrible bastard now would I?”

His eyes studied you—as if he thought you were playing some sort of game—like he was turning your answer over in his mind, inspecting it from every side and angle before he responded.

But he didn’t respond directly to your answer, instead he deflected from it.

“It’s a shame Rhysand has hidden you away for so long. I’d have much rather spent my time playing with you than deal with Illyrian brutes.”

You let the delight shine in your eyes, like he’d paid you the highest compliment to even be considered so entertaining.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” you drawled, “Enjoy my precious time while you have it, princeling.”

The male was practically drooling.

He was leading you into a third dance when Rhys’s voice appeared in your mind.

From where I’m sitting, I’d say Eris looks rather charmed.

You kept the smile on your face as you danced the more upbeat dance with him while you conversed mentally with your High Lord.

I’ll have him eating out of the palm of my hand before the end of the night.

Rhys’s voice was thick with amusement when he answered.

Seems like you already have, my dear.

You mentally smiled at the term of endearment from one of the males that had become such a good friend in such a short time.

If I’d known it would’ve been this fun, I’d have volunteered to do this ages ago.

You could hear the echo of his deep laugh in your mind at your comment before his dark presence faded and your full attention turned back to Eris.

He was still staring at you like he could eat you alive—a predator circling his prey.

Only Eris Vanserra had no idea that it was you that was the true predator.

•••

Eris had hardly let you rest all evening—not that you minded.

He swept you into dance after dance, finally giving you a break when he said it would be in poor taste if he didn’t partake in at least one dance with the other females of the Night Court.

Elain politely declined, in which he took no offense. You couldn’t prove it, but something told you he secretly delighted in it, knowing it was one less person to dance with until he got you back into his arms.

He did dance with Feyre and Nesta though—each absolutely lovely in their own right.

You found yourself amazed and captivated watching Nesta dance, watching one of your teachers in her element. She truly made an art of a dance just like your High Lady did with paintbrushes, canvas and paint.

While Eris was definitely impressed by the eldest Archeron, you seemed to clearly be on his mind for the moment his dance with Nesta ended, he was already strolling towards you.

“I do believe you owe me a dance.”

“Me?” you scoffed, setting aside the goblet of wine you’d procured, though you took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor once again.

“Yes. Simply because it would be a waste not to be able to dance with me again,” he drawled.

You rolled your eyes though it was playful, teasing.

“You certainly think highly of yourself.”

“You seem to think highly of me too.”

His grin sharpened at your narrowed eyes, though no menace lay in your expression.

“Now you’re just flattering yourself,” you shot back, “Besides, perhaps a female just enjoys the company of a good dance partner.”

His laugh was low enough for your ears only. It sounded warm, intimate.

A lover’s laugh.

“Why shouldn’t I flatter myself? Especially when I’m in the presence of such entertaining company. Tell me, do you enjoy playing the game as much as you appear to or is this for my benefit only?”

He was a lot closer to the truth than you’d let him know. If this plan were to work, you couldn’t let him know that this whole ruse was to keep him happy, keep him satisfied with a continued potential alliance with the Night Court.

So, you evaded the question, deflecting.

Your feet moved in time with his as you moved along the dance floor, the music wonderfully bright and beautiful despite it being a slower melody. The hand that had been resting on your hip slid along to your lower back, his fingers curling just slightly against the bare skin there.

“You know I’ve heard whispers about Autumn Court males. I’ve always wondered what that fire could do,” you mused aloud.

Just then you felt a lick of warmth move up your spine. Almost as if he’d let a spark of fire fall from his fingertips at the base of your spine—where his hand rested—and trace a path upwards, over your skin.

You jolted ever so slightly, startled at the sudden sensation.

“Thought you might care for a little demonstration,” he smirked.

“Cute,” you purred, almost mockingly.

You felt your breathing deepen, something churning low in your gut.

The sensation had been building all night—the desire, the arousal—but now, it was so hot and molten within you that it could rival his own fire and heat. Your body responded accordingly, breasts tightening, a throbbing ache starting in your core

“You have no idea what these flames can do.”

His voice had dipped low, the gravelly nature of his tone shooting straight to your core.

You sized him up and he seemed smug to have thrown you so off kilter.

“Maybe you’ll have to show me sometime then,” you offered with a smile.

If he had come to play, you were going to make it interesting.

•••

Dance after dance followed. Filled with intimate touches—his fingers brushing your wrist as he took your hand, your fingers lingering on his toned bicep, the muscles strong and prominent, despite being hidden under such courtly attire.

There were several times that he dipped you so smoothly, you felt like you were floating.

Each time his face seemed to migrate closer and closer to your own.

One dance that you’d just finished earlier ended with Eris on a knee as you spun before him. Twirl after twirl on the ball of your foot, the skirt of your dress whipping around you from the motion.

When you came to a sudden halt at the end of the dance, right in front of him, Eris’s hands grabbed your body, steadying you for that instant freeze right as the music halted on the grand note.

And that was how that certain dance ended—both you and Eris frozen in place, him on a knee, hands holding your body. Your chest heaved for breath from the rapid turns. He was staring up at you with a look of such intensity it would’ve caused you to be breathless—if you hadn’t already been.

You were positive the moment was so impactful that it could’ve belonged on one of Feyre’s canvases.

Those broad hands gripped your outer thighs and though one hand was on your bare thigh—thanks to the high cut slit in the side—the other rested over the fabric of the dress. That hand seemed to sear right through the fabric, as if he was touching your bare thighs on both sides. Though that one hand that rested on your bare thigh nearly drove you wild, like his touch alone burned you.

Eris didn't move right away, still captivated by you. Those amber eyes still locked on yours, his hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips before he finally stood, towering over you once again.

The dance the two of you had just performed was newer to the courts, more demanding and faster paced. Sharper, quicker, more dramatic movements were a part of it—meant to stun and awe.

Meant to perform.

Rhys had made sure the musicians played this specific piece, meant for this dance alone, knowing it was a wonderful opportunity to bewitch Eris.

Rhys clearly had the right idea because as he led you into the grand sweeps and turns of the waltz for the first time that night, his gaze seemed to sear into you.

You know when I said seduce Eris to secure our alliance, I didn’t mean practically fuck him on the dance floor in front of me.

You had to bite back your laugh at Rhys’s incredulous tone inside your mind.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was simply dancing.

Your tone was smug and more than thoroughly amused.

There was a noticeable pause in your mind.

You might as well have lured him to your bed with that dance alone.

Good. It was what you’d hoped—at least for selfish reasons.

Rhys’s voice appeared one last time in your mind, caution lacing his words.

I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but whatever it is, I’d be careful.

The words may have sounded harsh, but you knew they came from a place of genuine concern.

Just enjoy the festivities, Rhys. Come tomorrow, you’ll have one happy ally.

He didn’t send a response and you continued your dance—your game—with Eris.

•••

You’d lost count how many times you’d danced with Eris as the hours wore on.

He kept you preoccupied—to the point you hadn’t even danced with any other male.

The only break you’d been able to have was when he’d danced with Feyre and Nesta earlier in the evening.

Not that you minded. You’d found yourself equally captivated and allured by the heir of Autumn.

Each of his slick and calculated comments was met with an equally calculated step of taunting and seduction from you.

The game you two played was almost like a dance in itself.

It had been a few moments since either of you had spoken, but he had such intent in his eyes, the same that you were sure mirrored yours.

The last few dances Eris did little to hide those intentions—not that you’d protested.

He found every excuse to pull you close, for his hands to wander into dangerous areas.

Once along your rib cage—thumb just barely brushing the underside of your breast—when he’d wrapped an arm around your waist through one movement.

Cradling the back of your neck as his hand settled over your back, a slow descent downwards from your nape along the bare skin.

Brushing the curve of your hip.

You’d tried all night to push past the desire that kept blooming in you, the arousal that kept building, but he was unraveling you a little more with each and every touch.

“If I’d known the Hewn City’s Solstice balls were this much fun, I’d been clamoring to attend much earlier,” he said smoothly.

You chuckled not even needing to pretend to let a flush crawl up your neck and along your cheeks. Though half of it was from the exertion of dancing, you’d been truly flattered by his pretty words and the compliment.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had such fun. It left you a tad surprised to realize you’d been enjoying his company, too.

“Well you’re an important ally, of course you get the best of invitations,” you grinned up at him.

Though you were still flattering him—still following Rhys’s plan—the persona you’d put on at the beginning of the night had fallen away and had softened more into the real version of you.

Though that hadn’t stopped your flirtation with him. The longer the night went on, the easier it seemed to come.

“Well as an important ally,” Eris grinned wickedly, “Do let your High Lord know any future invitations come with one condition.”

“Oh? What’s that?” you lifted a brow.

His voice dipped to a sensual whisper.

“That you will be present.”

He stroked his hand down the length of your spine again and you arched into the touch.

The fire inside you had become so heated by now that you nearly moaned at the action.

He spun you without a single thought, twirling you out and away from his body.

But this time, when he spun you back towards his body, something was different.

Maybe it was because by now—after a long night of yours and his game of seduction—both of you were distracted, worked up, wound tight. Perhaps that explained how Eris misjudged the speed of the spin, for when he spun you back into him, you lost your balance, causing you to stumble a bit.

You threw a hand out to steady yourself, to keep yourself from falling. Your hand landed on his thigh—but not before brushing across his groin, where you definitely felt him half hard beneath those finely tailored dress pants.

You hadn’t even noticed prior to this. But you sure did now.

A low groan barely sounded in your ear and you froze, having yet to move from where your back had landed against his muscled chest. Losing all sense of your mind, you pressed your body even closer against his, purposely brushing your backside against that growing arousal.

If you didn’t know any better, you thought he pressed closer into you, too.

The ache between your legs grew and you took a steadying breath, turning to face him again. Your face felt warm, but not in embarrassment.

There were flames in his eyes when your gaze met his again.

Outside the bubble of tension the two of you had fallen into, the music faded into a softer piece, appropriately timed for a slower, more intimate dance.

You’d just rejoined your hand in his when again, Rhys popped into your mind.

Whatever you’re doing, Eris looks ready to set something on fire.

You shot back a quick, mental answer, trying to mask your own tension and need that had started bellowing in your veins the moment you’d felt the hard press of Eris’s cock against you.

Just my job.

Thankfully, nothing else followed.

You and he said nothing following the prior incident though your bodies swayed to the velvety dreamlike notes of the slower music.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Eris murmured.

Being so pressed against him, his hand pressing you closer, your face seemed alarmingly close to the heir’s.

“I could say the same for you, future High Lord.”

All night had been like this. The effortless push and pull of taunting and teasing, sharp words, sharper movements.

You felt ready to crawl out of your skin with need. Which was likely why you did the unwise thing you did.

Eris’s back was to Rhys and Feyre, turned away from the dais. The slower, closer and intimate dance that was currently ongoing made you even bolder, made you sneakier.

Your hand slid down from where it had rested on Eris’s chest, until it slid past the waistband of his pants.

You didn’t even try to tamp down on your smugness at the sound of his sharp intake of breath the moment your palm pressed against the front of his pants.

With your close proximity, no one around would be the wiser to just what you were doing.

“What’s a female to do when presented with a grand opportunity such as this?”

If you had misread his intentions all night, then you’d stop. If he didn’t want this, you wouldn’t be a female who pushed.

But after the way Eris had been acting all night, the way he’d eyed you, chased you, you didn’t think he would stop you.

The hand that held yours tightened its grip. But the one he had resting on your back pulled you closer to him. Just as you’d expected.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t take advantage of such a treat as this, did you, Eris? After all, if anyone should know when to take advantage of prime opportunities, it would be you.”

You watched his face as your fingers curled around the hardness in his pants.

You could feel the warmth of him leeching through the fabric and gods spare you, just from the feel of him, you knew he was large.

You supposed that’s why the male was so cocky.

“I think you just unearthed a new aspect to the game even I didn’t see coming,” he rumbled.

“Oh something will be coming,” you purred, dragging the heel of your hand upwards, “But it will be you.”

The low, tortured groan that left him was the most beautiful sound of the night—rivaling the musicians.

You had to give him credit, he still managed to dance effortlessly, even as you mapped the shape of him through his pants.

“Keep that up and I may actually trip,” he mumbled.

Your laughter was light and airy, though a devilish smirk graced your lips.

“I intend to.”

Your face was millimeters away from his as you breathed the statement incredibly near to his mouth. You found yourself wondering what his lips would feel like—what they’d taste like.

You slid your hand along him again in a slow, torturous glide upwards. You watched his jaw clench and his lips part.

Your eyes darted to the side as you led the two of you in the dance, peering around to see if anyone was the wiser to what was occurring in their presence.

No one was.

Which made you even bolder.

It made you wonder how hard he was trying to control his reaction, trying to control himself from making the noises he likely wanted to make.

Your hand made another pass over the fabric of his pants—you swore you could feel his cock throbbing underneath your touch.

You tried not to think of how he’d feel inside of you, tried to focus on the here and now. It’d do no good for you to lose complete control right now.

You were smug as you felt his hips push further into your hand, rubbing himself against your touch.

“I didn’t realize you knew how to be quiet. Seems I’ve found a way to shut you up,” you teased.

He only responded with a halfhearted growl, his fingers digging into the skin of your back the more your hand moved.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gritted out, only loud enough for you to hear.

Your spine straightened at the nickname—something Eris normally wouldn’t deign calling you—and it made your toes curl in your heels.

Your fingers curled again as you memorized every single glorious inch of him by touch alone. You leaned forward, your breath as heavy as his, the longer you touched him.

His strong jawline was within reaching distance of your mouth and you wanted to lean forward and kiss it, bite it, suckle it. You nearly did, the temptation so great.

“If you keep that up, I’ll—”

You didn’t stop, stroking harder, faster. You had no idea what had come over you, but you couldn’t have stopped if you even wanted to.

“Eris,” you breathed, unsure why his name left your lips.

It came out breathy though, sounding half wrecked, needy, filled with all the things he’d stoked in you all night long.

With just the sound of his name on your lips, he actually did stumble to a stop, body tensing as he came against your hand. You felt the warmth, the reverberation of each spurt of his cock against your hand.

With gasped breaths he gaped at you, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Truthfully, neither could you as you removed your hand from his body.

You stepped back out of his embrace, not because you wanted to leave, but you knew you needed to if you wanted to preserve any semblance of control. You practically trembled from what had just occurred, the image of his stunned flushed face from seconds ago now burned into your mind.

Your voice barely managed to stay steady and even when you spoke—like seeing him come because of your touch hadn’t rewired your brain and set every single inch of your body on fire.

“If you want to keep playing, come find me.”

Then you sauntered off, leaving a stunned and breathless Eris behind.

•••

You’d left the festivities only a few minutes prior.

You’d made sure to catch Eris’s eye over your shoulder as you did, a sultry look on your face. Intent burned in your eyes as you bit your lip then turned away, strolling toward the exit.

You didn’t know if he’d follow—you’d hoped—but you knew there was no guarantee.

This had not been in your plan at the beginning of the evening, to get this carried away. This certainly hadn’t been in Rhys’s plan either.

You weren’t sure if Eris was busy making his excuses to Rhys and Feyre—or perhaps taking care of the very obvious stain on the front of his pants. Though you figured with a flick of his fingers and a small amount of magic—that he wouldn’t even have to think twice about—would fix that mess.

You were leaning against the wall across from the double doors, your bare shoulder pressing into the cool stone. One arm was crossed over your body as you appeared the portrait of casual nonchalance. You pretended to be studying your nails when you heard the large wooden doors to the throne room open.

You peered up, seeing Eris sauntering through them. You opened your mouth to say some sort of snarky remark—something, though you weren’t sure what—but you didn’t get the opportunity.

In the blink of an eye, he had you pressed against the wall, lips crashing into yours. You moaned at his abrupt roughness, the feeling of being pressed against the wall. His body that was as solid as the stone behind you, pressed to your front.

His lips were hot on yours and you kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm, the build up of tension throughout the evening finally exploding into this one mindblowing kiss.

His lips were as warm, soft and skilled as you’d imagined.

As he kissed you, your hands migrated from where they’d flown to his sides earlier, running over his abdomen. You could feel the hard ridges of the sculpted muscles through that fine black jacket and it nearly made you weak in the knees to imagine just what lay underneath.

His tongue flicked over your bottom lip in an effortless glide and your lips parted. You felt his hands caressing your jaw as the two of you kissed, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. You took the opportunity for your hands to explore more.

As your head tilted into the kiss—allowing him more access as your lips moved greedily against his—your hands ran over his broad chest.

His hands fell from your face, dropping to your hips where he gripped them, pulling you flush against his body. Every single inch of him lined up against you and his hips pressed forward.

The moment you felt his hardness press against you, you moaned into his mouth.

You needed him naked. You needed this dress off you, now seeming like it was suffocating you. It was itchy against your too hot skin and you practically wanted to strip naked and present yourself to him.

You needed him inside you.

Eris lifted one of your legs to his waist, as his other hand braced against the wall, right by your head. He groaned against your neck as he pressed his hardened cock against your clothed core.

Seemed like what you’d done for him earlier had just barely taken the edge off if he was aroused and hard again so soon.

You unabashedly and mercilessly ground into him even more and you swore you felt his teeth scrape across the skin of your neck as your hips canted.

Your hands were already working at the buttons of the black jacket he wore as his lips dipped to your jawline, your neck.

Half of you hoped no one walked into the hall to witness the spectacle, but the other half didn’t care one bit.

You arched into his lips as he nipped along your neck, one hand sliding up the outside of the bare thigh the deep slit in the dress exposed. You wanted his touch closer. It took what little willpower you had left to not just push his hand straight between your legs.

Your fingers fumbled through unbuttoning all the buttons along his jacket and didn’t stop there. They found the waistband of his pants and pushed the button through the hole.

The second the button was released, Eris swept you up in his arms and then it was nothing but black as he winnowed the two of you from the hallway.

You clung to him as you both fell through space and time—never quite used to the feeling of being winnowed, since you hadn’t developed the skill, yourself. Though it took mere seconds, maybe not even that long, it was still a slightly disorienting feeling.

The two of you landed in one of the guest suites of the Hewn City and you peered around curiously wondering if he’d just picked a room at random.

“I take it you’ve been here before?” you asked with a raised brow.

“Rhysand has set me up in this room before,” Eris murmured, hands already busy, trying to remove your dress.

He’d landed the two of you against a desk on the wall opposite of the bed, so you figured he had to have some familiarity with the room for such a precise landing.

He wasted absolutely no time in unhooking the straps that met behind your neck. With it unfastened, the bodice of the dress would be easy to slide off, the skirts likely to pool at your feet.

He took the opportunity to ravish each inch of skin that was revealed.

He pulled the dress down a few inches and his lips traveled with it—kisses left across your collarbones and down your chest.

When the fabric fell away to expose your breasts you saw the fire dance in his eyes, the utter desire in them before his tongue and lips were on them. More kisses were left across your breasts, glides of his tongue, flicking one of your nipples with it and pulling it into his mouth.

You moaned appreciatively, head falling back. His hands braced your waist, keeping you pressed against the desk and your fingers gripped the edge of it.

Not spending more time than necessary, he pulled back to rid you of the rest of the dress. Your eyes shuttered, your pulse skyrocketing at the sight before you.

He was more than disheveled, his hair a mess from where your hands had been plunging through it. His black jacket was completely unbuttoned and hanging open, his pants gaping open from where you’d ripped the button free in the hallway.

He looked utterly irresistible—even more so than he had all night and you’d thought it’d been bad then.

Eris’s jacket hung open revealing pale skin and toned muscles. You had an excellent view of his chiseled abdomen and your fingers twitched, wanting to run your hands over his defined and muscular form.

You watched as he stepped back, pulling the dress down your legs. On the way, he gripped your underwear and tugged it down at the same time, leaving you completely bare in front of him.

“Greedy and impatient,” you mumbled, amused.

“You’re lucky I didn’t do this back there,” he grumbled, “I wanted to the moment your hand was on my cock.”

The second the clothing left his hands, he was back at your face, lips barely brushing yours as he hoisted you up onto the desk properly. He kissed you briefly, hands pushing your legs apart.

One finger traced a line down your center and you arched, a minuscule moan catching in your throat. You wrenched your lips from his, hips arching into his touch.

“Have you been this wet for me all night, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, nodding.

Your legs trembled just from the solitary touch and you were glad you had the desk to sit on.

Between all the touches, the burning gazes, the sharp, clever words exchanged, you’d already been rather aroused. The second you’d felt his own arousal—pressed your palm to his cock through his pants—you’d passed the point of no return.

All to say that your core had been warm and slick, in preparation for him. It would’ve been regardless if the night hadn’t ended up turning out like it was. Although this beat having to settle for just your hand, that’s for sure.

Your chest heaved, need bellowing so loudly in your veins as you watched him drop to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs.

Adamant to not waste a second, he leaned down, tongue dragging over your folds.

At that first glide of his tongue, you might as well have melted in his hands. You moaned eagerly, the motion and sensation so intoxicating you felt like your head was swimming.

You craved more.

And Eris gave it to you.

He feasted on you like he hadn’t had a thing to eat in days as his tongue dipped into your core. You writhed, pushing yourself deeper onto his tongue.

He moaned against you, telling you how good you tasted, praising you for your responsiveness to him. You could barely hear through your fog of desire though.

“Gods, Eris,” you moaned.

Of course, in the middle of this was exactly when Rhys thought it appropriate to check in again.

You inhaled sharply as Eris’s tongue flicked over your clit, barely being able to register Rhys’s voice in your mind.

How’s it going?

Mother above, of all times for Rhys to interrupt.

You peered down at Eris, on his knees, head between your legs. Your hand naturally threaded into his hair as he licked you again, making you hiss.

It was a minor miracle that your mental answer managed to sound cool and collected.

Considering he's on his knees for me, well, I think.

Rhys’s answer came almost immediately after you finished your thought towards him, it seemed.

Where are you? I didn’t see you leave.

This time your answer was more strained, especially as Eris gave your clit a sharp suck. You found his eyes on yours, assessing you.

Busy. Eris is showing me how an Autumn Court male worships. They’re very dedicated.

Maybe it was your strained tone that gave you away, but you had no idea how Rhys managed to piece it together. Though you figured he had due to his brief pause.

I said seduce him, not breed with him.

You were close and really trying hard not to pay attention to Rhys and only to Eris—especially as you pressed even more into his mouth. He tightened his hold on your hips, his hands strong on your body as his mouth worked you.

You shot a final thought Rhys’s way.

Your instructions were rather murky, he’s now about to fuck me. See you at home.

With that, you slammed your mental shield up.

Something in Eris’s face seemed to convey that he knew exactly what had just occurred—those assessing eyes on you earlier seemed to pick up every little tell on your face.

He pulled back from where he’d been between your legs, mouth and chin glistening. The sight alone was nearly enough to make you climax.

“Tell Rhysand I said hi.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised to know he could probably tell when your mind was momentarily—even halfway—elsewhere.

“He’s gone,” you assured him, panting, body aching for release.

“Good.”

His tone was short, no nonsense and you were sure he’d resume his previous activity. He did not and you whimpered when he stood to his feet. His hands were already pushing his pants down.

“When you come, I want it to be on my cock.”

Your jaw slackened and you could only nod. Eris could’ve gotten any sort of information out of you right now, you were so far gone.

He chuckled, noting the way you were looking at him, that infamous and slightly infuriating smirk on his lips.

You were half tempted to kiss it off his face.

You instantly reached forward and pushed his jacket off his shoulders, baring his upper half to you and you bit your lip at the sight—Eris didn’t miss it either.

“Like what you see? You’ve practically been undressing me with your eyes all night, Lady of the Night Court.”

His slick courtier voice in this setting gave you a thrill, sending chills down your spine. He made the words sound so elegantly smooth and sensuous with such little effort. The teasing, seductive lilt of the playful nickname—alluding more to your home and not any formal title—slid off his tongue like silk.

For some reason, you realized you’d have little issue with him calling you that in that specific tone, more often. In fact, you’d welcome it.

“I recall those pretty eyes doing some looking of their own.”

You were utterly bare, sitting on the desk and you reclined just slightly, back arching, legs falling further apart like a trap being set.

He fell for it instantly, his eyes dipping between your legs at the glistening wetness there, all for him—all because of him.

He growled, low in his chest, at the sight.

He made short work of discarding the rest of his clothes and the sight of his fully naked body nearly made your mind short circuit. That beautiful, powerful masculine body on display for you made you want him on you, in you—immediately.

You couldn’t have helped it if you tried when your eyes—having a mind of their own—dipped to the cock that now was in plain sight.

Your predictions, gleaned from mere touch alone earlier, had been extremely accurate.

He was…gifted, that was for sure. Thick, hard and the tip flushed the prettiest shade of red, one that could rival the hue of his hair.

Also rather similar to the shade of red that the pale skin of his face and chest was currently flushed.

Before he could wrap a hand around himself, you were reaching for him and then his hands were on you again, his lips, in a heated kiss.

He groaned the moment your hand wrapped around him fully. He felt like velvet steel under your fingertips as you gave one languid stroke before guiding him to your drenched core.

“Gods, I’m kinda proud at how much I’ve seemed to affect you,” he gritted out as you dragged the head through that slickness, coating him.

You were past seduction, being coy and mysterious as you moaned at the feel of even the contact of his cock against your cunt.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” you gasped as his hand replaced yours on his length, circling your clit with the tip.

Your hips bucked, wanting more friction.

“Tonight?”

It took you a moment to figure out what he was asking—what he was responding to—to even remember what you’d just said. Your mind was completely and utterly filled with need for him, your body chanting that it was so ready for him.

“No,” you shook your head, “Long before that.”

And that was all you could manage before you pulled his face back to yours in a heated kiss.

It didn’t last long though for the minute he was pushing into your entrance, both of you had to part, so affected you couldn’t even manage to continue the kiss.

“Ohhh, fuck.”

His low moan lit up your already heated body and your inner muscles clenched around nearly nothing, considering he was barely halfway in. All you could do was pant, breathe heavily and whimper.

With one more move, Eris was fully inside you and you felt yourself shatter, reform and shatter again at how utterly perfect his cock felt within you.

Eris seemed at a complete loss for words, himself, as one of his hands braced against the desktop next to your hip. He bent, pressing his lips to your throat as your head fell back.

Contrary to earlier when it was all rushed heat, he seemed to take his time now. It was nothing but slow drags of his cock along your walls as he pulled back and thrust shallowly back in, more of a tease than a relief.

“Eris,” you whined, “You can do better than this.”

“Oh I know I can,” he smirked, lips trailing your jawline.

Fucking tease.

You lifted your head enough to peer down between yours and his body. You watched as his cock pulled out and plunged back into you, catching a glimpse of how your arousal coated him. The sight made you moan and clench around him.

He caught sight of your stare and smirked, mouth at your ear.

“Is this what that filthy little mind of yours imagined all night as we danced?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You couldn’t as he thrust into you again, harder. Your hands flew to his biceps, gripping them hard.

“Cauldron, I knew you’d feel amazing,” he groaned.

Just the thought of him having imagined this as you had sent a bolt of heat through you.

His lips sought out yours and you obliged him, mouth hot over his. He moaned in your mouth as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into you deeper the next time his hips thrust forward.

Perhaps it was because he felt so incredible that you felt seconds from tears when he parted from your lips—left your body completely as he pulled out of you.

“What—”

Your protest died on your lips the moment he yanked you down off the top of the desk and spun you, pushing your front down over it. You ground your aching nipples against the wood of the desk, dying to have him back inside you again.

You cried out the moment he slammed into you, the re-entry just as rough and deep as you’d craved.

“With the mouth you have on you, I figured you’d know how to use it like this,” he grunted from behind you.

He pulled out, his hips jerking forward roughly again—to the point your body slid forward on top of the desk.

“Oh gods, Eris, don’t stop,” you begged.

The moment he’d bent you over this desk, something in you snapped. You wanted him hard, fast, unleashed.

His lips were hot on the nape of your neck and you winced the slightest as his hand buried in your hair. He ripped out as many of the pins that he could—the numerous amount that’d kept your neat and precise hairstyle in place all night. The bottom curtain of your hair fell along your bare back, the top half still braided but hung loosely.

Eris gripped your hair, wrenching your head to the side enough for his mouth to hover by your ear.

“Spent all night wondering what you’d look like underneath me,” he growled, lips nipping your jaw once, then twice.

You moaned in bliss—at his grip, at his thrusts, all of it.

“Harder,” you ordered.

The deep growl from behind you made your eyes flutter as he reached around you to cover your hands—that were gripping the edges of the desk—with his.

His hips snapped forward harshly sending his cock deeper in you and you might’ve actually been screaming with each thrust.

“Yes, yes,” you gasped.

His answering moan as he pounded into you made you clench around him. He felt so mind meltingly good and with his harsher, brutal pace you knew you wouldn’t last long.

“Always knew you could handle me,” he gritted out as he thrust into you again.

You were beyond words now as each and every one of his movements sent you rocking further against the desk, his hands gripping over yours tightly. He was giving you everything and yet you still craved more.

He moved so quickly—briefly reminding you just how quickly the fae could move—something else you still found yourself getting used to. He lifted you from the desk top, pressing your back against his chest as his hand splayed across your throat.

Your head fell back in a gasp, against his shoulder and your eyes opened briefly seeing him peer down at you. His hand tightened over your pulse just for a few seconds as he stared at you.

Yes, this was what you needed.

The moan that left you was downright filthy and unholy.

Eris grunted his approval, his cock driving into you at such a brutal pace you were sure it would hurt to even stand tomorrow. Right now, you didn’t care.

Especially not as his grip tightened again, your cunt gripped him like a vise in reaction. His strangled, pleased moan was the most beautiful thing you think you’d ever heard.

Pleasure was rising, the heat that’d been a molten pool of lava all night now gathering into what could only be a mindblowing release.

He was just as gone as you, only grunts and groans falling from him as he worked himself in you over and over, fingers timed to squeeze when his cock hit the deepest.

“Er—”

You couldn’t even get the second syllable of his name out.

“I know,” he rasped.

His other hand reached between your legs, fingers circling your clit and you came apart with an absolute scream.

You think you even screamed his name, but you couldn’t be sure.

All you were aware of was the hot and sharp burst of ecstasy that exploded from your core, outwards. Your legs squeezed together, trying to keep his touch there as your body came alive with the intense euphoria.

He groaned your name as his thrusts became sloppy, losing their rhythm, him chasing his own release. Your body was buzzing, still flying high from your own release when you felt him tense behind you, both hands now on your hips as he held you tight against his body.

He came with a ragged groan, spilling into you so hard and fast you almost immediately felt it dripping back out of you and down your thighs. Your eyes slid closed as you savored the feeling, head dropping back against his shoulder a final time, utterly spent.

Mission thoroughly accomplished.

•••

You finished playing seductress now or am I interrupting again?

Your naked body was tangled in the sheets of the bed you and Eris hadn’t even made it to earlier.

Sweat cooled on your body, your breathing still uneven as you watched the male next to you stand, stretching just slightly before bending to retrieve his pants.

You mentally rolled your eyes though and answered Rhys.

You are the biggest busybody I’ve ever met.

Consider my interest piqued after your last update. Though some would say it’s more like morbid curiosity.

You were sure you sent a satisfied smirk back to the High Lord.

Let’s just say you have one satisfied ally.

I’m sorry I asked.

You grinned to yourself as his presence in your mind disappeared.

Returning to the present, you watched as Eris dressed, body completely warm and sated.

After the desk, you nor Eris had been completely satisfied and you’d quickly fallen into the bed for another round.

You’d climbed into his lap and ridden him hard and fast until you both were screaming. His fingers had dug into your hips with so much strength you knew there’d likely still be bruises there later.

Even after a second orgasm, Eris wasn’t finished with you and you’d watched his finger slide through a trail of his release that once again ran down your thighs in rivulets. He brought it to the apex of your thighs, rubbing circles until you fell apart again, watching you as if he was entranced as he made you come again.

Now as he dressed, you found yourself slightly mourning that the evening was clearly over.

You’d had fun, lots of it. From the beginning of the Solstice ball to this very moment.

But, you’d successfully accomplished both your tasks you’d set out to do.

You sat up, holding the blanket to your chest. You’d yet to move—to find where your clothes had been discarded—because frankly, you were exhausted.

“I do hope you continue to find an alliance with the Night Court appealing,” you said casually.

He turned to you, seeming to catch the way you’d been watching his muscled back as he’d bent to grab his jacket.

His smile was a wicked thing, though not cruel.

It was mischievous, all knowing.

“Sweetheart, you think I didn’t know what you were up to?”

Surprise filled you—that and trepidation. Fear that he thought the only reason you’d taken him to bed was because of his alliance.

“Don’t look so surprised. If I hadn’t wanted this to happen,” Eris said, motioning between the both of you, “I wouldn’t have let it. But yes, I do find a continued alliance with the Night Court appealing.”

You felt relief wash over you, happy to know you’d be able to report back to Rhys with the good news.

But Eris wasn’t finished. He continued buttoning up his jacket as he spoke.

“Though I must tell you, you’ve sweetened the deal drastically.”

His tone was smooth, smug, absolutely the silver tongued courtier he was. His eyes swept over you appreciatively, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I just wonder if seeing more of you—and soon—might be included in said deal.”

You bit your lip, a smile forming on your own mouth, happy to hear he’d enjoyed the sex as much as you’d had.

“I think that could be arranged.”

Catching you off guard, he placed his hands on the bed—on either side of you—leaning down and capturing your lips with his soft ones. It wasn’t as heated as the kisses from earlier, but it was enough to leave your head spinning, especially as he let it linger for just a second before he pulled away, straightening again.

“We’ll play again. Soon.”

He shot you a wink before winnowing away, leaving you already anticipating your next game with Eris Vanserra.

Tag List: @lilaclichh @batboyslutt @lomahdu @alexof90s @smol-grandpa @achelliescomedown @harvest-bunny @less-spice @ravencharming @melsunshine @kittiness12 @she-reads768 @garricktavisfanclub @asteria33 @apenasandorinha @knoxic @kathren1sky-blog @talesofadragon @watermelomsuger @dakotali @frostystarlight @bxm-2121 @idk1027 @saltedcoffeescotch @slut4acotar @chasing-autumns-chill @bookwormysblog @div94 @seasonallyapril @lilah-asteria @lizzytish25 @quiettuba @psychiatry-and-poetry @usernamesarelies @wormonthesidewalk @hopalongsworld @keenstudentherorascal @potatoheartsyou @tayssauchiha @serenedinosaurdreadnought @fluffypopcornpotatoes @somewhere-stuck-in-the-stars

[courtofvanserra]

ASHES OF AUTUMN, BLOOD OF NIGHT

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister l On Going

Summary: She survived fifty years Under the Mountain. Prythian survived by forgetting her. Found unclaimed and broken-winged, Rhysand's lost sister is taken into the Autumn Court-not as a guest, but as leverage. Bound to Eris Vanserra through survival and strategy, she must learn how to exist in a world where protection has a price and power is never freely given. Masks hide faces. Festivals become battlefields. And Autumn does not burn kindly.

Warnings: Trauma, PTSD, Past abuse/torture, manipulation, Violence, abandonment, No smut (for now), slight language, emotional tension

Word Count: 1,005

Part 2 - Bargains in Flame

Eris didn’t offer comfort.

He offered terms.

“You can keep running,” he said as the forest smoldered quietly around you, dawn barely touching the horizon. “You’ll last a day. Maybe two.”

You said nothing.

“Or,” he continued, unbothered by your silence, “you can come with me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “As what.”

His smile was thin. Precise. “A secret.”

You laughed weakly. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only honest one you’ll get,” Eris replied. “You stay alive. You heal. And in return, you don’t disappear without telling me first.”

Your wings twitched painfully.

“And if I refuse?” you asked.

Eris tilted his head. “Then I leave you here with a cloak and a head start.”

He didn’t need to say the rest.

You looked down at your bloodied hands, at the trembling feathers you could barely feel anymore.

“…Fine,” you whispered.

Eris’s smile sharpened. “Good choice.”

The Autumn Court surprised you.

You expected fire and cruelty, ash and scorched earth.

Instead, warmth greeted you like an open door.

Golden light filtered through towering trees dressed in crimson and amber leaves. The air smelled of apples and spiced cider, cinnamon curling softly with woodsmoke. The ground beneath your feet radiated heat—not burning, but comforting, as if the land itself welcomed you.

For the first time in decades, you weren’t cold.

Eris led you away from the palace, along hidden paths where the forest thickened and wards hummed softly beneath your skin. The healers’ sanctuary was tucked between ancient oaks and flame-touched stone, invisible unless you knew where to look.

The healers didn’t ask questions.

They didn’t stare at your wings.

Magic flowed warm and steady, easing pain, sealing what could be mended. You slept without dreaming of chains.

When you woke, Eris stood near the doorway, arms crossed.

“You’ll hide them,” he said, nodding toward your back. “My father notices differences.”

“I don’t know how,” you murmured.

“You do,” Eris replied evenly. “You’ve just been too broken to try.”

The glamour came slowly, painfully—illusion weaving over bone and feather until your wings vanished beneath skin and shadow.

When it was done, you swayed.

Eris caught you without a word.

“Convincing,” he said. “Beron won’t see past what he expects.”

That didn’t make you feel safer.

The palace rose from the heart of the forest like something grown, not built—stone veined with gold, firelight glowing in every window. Courtiers paused as you entered, the scent of cinnamon and smoke trailing behind you.

Warmth wrapped around you.

Almost like home.

Then came Beron.

Flames flared as the High Lord of Autumn rose from his throne, fury sharp and immediate.

“Explain,” he demanded, voice cracking like firewood. “Why you drag strays into my hall.”

“She’s under my protection,” Eris said smoothly.

Beron laughed, harsh and disbelieving. “You presume much.”

Eris stepped aside—just enough.

“She was taken Under the Mountain,” he said. “Fifty years ago.”

Beron stilled.

“She escaped alone,” Eris continued. “And the Night Court never reclaimed her.”

Beron’s gaze locked onto you, slow and assessing.

“And,” Eris finished quietly, “she is Rhysand’s sister.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Then Beron smiled.

Wicked. Pleased.

“Well,” Beron said softly, firelight dancing in his eyes, “the Autumn Court has been blessed.”

Your stomach twisted.

Behind you, the scent of cider and cinnamon lingered—warm, welcoming.

And utterly deceptive.

Eris didn’t speak as he led you away from the throne room.

The palace corridors glowed with firelight, walls veined with gold and copper, the warmth steady and constant. It seeped into your bones, easing aches you hadn’t realized you were still carrying.

Upward you went—spiral staircases, long halls, doors etched with flame and leaf motifs. No guards followed. No one stopped you.

At last, Eris paused before a tall set of doors.

“Yours,” he said simply, pushing them open.

The room beyond stole your breath.

It was enormous—larger than your quarters in the Night Court had ever been. The ceiling arched high, painted in soft gradients of red: deep wine near the beams, fading into rose, then ember-bright near the walls. Every shade blended seamlessly, warm and deliberate, as if the room itself had been crafted to soothe.

A massive bed dominated the center, layered with thick blankets and plush pillows in crimson and gold. It looked impossibly soft—too soft for someone who’d slept on stone for half a century.

Firelight flickered from sconces, casting the room in a constant autumn glow.

You took a few steps farther in, stunned.

Beyond a carved archway lay the bathroom—marble warmed beneath your feet, a deep soaking tub already steaming faintly, copper fixtures gleaming. The scent of spiced oils drifted through the air.

And then—

The wardrobe.

You opened the doors slowly.

Inside hung rows upon rows of dresses—Autumn Court silks and velvets in russet, scarlet, burnt orange, and gold. Some were simple, others intricately embroidered with leaf patterns and flame-threaded hems.

All new.

All waiting.

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” Eris said from the doorway.

You turned. He hadn’t stepped inside, as if crossing the threshold would change something.

“You’ll need to look the part,” he continued calmly. “Appearances matter here.”

You hugged your arms around yourself. “And the cost?”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

“We’ll discuss that tomorrow,” Eris said. “After you’ve slept.”

Sleep.

The word felt foreign.

“I won’t lock the door,” he added, already turning away. “But don’t test the wards.”

You met his gaze. “What’s the first demand?”

Eris paused.

A slow, foxlike smile curved his lips.

“You’ll hear it with a clear mind,” he said. “Rest. Heal. Tomorrow, we begin.”

The doors closed softly behind him.

You stood alone in the warmth, surrounded by comfort that felt almost dangerous in its generosity.

At last, you sat on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath you, plush and forgiving.

For the first time in fifty years, you lay down without chains.

And for the first time, you wondered what Eris Vanserra would ask in return.

AN: Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of AOA BON, I hope you guys love it as much as I do. Every chapter will be posted every Sundays. Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist on the third chapter.

Taglist: @acotar-writing @carnationworld @kk191327 @imma-too-many-fandoms

[courtofvanserra]

ASHES OF AUTUMN, BLOOD OF NIGHT MASTERLIST

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s sister I On Going

Left behind when the curse broke, Rhysand’s forgotten sister claws her way out from beneath the mountain alone—scarred, broken-winged, and convinced the Night Court no longer has a place for her. Fifty years of Amarantha’s cruelty have stripped her of certainty, safety, and faith in the family that never came looking.

When she flees into the wilds, she is found not by salvation, but by Eris Vanserra.

Eris doesn’t offer rescue or comfort—he offers terms. Protection in exchange for silence. Survival in exchange for becoming a secret. Taken into the Autumn Court and hidden behind glamour and firelight, she becomes something far more dangerous than a victim: a living pressure point in Prythian’s fragile balance of power.

As Beron prepares a Harvest Festival meant to expose weaknesses among the High Lords, Eris positions her at the center of the board. Masks are donned. Loyalties are tested. Old wounds reopen as the Night Court watches a ghost they believed lost step into the fire—changed, unclaimed, and no longer willing to disappear quietly.

Note: Explicit Content

Updated: Every Sunday

Series:

Chapter 1- The One Left Behind left beneath the mountain when the curse broke, rhysand’s sister survives fifty years alone—broken, winged, and forgotten. escape doesn’t bring freedom, only the cold realization that no one came looking. When Eris Vanserra finds her in the forest, he doesn’t see a victim. he sees a missing piece. a secret. something unclaimed. And in prythian, unclaimed things never stay that way.

[acotar-writing]

I do not understand why Tumblr isn't overflowing with Quicksilver fanfic 😭 I mean, fine, I'll do it, I'll hurry up the drafts I'm working on, but why people??

[acotar-writing]

Gentle Sparks - Lorreth x Reader

Fae & Alchemy - Callie Hart

Summary: After enduring the worst together, your best friend Saeris Fane wants you to find some much deserved happiness, even if it takes a lot of pushing and shoving.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, very short mention of injury

Word count: 4.6k

“You need to stop hiding away from this. Sooner or later, it will save your life.” Saeris said, walking beside you on your way to the training grounds in the war camp that was located before The Darn. She had been determined to get you to train with Renfis and Lorreth ever since you first stepped foot into Cahlish and today, so it seemed, was the day you had ultimately ran out of excuses. Maybe you would have agreed sooner, if the training would have been with Renfis only. But Lorreth was always there as well and to make a fool out of yourself in front of him sent a shiver of straight up horror down your spine.

“Well, I'm here now, so stop complaining.” You mumbled as the two of you entered the tent that was meant for sparring sessions. Lorreth and Renfis were in the middle of a sword fight, metal clinking against metal. Both of them moved gracefully, as if going through a carefully learned dance routine. Swallowing hard, you averted your gaze from Lorreth's torso, white shirt sticking to his prominent abs.

Renfis managed to land a blow that had Lorreth retreating. The male grinned and then his eyes flickered towards the entrance– to you. A smirk appeared on his face. “Look who finally decided to make an appearance!” Renfis bellowed excitedly and walked over to you and Saeris.

“I know, I know. Let's just get this over with.” You grumbled, already cringing at the mere thought of having to swing a weapon with two highly trained warriors watching. Not just any warriors– members of Kingfisher's close knit group, Lupo Proelia.

Lorreth walked up behind Renfis and you tried not to stare as he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His eyes met yours for a moment, then he looked at Renfis. “I've got this,” He stated, then gave your form an appreciative onceover.

Saeris smirked and before you could even think about rejecting Lorreth's obvious effort to spend more time with you, she flung her arm around Renfis's shoulder and walked him to the other side of the tent, teasing him about getting his ass kicked by her.

“I warn you, I'm worse at this than you think.” You chuckled anxiously and swallowed hard, standing before Lorreth as if he was the first male you’d ever seen.

A smile, then he picked up a sword for you from the rack that leaned against the wall right next to the entrance. “That's alright. I'll go easy on you.” He handed you the blade. “Do you know how to hold it?”

You shook your head, trying not to let your embarrassment show.

“Alright.” He shifted so he stood behind you. “This is why we're here, right? I'll show you.” With that, he pressed his body up against yours ever so slightly and you could feel his hard stomach against your back with every breath he took. “Spread your feet.”

You did and Lorreth put one arm around you to guide your hand into the right position around the hilt, then took your other hand and placed it a little above. The smell of his sweat mixed with his natural scent, cedarwood and that unmistakable hint of mint, filled your nose and you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to take everything in and keeping yourself from inhaling deeply. The way his strong arms felt around you, holding yours in place, was already enough to cause your knees to buckle. He was so close to you, closer than he had ever been and there was no way you wouldn't be affected by it. “Like this. It helps you stabilize the blade. It feels strange at first, but once you get used to it, it will be muscle memory every time you pick up a sword.”

His voice was soft, calm and he was so tender with you, while he guided you, your heart hammered manically in your chest.

“Thank you.” You croaked out, your voice nearly cracking and you quickly cleared your dry throat.

“You're welcome,” He said, a smile audible in his voice.

You knew that he could hear the way your pulse had quickened ever since you'd arrived at the tent, courtesy to High Fae hearing. And you could very well be imagining it, but you were very certain that he was holding you closer than he had to… “So, what now?” You asked hastily, trying to snap out of it.

“Hm, let's–”

He was interrupted when Carrion Swift entered the tent, a devious grin on his face, eyes flickering between the two of you. Lorreth let go and took a step backwards, the loss of contact leaving you cold and lost. Carrion's gaze rested on yours as he addressed Lorreth. “If you're busy, I'd be happy to train with the lovely lady.”

“Give it up, Carrion. It's not going to happen.” The fact that you still had to tell him that, even after all those years, was truly baffling. For ages Carrion Swift had tried to make it into your bed. You'd met him way before Saeris, years ago, still just a human roaming the dusty streets of Zilvaren. When Saeris and you took the Quicksilver portal and ended up in Yvelia, it was almost comical when not too long after, Kingfisher accidentally brought Carrion here, too. And while you did consider him a friend by now, albeit reluctantly, his flirting and teasing ways were starting to become rather tedious. Of course you knew it was merely a joke to him. Carrion Swift had enough females worshipping the ground he walked on, he didn't need your attention by all means. But Carrion had a thing for sleeping with extraordinary females and ever since you'd been turned into a Vampire, giving up your humanity for immortality, he had been even more intrigued. Bile flooded your mouth when your thoughts drifted to the day you got turned. The battle against Malcom, Saeris killing him, both of you almost dying, the way your friend looked beside you, blood spilling from her stomach– You shook your head, desperately trying to lose the images that still haunted you and mostly visited in the darkest hours of the night.

Lorreth smiled, kindly, like he always did, and walked towards Carrion. “I think I'll stick around. It can get a little tricky after all and we want to keep her safe, right?”

It was an effort to stifle the shit eating grin that tugged on each corner of your mouth and you averted your eyes towards the floor, kicking a few rocks on the ground.

“Right…” Carrion said. He seemed like he regretted ever stepping into the tent to begin with. Pride seemingly wounded, he strolled over to where Saeris and Renfis were sparring.

“You didn't have to do that. I can handle Carrion.”

“Yeah, but I don't want you to have to.” He said genuinely.

A hard swallow and your cheeks definitely reddened. “I'm sure he knows there's no chance, but by now it's turned into this never ending joke.”

“It stops being a joke, once it makes you uncomfortable,” He said and walked into your field of vision. He looked at you, studying your expression, then reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are allowed to set boundaries.”

“I know…” You replied, your gazes melting for a moment.

“Good.” A slight curve to his lips, he let his hand linger on your cheek for a moment, before he dropped it back to his side. “Now, should we give this a go?”

You nodded determinedly and Lorreth gestured to the middle of the training tent.

“Perfect. Let's start with the most basic fighting stance.” He instructed you, took his time and made sure to adjust every small movement until you stood correctly. “Great. Let’s try out some swordplay. You're right handed, am I right?”

Again, you inclined your head, your emotions running wild. The patience with which he trained you was so endearing, you wanted to embrace him, tell him how you really felt and never let him go. But you couldn't. Lorreth handed you the sword, his fingers brushed against yours for a brief moment and you suppressed the urge to bite your lip. “I'll show you some basic maneuvers, then we can try out a few things together.” He walked to the weapon rack and retrieved his own sword then took his stand, about five feet from you.

“What do I do?” You asked nervously, although Lorreth's presence had quickly managed to ease your anxiety about training. “Focus on my sword and try to block it. Ready?” You adjusted your grip one last time, then gave him a nod. He swung his sword at a moderate speed, you blocked, his blade clashed against yours and you felt the impact vibrate all the way down your elbow. The sound of metal meeting filled the tent, still not loud enough to drown out your heavy breathing though. You were already sweating after only a few minutes, while Lorreth looked like he had been taking a casual walk. He was beautiful in his element– beyond handsome. “You're doing well.” He encouraged, circling around you, ocean blue eyes tracing your sweat-clad body and you caught the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. He looked away hastily then launched another attack. You managed to block it, but barely. Your stamina was already running low, and your lungs burned. “Keep going,” He said as you started to falter. “Remember to breathe. It fuels your whole body. And keep your arm steady when blocking, you don't want to exhaust yourself with too much movement.” He swung his sword again. One more blow, more powerful than the ones before, but you deflected it. “Good!” A quick nod of approval, then he came at you even harder, faster than before and you almost lost your balance. He paused for a moment, eyes locked with yours. “Focus.”

You inhaled deeply, forced yourself to get a hold of the situation and did as you were told, eyes on his weapon, as he swung his sword at you once again. You blocked two of his blows before he caught you off guard with a powerful strike aimed at your legs. The distraction caused you to drop your guard and Lorreth easily disarmed you, your blade falling to the floor with you, as you landed on your behind. “Shit…” You cursed, trying to at least somewhat gracefully make it through your ragged breaths.

Lorreth's blue eyes were sparkling in amusement and he held out a hand to help you up. You took it, grateful for the assistance and shuddered when you felt the roughness of his skin against yours as he hauled you to your feet. “You alright?” He asked, still grinning. “You did great.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” You murmured and dusted your palms off on your pants.

“You're learning. Don't rush it, it'll come with time. Trust me.” Confidence and ease radiated off of him like the midday sun above the camp. He picked up your fallen sword and returned it to you. “Ready to try again?”

A nod, then the two of you continued. Hours later, your clothes were soaked and your body aching, but not in a bad way. It felt good to train and put yourself to use. It was likely that you'd need one of these skills sooner rather than later. You were in the middle of another set of moves, when Lorreth's usually meticulously calculated steps seemed hesitant for the shortest of moments. But you had learned today, so you took your chance, moved forward and managed to disarm him with a swipe of your sharp blade. The surprise on his face was evident, quickly turning into pride, eyes sparkling with admiration. “Now that's the spirit,” He complimented cheerfully. Then, he raised his hands to surrender with a bright smile on his face. “Guess I'll have to up my game. I yield.”

You laughed. “Did you do it on purpose?”

“You'll never know,” He winked and your face flushed from the heat or physical exertions or the pathetic crush you had on him. Or maybe it was a combination of all of those things. He looked so annoyingly good. You were tempted to tell him, but the words wouldn't come out. “I need a bath.” You figured, looking down your drenched shirt.

His eyes followed your gaze, traveling down your chest and the pink tint on your face darkened, when you noticed how his glance lingered. He caught himself and looked back up quickly. “I'll walk you to your tent,” He offered.

In comfortable silence you strolled beside each other, before you broke the quiet. “Thank you. For training with me today. You helped me a lot.”

“It was my pleasure.” Heart fluttering, your lips curved. Gods, you were nothing but a lovestruck idiot. It was ridiculous, how much you enjoyed being with him.

You both reached your tent and you fumbled with one of the buttons on your shirt to keep your hands occupied. “I'll see you for dinner?” Tonight, you and the others were going to stay at the war camp, before continuing tomorrow with strategy planning and more training.

“Absolutely.” A dazzling smile, then said his goodbyes and left. You stood there and watched his broad frame disappear, thoughts and hormones running wild. You needed to do something about this and soon.

When you lifted the fabric flap to your tent, much more spacious and cozy on the inside than it looked on the outside, thanks to magic, you yelped when you suddenly saw Saeris sitting on your bed. “Gods and Martyrs!”

Saeris smirked. “What was that all about?” She asked casually and tilted her head. She knew that there was something between you and Lorreth, yet either of you refused to take action.

“What was what about?”

“You know.” Saeris crossed her legs and raised her eyebrows at you. “You have a crush on him. And he obviously fancies you as well. Why don't you just tell him?”

You scoffed and shook your head as you busied yourself with finding fresh clothes. “Are you out of your mind? What if he rejects me? We're going to live a very long life now, Saeris. Am I supposed to be working– No– living this close to him, after that? For what, like, a thousand years? That's fucking humiliating, I can't even think about it.”

“He's not going to reject you.” Saeris said. “Do you know how he looks at you?”

“How?” You flopped down next to her on the bed.

“Like you're made of stars and moonlight.” She said dreamily, teasing you. “Trust me. He's crazy about you.”

A laugh snorted from you and you rolled your eyes. “You're insufferable.”

“But I'm right.” She winked, then added, “Just go talk to him.” Saeris stood up and threw the bundle of clothes you had picked out in your lap. “Now get going, you stink. Dinner is in an hour.”

The bathwater was steaming and a moan escaped you when you lowered your sore and aching body into the wooden tub. Maybe Saeris was right. Maybe you should talk to Lorreth after all. But if he was truly interested in you in a way that went beyond the friendship you'd built, then why wasn't he the one saying anything? Ugh. You slit further down, submerging your head into the soapy warmth. Then, as you got out of the bath a while later and dried your body, you decided that if the opportunity would show up during dinner, you'd try and test the waters.

There was nothing but delicious food and cheerful conversation at dinner, as the five of you sat around a table in the dining tent. Lorreth sat right across from you and you spent most of the time stealing glances from behind the rim of your copper mug, unable to keep your eyes off of him. Was it really such a good idea? Telling him how you felt? You pondered the thought for a moment, but the more time passed, the more you came to the conclusion that even if he didn't feel the same way for you, at least you would have gotten it off your chest. Saeris stopped her conversation with Kingfisher, to nudge you in the ribs with her elbow, a soft smile on her face. Lorreth's gaze flicked towards you, but quickly dropped down to his food, when he caught you staring at him. Gods, you were acting like a maniac. You turned your focus to Saeris and Kingfisher, who were staring at you in amusement. Saeris wiggled her eyebrows, then mouthed, “Just do it.”

Your eyes widened and darted between Saeris and her mate, silently asking her if she told him about your feelings for Lorreth.

Saeris shook her head almost unnoticeably. So she hadn't shared the information with him. Kingfisher probably knew anyway, it was pretty obvious, you had to admit that much. Lorreth looked between the three of you, confused. “Something going on?” He asked.

“No!” You blurted without hesitation.

A startled half-smile. “Alright.”

Renfis, who was sitting next to Lorreth, looked just as confused. He shot a questioning glance at Saeris, but she shook her head. Then she nudged you again, nodding in Lorreth's direction. Your heart raced in your chest. You should say something, she was right, but you didn't have a clue how to put anything you felt for the warrior into words. Gods, this was a mess. Lorreth glanced at the three of you, a crease between his eyebrows. “What am I missing?” He asked again, looking between Fisher and Saeris. They both acted innocent, shrugging their shoulders and he huffed. Then, his gaze darted back to you. “Did I do something?”

You felt completely overwhelmed. Saeris was your best friend, you knew she only meant well, wanted you to find your happiness, but you felt pushed and your heart thundered uncomfortably underneath your clothing, which began to feel way too tight, constricting your chest. “No– No, you didn't. I– I'll be right back.” You jumped up from your chair and bolted outside.

Lorreth looked at the tent flap and got up to follow you, but was stopped by Kingfisher. “Let me.” He said and Lorreth nodded hesitantly, sitting back down.

The cold night air was a welcome relief to your overheating skin. Greedily, you breathed in every bit you could get into your lungs.

“There you are.” Kingfisher's gentle voice came from behind you and you flinched. He offered you a sympathetic look.

You turned around and stared at him with watery eyes. “Sorry, I just needed a moment.”

“Don't apologize.” He said, sitting down on the grass, patting the spot next to him. “Do you want to talk?”

Slumping down, you let out a deep sigh. Saeris wasn't just your friend, she had always been like a sister to you. And in the past few months, that equaled Kingfisher becoming your friend as well. “I don't know what to do. I'm so scared.”

“To be honest with you, I think everyone knows.” Fisher turned his gaze to the starry night sky above the camp. It was beautiful out here, quiet and peaceful. “Except Lorreth. He's clueless.” He chuckled.

Your throat bobbed and you wiped at a stray tear before it was able to fall. “What if I tell him and he doesn't feel the same way?”

“You won't know unless you try”, He shrugged. “I've known Lorreth for quite a few centuries now and not once has he talked about anyone the way he talks about you.” He looked at your face, then added, “What if you don't tell him? You'll live for thousands of years, wondering. Sometimes, what-ifs are worse than rejection.”

You let his words settle for a moment. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” With that, he got up and offered you a hand. “Shall we head back?”

You gave a nod, he helped you up and the two of you went back inside the dining tent.

Lorreth's eyes darted between Kingfisher and you, eyebrows raised in silent question. Thankfully though, he said nothing, then took his seat next to Saeris, who stared at you and whispered, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–”

“It's fine. Don't worry about it.” You reassured with a smile and petted her arm.

Lorreth watched carefully as you settled back in your chair. “You're not quite yourself tonight. Did something happen during training? Or after?” He asked, worried and you were starting to feel like an asshole for not speaking your truth. A quick shake of your head. He stayed quiet, only showing a small tug on one corner of his mouth that looked more half hearted than anything else, then he returned his attention back to his plate. You tried to focus on your food, but he was right there, his presence clouding your mind and when you looked up again, taking in the image of him, your chest filled with warmth. You wanted him so badly, it was driving you mad. You glanced at Saeris and Fisher, how happy they were together and decided right then and there, that they were right. It was now or never. “Can I talk to you?!” You blurted out before your brain could think better of it. Nerves shook you to the core and you weren't sure if your arms were feeling numb.

His bright blue eyes met yours, oceans deep and he didn't hesitate, before he put down his fork and wiped his lips with a napkin. “Sure.” He said, sounding almost breathless. Turning to Kingfisher and Saeris, he mumbled, “We’ll be right back.” The two of them replied with a snicker and Lorreth followed you outside.

As he stood before you in all his glory, wearing a black linen shirt, tugged into his leather pants, sleeves rolled up, every thought you'd carefully laid out in the past few minutes left your head. “Well?” He encouraged, taking a step closer. His face, so very familiar to you now after dreaming of it almost every night, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lantern above the tent's entrance. “What is it?”

“Walk with me?” You asked, desperate to get as far away from the others as possible. If this was all going to go wrong, you certainly didn't need anyone listening in on this conversation. A slight quirk of his brow, before he nodded, looking you over as if to make sure you were unharmed. You headed towards the edge of the camp, where the frozen lake began. He waited patiently for you to speak, giving you time.

“I– I have no idea how to start this…” You admitted quietly.

“With the beginning. Or maybe you could tell me why you left during dinner. You looked upset,” He said, trying to get you to talk. “Did I upset you?”

“No. You didn't, I promise.”

He stopped and turned to face you, giving you his full attention. Soft night air flitted around you and goosebumps erupted on your skin, underneath your clothing. “Then what is it?” He asked, genuine concern now filling his pale eyes.

Your mouth opened, then closed again, your fingers began fumbling with each other, gaze flicking over the shimmering ice layer of the lake. Lorreth grabbed your hands to stop you from fidgeting. “Don’t overthink it.” He urged gently and you huffed a breathless laugh.

“I'm afraid I'm way past that point.”

“Then spit it out.”

Another minute went by in silence. “Fuck, Lorreth, this is really fucking hard.” You tilted your head back, closed your eyes and breathed in and out towards the clear night sky. A soft chuckle sounded from him, it always did when you started cursing like a drunken sailor. He still held your cold hands in his calloused ones. He'd been so patient with you, never pushing and when your eyes met and you saw the crackling expectation etched into every fine line of his face it dawned on you that he'd been waiting for this.

“You already know what I'm going to say…” Tension loosened from your muscles.

“I might just have a vague idea.”

The bastard had the audacity to grin. “Why didn't you say something?” You wondered, searching his face and shame prickled beneath your skin. Did he know you were in love with him this whole time? Did he not feel the same and had hoped it would just go away with time?

He let out an exhausted breath, then gently pulled you closer by the hands he was still holding, fingers intertwined with yours. “I knew that I felt something for you months ago already. Way before Malcom– before Sanasroth, the labyrinth…” He swallowed hard. “But you were human, just like Saeris. It wouldn't have been fair to you or me. When Taladaius turned Saeris and you, I wanted to give you time. To adjust to this new life and deal with what had happened. I didn't want to take advantage of anything.” He squeezed your fingers and you could've sworn your heart had stopped beating.

“Lorreth…” You breathed, tears stinging behind your eyes.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing you in like it was the only scent that mattered. “I've waited a few centuries for you. What's a few more months?” He whispered and your lip wobbled.

“I'm done wasting time. Even though we have an abundance of it ahead of us now…” You decided. It was still weird, thinking about your new lifespan, thousands of years to come seemed less intimidating with Lorreth by your side though.

“Me too, princess.” And then, finally, he closed the gap, your lips meeting. The kiss was soft, hesitant at first. But as you pulled him closer, fingers entangling in his long, raven hair, he slung his arm around your waist and thoroughly explored your mouth with his tongue.

A moan slipped from your throat, caught by his lips, when you heard a sudden excited yelp from further away, followed by Carrion yelling, “Got room for one more?” You pulled away, glancing to the side, only to see your friends leaving the dining tent and almost missed Renfis slapping Carrion on the back of the head. You snorted a laugh and Renfis gave a tight lipped smile in apology.

Lorreth grunted, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips. “I can still stab him for you if you want.” He offered, voice full of mirth and you laughed wholeheartedly, pulling him closer by his shirt.

“No, it's alright. He's grown on me over the years. Like a mole that just popped up one day and you never really got rid of it. Plus, he's the Daianthus Heir. It might not be wise to kill the future King of Yvelia.”

“True,” He chuckled, then took your hand in his. He held it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. A delicious shiver ran down your spine. “Shall we join them?”

You nodded and a bright smile split your face. As you walked towards your friends, his hand tightly gripping yours, there was no doubt about where you stood now. He was yours just as much as you were his.

[dreamlandreader]

This is so cute 🥹 I wish there was more Quicksilver fanfiction, this really scratched an itch 💕

[acotar-writing]

Thank you for saying that 🖤 Currently working on more Quicksilver fics ✨

[acotar-writing]

Had such a writing slump I cannot wait for Brimstone to come out next week and give me a good old push.

[erin-bo-berin]

Whose Side Are You On?

ACOTAR Masterlist

When a fight occurs between you and your mate, Eris’s smokehounds show where their loyalties truly lie and demonstrate that they can be just as sly as their owner.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: a bit of angst, arguing, mainly just some fluff & adorable hounds

A/N: Requested by @bxm-2121 and I loved this silly, angsty and cute fluff. This concept is endlessly amusing to me. This is just a short little fun fic though to post in the meantime as I have three to four more longer Eris fics planned that I hope to post soon, so keep your eyes peeled for those.

Your arms were crossed, face stormy before you even said a word.

Eris was already scowling.

“I don’t want to hear a word,” he growled, already in a mood.

“Good,” you smiled sardonically, "Because you’re gonna hear more than just a word.”

You were so angry you could’ve spit nails.

You let that show in your glare towards the red haired male.

All he did was glower back at you.

“What were you thinking? You’re smarter than this!”

You threw up your hands in exasperation, thoroughly over your mate’s antics.

“He was asking for it,” Eris mumbled, crossing his own arms.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“You have dealt with Cassian for five hundred years and you thought now was a good time to make a point?”

The two males were at least twice as old as you—you being a few centuries younger than your own mate.

Didn’t mean some days Eris didn’t make you feel like you were closer to five hundred than three hundred.

You loved the male deeply. Had for long before the mating bond had snapped into place years ago, but sometimes he could drive you up a wall.

“He simply insinuated that I couldn’t fight. I simply demonstrated I could.”

Eris shrugged nonchalantly as if it was no big deal that you’d found him literally in the dirt, fists flying, with Cassian.

Which now resulted in him having a black eye, busted lip and bloody nose. Not to mention the amount of bruises on his body he probably had.

Eris was trained and qualified to fight, but Cassian was one of the strongest and most powerful Illyrians to exist. All that to say, he held his own extremely well.

You had been proud enough to see that Cassian looked as roughed up as your mate, though.

Even though you had no issue with the Illyrian—often playing peacemaker between the two—you felt they’d both deserved to get a bit beaten up.

If there was anything the two were good at, it was riling one another up. You’d think that’d be enough for them to actually get along.

You were still working on it and hoping, honestly.

You said nothing, just pursed your lips and stared, unamused at Eris.

“Cauldron, he said he didn’t want me to risk cutting up my pretty hands,” Eris made a face, repeating the remark.

“He was trying to get a rise out of you, idiot,” you glared.

“I’m the General of Autumn Court’s forces! He’s the idiot if he thinks I can’t—or won’t—fight.”

“Children, I’m dealing with children,” you mumbled.

You felt a nudge against your hip and looked down, seeing a gray, sleek face peering up at you.

Smokey, one of Eris’s smokehounds—appropriately named, if you did say so yourself—had followed the two of you into his room. You swore he was here for the drama.

Your eyes drifted to the door as you saw a second hound meander in. Lux, one of the females that liked to stay indoors like her brother, Smokey, came to sit next to you too, on your other side.

“Frankly, I’m offended you’re not taking my side on this,” he huffed.

“Being your mate doesn’t mean I kiss your ass,” you shot back.

“Funny, you sure do a lot of kissing when it comes to my—”

“Finish that sentence Eris Vanserra and you’ll have another black eye,” you snarled.

You weren’t in the mood for him trying to be cute.

“Why do you bait him? You know he’s only going to do it back and then you’re both in bad moods.”

Eris shrugged again.

“It’s fun.”

“Oh so if I needled you constantly would that be fun for you?”

“Yes because we’d end up just fucking it out,” he said plainly, a smirk that was more out of stubborn anger than playful teasing, spreading over his lips.

“Eris, I swear to the Mother!”

If he wasn’t going to take this seriously, you were planning to storm off and let him tend to his injuries all on his own. Let him stew in it.

“Being your mate doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you do,” you snapped, “It also means that I’m entitled to call you out when you’re being an asshole. Which, by the way, you are.”

“Cauldron, tell me how you really feel,” he grumbled.

“The fact you’re acting like I’m the unreasonable one here is what’s the most infuriating! Can’t you ever suck it up and just not rise to the bait like the grown fae male you’re supposed to be?”

“Again, where’s the fun in that?”

You let out a sound of pure exasperation, wild and frustrated as you threw your hands in the air.

“I should’ve left you there and let him beat you to a pulp.”

You didn’t mean the words in the slightest. In fact, all your mating instincts flared to life the moment your eyes landed on what was happening.

You’d felt the need to protect, the strain of seeing your soul bonded equal, injured and being injured. It was enough for a flare of annoyance at Cassian to shine bright even if you didn’t solely blame him for the incident.

Flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes though, at your words.

“I could handle him.”

You knew he could, too.

“When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll be in the bathroom cleaning up—then my study—if you feel like deigning me with your presence,” he drawled, nonchalantly, though anger still stiffened his body.

“Apologize for what? You should be apologizing to me for being a jerk! Do you not even realize the position you put yourself in? Was it worth threatening an important alliance you need just for a moment to one-up him? I’m angry because you usually wouldn’t stoop this low.”

His lips pressed tightly together and you knew he knew you were right.

He just wasn’t ready to admit it.

“Was it worth it to potentially piss off Cassian and Rhysand for a moment of nothing but pure male pride?!”

You fired your questions at him one after another, but all he did was keep that amber hued glare on you.

“You’d think a mate would be a little more supportive,” he huffed, sounding inconvenienced.

“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes, “You have no problem calling me out for my faults. Which, rightfully so—that’s how this should work,” you motioned between the two of you, alluding to your relationship, your mating bond.

He opened his mouth but you barreled on before he could speak.

“Your ego is hurt from Cassian’s barb and you’re taking it out on me. Now, that stubborn male pride is taking another hit because I won’t kiss your feet like you expect me to do. No, Eris I’m supposed to keep you honest, not blindly agree with you.”

He just stood straight, trying to shake off the anger and slip on the usual cold mask he wore for others.

He never did for you—unless you two fought.

“Oh come on, don’t you dare pull that cold act on me.”

“This discussion is over,” he said with finality, turning to leave.

“Like hell it is!”

He moved to the door, speaking without turning.

“Smokey, Lux, come.”

The male and female smokehounds just sat on either side of you, not moving a muscle.

Your brows raised, a little surprised. They typically were always obedient to Eris’s command.

He paused, turning.

“Smokey, Lux, come,” Eris repeated.

Again, they sat next to you, still as statues, like they were your own personal guards. You peered down at both, curiously.

Well, they were still breathing at least.

Besides that, they were preternaturally still.

“Smokey. Lux.”

Eris emphasized their names and it was Smokey that growled at him as Eris took a step forward. This time it was Eris’s brows that rose. His jaw also dropped, too.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” he huffed at the pair of hounds.

You were just as surprised since they were consistently loyal to Eris, even if you were his mate. Sure, they loved you in their own way, but Eris was ultimately their master.

Not today, apparently.

He walked closer to grab Smokey by the collar to lead him out, but just then, the hound evaded him, his sleek frame winding around Eris’s legs causing him to stumble.

At the same moment, moving quicker than you realized—after all they were smokehounds, it was in their blood—Lux had moved behind you, giving you a swift, yet strong, nudge against your ass with her nose.

You went careening forward at the exact time that Eris stumbled and the two of you literally fell into each other’s arms.

His hands landed on your waist steadying you—and himself too—as your hands gripped his toned biceps.

Despite having been angry at him just moments prior, seeing how beat up he was up close, softened some of that anger. Being in his arms didn’t help either. Even when angry, something about the close proximity of your mate always put you at ease.

You could feel the fury you’d felt before, melt from your body, dissipating like smoke. You watched the same happen to your mate, his features seeming to soften and relax, the tension in his body easing. His eyes searched your face and you could feel his own emotions softening, as you were sure he could feel your own doing.

Smokey and Lux sat at both yours and Eris’s feet, again one on each side as if they were ready to make another move if either of you tried to move.

You felt the bond in your chest pulling taut, something it always seemed to do in moments of intense emotion. You had never been sure if other mated pairs experienced a similar sensation or if it was unique to you and Eris. It always reminded you though that there was someone in this world that was truly your equal, carved into the very marrow of your bones—your soul, too.

That even if you and he argued or annoyed one another, there was still this special thing you shared. That no amount of anger, annoyance, exasperation or any other negative emotion could erase it, simply because there was also deep love behind the bond.

“I’m sorr—”

“I should apologize.”

The both of you spoke over one another, chuckling, the tension leaving the air around you.

“You first,” you said.

“Just…I’m sorry,” Eris said, truly regretful, “You were right.”

Up close, you could see the scratches, cuts and bruises that were too slow to heal with whatever leftover healing magic he possessed. You knew you’d be tending to them in a few minutes anyways. After all, it went against every instinct ingrained in you to not care for him.

“I should’ve been more understanding,” you relented, “You were angry and not thinking. I probably would’ve done the same thing in your position.”

“No, you were right. I shouldn’t have risked things for a moment of anger. I could’ve proven myself in better ways,” he lamented.

“You’ll fix this, I know it. I believe in you,” your murmured, fingertips stroking his brow.

His eyes slipped closed, relishing your gentle and loving touch. You took the opportunity to press your lips gently—tenderly, due to the split lip—against his. He smiled softly against your mouth before you pulled back.

“For what it’s worth I was proud of you for getting some hits in yourself. Maybe you did humble him just a bit.”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly.

“That being said, no more provoking fights. Especially with Cassian, okay? I’d like you in one piece, pretty boy.”

“Okay, I hear you,” he said, solemnly.

“Cute trick they pulled though,” you smiled, gaze dropping to the hounds that were now laying at your feet.

“They are crafty,” Eris smirked, “Gotta give them that.”

“Sounds just like their owner,” you quirked a brow.

“Who do you think taught them?” he asked, almost innocently.

You let out a breathy giggle, not surprised in the least. You felt more settled, less off kilter and at peace since the hounds had made sure neither of you walked away angry.

“Guess that answers your question. They weren’t on any one side. They’re on both of our sides,” you said.

Eris had to chuckle.

“The little matchmakers.”

You sighed.

“Come on, I’ll help you clean up. And if you’re really good, I might even kiss your injuries better.”

His pale face brightened significantly.

Eris’s laughter carried down the hallway as he followed you to the bathroom, laughing at a flippant remark you’d made.

Both smokehounds followed behind the two of you as well, absolutely pleased at their job well done.

Tag List: @lilaclichh @batboyslutt @seasttarr @lomahdu @alexof90s @smol-grandpa @achelliescomedown @harvest-bunny @less-spice @ravencharming @melsunshine @kittiness12 @she-reads768 @garricktavisfanclub @asteria33 @apenasandorinha @knoxic @kathren1sky-blog @talesofadragon @watermelomsuger @dakotali @frostystarlight @bxm-2121 @idk1027 @saltedcoffeescotch @slut4acotar @chasing-autumns-chill @bookwormysblog

[acotar-writing]

Started writing the Eris x Reader modern AU earlier and it's honestly so much fun. It's a little weird and new, but I'm having the time of my life.

[acotar-writing]

Should I try writing an Eris x Reader modern AU?

[acotar-writing]

For the past two evenings I've been swimming in the pool, since the heat wave here is insane right now. And I was super inspired to write an Eris x Reader one shot, but after the Ablaze disaster I'm so unsure if anybody is even reading those at the moment. Ugh.

[stephsarchives]

Feysand is endgame

Nessian is endgame

Elucien is endgame

Gwynriel is endgame

Abracadabra✨