Adventure Awaits

Just a girl in her late 20s going back to her roots reading all things fantasy and what not 💗✨

[erin-bo-berin]

Animals

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 2 to Tell Me Why

After one night spent together, Eris finds he can’t stay away from his mate. While things heat up between the two, many insecurities surface as they grow closer and lay themselves bare to one another—in more ways than one.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Word Count: 14.4k

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, slight choking if you squint, oral(m), orgasm denial, fingering, pure filth, Eris being a typical autumn court male in bed, Eris pov, angst, uncertain bond trope, Eris being a simp, most plot is pillow talk, soft Eris, canon Eris trauma, a tiny bit of canon material, some canon quotes

A/N: Continuing on theme for song titles as the title, I thought Animals by Maroon 5 while definitely being an Eris coded song, fit these two well. I contemplated making this one a long, last part, but liked how it ended where it did instead. So there will be one more part to this little saga. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list and I’d be happy to add you!

•••

Eris had been nothing but a fool to expect that once would be enough.

He’d known what it was like to be stretched thin. To be under pressure. To be overwhelmed with all he was responsible for.

None of it compared to the ache he currently felt.

It was more than just an ache, though. It was so many things wrapped in one. It felt like a hollow cave in his chest that she had no idea she’d dug. It felt like a howl of desire and need that would only be satiated by her. It felt like an overwhelming urge to protect that she most likely didn’t need, from him especially.

It felt like everything without her was wrong.

It was like the mating bond knew he’d tried to trick it. Knew that just one night together wouldn’t do anything but make him crave her more. Crave her body, her mind, her soul.

It went so much deeper than physical desire. He had an innate need to have her—every part of her.

But he knew better. Happiness was not meant for him. He’d been born into a rotting court, raised to believe in the worst of people. To always assume there was a game at hand, treat everything and everyone as suspicious and never get too close to anyone.

It was easier to appear like a villain than to be vulnerable. To risk everything. Unfortunately, that meant he’d learn how to protect everything personal too. Maybe protect it a little too well.

She didn’t need a mate like that. One who was better at political plays than emotions. One who was better at convincing people he was as horrific as his father than to show deep down he’d once been a dreamer like his mother, how he sometimes still was.

He was cold, cruel, calculating. She was warm, loving and sincere, loyal beyond belief. She was so fucking brave.

And he was a coward.

But that didn’t stop the way he yearned for her. To wish things could be different. Even if he’d tried to accept that she’d be better off without him.

Which is why he avoided the Night Court for an entire month after he’d left her room that night. He’d winnowed away just outside her door, knowing if he didn’t, he’d have turned around and walked back in there to her. Gotten back into bed with her. Held her, fucked her, made love to her, over and over.

But he once again ignored that instinct that seemed to needle him constantly nowadays.

Which was exactly why he’d postponed meetings with Rhysand, made excuses for why he couldn’t go to the Night Court, or meet with him.

Things had still remained quiet as the summer progressed. Eris still remained his father’s confidant, relaying any information of use he’d acquired, to Rhysand. But Eris knew this tentative peace wouldn’t last forever. Koschei would eventually make a move, Beron would do something. He didn’t trust his father one bit. After all, he knew the type of creature his father was. He knew he’d one day unleash hell on Prythian, somehow.

And gods if that didn’t terrify him. Not only for the future of his court and the faerie lands, but for his mate.

It was that damn primal instinct to protect her, even though she was definitely more than able to protect herself. He’d seen the strong female she’d grown into over the months.

She still trained with Cassian, Azriel, Nesta and the other females. At least she had been the last time he’d seen her, which had been when he was balls deep inside her and—

Nope. He didn’t need to remember that. At least not right now, as he waited in the Spring Court for Rhysand. He’d finally managed to get Eris to meet and that was only because Feyre had been dying for some Autumn Court honey, which of course, Eris brought for the High Lady.

It was the least he could do. Anything to stay in the good graces of the Night Court leaders. He needed all the allies he could get in this dangerous game he played.

“If you didn’t bring the honey, I’m gonna hear it from my mate.”

Rhysand’s low drawl announced his arrival and Eris turned, finding the High Lord had appeared behind him.

Eris simply motioned to the leather satchel he’d set at his feet when he’d arrived earlier.

“A dozen jars of the best from the Autumn Court,” Eris intoned dryly.

“Speaking of mates,” Rhysand began.

A low snarl came from Eris, with a simple word.

“Don’t.”

“Did you enjoy playing with her?” Rhysand asked, head tilting.

Eris’s shoulders only stiffened at the accusation.

“I wouldn’t pl-”

“Not the type of playing I meant,” he cut him off.

Eris just stared at him coolly, jaw clenching.

“What or who I do, is none of your business.”

Rhysand just casually slipped his hands into his pockets, surveying him.

“Maybe not. But she’s not been acting like herself lately. Quieter, contemplative, like something is constantly on her mind. You haven’t been to the Night Court in over a month, despite having actual meetings I’ve tried to contact you for. It’s not a big leap to assume both things are connected.”

Eris stayed silent.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but she’s not okay. She goes through the motions. Clearly you care about her and clearly there is something going on that none of us at home are equipped to handle.”

Eris rubbed a hand along his jaw, looking away.

“Is it that bad to have a mate that you have to stay away?” the High Lord questioned.

Eris’s eyes shot to him, knowing flames likely sizzled in them as his anger flared. His lip curled in disdain.

“Not everyone is as lucky as you to have things go your way.”

“You’re a fool,” was all Rhysand answered with.

“Excuse me?”

But Rhysand wasn’t trying to provoke him. He could tell the male was serious.

“Bedding her wasn’t going to help things. It was only going to make them worse.”

It wasn’t like what Rhysand was saying wasn’t true. Eris had already figured that out long ago.

“Maybe next time, you can actually come visit. Put her out of her misery. By the looks of it, you too.”

Rhysand didn’t wait for his answer, just grabbed the satchel of goods and winnowed away, leaving Eris with his thoughts.

•••

It was a week later that Eris actually stepped foot in the Night Court, Rhysand flying him somewhere called the House of Wind.

He didn’t know what he had the hardest time processing, the fact that Rhysand and Feyre allowed him to come to Velaris or how awkward it was to have to be flown by Rhysand. He’d had no memory of his rescue from a few months earlier, so he didn’t remember being flown to the Night Court by one of the Illyrians. Although, he halfway remembered hearing Lucien talk about having to fly once with Cassian and another time with Azriel. He’d have paid good money to have seen that.

Either way, he guessed it was the perks of having a mate who was part of the Night Court.

Apparently this house belonged to Nesta and Cassian, but they were away in the Illyrian Steppes for whatever reason. But she was here. According to Rhysand, she lived here most of the time with the mated couple.

His eyes scanned the area distractedly, an elegant enough dining room to the left of the glass doors upon entry, red walls lining the hallway. He only halfway took it in, her the only thing on his mind. He found the stairs easily, heading the two levels downwards where her bedroom was—something Rhysand had informed him of before he took off.

He took a deep breath when he reached the arched wooden door and knocked on it. He heard shuffling, then the door opened and there she was. Something instantly loosened in him. As if he’d spent the entire month with every single muscle locked up.

She looked surprised to see him.

Then of course, that’s when he noticed she was in a short, satin nightgown. Why was this female always in her nightwear every time he’d seen her lately?

And Cauldron, the Mother really had a sense of humor, or hated him. Probably both. The tiny thing with its nearly invisible thin straps was of course, red.

Now was really not the time to instantly harden, but alas, that part of him tended to have a mind of its own.

His gaze dropped to her hand where she held a book she’d clearly been in the middle of reading, her finger marking her place in between the closed pages. He resisted the urge to smile at it. Of course, his mate ended up loving to read too. Fitting for him.

His eyes narrowed in curiosity at the cover. A half naked male with a female draped over him illustrated it. Something told him it wasn’t likely to be an entirely innocent book. Definitely not his own normal taste in books, that’s for sure. He was tucking that knowledge away for later.

“Oh. Hi?”

Her greeting came out more of a question than a statement. He didn’t blame her.

“Hi.”

They were both silent. He had no idea what he was going to say. It’d probably have been a good idea if he’d thought this through a little better prior to arriving.

“What are you doing here?”

Her question gave him flashbacks to a month ago, how similar to that time this felt, though that was in the Moonstone Palace, atop the Court of Nightmares.

“I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to…” he exhaled sharply, a hand coming up to run through his hair.

“Wanted to..?” she prompted.

“To apologize. For what happened.”

Her expression flattened and he could feel his panic rising. Cauldron, how was it he was great at playing court politics yet couldn’t even talk to her without sounding like an idiot?

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” Eris tried to further explain.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you around here,” she noted.

“I’ve been busy.”

Sort of.

She just nodded, peeking back over her shoulder into the room, at the bed. The sheets were rumpled from where she’d just been laying in them. She was probably wondering how fast she could get rid of him so she could crawl back into bed. In that red nightgown, probably riding up her thighs depending on the way she laid, reading that book which he suspected had quite a bit in common with the things they’d done a month ago.

He really needed to focus.

He almost missed her question because of his wandering mind.

She’d turned back to him, eyes raking up his torso to his eyes, like she was feeling him out.

“Was it really that terrible?” she asked softly.

Eris’s brows furrowed in confusion. She answered before he could ask her what she meant.

“The sex.”

He had to keep from gaping. Did she really think that? Because no, absolutely not. Gods, no. It was the furthest thing from terrible.

It had been mind meltingly good. So good that if they both hadn’t been so thoroughly wrecked he would’ve pushed back into her after the first time and taken her all over again just so he could fill her a second time.

“What? No! Absolutely not.”

She looked skeptical.

“I enjoyed myself,” he added, honestly.

All he could remember was how perfectly they fit together, the way she felt around him, her absolutely divine noises. He had to bite back a groan when he felt his already hard cock react to said memories.

She didn’t say if she had too or not, just watched him. But he could see it in her eyes, the memories that were flashing in her mind as well.

“I really am sorry that I left you like that. I was afraid,” he swallowed hard, “Afraid you regretted it.”

“I didn’t though.”

Just being near her made his entire body hum in delight. He obviously knew what caused it, but he wasn’t complaining. It felt like such immense relief after being separated from her for more than a month.

The air between them was loaded. Of things not said, things desired, an inevitable pull between the two of them. His amber gaze dipped just briefly and he bit the inside of his cheek, the groan rising up his throat too quickly at what he saw.

The outline of her peaked nipples poked through the red fabric on her body. He could hear how her breathing had quickened. Whether from the memories, him or both, but to know she was aroused just from being around him, alone, nearly made his knees buckle.

Though, he had to admit, it wasn’t like the same wasn’t happening to him. He was so hungry for her it was like he’d never touched her before.

“Tell me,” he began, “Do the scenes in that live up to reality?”

He jerked his chin towards the book she held in her hand and definitely had to bite back a smile when a guilty little flush creeped along her cheeks. She was so adorably perfect.

Gods, he really had missed her.

He hummed, amused. The air between them was just as charged, just as thick, but took on a teasing tone as she laid the book on the nightstand, still cracked open, spine facing up.

“Didn’t peg you for a romance reader. Such scintillating reading.”

Any other time, to any other person, his words—maybe even his tone—would sound mocking, maybe even cruel, loaded with derision. But now? It was filled with pure amusement, loving teasing. Maybe because he liked to watch her squirm.

He sure knew how to make her squirm in other ways, at least.

He grinned, crossing his arms, fully leaning in the doorway.

“Is there a reason you’re here other than to be smug and stand there looking all pretty?” she mused.

He couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at her teasing tone, but also the compliment he wasn’t sure she even realized fell from her mouth.

“Aw sweetheart, I’m flattered. You think I’m pretty?”

“Pretty cocky,” she commented.

Desire once again flared low and deep. He definitely felt more at ease now being in close proximity to his mate, but natural human desire mixed with fae mating desire was a deadly force to reckon with. It was like a blaring alarm going off in his mind to claim her again.

“If my memory serves me right—and it typically always does—you seemed to be a big fan of my cock, last time,” he drawled, lazily.

Truly it was amazing they’d been this close in proximity for this length of time and hadn’t managed to tear each other’s clothes off yet, but something told him that wasn’t going to last long. Which was probably a good thing for him because he wasn’t beneath begging on his knees for the chance to be inside her again.

He wasn’t entirely sure what she saw in his expression, but with a flicker over his face she mumbled her next comment.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you vanished for a month, after all.”

His head tilted curiously, flaming hair falling even more over a shoulder.

“How come?”

Her eyes finally met his when she unabashedly answered.

“Because by the time I woke the next morning, I already wanted you inside of me again.”

Another reason why he’d left, honestly. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to exercise any sort of self control.

It was a dangerous game, pretending this was just something casual or even just a passing fancy, when deep down it meant so, so much more to him. He had to steady his breathing, make sure his voice didn’t crack despite knowing well how to always stay composed in any situation. Apparently all that knowledge vanished from his brain, around her.

“And now?”

He prowled closer, kicking the door shut behind him. She looked like she was considering her next words very, very closely.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.”

A slow grin spread on his face, absolutely delighted at her words.

“I made that much of an impression on you huh? What, your book isn’t doing it for you?”

She huffed, glaring at him though the heat of anger wasn’t in it. No, it was the heat of desire.

“Eris,” she warned, eyeing him warily, but not stopping him from approaching.

He finally stopped in front of her, peering down into her face. His fingers cradled her chin, lifted her face.

“You want me to fuck you again, pretty thing?” he purred.

Her breath caught in her chest, eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His lips hovered over hers, teasing but not yet kissing her. Instead his head dipped, nipping at her jaw, one hand moving up to splay across her hip.

“That can be arranged.”

His lips left a trail of fire along her jaw and down her neck where he groaned into her skin the moment he felt her palm against his aching cock.

And here he thought he was the one in charge.

Her palm pressed harder against the bulge, sliding upwards, fingers giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You were saying?” she quipped.

Fuck, Eris wasn’t sure he could remember his name let alone what he was just saying.

“Always so smug until the moment I get my hands on you,” she teased.

There was definite fire in her too, despite being just as breathless for him—as he currently was for her—only moments earlier.

“You’re a dangerous little thing.”

“And you’re the one back for seconds,” she grinned, pulling her face back to look at him.

She didn’t seem smug or even overly seductive, just honest. Even a little vulnerable. He swore he felt his heart in his throat as he finally leaned down to kiss her.

It was gentle at first. A homecoming, an apology, an I missed you. But the desire, the primal urge the bond exacerbated in his veins wasn’t going to stay quiet for long. The moment his head slanted and he deepened the kiss, things quickly picked up.

Both hands grabbed her by the hips to tug her to him, but didn’t stay there long before they reached down, grabbing her ass. A surprised giggle burst from her into the kiss and he found himself smiling against her lips.

Had he mentioned how perfect she was, lately?

It was all heat and heavy breaths, hands flying over one another like it had been way too long since they’d done this. Which, in all fairness, it had been.

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of the mahogany vest that he wore over his billowy sleeved cream shirt, struggling at even the first layer to get to his bare skin.

Mother above, why had he choose today of all days to wear so many damn clothes?

He aided her, finally getting the garment off before his fingers flew over the buttons of his shirt. The way she looked right now, he was positive if he’d left her to it, she’d have ripped every last button off the shirt.

She groaned in approval when he finally got the shirt open, arms bending backwards to shuck it off. Her hands were instantly on his stomach, lips pressed to his collarbone as he let her take a very long, delicious moment to reacquaint herself with his bare torso.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

“You sure you’re ready to play with me, sweetheart?”

“Let me know when I’m the one moaning your name,” she purred.

He couldn’t lie and say it didn’t excite him when she could match his sharp words. But hers were much more lethal. It was almost innocent because she didn’t do it for the sake of playing a game—she meant it. It was organic, heartfelt and only came out every now and then. But he loved it so much.

Red fabric bunched in his fists as he lifted the garment up, tearing it off quickly.

“You, my dear, seem to own a suspicious amount of red clothing,” he smirked into her skin, leaving nips along her neck as he palmed her breasts.

“The House picked this one out for me.”

He stilled, blinking, trying to figure what that meant. He retreated from her enough to peer down at her with a puzzled expression.

“The Hou—?”

“Is enchanted, somehow. Cauldron, Eris. Not the point right now,” she grumbled, trying to pull his lips back to hers.

His rumbling laugh vibrated against her lips and she groaned, pulling him closer, hands back to his waistline to tear his pants off.

“So needy,” he rumbled, after breaking their kiss, hands covering hers to aid.

“Yeah, well, look at you,” she huffed, “Can you blame me for wanting to climb you like a tree?”

His lips twitched with a smirk.

“Only if you blame me for being enchanted by your beauty.”

Her hands fell away as he discarded his pants and underwear, clearly eager to get things moving. He wrapped his hand around his hard length giving a few slow pumps. He watched her watch his hand. He could’ve sworn she actually drooled a little, she looked so hungry.

“Gods, I was certain I had dreamed that last time.”

She was dangerous to a male’s pride with compliments like that. The fire in him burned hotter for her.

“Definitely not a dream,” he shot her a wink and watched as she bit her lip in response.

His hand dropped and fingertips of one hand brushed along her lace covered core. She melted into his touch. He hummed, opposite fingers curling into the waistband of the underwear all while his thumb pressed down on her clit through the fabric.

He couldn’t even describe the feeling it gave him to know she was this eager for him, craved his touch so much that she was bucking into it desperately. How wet she’d get for him. His thumb pressed down once more just to hear that sweet little moan again.

He knew what he’d thought last time, not wanting to reduce her to the way he’d taken past lovers. But today, he craved that. A part of him knew it would be otherworldly with her anyways and not even begin to be comparable to anyone else. Still, he was almost hesitant to voice his request. Her lips had found his jaw, sucking lightly even as he stroked her slowly through her underwear. He finally exhaled his wish into the air.

“I really want you on your hands and knees for me.”

She pulled back, a small grin on her face.

“Then you shall have me that way.”

He practically growled as he snatched her up, walking her to the bed blindly as he gave her a searing kiss, tongue meeting hers briefly. When he reached the edge of the bed, he let go of her, watching her drop with a bounce on the bed. He had her underwear ripped down her legs before she could even shift from her back.

“Now who’s the eager one?” she taunted, turning over, but he didn’t miss the smirk on her face.

“It’s been a month too long, little fox,” he replied, coming up behind her, lifting her hips to the perfect level, where he stood behind her.

She raised an amused brow, looking over her shoulder, “If anyone is a fox here, it’s you, Eris.”

He swore he still got chills sometimes, hearing his name come from her lips.

“Someone’s mouthy today,” he bit back a smile, knowing in a few minutes he’d likely reduce her to nothing but whimpers.

He’d played his fair share of games throughout the centuries, but none he enjoyed quite as much as he did this with her.

She arched her back, pressing her hips back, eagerly awaiting him. He made her wait a little longer just because he could.

“Need something?” he smirked, one hand brushing up the outside of one thigh as he leaned down to place a lone kiss at the center of her lower back.

“Yes, you,” came her reply through gritted teeth.

“What’s that?”

“Your cock, Eris.”

Her head had whipped around again, full of that fire she let him see occasionally. The kind that came more from pure spunk and sass rather than his actual, magical counterpart.

“I love it when you’re polite to me,” he said on the tail end of a wicked grin as he pushed into her in one smooth movement.

“Oh gods,” her moan was low and throaty and fuck did it send a bolt of heat through him.

He had that same sensation as before, of incredible rightness, like he was exactly where he belonged. That thread whispered to him now that this female was all he needed to truly feel complete.

“Mm, this little cunt is incredible,” he rasped.

He thought he’d missed her, but nothing compared to actually having her again. His eyes roamed her naked form underneath him. The way her hair fell towards the bed from her bent head. One hand slid up the smooth expanse of her spine as he fell into a pace that had them both reacting.

Whether it was the bond, the insatiable need or the fact it had been too long without her, he found himself not fully satisfied and picked up the pace, fingers squeezing into her hips.

“This okay?” he bit out, eyes sliding closed at the sensation of her so tight around him.

But he would still make sure she was okay. He always would.

“Y-Yes,” she stuttered, hands clutching the sheets and the sight nearly made him groan.

He halfway wondered if she’d pictured him, imagined him when she’d been reading her book earlier.

“Good,” he mumbled, hand sliding the rest of the way up her back, tangling in her hair as he yanked her head firmly to the side.

“‘Cause I’m just getting started, sweetheart.”

He didn’t have to ask if she was okay with the motion, the answering, sharp cry of pleasure was all the answer he needed.

He tugged her back against his cock in time with his thrusts, hitting, what he clearly knew, had to be incredible spots from the way she keened for him. He wanted to be the reason she made those sounds, forever.

“Eris, please,” she begged.

“Use your words,” he cooed, thumb stroking her hip, pausing long enough to grind into her deeply.

“Harder. More. Give me everything you’ve got,” she urged.

His eyes rolled in his head at her plea. She was gonna kill him. So he gave in to her desires, giving her everything she wanted, his own grunts increasing in frequency as he pounded into her.

He would say it forever if he had to, she was a fucking dream.

The slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, their bodies clashing repeatedly as they both chased inevitable ecstasy. He groaned as he thrust harder, faster, pulling her hips back into his as he peered down, watching his cock disappear into her over and over.

“Fuck, fuuuck,” he groaned deeply at the sight, throwing his head back.

He didn’t miss the way she clenched around him in response to the moan that ripped from his throat. With a tug of her torso, she was upright, on her knees, back pressed against his strong chest. His lips hovered near her ear, once again grinding deep into her, since she’d loved it so much the first time.

“You like hearing what you do to me?” he uttered lowly against her ear, hips rolling into hers.

This angle wasn’t as deep as the previous one, but the close proximity was just as intoxicating.

“What about me doing all the things I’m sure your little book made you imagine, hm?”

“Eris,” she gasped.

He snapped his hips harder.

“I do them better.”

“Yes,” she panted, head falling back against his shoulder, “You do.”

His chuckle was wicked. Low and pleased as one hand slid around her frame to rest flush against her stomach, pressing her as close as she could get.

“Still want everything I’ve got?” he challenged her.

She nodded, eyes closed mid moan even though she’d turned her head in his direction. He bent down, mouth covering hers and swallowed the moan. The hand on her stomach slid upwards, between her breasts until his hand rested flush against her neck.

She broke the kiss on a gasp and he faltered, eyes cutting down to her.

“Sure?” he checked once more.

“Yes,” she whimpered.

He didn’t squeeze hard, but Eris’s fingers tightened just enough over her pulse point. He felt her inner muscles flutter at the action and he let out a pleased grunt.

He was ready for her to milk him dry.

“Oh you like that,” he growled, fingers once again tightening slightly as his hips pistoned.

Eris thought he could actually die a happy male, right here and now. If this is how he went out, right in this second, buried in his mate in the middle of the wildest, hottest sex he’d ever had, it’d be completely worth it.

She reached back with one hand, tangling it in his tresses, fingers clutching tight as he briefly squeezed her throat one last time, her cunt clenching around him so tightly it almost caused him to see stars.

“Gods, you feel so incredible,” he groaned, unable to say anything else but the full truth in the moment, “You gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?”

She couldn’t answer with more than a whiny yes and tug on his hair. His hand fell from her throat, muscled arm wrapping around her in a quick, intimate squeeze extremely contrasting to their rough fucking before his touch found her clit, ready to send her over the edge.

He was gonna fill her up, watch his release leak from her and then fuck it back into her. It was like he’d lost all sense of sanity and all he could think about was taking her over and over, in every way and position he could think of.

He could feel his own release building at the base of his spine and he doubled his efforts to send her spiraling.

She came with an almost scream, ripped raw from her throat, his name the first thing off her lips. If that hadn’t been what ended him it would’ve been how hard she squeezed him as her body tensed from the overwhelming pleasure. He came a few thrusts later, his own groan of ecstasy loud in her ear as he filled her with everything he had.

Afterwards, he actually had to take a moment to reorient himself because he actually couldn’t think straight. His arms tightened around her protectively when he felt her going boneless in his embrace.

Gods, he’d thought the first time had been amazing. But if that had been amazing, this had been a hundred times that. He pulled out slowly, trying not to think too hard of the whine he heard from her from the loss. He might end up repeating what they just did, about five more times, if he did. With a gentle touch, he aided her back against the sheets instead of letting her collapse fully.

“I think you blacked out there for a minute,” he teased warmly.

She peered an eye open “Me? You sounded like you were seeing the Mother herself back there.”

Probably because he practically had.

His gaze fell between her legs that were inadvertently parted for him. Watched how his release slid from her, how messy she was from the both of them.

“What’re you doing?” she eyed him.

He finally sank to the bed, realizing if he stood any longer his knees just might actually give out. He couldn’t say for sure if it was from the vigorous sex or the female laid out in front of him.

“Admiring my work,” he hummed, satisfied.

Though his tone remained cool, casual and even playful, his heart thundered at the implication of it all. It screamed mine nearly as loud as the mating bond did.

His hand grazed up her thigh, thumb collecting some of the milky substance, bringing it up to her clit, rubbing a tight circle.

“Cauldron!” she jerked, hissing, hand instantly shooting to his wrist as he smirked and removed his touch, “Don’t do that right now.”

“Couldn’t resist having a little more fun.”

She rolled her eyes, but a grin was on her face. He felt his face softening as he leaned down, hand on her cheek, thumb caressing her jawline and kissed her sweetly. It wasn’t anywhere as heated nor messy as their previous ones this evening, but it carried a lot of weight for Eris.

Because Rhysand was right. This just kept making the unanswered bond so much worse. But damn him if he didn’t want to keep pressing his luck when it came to her. When he broke away, she looked almost as breathless as when they’d just finished earlier.

He thought she’d ask about the kiss or maybe to define this. Something completely different than what came out.

“Why does it look like you always carry the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

He had no clue how to answer other than truthfully.

“Because sometimes it feels like I do.”

She was silent a beat.

“You can always find rest in me. If you want.”

He didn’t know her exact implication. Whether she meant through sex or more. He didn’t know if it was the right time to ask, so he didn’t.

“How come you wear that mask of coldness for everyone but me?”

He blinked. She was just throwing surprise after surprise at him tonight. Well, given how he’d just currently ruined the both of them, he figured it only fair.

“Maybe because you’d have seen through the bullshit instantly. Maybe because for the first time you make me feel like I don’t have to be cold.”

She reached for his hand, the one that had rested on her hip without even realizing it. She laced her fingers with his.

“You don’t.”

•••

A week later, Eris was back in the Night Court.

He didn’t miss the way Rhysand tried to hide his smirk, though they did actually have some business to discuss. When they were through though, he could hear the clear, teasing undertone of the High Lord’s remark.

“Hope you enjoy your visit, Eris.”

He’d spent the entire week feeling restless, fidgety and like a bowstring stretched taut. His mind ran a constant slideshow of images—memories from the week prior. A maelstrom of emotions had gathered in his chest that were hard to pick apart, let alone decipher.

Though he often spent the night with his hand wrapped around himself to the memories, it often seemed to do little to help.

He couldn’t stop remembering a lot of things, if he was honest with himself.

But most importantly was the trust she’d put in him. The trust to the point he’d unleashed himself unlike he ever had before. Sure, it wasn’t his first time doing such things, but a part of him always felt like he had to hold back, in the past. Whether in concern of causing harm or fear of being completely vulnerable by fully showing that side of himself, he couldn’t say.

But the way it so effortlessly went from sexy and tender the first time they’d been together to rough and wild the second, did something to him. It just exacerbated the sense that being with her was as easy as breathing.

What he remembered the most was the intimate conversation they’d shared at the end, though. They hadn’t talked much after she’d taken his hand—another thing that had messed him up this past week—but the words exchanged meant so much to him.

”You can always find rest in me.”

That single sentence had played on repeat in Eris’s head for eight days now as he worked to sneak back to the Night Court.

It was odd how accurately she’d described it though because both times now, when he was with her, it was like the world ceased to forget. He so easily forgot all about all the horrible things he’d witnessed, been subjected to, were surrounded by. All the responsibilities that weighed heavy on him. All the grief and regret he carried. Many days, it seemed too much, but for far too long he just kept going, despite that.

Which is why she was like a balm to his soul when she was once again in his arms.

Or, well, technically, when she was on her knees in front of him with her lips wrapped around his cock.

He’d barely gotten in the door before her mouth was on his and he’d grunted at the surprise lunge before kissing her back just as urgently. It wasn’t long until she was dropping to her knees, pants already halfway down his legs before his brain could catch up to even form words.

“Sweetheart, you really don’t have—Cauldron boil me,” he groaned, not even able to get his protest out before her tongue was gliding along the length of him.

She pulled back long enough to look up at him.

“I know. I want to. Besides, you’ve given me three toe curling orgasms now, I think it’s time I repay the favor.”

Her smirk was wicked and he knew then and there no one else was ever going to undo him like she did. He also didn’t miss the hunger in those pretty eyes, signifying she wanted to do this and not just as a favor for him.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he smirked.

Her tongue was languid and controlled as she slid it around the tip before flattening it across the broad head. He grunted in approval, watching her with lidded eyes.

His head instantly fell back the moment she took more of him into his mouth. The slick, wet, heat reminded him that much of that glorious cunt of hers he was quickly becoming addicted to. His fingers flew to her hair, tangling them into her hair, palm flush against her scalp.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, resisting the urge to push her head down further.

She’d let him know if she was up for that, he knew.

Her hands slid up, holding him in place by the hips against the wall. They hadn’t even made it to her damn bedroom and instead were currently situated in the middle of the hallway.

Her mouth wasn’t wicked for just words alone, apparently.

His knees definitely almost buckled when her eyes lifted and stared right up at him as her mouth slid over his cock, cheeks hollowing as she sucked.

“Cauldron, look at you,” he whimpered, fingers tightening even more in her hair.

She moaned at his words, his tone, nails gently scraping over his abs, underneath his shirt. His breath stuttered out of him when her hand lifted to pump the rest of his length that she couldn’t fit in her mouth.

He simultaneously felt and heard her approving hum when his head thunked back with a thud against the wall, eyes screwed shut from the intense sensations. Her mouth and hand were working him perfectly in tandem. Her name fell from his lips repeatedly as if his brain couldn’t conjure any other word to speak aloud.

His hips bucked into her touch without his consent and he lifted his head, knowing he would regrettably have to stop her before he completely lost control. He uttered her name again, this time to get her attention.

“I wanna come inside you.”

Her lashes fluttered and she squirmed imperceptibly at his words, but she didn’t let up.

“I can’t—I won’t be able to control myself if you keep going,” he gritted out.

Her eyes met his amber ones and he saw the trust in them. That she wanted him to lose control if he wanted to, needed to. That she wasn’t afraid of him.

Much unlike the rest of the world.

The hand wrapped around him dropped as she pulled back and her mouth left his throbbing cock. She said nothing, but her hand reached up for the hand that wasn’t tangled in her hair, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. She then resumed her work, tongue gliding along his shaft before wrapping her lips around him once again.

He couldn’t stop it if he tried. His hips thrust forward, his other hand gripping into her hair as well as he shoved her head down simultaneously.

He nearly lost his mind as he fucked her mouth and she took everything he gave her with ease.

“Oh gods, yes, fuck, I’m gonna—fuck, that’s my good girl,” he moaned, absolutely rambling without even realizing what was coming out.

Or that he’d unintentionally called her his good girl, something that would hit him later when the haze of pleasure had cleared.

The vibration of her moan only sent him spiraling closer and with one last suck, he was struck with his release, like a shield to the head.

The noise he made as he came was anything but quiet. The blissed out groan echoed off the walls as he released down her throat in spurts, fingers slackening in her hair as his body relaxed.

“Fuck,” was all he could think to breathe.

When his eyes opened, he saw her sitting back on her heels, discreetly wiping her mouth with the side of a thumb and two thoughts crashed through his mind at once.

He was going to need half a century to recover from that, at least.

He had just called her his good girl.

If she’d heard it, she’d shown no signs of it.

“Halfway expected you to taste like pumpkin or something,” she mused.

He was clinging to the wall trying to stay upright. His chest was heaving, strands of his red hair falling in his face, stuck to the perspiration on his forehead, with his cock still out and all he could do was gape at her. It was a mixture between the miracle she’d just performed on him and what she’d said. Then he burst into a laugh that came from deep within his chest, it buzzing with its own warmth and happiness in the moment.

“What?” he asked, incredulously.

“You’re the heir to the Autumn Court. You’re telling me you’re not automatically gonna taste like apple cinnamon, pumpkin or some shit?” she deadpanned.

He still saw the gleam of familiar teasing in her eyes and his heart squeezed. He’d known for a while he was in love with her, but it was moments like this that he fell harder.

His eyes followed her movement as she finally stood again.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckled.

He watched her eyes sharpen as she took in his face and he suddenly felt self conscious under her stare.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” she whispered, her face incredibly soft, “It’s a gorgeous sight.”

Damn him, as if this female couldn’t make him stop breathing any more than she already had.

The moment stretched for a beat longer before she leaned up, pressing her lips to his briefly before pulling away.

“Well, are you going to come in and stay for a while?”

She was already walking back down the hall to her room, Eris following on her heels when she tossed her teasing remark over her shoulder at him, nonchalantly.

“Maybe I should start calling you pumpkin.”

•••

Eris may have needed a few minutes to recover from her mouth, but he wasted no time in shedding both of their clothes the moment they were on her bed.

It was like they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

Of course, he knew exactly what was stoking that fire. But, he didn’t know if it applied to her end. Maybe he was just a way for her to let off some steam. Maybe it was purely physical or for fun.

Either way, he didn’t want to stop.

“How quickly you’ve become my favorite part of the week,” he murmured against her throat, where his lips currently were.

He was crouched between her legs, hips pressed to hers, not yet having entered her, but teasing the life out of her as he slid his—once again, very hard—cock against her. Although, he was probably more so teasing himself because he was going insane.

But he wanted to draw it out. He knew it was worth it.

“Eris,” she whined, hips shifting.

It delighted him to see her so desperate for him.

“Hmm?” he hummed, mouth lowering to one of her breasts, tongue flicking over her nipple.

“You’re such a damn tease,” she complained.

“Can I help it if you’re a feast and a half?”

She scoffed, then moaned, feeling his fingers against her slick heat. With no warning, he slid not one, but two of his fingers in, deciding to give her some relief. Especially considering she’d been squirming and wet since before she made him come down her throat.

He loved when she was beyond words and was reduced to just whimpers and moans. She was desperate for release, he knew, so it would be cruel…but he decided to have a little fun with her.

If it was too much, he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to tell him.

Which is why when she grew closer to her inevitable orgasm, his mouth still lavishing her breasts, fingers curling inside her, he froze all movements with a smirk, especially at her frustrated cry.

“Aw, poor thing, you were almost there weren’t you?” he cooed, mockingly, lips nipping her jawline.

Her eyes narrowed at him, that spitfire demeanor in her, appearing again. He didn’t give her time to fire a response back though before his fingers curled deeply again, resuming their movement. The irritation immediately melted from her features, her hips lifting into his touch.

“Please,” she whimpered, fingers curling around his bicep.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he murmured, causing a second whimper to fall from her lips.

It may have sounded like the typical bedroom talk, but he was quickly learning the most honest truths fell from his lips when they were tangled in one another—like they knew they couldn’t keep sealed up inside him forever. It was nothing short of a miracle that something more incriminating hadn’t slipped yet.

His thumb rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves as his other fingers pumped in and out of her with ease. He could feel the tell-tale flutters that were out of her control, her body’s warning, gearing up for release. Once again, he stilled all movements, just shy of her orgasm hitting.

“Fuck you!” she spat, wild eyed and panting.

He chuckled darkly.

“Such a dirty mouth, sweetheart.”

“Eris Vanserra, I swear—”

“Relax,” he murmured, lips brushing over her cheek leaving barely a hint of a kiss there, “You know I always make sure you’re taken care of.”

And he did. His long, slender fingers resumed their movements, pumping, curling, taking her higher and higher. It took her no time at all to fall over the long awaited edge, probably harder and more intense than it would’ve been if he’d given it to her the first time. She opened her dazed eyes just as he pulled his fingers from his mouth, having licked them clean. Heat seared those eyes even more as her gaze followed the movement.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, finger twirling idly in one of the strands of his hair that fell forward towards her face. It was like an unconscious movement on her part as if it was such a natural thing for her to do that it required no thought. He didn’t mind it one bit.

“Everything okay?” he asked, tone falling more sincere.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He quirked a brow, but said nothing, waiting to see if she’d add anything else.

“I just don’t understand why I feel addicted to you. You give me everything I could ever imagine, it’s not like we’re not constantly doing this but it’s never enough. I don’t know why I feel like I’m missing something every time you’re not here, only to feel like everything makes sense again the moment you set foot back in the Night Court.”

Eris swallowed thickly. It was awakening in her.

This would be the perfect time to tell her. To tell her that he’d known she was his mate for close to a year now. But how does one even begin?

Still, he didn’t say it.

“I’m sorry. That’s probably way too heavy for what we’re doing,” she huffed a laugh, emotion thick in her voice.

Not exactly tears, but confusion, vulnerability, loss at not being able to understand what was happening in her.

“No.”

His voice was sharp enough that her gaze cut back to his, quickly.

“Never feel sorry for the things you feel. It is not a weakness to show emotion, no matter what anyone tells you.”

His voice was raw, the words something he needed to remind himself of often. Especially when he was raised under such cruelty that believed such a thing was nonsensical. It was part of the reason he was so good at keeping his true emotions in check. But, she had a way of keeping him honest.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, studying him. Her hands were gentle as they roamed his chest, actually giving him something akin to butterflies.

“Okay,” she whispered.

As Eris leaned down to kiss her and push into her in the same movement, he realized for the first time that this must truly be what home felt like.

•••

Those back to back incidents were exactly what led to him appearing in the Night Court weekly—so he could fuck his mate.

It was easier to be more flexible with his excuses for his very frequent appearances when Rhysand effortlessly covered it with diplomatic reasons. With Beron though, he often said he was off trying to strike trade deals with other courts to strengthen alliances.

Once, he even used the excuse that he was traveling to the continent to sniff out any possible and beneficial allies over there.

In actuality, Eris had spent three days buried in her.

But lately, things had grown more tense with his father. Just the other day he’d received a verbal lashing when he’d missed an important detail involving a mission some of his soldiers went on. His father accused him of being sloppy, distracted and lazy. Amongst other, harsher things.

He had been distracted and it had been a slip up, albeit a very minor one. A simple overlook of stationing the correct soldier, nothing as life or death as his father’s behavior made it seem.

But it was his father’s comment that haunted him long after.

“Keep this up and I may just have to figure out what’s distracting you so much.”

Over Eris’s dead body would Beron lay a finger on his mate. He would do anything to keep her safe.

So the afternoon of his next visit, the sex hadn’t been wild. It was reverent. As if he wanted to memorize her body, worship it, make her feel as loved as she unknowingly made him feel. His hands caressed her body, lips gentle on her soft skin, bodies moving in sync but at a slower rhythm until they both shattered with soft, but satisfied sounds, clinging to one another.

If she’d been expecting rougher from him, she sure didn’t act disappointed. He loved that she didn’t mind switching it up and was equally pleased with both sides of him.

But now, on a separate visit after another mind blowing joining, they laid next to one another, sweat still cooling on their skin. They’d never really held one another, but more like existed next to each other. That alone meant everything to him. Especially when he was so used to touch being so violent, so harsh. The only person in his life that was consistently loving in their touch was his mother. An occasional hug, a hand on the arm, a proud pat of his cheek.

This was new and different to him and he was still becoming acclimated to it, but he didn’t mind it.

Their arms almost touched where they laid and he stuck the pinky of one of his hands out far enough to trail lightly along the inside of her forearm.

“Why do they hate you so much?”

The question came as a surprise, more because of the abruptness of it, but he wasn’t upset at her for asking. They often laid and talked afterwards, about anything and everything, but it hadn’t been really serious since his first return visit.

He snorted in response.

“Sweetheart, the way they are now is mild compared to how they used to be. They’ve really never told you?”

She shook her head, surprising him with her answer.

“They said something about they didn’t want to taint you more for me, considering who you were or something equally as ominous.”

His breath hitched.

Was it possible they knew? He knew Rhysand obviously did, but he’d never considered the rest might.

“I was betrothed to Morrigan once,” he said lowly, his tone more serious.

Her small surprised gasp told him she truly knew nothing of this and wasn’t just trying to test him to see how much he’d really reveal to her.

“She’s beautiful. I can see why.”

Was that a hint of jealousy he detected in her tone?

“It was also 500 years ago. It wasn’t a betrothal for love, that’s for sure. Her father wanted to secure a potential ally out of my father and our court. Morrigan was 17. She also did not want that fate. Not that I could blame her. Who would want to be shackled to me? Or the infested court I’m to inherit?”

His eyes shut, pained. He wanted so much better in a lot of areas, the court he’d been born and raised in, being one of them. He didn’t see her expression until he opened his eyes. He was taken back to see the heat that filled her eyes and not of the desirous sort. More of the protective anger kind.

“You’re not as horrible as you seem to believe, Eris,” she said tightly, lips pressed together.

If she only knew. But it made his heart clench to know she saw him in such a positive light. He didn’t comment on the subject and continued on with the age old story.

“The Court of Nightmares has a very…horrible way of treating its females. Her father would’ve likely tied her to the marriage bed for me if he could’ve, especially with her still untouched and pure. So, she did the only thing a desperate person in her situation could do. While visiting Rhysand at the Illyrian camp he and the other two were raised, she took Cassian to her bed in hopes to ruin any chances of the betrothal going any further.”

She was staring at him in stunned silence, eyes wide. He sighed, hand pushing back errant strays of his hair, some red strands falling across the pillow where he laid.

“I really wish the story ended there.”

“But it didn’t,” she whispered, more of a statement than a question.

“No. It didn’t.”

His gaze went distant, staring up at the ceiling before he sat up against the headboard, sheet falling low on his hips. He looked down at her, knowing he was stalling, but having to prepare himself for the next portion of the story.

Even after all these centuries, it still made him sick to his stomach what her own family had done to her. The impossible position he found himself in where none of the presented choices were good. One of his legs slid up as he propped it up, leaning forward, forearm resting against the top of his knee. He took a moment to stare out the large windows of her bedroom across the room from the bed, the view immaculate. She didn’t push or pressure him, just waited quietly.

“When her father found out,” Eris started slowly, “He tortured her. Put a nail in her womb. Nailed a note to her saying that she was my problem now and dumped her on the Autumn Court border.”

He didn’t have to look at her to be able to sense how she was shaking slightly. Whether from anger, horror or maybe both. He was absolutely terrified to tell her this next part. Afraid of what she’d truly think of him after this.

It was like time was split between this single event. Before He Told Her and After He Told Her.

He’d never once considered to this point that she might reject the bond because he’d never let himself imagine a possibility of her ever knowing, but the fear of the possibility became so much more real at that moment.

“Eris?” she whispered, prompting him.

“I was out with some of my soldiers when I found her. I didn’t help her. I didn’t touch her. Didn’t let any of my soldiers touch her either. I knew the moment any of us did, she’d become the Autumn Court’s property.”

He finally turned then, feeling something shatter inside him at the horror that was on her face. He automatically assumed it was for him. He deserved it. He let her see the guilt, the sorrow and devastation that he was sure shone in his amber eyes.

“I left her there,” he whispered, “Azriel was the one who found her. He brought her here to live after that.”

He’d had his reasons for what he did. He’d never spoken of them because Morrigan knew the truth. He’d let the main occupants of the Night Court believe the worst of him for centuries. It was truly the best out of a really, really shitty batch of options.

The longer the silence stretched on, the more he felt his heart crack. He’d already knew she’d never love him, but now he knew she likely never could. Not after that.

“Eris.”

Her voice was firm and he looked back towards her once more.

“You didn’t put that nail in her. You didn’t torture her for making a decision for herself. You weren’t family that abandoned her.”

“I’d known for a long time, even at that age—barely just a man—what kind of creature my father is,” he whispered brokenly.

“So you saved her in the only way you knew how to.”

His nod was slight, almost imperceptible.

He didn’t know what was to come so many years later, but when his father had murdered Jesminda—wanted to murder his youngest son—Eris had an inkling that he’d saved Morrigan from a much, much worse fate.

“I would’ve never touched her,” he continued, “I ended the betrothal under no uncertain terms and gave her freedom. I knew why she did it, too. There are few things I regret. That is one of them. Either way, it still cost me.”

He figured while he was sharing, he might as well tell it all before she could open her mouth and kick him out. Or maybe demand he never darken her doorway—or bed—again. So he took a breath, dropping his arm and straightening his leg once again. He dropped his hands behind him, leaning his weight back.

“I’m sure you realize me and Lucien don’t exactly have the best of relationships.”

He was sure she knew of it. She’d seen them together in the same room before, though it didn’t happen often. When it did though, there was usually cool indifference towards him from the younger male.

She nodded, probably unsure where he was going with this.

“Beron murdered Lucien’s lover in front of him. Made him watch.”

His voice was as icy as the expression he usually wore for the world.

A choked gasp came from her and his jaw tightened at the memory. In that moment he didn’t even want to call that monster his father.

“Her name was Jesminda. She was a lesser Fae. Lucien was head over heels for her. I don’t think I’ve truly seen him happy since those days, when she was still alive.”

Her eyes wandered over his face, probably trying to figure out how best to respond.

“My father,” he bit out, “Expected my brothers and I to participate. I refused. I wasn’t there—when they did it. It was the first and only time I denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free…They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border. Tamlin and Lucien killed two of our brothers there.”

She watched him with quiet contemplation like the gears in her mind were turning over every last word he’d said.

“Your father tortured you?”

The broken, quiet whisper nearly undid him. Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own.

“You remember when you came to see me in the Hewn City after Briallyn took me?”

“Of course.”

“You asked me if someone hurt me.”

His weight shifted forward again, hands coming up to fidget in his lap.

“Your father tortured you?!”

His head turned quickly towards her, more than surprised to see the absolute fury in her eyes. Righteous, protective, instinctual anger. He could say one thing and one thing only.

“Yes.”

That anger burned hotter. If she’d had fire power like he did, he’d be worried that flames would be sparking from her skin at this very moment. That look held everything he knew she was thinking. She would kill Beron with her bare hands if she ever got the chance.

“He was furious that his alliance with Briallyn was destroyed. He interrogated me. Wanted to know how and why this court was involved. I told him nothing, gave him nothing about them. I’m serious about my alliance with your friends. He believed me. Didn’t stop him from torturing me after pumping me full of faebane so my injuries would heal slower. Probably most likely so he could continue to injure the ones already there. That wasn’t even the worst he’s done to me.”

Her face was nearly red, a shade he didn’t think he’d ever seen on her. This wasn’t the light flush of her cheeks when she was feeling shy or embarrassed. This wasn’t the deep flush of exertion after he’d satisfied her so thoroughly she couldn’t think straight. No, this was pure rage and fury—on his behalf.

His throat bobbed around a hard swallow as he took her in. For the first time in a long, long time, despite him shoving down urges to in the past, he felt like crying.

Not because of his circumstances or what he’d been through. Not over who his father was or pity for himself.

But because of that fierce protectiveness on her face, in her posture, her demeanor, the same kind he saw a flare of that night she’d asked who’d hurt him.

“I’ll kill him,” she growled.

She actually growled.

“I hope you never have to face him. I don’t ever want you anywhere around him. You hear me?”

Her anger was still there, but it was knocked off her face instantly when he grabbed her shoulders firmly.

“Do you understand me?” he gritted out.

His grip loosened. He knew he hadn’t hurt her, more likely just stunned her.

“I understand,” she said finally, eyes searching his, her normal softness back in her features.

His hands were still on her shoulders and they slid down, repositioning on her waist so that he could pull her into his lap. She went willingly.

Her fingers found the pale scars that stood out starkly against his skin, tracing them lightly.

“Is that how these came to be?”

He exhaled, his breath blowing a few strands of the hair at her temple, backwards. She didn’t need to ask directly if it was the torture or from his father, he knew what she meant.

“Not that time, but, yes.”

“Oh, Eris,” she breathed.

He stiffened, hearing the sympathy in her voice, his amber gaze cutting to hers. But it wasn’t pity he found in her gaze. It was a look of such deep sadness and pain that he ached to wipe that look off her face and make sure it never returned. Sadness, as if she wished she could turn back time and save the male he was before his father first laid hands on him.

She leaned down, lips pressing gently over the one closest to her. He shuddered at the delicate, ticklish touch.

“If I had all the power in the world, I’d use it solely to make sure no one would touch you ever again.”

His toned arms slid tighter around her, holding her closer at her confession. He believed her too; she really would.

One hand came up to caress her cheek and he pulled her into him, kissing her. He whimpered when her mouth opened to his, her hips naturally shifting against his lap, inadvertently stirring him again.

“I’m not using this as a distraction, I promise,” he mumbled, lips pressing against her shoulder.

“I know,” she smiled at him softly, “It’s okay if you need this too, right now.”

She reached behind her, hand wrapping around his cock and giving it a few slow strokes as he hardened fully in her hand. Another soft whimper left his lips, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. Her breathy giggle did nothing to help how worked up he already was for her.

She lifted her hips enough to position his cock properly before she sunk down on him. His fingers instantly tightened on her hips as his head fell back with a deep groan.

They’d done this dozens times over the span of weeks, by this point but he could not get over the fact she felt like heaven every time he was inside her.

“I know,” she echoed.

He found her watching him intently as her hips circled.

“You always feel that good to me, too.”

It wasn’t whispered to be dirty or seductive. She was being flat out honest.

She didn’t wait for his answer as she leaned forward, kissing his throat tenderly before her lips moved to his sharp jawline. Her lips stopped at his ear, soft and sincere when she whispered against it.

“If this is how you need comfort right now, then have me all you want.”

He groaned softly, moving her on him.

“Gods, I love being inside of you.”

It probably wasn’t the most romantic thing to say in the moment, but it was the truth, crass or not. But she just exhaled a laugh, hands settling against his chest. There was a gleam in her eye showing her teasing, her ease at being with him.

“Lucky for you, I love you being inside me too.”

He leaned forward, bringing her closer as she moved in his lap, the act more meaningful to him in this moment after their earlier conversation. Not that the other times they’d been together were any less special, but for some reason, this time felt different.

He found out why only a few minutes later.

There wasn’t much said, not many words spoken, only the quiet sound of rustling sheets, their bodies in sync and the quiet and breathless noises. Their pace only picked up enough to send them free falling into their mutual releases.

He held her close, hands gliding over her back softly, his face buried against her throat when his release hit first, his warmth spilling into her as she reached her own.

“Eris, gods I love you,” she moaned, nails digging into his back as her orgasm crashed through her.

He swore his breath left his lungs completely as he froze underneath her. Her hips slowed and her head lifted, looking completely dazed.

She had no idea what she’d just said, but his heart still pounded anyway. Just to hear those words fall from her lips, even if it had only been in a moment of euphoria.

He always thought it would’ve been him who accidentally let it slip during sex, yet it was her who had. Apparently she wasn’t done with her surprises yet, though.

“I may be crazy, but it feels like we’re connected sometimes.”

With one look at her, he knew for sure what was happening.

He was in such deep shit.

•••

“When was the last time you talked to Lucien?”

As per usual, they were in bed. Somewhere they clearly found themselves comfortable, as it seemed to become a regular routine for them.

By now though, half of the time Eris didn’t even use the pretense of being here to see Rhysand for whatever reason and just showed up at her room. Thankfully, she’d moved long ago to a more accessible place for him to visit. He couldn’t imagine having to be flown to the House of Wind weekly by one of the three Illyrians just so he could have sex with his mate—he wasn’t entirely sure if the rest of the Inner Circle knew either so it would probably look even stranger.

She now occupied the empty townhouse that belonged to the High Lord, though it was obviously open for any of his family who needed a place to stay.

It definitely came in handy for them.

“Why do you ask?”

He was half distracted, fingertip circling one of her nipples, watching with a sort of smug satisfaction and keen fascination as it hardened instantly from his touch. She rolled her eyes, gripping his chin in her fingers and tugged his face upwards. He gave her a playful growl in response.

“You know I love it when you play rough with me.”

“Eris,” she sighed, exasperated, dropping her hand.

“Okay, okay. I’m listening.”

“I just haven’t seen him for a while. I know he’s busy juggling emissary to the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa and liaison to Tamlin, male’s got his hands full. I was wondering…” she paused before continuing, “Is it because you’ve been here so much? I’d hate to be causing more problems.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“Him having issues with me doesn’t have anything to do with you. But, I suspect it’s more or less the situation with Elain.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “You know about that?”

His face was serious when he answered.

“I tend to keep tabs on him. Just to make sure he’s okay. I just…I want him to be happy. He deserves that and I’m sure it’s painful to be around a mate that wants nothing to do with you.”

He really hoped he sounded casual because this was quickly tiptoeing into dangerous, too close to home territory.

“You’d think she’d just talk to him. I’m not saying she has to be with him, but it’s not fair to either of them to remain in this cruel, continuous, painful cycle.”

Oh, how ironic were her words.

“The subject of mates can often be a complicated one,” he said carefully.

“Have you ever wondered if you’d find your mate? Or wonder if you have one?”

Half truths were the best he could do here without lying.

“No, I never fathomed finding a mate. I mean after 500 years, you sort of end up thinking maybe the Mother thinks you’re stronger on your own. Never really seemed like something meant for me anyways.”

“I think I’d hate having one.”

He swore his blood turned to ice, dread settling in as his stomach—and probably his heart too, if he were honest—did a nosedive in reaction to her words.

Calling on all his instincts, his abilities to never give anything away, to keep his face expression free, he barely blinked when he asked, “Why?”

“It’s kind of terrifying don’t you think? Being that bonded to another individual? It sounds so incredibly intense. Besides, it’s a Fae thing anyways.”

“You’re Fae,” he pointed out.

He didn’t miss the way she stiffened. Clearly, there were still old wounds there. They’d never talked about what she’d been through.

“I just meant that it seems silly to me, I guess. It’s different from you. You were born High Fae. I spent two decades as a human. We don’t have anything like that in the mortal lands. It’s just…marriage. I don’t see why that’s not good enough here.”

Once again, he chose his words carefully.

“From what I’ve heard, the reason there’s no mortal counterpart is because it transcends mortality. As immortal beings, being soul tied to another is a big deal because that’s an individual bound to you for a potentially long, immortal life. That’s also why it’s so incredibly painful when a person loses their mate. It’s a deep, deep loss which is the result and an unfortunate downside of such a special and indescribable connection. Your soul is quite literally tied and interwoven with another’s. Apparently it’s similar to a very real feeling string or tether connected between two hearts and souls. No human relationship could ever truly compare.”

“How does no one think that sounds like a nightmare? That intensity? The very real possibility of such soul crushing devastation in losing your mate? That’s terrifying.”

“Maybe because it’s a bond that’s much more special to have and experience and it’s worth all the scary risks. Probably outweighs them tenfold,” he answered.

“I guess that explains why Elain is so hesitant. It’s intimidating and a lot to process, I would assume.”

“She’s also still healing from everything the last few years have brought her. Everyone has a different journey. We’ve all been subjected to horrors that some deal with better than others. Like you.”

She stiffened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He could sense the shackles rising in her. He hadn’t known how well she truly had been doing, mentally that is, with her new life. He’d been a coward and hadn’t asked or broached the subject until now. Clearly, there were still some things that festered under the surface.

“I mean you never talk about what happened to you. You act like it never happened.”

“Maybe because it’s not worth talking about. Besides, you don’t know every conversation I have,” she shot back.

He inhaled deeply, knowing she would only shut down further if pressed.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I never intended to upset you.”

Her body eased a bit and she nodded.

He desperately tried to block out the revelations she’d just catapulted him with. They now stuck to his brain where he knew they’d haunt him on repeat.

The sudden realization of how likely the chances were of her rejecting the mating bond, made his heart feel like a heavy weight in his chest. In his chest there was that empty cavern that still hadn’t been quite filled. There was that golden thread remaining untethered to anything else. It made him feel more hollow than he ever recalled in his life.

He pushed it down and instead, reached for her, hoping for the first time since starting this, for a distraction.

His teeth gently sank into her earlobe before his tongue glided along the outer edge of her ear, all the way to the arched tip where he placed a gentle kiss. His mouth dropped a fraction so he could whisper huskily into her ear.

“Up for another round of playing, sweetheart?”

•••

Beron was an absolute pain in his ass.

It made him sick every time he had to pretend that he actually agreed with his father, that he was willing to do things just like him to get what he wanted. In a way he was, but Eris’s plans were nothing like his father’s.

He’d been restless since Briallyn’s defeat and it had been months with everything seemingly stable for the time being. But now, Eris realized his father was up to something.

Beron was ready to take some of Eris’s soldiers back to the continent, something that made him uneasy, especially after what happened last time. He’d lost far too many good males.

Which is why he was currently in the Night Court and not for the usual, pleasant reasons. Eris stood in Rhysand's study of his and Feyre’s private residence—the River House, they called it. It was the middle of the night, but Eris knew this couldn’t wait until morning and it was too risky to send a letter.

The one benefit was that since his father hadn’t told him squat, he’d have no idea that the Night Court had gotten information from him thus the alliance with them would still be protected. For all Beron knew, the Spymaster of the Night Court figured it out.

It just so happened Eris had his own ways of finding out things, just like tonight’s revelation.

On the personal side of things, he hadn’t been remotely alright since leaving her the other night. Not only had she told him she loved him—albeit in the throes of passion, she’d just recently and inadvertently cut him deeply with her comments on mating bonds. After her declaration though, he’d still made her come on both his mouth and his cock.

While that had been amazing on its own, it had done little to erase the pain that seemed to throb in him like an infected wound. Now, he stood in Rhysand’s office, arms crossed. The dark haired High Lord was seated behind the desk. Cassian and Azriel—who looked wide awake despite the late hour—stood in front of the desk, tense and waiting for Eris to share what he clearly deemed couldn’t wait until morning.

His mate stood just across from him, standing on the opposite edge of Rhysand’s desk, looking just as wide awake as well. She’d still been awake, helping Rhysand with some bookkeeping. Apparently his mate also had a penchant for numbers in her arsenal of talents.

“I assume this isn’t good news,” Rhysand steepled his fingers.

Eris threw him a withering look, more out of habit rather than any real hatred. It didn’t help that his head was filled with too many thoughts right now.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t concerning. Nor if I didn’t think it wasn’t important.”

“Then get on with it, will you?” Cassian huffed.

Rhysand shot him a reprimanding look and Eris resisted the urge to actually rub his temples. He was definitely tired of everyone’s shit right now.

“Beron is planning on taking some of our troops to the continent in the morning.”

All three Illyrians stiffened. His mate looked around at the four males in her presence coming to the same conclusion that that statement alone was bad.

Her eyes met his and he looked back at her, not sure what he looked like, wondering what she was thinking. Right now, he saw concern and worry in her gaze. He must look like hell, then.

“What for?” Azriel asked.

“That, I have no idea. But it can’t be for anything good,” Eris answered the Shadowsinger.

“Koschei?” Cassian asked, “Surely, he’s not going looking for him.”

Eris distinctly remembered telling Cassian at their meeting all those months ago after his kidnapping by Briallyn, that his father would probably be stupid enough to try and ally with Koschei. Turns out, he was right.

“It’s a possibility we can’t rule out,” Rhysand said.

“If you move, it needs to be tonight,” Eris said, “I have no idea when he plans to leave. It could be sunrise, it could be mid-day. You see why I didn’t take any chances on waiting.”

“I can get Feyre and Nesta,” she said, finally speaking, Rhysand nodding his approval.

“What’s the plan? We can’t go after Beron directly can we?” Cassian asked.

“No. Although, since he never revealed this to me, he’d likely never suspect you finding out this would come from me. At most, he’d assume Azriel’s spies got wind of it,” Eris tilted his head toward the shadowed warrior.

“So how do we go about this?” Azriel asked, “I’m assuming you have a plan?”

“It may be a bit juvenile, but contrary to physically tying him down, little stops him from achieving what he wants. So I thought about…tying him down a little bit. Causing a little chaos that will force him to stay for a little longer until we can form a more solid plan.”

Rhysand lifted a brow, but Eris laid out the bare bones of his plan.

Rhysand was to call an emergency meeting with Beron under some false reasons. He thought it was safer if only Rhysand came up with the topic on the spot so as not to give away that his own son had any knowledge of this, to keep Beron from spotting any sort of deception in his son.

Cassian and Nesta were to displace his Autumn Court soldiers, “reassigning” them, if you would. Just to temporarily dwindle his forces.

Feyre would cause some chaos at the border, displacing the remaining of his soldiers. Putting a hole in the border wall would do nicely and maybe a nicely timed rumor of trespassers from other courts that needed a decent amount of soldiers to handle the growing “problem”.

Azriel in the meantime would be doing what he did best, keeping to the shadows, eyes and ears open to what the rest of them likely couldn’t see. Eris knew the bare basics of the Shadowsinger’s power, but he knew enough that the male knew things others didn’t, partially because those shadows tended to tell him.

If he needed to, Eris could always set a few small fires to distract as well. Nothing that he’d let get out of control enough to harm anyone or anything. But only if it was desperate enough. He had a trick up his sleeve too that he’d call on, something he held back from them as it would give too much away. That was currently in motion, though.

It wasn’t a great plan, not one of Eris’s strongest, but it had to do for now. Anything that could keep his father busy, distracted and postpone a trip to the continent.

Maybe, if he could do it smoothly enough, he might bring up another trip to the continent to see what Beron might indulge. It’d been a while since he’d used that excuse to sneak away to the Night Court, anyway. The last time was when the only alliance he’d made on that trip was between his cock and his mate’s cunt.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

Rhysand opened his mouth to answer, but Eris cut in before the male could get a word out.

“You’re not going.”

She whipped towards him so fast, her hair went flying in a dramatic whirl behind her, with the movement.

“What do you mean I’m not going?” she questioned, incredulously, “I want to help.”

“You heard what I said,” Eris replied, gruffly.

“Rhys, you can’t be serious. You’re my High Lord, not him!”

Eris’s jaw ticked, arms tightening further against his chest. He knew the mask of cold was back on his face. But he wouldn’t budge on this.

“I mean—” Rhysand began before she cut him off again.

“I’ll stay with Azriel in the shadows if it makes you feel any better, but I refuse to stay back when I can help. I’ve been trained by the best,” she motioned to Cassian and Azriel.

“I have no doubts whatsoever about your abilities to take care of yourself. That is not why I’m concerned,” Eris answered.

“Then what’s the issue here?” she barked an incredulous laugh.

Eris ignored her, turning to Rhys, teeth clenched. Every protective instinct was howling inside him. It was so strong he couldn’t have controlled it even if he’d wanted to. He knew Rhysand saw right through him. Knew he understood the instinct as a mated male, himself.

“She cannot step foot in Autumn,” he barked, trying to keep the desperate plea from his voice.

“Just because you’re fucking me doesn’t mean you get to control me!” she hissed.

He swore he saw both Cassian and Azriel flinch. It’s not like they hadn’t likely known. They could probably scent him on her after that first time. Which is exactly why he always managed to scrub himself clean at the cabin he owned on the border of Autumn and Spring, before returning back to the Forest House.

He’d always hated how it made him feel like she was something to be ashamed of, like it was something dirty. It wasn’t, nor was he ashamed of her. He knew he’d take any measures he had to, to ensure her safety. Which was what he was currently doing.

“That is not what this is and you know it.”

He wanted to scream at her, plead with her to please understand. That like with everything else, he always had a good reason.

“Oh really? Because it sure as hell sounded to me like you made up your mind that I’m not going, despite my wishes to go.”

“I would protect her,” Azriel countered, finally breaking in on their argument, “Keep her safe. No one would have any inkling who she is,”

“Or what she is,” Cassian added.

Time slowed as he marked the confusion on her face. Her eyes bounced from Cassian to Azriel, then to Rhysand and back to him.

“What are you talking about?” she asked slowly, as if she, too, knew this was a monumental moment.

“Please, don’t,” he begged.

“She needs to know, Eris,” Rhysand said, with a sigh.

Eris hadn’t wanted it to happen like this. He thought he’d have more time or it would be any other time, something better and more appropriate. A time way different than this. Not in front of her High Lord, her friends. Not when he knew her world was about to be turned upside down, very much like that day when his eyes landed fully on her and the bond snapped to life in him.

“Needs to know what?” she exclaimed, arms flying out to show her level of exasperation.

Eris felt his entire world tilt as Rhysand uttered the four words that he knew would change absolutely everything.

“Eris, is your mate.”

Tag List: @lilaclichh @batboyslutt @seasttarr @lomahdu @alexof90s

[adventure-awaits13]

OMG! What a cliffhanger 😣

[erin-bo-berin]

Tell Me Why

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 2: Animals | Part 3: Natural |

Part 4: Stay With Me

Eris Vanserra never asked for a mate, didn’t expect to find one. But when he meets his mate, he realizes his already complicated existence just became that much more complicated. Especially when fighting natural instinct becomes more and more impossible.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, fingering, oral(f), masturbation(m), smut gets filthy, unknown mates to one party, reader being turned fae against her will, angst, semi unhappy mate trope, unsure reader, some hostility, Eris pov, Eris yearning, soft Eris, canon Eris trauma, some canon plot used along with a few direct quotes, song lyrics used in story

A/N: Inspiration for this came from Tell Me, Tell Me…Baby by *NSYNC. The conception of this is kinda wild as I’d never heard the song until the other day, but immediately thought of this scenario with Eris. Lyrics from the song are interspersed through the fic, so the bold and italicized sections are the set of lyrics that felt most appropriate at each point in the story.

It couldn’t be more right

We are what they call a perfect match

It’s something that you can’t touch

Down to the last bone, you’re my baby

Eris Vanserra had known cruelty before.

His father was a monster. His mother was barely surviving some days. He hated his brothers. Well, except the youngest. The one he’d always felt drawn to protect from the moment he’d first entered the world.

But Lucien currently hated him, as much as the rest of the world seemed to. But that was okay. It was necessary for survival.

Didn’t mean it didn’t twist like a knife to the gut every time Lucien treated him like a stranger, or just flat out ignored him. Like he wasn’t the male who’d introduced the younger male to all his favorite books, taught him how to summon his first spark of fire at his fingertips or spent hours with, while taking care of Eris’s pack of smokehounds.

But, their father had killed Lucien’s lover, long ago. Eris had refused to participate and fought back, costing him. It was the only time he’d ever denied his father something.

He’d paid for it in a lot of ways.

Frankly, he was still paying for it to this day.

Not just with the nonexistent relationship he had with his baby brother, but with Beron. The torture he’d received for fighting back was child’s play in comparison to the types he received in the present day. But he kept the mask on, bid his time and properly calculated and planned for one day soon when he would make things better. For himself, his mother, his brother and his court.

After all, he’d been taught by the best on how to observe, calculate and use just about anything to his advantage. It just happened that he and his father shared different…visions, if you will. As not only the heir to Autumn Court, but the general to its armies, Eris bore the responsibility of protecting the court from its enemies.

Even if the greatest threat was from within.

Which is exactly what he was doing when fate, the Cauldron, the Mother—hell he didn’t know who or what—decided to turn his entire existence upside down.

But it was the entire business with Briallyn where this entire mess had started.

Eris had managed to survive the war with Hybern. He managed to survive the tensions of post-war when everything was uncertain and definitely fragile amongst the human and Fae lands alike. He’d survived the delicate balancing act of managing his father and an alliance with Rhysand and the Night Court. He’d survived the recent mess with the human queen, Briallyn, despite his father being a pain in his ass at every turn. It was exhausting. After Nesta Archeron had killed the Made human queen, things seemed to quieten. There’d been no activity from Koschei, no threats of another Fae war, nothing of concern from the human lands…yet. It was a tad unsettling, if he was honest.

Prior to this, he’d never laid eyes on the striking High Fae female who couldn’t keep her thoughts off her face. She wore everything plain as day in her expressions, like she had no control over her face.

Rookie mistake, he knew. That was the easiest thing for an opponent or enemy to target. You never gave them more to work with and nothing that you didn’t purposely give away. It was a game, a craft, a deception.

It prided him to be able to say he was a pro at it.

Of course, it didn’t take him long to learn her name, but he was even more intrigued by her story. She was a rather new addition to the usual circus from the Night Court he typically dealt with.

She’d been human just a short couple years ago, just like the Archeron sisters had been. In fact, her story seemed just as cruel, maybe even a tad worse.

Just like the High Lady of the Night Court’s sisters, she’d been turned High Fae against her will.

She’d been kidnapped by Hybern foot soldiers, a random human woman, it hadn’t really mattered who. She undoubtedly had been a victim of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Feyre Archeron had been a thorn in Hybern’s side ever since she’d defeated Amarantha, freeing all of Prythian and the High Lords from under her thumb. When she’d conquered death with aid from all seven High Lords, resurrecting as High Fae, Hybern knew they had trouble on their hands.

Despite continuing on with his nefarious plans, the King of Hybern knew Feyre Cursebreaker was a threat to all he wanted to accomplish. He’d had many tricks up his wicked sleeves, one including kidnapping the remaining two Archeron sisters solely to punish the High Lady of the Night Court.

What came before that was the experiment. To see if the Cauldron without a doubt could make anew in some of the cruelest and evil ways. Which was what the stunning female before him had been.

Hybern wanted absolute certainty that the Cauldron could turn a human into Fae and that’s exactly what they’d done to her. She’d been a secret from everyone as it was assumed only the two remaining Archeron sisters were the only ones that went into the Cauldron, prior to Queen Briallyn jumping in herself, that is.

Eris didn’t know why, but the story made his shoulders tense. For some reason, he knew if he’d been there at the time, he’d have cut down any of the bastards who’d dared to touch her, without a second thought.

Azriel had found her in one of the Hybern camps, a broken bird of a thing with dead eyes, or at least that’s what Eris had heard. Though at the time, he hadn’t realized this was who the Shadowsinger meant. He’d taken her to live at the Night Court where she’d been hidden away, healing for the last two years.

In her own way, she’d experienced cruelty of her own, too.

But the description of the female he’d heard of then was a stark difference from the one standing in front of him. Sparks of anger flashed in her eyes, none too unlike his own fireborn flames, though hers was from pure emotion alone.

She must’ve been prepped to meet him, then.

Sometimes it was tedious and boring, letting everyone believe he was this horrible male. Sure, he wasn’t winning any outstanding awards and he always, always had reasons and motivations behind his actions, but his reputation seemed much grander than he actually was.

Even if he was allied with the court and on better terms with Rhysand than he’d ever been in the past, he knew many members of the High Lord’s inner circle were either wary of him or downright disliked him. Cassian was one that fell into the latter category. If he’d gotten to her first, Eris was sure she’d already had a decent first impression of him, however biased it may be.

They’d met in the Spring Court to discuss matters about Briallyn. The female had accompanied Cassian and Rhysand this time.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a fresh face. A stunning one, at that. There’s so few around here these days,” he’d drawled to her at that first meeting.

Amongst his other talents, he knew how to charm.

Apparently, she was immune.

She’d just stared at him, hard. He didn’t back away from it though, more curious to see what she’d say or do.

She’d turned to her High Lord with a raised brow and went, “This is the one who thinks he’s the Mother’s gift to all of Prythian?”

Rhysand had to try hard not to laugh. Eris clocked it as the male coughed into his hand before answering.

“This is Eris.”

Eyes raked over him and Eris couldn’t help the way his body straightened just the slightest bit. He wasn’t one to try to impress anyone, but it was like the subconscious movement was beyond his control.

“Talk about disappointing,” she mused.

Eris’s eyebrows shot up and then his amber eyes shot to Cassian, where the source of choked laughter had originated from. Eris glared.

“I don’t think he knows what to do when a female isn’t automatically falling at his feet. You’d think he’d have plenty of practice with it by now after dealing with three females who already see through his bullshit,” Cassian quipped, referencing his High Lady, mate, Nesta and Morrigan.

Eris decided to ignore the comment before his gaze turned back to Rhysand.

“Sounds like she fits in perfectly with the Night Court, Rhysand. What does she do anyway?”

“Unbelievable,” she scoffed, “Do you talk about all females like they’re pets?”

Typically, he’d be amused with such treatment. Especially from a beautiful female. But for some reason, the comment needled him. He felt the need to defend himself, irritated more by the accusation than her tone with him.

“No. I do not. Contrary to what people believe, I do believe to an extent that females should have the luxury of protection, even with the knowledge that they can take care of themselves, too. It’s what a good male would do, at least.”

It hit too close to home, his statement. Something he’d been doing for years with his own mother.

Rhysand studied him for a moment. If he’d picked up on anything Eris had unintentionally left vulnerable, he didn’t comment on it.

“She’s been in training with Cassian, Azriel, Nesta and some priestesses, too.”

Eris’s red hair ruffled in the breeze of the spring air, the sweet scent of the flowers nearby filling his nostrils.

“Then what is she doing here?” he asked.

She stiffened at the thinly veiled insult.

“She’s learning different aspects of court life. So I know best where to place her. Learn her strengths and weaknesses,” Rhysand answered.

“So throwing her into the deep end dealing with a vengeful mortal queen, a death God, the Dread Trove and my father, was the best time to start that? For someone who’s been through what she has?”

He jerked his chin in her direction, sneering. It was concern masked as an insult because if truth be told, it was alarming. She was technically still an infant in the Fae world, despite having been turned the same time as the Archeron sisters.

She spoke again, sharper than she had the first time.

“I’m…High Fae. Now. Stronger, faster, harder to kill.”

The slight hesitation alluded to much she’d not dealt with. That was the difference between her and the Archeron sisters. They seemed to be further into their journey to healing and acceptance of how their life had turned out, much more so than she was.

She mustn't have been training with the Illyrians for long because she still looked thin. She might no longer be human—the arch to her ears making that obvious—but she was still as vulnerable as if she still was mortal. He said as much.

“You’re untrained. A weakling. A liability,” he folded his arms, a challenge in his stare.

He knew she couldn’t answer because she knew he was right.

“Did you come here just to insult one of my people or to actually be helpful?” Rhysand growled.

“I thought I was being helpful. You’re practically throwing the female to the wolves,” Eris said, unfolding his arms and tucking his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants—a burnt orange today.

“If her bite is anything like her bark, I’d say she can hold her own well enough though,” Eris continued, eyes raking over her.

She glowered back at him.

“Oh believe me, she’s a quick study during training. Azriel’s been pretty impressed,” Cassian mused.

Somehow Eris didn’t doubt that. She might’ve presented herself to the world as one thing, but underneath, she was likely a different person.

He knew a bit about that.

“Let me know if you learn anything,” Eris finally concluded, “If my father shares anything else with me, you’ll be the first to know. When your Shadowsinger gets back, we can discuss further plans.

Rhysand inclined his head in agreement and Cassian had gathered the female in his arms, prepared to take to the skies with her. Her face had cooled from its initial burning anger to a more indifferent expression. Not exactly menacing, but by no means friendly.

He took her in, a good, long look this time. But it was when his eyes raised to hers, finding her gaze already on him that he felt it.

The moment their eyes met he felt a quiet, distinct sensation so deep down he couldn’t have pinpointed where it originated.

It was like the soft click of a key sliding into a lock.

A puzzle piece slatting into its perfectly intended place.

For a male who’d mastered the art of keeping his face unreadable, he truly had no idea what expression he currently wore. Clearly it was something she didn’t expect to see because her brows furrowed slightly, the corners of her lips turning down in confusion.

The moment only lasted for a split second because then she was launched into the air, secure in the arms of the General of the Night Court. The High Lord followed right behind him, neither taking note of the exchange.

Eris was left standing, rooted in place, long after they’d left, gaping at the space they’d just occupied.

His heart pounded wildly and his blood roared in his ears, his head filled with too many thoughts.

He’d just laid eyes on his mate.

And he had no idea what the hell to do with that knowledge.

•••

But to be honest

There’s just one thing

A part that is missing

You don’t seem to care at all

A few months had passed since the day of the revelation that had turned Eris’s world upside down.

Since then, the word had been clanging around in his head like the chime of a bell.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

He was 500 years old. He’d never truly thought he’d be one to find a mate. Granted, they seemed to be all around him.

He knew enough that his youngest brother had found his mate, though that was a complicated situation. They didn’t exactly have many conversations these days, but he’d stiffly told Eris once that the moment he’d locked eyes with his mate it was just a deep surety. A fact that couldn’t be scrubbed away no matter how much a person wished to. It was a sudden realization that your entire being was woven with another. Something that was difficult to grasp and even harder to describe unless you’d experienced it.

But now, Eris had.

Now, he realized he knew what Lucien had felt, was feeling. The agony he’d been going through.

Because Eris knew she hated him.

Well, hated may be a strong word. She’d cooled to him, but she wasn’t exactly friendly either. More like she tolerated his presence when needed.

It was pathetic how much he managed to sneak away from Autumn to visit the Night Court with the excuse of diplomatic talks or meetings being the reason he’d show up. He did it all just so he could see her, be around her.

Gods, his mate.

She was beautiful. Strong and full of fire that awed him.

He’d caught her once practicing some maneuvers she’d clearly learned in her training, in a back courtyard at the Court of Nightmares. He’d watched as her body moved languidly as if she was performing a dance that only she knew the moves to. Her hands were positioned, holding an imaginary sword, swinging them out in a practiced measure.

When she’d spotted him, she came to an abrupt stop, eyes narrowed like she’d caught him watching something far more inappropriate than he actually was.

“You’ve improved. Least that’s what Cassian and Azriel tell me,” he’d mused.

“I don’t just sit around on my ass doing nothing, Eris.”

He’d had to suppress a shiver. She didn’t often call him by name, but it always seemed to be the most erotic sound he’d ever heard, the sound of the two syllables of his name leaving her lips.

It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was something he’d clung to. It was small interactions like that that kept him going, that silenced the roaring in his head and the incessant tug in his chest every time she was near. He knew what caused it, but it was hard to fight the draw he felt towards her. Physically and non physically alike.

Early fall had soon turned into winter and soon Winter Solstice had approached. As an ally to the court, Rhysand had invited Eris to the ball in celebration of the season at the Court of Nightmares.

As an ally, Eris expected to dance with a female of his choice from the Night Court.

And he knew exactly which one he had in mind.

“Should I be flattered that I was your pick of the night over the High Lady or either of her sisters?” she asked him, a slightly amused brow raised.

“I don’t fit into the usual mold,” he brushed off.

“Clearly.”

He took her in his arms and the strain he’d felt for weeks, deep inside him, seemed to settle for once. He swore his skin hummed every time she was around, a constant buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.

She wasn’t as skilled as he in the art of a waltz and he found it endearing that she stumbled a bit to keep up with him. It didn’t matter much to him if she excelled at dancing or not, he’d truly just wanted an excuse to have her in his arms. To hold her, touch her. Things his newly formed and revealed instincts screamed at him to do now.

That, amongst others.

The need was suffocating as well.

The biological need to claim what was his.

Though he knew he wasn’t owed her nor did he feel entitled to her, the primal instinct still wanted him to fulfill that desire. Preferably repeatedly.

It didn’t help that she looked ravishing tonight.

The black gown she wore was all lace, silk and sin, off the shoulder and highlighting the bare skin of her shoulders and collarbones. There was a slit in one side, nearly to the top of her thigh and his fingers itched to glide over the skin there.

Cauldron, no one ever warned him a mating bond would make a male so fucking feral. He guessed it would explain a lot about the mated males he knew.

Being so close to her was making his head spin. Spin, yes, that was a good idea. The current song playing was different from the one they’d started dancing to, so he stepped back, twirling her. She went willingly, definitely a little less than polished and it made his lips quirk with a smile.

“Dancing isn’t my strongest suit,” she mumbled, a flush on her cheeks.

“We all have our weaknesses,” he quipped.

His was currently pressed against him, robed in black fabric he wanted to remove with his teeth.

Her eyes narrowed, as if he’d insulted her. Shit, it probably did come out insulting.

“Not a bad thing,” he clarified, “You’re doing fine.”

“Eris Vanserra being pleasant for a change is incredibly strange.”

He chuckled, chest warming, feeling a tug that had to do more with the halfway compliment than the bond.

“I am known to surprise,” he purred.

“So, why me?”

“Why you, what?” he asked, knowing clearly what she meant.

“Why pick me to dance?” she supplied.

“Maybe you intrigue me. New faces don’t show up around here just every day, you know. It’s the same boring handful to deal with day in and out,” he drawled.

“You truly have a way with words,” she replied, flatly, clearly unimpressed, “Managing to compliment and insult in the same sentence is quite the talent.”

“Coming from the female that called me disappointing the moment she laid eyes on me? You wound me.”

A small smile curved her lips.

If he wasn’t trained as thoroughly as he was to keep a handle on his emotions and reactions—even against knee jerk reactions—he would’ve stumbled.

He didn’t know if it was the night, the fact it was Solstice or what, but to see the combination of ice and fire he was used to seeing thrown his way from her, not on her face tonight, truly made his stomach flip.

He knew how he presented himself to the world, why he did. But he’d inadvertently let the mask slip a little when it came to her, enough that it seemed her own protective one had answered in response.

Maybe mating bonds were that powerful. To truly bare yourself to your mate, whether you wanted to or not.

There was still hesitancy in her expression, like she didn’t know what to believe, didn’t know if she should believe anything that came out of his mouth. What was real and what wasn’t. Like she fully expected him to trick her at any moment.

He wasn’t planning to. Not with her.

From the moment the ancient instinct started screaming in his head, he knew he’d never be cruel to her if he could avoid it. Yes, he still did much to protect many, to protect a lot. He still acted a certain way. But he tried his hardest to never be deceitful towards her.

They were dangerously close. Not that he hadn’t marked her every movement from the moment her hand had dropped into his, prior to him leading her to the dance floor. He was so acutely aware of her every move, so attuned to her that he’d felt the shift after her last twirl—much more coordinated than her first—as she folded back into his chest.

Her eyes lifted to his and held briefly before her hand came up, fingers intimately brushing some strands of his long, red hair back over his shoulder before her hand smoothed over his chest. He was surprised at the gesture.

He had no idea if she knew about the bond. If she felt it too. If it’d snapped for her yet. If it had, she’d said nothing about it.

He could hardly breathe.

He was definitely not thinking when he made his next move.

His head dipped and he pressed his lips to hers. He didn’t even care if he was in the middle of a ballroom surrounded by more people he hated than he actually liked.

She immediately stiffened beneath him. He was fully prepared for her to haul off and slap him.

What he didn’t expect was her to kiss back. Albeit hesitantly at first, as if she was unsure why she was, but she needed it as much as he had. The relief he felt when his lips touched hers was immediate and sure. If he’d been trying to deny the pull of the bond before now, he could no longer.

Her head tilted slightly and the slight gasp that came from her would’ve been too low for human hearing, especially with the surrounding noise of music playing and chatter. His keen Fae hearing picked it up perfectly.

And it went straight to his cock.

He went to deepen it, to sweep his tongue into her mouth. To taste more. But she pulled back abruptly, like she’d just realized where she was and who she was with.

She immediately stepped out of his embrace, chest heaving, eyes widened to the point of alarm. She said nothing as she backed away before leaving him on the ballroom floor completely stunned, breathless and fully hard.

•••

Why, tell me, my baby

Getting under my skin

For messing up my mind

It was no surprise that he called it an early evening, leaving the festivities much sooner than he initially had planned to.

She didn’t look at him the rest of the night, let alone get close enough to him for him to say something. Apologize, anything.

He shouldn’t have done that, but he’d been so weak. It wasn’t fair to her though and he regretted it, solely because of how she reacted afterwards. He didn’t regret the kiss though, not at all.

It was the exact reason he had to make his exit early, after all.

Thankfully Rhysand had arranged for him to have a room for the night in the Hewn City, if he was too tired or drunk to winnow back to the Autumn Court. Which is where he currently was, pacing back and forth in front of the fire he’d lit with a flick of his wrist, flames flickering from his fingertips.

His hand raked through his hair, further mussing it, a stark contrast for how precisely in place it usually was. He tore at the buttons of his scarlet jacket, opening it, fully before shucking it off. He loosened the top few buttons of the shirt underneath trying to breathe, feeling all of a sudden too warm—a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

He groaned, falling into a chair near the fireplace, a hand rubbing over his face.

His skin felt on fire, unlike the sensations he experienced when using his fire magic. This felt like molten lava that kept burning hotter and hotter. All he could remember was the proximity of her body to his, her lips against his. How he wanted so much more, wished he’d had just a moment longer.

He didn’t even realize his hand had fallen from his face until his hand was in mid drop to his groin. His fingers squeezed the bulge then palmed it, a small grunt escaping his throat.

He imagined it was her. She’d likely have something snarky to say, probably looking completely innocent while doing it, though he knew she was anything but.

He was beyond rational thought or the ability to feel shameful for doing this. He palmed himself through his pants harder, hissing through his teeth at the slight relief the tension brought.

But it wasn’t nearly enough.

He sat back in the chair, pushing his pants down enough to free himself before he wrapped his hand around his aching cock and let his mind wander where it may.

He pictured what she’d do if it was her hand instead. He’d shut up that smart mouth of hers by burying himself so deep in her she wouldn’t be able to form a coherent thought.

His hand slid from base to tip in slow pulls, savoring this. He’d not given into these kinds of thoughts up until this point, usually banishing them. But now that he’d gotten a taste of her, they came to him unabashedly.

His thumb swiped across the thick head, smearing the bead of liquid there before letting his thoughts take over again.

Gods, her lips had been so soft. The little gasp she’d exhaled against his lips haunted him. What else could she sound like? What would she sound like moaning his name?

All he could imagine was a breathy little gasp of, Eris. His hips jerked in response to the thought.

He imagined having all the time in the world with her. He’d spend all night on her. Kissing her, licking her, whatever would make her keen. Whatever would turn her on the most.

He groaned, head falling against the back of the chair as his hand worked himself quicker to those thoughts, imagining what that incredible body looked like under that sinful dress she’d been in tonight.

She’d gained weight and muscle since the day he discovered who she was to him. The training had filled out her limbs with lean muscle and all he could think of was those thighs wrapped around his head, his waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I shouldn’t want you this much,” he groaned aloud, hand squeezing, his mind remembering the tempting curve and swell of her breasts in that dress.

If he’d be in his right mind, he’d probably feel more ashamed or dirty. Yes, she was incredibly beautiful and attractive. Mate or not, he’d probably be attracted to her in some form. But his razor sharp thoughts were lethal tonight.

“Just wanna hear you moan for me, just once,” he uttered, chest heaving as his climax neared on the horizon.

His hips canted, fucking his fist, imagining it was her, thoughts and images appearing behind his closed eyes faster than he could grasp on to them. They were all so incredibly filthy and made him want to try them all. Wanted to find out what she liked.

He moaned her name aloud as his pace quickened, needing release desperately. His eyes squeezed tighter shut when it hit him with a force unlike any he’d felt before—despite doing this exact thing quite a few times in his lifetime. His release spilled all over his hand and his stomach, staining the fabric of the shirt he’d still had on.

He grimaced, knowing he’d have to throw it out.

There he sat, breathing uneven, not exactly feeling shameful, but feeling at a loss. He truly had no idea what to do about her. She was dangerous, a problem. His, but not his.

Eris didn’t know if he was going to survive her.

•••

Don’t you know that I can’t breathe without you

Tell me, tell me, just how

What am I supposed to do, right now?

Eris tried his best to continue on with life as he’d always had, before she’d entered his life. But it was so difficult.

Being away from the Night Court became unbearable. He felt like he couldn’t breathe without her. Not just from not having her presence nearby or her scent—which he’d learned he knew by heart without ever realizing it—but just because he needed the added reassurance that she was safe, alright.

He was so fucking protective over a female who barely gave him the time of day anymore. She still had some of that fire in her when they interacted, but it was like she went out of her way to avoid him.

He suspected it was her way of protecting herself. It’s what he’d do if he was her.

Cauldron, they really were perfect for one another.

It’d been hard to meet her eyes after Solstice Night in the Hewn City. Not over the kiss, but the knowledge of what he’d done in that room, in that chair by the fire. The unbridled lust that he’d no longer been able to keep a leash on, that night.

He was ashamed because unlike with past lovers, that wasn’t the only reason for his interest. Neither was the fact that she was his mate. But somehow, even at a distance, she’d wormed her way into his heart and mind.

As a person, she was so incredibly lovely. Probably deserving of more than him, that’s for sure. What had the Cauldron been thinking giving her, him?

She was smart, quick on her feet—physically and with her words—determined and actually kind. That last one he’d seen shown more to others than him, but he knew it existed.

Mercifully—or maybe not so much—he was kept preoccupied as spring approached and activity on Briallyn picked up. Nesta had aided in finding the remaining items from the Dread Trove to keep them out of the mortal queen’s hands, unintentionally falling into just the plan the queen had set into motion.

His father had been delicate to handle. He managed. He also managed to keep his promises to the Night Court as their ally. When he made a promise, Eris tended to keep it.

After all, he was too used to broken ones. He refused to be one who didn’t stick to his word.

With all that happened and rather quickly too, he’d had little time to focus on her. Even though that tug remained, half buried where he’d left it, it still hummed. Some days it was easier to ignore than others.

Then he’d fallen into the hands of Briallyn.

He’d been out hunting with his smokehounds, thinking how much he’d love to introduce his beloved pets to her. He’d wondered if she’d like them. They were large and intimidating, good at what they were trained to do, but softies at heart. They loved a good meal and a cuddle. He instinctually knew they’d love her. They were fiercely protective of their owner, but also loved the few people who meant the most to him.

His mother and Lucien were the only people they liked besides him.

When hands grabbed him from behind, he initially reached for his dagger at his side, the one that’d been gifted to him by Rhysand and Feyre, but found it gone. There were more males than he could fight, he realized, spotting two more individuals on the horizon.

His memory had been completely wiped of what happened next due to the magical influence, but the last thing Eris remembered was of thinking of her. Of how he didn’t want her to find out the truth this way.

He’d been enchanted by the Crown Briallyn possessed. Azriel’s spies had gotten intel of his kidnapping and he and Cassian watched, waited and tailed for nearly a week, spending most of the time unsure if he’d betrayed them. He hadn’t. They’d rescued him. He might not have said it out loud, but he was incredibly grateful.

Not only for his life, but sparing his mate from that pain. Pain she’d have had no idea that was coming.

He remembered little of the entire ordeal and knew nothing of importance. Rhysand had confirmed his words to be true when he looked into Eris’s mind.

Despite his daemati knowledge, he was unable to hide the truth in his mind from the High Lord due to his feelings on the matter being so loud at the moment.

Rhysand hadn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

“You knew.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement to the male.

“I suspected,” Rhysand had confirmed, “But I wasn’t sure. I knew you weren’t increasing your visits just to come see me and Feyre alone.”

Eris had huffed a laugh, wincing at the pain still lingering in his back from wounds that were too slowly healing. He hadn’t seen her since before his capture. Didn’t even know if she cared what happened to him. It wasn’t like they were close.

Now, he sat in a room in the Hewn City, not unlike the one he inhabited on Solstice, months ago.

It’d been two days since the Illyrians had rescued him and Briallyn was killed. Koschei was still in play though and that was a dangerous variable.

As a welcome home, his father had interrogated him thoroughly. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. This was just his life.

He’d spent the entire time reminding himself why he was doing this. He thought of her too, this time. It’d been months since he’d endured the brunt of his father’s anger and torture, since well before Eris had met her.

He kept her at the forefront of his mind this time, each and every time he was struck.

He was in love with her.

It was a thought that kept returning over and over as he fed his father a mix of truth and lies as he always did, which he bought, of course. Just like Eris knew he would.

He sat in the chair by the fire, an ankle crossed over his knee, attempting to read a book while waiting for Cassian who’d wanted to meet with him. His thoughts kept straying to the revelation he’d had during his father’s latest round of torture, a few days ago.

It was nonsensical. He had no idea how he could be in love with her when she hardly dealt with him.

But it was in the way he watched her. How she cared for her friends of this court, how fiercely loyal she was as an individual, how she had fought from the depths of hell she’d been thrown into until she’d been molded and shaped into the female he knew her to be today. She still had quips for him occasionally and it sent a thrill through him every damn time. It was a mix of having attention from her again and being able to see the spirited demeanor he knew she possessed, even if it only came out occasionally.

The door clicked open and his amber eyes lifted from his book, fully expecting to see Cassian and was surprised to see her standing there instead.

“Cassian send you?”

His voice was gruff from misuse. He’d barely spoken in the few days after he weathered his father’s interrogation. It was only when he was alone afterwards that night that he heaved the contents of his stomach into the toilet of his private chambers.

It wasn’t the pain that caused him to fall ill. He’d dealt with much worse than this before. It wasn’t even what he’d been through in the last week with Briallyn and Koschei.

It was the thought of anything happening to her. If his father ever had the knowledge of who she was. Who she was to him. Memories of Lucien’s lover flitted through his mind. Though he hadn’t been there, he’d still learned what his so-called family had done to the lesser faerie.

In a way, Eris was glad Jesminda hadn’t been Lucien’s mate because that horrific event would’ve actually killed his youngest brother. Not like it hadn’t, even without a bond.

But, it was the knowledge of the danger he knew she potentially faced, the danger he knew he had to protect her from, that had him vomiting.

He knew he couldn’t tell her. And he certainly didn’t deserve her.

Even if he wanted her to feel the same way about him that he did about her.

He’d promised himself that he’d pull back, slide the cool mask back in place around her. It was for her own good, for her own protection. It was to spare her life.

Which is why he sat staring at her coolly, no emotion on his face. There was no flirty, charming retort, no warmth that had snuck in when he’d interacted with her in the past.

“No. He’ll be by in a bit.”

His eyes watched her intently.

She was nervous, fidgety.

It’d been three months since he’d kissed her. He still hadn’t forgotten it. Eris wondered if she had.

“They said Briallyn kidnapped you and enchanted you. Are you…” a nervous swallow, “Are you okay?”

“I’m sitting in front of you in one piece aren’t I?”

He watched her lips thin at his icy demeanor. It was usually her who was less than warm with him. It’d never been the other way around. Well prior to the bond making itself known to him, that is.

Eris’s eyes assessed her. Genuine concern tightened her brow, one corner of her lower lip pulled between her teeth, her eyes sweeping over him like she was trying to verify his statement. She’d drifted closer to him and he stood, putting the book under his arm. He now towered above her, looking down into her face.

Her eyes roamed his face. She was close enough that he knew she was likely taking in the scatter of freckles along the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. He’d always been pretty indifferent about them. Didn’t love them, didn’t hate them. They just were.

But the way she looked at him now…

The warmth that had glowed behind his rib cage for her for the last six months glared brighter at her proximity. He squashed it down as best as he could.

He went to say something as he crossed his arms and grimaced at the sting from the injuries that still were sore. His father’s calling card was Faebane, giving it to him to slow his natural fast healing gift of the Fae. Also ensuring the wounds didn’t heal as he added more over the already existing ones. It was hell, but he’d take it and more to accomplish what he was working hard against.

Sharp eyes caught it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, standing straighter

His fingertips curled against his bicep. She was much too smart for her own good.

“Nothing.”

“You’re clearly in pain.” This time her brows furrowed in unhappiness, the clear, angry kind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, smoothly.

“Damnit, Eris, don’t lie to me!” she snapped, “Did Briallyn hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then who hurt you?”

His throat bobbed at the fierceness of her tone.

“No one and even if someone did, it wouldn’t be any of your concern anyway.”

The words were cold and detached. Eris hoped it did the job to keep her away. He was too dangerous for her to get too close to anyway.

Ironically, his words seemed to have the direct opposite effect. Her eyes were rapid fire across his face, trying to decipher if it was truth or lie. She’d have a hard time, he knew. He could typically control all of his expressions pretty well.

Eris wasn’t sure what she found there and didn’t have a chance to ask before she was on her tiptoes, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She wasn’t rough, like she knew even regardless of what he’d said, there were injuries beneath the clothes that she didn’t want to irritate. She surged upwards and kissed him.

This one was more heated than the Solstice one. Full of passion and anger, probably, definitely frustration. His arms fell apart from where he’d crossed them earlier. His hand came up, sliding into the hair that laid against her neck as he cupped the side of her neck with his broad hand.

Her tongue swept in and he had to keep from groaning at finally tasting her. Everything he’d tried to suppress came surging back with one kiss.

She sighed against his lips, as if she found just as much relief in the kiss as he did. Fingers were still curled into his shirt but loosened the moment she seemed to relax into the kiss, her mouth slanting over his with such deadly precision that he knew he was already addicted.

He breathed her name against her lips the moment they parted just a fraction, barely any distance between them, considering his lips brushed hers as his own formed around her name. She backed away fully at that, releasing his shirt completely as she stepped away from him. He wondered if he looked as dazed as he felt. He knew his eyes were lidded and he was slightly short of breath as he watched her speak her next words.

“We’re even now.”

She turned and headed for the door just as it clicked open once again and Cassian strode in. She breezed by him without a look or a single word. The Illyrian only looked from where his mate had just brushed by him then back to Eris, in question.

Eris straightened his shoulders, subtly straightening his shirt, disguised by him changing the book still in his arm to the opposite one, before speaking.

“I can’t stay long.”

•••

But I promise you this one thing

Whatever that’s missing

I will make it up to you

Now, in the present day, spring finally succumbed to summer.

Her kiss had left him reeling. It had been so much longer, so much more intense than the first they’d shared. It felt filled with much left unsaid.

He shouldn’t have been shocked when she once again pulled away. He kept telling himself it was for the best. There were other more important things at hand.

His father was furious that his ally had been killed, but he wasn’t deterred. Koschei still remained out there and no one had a faintest idea when, where or how he might strike next. Between that and the normal load he juggled, that including toeing a dangerous line of going against Beron on the daily, was wearing him thin lately.

Maybe it didn’t help that was suppressing something that came as naturally as breathing should, but he really had no choice.

He still saw her, of course. She was finding her place in the Night Court and hopefully healing. That’s all he wished for her—the best that is.

Even if his attitude had turned to frost towards her lately. He was simultaneously protecting her and his own heart in the same breath.

He’d been visiting the Night Court to discuss matters with Rhysand and actually had been invited to the palace on top of the Court of Nightmares as a sign of good faith. He figured it must be some progress.

Though he had knowledge of the city she resided in with the rest of the Inner Circle—Velaris—he’d never set foot there. He didn’t ever intend to, by force. If he was ever going to, it would have to come from invitation alone. He was not about to make them question his alliance by encroaching on things that were not his, much like Keir had done during the war, just to hurt Morrigan. He’d managed to get Keir to postpone his trip to Velaris that had come as a part of the deal he’d struck with Rhysand back then. Eris still hadn’t revealed the way he’d held off Keir. If he needed to, he might some day.

He’d run into her in the hallway after exiting the study he’d been in with Rhysand. The High Lord already had winnowed away to attend to some other business.

“What’re you doing here?”

His tone was flat, no nonsense.

“Is it really your business? I thought you’d left anyway.”

Her tone was exasperated, no nonsense.

“I was getting ready to,” he bit back.

Truthfully, he could sense she’d been here too. Whether by the tug of the untethered bond that still clung to him alone, her scent that he could always detect or a mixture, he didn’t know.

He may not have been in a good mood, but just seeing her eased something in his tense muscles. Yet still he crossed his arms, his large hands just barely tucked underneath them. Intriguing how her eyes darted to them before back to his face.

“Maybe try not to get anyone injured or nearly killed on your way out,” she snapped.

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched it. This had been a familiar argument between them as of late. Eris had never realized how little detail she’d known of what had happened in those months with Briallyn. Rhysand had attempted to actually try and protect her from the worst of it, regardless if she knew some of what was happening.

It was only a few weeks ago that she’d learned it was Eris’s Crown enchanted Autumn Court soldiers that had put an ash arrow in Azriel’s wing when he, Cassian and Nesta had gone to the Bog of Oorid to find the Mask. She’d been furious at him because he’d been so furious at Cassian and Azriel for taking out the other men. He knew she saw his side, he saw hers too. It didn’t stop the flare of anger between them though.

He knew flames burned bright in his eyes as his anger flared.

“I wasn’t the one who put that enchantment on my soldiers,” he gritted out.

“But it was you who caused Cassian and Azriel to be attacked, to be hurt! If you’d kept your soldiers at home instead of letting them accompany your father when they initially visited Briallyn, it would’ve been avoided!”

He barked a humorless laugh, “You think Beron takes orders from me? Listens to me?”

“They’re still my friends. They were protecting themselves against being killed!” she glared.

“You have no idea the things I do every damn day to prevent worse disasters. They both can and do handle themselves without problem and they’re perfectly fine. Fine and alive, might I add. More than I can say about the majority of my soldiers.”

He knew it slipped through, but he mourned them. She was right, he should’ve done more to prevent them from even being in that situation to begin with. He blamed himself. Even if he had tried to save his soldiers, it had been a fruitless effort.

Her anger seemed to cool, almost completely dissipating.

“Cassian didn’t like doing what he did. He didn’t enjoy it. You know he offered any sort of help he could for those soldiers' families if they needed it,” she said, softer now, almost apologetic for her anger, her accusations.

He just dipped his chin in a wordless nod. He was still in a bad mood, but he didn’t want to take it out on her. She didn’t deserve his wrath.

Silence fell for a moment before her question pierced the air between them. The question they’d both been avoiding.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Why’d you kiss me?” he countered, genuinely curious too.

She didn’t ignore the fact that he’d not provided an answer to her question. He wasn’t sure how he could answer without lying to her and that wasn’t an option.

“Forget it,” she mumbled, turning to leave, but he caught her arm, fingers firm on her forearm.

“Why do you do this? Why do you pull away?”

Eris’s voice was rough, cracking with so much he wanted to say, but couldn’t. His hand dropped her arm, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him. Not enough to hurt, but enough to show her he meant business and wanted answers.

The answer finally exploded out of her.

“Because you make me uncomfortable!”

His hand dropped from her face like she’d burned him. He actually reeled back like she’d slapped him. She noticed his reaction and was already shaking her head like she could take back the words.

“No, ugh!” she exhaled roughly, “That didn’t come out right. I mean it’s nothing…it’s not you that makes me uncomfortable, technically. It’s just the way being around you makes me feel. I always feel off kilter every time I’m around you. Restless, on edge, tense, I don’t know! I thought it was maybe because you’re so arrogant and conceited and more obsessed with playing the game than you are anything else. That you were just infuriating and all snarky, cocky charm and insufferable because you have more fun doing things like insulting and throwing barbs to wound instead of being a decent male.”

She paused to take a breath after her spiel before continuing. Her voice was soft for the first couple of sentences, more reverent.

“But you’ve done none of that with me. Even when we first met. I mean, yeah, you were kinda insufferable, but that seemed like a mild Eris in comparison to what I’ve seen you pull.”

He just stared at her, words turning over in his mind, sorting through every single one like this was a court meeting and he was prodding every statement for hidden meanings.

“Sometimes I can’t breathe properly around you and it terrifies me because I don’t know why.”

His amber eyes bore into hers. Gods, she was beautiful. His mate was unquestionably and wholly beautiful.

He’d never known how much she might be feeling or if she was feeling anything where the bond was concerned. By her confession now, it sure sounded like something had been stirring for a while—though she’d had no context or any explanation for it.

“What?” she breathed.

He realized he’d been staring at her, not saying a word. He also knew it was probably a bad idea, but the instinct was screaming in his head so loudly lately that rational thought wasn’t a part of the equation at the moment. All he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her.

And maybe try not to think about how he had no idea how to tell her about the bond. That he was her mate. He had no idea if she was even ready for that. Ironically, he was in practically a similar situation to Lucien, currently.

He didn’t even know if it was wise to tell her. He knew he’d still have to protect her from cruelties he realized she couldn’t even imagine.

He swallowed dryly, finding his voice.

“I’m trying to convince myself it wouldn’t be a good idea to kiss you again.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed. It sounded like an incredible idea to Eris.

“I…don’t know.”

He could’ve sworn she looked faintly amused. But she didn’t move, didn’t turn to leave again. Giving him permission to do whatever was to come next.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, a lot gentler than he even intended to. Her skin was so soft under his palm.

“Why can’t I stay away from you?” she whispered, tilting her head slightly to look up at him.

He almost groaned, all primal instincts flipping on in a flash. He knew why. It was on the tip of his tongue. So he settled for the closest thing to the truth.

“I couldn’t say.”

For the first time since he’d found her in the hallway, he realized what she was in. A tiny, gossamer thing of a nightgown. Cauldron how had he missed that?

His eyes dipped down to it, taking in bare thighs, smooth expanse of the top curve of her breasts.

“You aren’t subtle, Eris.”

Her whisper wasn’t either if the shift in her scent was any indicator. His own was probably strong with it by now.

“Who says I was trying to be?”

His voice was low, ragged, filled with restraint.

“Who says kissing me would be a bad idea?”

Because he knew if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

His hand slid lower on her cheek, thumb coming up to just barely brush the curve of her bottom lip. He almost lost all restraint just seeing the way her lashes fluttered.

It was a bad idea because he knew once would never be enough. He wanted her. He wanted to fuck her, but even scarier were the things he wanted beyond that.

He wanted her love.

“Eris.”

His dazed eyes snapped back into focus to look at her.

“Just fucking kiss me already.”

He didn’t waste a moment after that. His hand tilted her face slightly before he lowered his own to hers. Gods, it was like magic every time he’d kissed her and this time was no different. He also decided to throw caution to the wind and didn’t hold back this time.

His other hand curved around her waist pulling her closer to him as he groaned against her lips. Nothing else had ever felt as right as this. Her hands were hesitant where they’d fallen against his biceps and he wanted them everywhere on him.

His tongue flicked over her bottom lip before it swept into her mouth with a slight moan from her. He was pretty sure he grew lightheaded from the sound alone.

Cauldron, he was no better in this moment than he was as a young boy with just how eager and ready to go he was. Maybe because it was her, who she was, but he was already hard and aching, his body begging him for what he desired most. The bond meantime, sang, craving the joining as well.

He grew frantic, his lips moving over hers with such an intensity it surprised even him. He’d turned her and had her pressed against the wall, seconds from practically grinding into her when he came back to his senses.

He reluctantly tore his mouth from hers and her chest heaved, lips already swollen from his kisses as she gawked at him like she couldn’t believe what had just transpired either.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, pulling away, one step away from moving back from her completely, “I…got carried away.”

She just blinked at him.

“Did you hear any complaints?”

He didn’t trust himself to not lose himself completely in her, even for one night. He didn’t trust that he’d be able to stop if she’d changed her mind or wanted to put an end to it and he’d never want to put her in that situation. It was safer to walk away.

She must’ve seen the wariness and hesitancy in his face and his fingers itched to touch her again. That buried instinct reared its head again.

“Don’t go. Please.”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. His naturally engulfed hers as his palm touched hers. She was already moving, tugging him gently after her. Her hand moved minutely in his before her fingers were laced with his. It was such a small gesture but it made his breath catch all the same.

She led him back down the hall to the room she was staying in. She kept peeking back over her shoulder as if she half expected him to vanish into thin air before they arrived at her door.

No way in hell was he planning on doing anything else but follow her. Whatever she wanted, she was his.

When they were in the room, behind the closed door, she turned back to him, fingers still twined with his.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was a command, but importantly, it was a wish. It was her giving permission.

“Okay.”

Eris thought he’d never heard his voice sound as shaky as it did in that moment.

She took the small step from where she was, towards him, hand tangling in his hair as her hand slid around the back of his neck and pulled his face back down towards her, kissing him again.

He could drown in her, happily.

As enticing as her lips were, he had much more territory to explore. He parted from her mouth, lips trailing along her jaw. He spent more time with his mouth pressed to her neck though, her head tilted to allow him as much access as possible. Her hands slid under the dark green shirt he donned today. He shivered at the touch over his bare stomach, the muscles twitching in reaction to her touch.

He pulled back long enough to pull his shirt over his head. While he wanted to take his time with her, he wasn’t about to waste it on frivolous things like the clothes on their bodies. When the shirt cleared his head, he was flattered and amused to find her staring at his bare torso.

There was a faint flush to her cheeks as she took in his muscled frame truly for the first time. A faint flush reddened her cheeks, her eyes just slightly widened like she couldn’t believe she’d been blessed with the sight before her.

Fuck, she was adorable.

“Keep staring at me like that and a male might get ideas,” he mumbled.

“I train with muscles that impressive every day. You’d think I’d be wholly immune to them by now,” she mumbled, her eyes still very much not on his face.

He couldn’t help the smirk or the chuckle that left him. He reached for her again and she came willingly.

“Well thanks, sweetheart. Glad I’m impressive enough to break up the mundane.”

He secretly grinned into her skin as his nose brushed her jaw line before nipping at it. He definitely had to suppress the overeager groan that threatened to escape from him the moment he felt her hands exploring his bare skin. Over his toned stomach, up his chest and to his shoulders, dropping back along his back.

It was her gentle touch there that was such a contrast to the things his back was usually subjected to. Her touch alone could erase all the bad memories, all negative things he’d ever experienced. From just her touch.

It felt like she left a trail of fire behind with every brush of her fingers, no matter where she touched. Which was wildly ironic, considering it was he that had the actual fire magic.

His hands bunched the fabric of her nightgown, pushing it higher as his hands searched for bare skin to touch. The instincts he’d fought against for months were impossible to ignore now, rushing through his head at such rapid speed he was quickly swept up in them.

Touch her. Smell her. Taste her.

He yanked her against him as his mouth came over hers again, pressing up against her, letting her feel just how much he truly wanted this. Wanted her.

Her mouth broke from his with a breathy moan as his hips pressed harder against her and her eyes flew up to his as if trying to make sense what she was feeling, what was happening.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, unable to form any other words at the moment, feeling like he was lacking oxygen himself.

He could feel the warmth of her even through the layers of clothes still left on their bodies and it was a sensation that fogged his mind. If it was this bad, what was it going to be like to be inside of her?

“Eris,” she breathed as his hands glided up her bare thighs under the gown.

He really was going to need this gone. And soon. At that thought, he pushed it higher over her hips, exposing the bare skin of her stomach and he nearly groaned. It was an effort to form the next words, his mind screaming at him because it was the last thing he wanted.

“If you want to stop, we will. I won’t make you do something you don’t want.”

It was the hardest thing for him to say as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. But he meant it. If she wasn’t into it, was no longer interested in going further or doing this with him, he’d stop. Even if it killed him, he’d respect her wishes.

“No,” she shook her head, voice firm, “You’re just kind of…overwhelming.”

The last word came out breathily and gods did he just want to throw his head back and groan at that sound. He was absolutely fucking feral, he couldn’t deny it. But she had lit a fire to his entire body, mind and soul more than any of his magic ever could.

He was burning for her, in more ways than one.

“Just…tell me if you need me to slow down or…anything.”

Eris rarely stumbled over his words, but he did now, his hand cupping her face, thumb once again tracing her lip like he did earlier. It’d only been at most ten minutes since they had been standing in the hallway, since before this had truly begun, but it felt like two lifetimes.

“I’m okay, I promise,” she whispered against his thumb and once again, he truly shuddered.

She was so incredible, in so many ways.

His thumbs rubbed soothingly along the bare skin of her sides where his hands once again rested under the gossamer still on her body. She busied herself with lips pressed to his jawline and it was his turn for his lashes to flutter. He’d known pleasure plenty of times before in his life, but there was nothing that measured up to this and they hadn’t even gotten to the actual acts.

It was the intimacy in the small touches, the headiness of feeling drunk off one another even before the main event, the kisses shared.

He never wanted to leave this moment.

Her fingers once again curled into strands of his hair that fell down his shoulders as her mouth moved to his throat and his head tipped back, eyes closing at her soft lips against the strong column of his throat. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he felt her tongue lick a path from the base of it back upwards to his jawline.

He finally pushed the gown up over her waist, ready to pull it up over her head, through with the fabric that hid her body. When it cleared her head and fluttered to the floor, he felt like the breath had been knocked from him completely.

She stood before him in nothing but the lacy underwear that hugged her hips, but Cauldron boil him, he didn’t even have words to describe her.

“Fuck.” he gasped.

His cock definitely twitched in agreement.

He didn’t have anything more eloquent to say, though he wished he did. The reverence in his tone was surely conveyed as her cheeks darkened in bashfulness. Not at what they were doing, no, but just at his admiration, his gaze so intense on her.

Sometimes he wondered how he managed to get so lucky to even know her.

“Not every day Eris Vanserra is rendered speechless, huh?” her lips quirked.

Indeed.

His hands reached for her, gliding across her waist to her back and downwards as he lost himself in her lips again. They gripped her ass, squeezing, pulling her once again against the aching, hard line of his cock straining, begging for attention, in his pants.

She let out the sweetest moan. It was then Eris knew he wasn’t going to survive her.

His hands lifted her, her legs wrapping with ease around his waist and he carried her to the bed. As they neared it, the faelight glowed brighter than where they’d stood in dim light earlier. He felt her fingers on his shoulders, tracing what he knew was revealed there, what the brighter faelight had highlighted.

Visible, but faint scars along them.

Her touch was as gentle as her voice when she asked.

“What happened here?”

He looked into her face as he reached the edge of the bed, one knee on it as he set her down against the pillows gingerly, up against the headboard.

“That’s a story for another time, sweetheart,” he said a shade tightly, not wanting to think of bad memories right now.

Not when he had such good in front of him right here and now.

She didn’t press the issue but he swore he saw a glint in her eyes that indicated she was holding him to that statement. Maybe one day he’d tell her.

“Gods, you’re even more stunning in full light,” he mumbled, as he moved over her, her eyes following his approach.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me you still somehow manage to be charming even in the bedroom?”

He huffed a laugh, amused at how she could so effortlessly whip out snarky remarks like this at the most unexpected moments.

“You know, I can be charming and honest at once,” he stated, a fingertip tracing a line over across her collarbone, then lower to her breasts before dipping, thumb flicking over the nipple.

He simultaneously wanted to take all the time in the world and hurry this up. He was afraid he was actually going to die if he wasn’t inside her soon. But, he wanted to make her feel good, feel *amazing* and he was going to give her that.

Both his hands covered her breasts fully, squeezing. She arched into his touch, her teeth scraping along her bottom lip, a quiet, pleased sound coming from her throat.

The thoughts and images he’d conjured on Solstice Night behind the closed doors of his guest bedroom couldn’t come close to comparing to the real thing.

He might’ve been a tad bit embarrassed, truth be told, to admit that night hadn’t been the lone occurrence of that specific situation.

Lips and tongue replaced one hand as he took his time exploring. He felt more than saw her shiver at the brush of hair that had fallen from behind his shoulder and along her bare skin. Her hand briefly threaded through the strands giving a gentle tug, making him growl deeply.

“Eris,” she whimpered.

“Yes, pretty thing?”

Another whimper at the nickname. If he hadn’t been kneeling between her legs, he was sure she’d have squeezed those pretty thighs together.

He saw her struggle to answer, like she wasn’t even sure what she was begging for. Her hands came up to his waistband, fingers popping the button to his pants, trying to push them down, signifying her patience was growing thin.

“Not yet,” he murmured against her skin as his lips trailed lower down her sternum, reaching the lace of the red underwear still left on her body.

He hadn’t even taken note of the color until now.

“Red, huh?” His lips quirked upwards in a smirk.

“Prettiest color I ever did know,” she murmured to him through hooded eyes.

So would the flush on her cheeks be when he was done with her.

Fingers trailed along the lace, over where he knew she had to be throbbing as hard for him as his cock was for her. He cursed, feeling how she was already dripping behind the fabric. He leaned down, pressing a kiss against her through the lace. Her sharp gasp only egged him on.

He sat back on his heels with a roguish grin. She didn’t even have time to react before his hands were on her hips, effortlessly turning her on her stomach.

He pulled her hips up high, allowing her time to reposition before reaching around and taking one hand at a time and placing it on the headboard.

“Hands up here. You’ll need it.”

His voice was thick with arrogant desire, he knew, but she didn’t seem to mind and he sure didn’t plan to disappoint.

He wasn’t going to rush.

He was going to savor.

He’d waited this long for her. He was going to ravish her.

His mouth trailed a line of kisses down her spine, hands gliding smoothly down her sides as he descended. Her little gasps and sighs, her spine arching into his touch were absolutely glorious. When he reached the line of lace, he didn’t use his hands or fingers to remove the article of clothing.

He pulled the it off with his fucking teeth.

When they’d been pulled off her legs, him lifting each one delicately to pull her leg through, he bent down, catching the first look of her glistening cunt. It was the most beautiful and erotic sight he’d ever seen and it was all because of him.

He was going to have to continuously remind himself not to spill in his pants if he was going to survive this.

His fingertips brushed down her slick center and she jerked with a sharp inhale at his initial touch.

“You’re okay,” he soothed, “Just wanna feel what I’ve done to you.”

The pad of one finger circled her clit just once and he smirked at the way her hips shifted eagerly into his touch. The digits then slid lower, circled around her entrance before he pushed a finger in, groaning at the slick, tight, heat.

Do not come in your pants, Eris chided himself again, mentally.

He could feel the clench of her upon one finger becoming two, the slow drag of his fingers in and out of her making his teeth grind. He reined in the absolute animalistic need that was burning through his veins and focused on her.

Pulling his fingers out fully, much to her frustrated whimper, he turned his body, laying on his back underneath her before pulling her hips down towards his reach. His tongue licked one, continuous line along her seam and he moaned in unison with her.

He was finally giving into a primal urge that had haunted him so badly some nights that even his hand hadn’t been enough to burn off the desire in his blood.

She tasted like heaven. He knew she’d feel even better wrapped around him.

His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs holding her open as his tongue lapped at her entrance before he finally thrust it in.

Her answering moan was filthy. He couldn’t see from his current position, but he figured she was probably holding on to the headboard for dear life.

“Gods, Eris,” she cried out above him.

He hummed in response, taking a moment just to work his tongue in and out of her before moving on, mouth migrating upwards to wrap around her clit, giving it a gentle suck.

The way she was writhing made him wonder how long it’d been for her. If she’d even been with a male since being in Prythian. That was a dying shame if she hadn’t.

Something he was more than eager to remedy.

His tongue licked, lapped, flicked, never the same pressure or movement twice in a row, always keeping her on her toes. He groaned against her as she grinded against his face, his arms wrapping tighter around her thighs as he was hell bent on sending her soaring.

He murmured her name against her as she practically rode his face, chasing the pleasure that was certainly curling, building and teasing, but not quite there yet. His fingers once again joined, the ministrations of his tongue quickening to meet the thrusts of his fingers into her.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Cauldron, Er-”

She wasn’t even able to get his full name out before she was shattering with a high pitched moan. She simultaneously tried to lift her hips from his face all while still grinding against his mouth like she wasn’t sure if she wanted more or if it was too much. He kept her there, grip tight on her thighs, working her through her orgasm until he felt an insistent tap on the top of his head, signaling she couldn’t handle any more.

He finally pulled away, lifting her hips, more than just her arousal spread on his face. A wide grin was there as well.

He couldn’t explain it, but for the first time in a long time he felt genuinely happy. He’d never felt lighter, never felt more content. All because of her. And only because of something as simple as making her feel really, really good.

“If I’d known that mouth was good for more than sharp remarks, I’d have shut you up a lot sooner.”

Her voice was dazed, breathless and the low rumble of his chuckle sounded between them. He wouldn’t brag, but he was secretly pleased at how much she’d enjoy it.

“Still doing okay?” Eris asked as he sat back up, hands on his pants, as he rose on his knees behind her to push the final items off himself.

“Yeah,” she nodded, giving her okay to continue.

She was still kneeling in the same position he’d left her in. Her head turned at the sound of fabric rustling as he discarded his pants and underwear in one go. Her eyes met his first and ached to kiss her again. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe just to show her everything he felt, what he knew, what he didn’t know how to say.

Then her eyes fell as he rose enough to kick off the rest of his clothes and he saw the exact moment register—everything she was looking at. His cock, hard, aching and leaking. Him fully naked behind her. He knew she was seeing the powerful body he worked hard to maintain, to always stay in the best of shape for all matters of things.

“Should I be flattered that you look like you’re entirely pleased by what you see?”

His tone was playful, filled with the charm and a tiny bit of snark that he’d usually use in his normal demeanor towards everyone else. But in truth, his heart was pounding. He was nervous under her gaze because she wasn’t just anyone to him. Not just another lover.

His beautiful, gorgeous mate.

He knew he’d thought the same combination of words hundreds of times over the months, but in this moment? She truly was. Even on her knees, with her hands still clutching the headboard, head turned over her shoulder to look at him, causing her hair to cascade down the opposite side of her neck.

“You sure it’s gonna fit?” Her tone was a light hearted jest, but he didn’t miss the way she eyed his cock warily.

He tossed her a saucy smile that hid just how much his anxiety had spiked. He wanted to make this good for; didn’t want to hurt her.

“I’ve been known to make it work.”

Her captivating eyes rose as his frame too, rose behind her, pulling her hips back against him.

“Still sure?” he asked softly, fingers gentle on her hips.

He pushed his own forward, just enough to rub his cock against her soaked folds, just needing a quick moment of relief, but he only succeeded in teasing himself further. Gods, the need for her thrummed in his blood like a siren song.

Her answering moan was promising that this wasn’t finished yet, her hips pushing back to feel him against her again. He obliged her, a little harder this time. Her head fell forward with a desperate whimper.

“Please,” she whispered.

His heart raced as the head of his cock prodded at her entrance. Then he was pushing in, trying with all of his might to control himself, give her a minute. If it’d been a while, he knew she’d need it.

Especially considering he was rather on the large side.

He heard the hiss. He didn’t sense that she was in any actual pain though. It was likely more an adjustment than anything.

“Yeah, there you go,” he uttered as he kept stretching her, little by little, “Such a good girl.”

He chuckled at the whimper that came in reaction to the nickname. His voice was thick, laced with his own pleasure.

“Secret kink, darling?”

If she replied, he completely missed it because his eyes nearly rolled back in his head the moment he was fully inside of her.

“Fucking Cauldron,” he groaned so gutturally that he instantly felt her clench around him.

His words were also an appropriate statement, though he didn’t know whether it was with a positive or negative connotation in the moment. Simply because the Cauldron technically had caused this. Speaking of, the pull he’d felt around her for so long had increased tenfold the moment they physically joined, like even the bond knew he’d found his home.

He rocked slowly, shallowly, just letting them both get used to the feel of each other before he pulled out almost all the way, thrusting back in with more momentum. He saw her fingers curl against the headboard as she let out a low moan.

She was so damn responsive and it drove him wild.

Eris realized: all that time he’d spent feeling like he couldn’t breathe without her? Now he felt like he finally could.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praised, his voice low and smoky.

Any other time it’d be a teasing, cocky, throwaway line just tossed out mid-pleasure. Something fit for an heir just looking for a good time and a good fuck.

This time though, he meant it, meant it as genuine praise.

He’d inadvertently taken her in the same way he typically had all his lovers, from behind. It wasn’t that he was cruel per se, but it never meant much to him whether he saw their faces or not. It was usually a mutually beneficial act and that was that.

This wasn’t the case.

He allowed himself a few more delicious thrusts before he pulled out completely. He heard her whine in protest and before she could question or even turn back to look at him in question, he’d had her flipped.

On her back or on top of him? He couldn’t decide. Either way, he’d get to see her beautiful face. A sight he was aching for.

More, more, more. He wanted to lick her, suck her, taste her. Everything. It was such a deep seated instinct that he couldn’t shut it out if he tried.

He helped her reposition as he sat back, pulling her into his lap, aiding her in positioning her knees on either side of his hips. He lifted her own and when she sank on him, he knew this had been the best choice. He groaned, head falling back, his mind still not completely computing the fact that she felt so incredible.

“I like this better.”

His eyes opened and head lifted, to see her watching him with something akin to awe on her face, her hands curled around his shoulders as she moved on him.

“Yeah. Me too, sweetheart.”

He was so close to her in this position and he loved it. It felt like it was the closest he could get to her short of crawling inside her and staying, as bizarre as that sounded.

He leaned forward, lips on her throat while his hands were anything but innocent, on a journey of their own. They ghosted over her body as if trying to memorize every inch that he may never get to touch again.

“Never imagined you’d feel this good,” he groaned against her skin, hips thrusting upwards to meet each and every one of her movements, making her keen.

“Agreed,” she moaned, hand tangling in his hair once again.

She couldn’t seem to keep her hands out of it and he loved it. He loved everything about this. About her.

The tether that felt like it had been flapping uselessly in the wind on his end—that golden thread—it pulled tighter within him, strengthening from their lovemaking. Amber eyes watched her even as their bodies moved together, her head tilted back in pleasure, hair cascading down her bare back. Her hands slid from his shoulders to grip at his biceps as he succeeded in hitting deeper, hitting spots that he was sure she had no idea even existed, if her increasing volume were any indication.

He might’ve preened just a tad at that.

Her head lifted and found her watching him, her breath catching visibly.

“I can count your freckles this close to you.”

Their bodies simultaneously slowed a bit as if they were in such sync, much thought wasn’t needed to be put into the effortless action. She still moved gently on him, but the fingers of one hand came up to his face, fingertips brushing over his freckles on the top of his cheek. Her other hand came up to the opposite side, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones simultaneously.

The way she was looking at him almost split his bruised, hidden and locked away heart wide open.

He came dangerously close to saying the three words he’d kept so close to his chest, as he looked up at her. The ironic thing was Eris didn’t know which of the two, three worded phrases that he’d held as a secret, would come tumbling out first.

I love you or you’re my mate.

He said neither.

He bent her back just the slightest, leaning forward into her more, one hand on her lower back for support. His hips rolled into hers repeatedly with much more enthusiasm than they’d just previously had. One hand reached behind her to clutch the bedsheets in his hand. His own grunts and groans evidence at how fast he was falling apart all because of her.

Her chest was flush against his as she clung to him, nails digging into his back as he fucked her for all he was worth. Red hair fell over soft, smooth, feminine skin as he pulled her closer, trying to get as close as he could. He jerked her face to his, a firm grip on her chin as he knew this would soon be over. He wanted one last taste before it was.

He poured everything he had into that kiss. Savored the way her smaller hands cupped his jaw gently, her lips moving over his even as their bodies worked to send each other over the edge.

“Eris, Eris,” she’d pulled away, moaning as his hands clenched on her hips moving her on him harder as she clenched around him.

He actually whimpered in reaction to the pleading of his name. He didn’t care if it sounded pathetic or not, he was falling apart at the seams for this female.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he groaned against her throat, where he’d buried his face moments earlier, his hands roaming up her back.

“Gonna come so hard in you, gonna make you remember me, yeah? Remember whose cock you fell apart on.”

Please don’t forget this. Or me, he thought.

His teeth scraped gently against her throat before following with his tongue gliding over the spot, then leaving a gentle kiss as well. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Not gonna forget,” she panted, voice thin from pleasure, from being so close to the precipice.

Her brain was probably short circuiting as much as his was.

“Don’t wanna forget,” she whispered, almost too quiet to hear, but he did.

She was close, frankly, so was he. And his control on his mouth was slipping.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Her eyes snapped open once again to meet serious, amber ones. If there was any truth he’d let her see tonight, then it would be that. One hand slipped from her hip and along her thigh before dipping between her legs, pressing against her clit, rubbing circles. He wanted her to fall apart in his arms.

And she did just that.

With a strangled cry, she did. It was filled with such wanton ecstasy that it shot right through him like lightning. He came deep in her, spilling with such a deep groan of her name as he clung to her. He didn’t stop moving until the last of his spend erupted from him into her, marking her.

It was as if they were both frozen in place. She was still bent backwards where he held her. They’d gotten so carried away that at some point he’d gone from sitting to more like kneeling, one knee flush to the mattress. He’d had no idea when that occurred.

He lowered her the rest of the way to the mattress, gently pulling out of her, eyes locked on the sight as he tried to process that that had actually happened. He grunted, first at the loss of her warmth then at the sight of his come leaking from her. It nearly sent a shiver of delight down his spine. It was a claiming of sorts.

He was sweaty, exhausted and probably looked as wrecked as she did. His eyes raked over her as he pushed back the long, sweaty strands of his hair out of his face.

The entire ordeal had been the hottest, probably sexiest thing he’d ever experienced. She’d been the sexiest thing to ever experience. But now, as the high slowly faded, both of their breathing labored and uneven, he was left once again holding his heart in his hands with nothing but an uncertain future ahead of him.

“You okay?” she chuckled, watching him.

No, he wasn’t. That golden thread had come to life even more than he ever expected it to. He’d stupidly thought having her just once would satiate the need that had been burning him from inside out for far too long.

“I should be asking you that.”

He expertly dodged the question, his hand gently pushing her own sweaty locks out of her face.

“Perfectly fine. For some reason, I feel whole again.”

He froze at the words, but the only thing that followed was a yawn, her exhaustion apparent. He said nothing as he reached for the sheets, pulling them over her.

No matter what they’d just done, there was the one truth that clung to him, oily and insistent that he acknowledge it.

She wasn’t his.

No matter how much he wanted her to be.

•••

Tell me baby how come you don’t want to love me

And how am I supposed to live without

If there is no way to make you feel the same way too

She hadn’t asked him to, but he stayed afterwards. He didn’t sleep like she did, though.

He was haunted by the memories of what had just transpired. The way she moaned for him, the way she felt around him. How she’d looked as she came for him. But what was the most hard hitting were the softer moments in between. Her reaction to him telling her she’s beautiful. The way she had stroked his cheeks over his freckles. Those stayed with him even more than the physical, sexual things.

So in an attempt to quieten his thoughts, he watched her sleep. He observed the way her chest rose and fell with her breaths and couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked, so at peace. Peace for a female that had endured way more than she deserved.

He had lost count of how many times he’d mentally called her beautiful, but he couldn’t help it. That was the only adjective that seemed to cycle through his head to describe her.

She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

He still had no idea if she was unaware of the mating bond. He figured he’d know if it snapped into place for her. He didn’t even know if she sensed the bond.

Some of the things she’d said made him wonder though—gave him hope. Hope was dangerous though.

Something he’d learned far too early in life, when he was just a young boy.

It hummed, alive and well in his chest and he rubbed a hand over it, as if he could get rid of the buzz. Right now, it was a more pleasant feeling than usual, but he knew it would soon fade to the unfulfilled, restless feeling. Like a half that hadn’t yet connected with its whole, just left empty.

He ran a hand along her bare hip and up her side, a small smile on his lips at the sight of her. His hand lifted before brushing just under her collarbone, fingertips barely grazing over the soft skin over her heart.

He wondered what was happening in there. Or even in her mind.

Careful not to rouse her, he placed his hand over her heart fully.

“I’m your mate,” Eris whispered aloud to the silent room.

He knew she wouldn’t hear. But he had to say it out loud, at least once.

His words lingered in the air, his whispered voice ringing in his ears. The tether in his chest seemed to ruffle like a leaf in an Autumn breeze. While the two halves hadn’t connected, he noticed a difference. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was though. The ancient magic was embedded so deep in his bones sometimes it was hard to pinpoint in general.

According to things she’d said, it sounded like there were stirrings of the bond. Or maybe at least hints of it. Whether that meant she was ready for it or even truly wanted it, was another story.

With a sigh, he quietly rose from the bed. He dressed silently, keeping an eye on her so that he wouldn’t wake her.

If this was all he could have of her, all the happiness he was allowed, he’d take every scrap he could get. Even if it was just once. Even if he knew the possibility of that made him want to tear something apart. He already wanted her again. Just wanted her in his arms in general.

He knew he’d never bring her to Autumn. At least not while Beron still breathed. No one there could know of her existence, let alone that he had a mate. He would never let her be put in danger just because she was unfortunately mated to him.

Eris straightened the shirt he’d just pulled back on, locating his boots that he’d kicked off haphazardly, long ago. He sat on the bed, lacing them probably slower than he needed to.

He hated to leave her. Especially like this. But he knew it was better this way. Less questions, less chance for him to see regret in her eyes in the morning. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand that.

He looked back over his shoulder where she still remained asleep, her bare shoulder peeking out from the covers. He silently leaned across the bed, his lips pressing against her forehead with gentle tenderness. He looked at that pretty, serene face once more before standing and heading to the door.

Back to the Autumn Court where cruelty always awaited him. Where love was just for dreamers.

Lucky for him, he had a secret, endless supply of it buried deep within his heart. Something he knew was good. Worth fighting another day for.

Even if that’s all it ever amounted to.

Even if the only reason she was meant for him was to help him make it through to another day.

Tell me, tell me, baby

How come you don’t wanna love me?

Don’t you know that I can’t breathe without you

Tell me, tell me, just how

What am I supposed to do right now

Why can’t you love me?

Tell, tell, tell me why

Tag List: @alexof90s @lomahdu @seasttarr

[adventure-awaits13]

Ohh I can’t wait to read more!!

[erin-bo-berin]

To Catch A Priestess: The Equals

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 1: To Catch A Priestess | Part 2: The Pull | Part 3: The Connection | Part 4: The Thread

Your past returns with a vengeance—throwing a wrench in your friendship with Eris. It forces you both to share the final pieces of yourselves, allowing one last truth to finally surface.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, trauma, angst, priestess reader, canon Eris trauma, longing, secret mate bond, slow burn, fluff

Word Count: 14.8k

A/N: We made it to the final part of To Catch A Priestess! I’m so sad to see this end as I grew so attached to these too and spent so long with them. But I had so much fun writing these two and their respective journeys and the one they went on together. I hope y’all enjoy the last installment!

Huge thanks goes to @harvest-bunny for all the writing process help and beta reading this! 💕

ERIS

An entire week passed.

Eris spent every night waiting long into the night for her, hoping against hope she’d appear. She never did. Each passing night only deepened the panic and concern that plagued him.

Training had become unbearable, watching her go through the motions like she no longer cared. Gone was that fierce determination and grit. What was left in its place was a female even worse off than the version of her he’d first met.

It was worse because now he had the knowledge of just how much she could brighten a space, fill his day…hold his heart.

The mating bond raged in him. That bond, that damned bond—the one he’d spent so long ignoring, assuming it was more manageable that way—only made itself more known. He walked around constantly feeling like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs and that his heart was being sliced apart, slowly.

She’d made herself practically unreachable—and not just physically. He felt the emotional distance, the wall she’d built around herself—like a blade to his chest.

A blade to his chest would’ve hurt less.

Eris felt helpless. He yearned to help her, but had no idea how he could. He didn’t even know what was wrong. What sort of mate could he be if he couldn’t even tell what was wrong with her?

Old anger flared again, reminiscent of the early days after meeting her. This time, it wasn’t directed towards her, but at the situation. But Eris quite literally felt angry with the world nowadays. It didn’t help that he was constantly on edge, irritation flaring in him at his inability to be useful.

Every time her gaze passed over him like he wasn’t even there, a physical ache went through him. He’d experienced so much in his centuries alive—enough to leave scars—but nothing left him feeling as raw as this had. The absence of her in his normal routine hadn’t helped matters either.

He knew there were parts of her he didn’t know, hadn’t been privy too, but he also knew this version of her was wrong. Amidst all of this, he still felt the nagging worry that he’d caused all this. That his inability to control his selfish desires had scared her off, pushed her away.

Left with no answers was dangerous for Eris, especially as a male that thrived on certainty.

That bond pulled even more taut as the days passed, like a string pulled far too tight. He halfway wondered if it was capable of snapping in half. It only furthered his agitation.

Though he managed to mask his rising panic well—with his usual cool indifference—it wasn’t enough for everyone else that surrounded them to quickly notice something was amiss.

One morning he said her name as she passed, itching to reach out and touch her, something. She didn’t bother to slow or even glance at him as she walked by—the most concerning part being that it seemed like she hadn’t even heard him.

Whatever world she’d been pulled into, the horrors that lurked within, had trapped her, causing her to retreat to a place that he couldn’t reach. The incident had made his jaw tighten and hands ball into fists beneath his folded arms.

One morning, Cassian finally broached the subject as it neared a week of complete silence from her.

“Is something the matter?”

“Other than it being scorching out today?” Eris drawled, unimpressed—and very unwilling to divulge.

“For a male who wields fire, I’d assume you’d be fine with a little heat.”

Eris cut the Illyrian a glare, both at him pressing and the double meaning to his little comment.

“He won’t ask, so I will,” Azriel cut in, having joined them just as Cassian voiced his previous comment, “Did you say something to her?”

Eris knew irritation flashed on his face, flames likely sizzled in eyes at the insult.

“How easy it is to assume I’m the one at fault,” he sneered.

“Answer the damn question,” Cassian bit out.

Eris’s anger flared, but he reined it in, dropping his crossed arms and standing straighter.

“I have as little knowledge of what’s troubling her as you do,” Eris answered stiffly, “Unless you know something I do not.”

Both males’ protective anger seemed to bank then vanish entirely as it morphed into wary confusion.

“We just assumed…”

“It’s been no secret that you and she seemed to be…acquainted,” Azriel hedged, cutting Cassian off.

Eris snorted, but didn’t answer.

“I don’t know what you’ve done—”

Eris was seconds away from shooting a derisive look towards the shadowsinger but the male continued.

“But I’ve never seen her more alive than she has been in these last few months,” Azriel finished.

He faltered at that, the harsh edges of his irritation softening just slightly. To know that he’d had such an impact on her…

Eris studied the males, contemplating what to say when he finally settled on, “I truly do not know what’s wrong and I find myself…troubled by that fact.”

Cassian looked over to where a group of the females had gathered around the water ewer, chatting as they got a much needed drink. Nesta was among them, a serious look on her face as she listened to something one of the priestesses was telling her, nodding in answer. The General of the Night Court turned back to him before speaking.

“I think the most important thing is not to give up on her. Wherever she’s retreated to, she’s going to need your help climbing out.”

Which was exactly why Eris found himself sitting under the moonlight again that night—night seven of this. He’d never intended to give up on her, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a fruitless effort. Even worse, he feared she’d never return.

He sat staring at the archway that led to the stairs like he could will her into existence. He could almost picture her walking through it, that sly smile on her face, the barely contained amusement blooming over her features as she took in his presence. Something in his chest twisted when he was only met with silent night air.

He missed her greatly—and he didn’t know what to do with that fact.

Stiff from hours of sitting, he finally stood, deciding to call it a night. He couldn’t force her to meet him or even talk to him. He looked around the shadowy space, sighing deeply, resigned as he winnowed back to the Autumn Court.

Maybe he’d try again tomorrow.

He had no way of knowing that only moments after he’d departed, a lonely, broken priestess had just cleared the archway into a dark and empty training ring.

•••

You were the most horrible person alive.

The lone thought cycled through your head in the week that’d followed. The days of your past and present bleeding together—when you’d feared Eris to be no better than Finneas—were long gone. Though you no longer thought the Autumn male to be anything like the one who’d destroyed your life, something still held you back.

You weren’t even sure if you were okay. You didn’t quite know what you were, truth be told. You’d fallen into a state frighteningly similar to how you’d been in your early days after arriving at the library.

The nightmares still continued—all pertaining to that final night with Finneas. It sent you to a dark place of despair with worrying speed.

You hadn’t intended to punish Eris, to push him away and avoid him, but you hadn’t wanted him to see you like this. You were too ruined, too imperfect for someone like him to care about. If he knew the horrors that lived in your head—what had happened to you—he’d never look at you the same.

So as the nightmares continued hounding you, you pulled further into yourself and kept on ignoring Eris. Ignoring everyone. Gone was the female you’d felt like you’d started rediscovering. All the hope and joy you’d once felt seemed to have vanished. You pulled further into yourself, narrowing your world back to just you, alone. After all, you could only count on yourself.

Your days had turned into the monotony of training, returning to the library for your work and crawling into bed. You skipped services, you skipped dinners most evenings and you definitely didn’t venture up to the roof to meet Eris.

He’d probably forgotten all about you anyway. You’d likely only been a way to pass the time. Whatever had been between the two of you was only meant to be short lived, you were sure. You never had figured out why he’d been so taken with you and for so long.

You’d been foolish to think you ever deserved even a modicum of happiness.

As dark circles started reappearing under your eyes and your spirit plummeted even more, you found yourself feeling like you were drowning again. Finneas’s words echoed in your head, along with your other doubts.

Maybe he’d been right when he’d said no one would love you or want you. You were but a shell, so broken that some days you felt like you were made of nothing but jagged shards of glass.

It was Clotho that noticed your deteriorating mindset, first.

You were busy placing books on the cart one afternoon, four days after you’d stopped meeting Eris, when you heard the familiar sound of a pen scratch.

You’re quieter than usual.

You shrugged, picking up another book and placing it on the cart. You were organizing the books by levels so it would be easier when it came time to shelve them later.

“Just tired is all.”

You waited for her enchanted pen to stop moving.

Your eyes tell a much different story.

You let out a long breath, a strand of hair fluttering out of your face in reaction. You had no idea where to even begin on what you truly felt. Clotho wrote again.

We are never meant to traverse life and its challenges alone. Sometimes it’s a blessing to let another person carry some of the load.

Clotho was dangerously close to the truth of what Eris had become to you lately. Even if there were still parts of you he didn’t know, he’d provided stability and familiarity—comfort—in a way you hadn’t been expecting.

Somehow, over the months, he’d started filling the lonely cracks that had been gaping open in your chest for far too long. Nightly meetings with him had even seemed to chase the nightmares away at one point. He’d become a constant in your life as you’d begun to grow and heal. A lot of that had come from your own determination, but he had played a significant part in who you’d started to become.

“Sometimes people disappoint you,” you finally spoke aloud.

Which wasn’t fair to say. Eris had done nothing to make you question that—certainly not in the ways Finneas had. Even if you’d been the one to pull away from him—in fear, hopelessness and despair—you still missed him. He’d snuck into your life so craftily that you found you now missed the place he’d so easily occupied. This last week had stretched on endlessly while you’d walked around with an aching hole in your chest.

This hurt felt different from the types you’d experienced before though. Instead, this felt like an intricate part of you had gone missing, the dull ache only growing as the days passed.

Clotho seemed to be studying you from under her hood. For a concerning moment, you were afraid she could read all your vulnerable thoughts. The enchanted pen wrote again.

Is it others that frightens you? Or yourself?

“If I didn’t know you were High Priestess, I would think you were my counselor,” you mumbled.

A breath of amusement fluttered from beneath the hood as the paper returned to her to continue the conversation.

It has been nice to see you full of life lately. Whatever—or whoever—has caused that deserves to have a place in your life.

“Maybe,” you answered, noncommittally.

Even if she wasn’t daemati like the High Lord and High Lady of this court were, Clotho always seemed to possess an unnervingly excellent ability to read individuals. She’d always been able to when it came to you. You knew she meant well and cared about your wellbeing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to explain the raw feelings you’d carried with you this week.

For once, thoughts of Eris and Finneas intertwined for a different reason, though it hadn’t been unusual for the past and present to bleed together. But now, the stark differences between the males were more apparent.

Eris was the present, potentially a future, the male of such unexpected kindness and good intentions hidden beneath a deceptively cold face. Finneas was the past, the male who had actually possessed such cruelty beneath a friendly face.

Even still, the hesitancy and apprehension remained in you.

Sometimes, the heart knows before you do.

Your mind filled instantly with images of familiar amber eyes, pale skin, a curtain of red hair—of a male with such a sharp mind and keen talent of perception. One who had a unique sense of humor, tinged with arrogance and snark, yet who concealed a compassionate, good male, beneath it all. The very same male that, at first glance, seemed cold and calculating—unfeeling—but who had instead spent time with you in the most vulnerable of ways, even sharing pieces of his dreams for his court with you.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you finally answered, placing the last book on the cart, “I better get busy returning these books. I’ll see you later, Clotho.”

With that, you left the High Priestess, pulling the cart of books behind you as you went, her advice echoing in your mind and heart as you went.

That night, Gwyn found you in front of one of the fireplaces of the library—where you once regularly found yourself when you couldn’t sleep.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You started, not having heard her approach.

“What are you doing here?”

It was late, close to midnight by your guess. Far too late for Gwyn to typically make a visit.

“I had Azriel drop me off. I wanted to find you. May I?”

She motioned to one of the comfortable velvet chairs that sat in front of the fire. Specifically the unoccupied one right next to you. You nodded and she took a seat next to you.

“You wanted to find me?” you prompted.

“Yes.”

The pretty, freckled face of your friend was tight with concern and you had good sense to know where this conversation was heading. But she didn’t launch into demanding an explanation or prying questions like you’d anticipated.

“I’ve been worried about you.”

You shrugged halfheartedly, peering down into your lap.

“I’m fine.”

Gwyn was silent for a moment before answering.

“I used to say the same thing as well—in that exact same tone.”

You bit your lip, tears unexpectedly springing to your eyes. Just her confession alone had something unraveling in your chest—the knowledge that you weren’t the only one who’d been in this same place.

The truth was you weren’t fine. The past had ensnared you again but in a new and bigger way, making you afraid to live again—to have a future. It was doing its best to convince you that you didn’t deserve one.

“I recognize drowning when I see it,” Gwyn said so gently that your eyes squeezed shut, willing the tears away.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen you cry before, that wasn’t it. You were just so tired—of the shame, the fear, the thoughts that kept your head too loud. You’d been foolish to believe healing and making positive progress meant this part was over.

“I thought I was finally okay,” came your broken whisper.

You hadn’t known what would come out when you finally allowed yourself to talk about this. You’d kept it locked up inside of you all week—the storm of emotions only gaining in strength rather than disappearing. You hadn’t expected that to be the first words off your lips, but you knew they carried so much truth to them.

Gwyn didn’t comment and you took the invitation to continue.

“I was finally stepping out of the shadows and into the light for a change—quite literally,” you huffed a humorless laugh, “I started waking up looking forward to the days ahead instead of dreading them. I no longer felt that heavy weight that once seemed to try to pull me down. I felt like I was capable of…anything. But perhaps I was fooling no one but myself.”

Your friend was contemplative in her silence, not rushing to agree or to reassure you, letting your feelings and words settle in the air between the two of you. You were so emotionally fatigued you weren’t even sure what you wanted anymore.

“Did something happen? With Eris?”

Her pleasant voice filled you with such comfort, reminding you of all the times she’d spent helping you in the past. But the mention of his name sent a dull ache through you. The male had become so deeply tangled in emotions surrounding a situation he had no knowledge of. While that was no fault of his own, it only made things more confusing for you.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Well, at least that covers everything,” Gwyn responded wryly.

You exhaled a half laugh, her attempt at humor making you feel lighter for just a moment. You heaved a deep sigh, knowing Gwyn was someone you could trust and were comfortable with being vulnerable with. After all, she was your friend.

“He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything at all,” you answered her earlier question.

“Well…” she hesitated, “It has been rather jarring to notice how the two of you went from rather familiar with each other to impersonal almost overnight.”

Your eyes slipped shut again, guilt flooding you.

“That was all my fault.”

Again, she waited for you to continue, not filling the silence with unnecessary commentary. You toyed with the edge of the blanket that was folded neatly and resting over the sidearm of the chair.

“When I first met him, I didn’t trust him,” you stated simply as you finally turned back to face her.

Both of her copper brows rose in surprise.

“You see, the male— with my past—”

You cut yourself off and took a steadying breath. Even if you didn’t intend to share your entire history with Gwyn, just sharing this was difficult enough.

“I unfairly assumed his intentions were the same. I only expected the worst because I had been taught to be on my guard in all the wrong ways. You know how he is—how he appears. That didn’t help matters.”

Gwyn’s lips twitched in answer, like yes, she was more than familiar with the front Eris showed the world.

“But somehow, that changed. I found myself more intrigued by him and less frightened. You remember how I told you about the time he found me on the roof? Well, those nightly meetings became something I looked forward to. I don’t know if it was just the company or what, but somehow we formed this—”

You paused, searching for the correct word.

“Understanding,” you concluded.

“So what changed?” came her soft inquiry.

Images of that last night with Eris flashed behind your eyes—his vulnerability as he told you what he wanted to accomplish as High Lord, the way he’d looked at you.

“Last week, after the last rooftop meeting with Eris, I started having nightmares again. It was like being back there, living through it once more. My head got…loud again. I—I can’t explain why I pulled away, from him, from everyone.”

“You were scared,” she said.

She made it sound so simple, but in all truthfulness, it rang the most true.

“He scares me,” you admitted softly.

“He does or what he represents?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Safety. Happiness. Closeness. Is that not what you’ve felt with him?” she asked, ponytail shifting as she tilted her head in curiosity.

She wasn’t analyzing you, but merely questioning, assessing where your head was while simultaneously allowing you to come to your own conclusions.

“It is not unusual to be haunted by your past—I still live with memories of my own. But it’s not fair to yourself to let it hold you back in life. I know what it’s like to live with shame of what you’ve survived and the fear that happiness doesn’t last for long. For far too long, I held myself back from embracing all life had to offer me. I don’t want to see you make the same mistake.”

“It seems safer to rely on only myself though.”

For you had started to trust Eris, rely on his companionship. Old habits made you fearful that something so precious could easily be taken away. Especially now that you were beginning to realize just how much you cared about him.

“Is that fair though?” she asked, “Rather than try and fail—you would take the safe road? Is it living to take the safe road?”

You didn’t have an answer for her. Gwyn’s words were firm, but heartfelt as she continued.

“The male in your past wins if you let what happened to you continue to have this power over you. The pain will always linger in some sense, but it becomes more manageable over time—easier to live with. It’s a matter of learning how not to be swept away with it when it sometimes does return.”

She reached out, grasping one of your hands in both of her own.

“I realize I have no knowledge of what you endured, but what I do know is that I’ve watched you grow and change—in a positive direction—so much over these last few months. Words cannot describe how proud of you I am, for all that you’ve already accomplished. That female is still within you—she’s always been in you—she’s just buried right now in uncertainty.”

A tear finally slid free and you let it roll down your cheek as her words sank in, a balm to all the fears you’d been harboring throughout the past week. Blunt honestly came slipping from your lips in a whisper.

“I think—I think I found myself caring about him in a way I never expected.”

A small smile played on Gwyn’s lips like she wasn’t all that surprised by the revelation.

“I think he’s also seen more of me than I’ve shown anyone and that became terrifying too. I’m afraid he’ll see me differently when he eventually learns about my past.”

Gwyn’s features softened as she listened to your fears.

“While frightening, that sounds like a risk worth taking, don’t you think? Especially if he’s someone you’d like to remain in your life.”

You knew she was right, even though your heart pounded at the thought of being so vulnerable. But he had shared things with you, perhaps it was only fair you finally returned the sentiment.

Gwyn let you ruminate in the silence, turning over everything in your mind as she gave your hand a squeeze before pulling away.

“Tomorrow’s a brand new day. I think it’s time for that strong and fierce female we’ve come to know to make a reappearance, don’t you think?”

Her smile was bright as she stood, making you feel lighter than you had all week. Between Gwyn’s words now and Clotho’s from earlier in the day, resolve settled over you—determination to once again fight for the life you wanted to live. One that came with all the good and bad.

As she bid you farewell—letting you know she’d see you in the training ring in the morning—you knew what you needed to do. Pushing up out of the chair you’d been settled in, you headed to the stairwell that led to the roof.

What you hadn’t expected was to find it completely empty, devoid of the presence that knew how to fill a space. Your eyes were met with only shadows as they roamed the darkened training ring.

The other thing you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment that settled deep within your chest—or the realization that you couldn’t bear losing him.

•••

ERIS

Once again, something had changed. But this time, it was for the better.

Eris watched her put all her determination and energy into training the following morning. She completed her warmups early, did them harder, faster. She hit all the marks in the sword lessons of the day, her footwork precise, her body perfectly aligned with every turn.

She pushed herself hard through the hours long lessons and by the end of it, she was panting, hairline soaked with sweat as she pulled off the jacket of the leathers she normally donned every day now.

He couldn’t help the relief that flooded him to see her will returning, but something like sadness tugged in his chest momentarily. He hated feeling it, but it gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to help her—couldn’t pull her out of whatever had been bothering her.

She fanned herself, her face sweaty and flushed as she retrieved a drink of water. He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her every move, assessing to make sure that somehow she truly was doing better.

She flashed one of the priestesses—Deirdre, he recalled—a pretty, bright smile in response to something the female had said. His heart stuttered at the reappearance of the smile that had gone missing for over a week.

While a hint of that smile lingered on her lips, her eyes flicked his way, holding his gaze. Her face turned a shade more serious as something charged hung in the air between them—oddly similar to that instance when he’d felt the mating bond snap into place.

The spell was broken by Azriel calling his name, pulling him into a conversation with the shadowsinger—one that had Eris’s back turning to the females. When it wrapped up a few minutes later, Eris was surprised to turn and find her waiting for his attention to free up.

Up close, he realized that while her demeanor had improved, there were still dark smudges under her eyes, shadows lingering within the gaze that peered up at him. He could tell the difference between her behavior as of late and now, but even then he knew she wasn’t fully alright.

“Tonight? Same time?”

The sound of her soft voice was music to his ears. It felt like he hadn’t heard it in centuries. The hope that bloomed in him at this turn of events sent his pulse skittering.

“Yes—of course.”

She merely dipped her chin in a nod before turning to leave.

The day passed dreadfully slowly and Eris found himself closest to fidgeting than he ever had been. For someone who knew how to handle unease and anticipation, without displaying a single indication of what he was feeling, he was struggling with the skill today. The minute he was free of his duties back home, he escaped to his chambers, winnowing to Velaris practically the moment his door closed behind him.

Despite arriving a tad earlier than usual, he was surprised to see her sitting in the middle of the training ring, cross-legged. She was back in the pale blue priestess robes, her hair loose and fluttering gently in the warm summer night. Her head turned as he approached silently, head tilting up to look at him.

Wariness lined her features, a sort of defeated look about her. Her eyes weren’t empty as they had been previously, but he could see the exhaustion in them—an exhaustion that wasn’t physical.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” she said, hesitation thick in her words.

“Alright,” he said, sitting down next to her, so close that their shoulders almost brushed.

Her fingers tapped nervously against her leg before she caught herself, curling them into her hand. His eyes took in how her nails dug into her palms. She took an audible breath—her chest expanding with it—and blew it out slowly. Eris waited patiently, though concern tugged at his ribs, right at that strange place that seemed to wait for her.

“Five years ago, I was brought to this library.”

Eris’s spine stiffened and he automatically sat up at the severity in her voice. He hadn’t known what to expect by her greeting, but he hadn’t considered it would be this—that she would be sharing the story that had impacted her life so greatly.

“Rhysand found me in the alley behind Rita’s, bleeding, half frozen, left for dead.”

Anger, nothing but pure anger flared through him, followed by an overwhelmingly sickening sense of horror at what she’d just said. She gave a humorless laugh.

“I probably should start at the beginning.”

Eris only tensed further, irrational protectiveness flooding his senses as he tried to prepare himself to hear a story that he knew had to be incredibly difficult for her to share.

“Five years ago, I knew a male by the name of Finneas. He was beautiful—practically perfect—the kind of male that one could only dream of. I think I fell in love with him from the first moment I laid eyes on him.”

Eris scolded himself for the momentary envy that slid through him, oily and wrong—especially at such an inopportune time. But something in him still reacted to hearing her talk of another male in such a way. He inhaled through his nose quietly, trying to rein in the absurd reaction that he had no control over.

“You see, I used to own a bookstore—here in Velaris. It was my dream to own one, ever since I was a child. I didn’t own it long, just over a year, but the short time I did have it are some of the happiest moments of my life.”

Surprise filled him at the discovery of this piece of her history, a brief smile appearing. Somehow it didn’t surprise him to know that she’d once owned a bookstore. It seemed that no matter where she’d been in life, she always managed to end up surrounded by books. He made a mental note to ask her more about it at a later date.

“He came into my store one day and the rest was history. Unfortunately.”

The last word sounded like it came with much regret, the weight to it so heavy he felt the air around them shift with the severity of the moment.

“He told me he was the son of a lesser lord and that he was estranged from his parents—though I’m still to this day unsure if that was the truth or another one of his lies. He claimed the aristocratic world was far too formal to hold his attention for long. Thinking back now, I realize I truly knew little about him or his life. I don’t even know where he hailed from—whether it was from Prythian, the Continent or even other faraway lands. All I knew was that he was a handsome High Fae male with the palest of blonde hair and striking green eyes and had a penchant for traveling. I’d always assumed he had ancestry from the Spring Court. I don’t even know if his parents were alive. Guess that should’ve been my first warning, huh?”

Eris felt a sense of dread creep over him as she spoke, not entirely knowing what to anticipate, but knowing it couldn’t be good. He didn’t speak, his eyes focused wholly on her as she spoke, though her gaze stayed elsewhere.

“At first he was charming, so incredibly charming. He said all the right things, complimented me endlessly and just showered me with attention, appreciation and even gifts. It was overwhelming in the best of ways—I thought I was the luckiest female alive.”

“I take it that didn’t last long,” Eris rasped, a statement more than a question.

She shook her head, a halfhearted exhale escaping her—one that sounded like it was meant to be a self-deprecating laugh.

“No, it did not,” she answered, “But, thinking back, I feel like it was a distraction of sorts—a sleight of hand, if you will. His attempt to preoccupy my attention so I would never anticipate his true intentions.”

She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind an arched ear, attempting to steady the shaking of her hands. Eris noticed every small movement, his chest aching at the sight. He resisted the urge to reach out and take her trembling hands in his broad ones.

“It didn’t happen quickly—the changes. In fact, it was so subtle I didn’t even realize it when it was happening. It seemed to be a series of strange moments, ones where he acted oddly. But I kept brushing them off, explaining them away.”

Eris didn’t know whether he should let her talk or say something, but the question came out before he could stop it. If anything, at least it proved that he took this incredibly seriously and that she had his full attention.

“Such as what?”

She shrugged, glancing over at him quickly before looking back towards her lap.

“He’d start criticizing me over the strangest things—what I wore, a decision I made about the store. I figured he was just strongly opinionated. Then it escalated in frequency to the point where I was second guessing myself and my abilities.”

Her robes rustled as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Then came the possessiveness and the irrational jealousy. He’d make me feel guilty if I had other plans with anyone other than him. He’d get irrationally angry if a male was even kind to me, automatically jumping to the conclusion that he was flirting with me. Then he’d turn around and accuse me of being far too friendly with them. Little by little he narrowed my world until it was only him in it. I trusted him and relied on him, I even thought I was in love with him.”

His jaw clenched but he kept on listening.

“I don’t know how it really started. I know there was a distinct moment it began, but in the plethora of bad memories, I don’t remember it. You think I would recall what led to it, wouldn’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question and he didn’t answer, just waited, tensely, as that sense of dread grew, positive he knew exactly what was coming.

“The first time he hurt me he gripped my wrists so tightly that I had bruises for days. He slammed me into a wall with such force, my teeth rattled. I was left with a knot on the back of my head after that incident.”

Her voice was so small, so quiet, filled with so much shame. Eris wasn’t sure he was breathing. The female that had been made for him—the one that the Mother had tied him to—had experienced such horrors so similar to his own, to what his own mother had endured. That quiet place that only answered to her seemed to roar again, fury and agony entangled.

Amongst those reactions laid a sense of astonished awe at the irony of it all. Every iota of him loathed that she had to experience even a fraction of the sort of physical abuse he’d been subjected to, but in the same breath he knew that those shared tragedies allowed him to understand her far more deeply than she realized.

Another realization struck him. That deduction of his—when he’d first noticed how she’d flinch around males—had been absolutely correct. She’d been on edge for far longer than she should’ve been—always anticipating a strike or explosive anger because of invisible scars this piece of shit had left on her.

“Besides his words, his fists were his favorite way to hurt me,” she uttered, beginning to sound detached, “But of course I was naive and a damn fool for thinking things would eventually improve.”

“You were never a fool for thinking you could trust someone that was supposed to care for you,” he said, perhaps a tad sharper than he meant to.

Her eyes lifted to his again and he didn’t think his chest could ache any more than it did in that moment. In the moonlight, he saw the deep pain etched into her face. That haunted look had returned to her face, mixed with grief, despair and regret. Whatever his own expression beheld apparently gave her the strength to continue her story.

“He always apologized—every time, actually—said he was sorry and it would never happen again.”

“I take it that was far from the truth.”

Eris barely bit back the grimace at his inane and very obvious question, though she didn’t give him any grief for it. She pulled her legs to her chest as if trying to shrink herself, make herself less vulnerable in this situation as she continuously exposed herself.

“You would be correct,” she said flatly, “I’m sure you can guess what the rest of the story is like. The brutality continued and I learned to become smaller, never too much, fearful of upsetting him or triggering his anger. I thought I didn’t deserve any better. I lived in such a state of constant fear that it’s a wonder that didn’t kill me before he tried to.”

Every muscle in his body tensed in reaction. He heard her take in a shuddering breath as she prepared to voice what he assumed to be the hardest part of her story. Without even thinking of what he was doing, he laid his hand—palm up—on the ground between them. She’d once offered him reassurance in a small touch, he could offer her the same courtesy.

The motion caught her eye as she glanced down and saw his silent offering—support, strength, and comfort in the gesture. All to let her know she wasn’t alone, not now or ever. One hand fell from where she gripped her legs, reaching out for his hand, her fingers just barely curling around his.

“One night he went too far,” she breathed into the night air.

Eris felt the pain in every syllable. His fingers twitched against hers.

“Similarly to what led to the first time he put his hands on me, I don’t recall what led to this night either. All I remember was pain and paralyzing fear.”

He squeezed her fingers gently in silent encouragement, giving her the needed courage to continue.

“Rhysand said I had a black eye, broken nose, busted lip, several broken bones—including a few ribs—and a massive head wound that had left me so bloody and broken he later admitted that, at first sight, he’d been terrified I was already gone.”

Wrath raced through his bloodstream, nothing but pure wrath. High Fae were harder to kill, yes, but he also knew the strength they had. If that brute force had been taken out on an individual…it would very much leave them in a state just like she’d described. His eyes closed briefly—not only to settle the intense emotions swirling in him—but because of all she’d just revealed.

He couldn’t bear to imagine the female sitting in front of him—the same he’d seen display such fierceness and strength—reduced to nothing, physically and emotionally.

“Finneas left me for dead in that alley behind Rita’s. That’s where Rhysand found me. He healed me as best as he could before he brought me to the library—where others like me resided. Ones who experienced such unimaginable horrors. This is where I’ve been for the last five years.”

There was still one question that nagged him, that he knew he needed the answer to. If only to calm the rage that made his blood boil.

“What happened to him,” Eris snarled through clenched teeth.

“Rhysand hunted him down and looked into his mind to see what he’d done—to avoid me having to relive it by telling him. Then he killed him.”

Eris was of the mind to consider the male lucky because with the way he was feeling, he knew he would’ve done the same thing if he was still alive and breathing.

As he studied her, in the aftermath of sharing all that she had, he realized how much of it made sense now. Her reluctance around males, the confidence that had been shredded to pieces, the haunted look in her eyes that first night he’d found her up here. That was why she’d looked like a frightened animal when he’d unintentionally startled her.

It was also the explanation as to why she’d been in the library for so long. Not because she was weak, as he’d once assumed, but because her life had been so brutally interrupted that rebuilding it was no simple matter. He’d been an asshole about it—questioning why she was still living there—all because he was furious at fate.

He had just opened his mouth to apologize for that encounter, once again, but apparently there was more she felt the need to share.

“I started having nightmares again last week. It pulled me back into such a dark place that I felt I could no longer maintain the female I thought I was becoming. I was terrified of you seeing me like this too, afraid when you inevitably discovered the truth you’d see me differently or think me foolish for allowing this to happen to me—”

He said her name so sharply that her eyes instantly flew to him. She’d been staring at where their hands were still loosely connected as if he was the only thing grounding her in reality.

“The only way I see you is as a female who finally decided to take her life back after some asshole tried to crush her spirit,” he said vehemently, “You are not lesser for what you’ve had to endure, you hear me?”

She managed a small nod, tears finally flooding her eyes. That tugging pain in his chest returned as the tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“I think I knew for a while I wanted to tell you, I was just so scared that when you knew the truth…you’d leave too. I was forced long ago to believe that I could count on no one but myself—that getting too close to people would only end badly.”

The painful truth was that she had no idea just how much he understood that sentiment. All the instincts he’d been pushing down for months swelled again and this time, he didn’t ignore them as gently he pulled her into his arms.

He found himself surprised at the gesture because this wasn’t how he usually offered reassurance, but then again it was rare he offered it to begin with. With her though—with her, it felt natural as she fit perfectly in his arms, against his chest. His arms settled around her, one broad hand flat against the center of her back, thumb brushing soothing strokes back and forth.

The tears weren’t the dramatic sobs he’d half expected, but more quiet. As if something within her was fracturing but rebuilding stronger—a healing of sorts. More than a small part of him hoped that even sharing her story with him would go a long way in her healing.

Her arms stayed bent against his chest, pressed between both of their bodies as her own expelled all the pain and grief of the last week—and likely far longer. Between quiet gasps of breath and sniffles, he felt her fingers tangle in the lengths of his hair, as if they’d always belonged there. He said nothing though as he sat and held her, content to be there for as long as she needed.

If only to let her know that she’d never have to be alone again.

•••

You didn’t know how much time passed or how long Eris sat holding you in his arms. You felt so incredibly raw and exposed, bordering on feeling shameful and embarrassed by not only your past, but your reaction to it.

You briefly thought about apologizing for your dramatics when the rumble of his voice in his chest made you pause. But it was the words that stopped you cold.

“I’ve been tortured by my father more than I care to admit.”

You stiffened, the words clanging through you with such strength you struggled to make sense of them. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, you pulled out of his arms. His grip loosened as you sat back to look up at him.

His face gave nothing away, the tenderness and concern of earlier completely replaced by cold indifference—distance. His mouth was set in a straight line, jaw tense, eyes devoid of any of the warmth you knew they’d been capable of in the past. Of mere moments before.

“What?”

Your voice absolutely cracked around the word. You couldn’t explain why, but it felt like a fist had reached into your chest and ripped your heart out, straight through your ribs, the pain and panic that flooded you, instantaneous and irrational.

“As you’ve probably gathered, my father isn’t a pleasant person. I’ve long known what sort of creature he is.”

His touch slid from your body, the loss of the comfort and warmth leaving you cold—almost as cold as his confession had. He rubbed his jaw nervously, the first time you’d seen him so ruffled, if you were honest.

“I understand what you’ve endured more than you realize,” Eris finally said, anger flashing in those amber eyes.

You gasped softly as flames sparked to life in his eyes at the first sign of his anger. You’d halfway noticed it and dismissed it earlier, too focused on getting what you needed to say out. But now, you could see the golden flames sizzling in his eyes. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath before opening them again, the flames having vanished as he reined his emotions in.

“I understand because my father is exactly the same kind of male as the one that hurt you.”

You once didn’t think you could take anymore pain, that nothing could hurt worse than the suffering you’d survived. But somehow, this was a new kind of torture. You wanted to scream, cry, howl in reaction to what Eris was telling you, you hurt so deeply for him.

You knew how horrible it was to experience what you had, so to know Eris had far too much experience with similar things—things that nearly broke you—almost shattered you into a million pieces.

“Do you recall how I mentioned Lucien once got along with the lesser faeries of Autumn?”

You merely nodded, still unable to find the words to say.

“Unfortunately, he fell in love with one of them—Jesminda. My father—” he sneered at the word, “—took it upon himself to display just how much he disapproved of his son falling in love with a female not good enough for a High Lord’s son. He had her executed in front of Lucien.”

You gasped, horror making you recoil slightly.

“Beron also delights in putting his hands on my mother—and me.”

His jaw worked as he looked away from you. Your heart pounded, unable to process fully what he was saying.

“Myself? I can deal with that. But my mother?”

Barely restrained fury rippled his body.

“She deserves none of that,” he said, voice so cold you had the good sense to know that one day he would make the High Lord of Autumn pay for his actions.

“Eris.”

His name seemed to rip from your throat. His gaze had gone distant as he’d stared out across the darkened training ring. At the sound of his name on your lips, his eyes slid to yours.

“What do you mean he tortures you?”

His answer was so blunt it made you want to vomit on the ground you sat on.

“He’s been known to dose me with Faebane—to keep me weakened and slow the healing—then inflict pain on me, leaving injuries that take twice as long to heal. The reason why differs between him wanting information from me to pure enjoyment, depending on the day.”

A broken sound escaped you. He must’ve seen how pale you’d turned, how sick you probably looked in response. He ran a hand through his hair—the first time you’d ever seen him do such a thing, his fingers tangling in the lengthy strands. He looked as rattled and off balance as you felt, the emotional maelstrom of the night seemingly taking a toll on both of you.

“I’m sorry. I probably should be more tactful while telling you such things. You’ve already experienced enough of such horrors.”

“There is no nice way to phrase things like this,” you whispered.

“No,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours, “There isn’t.”

“I am so sorry,” you breathed.

It wasn’t pity you were expressing—after all, you knew you’d abhor pity as well—but sheer understanding and empathy you were trying to convey.

“I shared this because I wanted you to know that I understood. Especially the part about not being able to rely on others.”

You opened your mouth—to say what exactly, you didn’t know—but he continued, as if he knew how much at a loss for words you were.

“I learned long ago that relying on others was dangerous.”

Your face tightened with concern, the ache within you spreading. You knew what that was like—the fear and hesitancy that came with putting your trust in someone enough to depend on them. But Eris was also a male positioned to inherit a throne, you could only imagine how much deadlier his circumstances were, in comparison to your own.

“The world I was raised in values power more than anything. Affection becomes leverage. Weakness becomes entertainment. The only person one can count on is oneself. Which was why you came as such a surprise.”

You blinked, surprised. You didn’t miss how Eris appeared like he wished he could take the words back—like he’d said too much.

“Me?”

“Yes,” his voice was rough, gravelly, “I think, with you, I started to learn what trust looks like—what it should look like.”

You realized he had done the exact same thing for you, without you even being aware. Gratitude towards the male in front of you rushed through you like a gentle caress. Your eyes traced the pattern of the splattering of freckles across his cheeks before your eyes returned to his amber gaze—where it was already steady on you.

“I’m sorry for what you had to endure,” Eris murmured, “But I’m very glad I met you.”

You didn’t break his gaze as you answered.

“I am too,” you whispered, not wanting to break the precious moment, but adding, “And I, too, am sorry for what you endure, Eris.”

You knew words wouldn’t be able to soothe the hurts caused. You didn’t even think you had the appropriate words. So you did what he had for you earlier in the night, laying your hand on the ground between the two of you—palm facing the sky—giving him the option to reach out for you if he wanted it.

His eyes dipped to the gesture and a beat later, his warm hand covered yours, fingers lacing through your own. It didn’t make things better, didn’t erase the horror either of you had experienced. But as you leaned into him, your head gently resting against his shoulder, his hand interwoven with yours, you realized just exactly what it was.

It was an, I see you.

•••

ERIS

“Tell me about your bookstore.”

Though life continued on after the night he’d bared his soul to her—after she had to him—he was still shaken after hearing her story.

He watched her differently now during training sessions, understanding the importance of taking back the power, building her strength and resilience after such horrible circumstances had tried to knock her down permanently. It hurt every part of him so much to hear what sort of brutality she had endured—from someone she thought she could trust, too.

He watched her carefully when they were alone up on this rooftop, just as he was tonight.

He hadn’t initially planned on sharing about his own grievances—hadn’t wanted pity. But somehow, the words had come tumbling out. It was odd how she always seemed to put him at a sense of ease without even trying.

She’d offered him no pity though—just mere understanding and her presence. Somehow, that night, a solidarity had formed between them during their shared tales and the quiet moments in between.

Once, a few nights after their conversation, he could tell she had been hesitant to ask what lingered on her mind. They hadn’t spoken much of his own set of circumstances and he’d appreciated that she hadn’t made a big deal of it. But still, she asked.

“You’ll tell me if it happens again, won’t you? I refuse to let you deal with that alone,” she’d said with such determination, her chin titled in defiance, shoulders straight, that he couldn’t refuse her request.

“I will,” he’d promised.

He’d meant it too.

Beron was never one for predictability. There were some periods he went months—even years—without resorting to brutal tactics to keep him in line. Sometimes, it happened more often in a shorter timespan. Currently, it’d been a while since he’d borne the brunt of his father’s wrath.

But Eris knew when the inevitable came, thoughts of her would be the only thing to get him through—and as much as every fiber of him wanted to protect her from such cruelty, he knew he’d keep his promise to her. He’d come to realize she was much stronger than he’d initially assumed.

Now, tonight, under the full moon, he sat, once again playing chess with her.

She moved her knight forward toward the center of the board and his eyes sparked with knowing. His gaze scanned over the chess pieces, spotting the damning move plainly. He wondered if she did, too.

She’d positioned all her pieces in the middle of the board like he’d taught her to and had also prioritized moving only some of her pawns out early—a common strategy as it wasn’t wise to advance them all too quickly. After getting her knights and bishops in play, she’d begun to make the more tactical moves.

His eyes roamed the board and saw all her pieces carefully positioned in a way that had his king trapped. He saw the exact move she could make to checkmate him.

But he hadn’t spoken now in an attempt to distract her, but out of mere curiosity. The little piece of her history that he hadn’t known had stuck with him, intrigued him.

She smiled faintly at the pleasant memories he was sure surfaced.

“It was just a small shop,” she brushed it off with a modest shrug, “It was a place of peace at one point. Then again, I think I’ve always been happiest if I’m surrounded by books.”

He smiled at the sentiment—one he shared wholeheartedly.

“You still have fond memories even with him so entangled in them?”

Her shoulders stiffened and he bit back a curse. It had been careless to ask such a thing—even more so in the tactless way he’d done it. But then he watched her instantly relax again, as if she’d begun realizing that she wouldn’t shatter into pieces every time the horrible male of her past was mentioned. He studied her as she worried at her lip, studying the chess pieces. He wasn’t sure if she was actually focusing on the game or her answer to his question.

“Yes, I do,” she eventually responded, “Because my love for books is something so grand that no one has the power to take that away from me.”

His chest warmed again—it’d been doing that a lot here lately, annoyingly so. The very present bond still very much hidden inside of him had become harder to disassociate from.

“I’m happy to hear that,” he murmured.

“Isn’t it ironic though?”

“Hm?”

She laughed, pushing strands of her long hair over her shoulder and out of her way.

“That even here, I somehow managed to end up surrounded by books.”

He was sure that amusement showed on his face because he’d had the same thought.

“What did you call it?” he asked.

“Don’t laugh,” she pointed at him seriously.

He arched a brow.

“I promise I won’t.”

“Under The Stars Bookshop.”

He blinked at her, the irony enough to make a short burst of disbelieving laughter to escape.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” she huffed, exasperated, “I know, it’s a little on the nose, but I liked how it sounded.”

“It’s not that,” he grinned, “It’s just…rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

His gaze tilted upwards to the opening of the training ring, the stars twinkling bright, high above them.

“You know, since you’ve become rather acquainted with the stars, lately,” he quipped.

“Is this your way of calling yourself the moon to my stars?” she teased.

She said it so playfully, but the question settled between them, making him pause. In a way, she had become like the stars, shining in an immortal life—his life—that had become so dark. She, herself, had emerged from darkness with a light that refused to dim, no matter how much the world tried.

It reminded him of the warmth in his chest that had only grown stronger in her presence as of late.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “Something like that, actually.”

“It is rather interesting how the threads of life seem to weave together so seamlessly, isn’t it?”

That internal thread seemed to flutter in response. As he watched her return her gaze to the chessboard—likely contemplating her next move—realization dawned on him slowly. The truth washed over him, undeniable. His eyes followed as fingers tucked loose strands behind her arched ear.

These nights of companionship hadn’t been out of duty or obligation—even if they’d initially been born from that. They had continued because he’d enjoyed them. Because, somewhere along the way, he’d begun to look forward to them. The temporary absence of them had left him at a loss—affecting him far more than he cared to admit.

He pushed the thoughts down, tucking them away. Close—too close to something he couldn’t afford.

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own.

“How are you? Has it been a good day today?”

He’d fallen into the habit recently of checking in with her—questioning if it had been a good or bad day for her. It settled something inside of him to know the good days far outweighed the bad.

“It has,” she smiled, “I think it’s about to get even better though.”

His mouth quirked to the side.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, nonchalantly, moving her bishop in just the precise move his knowing eyes caught earlier, completely trapping his king.

“Checkmate, Eris.”

She was beaming so brightly that he couldn’t help but smile back at her, pride welling in his chest. She radiated excitement and joy at finally beating him.

“Well deserved, I do believe,” he bent his head in recognition, the smile still lingering on his face.

She was resetting the board, putting the pieces back on their rightful squares when her soft, hesitant comment floated into the air between them.

“What about you?”

He cocked his head in confusion.

“What about me, what?”

“Is it a good day for you?” she bit her lip as she looked back up at him.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew by the look in her eyes, the things she said—and didn’t say—that she was concerned for him. He wasn’t purposely trying to brush her off, but he knew there wasn’t much he could say to soothe any of her worry due to his own circumstances. It was what it was.

“It’s always a good day when I get to see you,” he crooned.

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. But she was persistent and didn’t give up—not that he expected her to.

“I’m serious, though.”

The smirk tugged at his lips.

“So am I, priestess.”

“Eris,” she gave him an exasperated look.

He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing his name on her lips. It was hard to believe not too long ago he didn’t care if he ever did or not. Curious how drastically some things could change.

“You’d let me know if there was anything I could do for you, right? I mean after all you’ve done for me…”

“Your company is more than enough,” he assured, falling serious for a moment.

She didn’t look entirely satisfied with the answer. It was strange, he had to admit, to have someone care so deeply they were offering up more than they even had the capacity to give—all in the name of compassion.

“You know what could make my day better?” he prompted.

“What?”

He jerked his chin towards the wooden pole where the ribbon hung from. He knew she’d been avoiding it. In fact, she hadn’t even attempted to cut it since before that black hole of despair had nearly swallowed her again.

A few more in the class had managed to cut it, though she and a handful of other priestesses were still left. She just scowled at his silent request.

“I hate that thing,” she muttered.

“You’ve never struck me to be a quitter,” he drawled.

Anger sparked in her eyes. Good. Strong emotions were typically the best motivators.

“Because I’m not,” she shot back.

“Then why haven’t you cut the ribbon?”

He sat back, folding his arms across his chest as he studied her. Her lips pressed together as her own arms crossed—more in a defensive and protective way than his change of position had been.

“I can’t do it—I’ve tried.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” he pressed.

As a result, something in her seemed to snap.

“I’ve failed at too much in my life—protecting myself, ignoring what was right in front of me before it was too late, not being able to heal. This is just another thing I’ve failed at. I can’t even be a good friend to you! At least not in the way you have been to me.”

Her chest heaved, breath fast and uneven, clearly overwhelmed from the torrent of emotions that had just struck her.

“I need you to listen to me,” he said so quietly that her shoulders stiffened in response.

It was the deadly quiet, severe voice he used as a courtier—the one that let others know he meant business.

“You have not failed at anything in your life. You have not failed me. But right now, the only mistake you’re making is not letting yourself have the opportunity to prove yourself—and others—wrong. The tragedy here is you giving up on yourself, nothing else.”

She was quiet, teeth worrying the corner of her bottom lip as her gaze avoided his. He knew well enough that she was processing his words though.

What if I can’t do it?” she asked, voice so small it made his previous stern demeanor soften considerably.

No, she wasn’t a female who gave up easily. But she was also a female that had been beaten down by life far too many times. Even though she had shown remarkable bravery and determination in the time he’d known her, he knew it wasn’t unusual for her to doubt herself and her capabilities too.

“I did this,” she motioned around them to the training ring, “So he wouldn’t win—I can’t let him win. I was so tired of being weak and afraid. But I can’t even do something as simple as cutting a damn ribbon.”

She watched warily as he stood, brushing off the legs of his finely tailored pants. Rounding where the chessboard lay, he slid a hand under her arm and pulled her to her feet—not roughly, but with enough strength and ease that she knew he was serious.

“Come here.”

She followed after him silently as he led her across the ring to in front of the wooden beam. He paused there and pointed to it.

“You are not doing this because of him. You’re not doing it for me. You’re not doing it for Cassian, Azriel, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie or any of the other priestesses. You are doing it for yourself.”

She stayed quiet, watching him as he spoke to her—to the soul that was still fragile despite the progress she’d made.

“This is only a small part of what you’re facing. It’s a challenge but it’s not impossible—and I know you realize that too.”

Her head turned to peer back at the ribbon—the daunting truth dangling before her. He took in her profile as she did so. His stomach clenched as the dangerous truth that’d struck him earlier once again attempted to claw its way to the forefront of his mind.

Instead, he did something unusual. He didn’t think twice about it as his hand lifted and he gently grasped her chin in his thumb and forefinger, turning her face towards him. He’d rarely been so bold in touching her. Once, he’d been apprehensive of startling her. The last time he’d touched her was that night they sat in the moonlight, their hands connected as their own personal histories tangled in the air between them.

Her eyes met his, her lips parting in surprise at his unexpected gesture, but she did not look afraid.

“He will never win because you’re far stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Eris whispered, “The moment you picked up that sword—the moment you stepped into the training ring—the moment you made the decision to no longer fear, that is when he lost.”

She stared up at him, utterly silent. The look of vulnerability and trust that shone in her eyes was enough to undo him completely.

“You once chose to fight for yourself—to take back your life. I want you to see it through.”

He didn’t intend to do it, but his thumb brushed her jaw lightly—just once—before his touch fell from her face. His gaze remained steady on her even as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, playful.

“For what it’s worth, I believe in you.”

A beat passed, the air between them taut as their gazes remained locked. She seemed to turn over his words in her mind. He was the first to break the connection, eyes dropping away as he cleared his throat. He stepped away, momentarily, walking to the weapons rack. He pulled a sword free, carrying it back to her. He held it out towards her for her to take.

“Why don’t you try to cut it, and we can walk through it step by step? Maybe then we can figure out—together—what’s holding you back.”

She watched him curiously, newfound determination in her eyes. Still, she reached out and took the blade from his hands. As she settled it in her grasp, she finally responded to him. He didn’t expect the words that followed though.

“It’s okay to believe in yourself too, Eris.”

His eyes met hers once more, quiet acknowledgement in them—letting her see his appreciation for her belief in him, even when they’d been discussing her. A slight dip of his chin was all the response he gave before he stepped backwards, prepared to observe.

“Now, show me what you’ve got, priestess.”

•••

One test remained.

Months ago, you’d left the library for the first time in five years. You’d begun exceeding in your training, you’d even beaten Eris at chess—though that wasn’t something you’d ever expected to do.

Now, you stood in front of the ribbon.

You knew Eris was present—could sense him nearby. But for the moment, all of your focus was trained on the strip of white.

Flashes of all the horrible things that had led you to this moment appeared in your mind. You saw all the times Finneas had struck you, the times you felt you’d never heal from wounds so deep, the female you’d once been.

Never again. You owed it to yourself to leave that version in the past—to thank her for leading you here, all while acknowledging she wasn’t who you were meant to be forever.

It had been a dark place you’d emerged from the day you’d set foot in the training ring—but what you hadn’t realized then was it had marked the beginning of something new. While those experiences would always be a part of your story, that broken version of yourself no longer defined you. New images replaced the ones that flashed in your mind.

The group of females you’d spent countless hours training beside, through rain or shine.

The pride you’d felt when you’d mastered your first combination of sword movements.

The joy on Gwyn’s and Clotho’s faces as your life began to take new shape and you’d begun to thrive.

A male who had once put you on edge, only to become a familiar and welcome presence in your life.

Red hair and a scattering of freckles across a pale face. The way amber eyes brightened ever so slightly when a smile graced his lips. Soft chuckles. Laughter. Encouraging words that had been shared many a night.

Mostly, you remembered the feeling of power that came with each accomplishment, especially when you’d thought it impossible. You’d approached numerous hurdles such a way, healing and training being the two biggest.

But somewhere along the way, you’d learned you could do these things for yourself. Had been encouraged by such an incredible group of individuals—all who were standing and watching you take this step.

Varied encouragements were spoken aloud to you from your sisters, Gwyn included.

“You can do it,” she said to your left.

“You got this,” Nesta added, tone serious but genuine in her own encouragement.

“We believe in you!” Emerie chirped, excitement tinging her voice.

For what it’s worth, I believe in you.

The words floated through you like a phantom wind—as if he were right next to you, speaking the words aloud.

With a deep inhale, you lifted the sword—ready to face the ribbon once and for all.

•••

ERIS

Eris could feel it in his bones that today would be the day.

A few nights ago, they’d run through all of her positionings and movements, and had broken it down to each minute movement. He hadn’t been able to detect anything amiss—she was hitting every mark perfectly.

Deep down, he wondered if it was a mental block and not one stemming from her physical form. He’d noticed in that period, when she’d almost fallen back into the pit of despair, that she’d stopped attempting to cut the ribbon at the beginning and end of training as they all had been doing.

Perhaps mentally she had thought she wasn’t capable of it.

But Eris knew she could. He’d known it before she’d proved it to him that night—when he’d watched the way her movements had flowed as smoothly as silk, as easily as waves of the sea.

In the days since, the rest of the females left had faced the ribbon and cut it. Now, it was her turn.

She stood before the white ribbon, her blade in hand. Concentration was etched deep on her face. Every muscle in her body was taut, primed for the strike. She stared down the ribbon like one would their opponent.

He stood on the edge of the ring with Azriel and Cassian, his arms folded over his chest as he watched. The other females were gathered around her, in solidarity, already figuratively cheering for her as if she’d already cut the ribbon. Clearly they had just as much belief in her as he did.

Similar to the way she’d joined training, she was the last one who’d yet to cut the ribbon. Though she may be last, she wasn’t any less important. Her accomplishment would be just as impactful as everyone else’s—especially to him.

She lifted the sword in both hands, held near her right shoulder as she took in the white ribbon that fluttered before her.

Time seemed to slow as the sword left her shoulder. She stepped forward, her weapon arcing through the air a heartbeat later. As it approached the ribbon, her wrist turned slightly, angling the blade perpendicular to the hanging fabric. In the last second, she twisted her body just slightly, adding power to the cut.

The sharp blade cut cleanly through the middle of the ribbon and Eris watched as the bottom half fluttered to the ground. A symphony of cheers broke out around the training ring as she realized what she’d done.

Overwhelming pride filled him as he watched the way the females ran to hug her—the last sister to finally achieve the title of Valkyrie. Her expression of shock made a smile tug at his lips.

He’d always known she could do it.

It was Gwyn who bent to the ground, picking up the scrap of ribbon, tying it across her brow—just like every other female in this ring had been crowned in their victory. He saw the female’s teal eyes shining with delight even from where he stood.

“Valkyrie,” the red-haired female whispered.

She smiled brightly as fingers touched the silk on her brow. The joy that lit her entire demeanor made something in him sing, glowing so brightly in answer that the words came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

His mate.

The words clanged through him in a way not unlike the way the mating bond had. It was the first time he’d truly acknowledged who she was to him without any sense of anger, hesitancy or fear.

He was proud to call her his mate. In fact he was even prouder to be her mate. The truth from the other night returned with an undeniable force as he gazed upon her celebration.

He was in love with her.

She finally turned his way, her eyes catching his, a small huff of laughter escaping her—as if she couldn’t believe the reality. Then she did something he didn’t see coming.

His mate rushed from where she’d been across the ring and launched herself into his arms.

She threw hers around him as she hugged him tight. The force of her impact caused him to stumble half a step backwards but he exhaled a small laugh of his own as he wrapped his arms around her body. He knew everyone was staring but he couldn’t be bothered to care as he stood there, holding the female that had been created perfectly for him.

His equal. His mate.

She had done it.

•••

The fire in you lasted for days, to the point you felt like you floated through the world. There was such lightness to your steps—to your entire existence if you were honest.

You hadn’t needed the ribbon test to prove that you were capable or were worth it. You hadn’t needed the validation that you were as much of a warrior as your sisters, but accomplishing it had proven something to you.

Fear no longer gripped you. The empowerment that you’d felt in the months of training—all the friendship and support you’d found along this journey—had gotten you to this point. You’d never imagined you’d be a female that felt so strong, so certain about her place in life, but here you were.

You weren’t completely healed, no, but this had shown you that healing was far more achievable than you’d once thought it to be.

You showed up every morning for training, genuine joy in your heart and an eagerness to learn more—to push yourself harder. It was made even better knowing Eris was there. Often, lately, nightly discussions turned to training—positions and movements—now that your knowledge had expanded enough to have conversations on the matters.

Training didn’t cease simply because everyone had now cut the ribbon, thus earning the title of Valkyrie. Cassian, Azriel and Eris still had much to teach you—throwing everything they had at you. There was still much to learn, they'd said.

And all the females had been eager to learn more.

Life, while remaining busy, seemed to fall into an effortless routine. Training in the mornings, your normal job of assisting Clotho, priestesses services and nightly rendezvous with the heir of Autumn. You had begun seeing your counselor again, eager to utilize the services once more, motivated more than ever to continue the journey of healing. There’d even been some brief talk of one day soon leaving the library, if you chose to.

While your future still seemed to be up in the air, it was comforting to have stability in your every day routine—the privilege of being able to rely on familiar things.

Such as Eris.

It had been odd, recently, how you seemed to light up from within every time your eyes landed on him. When he was around, your heart seemed to sing. A smile would find its way to your lips at the mere thought of him.

So it wasn’t unusual when you had found him on the roof as per usual. But today had been a tad different. You’d felt an unexplainable pull upwards—a desire to ascend the steps a few hours earlier than you usually had. Following that instinct had come with the pleasant surprise of finding Eris already waiting for you.

The two of you had been out here since sunset—Eris having winnowed the both of you to the exact spot he once had for the both of you to watch the sunrise, so long ago. The daylight had softened into hues of pink and orange as nighttime rapidly approached.

As the sun slowly slid beyond the horizon, the sky became painted in vibrant shades of orange that bled into golden yellows, a soft pink blurring the edges where the sunset met the quickly fading blue of day. You and Eris sat in companionable silence as the darkening sky overwhelmed the last of the sunset, the dazzling palette finally surrendering to night.

Late nights with Eris, as of late, had come with more variety than ever. Some involved chess games, others came with sitting and talking as usual. Occasionally, both you and he would grab a sword and you’d get to practice your newfound skills while sparring against him. You’d come to look forward to those instances the most.

The stars were finally winking into existence when you broke the comfortable silence.

“Living doesn’t seem as hard anymore,” you mused aloud.

You hadn’t meant for the sentiment to slip out, but something about the peace that surrounded the two of you—that filled you entirely—left you feeling more honest than normal.

When you looked over at Eris, you found him already studying you, as if digesting your statement.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he eventually responded, earnestly.

“Taking it a day at a time helps, I think.”

You turned back to the starry sky, your eyes full of wonder at the sight. It was strange, yet remarkable, how the world seemed to hold much more beauty and brightness now that you felt lighter. It was as if your eyes had at last opened to all the world had to offer.

When Eris didn’t answer, your gaze slid back to him at your side. You found him still staring at you, as if he hadn’t torn his eyes from you for several minutes. Your heart fluttered at the intensity in those amber eyes. They seemed to swirl with so much emotion that he didn’t know how to convey.

“What?” you breathed, curious about his attention.

He seemed to be turning his answer over in that sharp mind of his, lips pursing slightly as he pondered. Mother help you, your eyes definitely caught that tiny shift, and you quickly dragged your attention away from that particular distraction.

“You look different these days,” he observed, “Calmer. Steadier. Happier.”

“I think I am,” you smiled, feeling that sense of contentment settle in your chest again, “And you? Are you happy?”

For all your happiness, you weren’t exactly sure why you felt such a need to know that he was okay too. He wasn’t one to speak much about his own grievances—nor did he want pity, which you understood well. But you also knew he was aware he could talk to you if he ever needed to. You believed his initial promise to tell you if anything changed.

You took that as a good sign that it hadn’t yet. Mentally, you sent a wish to the Mother, herself, that she protect him. Eris had done so much for you—he deserved peace and happiness as well.

You expected a teasing smile or a snarky comment in response to your question. Instead, his face remained carefully neutral, though you saw softness in his eyes. That intense fluttering sensation returned, stronger this time.

“I think I’m the closest to experiencing happiness that I’ve ever been.”

His normally deep voice, tinged with the smoothness and easy charm of a courtier and heir, was softer now, roughened around the edges. Truth laced his every word. The honesty of the moment surprised you so much that a teasing remark slipped from your lips for a change instead of his.

“Well of course, I’m delightful,” you parroted his teasing remark from a long ago training session.

He laughed, realizing it as well. The smile remained on his lips as he took you in.

“You’re definitely different than the female I first met.”

“You’re different than the male I first encountered,” you teased, smile faltering for a moment, “For a while, initially, I had far too much fear that you were just like…him.”

While you’d acknowledged he’d forever be a part of your history, you no longer felt the desire to say his name. It was a little thing, but not naming him gave you the ability to bury him—leave him behind—like he’d always deserved to be.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or concerned,” he replied dryly.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head at your past self.

“Well for one, he was a lord’s son—you’re a High Lord’s son. You both had that same intensity. And it didn’t help that you walked around with such a cold demeanor that one might’ve thought you hailed from the Winter Court. Not to mention, from the moment we met, it seemed like you took an unusual interest in me. It was unsettling at first. It made me think perhaps the same pattern that happened with him was repeating itself.”

His amusement from a moment earlier vanished, face tightening in concern and regret.

“I apologize—as it was never my intention to make you fearful of me.”

But the truth had eventually made itself clear. Eris had never been like him. Eris had been the one to show you what it meant to trust again—something so precious after it had once been ripped from you. The realization hit hard enough that you couldn’t contain it. You knew you needed to tell him.

“You could never be like him, Eris. Or your father for that matter.”

You didn’t regret the last part that slipped out, unvetted. But the surprise that lit his face made your unexpected declaration that much more worth it. You had the feeling very few had ever said such a thing to him. Deciding to push your luck, you made sure he knew the depth of your sincerity.

“You’re a better male than they’ll ever be.”

Eris had never been one to be vulnerable, easily, you’d learned. So it surprised you when he actually responded to the declaration of his character.

“I appreciate you saying that,” he said, quietly.

It wasn’t overly exposed, but you picked up on the sincerity.

You and he had been sitting shoulder to shoulder since he’d winnowed the both of you up here, but now he shifted, stretching his legs out. One booted foot drifted toward yours, nudging it lightly—almost imperceptibly—before speaking again.

“I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way.”

Your chest warmed at the compliment, one corner of your mouth tilting upwards.

“I’m proud of myself too.”

You turned contemplative, finally deciding to voice something that had been turning over in your mind for weeks now. It had been even more persistent lately—ever since you’d cut the ribbon. Your gaze momentarily turned back to the sparkling night sky.

“It’s strange. It almost feels as if I was always meant to cross paths with you.”

You turned back to him, fully prepared for him to scoff at your silly comment, perhaps even laugh it off. Instead, you discovered he’d shifted closer to you—closer than he’d been a moment ago. Your voice gentled even further as you found the bravery to continue your line of thought.

“Almost like fate or the Mother willed it. I think—” you paused as you gazed up at him, “I think I was always meant to end up here.”

Something flickered in his eyes—perhaps an acknowledgement of sorts. It was there and gone too quickly for you to decipher. You forgot your desire to a heartbeat later when his eyes dipped to your lips.

“Yes,” he whispered, “I believe you were.”

He was close enough that you could count every single freckle that dotted his skin. He was beautiful—you’d always thought so. Even when you’d been unsure of him, it had been something you couldn’t deny, down to your very core.

The pull that tugged you forward felt similar to the one you’d felt earlier when you’d found him on the roof. It was oddly akin to the one you’d subtly felt around him all along. You didn’t spend energy on it as you closed the distance, your lips brushing the warm ones awaiting yours.

Something exploded in your chest, a mixture of happiness and golden light that you couldn’t see but could sense. You felt gentle fingers brush your jaw as hesitancy faded into certainty and the kiss deepened.

A sense of rightness settled over you the moment your lips had connected to his. It came with a sense of belonging—as if you’d truly found where you were meant to be all along. As your hands found his chest, fingers tangling in the ends of his long locks, you felt something tug at your rib—almost like the foreign object wrapped around it—before it settled deeply into your heart.

Much too soon, he was pulling away, but was clearly unable to resist leaning back again as his lips met yours a second time. His hand finally cupped your face in his large palm, touch so tender against it that it made you melt further into the kiss.

You couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop—as his tongue swept into your mouth, a soft sigh escaping you. One hand slid past the curtain of his hair and curled around the back of his neck. His skin was so soft—as soft as his lips beneath yours.

Your mind was a haze of bliss as lips parted and met repeatedly—a series of kisses tumbling one after another. He tilted your head ever so slightly as he gave you one last lingering kiss, enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

He pulled away so achingly slow—though that may have been due to how you missed his lips already. It took a moment for your eyes to flutter open and you found the familiar amber gaze waiting for you.

Realization slammed into you—as if you’d known all along but was just catching up, your soul just now clueing you in. Your gasp was quiet, though not dramatic, nothing but pure surprise filling you. You weren’t sure what your face conveyed, but it was as if he knew exactly what was happening.

Questions seemed to flood your mind, dangle off the tip of your tongue, but they suddenly seemed less than important. His hand still caressed your face, his thumb moving in the barest hint of a stroke across your cheek.

“You’re right where you belong,” he murmured.

In hindsight, it was so obvious. The ease and comfort he’d always provided you. The protectiveness you’d been feeling towards him. The inexplicable intrigue—that tug. All the pieces fell into place in an instant as your eyes remained on his.

Somewhere along all the nights spent together you’d fallen in love with Eris. All this time, you’d been falling in love with him.

A plethora of small moments, interwoven perfectly, had led you here—led you to the very training ring you sat above right now. An intrinsic part of you had always known—always recognized him, it seemed.

A soft, fond smile spread across his lips as he watched the realization dawn on you fully. For the first time in a long time, you felt whole. As you leaned forward and kissed him again, the thought came to you, unbidden.

Borne out of darkness, you’d found healing, growth and most importantly, your mate.

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[adventure-awaits13]

Words just cannot fully express how much I loved this story! Their connection was so beautiful, soft and healing, a masterpiece!! 😍✨🧡

“A plethora of small moments, interwoven perfectly, had led you here—led you to the very training ring you sat above right now. An intrinsic part of you had always known—always recognized him, it seemed.” This had me almost in tears 🥹

[erin-bo-berin]

To Catch A Priestess: The Thread

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 1: To Catch A Priestess | Part 2: The Pull | Part 3: The Connection | Part 5: The Equals

When others start to sense something changing, your friendship with Eris gets increasingly more serious, especially when more late nights come bearing honesty, vulnerability and even some chess lessons. But just as life starts falling into place, you and Eris face obstacles neither one of you anticipated.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Warnings: brief flashback of domestic violence (towards the end of the part, in italics, if you need to skip it), priestess reader, secret mate bond, longing, slow burn, fluff, lil bit of angst

Word Count: 13.1k

A/N: Welcome to part four of To Catch A Priestess! As I’ve mentioned, I absolutely fell in love with these two while I wrote them, so their journey became a little longer than I initially planned. Please bear with me with the chess scenes as I spent an extensive amount of time researching and reading up on the subject in hopes to write it in a way that was as realistic as possible and in a way that’s understandable. Stick around as the finale will be the next part after this!

Thank you so much @harvest-bunny for all the writing help and beta reading this! 🥰

You were still slightly disoriented and sleepy as you descended the House stairs down to the library, yawning as you went.

You’d apparently fallen asleep on Eris’s shoulder, exhaustion and a lack of sleep finally catching up to you. Which had been embarrassing enough.

He’d sat there with you for hours, letting you sleep, waking you just before sunrise.

“I didn’t want you to miss the sunrise, since you seemed so adamant to see it,” he’d uttered softly as you’d tried to blink the sleep from your eyes.

Even though you’d been humiliated and had apologized profusely, the sunrise had been worth it—the beautiful shades of golden yellow, burnt orange and rose pink coloring the sky as the sun rose above Velaris for another day. You’d stayed a bit longer than necessary, simply taking in the sight.

After the sun had risen fully, the sky was still filled with soft tones of honey gold and tangerine and you gazed in awe, unable to fully comprehend its beauty.

“Worth staying up for?” Eris had teased, an amused glint in his amber eyes as he glanced sidelong at you.

“Technically I slept through most of that waiting for it,” you’d grinned sheepishly.

Soon after, he’d winnowed the both of you back into the training pit, bidding you farewell for another few hours. Even though you'd slept, you were looking forward to crawling into your bed to try and catch a couple more hours of sleep before the day’s training began.

You walked through the quiet library, taking a shortcut back to the dormitories, when you heard a familiar voice coming from a chair in a sitting area you’d just passed.

“I’ve been wondering where you’d disappeared to.”

You turned, having missed the redheaded female who was currently giving you a mischievous smile that you knew only meant trouble. She’d been half hidden by the shadows of the fire that now burned low in the grand stone fireplace.

It also hadn’t helped that she was sitting in a chair facing the same direction you’d been heading. You’d have completely bypassed her, clueless to her presence if she hadn’t spoken.

Gwyn lifted a brow, looking thoroughly amused.

“And just where have you been that entails you coming in just after sunrise?”

You blinked, your drowsy brain still trying to catch up to the fact Gwyn was here in front of you. It wasn’t unusual for her to still come visit even though she’d long ago left the library, herself, but you couldn’t piece together why she’d be here today. At this hour.

“What are you doing here?” you voiced your question.

“Nesta wanted me and Emerie to arrive earlier today—we’re going over some logistics of lessons to teach the others eventually. I thought I’d make my way down here and see if you still had a habit of curling up in front of the fire on nights you couldn’t sleep. When I didn’t find you, I figured you must be asleep, so imagine my surprise when I see you strolling in like you’ve never been to bed.”

You hadn’t, actually. Some nights, right after lights out, you’d head straight to the roof to meet Eris. That usually occurred around midnight—after the more dedicated priestesses finally turned in after a long day of poring over their research, a good few hours after the others had gone to bed.

You finally approached, taking a seat next to her. The fire crackled and popped, soothing to your ears. With this unexpected detour, it didn’t look like you’d be going to sleep anytime soon.

“I haven’t. I still don’t sleep all that well at night sometimes.”

Her face softened in understanding, having once been there as well.

“So if you weren’t awake in the library, where were you?” she questioned.

“On the roof.”

“Not alone, I take it,” she mused.

You startled. Apparently Gwyn didn’t miss a thing.

“What makes you say that?” you hedged.

“Because you walked in with a smile on your face.”

You huffed, indignant.

“What? I did not!”

Though you couldn’t say for sure what had been on your face. All you knew that other than being half asleep still, you’d felt steady—at peace—for a change.

“Hm. So you say. You didn’t happen to be in the company of a certain Autumn male?” she grinned, likely knowing she was right without you even having to answer.

“You’re full of assumptions this morning,” you deflected.

She tossed you an amused look.

“I have thorough deduction skills, give me some credit. Besides, it couldn't be Cassian or Azriel—who I left at home still asleep by the way—and there’s only one male you seem to light up for.”

You gawked at her.

“I do not light up!”

She just chuckled.

“You underestimate how much we’ve all noticed these months. How much I’ve noticed. Such as the way you seemed to take to him? How much attention he seems to be paying you? I don’t see him out here complimenting just any female or brushing their hair out of their face.”

You scowled, not realizing she’d been witness to that strange intimate moment—which had only happened once anyways. You opened your mouth to protest, but Gwyn silenced you with another knowing look. You decided to cave—just a little bit.

“Alright, alright, you dragged it out of me,” you sighed dramatically, “Yes, I was on the roof…with Eris Vanserra.”

You bit your lip, eyes shifting towards the flames in the fireplace—the ones that, annoyingly, reminded you of the male that you’d left not that long ago. Something deep in your chest twisted, felt slightly hollow, as if not being around him left something empty within you. You couldn’t have said why you suddenly missed him so greatly.

You didn’t wait for Gwyn’s response before continuing.

“I’ve been meeting him nightly for more than a month now.”

It sounded absurd to say outloud. Sometimes you had wondered how so much time had passed with nightly encounters like this—and how you’d somehow never been bored with him. There were some nights that were filled with more silence than not, but it was always companionable silence, never awkward—the kind you’d never felt a need to fill. Other nights had been spent with plenty of conversation. You’d found you didn’t care what type of night it was, as long as he was there with you.

Somehow you and Eris always managed to find a topic to discuss.

And somehow…the days had bled into weeks, the weeks into a month and you weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up here. Not that you were complaining, but it did strike you as rather bizarre. Your friend looked genuinely interested in what you had to say as she tucked her legs under her.

“How’d that come to be?”

You exhaled a part breath, part laugh.

“By pure accident, actually. After nightmares kept me awake one night, I decided to head to the roof and get in some extra practice. I was actually working on my hand to hand combat—was busy letting the sparring block have it and we ran into each other.”

“Oh this is a tale as old as time,” Gwyn muttered to herself.

You tossed her a baffled look, in which she waved off while simultaneously motioning for you to continue.

“I was deep in some…bad memories,” you sighed, “And he startled me.”

Your chest was heavy with sorrow for the female you’d been a mere month ago—so frightened, so worn down, so tired of running from the things your mind conjured.

“You see, he hadn’t known I was up there when he arrived. But that’s not the point. He sat with me—across the ring—until I was okay. In fact, he sat with me until an hour or so before sunrise when Azriel stumbled upon us.”

Gwyn’s teal blue eyes seemed to soften, roaming your face, taking in whatever was there. You had no way of knowing just what exactly that was, though.

“That was very kind of him.”

“It was,” you whispered, a tad wistfully, “Then it kind of morphed into…this.”

“Into watching sunrises together?” she teased lightly.

You huffed a laugh, nodding.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Is that why you’re smiling?”

You scoffed again, exasperated, giving Gwyn a bewildered look.

“I am not smiling,” you clarified again, defiantly.

She was trying her best to hold back a smile but didn’t press further. You found yourself continuing on, without the need for any prompting.

“He’s…kind. He listens to me. He makes me laugh. We can talk about anything or even talk about nothing and it never feels like time wasted. He brought me a book he thought I’d might like—I devoured it of course.”

Gwyn giggled, as if she knew you all too well to know you wouldn’t pass up a good book either.

“He got me a bouquet of my favorite flowers. He winnowed us to a cliff on the mountain just above the training ring, simply so I could see the sky when the sunrise happened. I fell asleep on his shoulder and he sat there with me like that the entire night. He even woke me before the sunrise so I wouldn’t miss it.”

Your cheeks colored at the way the words had come rushing from your mouth. You hadn’t intended to share so much, but it was like you couldn’t stop it.

“Sounds like someone special,” Gwyn whispered, no hint of teasing in her voice now.

You shrugged half heartedly.

“He’s my friend.”

You weren’t sure if that was even what Eris was. Gwyn watched you as you tried to gather your thoughts, though, at the moment, they felt too oily—too slippery—for you to grasp. It was as if the harder you tried to make sense of your current set of circumstances, the less you understood it. So, you settled for the truth.

“I think it scares me sometimes.”

Gwyn didn’t know your story—as you didn’t hers—but she knew enough to know why something as intimate as a friendship with Eris could be enough to unnerve you. Simply because it was something new—coming at a time when you were trying to rebuild yourself, your life, especially after facing something that’d impacted and disrupted it for far too long.

“Eris?”

“Him and being vulnerable. It’s scary.”

“Usually the things that are worth it are.”

You sighed heavily, suddenly feeling the weight of too many conflicting emotions weighing down your chest.

“You deserve happiness too, you know.”

You merely nodded absently, not necessarily dismissing the genuine comment from your friend, but because you felt the exhaustion of your emotions and the long night catching up to you.

“I know,” you finally voiced, “But knowing it and accepting it are two different things.”

“I understand that far more than you think,” Gwyn said gently.

You tore your gaze from the dying fire you’d been staring at, looking back over to her. The female looked about ready to say something, but seemed to decide against it.

“You should get some sleep. I know better than to suggest you skip training this morning,” she smirked, knowing your determination well.

You shook your head, dismissing the mere suggestion of the morning off.

“I’ll be there.”

You stood, readying to return to your room when Gwyn spoke your name. You turned, curious.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

A smile bloomed over your lips, a peaceful joy slowly warming your chest at the unexpected praise.

“Thank you. I’m proud of myself too.”

As you returned to the dorms, ready to crawl into your bed to catch a tiny bit of shut eye, you realized that your conversation with Gwyn had unearthed something within you. It became even more apparent when you caught a glimpse of the vase of chrysanthemums sitting on your desk before you shut your eyes. A quiet happiness settled deep down, a slight smile forming on your lips as you dozed off.

After it had been broken so badly, trust had become something incredibly difficult for you. Yet, somewhere along the way, Eris had earned it.

The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you was gratitude—for his friendship and for the simple fact that he was in your life.

•••

ERIS

He had to give it to her.

Every day—before and after training—she tried to defeat the ribbon. Even if some of her fellow priestesses had begun to conquer it, it didn’t diminish her spirit—though he could tell it was beginning to frustrate her.

“Damn ribbon,” he’d heard her mutter as she stalked by where he was standing.

It’d been a week since the night they stayed up to watch the sunrise—something Eris couldn’t get out of his mind. The look of wonder on her face and how the warmth of the dawn shone across her beautiful face still stuck with him.

Training had gone as normal, just with the extra time spent teaching the females a few of Autumn’s techniques a few times a week—amidst their daily practice with the steel blades. He watched her day after day as she worked hard to perfect each and every stance and swipe of her sword.

In the short time Eris had known her—mere months actually—she had blossomed into a lively, strong female. One that was now full of life, kindness and strength.

It was this that he was pondering as he set up the item he’d brought along with him tonight as he’d winnowed to the—now so familiar—rooftop of Velaris. Her scent alerted him of her approach before the lift of her voice ever floated to him.

A beat later, lavender and vanilla wafted to him—the sweet calming scent of her always easing the tension in his body. Neither was ever too powerful or too sweet, but the perfect amount to send his heart racing every time she was near.

“If this is some sort of statement about how long it takes me to get up a few flights of stairs, then I’m insulted,” she quipped, finally stopping just in front of the item he’d sat on the ground before him.

He peered up at her, the moonlight bathing her face with soft light, making the amusement shine even brighter in her eyes. He tried to ignore the way his breath caught, his fingers twitching around the small object in his hand—tried not to acknowledge the reaction he always had to her.

“I believe I once told you that one day I’d have to teach you,” he smirked, holding up the light colored piece, “Care for a game of chess?”

Her brows rose as she lowered herself to the ground, her robes swishing with the movement. Her hair was tucked behind her arched ears, loose and flowing, unlike it had been that morning at training, when it was tied tightly back in a braid.

“You actually brought a chess board,” she chuckled, more of a statement than a question.

“I’m a male of my word,” he answered casually, setting the pawn that’d been in his grasp back on the chessboard.

She looked down at the board, brows pulling together.

“This looks complicated.”

“It looks intimidating,” he corrected, “But you’ve never let that stop you before.”

She looked up at the challenge in his voice as if taking his words into consideration.

“Alright. Where do we begin?”

He quickly rattled off the amount of pieces each player had, running through the count of each chess piece. It was information he knew by heart at this point. She merely blinked at him, as if he’d been speaking the language of the Ancient Fae. He had to refrain from laughing at her befuddled expression.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go through it slowly,” he reassured her, “Firstly, this is the king.”

One finger tapped his own piece, the tallest of all the pieces of the board, set apart with a cross crowned on top of it.

“This,” he pointed to the similar, smaller piece, “Is the queen. A player only has one of each.”

The queen was shorter, lacking the cross on the top of it though it bore a coronet instead.

“Well, I’m following you so far,” she said dryly.

He huffed a laugh before continuing.

“You see these pieces that look like towers?”

She nodded, eyes following.

“These are rooks—there are two of those.”

“And these?” she pointed to the chess pieces with the slats in their tops.

“The bishops,” he confirmed, “Two of those per each player as well.”

“The horses?”

Eris had to choke back another laugh. Clearly this would be far more entertaining than he’d anticipated.

“The horses are the knights,” he answered, an amused smirk threatening.

“Let me guess—two of those as well?”

“Look who’s catching on,” he teased.

She just tossed him an unamused look that he chose to ignore.

“The last chess pieces are pawns,” his hand gestured over the line of them across the front of his set up pieces.

“Why so many?”

“Because they’re the weakest chess piece. They’re the only piece that cannot move backwards, they can only move forwards. Now—since you know the pieces, I can tell you how they move.”

She blinked at him again, dumbfounded.

“You mean they don’t just all move…forward?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have so much to learn,” he sighed.

He froze the instant the sentence left his lips. He hadn’t meant for the pet name to slip out—had only meant for playful teasing. He peered up at her subtly through his lashes, trying to pretend he was still studying the chessboard. He was almost afraid of her reaction to his unintentional slip up.

If she’d noticed, she didn’t show it, her own gaze fixed on the chessboard, fingers brushing over the different pieces—as if she was truly soaking in all the information he’d already given her. He watched as they skimmed over each piece, eyes looking over the board like she was imagining what they’d look like during a game.

Thanking the Mother that she hadn’t seemed to notice, he continued on with his explanation, launching into the various movements.

“The king and the queen are the only pieces that can move backwards and forwards in any direction—horizontally, vertically and diagonally—as long as there isn’t another piece occupying the square.”

He showed her as he spoke before moving on to the other pieces on the board.

“The rook can move forwards and backwards as well,” Eris informed her, “No matter what color square, though only horizontally and vertically. It also can capture an enemy piece by moving to the square where it stands, thus removing it from play. Not to mention it may participate in a process called castling—which is done simultaneously with the king.”

“Eris, you’re losing me,” she said flatly, giving him a blank look.

His lips twitched in response.

“Just stay with me.”

He picked up one of his bishops, showing her the light hued chess piece. He motioned to one of hers, only hers was the dark equivalent.

“A bishop is a special piece—simply because it can move quite the distance. It has the ability to move as many spaces as it likes, as long as it’s not blocked by another piece. It moves diagonally across the board, but never departs from the color of the square it starts in. You see, one of your bishops starts in this dark square?”

One of Eris’s long fingers tapped her dark colored bishop, sitting perfectly centered in the dark square. Her gaze followed.

“Yes,” she answered, eyes flicking up to him, awaiting his next explanation.

“Then it will only ever move diagonally to the dark squares of the board. The same applies to the bishop that starts in the light square. It will only move to light squares across the chessboard.”

“I think I’m following,” she mumbled.

He chuckled.

“You’re doing better than you think. Now, on to the horses.”

“Now you’re just mocking me,” she huffed, indignantly.

He gave her a half smile, rather enjoying teasing her—though he meant no harm. Eris found he was having a rather pleasant time teaching her. It’d been centuries since he’d taught anyone to play chess. In fact, Lucien had probably been the last individual he’d taught the game.

Her arms were crossed as she pouted, but he thought he saw the corners of her lips twitch, like she, too, was fighting back a smile. Oddly enough—and quite unusual for him—he found the sight adorable. She certainly had a talent for evoking unexpected reactions in him.

“The knights move in a pattern of two then one. It can move two squares—horizontally or vertically—then move one square to the right.”

Eris moved one of his knights from where it sat to the right of the chessboard—located amongst the back row of pieces, one space inward, right next to a rook. He indicated the move, jumping over the pawn, though he didn’t stop in the space directly in front of the lesser chess piece. Instead, he settled it one square to the right.

“It can also jump over other pieces,” Eris clarified.

“So many rules for one mundane game,” she mumbled.

His hand shot to grip his chest dramatically as he stared at her.

“Mundane game,” he repeated, mock offense dripping from his words, “You wound me.”

“My head hurts,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples, “Learning the eight pointed star was less confusing than this.”

He hummed, casually replacing the knight to its rightful place.

“Yet you managed to perfect that in no time,” he mused.

“Chess suddenly seems more daunting,” she grumbled, an elbow on her thigh as she rested her fist on her cheek in defeat.

“You don’t seem the kind to give up easily,” he murmured, suddenly focused on making sure every single chess piece on his side of the board was centered perfectly within its square.

Maybe it wasn’t right to push her in such a way, but something within him knew it’d be the kind of encouragement she needed. He’d picked up rather quickly upon meeting her those handful of months ago that she didn’t take well to pity. It was an attribute he understood and admired—one he’d respected.

Simply because he was the exact same way.

Her back straightened, a determined set to her shoulders as she sat upright. She stared him down—he could feel her searing gaze on him before he even lifted his eyes back to her face.

“Teach me,” she said matter-of-factly.

His lips curled upwards in a smile, pride unfurling in his chest. There was the female he’d come to know. He let just a little bit of the snark, the charm he knew how to wield just perfectly, shine as he spoke.

“Let’s begin then.”

•••

You lost track of the time as Eris taught you the art of one of his favorite past times. He spent the time after his previous lesson, running through a game, walking you through moves, just so you could get a feel for how the game worked.

“I can’t believe you find this relaxing,” you muttered at one point, slightly exasperated as you tried to grasp the nuances of the game.

You’d risen to the challenge in his voice from earlier—hadn’t wanted to give up before you’d even tried. Something you’d done far too much on yourself in these last few years. You had no idea how Eris had known that you needed that extra push, but you were glad for it. So, you’d sat there and tried to make sense of the mountain of information he’d given you about the inconspicuous looking chessboard and its pieces.

“It keeps my mind sharp,” he drawled as he made his move.

Your eyes scanned your pieces, frustration mounting. It seemed like such a complicated game, one you were still struggling to make sense of. Your fingers hovered over one of your pawns and Eris cleared his throat. Your eyes cut up to him.

“A piece of advice,” Eris said, tilting his head.

The warm night breeze ruffled a tendril of his red hair and your gaze dropped to it, briefly. An odd sense to reach out and touch the long strand filled you—something you tried to banish from your mind quickly. Even if you wondered if it would be as soft against your fingertips as you imagined it to be.

“Of course,” you answered.

“Moving your pawn would be unwise. You’ve moved too many, unnecessarily, anyways. You’re also ignoring your king’s safety, which is one of the quickest ways to lose a match.”

You groaned, your head falling back. You were beginning to question the male’s sanity to be able to enjoy such a game.

“You’re trying though,” he offered, when you lifted your head again, “You deserve credit for that.”

You scowled, becoming increasingly annoyed with yourself for having such difficulty understanding. Seeming to sense your mood, Eris leaned forward, his forearms resting against his thighs as he studied you.

“I didn’t bring the chessboard to upset you,” he said, falling serious as he took in your current demeanor.

You chewed on your lip as you studied the pieces, not responding. You weren’t upset with him at all, only yourself.

“The simplest thing for someone new to the game to prioritize are these three things: move at least each piece once, get your knights and bishops out of their starting spaces—making sure your knights move out before your bishops—and don’t bring your queen out too early.”

He gestured to the board in silent question, as if asking permission to show you. You nodded and watched as made each move as if he were you, playing, providing commentary as he went. Your eyes took it in, absorbed his words, finding yourself falling into a bit of a trance as you became engrossed with the game he played out, step by step.

“You cannot expect mastery at a skill you’ve only attempted a handful of times.”

You jerked at his words, snapping out of the haze of concentration you’d inadvertently fallen into. He studied you for a beat before speaking again.

“You wanted to know why I enjoy the game so much? Simply because it’s not all that different from the version I already have to play.”

You cocked your head, intrigued. Despite having discussed many things with Eris over the amount of nights spent together, you realized you had little knowledge of what role he played in his home court.

“Strategy is involved—calculation. There’s an incredible amount of assessing every possible move, every outcome. It pays to be a few steps ahead of your opponent—ahead of your current standing. You learn their tells, their weaknesses and where to strike. You observe what they may give away, use current circumstances for your own advantage then assess what may be the best outcome for yourself.”

You got the sense he wasn’t talking about just chess. You couldn’t help but think of the weight one must carry—to always operate in such a way—how exhausting it had to be. The words came out before you could stop them, honest and heartfelt.

“That sounds…exhausting.”

This smile he gave you was more rueful, as if accepting of his fate.

“Good thing I’m rather excellent at it.”

You didn’t know what to say to that—and suddenly you felt incredibly self conscious at the knowledge that there was much about him, about his life, that you did not know. Of course, there were plenty of things about yourself that Eris didn’t know either.

For some reason, you had the overwhelming urge to ask him, to learn everything about him you could. The desire was so strong it nearly took your breath away. You hoped one day to be able to. You found yourself hoping you’d find yourself sharing things with him too—things you’d once thought you’d never be able to with anyone.

His demeanor shifted back towards teasing, the swift change a clear dismissal of the previous topic. Knowing you, too, disliked being forced to discuss matters you weren’t ready to, you let the matter drop.

“Eventually you’ll beat me—or I may take pity on you and allow a victory. Perhaps once or twice. Just to keep you from sulking.”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, his amber eyes sparking with wicked delight at his teasing. You threw a chess piece at him, which, of course, he caught effortlessly in his hand due to that swift fae speed.

“You’re incorrigible,” you huffed, “And I do not sulk.”

Though you pretended to be offended, a small laugh escaped you. Mainly at his tendency for dramatics. He hummed disbelievingly. A chuckle followed—one of the deep and very unintentionally sensual ones that he seemed so overwhelmingly competent at. You felt a fluttering sensation deep in your gut—almost imperceptible, but there. You realized you couldn’t pinpoint just exactly when you’d begun having such reactions to him.

You spent the rest of the night playing increasingly unserious games with Eris—at one point disregarding the rules entirely and stealing his king right off the board.

“The only way I’ll get a checkmate!” you’d managed to get out between breaths of laughter, even as he pretended to be less than amused.

He’d only muttered under his breath as he’d snatched his king back from your hand, shaking his head at you. You hadn’t missed the ghost of a smile on his lips though.

You may have not beat him in a single game, but when you crawled into bed in the hours before dawn, you felt lighter than you had in a long, long time.

•••

ERIS

It was almost frighteningly easy how she’d become a normal part of his everyday life—how naturally it had happened. Nearly every day, Eris found himself winnowing to Velaris twice a day. Once for the Valkyrie training in the mornings and a second time during the night—usually long after the moon had arisen over Prythian.

His father kept him so busy on a normal day that it was rather simple to invent some excuse for where he’d been. He still managed to work his way through his hefty to-do list so effortlessly that there was never any question of his whereabouts, mercifully.

It had become rather inconvenient though how much stronger the strain felt when he was away from her. Not only did he miss her when he was busy tending to his duties back in the Autumn Court, but he could feel the hollowness in his chest. Eris had no other way of describing it than he felt like a piece of him was missing.

He knew why. Of course he knew why. But acknowledging it fully and living with it were two very different things, he’d come to realize.

A kernel of truth had snuck up on him at some point over the nights spent with her—one that he’d never wholly realized. It had never dawned on him just how lonely he’d been before her steady presence in his life. The realization had snuck up on him so silently, it had nearly left him in shambles.

The mornings were filled with more training as the priestesses kept gaining in knowledge and strength, each maneuver and position they were taught being perfected. They kept learning the combination of the Illyrian and Valkyrie techniques all while maintaining and practicing the Autumn Court positions he’d taught them as well. Eris often couldn’t help the pride that welled in him as he watched not only her but the entire group of females day after day. They’d come so far since the first time he’d visited the training session out of mere curiosity.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was witnessing history unfolding before his eyes—as if fate were stirring. The energy that filled the training ring every time the females picked up their swords was enough to give anyone chills. It was as if this had always been the Mother’s plan for these females—to lead them here, to this very moment.

Eris often wondered if he was always meant to end up here too. One look at the individual that always drew his attention—not because of who she was to him, but because of who she was as an individual—told him that yes, the Mother had always had a purpose for him here too. Even if he still didn’t understand it, himself.

One by one the priestesses had begun cutting the ribbon. First it had been Deirdre, then Ananke. Roslin, Riven and Lorelei. There were still more than half of the group of priestesses to accomplish it yet—she, too, was one of them.

Even though he’d found himself enraptured with observing her grit and determination throughout training, he most looked forward to the more intimate time spent with her when the rest of the world was asleep—when the Night Court was at its most beautiful. Admittedly, he’d seen more of Velaris than he ever once expected to, but these days he wasn’t complaining.

In the nights that followed his first chess lesson, he’d occasionally conjure the board between them for her to practice. She was steadily improving, even coming close to beating him once. Despite his teasing, he hadn’t let her win simply to spare her feelings. He’d wanted her to earn that victory herself, though it seemed she enjoyed the games more for the entertainment of it and had little desire to defeat him.

Her attention seemed split tonight, her concentration weak as he captured another one of her pawns.

“That easily could have been avoided,” he mused.

She hummed, sounding distracted, eyes drifting across the ring to her current arch nemesis. The object of her attention was behind him, though he hadn’t needed to look over his shoulder to know what she kept glancing at.

The wooden beam with the white ribbon stood there, refreshed after each and every person that had managed to cut the ribbon. He sighed as she scowled its direction once more. With a wave of his hand, the chessboard and all its pieces vanished into thin air, back to its place in his room back home. Her hand was midair, ready to move one of her pieces when it disappeared. She made a noise of protest, hand dropping from where it’d frozen.

“You’re distracted and I was ready to checkmate you anyways,” he drawled.

“It’s taunting me,” she grumbled, eyes moving back to the ribbon.

Eris finally peered over his shoulder seeing the ribbon, in fact, fluttering tauntingly in the gentle breeze of the night. When he looked back at her, his expression was no nonsense.

“You know, cutting a ribbon doesn’t make you any less of a warrior,” he pointed out.

Clearly it had been the wrong thing to say as her eyes flared with anger. Eris wondered if it was merely watching her peers achieve the goal or if it was something more that pushed her. Something that he didn’t have knowledge of.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he said, a shade gentler.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” she shot back, arms folding over her chest.

He recognized deflection when he saw it—knew she was one wrong move from shutting down if he didn’t handle his next words with care. Normally, with most people, this would be where he’d press. A weakness, a bruise, a vulnerability that he could use to his advantage.

She wasn’t most people though—and he had no desire to push her. Something more simmered just beneath the surface of her denial and her frustration. He knew it would do neither of them any good to push the matter.

Instead, he sat and studied her. His eyes assessed her, trying to determine what crawled underneath her skin—if it was much like the things that haunted him. Sometimes he forgot how intimidating his sharp gaze could be because she shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

It was then that he knew what to do. Motioning his head towards the weapons rack along the wall, he voiced his command.

“Grab a sword.”

•••

Fighting techniques—while appearing similar on the surface—definitely differed, depending on the approach. Illyrian techniques focused on grand movements, brutal force and overpowering your opponent rather quickly. The Valkyrie techniques put emphasis on discipline, unity and endurance during both fighting and training.

You and the rest of the group had learned a combination of both groups, a new version, morphing both into something different and unheard of. But Autumn Court techniques—at least the ones Eris had decided he wanted to teach—were definitely different than anything you'd already learned.

“What made you decide on these specific methods?” you’d questioned as he motioned your feet in the proper stance.

“I figured it would be a different skill set for you and the other females to utilize,” Eris had answered simply before nodding, happy with the placement of your feet.

“Oh?”

You were intrigued as he hadn’t explained much when he’d ordered you to grab a sword. You’d half figured Eris had planned to give you some pointers on how to finally cut the ribbon, but when you’d voiced the thought he’d only shook his head, telling you that you needed to focus your attention on something else for a short time. Despite your determination to cut the ribbon, you knew he was right, it would’ve only furthered your frustration.

“The skills I want to teach are an entirely different approach to a sword fight,” he’d said, folding his arms as he watched you raise your sword.

“While not something one may always encounter in combat, it benefits an individual to have a well rounded education. What I want to teach is more restrained, precise and calculated.”

“Isn’t that what most sword training is?” you’d inquired, not understand the difference.

“Yes and no. Some methods I use—some I’ve found in my research that I want to implement in the future—focus on disabling instead of immediate killing blows. There’s a test of patience to it. One aspect I teach is how to rely heavily on deception. I tend to lean into being as unpredictable to your opponent as possible.”

It had made sense to you and you’d nodded, taking in the information. After all, Cassian and Azriel had continuously stressed that not all sparring matches were made equal. There could be minimal all the way to drastic differences between one battle to the next. Not only was there the possibility of an opponent that could be more skilled than your last, but location and numerous other factors could make a difference.

You’d seen why Eris had been interested in teaching the differing techniques.

“Predictibility will kill you faster than a steel blade,” he’d said bluntly.

You’d blinked at his directness.

“Which is why it benefits having an arsenal of varying skills?” you filled in, though it came out more like a question than a statement.

His mouth had turned upwards in one of his smug grins. You’d begun to think he’d perfected that look by practicing it in the mirror. Only from the simple fact that it came so easy to him.

“Now you’re getting it.”

He’d eyed you, your foot placement and your posture, then he’d jerked his chin your way.

“Fix your posture. If your body is showing hesitancy, an opponent will use that to their advantage and strike hard.”

Your brows had pulled together, not understanding what exactly in your posture needed to be fixed. You’d shaken your head, conveying your difficulty understanding what he was asking of you.

It’d taken only a few footfalls for him to be directly in front you.

“May I?” he’d murmured, asking for permission before he touched you.

Moving only after you’d nodded, he’d walked behind you, a palm lightly placed on your lower back, encouraging you to straighten your spine—though you hadn’t been able to tell if it was your body naturally correcting itself or if it had been in reaction to his touch.

Your breath had hitched, your body going preternaturally still for just a beat. There’d only been a handful of times that Eris had touched you and yet that had seemed to be the most intense. If he’d noticed your reaction, he’d said nothing as his hands settled—respectfully—along your hips.

“Straighten your spine and relax your hips. Your power and balance comes from your core and you’ll be twisting a great deal. Keep your hips loose—not locked tight.”

Your stomach had tightened at the intimate touch—at his proximity—and you’d mentally chided yourself at your foolishness. Even if you’d been extremely aware of his presence behind you.

“Alright,” the word had whooshed out, as you’d tried to focus.

Then his gentle touch had relocated to your arms, guiding them into the correct position—shoulder level and bent at the elbow. His touch seemed to linger on them for a beat longer than necessary before his hands dropped from you.

“There.”

His simple word had come out softer than you’d expected it and you’d eyed him as he’d stepped back around you, once again in front of you. You’d had no words for what had just transpired between you and Eris, but he’d once again surprised you with his next comment.

“Consider yourself my experiment before I begin teaching this tomorrow,” he’d purred, grinning wolfishly as he examined your newly corrected posture.

“Something tells me I should be worried,” you’d mumbled at him, taking in his arrogant amusement.

“Oh you should be,” he’d smirked, “I can be just as brutal of a teacher as Cassian or Azriel.”

You’d grumbled but hadn’t argued as he led you through a few different combinations of movements.

Now, under the warm summer sun the following morning, you were building on that initial training that Eris had begun with you the night before.

He hadn’t been lying when he said that Autumn methods differed vastly from what you’d already learned. Not only that, but Eris definitely differed in teaching style from the other males. You’d been used to the different personalities that came in your tutors—from the Illyrians: Casssian, Azriel and Emerie, all the way to Nesta and Gwyn. But Eris was simply something different.

He could be brutal, unforgiving—given that he made the entire group repeat a certain motion long past the point of exhaustion, simply to pinpoint any weaknesses that surfaced. Though it seemed harsh, it was an effective strategy to catch any mistakes made, early on, before they became a habit.

Even with that, he still remained fair and helpful—always keeping an eye out to correct any individual and offer advice. The amount of patience he seemed to display shouldn’t have surprised you, and yet it did—especially when paired with the leniency he showed you and the females still unfamiliar with his tactics.

Calculation and deception—as he’d told you the previous night—was truly the crux of the Autumn approach.

Instead of wasting momentum, Eris instructed in smaller, tighter movements. While you and the others had been used to powerful swings, these motions consisted of short thrusts and controlled turns of the wrist.

The male also focused on targeted strikes instead of killing blows. Cuts to the wrists—along the tendon—and thigh muscles were used specifically to weaken. Combined with the other tactics he was teaching, it could be as lethal as Eris, the General of the Autumn Court’s forces, could be.

Other drills he’d had the group perform involved the shields—something that had only newly been introduced in the Valkyrie portion of training. Though what Eris had in mind didn’t involve using them for actual shielding as opposed to what you’d been learning.

For Eris’s exercise, he wanted each individual to hold the heavy shield in one hand, forcing oneself to learn movements with the sword one handed. It shouldn’t have been all that difficult—in fact it hadn’t sounded all that difficult, especially since that was essentially what was involved with the new addition of using the shield for the Valkyrie lessons. But it proved to be rather difficult to control the more tight movements without both hands on the sword.

“Some fights force you to only use one hand—whether you’re using a shield for its proper use,” Eris motioned to the shields in their hands, “Whether you find yourself in a confined space or you’re injured.”

He also taught a way to force a blade from your opponent’s hands—something he taught his own soldiers, he’d said. As he demonstrated for the group, you thought you recognized some of the movements from that one night you’d handed him a sword and told him you wanted to see how he fought.

“You’re used to blades clashing—steel against steel—which works. I use that as well in my own soldiers’ training,” Eris called out from the front of the ring, “But instead of overpowering and forcing the sword from your enemy’s hand, this strategy provides you the opportunity to steal control over the other sword.”

He’d pulled Azriel up to aid in his visual, the shadowsinger’s Illyrian blade out and crossed against Eris’s own sword. Eris pulled back, effortlessly catching Azriel’s blade with a redirected strike, approaching from an unexpected angle. The guards of both swords locked together as a result.

Azriel had been instructed not to make it easy, to fight like he normally would, but with a flick of Eris’s wrist, the Illyrian blade flew from scarred hands. You had to admit even Azriel looked rather impressed.

With the entire group paired off, you’d spent twenty minutes practicing the skill the male had just shown. It definitely seemed easier in theory.

Footwork was also notably important in Eris’s training of the Autumn Court soldiers. Unsurprisingly, as elaborate as he seemed to be, so was the footwork that came with the unique tactics Eris was teaching. It wasn’t too unusual that an individual be light on their feet, but Eris was partial to moving in sweeping arcs and circles instead of pointedly forwards or backwards. He utilized the ability to pivot—usually during calculated feints—the movement aiding in making it harder for the foe to corner him.

“Now I know Cassian and Azriel have taught you that being light on your feet is important. This is no different. This specifically keeps your attack angles unpredictable to your enemy and they won’t be able to anticipate your next move, which is the goal.”

Eris demonstrated as he spoke, his feet seeming to glide over the ground, so effortless it seemed like he was floating instead of moving.

“Think of it as a dance,” he explained.

You’d been leaning against the pommel of your sword as you’d observed with the others. You scoffed at his statement.

“Says the one who can actually ballroom dance,” you’d muttered under your breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you heard his voice raise, clearly having heard your retort.

It wasn’t strict or annoyed, but you heard the barely contained playfulness in it as if this delighted him. He peered past the females that were towards the front of the group—who were very much enraptured with the lesson today—his eyes finding yours immediately. A small handful of your sisters seemed much more attentive to today’s lesson—more so than they tended to be with any of Azriel or Cassian’s, that’s for sure.

Thank the Mother he was actually fully clothed today.

Ignoring the strange sense of irritation that slithered along your bones, you straightened from where you’d been leaning, biting your cheek to hold back the grin that threatened.

“Nothing,” you quipped, “You may continue.”

You waved a hand lazily, indicating for him to do just as you’d said. He hummed thoughtfully, eyes raking down your body—the gaze filled with much more than you could pinpoint.

“I assume you will refrain from further interrupting my lessons today?”

Dry amusement laced his words though his face remained stony. To anyone else, it might’ve appeared that he was being stern with you. You merely nodded in answer though.

Those amber eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary before he pulled his attention from you and returned to the lesson.

The banter hadn’t stopped there.

Later, while continuing to focus on footwork—Eris instructing everyone to abandon their blades to focus solely on their feet—you’d stumbled. It had happened during an exercise of practicing quick turns on the balls of your feet. The male had made sure to prioritize the practice of learning on both sides, insisting it was beneficial to possess the skill on the non-dominant side just as much as the dominant.

In a sword fight, the ability to pivot and turn sharply on the ball of your foot, provided a few crucial seconds. Additionally, it was a perfect maneuver to narrowly miss a blade angled toward one’s side. The miss might be slight, but any advantage mattered in combat.

Apparently, you’d been a bit too enthusiastic and had thrown too much momentum into the spin, causing you to stumble precariously, losing your balance in the process. You fell to your knees in the process with an irritated huff at yourself as you stood and brushed off your pants.

“I would’ve expected you to have the pattern memorized by now, priestess,” he called out to you, arms folded as witnessed your fumble, "After all, you’ve had the benefit of extra practice.”

Some of the females surrounding you turned curious eyes towards you. Ilana smirked at you. Nesta and Emerie looked delighted. Azriel and Cassian just blinked in befuddlement at what was unfolding before their very eyes. Gwyn was the only one who didn’t look surprised in the slightest.

His comment was playful without giving too much away—only alluding to the fact that just the night before he’d begun showing you some of the very techniques he was teaching the entire group today.

“I kept my promise to keep it a secret until lesson time, did I not?” you blinked at him innocently, “Can’t have everyone else fearing you favor a specific student, now can we?”

You watched amusement flicker over his face—so minuscule you wondered if anyone but you noticed it. You’d come to realize that Eris was a male who’d perfected the art of controlling his reactions. He never gave anyone the ability to read him well. At some point you’d learned his tells well enough to be able to pick up on such things—something that made you feel a flicker of pride. You didn’t think many could make such a claim when it came to the heir.

“Well we know you tend to be distracted by some more than others,” Eris quipped, flashing you a grin that you knew meant trouble.

Your cheeks heated as you remembered when he’d begun his first lessons only a few weeks ago, the sight of his pale, freckled skin—his sculpted bare chest—on display. Or the fact that he had caused you quite the distraction. Though it wasn’t like you’d been the only one to pay attention.

You stared him down, not backing down from his taunt, willing to match the same energy. You desired playing with him.

“You think highly of yourself, lord,” you responded coolly.

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m an absolute delight,” he threw back without missing a beat, a feline smirk gracing his sensuous lips.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but my gold marks are on her,” you heard Cassian mutter from the sidelines.

Multiple pairs of eyes seemed to bounce between you and Eris, taking in the sight, but you ignored them, your attention focused on the red-haired male at the front of the ring.

“If your sword was as sharp as your tongue, you’d never lose a fight,” you retorted.

His brows flicked up at your response, appearing to fully enjoy every second of this. A smug sort of amusement seemed to radiate from him followed by a knowing, quiet chuckle that curled down your spine.

“One might say discussion of my tongue is inappropriate talk for the training ring, sweetheart.”

The nickname clanged through you, your eyes locking with his for a brief beat, until you digested what he’d said. Your awareness of your surroundings—of who surrounded you—slammed you back into reality. So quickly had you slipped into a world where only Eris had existed, completely forgetting where you were. You felt your face heat, your boldness of a moment before vanishing in an instant.

Mercifully, Nesta spoke up, avoiding any awkward silences.

“Well, it’s not every day that training comes with an intermission of Eris being sassed.”

“We could use more of it,” Emerie quipped, making you smother a laugh into your shoulder as you bent to retrieve your sword from the ground.

Tinkling laughter sounded from the other priestesses, easing the moment that surely had piqued everyone else’s curiosity.

“Now if you ladies are going to be insulting,” Eris huffed, though there was no real exasperation behind it.

“Better get used to it, Eris,” Cassian warned, “This is only a fraction of what they’re capable of.”

Even Azriel seemed to be amused at the unexpected turn in the morning lessons, only one shadow curling around his neck while the others avoided the bright sun, remaining in the shade. His own lips twitched with laughter before he, too, piped in.

“They handle everything we throw at them. I suppose it’s only fair that they get to verbally hand it back. Though they do tend to be as hard on us as we are on them, training wise.”

Adding on to her mate’s remark, Gwyn beamed at you, mischief sparkling in her teal eyes.

“Welcome to the club. We’ve all had a few smart remarks for these insufferable males at one point or another.”

“So does that mean I can order him to do a hundred squats whenever I feel like it?” you joked, your head tilting in Eris’s direction.

“You get that privilege when you can complete your set in under two minutes flat like we can,” Cassian retorted, motioning between himself, Azriel and Eris.

You grumbled under your breath, though the mood remained light as the chatter and laughter continued. It took a few moments for everyone to fall back into position to resume the lesson, you included.

As you did, you caught Eris’s eye once again, a shared smile passing between the two of you. It left you feeling light as a feather for the rest of the morning.

•••

ERIS

That night, due to her complaints of him leaving her—and likely the rest of the trainees—sore beyond belief, he didn’t summon the chess board for them to play as they’d done rather frequently here recently. Instead, he decided just to keep her company.

Surprisingly enough, she’d actually beaten him to the roof for a change. He’d found her sprawled across the mat, on her back, looking up at night sky, when he’d winnowed in.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asked as he’d lowered himself to the ground to sit next to her.

“Since sunset,” she’d answered, “I’m too sore to move so I thought it was simpler just to stay and wait. At least I got to see the stars come out.”

His eyes had roamed over her body, still in the Illyrian leathers from this morning’s lesson, worry flooding him. He’d resisted the urge to ask after her wellbeing though, despite the instinct that’d flared in him.

“You did well today,” he’d said instead.

At that, she’d simply turned her head and offered a small smile that had that neglected thread buried deep down inside him flaring brightly in answer—filling his chest with unexpected warmth and something akin to contentedness.

After that, their conversation had turned playful for a bit, even casual. He’d asked what the priestesses' services were like and she launched into a detailed explanation about the beautiful music—instruments and singing voices included. She crowed about her friend Gwyn and the musical talent the female had.

Eris had listened intently, hanging on to every word. The joy that lit her face while talking about something she enjoyed was more powerful to him than any fae magic.

Tonight, the secret he kept hidden within him seemed to become wilder, having gained a newfound strength as it raged within him, much more sensitive to her than ever. He was momentarily lost in his own thoughts when she asked a question that he hadn’t expected.

“Are you truly the heir to the Autumn Court? The future High Lord?”

He snorted, unable to help himself.

“You’ve known me for how long—spent many nights like this—and you’re just now asking?”

She shrugged irreverently.

“Didn’t seem polite to ask any other time.”

He flicked a brow up, amused, but she pressed.

“Well, you are, aren’t you?”

She finally sat up—with a slight wince that he noticed—facing him, awaiting his answer.

He exhaled a deep sigh—one that seemed to carry much more weight than he intended to show. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to discuss the topic, especially when she was so curious, but it was one that came tangled with conflicting emotions.

“That’s what they tell me,” he joked, attempting at humor, the corner of his mouth quirking.

She tilted her head, some hair shifting forward over her shoulder as she studied him, brows crinkling with whatever thoughts that were forming in her mind.

“Do you not wish to be?”

He contemplated his answer for a beat.

“It’s not that, but it’s the weight of what it brings. I want to protect my court, its people—my people. I want to do right by them. There’s just…there’s a lot of change that needs to happen eventually. I would hope sooner than later. But it’s also going to be a long and arduous process, I believe.”

It was probably the most honest he’d ever been with her and the vulnerability left him uncomfortable. He willed his face to give nothing away, even though he felt like he’d just offered up a part of his heart, bruises and all. His jaw clenched as he turned away from her, unaccustomed to being so straightforward without his usual snark.

“If you could become High Lord today, what would you change?”

Her voice was a whisper, as if she was hesitant to voice the question too loud—like the Mother, herself, might be paying too close attention to their conversation. Genuine curiosity filled her voice like she actually cared to hear what he had to say.

At first, Eris thought about brushing off the question with an easy, noncommittal answer. Deflection came easy to him. But something stopped him—a realization that he wanted to share some of the thoughts and dreams that he’d kept tucked close for so long.

“My father doesn’t pay well for his crops, for one,” he snorted bitterly, “He has a…very low opinion of lesser faeries. Even more so of the general commoners of his court. Unfortunately for him, my youngest brother, Lucien, once fit in best with the non-aristocratic people of Autumn. He spent much time among the people of the countryside.”

Close—perhaps too close—to a painful past. He chose to skip over the brutal details of a time long passed, even if the wounds left from it still lingered centuries later.

“It may not be work I’m familiar with, but each individual helps keep the court running smoothly. They deserve fair wages along with protection from their High Lord. It shouldn’t be one over the other,” he said firmly.

She remained quiet, listening intently, even as her finger traced invisible patterns over the fabric of the mat they sat upon. When she didn’t comment, he continued on.

“Trade routes are weak right now,” Eris sighed heavily, feeling the weight of all that he desired to change, resting on his shoulders again, “Which ties into the fact I desire to strengthen Autumn’s allies—improve relations with the other High Lords. For far too long have we been isolated until only necessary. No thanks to Beron.”

She finally looked up, her tracing paused.

“What do you mean?”

Something fond unfurled in his chest at her innocent naivety. He’d briefly forgotten that she wouldn’t be familiar with courtly politics as he was.

“Beron sees allies as useful only for what they can provide him. It’s never about the safety of the court, unsurprisingly. He’s dealt very little with the other courts in his time as High Lord of Autumn—they’re only a necessity, it seems, in times of war. Only when he needs them.”

Eris could feel the irritation rising in him—at the centuries of poorly handled situations. He had the awareness that being a High Lord came with many difficulties, but some decisions his father had made still needled him to this day.

“Autumn needs stronger alliances,” he huffed in agitation, “Which is why I’ve spent years trying to forge them on my own.”

Realization dawned on her, spreading across her face.

“Which is how your involvement with the Night Court came to be?”

“Partially, yes. We’ve been tentative allies since the war with Hybern a few years ago,” he filled in, “Then Nesta developed an interest in creating a female fighting unit. I was intrigued. It was closely connected to other dreams I had for Autumn.”

“Which was what?” she prompted.

His face set in grim determination as his jaw worked, the passion he felt for this specific topic so closely linked to matters a bit too close to home.

“Beron doesn’t have a high favor of females,” Eris said, a tad too stiffly, “He sees them as objects to possess, control and belittle. He’s always been of the opinion that they’re beneath him, incapable of doing the very things I see in this training ring daily.”

He saw anger tighten her face at the words. Eris had the sense that she knew just the sort of male Beron was—had experience with those sorts of males. The thought tightened his gut. Just imagining her having encountered anyone as horrible as his father made him sick. To not linger on it, he attempted to carry on, finding himself venturing much too close to honesty than he intended.

“My mother—” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, unable to voice what he’d been about to share.

He swore he caught a cautious, curious glance from her, perhaps tinged with a shade of concern—for him.

“Autumn may not have a female fighting unit, but they will have the respect and decency to fight alongside such warriors,” he said instead, settling in much safer territory.

“That’s very noble of you.”

The sentiment was heartfelt as her previous anger faded into softness once again—the kindness he’d come to expect from her.

“Someone has to do the right thing,” he brushed off the compliment with a half shrug.

She was studying him though. He felt exposed under her own assessing gaze—as if she’d recognized all the defenses he had in place like a fortress of solid iron.

“That sounds like a lot to carry,” she voiced gently.

Eris said nothing—neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She fell silent, looking contemplative as she stewed over whatever was twirling through her mind. Eris was just about to open his mouth to ask when her following soft question had him peering sideways at her again.

“Do you ever do anything for yourself?”

She looked genuinely distressed that he had to carry such matters all on his own.

He had an answer on his tongue—chess, walks through the woods with his hounds, occasional hunting with them—but the answer that came out was unexpected and far more honest than he’d intended.

“This,” he responded truthfully.

Momentary surprise lit her her features as she instantly realized what he meant—these nightly meetings with her was the one thing he did for himself. Something he didn’t have to share with anyone else. The surprise melted into something softer as the hint of a smile bloomed on her lips.

“I’m happy you have this,” she declared.

So was he. He wondered if his expression portrayed that as his eyes roamed her face. Something in the honesty he saw in her expression had him divulging more than he planned to.

“Autumn isn’t just a season for dying things, you know. It’s a season of change—of transformation. When the world morphs into something beautiful and different, shedding what no longer serves it and emerging that much more beautiful. There’s such good brought by the season—such as your precious chrysanthemums who wait to bloom only then.”

She smiled, likely remembering the flowers he’d sent her weeks ago. He wondered if she’d noticed that they’d been spelled to last longer than normal. He’d wanted to give her something beautiful—wanted them to bring her joy for far longer than just a few days. His fingers found a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt, worrying it between his thumb and forefinger—the tiny motion meant to preoccupy him from his discomfort before he continued.

“Something I desire to bring to the court is its natural joy. It still exists, even beneath centuries of rot—I feel it every time I walk through the forests or sit by the rivers.”

He looked up from his shirt sleeve, still not looking toward her as he turned his face toward the star flecked sky before speaking again.

“Autumn has been merely surviving for far too long. I think it’s long past time for it to thrive again.”

With his attention upward, he wasn’t aware of her movement until he felt a featherlight brush against his pinky. Long red strands shifted into his face as his head dipped, seeing her hand right next to his, her own pinky having just barely brushed a line against the side of his. He hadn’t even taken note of how close their hands were prior to this.

It wasn’t a demanding touch but one filled with quiet camaraderie and compassion—a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone. Even after his acknowledgment of the action, she didn’t move her hand away.

It tugged at something deep in his chest, somewhere along his ribs, that thread winding tighter than ever. Once, she’d struggled with close proximity to males—had a negative reaction to it. Now, she had placed her trust in him, was even initiating contact.

Her attention had fallen away from him though, despite her hand staying where it was.

“You know, I don’t want to stay here indefinitely. I don’t want to be stuck on top of this mountain forever,” she sighed, looking around the training ring.

“Is that so?”

She nodded, almost seeming resigned for a brief moment.

“I appreciate this place—the library—it’s done so much for me. But…I’m beginning to believe it’s not my permanent home like I once believed it was.”

She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts.

“There’s so much of the world to see.”

“That there is,” he agreed.

She finally turned to look at him, such longing and wistfulness on her pretty face that it made the empty place in his chest that’d been there for months, ache even more fiercely. The fingers of his opposite hand twitched against his thigh, repressing the urge to reach out towards her.

To do what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

“Autumn sounds like a nice place to visit—to live,” she finally uttered.

Something like pride welled in him—pride in his court, in his home.

“It has the potential to be. I hope to make that permanent someday,” he murmured, truthfully.

“Maybe one day I’ll get to see it,” she responded, then added with a crooked grin, “For the hounds, of course.”

He chuckled dryly.

“Of course—the hounds.”

Silence fell between them. A handful of moments in which he realized just how much they’d migrated towards one another.

“For what it’s worth,” she whispered, eyes locked with his, “I think you’d make a great High Lord.”

He couldn’t have restrained it if he’d tried, his gaze flickering down to her lips. They were so close that neither of them would have to move far forward to close the distance. He marked the instance she’d noticed his eyes dip. A quiet inhale followed by her lips parting with the breath.

Suddenly, it was all he could think of, the temptation far too strong to kiss her. Those ancient instincts cried out to him, wanting him to claim, to taste. All he had to do was lift the hand that still rested on the ground next to hers, tilt her chin and press his lips to hers.

He didn’t though. Instead, his eyes took in her face—the anticipation on it—the hope that she barely masked. What he also saw was the purple smudges under her eyes. He knew she often had trouble sleeping well and though he enjoyed her nighttime company, he also wanted her to get some rest—especially after a hard day of training.

“You should get some sleep. The rest will help soothe the worst of your sore muscles,” he mumbled softly.

She looked as reluctant to let this almost moment end as he felt. But, he knew well enough that acting too early in a situation never ended well. Perhaps, it was nothing but his foolish mind denying something his soul seemed to crave—to desperately need.

“You’re right,” she agreed, her exhaustion seeming to double instantly now that she’d acknowledged it.

She tried to get up, but groaned—rather dramatically, he thought—and he gave her a hand, exhaling a soft huff of laughter through his nose. She gave a tired laugh at her own struggle too.

“I now see what you meant about how staying still makes it worse,” she groaned again.

The corner of his mouth curled arrogantly, always appreciating when he was proven right. It softened slightly though as he took her in. He didn’t sense any disappointment or confusion in regards to what had just happened—just a sudden deep desire for rest and sleep.

“Rest well, okay?” he murmured.

“I will,” she assured him.

Her eyes roamed him as if she wanted to say something more, but held back. Instead she seemed to settle for something safer as a parting comment before she turned to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eris made sure she was fully out of sight as she descended the stairs before he winnowed home, a dangerous truth twining with that secret thread in an elegant dance.

He’d wanted to kiss her terribly—and he almost had.

•••

Despite the peaceful night with Eris, monsters once again showed up on your threshold.

You didn’t know what had caused you to regress into this—what had triggered it. It had been weeks without a nightmare, days at a time had passed without you even thinking of Finneas.

You’d felt more in control, stronger, like you’d had purpose in life again. You’d fallen into a comfortable routine and had started to feel settled again—like life wasn’t as terrifying as you’d once believed it to be.

You’d started to become happy.

When you’d fallen into bed not long after the strange moment you’d shared with Eris, nothing had been troubling you—save for the bone weary exhaustion and sore body that indicated he’d been right and you desperately needed sleep.

You’d been left feeling a tad off balance as you hadn’t known what to label the sudden intensity and connection you’d started to experience with the male, but you hadn’t spared it much thought either. Whatever had happened likely had been imagined by you anyways, despite the strange sensation you felt more loudly nowadays when he was around.

It was as though something called to you, begging you to pay attention to why you’d felt drawn to him from the beginning—first with uneasy curiosity and growing into the familiar steadiness of the present day. But you couldn’t figure it out.

That night though, after leaving Eris, you’d been chased from sleep by nightmares—ones you hadn’t had this intensely in some time. Images of an angry face in yours, wild eyes—wide and bright with fury. A hand coming across your face in a slap so hard it knocked your head to the side.

You’d jerked from sleep so violently that you’d shot up in bed, your heart at a galloping speed as you struggled to pull breath into your lungs. Panic tinged you with icy dread as you wrestled with disentangling reality from your dream.

Flashes of it—of your memories—appeared behind your eyes, in your mind.

“You ungrateful bitch! Can’t you do anything right?”

A hand gripped your hair so tightly, tears formed from the brutal grasp.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he snarled.

Your head was yanked to the side so harshly, a whimper escaped your throat. Fear flooded your veins, your body tensing for impact, knowing even the smallest of noises would only make him angrier.

“No one will ever love you like me. No one will want you.”

The words were cold, cruel. They sank into every part of you that trembled in his grip. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, the overwhelming desire to apologize, to beg for forgiveness—to make things better again—rising in you.

A fist slammed into your stomach, the impact so brutal it knocked the breath from your lungs as you doubled over.

“Maybe next time you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut.”

The horrible words echoed in your ears as the memory and dream combination faded. You pulled in ragged breaths, sweat dampening your body. Your eyes scanned the room, realizing you were in your bed, in your room in the library built underneath the mountain.

Breathless sobs wracked your body, the fear and panic once again raw, as if the healing wound had just been ripped right back open.

It had been the night he’d almost ended your life.

Your mind—even all these years later—had completely erased the reasoning for the incident happening. You had no memory of what caused it or what had set him off. All you remembered was being shrouded in blinding pain and fear.

By the look of the light just starting to spill through the glamoured window of your room, you could tell dawn was rapidly approaching.

You sat hugging your knees to your chest, trembling long after the sun rose.

•••

ERIS

He knew something was wrong from the moment she stepped into the training ring.

He watched as she grabbed a sword from the weapons rack and took her place, awaiting for lessons to start—all without even glancing his way. Eris tried to reassure himself he was jumping to conclusions.

But something was different, he could tell. Something that could likely be dismissed by others at first glance. He wasn’t teaching today, thank the Mother, which allowed him to keep a closer eye on her.

As Cassian started today’s lesson, running through the myriad of turns and moves they’d started to combine into different motions, the unease kept growing within him. He stood by the sidelines, his arms crossed, his gaze barely leaving her for more than a few seconds at a time.

She was tense, face like stone, as if the spark he’d seen come to life over these last few months had been snuffed out. There was a rigidness in her posture that hadn’t been there last night or at training yesterday.

Perhaps nothing was amiss other than just exhaustion and the sore muscles from yesterday. Maybe he’d kept her awake too long last night and she was dragging this morning.

But then she continued ignoring him—didn’t even look at him once. Eris felt his body tense further as training progressed and her demeanor didn’t seem to improve.

He was more than familiar with what she looked like when her focus was on training. Even then she’d always made time to peer his way occasionally. Sometimes she’d shoot him a smile, an amused glance or a roll of the eyes at something that was said. Occasionally even teasing remarks or expressions thrown his way had been included.

Today, there was none of that. It was like watching a completely different female.

Even more concerning was it wasn’t just him she was acting like this with. She was far quieter overall, this morning, interacting with no one. There was no trace of the bright, jubilant female that had just been in his presence this time yesterday.

It was as if she was trying to shrink her presence, becoming smaller to take up less space. She was willingly pulling away from everyone else. In fact, the way her shoulders hunched, she looked defeated.

Concern blared through Eris, conflicting emotions warring within him. All he wanted to do was make sure she was okay, pull her aside and ask what was wrong. Such a drastic change had to be brought on by something.

He spent the entire morning keeping a worried eye on her, praying to the Mother it was simply a bad mood, a sluggish morning—he would’ve even settled for her just being plain irate with him. That last thought sent the realization hitting him like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped over his head.

Fuck. What if she was angry with him because of last night? Had she been able to tell he wanted to kiss her? What if she hadn’t wanted that? Was that the cause of this sudden change?

He knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he knew for certain.

When she finally looked at him—right at the end of training for the day—he had to bite back the very visceral reaction he nearly had.

Empty, dead eyes met his—the beautiful eyes he’d seen light up so many times before. The ones that always pulled his attention back to her face time and again. Gone was all the happiness and playfulness he’d once seen in them.

In its place was a cold reservoir, as if all life had been drained from her, leaving a pool of murky despair. Her eyes were still beautiful, but they were haunted now, lacking all the warmth he’d come to know in them.

She said nothing, just strolling past him as if they’d never known one another.

Later that night, Eris found himself waiting on the roof, on top of the mountain, in Velaris—as he always had. Darkness thickened and deepened around him as the hours crept past with absolutely no sign of her.

Eris waited and waited, hope diminishing with every hour that passed. When he finally winnowed back to Autumn before dawn, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut—or the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

It felt like something cracked deep in his chest, pain rushing in at the turn of events from the day. Somewhere along the way, he’d begin to care deeply for her.

And for the first time in two months, she hadn’t shown up.

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[adventure-awaits13]

Oh man.. my heart aches for the ending of this part 😭

I know things will work out but oof, this got me 🥺

[erin-bo-berin]

To Catch A Priestess: The Connection

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 1: To Catch A Priestess | Part 2: The Pull | Part 4: The Thread | Part 5: The Equals

Following the night Eris stumbled upon you on the roof, your life begins to change in ways unexpected. What once began as mere accident turns into a plethora of late nights spent together as the both of you grow closer, finding camaraderie under the starry skies of Velaris.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Warnings: brief mentions of domestic abuse, priestess reader, secret mate bond, longing, slow burn, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers kinda, lil bit of fluff

Word Count: 14.3k

A/N: Part three of To Catch A Priestess has arrived! Now we’re really getting into the connection between these two and I kinda fell in love with them and their journey, which is why there’s still two more parts to this 🤭

Thank you so much @harvest-bunny for all the writing help and for beta reading this! 💕

ERIS

He’d stayed there with her all night.

They hadn’t spoken, but she’d eventually relaxed enough to lower herself to the ground and sit in the same spot where she’d been standing. Eris had thought of a dozen things to say, but had held his tongue. He hadn’t known what she needed, but excessive talking probably wouldn’t have helped things.

A part of him wondered if his presence had helped calm her though. Not just because of who he was to her—despite her not knowing—but because she wasn’t alone in that moment.

He’d actually been surprised at how fast the night had passed. He’d spent the time observing her, watching her, memorizing her. It had been the first time he’d truly seen her without the hood of her priestess robe on her head—something he hadn’t realized until long after they’d fallen silent. At some point, she’d pushed it back off of her head and he’d missed the action—likely too stunned by the entire scenario to catch the motion.

Her unbound hair had fallen loosely past her shoulders in a smooth curtain, long strands cascading over her chest and arms. Even from a distance it looked like spun silk. For a while she’d sat with her head tilted downwards, not even looking at him. He’d taken notice of how the tips of her arched ears poked out of her hair while her head was bent forward. She’d sat there, a finger tracing patterns only she could discern along the ground. If that had been what she’d needed, he wasn’t about to be the one to deprive her of it.

So he’d sat with her. First counting the rise and falls of her chest—listening so very closely to the way her breathing eventually evened out again. He’d noticed when her pulse no longer sounded frantic and became a steadier rate. He saw when the fear eventually began to soften, the scent of it completely vanishing. He’d watched as slowly her body began to relax, one muscle at a time.

Whatever terrors she’d been battling had clearly loosened its hold on her—had no longer had its claws in her.

Other than a sniffle here and there, he could tell her tears had dried—and even though he knew he had absolutely no idea how to offer comfort, every inch of him fought the urge to. It had been the most puzzling thing. He knew why, of course. But it still didn’t mean any of it had made sense.

In the quiet of the night—in the quiet between them—he’d had a lot of time to think. About her, about himself, about the bond.

Though the anger wasn’t present like it had been in the early days, he was still left with the confusion he’d felt from the very beginning—left wondering why he was tied to a female that deserved much better than he could ever offer her. Though his wonderings had begun with him and his woes, his mind quickly turned towards her as he’d studied her.

What had occurred to cause such fear in her? What kind of horrid person had affected her so deeply that she lived with ghosts only she could see?

Clearly, it had to be something dreadful. Eris had gathered as much from the brief explanation Rhysand had once given him. All the priestesses in the library had faced nightmares worse than some of the horrid beasts Prythian could ever conjure.

But the female that had been before him that night…she wasn’t the same one he’d seen in training on a semi-regular basis. At least it wasn’t the same one he’d come to know in the last little while. She’d grown stronger, gained confidence in herself and abilities, had started to come out of her shell—all things he’d observed.

This female had seemed to try to make herself smaller—make herself disappear.

The sound of a soft shuffle of feet against the ground and rustle of the fabric of her robes had made his attention snap fully to her again, pulling him from his thoughts. She’d pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Resting a cheek against the top of her bent legs, she’d settled and faced away from him. As if she’d been trying to fold in on herself.

Every shift of her body, every sound she’d made, he’d instantly catalogued, always on alert to ensure she was still alright. Something in his chest had ached at the sight of her. He didn’t know her story, but seeing that broken female across from him had made him hope that one day he’d get the chance to hear her story.

It had been Azriel who’d stumbled upon them, at least an hour before sunrise. It shouldn’t have surprised Eris since the shadowsinger definitely seemed to be the type to be awake and ready to start his day well before most of the world.

She’d scrambled to her feet the moment his boots scuffed the ground at the archway of the stairs. Eris couldn’t tell exactly what the Illyrian thought of the scenario he’d walked into, but Azriel had given him a quick dip of the chin before approaching her. Though he gave her an appropriate amount of space, he murmured something to her, too low for Eris to hear. She’d simply nodded before heading towards the archway that led to the stairs—which meant she’d have to pass by him as well.

As she did, she’d looked his way.

Too many conflicted emotions had swirled in those pretty eyes of hers. Underneath them were dark and heavy circles and not just from the long night. She’d almost looked like she’d been about to say something. Instead, she’d looked away and walked toward the stairs—back to the library she resided in.

As he’d watched her retreating form, his soul seemed to scream at him.

Help her.

But that was the cruelest twist of fate—because he had no idea how.

The sight haunted him for days.

•••

You couldn’t explain the disappointment you’d felt when Eris hadn’t shown up at training for several days, a crushing weight suddenly settling in your chest. Which was preposterous. You hardly knew the male.

You’d regretted not thanking him for staying with you. You’d been about to that morning as you’d passed by, but shame had stopped you. He’d probably thought you were nothing but a fool for being so frightened by his unintentional sneaking up on you.

But then he’d stayed.

You’d figured he’d meant only for a few minutes—perhaps until he realized you weren’t going to fall apart. But he’d sat there with you, in complete silence. He hadn’t pushed you to talk, had respected your boundaries and space, but had also shown patience with you. All of it which you felt you hadn’t deserved.

Especially since he knew you as little as you did him.

But something about it had…helped—this odd occurrence. In some strange way it’d felt magical, though no fae magic had actually been involved. It was as if his silent presence and support had been just what you’d needed that night.

How different he had been from the male you’d encountered in the library which now felt so long ago.

When Azriel had arrived on the roof—much earlier than any of the trainees—you’d been worried he’d be angry with you or scold you for being where you didn’t belong. But instead, he’d simply asked if you were okay then proceeded to give you the morning free of training, to sleep.

You’d had no idea how he seemed to recognize it had been a bad night for you. Perhaps he’d witnessed it happen with Gwyn—as you and she used to meet some nights when both of you were dragged from nightmares of your pasts.

You’d also had no idea what Azriel might’ve thought of Eris’s presence. It confused you—the unfamiliar comfort you’d found in a near stranger—though maybe it was from not being alone in a bad moment.

When Eris had returned to training a couple of days after the nighttime incident, nothing was said about it. So, you’d tried to go back to normal—move on and forget about it.

You’d needed to focus on your lessons anyway since according to Cassian and Azriel, it wouldn’t be long before the group as a whole would be moving on to preliminary work with the steel blades. It had both delighted and terrified you. You’d once never imagined joining training let alone getting this far, improving this much.

Despite your desire to wholly focus on your training, you couldn’t help the intrigue that continuously pulled you to Eris. While he’d once been intimidating and frightening, you’d started to find him more of a mystery—left to puzzle out the odd run-ins you’d been having with him in your time since knowing him.

Your eyes still found the male during the next week of training—this time though, he hadn’t bothered hiding his staring back. He was so mysterious to you. Even more mysterious was the pull you felt to him—how fast the apprehension had faded then morphed into curiosity. Perhaps all it had taken was a night spent in silent solidarity.

Also odd, was after that midnight practice session with the sparring block, something else in you had changed.

Curiously plagued with insomnia more now, and you kept finding yourself in the training ring more nights than not now. Even when it didn’t involve running from bad memories and nightmares, you found the extra energy burned helped relax you and tire you enough to get a few hours of sleep.

The next several times you wandered up to practice, you had the ring to yourself, something you’d fully expected every time—that first clearly being an anomaly.

Which was exactly why you’d been so surprised to find Eris once again.

It was another sleepless night in a frequently reoccurring pattern.

You’d never slept amazingly, but in the last year, you’d been able to get a passable amount of sleep, despite the occasional nightmares you’d still had. Lately though, these nights hadn’t been filled with bad memories, you just couldn’t sleep.

You’d begun feeling a restless sort of energy, a desire—a tug—to be somewhere else but bed. It was as if your body was itching to move, so you constantly found yourself treading up the stairs and back to the training ring.

That first night—besides the obvious distress of the nightmare, bad memories and Eris sneaking up on you—you’d realized it’d actually felt good to expel some of the emotion and energy you’d needed to get out. So that second time when you’d felt that same sort of peace afterwards, you’d done it for a third night. A fourth.

You eventually lost count as the nights had gone by and it started to become a nightly ritual. Almost as if you couldn’t sleep well until you’d moved your body the extra amount it needed—despite having hours of training in the mornings and packed days in the library.

But this night was different—something you noticed immediately when you’d cleared the archway from the stairwell. You blinked in disbelief at the sight before you.

There, leaning against the wooden punching block, hands in the pockets of his finely tailored pants stood Eris.

On the roof.

In the training ring.

At three a.m.

“I figured to not startle you this time, perhaps I should arrive first.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or gape. Which, a beat later, you found curious. Once, you’d have thought Eris showing up at a place you were at, again—and technically for a third time—would’ve been nefarious. A warning sign. Something too much like Finneas.

But you currently too confused, too intrigued as to why Eris—heir to another court on the other end of Prythian—was in the Night Court and up here in the middle of the night. You’d apparently settled for gaping as you finally pulled yourself together enough to ask the most important question.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, nonchalantly.

“I heard the view was nice.”

His eyes fell to your already wrapped hands. You’d fallen into this habit so much lately, you’d taken some supplies back to the dormitory in the library so you could save yourself a few minutes. At least it provided you with the ability to wrap them properly in the light of your room instead of shadowy darkness.

“Late night practice, I take it?”

You had so many questions, but you simply nodded.

“Helps clear my mind.”

Eris only nodded, but it didn’t seem to be a dismissal of what you said. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, it almost looked like he knew exactly what you meant.

“Do you mind if I watch? I’ll stay out of your way.”

His words seemed casual, but he also seemed to be holding his breath—as if he fully expected you to say no. Maybe that’s why you didn’t.

“That’s fine.”

He stepped further away now—much closer than he had been that night he’d sat up here with you, but still enough to give you some space. Tonight, he was only a few feet away. The way he appeared to be aware of your need to have space—as to not make you uncomfortable—warmed something in your chest.

“Don’t be too harsh. Not all of us are generals, you know.”

You swore you heard a sharp exhale of breath, perhaps in amusement. When you peered over at him though, his face remained serious as he watched you, saying nothing. You sighed quietly, trying not to let his presence intimidate you. Not because he was a male or even due to his typical demeanor, but because of his observation of your skills.

Once the first punch came, everything else, Eris included, disappeared from around you.

You quickly became involved, all your focus narrowing to your target. It was only when he spoke after your final landing blow, that you were reminded of his presence again.

“You’ve improved greatly.”

Your chest heaved from the exertion, sweat dampening your brow. You’d taken to pulling your hair back in a tight braid, leaving your hood off for this.

“You mean for a female that’s not all that great at training?” you parroted his words from a month earlier.

His lips pressed together. You couldn’t tell if it was in irritation or not.

“I fear I may have made some uncalled for and presumptuous assumptions.”

You simply hummed, turning back to the block as if contemplating starting another round. You still felt wide awake, your body buzzing. Though you weren’t quite sure if that was because of energy you’d yet to expel or the male in your presence.

“Can I offer you a piece of advice?”

He sounded nowhere near the snarky insufferable male he had in the library. No condescension dripped from his tone as it had that afternoon. No, he actually sounded genuine, even if it came off rather neutral—as if trying not to sound too eager nor too reprimanding.

“Of course.”

“When you lunge into the punch with your left, you’re still a bit too stiff in your posture. If you loosen your hips and unlock your knees, you’ll get a stronger and more precise strike. Can I show you?”

You braced yourself for him to touch you—which you would’ve given him permission to do—but he surprised you, demonstrating what he meant with his own body. You watched as he showed you again and you mimicked the move.

He nodded, gesturing for you to try the newly corrected positioning out. You did, throwing a harder, more direct punch with your left hand.

“Did you feel the difference?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, astonished, “It felt more powerful.”

You swore you saw something like pride flicker across his face.

“If you want to continue, don’t let me stop you.”

He inclined his head towards the block, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

Something in you rose to the challenge.

“Maybe it’s time I show a general how it’s done,” you said, perhaps with a touch more confidence than you were wise to have.

The future High Lord actually looked amused. He merely crossed his arms and waited patiently.

So you turned back to your opponent, the wooden block, raised your arms and began again—this time including the corrections in your stance that he’d given you.

You never did find out why he was on the roof that night.

You blinked away the memory from just a few days earlier, still trying to come to terms with what it meant. Unsurprisingly, even though your mind and attention had drifted, your body had kept up with every single drill that Azriel and Cassian took turns calling out.

As time had ticked by, Eris had migrated from watching by far walls or the sidelines, towards the front, observing as if at any moment he would be the one to throw out an order.

“You want to get some practice in while you’re here, princeling?” you heard Cassian taunt, challenge in his voice.

Your eyes shot to Eris who was rolling his shoulders.

“Might as well. It’d do me good to stay sharp. Would you care to show these ladies a proper sword fight?”

You picked up the hint of challenge in the Autumn male’s tone too, an eyebrow raised just a bit.

You’d never fully picked up on what sort of relationship the male had with Cassian and Azriel, but they seemed cordial enough. It also struck you that it likely wasn’t often something like this happened—an individual from another court being so involved with training here.

Azriel, next to them, shrugged. There’d been a few instances that Cassian and Azriel had demonstrated for you and your fellow priestesses—something you were positive they’d done for Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie’s tutelage too.

“Since they’ll be starting with the steel blades next week, it’d be a good introduction,” the shadowsinger said.

Cassian jerked his chin towards the weapon rack that was just behind you.

“Grab a blade then.”

You peered over your shoulder at the line of properly stored blades, eyeing them. You weren’t entirely sure what urged you to do it, but you turned fully—missing the male strolling across the ring towards the rack already.

You grabbed the one nearest to you, momentarily surprised at its weight. You tucked your own wooden practice sword under your arm so you could get a better grip on the sword to hand it over. Your hand curled around the hilt, blade facing downward.

You turned, not realizing his long strides had quickly delivered Eris right before you. You didn’t startle, though you suddenly felt a tad foolish and shy, even as you were trying to be helpful.

“Here,” you said softly, holding it out to him.

Eris merely blinked at you for a moment before reaching out and taking it from you.

“Thank you.”

You lifted your eyes to his fully—just for a second—and nodded slightly, a small smile on your face. His own pale face seemed…softer, more contemplative. You were close enough to see the freckles that dotted the handsome features.

In fact, you realized as he turned to leave, it had been the first time you’d been so close—willingly to the male.

As he returned to Cassian, your eyes met a variety of intrigued and curious faces of both Illyrians, Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn—the latter with her brows raised high. They’d clearly noted every movement of the interaction and had most definitely taken interest.

Something like fate seemed to be stirring—shifting—within the walls of this training ring in far more ways than just the female unit being formed.

So it truly should’ve come as no surprise when you entered the training ring that night to find Eris there.

•••

ERIS

Somehow, they’d fallen into a pattern. Somehow, Eris found himself unable to stay away.

“How are you always up here?”

She peered at him curiously—a tad suspiciously—as she cleared the archway from the stairwell into the training ring. It had started to become a normal thing for him to be here nightly where she, too, always seemed to be. It was ironic if he thought about it. A pull to one another that only he understood.

The mating bond. Something he’d yet to let himself think much of yet. But after that first night, then the next one where he’d watched her at the sparring block, had helped her with her stance, it had become impossible to ignore.

That deeply buried desire to always be around her kept flaring within him at the most inopportune times. Between visits to Velaris—which by this point was multiple times a week—he felt the tug to return to the city as soon as possible, even amidst his daily duties in Autumn. Even during the Valkyries’ training, he fought the urge to constantly be closer to her.

Instincts had become louder nowadays. He’d traded his resentment and anger for curiosity. Quite similar to how she’d traded her initial apprehension for intrigue, as well. At least so it had appeared.

Her comment upon arriving had his lips twitching. She had fire in her, just the faintest hint of a flickering flame right now, but he still caught it.

“Let’s just say I made a bet with an Illyrian and the Illyrian lost,” he drawled.

In all honesty, Rhysand had actually lifted the wards that prevented anyone from winnowing directly into the house on top of this mountain. Likely, he was probably sick of transporting Eris all the time. But perhaps, it had been a gesture of good faith, a favor to him, likely even a nudge. Whatever it was, for some reason, Eris found himself grateful.

“Does the Autumn Court not have any place where one could alleviate their insomnia?”

“Who says I have trouble sleeping?”

She looked at him, unamused.

“Why else would anyone with sense be up at this hour, not to mention, traveling to an entirely different court?”

He smirked, eyeing her in the moonlight. Other than the first two nights he’d spent with her, every other time he’d seen her, she’d kept her hood up and invoking stone on. Tonight was no different.

“Well, the Autumn Court doesn’t have views like this.”

She positively snorted.

“I find that hard to believe.”

He shrugged, casually, eyeing her hands and seeing no wraps there like there usually was.

“Well, let’s just say, it’s…different here.”

She nodded as if accepting the answer, unmotivated to press further. His eyes flickered to her hands again.

“No hand to hand combat tonight?”

“No,” was all she simply said.

He watched curiously as she picked up one of the swords that hung nearby on the weapons rack and approached him with it—so very similarly to how she had just a week ago.

Eris had been stunned when she’d approached him, had been so thrown off he was certain he’d gaped at her—simply because in all his time knowing her, she’d hesitated and downright avoided voluntarily approaching any male. But then she’d approached him with that sword.

Something had changed in him that day—something quiet that he couldn’t pinpoint. But a sort of protectiveness had started settling into his chest, a kind that felt deeper than just from the unanswered bond he’d been carrying around.

Once again, she handed him the blade and his brows raised in surprise.

“I want to see how you fight,” she said.

“You want me to demonstrate?”

“Yes.”

“With no opponent.”

“Yes.”

“So just a demonstration of my tactics?” he pressed.

“I realize as a general you tend to give orders but is really that hard to receive them?”

This time his mouth quirked, an eyebrow arching at the snark in her tone.

“Very well. Step aside and prepare to be left in awe.”

Normally, a remark like that from him would be filled with nothing but arrogance—for good reason too—but this time, he couldn’t help the playful edge to his words.

“Of course, your majesty.”

He didn’t rise to her taunt, steeling his body, positioning himself before he launched into motion.

Without an actual opponent, it was harder to demonstrate different movements properly, but not impossible. Eris imagined an invisible opponent before him as he moved. He dodged and pivoted, twisting through each movement as his blade sliced effortlessly through the night air.

He imagined himself advancing on the phantom opponent, driving them backwards. Eris stepped in, struck and slid out—a movement that kept one guarded and anticipating the next strike.

Something he prided himself on during a sword fight was his ability to keep his opponent on their toes. Whether it was from a feint or an angle change, he never struck the same place twice, never angled his body the exact same way too often.

Instead of retreating from the imaginary foe, he slid sideways, stepping back diagonally as he imagined the opponent’s strike towards him. He repositioned at the exposed flank, knowing in a real sword fight, he’d perform the same movement.

Eris could picture the individual in front of him, blade flicking and aiming for the shoulder only at the last second to redirect the blade towards the ribs. Even in a pretend fight, he anticipated what the other person would do, could practically hear the sound of the blade slicing through the air, could see the glint of metal as it was directed towards his open and vulnerable side.

Quick on his feet, he spun on his heel, away from the oncoming attack, his curtain of red hair swishing through the air in response to the quick movement.

In reality, he knew sparring of such kind could go on for quite some time—either until one surrendered, was forced to surrender or was defeated. To wrap it up, Eris angled the sword into mid air, capturing the opponent’s sword against his own. He pictured how it would look for metal to press against metal, his sword crossed against the other’s. With a sharp flick of his wrist—sending his blade moving downward and away—he wrenched the weapon from invisible fingers.

Eris stepped back, dropping his sword to his side, his chest heaving. He’d gotten caught up in the intricate dance of swordplay, expelling more energy than he’d originally planned to for this demonstration.

He’d initially planned to just walk through some steps, demonstrating some generic movements, but found himself caught up in the tantalizing rhythm of sparring. It was something he’d always enjoyed, the intricate maneuvers of a sword fight, every movement carefully planned and thought out.

The rhythm and flow of sparring made his blood roar every time, the sensation it evoked in him intoxicating. He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed it so much other than the fact it was something he could lose himself in every single time.

Sometimes in training, sparring allowed him to turn off other parts of his brain that tended to be too loud—focus all his energy on something else for a bit. It was a way to use his cunning mind—one that was perfect for thinking through every possible outcome—for something other than twisted politics and courtly matters. It was something that replenished him rather than drained him.

He’d also be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t put more effort into it than intended, just to show off a tad, as well.

Eris was surprised to see her looking rather entranced like she’d just witnessed a performance at the theater and not him acting out a one-sided sword fight. Her lips were parted in surprise, head tilted slightly as if she’d watched every single maneuver, though she likely couldn’t yet pick apart single movements in the blur of the fast motions.

His next statement came naturally, without having to give it a second thought.

“I can teach you some of the footwork, if you’d like.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

Though Eris realized she likely knew the basics, she didn’t seem to object when he ran through the different things with her.

“Feet shoulder width apart. Don’t plant your feet. I realize you know all of this but—”

Her eyes were focused on his feet as she copied him but they shot up to his face.

“It’s okay.”

Eris simply nodded, but she continued.

“As you said, it will be slightly different when I have a real blade in my hand.”

He didn’t comment further, but resumed his instructions.

“It’s important to always stay light on your feet. In any confrontation—in a sword fight—you need to move quickly, nimbly.”

“You’d have hated to see me in my first weeks of lessons,” she mumbled.

He chuckled lowly, pulling a surprised look from her as she once again met his eyes. As if she was surprised he could make such a sound.

Truthfully, he was surprised a bit himself.

He cleared his throat, continuing on.

“Something I do—something I’ve taught my soldiers—when you dodge a strike, don’t fall into the habit of taking a step back. Even though your body is tempted to.”

“How come?”

“You lose ground and opportunity.”

She blinked at him and he realized this sort of lesson was likely far more advanced than she’d yet learned. But something in him kept going, even if it sounded like nonsense to her at the moment.

It was like he couldn’t help continuing talking to her—didn’t want it to stop.

“Noted. So what do you do instead?”

“You might’ve seen me do it but—”

“I saw you do plenty of things that looked complicated but were as effortless as a dance. Not all of us non-warriors are capable of such a performance,” she broke in, with more than a tiny bit of sass in her tone.

Eris arched a brow.

“I would guess it pays off that I also know how to ballroom dance,” he replied, dryly.

“Of course you do,” she huffed, as if that were no surprise.

His lips twitched at her exasperation, at the teasing and ease that had somehow slipped into their conversation.

“May I continue or are you going to spend all night being snarky during your extra lesson?”

She sighed heavily as if affronted, but he swore a ghost of a smile painted her lips.

“You may continue,” she said, waving a hand, “You said you demonstrated the movement you’re speaking of at some point during your dramatic and flawless performance?”

He couldn’t help the smile that actually formed this time at her words, the warmth that her teasing brought to his chest. But he continued with his explanation, trying to remain serious.

“Yes. When retreating from a strike, your foot needs to step backwards diagonally. You angle your body outwards and it gives you a chance to survive longer.”

She looked contemplative as if she was turning his explanation over in her head.

“I think I’ve noticed Cassian and Azriel doing that when they’ve demonstrated for us before.”

Eris nodded.

“They probably have. It’s not an uncommon tactic in sword combat.”

She fell silent and against all of his good sense, he blurted the first question that he’d been wondering about.

“Why don’t you let Azriel or Cassian near you?”

Why do you only let me? was the silent, unspoken question that followed his voiced one.

She looked hesitant—almost ashamed—as if the truth would strip her bare more than she cared to be. Since he’d put her in an uncomfortable position, Eris attempted to throw her a lifeline.

“I may not always see eye to eye with them but they are good males. They would never harm you—or let anything happen to you ever again. Neither would I.”

It had likely been too honest—but if she’d caught on to his own vulnerability, she didn’t let on. In fact her face turned determined as she looked up at him, a grim set to her features.

“I refuse to let anything happen to myself, too. After all, that’s why I joined training in the first place.”

He felt that strange taut warmth beneath his ribs again, followed by a hollow tightness that nearly stole the breath from him. In that moment, everything in him felt drawn to her at a higher intensity than he’d yet to feel. He had to casually cross his hands behind his back to conceal how tightly they’d curled into fists, an attempt to control himself. But she spoke again before he could find the appropriate words to say in response.

“I refuse to be weak ever again.”

Eris wished he had the courage to tell her that she was anything but. That she had just as much metaphorical fire in her as he did, magically.

“Well, I think I’ve occupied enough of your time for one night. Thank you for the impromptu lesson.”

That tether in him felt like it twisted, a hint of panic spiking through him at the fact that she intended to leave soon. But then Eris looked at her face and reassessed her intentions.

The dark circles of that initial meeting had faded some and she didn’t look nearly as haunted as that night, but they were still there. He could tell she was tired, the presence of those shadows under her eyes alerting him to the fact that she hadn’t slept well in some time.

“My pleasure. I hope you can get some rest.”

She’d wrapped her arms around herself, whether to protect herself from the late night chill or to protect herself from her earlier vulnerability, he wasn’t sure. But her eyes found his as she nodded.

“I hope you can too, Eris.”

Then she was passing him, taking the path that led back indoors. She paused after only a few footfalls, turning back to him slightly.

“See you soon?” she asked, though he thought it sounded a tad hopeful.

His voice was hoarse as he answered her, honestly.

“Of course.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, she parted from him with a small smile sent his way—one that made his stomach flip.

As he watched her depart towards the stairwell Eris got the sneaking suspicion that there was much more to the female than he’d ever once thought.

•••

It didn’t even surprise you anymore when you walked into the shadowed training ring in the middle of the night and found Eris already there waiting for you.

In fact, it had grown to be a comfort.

You’d stopped questioning how or why he always managed to be there, how you’d managed to fall into this pattern with the male and started accepting maybe it was just meant to be. Even if it was for a short period of time, you’d quickly stopped taking advantage of it. Though most nights you still braced yourself as you climbed the stairs, halfway expecting this to be the night he wasn’t there.

But he was. Every time.

What had started as training help—Eris helping you improve on your posture or skills that you were a tad weaker in, amongst other things—somehow started to morph into conversation.

At first it was safe territory. He would keep his distance—though not as nearly far as he did that first night—and talk about training.

“Are you eager to start with the steel blade soon?” he’d asked you one night.

You’d merely shrugged, trying to downplay any excitement and apprehension, simply answering you were always eager to learn more, to become stronger.

By this point you’d lost count of how many times you’d met Eris up on this roof. But somehow, with each meeting, the distance between the two of you seemed to shrink. At some point, you two had started drifting closer as if drawn to one another in ways neither of you could explain—or even bothered to address.

It was something that simply…happened.

Tonight, you comfortably sat next to him. There was still at least a few inches between you and him, but it didn’t bother you. You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the night sky through the opening at the top of the ring.

The sky was inky black but peppered with thousands of pinpricks of white, the stars shining so bright. Sometimes it hurt to know how long you’d been cooped up in the library, missing such beautiful wonders like this. There were spelled windows in the dormitories, but still, nothing captured it quite like being outside to see the beautiful sight.

Tonight though, conversation dipped into more familiar territory, more personal.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot. You know—” his head tilted towards the House, indicating the library underneath.

You raised an eyebrow as you peered his direction before lifting your eyes back to the star flecked sky.

“I’d say that’s putting it mildly.”

He huffed a breath—something like an agreement or an acknowledgment of what you said to be true.

“I’d still like to apologize. My less than stellar mood was not your fault.”

He sounded sincere.

You turned back to him, contemplating his words. He’d turned from you, eyes on the high stone walls that blocked any sort of view other than the one through the opening high above—unless you were to sit high above the training ring.

You took in his profile—the pale freckled skin, strong jaw, straight nose, pale pink lips.

A part of you wondered why a handsome fae heir like him spent so much time with you, what catch there had to be to his attention. You weren’t necessarily comparing him to Finneas as much these days—Eris certainly didn’t seem to be like the unpredictable, abusive male you’d tangled with in your past—but you’d been taught to be hesitant, to second guess any sort of generosity.

But maybe here, you didn’t need to.

“I forgive you,” you uttered.

You’d learned in many sessions with your counselor how healthy—how important—it was to approach apologies by not saying ‘it’s okay’ when a good portion of situations that called for an apology weren’t okay. It was a bad habit you’d fallen into every time you’d accepted countless apologies from Finneas—ones you had soon come to realize meant very little. Especially when he’d only turn around and break his promise of ‘never again’.

Eris turned to you, catching the difference, but didn’t seem to take offense. In fact, he seemed surprised at the distinction, perhaps even looked quietly appreciative that you hadn’t brushed away his actions to make him feel better. After all, he seemed to be a male that didn’t bother with niceties nor did he dance around his intentions.

You didn’t know what you expected him to say next, but what he responded with actually caught you off guard.

“Is there a reason you usually keep the hood up? Or the invoking stone on? I notice others don’t seem to as often as you.”

He wasn’t asking to be rude, but asked with genuine curiosity, his amber eyes taking in your appearance—momentarily flicking upwards to the priestess hood and invoking stone. You paused yourself, reflecting on the question, actually searching inward because it wasn’t something you had an easy answer for.

There was no rule that a priestess had to wear them at all times and they were never shamed for removing them—as many did for training sessions. You chewed on the corner of your lower lip as you turned contemplative.

Eris watched you the entire time.

“I suppose it’s just habit—comfort. For five years it’s been a constant in life, so it accidentally became my normal. But you’re right. There’s no need to.”

You reached up, removing the hood, pushing it back off your head.

“In fact, I feel like it hinders my ability to see during training. Which was why it was down the first night you found me here.”

Eris hadn’t responded though. In fact, it was odd as he stared at you—stared at you like he’d never seen you before. Whether it was because of your admission or the fact you’d actually removed your hood, you couldn’t be sure.

“Five years?” he asked, gently.

Your eyes dropped, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. You didn’t want to be rude and completely ignore his question, so you met him halfway.

“That is correct,” you answered softly.

Mercifully, Eris didn’t push you. Instead, surprisingly, he changed the subject—at least from the events that led you to living in the library.

“What do you do in the library? I mean, I assume everyone is tasked with different duties. I know many are acolytes and spend most of their time dedicated to research.”

Eris shifted, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing one over the other, the rustle of the fabric of his elegant pants loud in the quiet night. He leaned back on his hands, peering at you with a healthy dose of curiosity.

“They do. I basically fetch and shelve books. Apparently I have an excellent memory when it comes to where books are located. It’s not exactly impressive work, but it keeps my days busy,” you shrugged, a little embarrassed.

You weren’t like some of the other priestesses—Merrill for one—who busied their days with mountains of research. Or even Gwyn who had spent her time in the library being Merrill’s assistant. Your position in the library was definitely less than thrilling—nor very important.

“You also keep things running smoothly, it sounds like. Without you, I fear they’d be lost,” Eris said casually.

You huffed a laugh.

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me. I assure you, it’s not exactly grand work.”

“Perhaps not to you. But you also have a job that many aren’t willing to do—you provide source materials to those that need them, saving valuable time they can instead devote to their research. You’re an important piece in the overall puzzle,” he answered smoothly.

You blinked, surprised. You’d never once thought of it like that. Eris certainly had a way of looking at the world that differed greatly from your view.

“I supposed I never saw it that way.”

“Everyone has an important task in my forces, whether they consider it menial or not. They’re all equally as important."

You glanced sidelong at him. He was very different from the male you’d first assumed him to be, that was for sure.

“You live in a library,” Eris began.

You side eyed him, curious to where this statement was leading.

“It would truly be a tragedy if you didn’t enjoy reading.”

A breath of laughter actually escaped you at his dry remark. He looked pleasantly surprised at the noise as your lips stayed tilted upwards.

“Lucky for you, I do rather enjoy reading in my spare time.”

“What do you like to read?” he asked.

Suddenly you were grateful for the dimmer lighting—the moon briefly disappearing behind a cloud—for your cheeks turned pink at the thought of the latest book you’d read. You’d nabbed it from Gwyn when she’d accidentally left it on her last visit. You particularly enjoyed romances—though she’d told you once how Nesta and Emerie had introduced her to some more smutty romances.

All that to say, your interest had been piqued.

When she’d caught you reading it during an impromptu visit—on a day you hadn’t expected her—she hadn’t chided you, but had grinned knowingly and encouraged you to keep it until you’d finished it. It had been a delightful read.

But you certainly weren’t going to be telling Eris that.

“Different things. Usually anything that piques my interest.”

That certainly was the truth.

“Mysteries, history sometimes, poetry,” you continued on, “What about you? Do you like to read?”

His lips twitched, like the question was preposterous to ask—not at your lack of knowledge, but likely from what he answered with.

“I’m positive I’ve been in the middle of a few books at any time my entire life,” Eris quipped.

“Sounds like an excellent problem to have,” you retorted, pulling your legs to your chest, your robe rustling with the movement.

“Well books have always been a source of knowledge for me—entertainment as well—but I always put an importance on learning as much as I could from a young age. It comes in handy,” he shrugged, as if not wanting to make a bigger deal out of it than it was, “But some recreational time is spent reading, amongst other things.”

“Such as?”

You rested your cheek on your knees, facing him, and you swore he paused, watching your motion. A strange expression passed over his face. Oddly enough, it was something much softer and more at ease than you’d thought you’d ever seen on the male.

“I taught myself to play chess,” he responded.

“Did you teach yourself ballroom dancing as well?”

“Ah, you remembered that little tidbit, did you?” he smirked, eyes twinkling, “No, that came with my thorough education.”

“Sounds on par for a princeling, I’d suppose,” you quipped.

He tossed you an amused look before continuing.

“Have you ever played?”

You lifted your head, shaking it.

“I never learned how.”

He was silent for a moment as his gaze flickered over you. You half wondered what was going through his head.

“Maybe someday I can teach you.”

Strangely, your stomach fluttered at the kind gesture—even if he had no intention to. The words in itself meant a great deal to you. You felt a smile grow on your lips.

“I’d like that.”

•••

ERIS

It amazed Eris how much he started looking forward to their nightly rooftop meetings.

The fact didn’t escape him how little by little she kept letting him in—the space between them shrinking nightly, physically and emotionally. There was something about her that brought him such peace and not just because of what she was to him, but her actual presence, her companionship.

They didn’t typically sit up all night—only spending a few hours of the night together—but he knew if there was ever a time she’d want to stay until sunrise, he wouldn’t hesitate to. It also didn’t escape him that he was never the first to leave—he always waited for her to and followed her lead. It was usually when the exhaustion finally caught up to her and she knew it was time to get a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

Eris didn’t know when it had happened, but he had found he’d softened considerably towards the female. Though he’d realized it’d been happening for a while, nothing compared to how he currently felt.

For all he knew, it had to do with how the bond seemed to tug and strain more relentlessly, with more urgency lately, as if it was begging him to acknowledge it. Which he had—he’d done plenty of acknowledging it. Only to himself, that was.

He had no inkling what to do about the mating bond, but she, as an individual, was a completely different manner. He wasn’t stupid enough to—nor did he desire to—force a mating bond on her. She wasn’t his and he wasn’t entitled to her. She was her own person—one that seemed to still be healing. One that seemed to grow into a stronger female as the days and weeks passed. It had actually passed a month now since that first run in on the roof—more than two since he’d first laid eyes on her.

How far she’d come since that day.

Not only in her demeanor, confidence and strength, but also her appearance. For today, for the first time, she’d opted to attend lessons in a pair of Illyrian leathers. Some of the other priestesses had opted to make the switch long ago while others decided and preferred to stay in their robes, Eris had noticed. It had made little difference to the Illyrians and the trio of females who’d inspired this. They were happy to teach them in either.

It was different seeing her in something other than her priestess robe but pride swelled in his chest at the change. For someone that seemed to once hold tight onto what was comfortable, she was embracing change, welcoming it, actually.

And for some reason, Eris was just so damn proud of her.

Gone was the invoking stone—likely tucked away in a safe place during lessons now—and her long hair was pulled back out of her face. It now fell in a long braid down her back, whipping through the air with her movements.

He watched as the gathered group did their normal warm ups, which usually consisted of push ups, abdominal curls, squats and more equally taxing exercises. After that would follow Valkyrie sprints. That involved a pattern of exercises where they sprinted for ten seconds, trotted for thirty seconds and then returned to a full sprint for ten more seconds—repeated for fifteen minutes straight. It was unforgiving and strenuous cardio, but he watched the females push through it all, time and time again.

They didn’t typically compete with others, though Eris got the feeling that they often competed with themselves—each female striving to better herself and surpass her latest personal achievement. From watching her specifically, he knew she did exactly that. It was how she pushed and motivated herself. After all, it was what he’d recommend his own soldiers do.

During the current warm ups, Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie were right at the front as per usual, participating and learning alongside the other females—even if they occasionally led, since they were now much further advanced.

Nowadays, Eris tried constantly to also focus on the others and not spend his entire time watching her—which was what he’d just been doing when he heard Cassian speak.

“There’s no way you’re finished already.”

“Yet suspiciously I am.”

He knew that teasing tone and voice anywhere.

Eris’s eyes instantly found her sitting in her designated place, cross-legged and looking flushed, but smug. In these last few weeks Eris had started to see her personality come to life—both during lessons and in private, with him. Each tiny piece of her revealed had filled him with a sense of wonder in different ways. Mainly because it was such a far cry from the timid and fearful female he’d first met—the one who had flinched when Cassian or Azriel got too close.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her have a reaction like that. He hoped he never did again.

He still spent too much time pondering what could’ve happened to her. From what he could see, there were no physical marks left on her like the types some of the priestesses bore—but that didn’t mean there weren’t scars in places he couldn’t see. Not everyone bore physical scars like himself.

But to see her teasing, happy, laughing—though most of the latter ones only came to the surface most often with him—it did him good. Maybe that’s why he opened his mouth in the first place because he certainly hadn’t planned to.

“Don’t worry about her, Cassian, she just likes to show off. Clearly she’s learned from the best.”

Though his arms were folded, he couldn’t help the way his fingers curled on his biceps simply in reaction to the look she gave him—part surprise, part mischief. It made his blood roar and that tether deep inside him tug harder, a sense of pride and possessiveness washing over him.

He’d intentionally left the comment open ended and vague, making it sound like he could’ve been referring to Cassian or even Azriel. He saw the way her lips curved upwards, amused, laughter sparking in her eyes as she looked at him. He heard Cassian call her name and she pulled her gaze from him and turned to the Night Court General.

“Have you been sneaking in extra lessons elsewhere without my knowledge?” Cassian asked, arching a brow.

Her grin was so dazzling it did something funny to Eris. Half of him was in awe at how the bright smile lit her face, transforming it. He remembered how once he’d only wished to be on the receiving end of one of her smiles. The other half flared with envy, wishing he was on the receiving end of it now.

“I’ll never tell,” she sing-songed.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed, not believing her for a damn second before he shook his head, pointing to the ground.

“Do another fifteen abdominal curls since you’ve got time to kill.”

She groaned dramatically and flopped backwards onto the padded mat on the ground.

“Let this be an important lesson ladies,” Cassian called out, “None of you should have time to be bored.”

Even while Cassian spoke to the group, Eris could feel the Illyrian’s curious stare on him, knowing good and well the male was attempting to puzzle out what was unfolding before him—and everyone else for that matter. Before she launched into the set of exercises she’d been ordered to do, her head turned his way again, laughter dancing in her eyes.

Despite Cassian’s questioning gaze, that didn’t stop Eris from sending her a playful wink, teasing her right back. He certainly didn’t miss the blush that colored her cheeks as her gaze darted away and back to her task at hand as she launched into the first curl off the ground.

The curious stares only got worse by the end of the lesson though.

She’d made record timing on her warm ups and sprints—beating her own personal best record—then hit every single stance for the sword training, meaning she’d be able to start with the steel blade, along with the rest, soon. Considering she’d had the latest start and had the most catching up to do, it was rather impressive and showed just how hard she’d worked, how far she’d pushed herself in the months since she’d first stepped into the ring.

She was sweaty, breathless and devastatingly beautiful as she approached him. It sent his brain into dangerous territory that he quickly shook himself from. She radiated pride and joy at her day’s accomplishments.

“You did well today,” he complimented her, wholeheartedly.

“Proud of me yet?” she teased with a grin.

More than you may ever know. The silent truth floated through his mind.

“I don’t know. Only if you keep it up. Can’t have you slacking now,” he joked.

She pretended to look offended.

“The fact you think I’d have time to, is insulting. Especially with those hard asses.”

She tilted her chin over her shoulder where Cassian, Azriel and the trio of females seemed to be trying hard to look like they weren’t eavesdropping—the latter especially. If the female in front of him noticed, she didn’t comment on it.

“Be thankful you aren’t training under me. You wouldn’t have time to even think of sassing back,” he said simply.

“Oh, believe me, I’d make the time to,” she retorted, stubbornly.

He believed it too.

The wind had whipped strands of her hair free from her braid during the hours-long lesson and it kept blowing in her face as they spoke. His gaze kept focusing on it and the way she kept trying to shake it out of the way.

He thought to ask a moment before he reacted—never wanting to touch her without her permission first.

“May I?” he asked, lifting his hand slightly.

She grasped what he meant instantly. Her chin dipped in barely a nod and he reached out slowly, as not to startle her. Long, pale fingers brushed the silky strand of hair out of her face, slowly tucking it behind an arched ear.

“There,” he murmured, amber eyes meeting her own, “Better.”

Somehow the moment had turned heavier, tension filled. He could’ve sworn she leaned into his touch ever so slightly. His thumb twitched, half tempted to brush against her cheek, but he wasn’t about to take something that wasn’t offered to him.

The air between them grew taut—eerily similar to the way it had felt that infamous day when he’d felt the bond snap between them. Just like that day, there were others around. Which is exactly why he let his hand drop instantly, taking a step back to put some distance between them.

The moment instantly dissolved and she blinked, like she was waking from a dream.

They said nothing further, but she dipped her head in a farewell before taking her leave. When Eris turned back from watching her depart, he was met with the stares of five individuals. Ones that said—without the need for words—that they knew something was changing before their very eyes and they were all witnesses to it.

In truth, they only knew the half of it.

•••

“What’s your favorite color?”

You chuckled, amused at the abruptness of Eris’s random inquiry.

“Why?”

“Do you always question someone’s intentions when trying to get to know you?”

You bit your lip, recalling how, no, once you hadn’t—and at a time you’d probably should’ve. When it was crucial that you should’ve.

“No. You just caught me off guard,” you explained.

You didn’t want to get into where your mind had just gone—that is if he’d even caught your brief hesitancy. You didn’t know. Eris only awaited your answer.

It was another night under the stars, one of many that had occurred over the last few weeks. Meetings with Eris had soon felt as natural as breathing.

“Blue,” you finally answered, “And don’t laugh. I know it’s probably the most obvious answer.”

You motioned to the pale blue robe you were in and the blue of the invoking stone at your brow.

“It’s calming,” you explained.

“I wasn’t judging,” he said, voice sounding serious.

You leaned back against the stone wall the two of you rested against tonight. Your head shifted against the coolness of it as you turned to look at him. Tonight, the two of you were the closest you’d been yet, barely a hand’s width between your body and his.

“What about you? What’s your favorite color?”

He scoffed.

“I don’t have one.”

You just gaped at him.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite color,” you prompted him.

“Well, I do not,” he said, flatly, almost unamused.

You weren’t deterred by his unenthusiasm though.

“No color is just beautiful to you or brings you peace?” you pressed.

He sighed, chest rising and falling with his deep breath, his exasperation with you apparent. But you could tell by the twinkle in his amber eyes that he wasn’t truly annoyed with you—that it was merely the sort of game you two played. You teasing him, him pretending to be aggravated—all while probably secretly enjoying the effortlessness of the back and forth dynamic.

You watched some sort of emotion flicker across his eyes—whatever he was thinking clearly evoking the brief emotion. What beautiful eyes they were.

As foolish as it sounded, those eyes had started to feel familiar—safe. They were comforting and grounding when your own would meet his amber ones during lessons—see them spark with mischief, gleam with pride or even soften in something that almost looked like care.

If you weren’t careful, sometimes you felt like you could drown in them and that was a dangerous realization.

“Well maybe not just one color,” he started.

You shrugged.

“That’s okay. Tell me anyway,” you encouraged.

“I enjoy the colors of the trees in Autumn. The jewel tones of deep reds, rusty oranges, golden yellows and rich olives, warm browns of the leaves that have already deepened past the other colors. I realize it sounds unusual, but it’s as though they blend into one beautiful color to me—the color of autumn.”

Your head tipped back as your eyes rose to the domed opening far above, the beautiful Night Court sky twinkling. You’d realized that this court—this city was the only part of this world you’d seen. Something that had shrunk into an even smaller existence after Finneas. Something within you ached with a desire to one day see the sights that Eris described—to see more of this world.

“That…sounds beautiful.”

Your voice sounded wistful to your ears as you tried to imagine the sight. Of course there was autumn in the Night Court and you’d once watched the leaves change from behind your room window—now you’d started seeing it from the training ring. But you could only imagine the beauty of autumnal leaves in the court where it was always autumn. You would bet many gold marks that the beauty was indescribable.

“Yeah,” his voice seemed to trail off, “It is.”

Only the Mother witnessed the way Eris was looking at you when he said that though.

•••

Time seemed to pass at a warp speed once the preliminary lessons with the steel blades began.

The first time you held a steel blade in your hand made you feel more powerful than you’d ever anticipated. You’d never imagined you’d one day be holding such a weapon, learning how to utilize it—how to become a weapon, yourself.

Over these last few months, you’d morphed into a female that the old you wouldn’t have even recognized. It was a better, stronger version of yourself, one that you might’ve never fathomed becoming if it hadn’t been for the events that led you here.

You were haunted less and less these days of bad memories. They were still there, but they’d loosened their hold significantly. You still struggled with sleeping, though, even if you weren’t always chased from sleep with nightmares. Sometimes you still found you weren’t sure how to turn your mind off.

The nightly meetings with Eris helped greatly and you’d become grateful for the steady presence of him, the reassurance of his company. Something told you that even if you could sleep, you’d have still somehow found yourself traversing up the steps to the roof nightly, just to see him.

More changes came alongside the group moving onto swords. Along with it came a brand new instructor, though you should’ve seen it coming.

Eris was now teaching some short lessons.

Cassian and Azriel were starting small in an attempt to incorporate some techniques from the Autumn Court along with the Illyrian and Valkyrie mix you all were already learning and memorizing. That alone came with some conflicting things.

For one, Gwyn had introduced a test for everyone—one that she, Nesta and Emerie had already mastered, not to your surprise with that group of females’ determination. It was what crowned the three Valkyries—the first in over five centuries.

It had been quite some time ago, but you remembered that pride in your friend when you’d learned Gwyn had been the very first to cut the ribbon. You’d recalled how she’d told you of her accomplishment. Gwyn had been the first of her friends to be declared an official Valkyrie, too.

To slice the ribbon in half meant becoming a Valkyrie—but it was also a test of patience, hard work and determination of one’s self.

At every practice, before and after, you and the others attempted to slice the floating piece of ribbon in half—a task that looked much easier than it really was. Every time you faced it, it was like it taunted you as it blew lazily where it hung from the wooden post that had been hammered into the ground.

No one else had yet to slice it, but you had an inkling it wouldn’t be long before some of your sisters would be able to. You wanted to achieve that for yourself, too, so badly.

But that hadn’t been all of the changes.

The others that came were most definitely a surprise.

For one, you were not prepared for the sight of a shirtless Eris leading the start of lessons one warm summer morning.

You’d known and expected the sun to be warm—even this early in the morning—and had been plenty used to the occasions when Azriel and Cassian had needed to peel off their shirts to keep from overheating. At this point, you were very much used to the impressively sculpted bodies and didn’t even bat an eye at the sight anymore. But neither of them had caused you to nearly stumble over your feet at first glimpse.

He wasn’t nearly as muscular as Cassian or even Azriel. He was leaner, but not without being sculpted as well. Strong shoulders, defined pecs and very noticeable biceps greeted you—the same biceps you’d been able to notice even through his jacket sleeves back in the library so long ago.

What was even worse was the defined expanse of his stomach, ridges and dips indicating he’d worked hard to hone such a powerful body over the centuries. His hair gleamed under the bright sunlight, turning it fiery, as it draped loose over his bare chest.

As if all that wasn’t enough, then there was the freckles. He was speckled with them, over his chest, dispersing and becoming more sparse over his arms and stomach, small clusters breaking up into lone freckles the closer it got to the chiseled vee of his pelvis. The same one that dipped below the waistband of the pants that’d matched the jacket he’d shed before anyone had arrived.

You instantly jerked your eyes away, gluing them to the ground. You were not about to let your mind wander to such thoughts.

You also hadn’t expected the spike of irritation as you heard some dreamy sighs next to you. You were positive Roslin, Lorelei and Ananke sighed every time Eris walked past. You were also positive your hands gripped the hilt of your sword tighter each and every time you heard it.

You couldn’t explain why something dark and ugly twisted in you, hearing their—very valid—reactions to him. He was a stunningly gorgeous male. They had eyes. After all, he didn’t belong to you. He was your…friend.

Eris was your friend.

That had been an additional surprise—the realization of something so obvious that you hadn’t even noticed when it had truly happened. At some point over the months of late night conversations, you’d become friends with the Autumn male.

Even with that, the irritation lingered, you being unable to shake the feeling even after training was over.

Your mood had only further soured when you’d tried your hand again with cutting the ribbon. Again with no luck. Azriel had only encouraged you quietly, kindly reminding you not to give up. It was still early in your journey with using a sword, it wasn’t unusual to not be able to conquer the ribbon yet.

Which was why the final thing that day came as the biggest surprise.

It was after practice when you’d found yourself back in the library, standing in front of Clotho’s desk, blinking, confused, an odd sense of déjà vu filling you.

Eris had once asked what your favorite flower was and you’d told him the truth—that you’d never had one until you’d come to the library. It was something you’d only discovered in the last handful of years.

Elain Archeron always had arrangements made—picked right from her gardens—and then proceeded to send bouquets to the library for Clotho to display on her desk. Not only did they liven up the place, they were beautiful and always made the library smell so lovely.

Chrysanthemums, you’d told him.

Elain had once sent a bouquet of nothing but the colorful blooms, each flower separated with tiny leaflets for you to see each and every petal. It had taken your breath away as it had quite literally been a rainbow of hues—ranging from burgundy, red and pink to orange and yellow, all the way to purple and white. There had even been some that were a mix of more than one color.

Clotho had seen how much you loved the beautiful flowers and had given you permission to keep one. You’d chosen one that was a perfect blend of red petals closest to the stem, fading into an orange towards the middle with a center of complete yellow.

It had looked like a flame in flower form.

You’d kept it in your room until it died, then you’d carefully pressed it between the pages of one of your favorite novels, so you could keep it forever.

Now, you stood, blinking at the vase on Clotho’s desk that held another bouquet of your favorite flowers, making you feel like you’d traveled back in time to that one instance long ago.

Elain may have been a seer, but you had no idea she read minds too. Undoubtedly, they were beautiful, but it had come as a surprise. It wasn’t as often these days the female sent flowers since according to the rumor mill she was kept busy with her work outside of the Night Court.

“I didn’t realize Elain would be sending a bouquet,” you mentioned to Clotho, still slightly dumbfounded as you stared at the pretty bouquet.

The pen scratched against paper as Clotho wrote her response to you. Your eyes dipped to the paper when she was finished.

These are not from Lady Elain.

Your brows furrowed.

“Then where did they come from?”

You waited as she answered.

I believe the card will answer that question.

“What card?”

Clotho gestured with a nod toward the flowers and your attention returned to them. You saw a small square of paper tucked behind one of the flowers. You gently pulled it free so you could read it better.

How interesting that your favorite flower blooms in autumn. Luckily, the Autumn Court is rife with these. Maybe someday you can see them for yourself. Until then.

-Eris

Your eyes flicked back up to the head priestess.

“Did you peek at the card?”

How else would I have learned who they were for?

“I never knew you to be a busybody, Clotho.”

Her shoulders shook slightly in amused laughter as you huffed, gathering the vase to take back to your room. But on your journey there, something like warmth unfurled deep in your chest.

Eris had remembered your off handed comment about your favorite flower. He’d also unwittingly made your day so much brighter with one small gesture.

Something told you he remembered far more than he ever let on.

Something also whispered there was a reason for that too.

•••

ERIS

Eris had been antsy all afternoon through meetings and typical courtly duties back in Autumn, practically counting down the hours before he could winnow straight here and be able to see her again.

It had turned into a little game between them, actually, seeing who could beat the other to the roof. So far, he was winning—her only beating him a few times when he was delayed in slipping away.

She’d argued that he had the benefit of winnowing on his side. He’d argued that she actually lived on site, so she already had an unfair advantage.

Tonight was no different as he winnowed in, appearing in the training ring. It really had become more convenient to do so than bothering one of the Illyrians for a flight up. Eris often wondered if Rhysand knew just how much he was up here, solely for her. He suspected he might, but if he’d had any issue with it, he’d yet to bring it up.

This morning had left him off balance though.

Somehow, he’d been roped into participating—into teaching. The females, so far, had learned a combination of Valkyrie and Illyrian techniques—as had he over these months—but now he was teaching some maneuvers he used for his own soldiers in the Autumn Court.

If anything, the group of females would be well rounded in fighting skills, that was for sure.

It had been unusually warm, summer starting to approach, the end of spring soon coming to a close, thus resulting in a far warmer morning. Before any of the priestesses had shown up, he’d pulled off his jacket, thinking nothing of it. It wasn’t unusual for Cassian or Azriel to do so—the priestesses not even batting an eye.

She had been a different story though.

He’d felt her eyes on him the entire morning. Despite him having been shirtless many times when he’d exercised—or being in such a state while he led his own soldiers in training—he found himself resisting the urge to fidget, a tad self conscious.

He hadn’t been able to believe how nervous she made him. Not in a bad way, but knowing he’d kept capturing her attention not only flattered him, but had also made him sort of uneasy—had made him feel rather exposed.

He’d also failed to resist the urge to flex once or twice—or a few times.

Gods, he had been no better than a lovesick youth.

His eyes had met hers once, catching her in her admiration of his bare skin and the body that he’d worked hard for. He’d lifted a teasing brow and he watched as color rapidly spread across her cheeks, a small smile on her lips as she dipped her head, knowing she’d been caught.

His composure had slipped for barely a heartbeat, stomach tightening with some sort of ridiculous, fluttering feeling. A sort of nervous energy followed, the flare of that tether attached to his ribs answering in response to the female.

His chest had felt lightweight the entire rest of the morning.

He had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, when he’d heard the shuffle of footsteps approaching and instantly straightened, back stiffening as he felt that undeniable pull deep inside him. It was as if the half acknowledged bond sang the closer to her he got.

When she’d cleared the archway, still quite a distance from him, she spoke.

“You are a sly bastard,” she quipped, pointing an accusatory finger at him as she approached.

He laughed lowly. He never failed to be surprised at the things that came out of her mouth.

“If this is about beating you here again, I have mentioned that you do have the home advantage,” he pointed out with a lazy smirk.

“Don’t try to be cute.”

“I’m always cute,” he purred, sitting down now that she’d arrived, “Now care to explain your dramatic entrance?”

“You sneaking flowers to me—my favorite flowers by the way.”

She settled right next to him, without even blinking, lowering herself to the ground so close he could feel the warmth of her. She continued talking as if nothing was amiss.

As if his pulse didn’t start going crazy the closer she got to him—as if the mere proximity of the two of them didn’t even faze her as she continued talking.

“I thought Elain had sent some more flowers,” she huffed, “But nope, just you.”

He snorted at her dramatics, actually endeared by it. He saw the way the edges of her lips twitched though, her eyes soft even through her performative teasing.

“That was really thoughtful of you, though, thank you. I didn’t realize you’d remember what my favorite flower even is.”

His eyes fixed on her, serious and unwavering.

“I tend to pay attention when important matters are involved,” he responded, voice softer than he’d initially intended, though no less heartfelt.

He’d come to realize that while at first he’d had no idea how to be who she needed, didn’t think he knew how to be gentle, somehow she had brought it out of him. She managed to do it so easily and effortlessly—all while having no idea who she was to him.

Though sometimes conversation had dipped into serious topics, he’d never once broached the subject of her past. Even if every part of him ached to know. Not because he was nosy, but it was the question that constantly haunted him. What had happened to dim this beautiful female? Who had broken the female so thoroughly that she was just now finding herself again?

But it wasn’t any of his business—mate or not—and she would only share if she chose to. He’d never pressure her to.

She looked thoughtful as she gazed back at him. Eris’s brows narrowed, confusion settling over his expression as he tried to puzzle out her sudden contemplation.

“What?” he asked.

“You know, you’re not as awful as everyone thinks,” she whispered.

That comment alone caused his breath to catch—not only in her sincerity, but the fact such kind words were coming from her. He gave her a half smile in return, though.

“You’re far more delightful than I imagined, too.”

The shy smile that graced her face triggered a smile on his, a soft laugh escaping him.

“It shouldn’t surprise me that you wield flattery like a weapon, Eris.”

He’d heard his name on her lips occasionally over the months, but it never failed to send a chill shooting down his spine. He could spend a concerning amount of time dissecting the way each syllable rolled off her tongue.

Trying to clear his fogged and distracted mind he picked a much safer subject.

“What do you think of the book I brought you?”

A few days ago, he’d brought a book for her—one he’d thought she’d like, though it was a different genre than she’d mentioned reading. But it was one of his own—one that he’d seen on the shelf of his room back in Autumn. It was one that the moment he saw it had made him instantly think of her. So he’d brought it for her to read.

She immediately brightened at his question.

“I meant to tell you I finished it this morning! I was almost late to training because I was trying to finish the last pages.”

Which he’d noticed, of course. Made even more obvious when she’d practically stumbled over her own feet at his appearance earlier that morning.

“It was awful!”

He tried to bite back his wince at being so wrong in his thinking, then covered it with a snarky comment, something he was more than used to doing—how he always hid any vulnerability.

“You wound me,” he intoned dryly.

“It was awful because it made me lose track of all time and I’ve gotten scolded twice this week by Clotho for my tardiness.”

His brows flicked up,

“So you truly enjoyed it? And by all means, don’t hesitate to spare my feelings. I can take it.”

Even if he was nervous of her critique—unusually so. He never did understand why the book had reminded him of her so much.

“I mean the only thing that annoyed me was the sidekick character. He really could’ve used less page time—he didn’t even contribute to anything! I’m telling you he appeared every fifty pages to make some profound remark and then just disappeared off the page, doing who knows what! Where was Sebastian? What was he doing? No one knows!”

She flung her hand in mid air, in exasperation, as if to prove her point. He really did try to keep a straight face, but clearly wasn’t doing a good job at it because she pointed at him.

“Don’t laugh. You have to admit, you could’ve taken him out of the story and it would’ve been the exact same.”

“I mean he did offer up enough clues to keep the story going,” he commented, lips still quirking in amusement.

“Point taken,” she conceded before continuing, "Thank you for bringing it to me. It brought me a lot of joy. Sort of like you have.”

Eris blinked, momentarily stunned. He’d never heard such words from someone and especially not about him.

“You’re welcome,” he barely whispered.

She didn’t seem to pick up how much her words had affected him as she continued on.

“I’ll have to remember to bring it next time as to return it to you.”

“Keep it as long as you wish,” Eris said, genuinely.

She looked ready to say something but instead of words coming out, a yawn replaced it.

“You’re tired,” he observed.

Part of him, selfishly, twisted in disappointment. They hadn’t been out here long—perhaps less than half an hour at this point—and as much as he knew she needed her rest, he hated to see her leave so soon.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she murmured.

He’d realized that to some degree—if she hadn’t she wouldn’t have been out here in the middle of the night, first to train then just to meet him. But still, the revelation bothered him. It triggered the desire to want to help her, even if he had no knowledge of just how to do that.

“How come?” he asked, voice as low as hers had been.

Dangerous—such dangerous territory that he’d have to carefully tread.

“Sometimes my mind is too loud,” was all she said.

He understood that well enough.

“You should get some sleep,” he suggested.

“I want to stay up to see the sunrise,” she answered, “I’ve always heard it’s beautiful, but I’ve never had the opportunity to see it from up here.”

“You’re not gonna see anything from here with these high walls,” he scoffed, peering around, before noticing the perfect spot.

He’d often seen Rhysand drop in sometimes and observe from the same exact location. If he could just winnow…

He turned back to her where she’d rested her head against the wall, resting her eyes for a moment.

“Are you that committed to seeing the sunrise?” he inquired.

“Yes,” she said stubbornly, even though her eyes didn’t open.

“Do you trust me?”

It was a crazy idea, he knew it was. But if it was something she desired…

“Yes,” came her immediate answer as she opened her eyes to again peer at him.

Her answer was so immediate, it left him astonished for a moment.

“Then take my hand and hold on. Okay?”

She looked baffled, but slid her hand into his, following his instructions as her other hand curled around his forearm.

In one quick flash Eris had winnowed them from where they’d been seated in the pit to the lip of it, settled safely on the flat mountain top that looked over the open air training pit—and the glittering city of Velaris. The perfect seat for a fully glorious view of the horizon.

Eris had to admit, it was quite the breathtaking view. Present company excluded.

She jolted with a gasp, clinging tighter to him for a quick heartbeat before relaxing slightly after realizing where he’d taken them. She gasped at the sight as she took it in, touch falling from him—much to his disappointment.

“You alright?” he asked.

He studied her profile, making sure she was indeed okay—hoping it hadn’t been a foolish mistake doing this. But the wonder on her face made up for any hesitancy he briefly had as she turned to him.

“It’s like I can see the world,” she breathed.

His mouth curved upwards.

“Yes,” he agreed.

Even though it was still the middle of the night—hours away from sunrise—she turned back to the view, taking it all in like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. Perhaps it was the best thing she’d ever seen—as of lately, that was.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Then, it happened without him even realizing it was coming.

He felt a soft weight at his shoulder, her head having naturally fallen against it. He tensed for half a second before relaxing, letting the warmth of her body meet his. He felt a small, involuntary shiver come from her, the nighttime air still a touch cool even with summer rapidly approaching.

Moments later, the bubble of air surrounding them warmed just slightly—enough to chase away any chill. A tiny bit of his fire magic to keep her from being too cold. She didn’t say anything, but he swore she leaned just a bit closer into him.

“Tell me something about yourself,” she mumbled, “Something I don’t know.”

She sounded drowsy, voice softer and heavy with exhaustion. Eris thought for a moment, head moving carefully to peer down at her. She was still staring out at the view through bleary eyes.

“Well, I possess fire magic,” he said quietly, though he felt like that was rather obvious right now.

“Does that ever intimidate you? Scare you?”

Eris paused at her question.

“Scare me?”

“Yeah. To know you hold such power to hurt or destroy someone—or something—with such powers. With the power of fire.”

He’d never thought of it like that. Her voice was inquisitory, but he thought he felt her body tense at his side. He wondered if it had to do with her past, this line of questioning.

“I would never harm someone for enjoyment,” he said, voice deadly serious.

“But you’ve had to before?”

“I have, yes. But only as a last resort. To protect myself or those I care about,” he responded, hesitating a beat, the vulnerability slipping through every word, “It is never something I’ve particularly enjoyed.”

He wasn’t sure what she thought of his answer, but she seemed to accept it.

“Tell me more.”

He chuckled, enjoying the way she seemed to melt into him the sleepier she sounded.

“Well, I have smokehounds—twelve of them. They’re born with magic of their own. Gray, sleek like smoke. They can race as fast as the wind and sniff out any prey.”

“Twelve? Sounds chaotic,” she yawned again.

The grin from earlier stayed on his face.

“A little. They like naps and having their fur stroked when they’re not busy working.”

“Similar to their master, right?” she mumbled, though he could hear the obvious playfulness in her teasing tone.

He actually laughed outloud, his chest rumbling with the sudden outburst. Peeking down again at her, he saw a smile curving her lips, even though her eyes had slipped closed again.

“I think they’d like you.”

The comment slipped out before he’d had a chance to vet it, but he’d realized it was true. He wholeheartedly believed his beloved hounds would take well to her. She hummed, sounding halfway asleep already. Glancing down, he saw her lashes fanned across the tops of her cheeks, looking the most at peace he’d ever seen her.

Her breathing became more deep, steady, evening out as she slipped under the tantalizing pull of sleep. Eris had an inkling she wouldn’t make it to sunrise, though it didn’t concern him in the slightest.

Because for her, he’d always stay.

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[adventure-awaits13]

I love them 😍🥹

[erin-bo-berin]

To Catch A Priestess: The Pull

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 1: To Catch A Priestess | Part 3: The Connection | Part 4: The Thread | Part 5: The Equals

Grappling with the aftermath of a life changing event, tension starts to arise between you and Eris. As your training continues, your past and present starts to bleed together and you find yourself questioning the male’s newfound attention—and the intent behind it.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Warnings: brief mentions of domestic abuse, priestess reader, angst, tension, hostility, secret mate bond, trauma, some canon cruel Eris

Word Count: 10.9k

A/N: Part two of To Catch A Priestess is here and boy do these two have some emotions to work through. Buckle up because it’s going to be a journey. We still have three more parts to go!

Thank you so much to @harvest-bunny for the library scene inspiration and for beta reading! 💕

ERIS

Eris had never known the Mother to be so cruel.

The creator of their universe sure seemed to have a wicked sense of humor, at least.

Ever since his last trip to the Night Court, Eris had battled with the knowledge he now possessed. He’d ended up spending the entire following week with a head too full of thoughts. More so than usual.

Normally, his visits had occurred about once a month—sometimes even fewer if he struggled to fit it in with his busy schedule. He’d tried—he’d really tried to stay away until his next scheduled visit. Which had been over two weeks away.

He hadn’t been able to.

After sending a letter to Rhysand, Eris had appeared in Velaris the next week—weeks earlier than expected—to once again observe the females’ training. The Illyrians were surprised, but hadn’t commented. He’d felt the pull to Velaris though, no matter how much he’d try to ignore it. There would’ve been no way he could’ve waited any longer.

The second time he’d been there, he’d half hoped it had been some sort of fluke, a mistake, a misunderstanding on his part. But the moment he laid eyes on her he’d known. Training had already been in session due to his late arrival, though he’d quickly spotted her in the group—as if he already had the instinct to locate her easily.

He’d watched as she’d followed along with Azriel’s spoken instructions, body shifting with her movements. Eris’s chest had tightened and ached at the sight of her—even as something within him had simultaneously eased with her proximity.

It had been no fluke.

Thus had followed an entire month of the same cycle of tangled thoughts, anger and repeated visits to Velaris. He had been convinced the Cauldron got it wrong. If he were to have a mate, he’d have preferred one like Nesta Archeron, one that was strong. Instead, he’d been thrown this specific female.

He hadn’t even wanted a mate.

He was cold, calculating—a mastermind at the twisted games of the Autumn Court. A court that was made up of nothing but cutthroat brutality. He operated off insults, arrogance and indifference. In some ways Eris was as ruthless as the court he hailed from.

Emotions and softness were frowned upon in his world. It was seen as a sign of weakness. He’d taught himself long ago that in order to achieve his goals, he’d have to become someone that could survive the environment.

So he had.

He was the direct opposite of what someone like her needed. Barely controlled danger, a heartless, cruel male—at least that’s what most of the world believed him to be. Even if that was only what he let the world believe.

So after the fact—after the shock had worn off—Eris had gotten angry. The anger and resentment that started forming the day the mating bond snapped had finally blazed to life—more ferociously than any flame he could summon.

He hated the concept. Hated that he was thrown a mate that would never trust him. Hated that he had to be shackled to anyone—which in hindsight, he’d regretted even having that thought.

But he’d been angry. So much so that he’d let it show during an unexpected encounter with her in the very library she resided in. He’d been there for some research on age-old Autumn battle strategies—something he’d been considering and discussing with the Illyrians. Skills that could perhaps be incorporated into the females’ training.

There were techniques he was familiar with, but Eris knew that there were plenty likely lost to history. He’d yet to find much in Autumn’s libraries, so while he’d been in Velaris one day, he’d ventured down to the priestesses’ library—entering with their permission, of course.

It was a mistake on his part to act like he had. So much so that he couldn’t even bear to remember it—or the scent of her fear and anger she’d left behind as she’d scurried away from him. But that had been early on, not long after the bond had snapped, when the anger had still burned like molten lava.

By the end of the month, though, something in him had shifted. It’d been just another normal day, but when he’d taken in her face that morning—her presence—the guilt had flooded him for the trail of thoughts he’d allowed to consume him. The angry and anguished ones that had hounded him for far too long. Thoughts born of confusion and pain—something he couldn’t begin to understand.

Eris had gone from infrequent visits to the Night Court to appearing once a week—and even then, it hadn’t seemed enough. The privilege of a few hours a week spent around the female he’d discovered to be his mate hadn’t even begun to touch the ache within him. He felt it so strongly now when he was such a long distance from her.

The ache hadn’t just come from this ancient, primal thing. His normally clear head—one that could assess every situation thoroughly and anticipate every outcome—had turned into a mess of unwelcome thoughts, enough that it was becoming a distraction. That was half the reason he started attending training more often—in hopes to quiet his mind enough.

His mate.

He didn’t know what to do with that information. Not to mention he didn’t know what to do with a mate in general. One that was so…fragile.

Although fragile wasn’t exactly the word for her either. In the short time he’d known her, he’d watched her train harder, faster—saw the way she constantly pushed herself. That sort of grit didn’t come from a fragile individual. Perhaps delicate was a better term for it.

Someone had instilled such fear in her—had left such a deep seated instinct that she still couldn’t fully relax around Cassian or Azriel. The flinching when they got too close had minimized, but it still occurred occasionally. Each time Eris had caught the involuntary reflex—the slight motion that went unnoticed to most—his shoulders tightened, inexplicable fury blaring through him. Some male had left scars in her that were invisible to the naked eye, but still lingered.

Which was exactly why it devastated him that she had the misfortune of being tied to him.

The fact of the matter was, he wasn’t soft behind the mask he let the world see. Even if some of it had fallen away in a years-long alliance with the Night Court, what was underneath was still rough and hard to love. He knew how to be ruthless—exercised the ability when needed. He was strategic and typically acted in his best interests.

Even if he tried to be nothing like his father, sometimes he was still too much like him. She needed something he had absolutely no idea how to be.

He had no knowledge of how to be softer, gentler. Even if he hadn’t even interacted with her, the innate desire to protect her still flared within him. Made him want to be softer for her.

He’d spent every visit so incredibly quiet, tried to make his presence smaller as to not frighten her—though he tried to convince himself it was for all the priestesses’ benefit, not just her. Despite the fact the other females had grown used to his presence months ago and barely paid him any attention now. Partially due to their focus on their education in combat.

It took him a month before he worked up the nerve to ask the Illyrians about her. He was standing between the General of the Night Court and the shadowsinger, watching the independent practice they’d been assigned when his inquiry came.

“Who is she?” he murmured to Cassian, chin tilting towards where she practiced, an effortless slice being performed.

They were still practicing with the wooden practice swords, but as a group they were a deadly force—even more so as individuals. Eris was constantly impressed with how hard they’d worked, rain or shine, no type of weather slowing them down or dampening their spirits.

Her own confidence in her abilities had grown in the month he’d watched her. He’d seen her fight harder, work past the things that haunted her, turning into a stronger warrior by the day. Pride swelled through him to witness the strong female beginning to emerge, to see her starting to climb out of the shell she’d been reduced to.

Those first few weeks though…he knew he’d made her nervous, even if he kept discovering her eyes drifting his way more often than not. He’d tried to smooth over his usually cool face, tried to be more approachable.

Eris still felt like he’d looked nothing short of foolish because he’d had no inkling of what his face held. Something had caught her attention though because he often found her studying him as if trying to puzzle something out. Perhaps it was due to her eyes finding him so often that she quickly stopped being skittish, afraid, and had become more bold in the action.

The third week he’d been there, he’d attempted to give her a smile—a genuine one, lacking the arrogance it usually held. Perhaps it hadn’t worked because she didn’t return it, she only kept staring at him. Her eyes had only narrowed as if trying to figure him out before turning back to Azriel—who had been trying to get her attention.

“I’ll have to kick him out if he’s going to be this much of a distraction,” the spymaster had muttered to her.

“Please,” she’d huffed, “As if you don’t ogle your mate on the daily.”

Her snarky tone had made the shadowsinger’s brows raise nearly to his hairline, a smile tugging at his lips. Azriel hadn’t been the only one surprised at her retort as Eris blinked in surprise as well. But that hadn’t been what had nearly knocked Eris from his feet.

It was the laughter that had escaped her lips, her face shining with the teasing nature of her comment.

“Don’t worry. If you don’t judge me, Azriel, I won’t judge you.”

Azriel had only smirked, laughter bright in his eyes before he’d motioned with his head for her to get back in position.

Eris, in turn, had felt like his chest had collapsed. The sound of her laughter had nearly sent him to his knees. It had knocked him off kilter in ways he hadn’t been able to describe.

He’d barely interacted with her up to that point—other than the library incident. But it hadn’t stopped his gaze from consistently finding her this entire time, fighting instincts warring within him that he barely understood, himself.

But then she’d laughed—and Eris knew then he was in trouble.

Which was what had led him to finally inquire about the female who was his mate. He could’ve easily discovered the information on his own, yet he hadn’t. A sort of rebellion—for at least a month’s time—against what fate had dropped into his lap. But curiosity had eventually won out.

Cassian looked over at him, skepticism lining his face.

“Why?”

Eris rolled his eyes.

“Must you be stubborn about everything?”

It was Azriel that spoke her name.

Something within Eris reacted at the name, some intrinsic part of him responding to the information. He kept his face carefully neutral as the male continued talking.

“She just joined training a few months ago. She was the last of the priestesses to join—well, she’s our latest addition, at least.”

“Haven’t you been training them for a while now? What took her so long?” Eris asked, genuinely curious.

Apparently it came across as too harsh—perhaps too personal because the shadowsinger cut him a sharp look.

“These females—”

Eris sighed.

“Yes. I know. It was not my intention to come across as insensitive. It was a mere question.”

“We don’t know,” Cassian finally answered, “We don’t know what happened to her—to most of these priestesses. The only ones that know are Clotho and Rhysand.”

Eris watched her as she practiced with another priestess, this one with dark black hair, slowly walking through the movements one would when sparring with an opponent. His eyes fell to her feet and he saw the misstep almost before it happened. A heartbeat later it caused her to stumble the slightest. She recovered quickly though, blocking a hit from her opponent.

Good girl.

He tried not to read too much into the thought that popped in his head—so effortlessly it was a tad concerning. But he couldn’t help the pride he felt, watching her improve day to day.

“You’re glaring,” Cassian rumbled.

“I am not.”

“If you’re trying to make a good impression on anyone, I’d say you’d need to stop looking like you’re sneering at everything,” Cassian said bluntly.

“I do not sneer.”

A dry snort came from the shadowsinger at his right. Eris just cut him a look, but as he turned back to her, he tried to…relax his features. He tried to appear more neutral, less threatening.

“You’re grimacing,” Azriel muttered dryly.

Eris sighed deeply, closing his eyes, praying to the Mother for strength—and perhaps a different face at this rate. He was clearly doing a fine job being anything less than intimidating.

“If you’re trying to preen for a certain priestess, I wouldn’t waste the energy,” Cassian commented.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eris uttered.

But his gaze hadn’t lingered from where she practiced, watching her smoother and much more fluid movements than from moments before. She’d improved greatly in the month since the bond snap.

“I just find her interesting. She has potential,” Eris added, nonchalantly.

Potential to change his entire life, that is.

“Sure.”

Cassian didn’t sound convinced, but that didn’t stop him from continuing, as he straightened, Illyrian wings rustling at his back.

“Rhys wants to see you when training is over. Me or Az will fly you down.”

Eris grimaced again and not at the mentioning of the flying—though that was always awkward and unpleasant—but at the fact that he knew it could only mean one thing.

He had thought he’d been more subtle with the amount of interest he’d been showing in her—had thought he’d kept his observations detached from the storm of emotions and instincts that warred within him every time he was here.

Apparently he had not.

Clearly, the Illyrians had picked up on it long before Eris had asked after her and reported back to their High Lord. He kept his voice neutral, unbothered, his demeanor unruffled.

“What about?”

“He didn’t say,” came Cassian’s answer.

Eris simply nodded, continuing to keep an eye on the female as she beamed brightly to the priestess she’d been practicing with, pleased with how she’d just mastered a move.

Eris was left to wonder if one day she’d ever give him one of those smiles.

An hour later, Eris found himself in Rhysand’s study in his private residence—a place he’d only been a few times before now.

“If you wanted a report on my thoughts Rhysand, I’m sure you could’ve just asked Azriel or Cassian,” Eris said dryly, arms crossed as he stood in front of the High Lord’s desk.

The hard look on the High Lord of the Night Court’s face didn’t intimidate Eris. But it sure confirmed what he’d suspected from the moment he’d learned of this meeting.

“That’s not why I wanted to see you,” Rhysand said, tone deadly serious.

“Then why have I been summoned, High Lord?” Eris sighed, lacing the question with bored indifference.

“Cassian and Azriel have brought it to my attention that you seem to have taken a tad too much interest in a certain priestess.”

And there it was.

“I’m curious about their training. It’s not unusual that I tend to watch some individuals more than others.”

Eris shrugged a lazy shoulder, staring the male down. Rhysand wasn’t buying it though, his violet eyes narrowing. The air thickened, becoming heavy, the pressure in the room feeling like it weighed more on him than it had moments before. Darkness rippled behind him, the High Lord’s anger beginning to show.

Rhysand was one who could control his temper, making it that much more terrifying and deadly—much like Eris, himself, could. Eris’s eyes took in the coiling darkness around his shoulders.

“Careful, High Lord,” Eris purred, a cultivated smile tilting his lips, “There’s no need to treat me like I’m the villain.”

“Then I expect you to stop playing games and answer me truthfully.”

His voice was calm—lethal—but the quiet command in it left no room for Eris to argue. He said nothing as he waited for the male to continue.

“Why are you concerned with her specifically?”

“Would it not be easier to just look into my mind?” he drawled, ignoring the pointed question.

“I’d prefer to hear it from you instead,” Rhysand said coolly, leveling a steely gaze on him.

But Eris couldn’t bring himself to say it. Hadn’t even said it out loud. So he offered the next best thing—quietly, seriously.

“I give you permission to look.”

Rhysand was surprised, but excelled at not giving away too much. Only a slight twitch of the brow conveyed his surprise. He clearly hadn’t been expecting Eris to say such a thing.

“Very well.”

Effortlessly, Eris recalled the memory of that day. As if it was a file that had been plucked out of the folder in his mind where he’d tucked it away.

His eyes meeting ones filled with such caution.

The way his chest had squeezed, as if air was being stolen from his lungs.

That strange, ancient instinct that filled him. Rushed through his blood, whispered along his bones. That lone word. Mate.

The overwhelming urges that had filled him. Ones he’d never experienced before. Ones that were so finely tuned to her.

Eris knew Rhysand saw it all. He wondered if it was similar to the High Lord being in his body for the memory or being an outside observer—possessing the ability to still feel every emotion while he saw what had happened. Eris had never been exactly sure of what it was like for a daemati to actually take in memories in others’ minds.

He wondered if Rhysand felt the anger and frustration—the resentment—that had taken root that very day. Even if it had ebbed greatly since then, it had still been very much present that day.

He was left wondering precisely that when only seconds later, Rhysand returned to the conversation, having completed his task—distant gaze clearing once more. His lips had thinned and, frankly, he looked even colder than before.

But if he looked closely…

Eris could see how shaken the High Lord of the Night Court actually was. He recognized that look from his own face sometimes.

Rhysand was furious, but he was also rattled. Eris knew that feeling well. He also suspected that Rhysand had read just how unenthusiastic he had been in the moment that the Mother had practically slammed fate right into his path.

“She’s your mate,” Rhysand rasped, almost unbelievingly.

Eris knew he was wary, and didn't trust him. Good. It was probably the smartest thing to do, after all.

“Yes,” Eris said simply.

Rhysand’s eyes were hard on him.

“You are to treat her with respect.”

“I haven’t even spoken to her,” Eris replied, dropping his folded arms, resting his palms against the front edge of the male’s desk.

It was a blatant lie. But he knew mentioning the library encounter wasn’t going to win him any favors with the High Lord. He leaned against the desk as he stared into the cold face.

“If I hear of one instance that you’ve upset her—”

Eris snarled, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“She is my mate.”

Despite him having never voiced it aloud, Eris was momentarily surprised at how easy it was for the declaration—the word—to slip out. Apparently mate instincts overpowered even the most conflicted and complicated emotions.

Rhysand’s brows only furrowed, jaw clenching.

“You don’t even know her,” he argued.

“You’re right. All I know is that she’s weak, she hides in that damn library and Beron would decimate her without blinking.”

It was Rhysand’s turn to snarl, but Eris had only been voicing the final remaining doubts that still lingered in his mind. The whispers he needed to exorcise from his mine because they were all true.

It was thoughts that had turned over repeatedly in his mind for the last month. Ones he now realized might not be fair, but were also the truth. If he were honest—despite feeling the curiosity towards her—Eris still didn’t know how he felt about her being his mate.

“You have absolutely no idea the horrors she’s faced,” Rhysand uttered lowly, venom lacing his every word.

“Then tell me,” Eris challenged.

“It’s not my place and you should know that.”

He did. He hadn’t expected Rhysand to tell him. Eris sighed.

“The reason you called me here was presumably to question me about my interest in her, was it not? To inquire what my intentions are with her?”

Rhysand said nothing, gaze not breaking from his own. Eris’s lips thinned as he contemplated his answer.

“Well, now you know the cause of my interest. She is my mate—whether I like it or not.”

Rhysand only studied him before sitting back in his chair. The tension had eased a bit, the room feeling lighter, but the promise of violence still shone in those eyes, displeasure radiating from the dark haired male.

“That attitude right there is why I do not trust you to be around her.”

Eris scoffed.

“How else am I supposed to get to know her? It’s insulting that you would think I would bring harm to her, Rhysand. I’m not that lowly of a male.”

Rhysand’s searing, serious gaze didn’t leave him, even as he reclined in his chair.

“You’re treating her like an obligation—one that’s an inconvenience to you.”

Eris straightened, shoulders stiff as his hands slid into his pants pockets.

“I will not deny that I was angry for a while. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why her, yet I still would do anything in my power to make sure she never has to go through anything like that again.”

“You’re a fine example of that,” Rhysand snorted.

Though he knew flames likely sizzled in his eyes, his voice was a deadly calm when he responded.

“I would never harm her, Rhysand.”

Perhaps it had been the lethal quiet of his voice, the low whisper, heavy with the weight of the truth in his statement that made Rhysand straighten. The male looked at him, assessing whatever it was on his face.

Rhysand only nodded once.

“Very well. Though I advise you to not let on how much this mating bond seems to inconvenience you,” he intoned dryly, “She doesn’t deserve that at all.”

Eris’s jaw clenched, his hands fisting in his pockets as he looked away, not particularly fond of being this vulnerable.

“It’s not that I resent her or it…it’s the fact I have no idea how to be what she deserves.”

And there it was. The truth that had been buried deep—one he hadn’t wanted to face. But no matter how much he avoided it, it still sat there, heavy, in his chest.

Rhysand said nothing for a moment, studying him, likely trying to assess if he could or should trust him around her. If he should still trust him to attend the Valkyrie training.

“Then I think that’s something you should spend time figuring out, Eris.”

Eris knew he was right, but the words still chafed, still irritated him, especially in his current position where he was at a loss for what to do. It was as if he was in a stalemate between him and fate. At this rate, he was happy to let fate handle things in whatever way it saw fit.

“I have no intention of bothering her,” Eris finally said quietly, “Mate or not.”

Rhysand only nodded, dismissing him.

Eris headed to the door, knowing he’d be back in a few days time for his usual observation, regardless of the looming situation at hand. He was tied to a female that very well was not his match—who would likely reject that bond the instant she learned of it.

He was not about to let himself have any sort of hope for a situation that was doomed from the start. Whatever was meant to happen would happen.

But still, something within him stayed…unsettled.

•••

The cold faced male was staring again.

You could feel the gaze slithering along your bones. You felt like a target under such a permeating stare. You tried to not let it distract you as you readjusted your form, giving a sidelong glance to Ilana at your side as an example.

Awareness prickled your spine though, something you’d noticed the moment you’d stepped into the training ring earlier this morning. It was as if you’d sensed his presence—became aware of it—before you’d ever spotted the red-haired male. Though now, it didn’t leave your senses soaked in cold dread—similar to the cold sweat you’d been left in after nightmares you’d had for quite some time after the incident.

Even in those initial weeks when you’d battled wariness towards this stranger, you had found yourself experiencing sensations much more complicated. For instance, something seemed to stir in you the moment you’d learned of his name.

Eris.

An odd recognition had slithered through you, as though you should know it—as though, somehow, you already did. Azriel had mentioned it that first day, but you’d been too preoccupied to catch it.

Then there was the first time you’d heard Eris speak. His voice had hummed along your bones.

It had only been days after that strange moment you’d shared with him. You’d been the first to arrive on the roof that morning, somehow beating even the trio of females who’d begun overseeing yours and the other priestesses' training, while still learning from the Illyrians, themselves.

You’d busied yourself at the weapon’s rack, trying to appear busy, though it required no such amount of intense attention. Even more so considering that all the effort it took was to pick up a wooden practice sword—it wasn’t as if they were assigned to specific individuals.

You’d run your fingers over the neatly lined up swords as if focusing all your attention on which one to pick for the day. Azriel and Cassian—as per usual—had already been there, preparing for the day’s lessons.

Eris had been with them.

You could hear them speaking to the male, though you hadn’t the faintest idea what the topic of conversation was. But when he’d spoken, it was like your entire being reacted to it, a chill shooting straight down your spine.

The silken, deep cadence had come with more than a hefty amount of authority, tinted with something like arrogance—though it didn’t seem necessarily malicious. Just something that was. It came with an air that he was confident enough in the matters he spoke about, even if he had a teasing, taunting edge to his words. Something you’d quickly picked up on.

His voice had been as velvety and rich as some of the chocolate cake that was sometimes served for dessert to the residents of the library. It had left you feeling disoriented, not understanding why you’d had such a reaction.

You still had no idea what to think of him, of the strange feelings he evoked in you every time he was near. It had now been weeks, a month actually, since that strange day—when you’d been caught in his gaze, trapped like prey spotted by a predator.

You had no explanation for what had happened that day, couldn’t even begin to understand it. You’d spent days afterwards, still shaken, afraid old patterns were beginning again.

Finneas had set his sights on you from the very beginning—though back then you’d been flattered by the attention. It had been the same sort of intense attention that Eris regarded you with. Though Finneas was always flirtatious, his attention was just as intense as the amber eyes that often found you while you participated in training.

But this male felt far deadlier. Which had frightened you more—at first that is. His cold demeanor had been intimidating and the fact you could never determine what he was actually thinking made it worse. Those first few weeks had left you feeling on edge, like you had to always be on guard around him.

It wasn’t fair to him—as he was just a random male, a mere stranger to you—but you couldn’t help but be fearful that he was just another Finneas. That he was a male just like the blonde that still haunted you to some degree, even today.

Did he delight in making females suffer? Did he take his bad days out on someone else? Did he, too, only feel better about himself by making a female smaller?

You hated having such thoughts. He hadn’t approached you or given you any reason to mistrust him—besides his intimidating demeanor.

At least, that was until the library, nearly a week after that first encounter with him at training. You found your mind wandering, tuning out the different formations Nesta was calling out—loudly enough for the entire group to hear.

Even though your body followed instinctively, moving with each instruction, your mind turned to that one specific encounter—one that had left you conflicted, in more ways than one.

Despite training for more than a month now, most days left you with an aching body.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been in the early days when you’d first begun, but Cassian and Azriel knew how to push you and the priestesses. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, too.

While they were all excellent teachers in their own right—and you were grateful for the opportunity and privilege to grow in such a way—some days you still cursed them. Especially when your body protested with every incline you had to walk to access the different levels of the library.

Most of your work in the library had been to shelve and retrieve books—not only for Clotho, but for others. Briefly, you’d had the help of Nesta Archeron, but before and after her, the task had mainly been yours.

It turned out it was something you were rather skilled at. Not exactly the shelving part—something that had started as busy work, for Clotho, to keep you active and busy during the days—but the finding part. Somehow, you’d gained the knowledge of where most books were located, whether it was the general area or even specific location. You’d realized you were rather good at remembering where certain books you’d shelved were located, even taking in the books surrounding it.

Due to your excellent memory and ability to find books with ease, you’d quickly become the individual to refer to when other priestesses were in search of specific books. Normally, one would be annoyed with such tedious work, but you’d quickly come to find you’d enjoyed it. Not only had it grounded you, it kept your days busy and gave you purpose.

Most of your days had been filled with a list of books that needed to be found and delivered to various priestesses—and when you weren’t kept preoccupied with that, you were shelving the books that had accumulated behind Clotho’s desk. Just like other priestesses finding their place in the library, that had been the way you found your own.

It had made your chest warm when Clotho had commented once—in a written note—that it did her good to see you thriving. Truth be told, it had felt good to be useful again. To have something to do.

All of that had come before the training though, so now, your body was getting twice the exercise it usually did, despite it being used to spending most of your days on your feet anyways. You were using muscles you most definitely didn’t use on a typical day in the library.

You’d grabbed a few books from Clotho’s desk that needed to be shelved on level four and left the High Priestess with a casual comment that you’d be back in a few minutes. Your mind had been turning over movements from today’s training, trying to perfect and memorize the one you were still weakest at—at least compared to the other priestesses.

Your robes swayed around your legs as you walked, your hood up—as usual. You felt the cool sensation of your invoking stone atop your brow where it always was. It wasn’t a requirement for one to wear at all times, but you had, simply out of habit. In a way, it had become a comfort to you, perhaps one you relied on a little too much. Maybe one of these days you’d be brave enough to be like some of your fellow priestesses and remove them from your head during training.

You hadn’t given yourself a chance to linger too long on the strange event that had happened only a few days ago. When the red-haired stranger who had appeared all of a sudden at training had stared you down like you knew something he hadn’t. You’d tried to brush it off, move past it and continue on with your daily life—the library, training and services.

But it was like the Mother decided to remind you of it herself, with a figurative slap to the face. When you rounded a shelf—to take a shortcut through one of the seated areas to get to your destination—you stopped short with a small gasp.

There sat a familiar figure, seated sideways in the chair, half hunched over a book.

His long red hair fell in a curtain over his fine jacket. Impeccably dressed—just like he had been in the training ring days before—the attire looked almost as out of place in the library as it had been in the practice ring. He looked like he belonged in a courtly assembly, not here.

Long slender fingers of one hand rested against the top of his pale, freckled cheekbone, his chin resting in his palm as he read whatever was in front of him. Though he was adorned in courtly finery, you saw subtle hints of strength in his body underneath those clothes. Under the waterfall of red, strong shoulders were noticeable—along with the hint of a bicep through the material of his jacket.

You were close enough to see a pattern of freckles splattered across both cheekbones, meeting across the bridge of his nose.

He was…handsome.

Even amidst your observations, dread crept upon you, forming a hollow pit in your stomach. You’d experienced something much too similar to this, once before.

Finneas, once upon a time, in those early days, had begun to appear everywhere you would be. Back then, you’d chalked it up to mere coincidence, pure fate. You hadn’t thought anything odd of it.

What you hadn’t realized was every single time had been intentional. That in reality, he’d followed you, watched you, planned to always accidentally run into you. It had been a way for him to exert control, to worm his way into your life. For when he’d set his sights on you…well, you hadn’t stood a chance. Nor had you been aware of what he was truly doing.

So to see the male—Eris—there…it sent your mind to dangerous places.

Your voice was a croaky whisper as apprehension sluiced through you in oily waves. You could feel your pulse racing and knew he could likely hear it too.

“Are you following me?”

The male pulled his gaze from the open tome in front of him, towards you—slow, lazy, unbothered. Sharp eyes, amber in color, sparked as he looked at you, finally taking you in. Nothing in them showed anything joyful. They were cold and hard—piercing on you.

“Why would I have a desire to?”

His voice sounded different than you’d heard it that first time in the training ring—which had just been earlier that morning, actually. This time, his voice wasn’t velvet smooth. It was colder—sharper—than it had been hours ago. No familiarity was in his words now. There was a lazy boredom to his tone, as if he couldn’t be bothered to even answer your question.

His mouth turned downward—whether in disgust or annoyance you couldn’t tell. You willed yourself not to stiffen at the way his eyes roamed you, like he was examining you.

He wasn’t Finneas in many different ways. For one, Finneas was never cold—at least not initially, but neither to this degree either. No, Finneas was overly charming, personal and seemed eager to pursue you. Almost as if he’d enjoyed the chase of you. While his attention has been just as intense and deadly as this male’s, the one sitting in front of you seemed to be in a league of his own.

He was a danger of a different sort—and he unsettled you.

Even with some drastic differences, you couldn’t help the memories that flashed in your mind. The coldness that would overtake Finneas’s face when fists came flying toward you—when a grip was too rough, enough to leave bruises in the shape of his hold. When he’d grip your hair too roughly, yanking your head back just to force your attention on him for the sole reason of spewing whatever vitriol he had for you that day.

You blinked, the memories vanishing into mist.

“Do you have permission to be here?” you asked, weaker than you wished you sounded.

You couldn’t help the way you quivered, standing there holding the books to your chest as if that could ground you. The past and present mixed too seamlessly and your body’s instinctual response had begun to take over.

You’d seen hard looks before, just like the one directed on you now. It was typically followed by anger, pain and fear. You willed yourself not to tense as that amber gaze pierced you—tried to remind yourself that you weren’t actually back there in your bad memories.

“Would I be here, if I did not?” he drawled, scowling.

His scowl seemed to deepen as he looked at you—most definitely annoyed. Perhaps at the interruption, but for some reason you got the feeling your entire existence seemed to inconvenience him. Even through your apprehension, irritation flared.

This was your home.

“Why are you here?” he asked abruptly, catching you off guard.

You bristled at the disdain in his tone.

“It is my home,” you voiced your previous thought.

“I mean what brought you here,” he clarified, sharply.

Indignation flared through you—at the fact that he had such gall to even question you when he didn’t even know you.

“That is absolutely none of your business.”

He just hummed, sitting back in his chair as he crossed his arms, taking you in again. This time almost with amusement.

“You’re not very good when it comes to training, are you?”

You were prickling with irritation now, almost enough to outweigh the apprehension you were still very much feeling.

But you’d never once challenged Finneas—had learned early on it was never a safe avenue. You’d done it once, early in the days after you’d started courting him. You couldn’t even remember the topic it had been about, but it hadn’t been something big. It was a mere correction of something he’d misremembered.

You’d never forget the look in his eyes when you’d corrected him, that flare of anger, as if it was the utmost terrible thing to be corrected, let alone by a female. A part of you had wondered if you and he hadn’t been in public if that wouldn’t have been the first time he struck you. But that moment came later, regardless.

You’d had no way of knowing he had been wearing you down little by little until you were too terrified to defy him. You’d quickly taught yourself to always appease him, to always avoid any conflict just to avoid that look again.

You also had no way of knowing that there had been no way to avoid the inevitable.

But here you were, defying this male that sat in front of you. If you hadn’t been experiencing such a maelstrom of emotions, you might’ve been proud of yourself.

“I was the last to join training so I’m still a tad behind the others. Do you always greet someone with an interrogation instead of proper manners?”

He just let out a dry chuckle, almost looking amused with you. That sharp edge remained though.

“So you truly never leave this place?”

His eyes bounced around the space, as if indicating the library you two were currently located. That desire to bite back, to argue, rose stronger than any fear. Deep seated instincts—ones you’d been forced to learn—made you hold your tongue. Perhaps part of it was due to the fact that you didn’t want to cause a disturbance to any of your sisters who were busy working.

“I have no desire to explain myself to you.”

He only hummed in response.

“That’s fine. Shelve your books and go,” he said, jerking his chin to the stacks, before returning to his book, “I have research to do.”

You were a mess of conflicting emotions—the instinct to shrink back, make yourself smaller, warring with the desire to shoot something biting back at him. Then there was the strange observation you’d had when you’d first happened upon him, the awareness of his attractiveness.

But you didn’t as much as glance at him as you rushed to return the books to their proper homes and scurried off, wanting to forget the entire encounter. You wanted to forget the way he left you feeling vulnerable and off balance in ways even Finneas hadn’t.

Somehow, that was even scarier than anything the long dead male had ever done to you.

“You could’ve warned me he was here,” you hissed under your breath to Clotho, the moment you’d returned to her desk.

You’d returned to grab the book cart you needed to shelve books on level two, but you also used the opportunity to express your exasperation towards the High Priestess.

A soft scratching sounded and you peered sideways as the enchanted pen of hers moved on its own accord, spelled with magic to write her thoughts. Clotho, too, had experienced such horrors. Ones that left her unable to speak or even write. This had been how she was able to communicate—something that you’d become so used to, it was just another normal part of your life.

I didn’t realize you two were acquainted. Lord Eris had some research he needed to do.

You snorted as you read.

“Lord?”

It shouldn’t have surprised you—the clothes, the air of self-importance. It fit. Cassian had mentioned something about him being from the Autumn Court and a general, if you remembered correctly.

Clotho just studied you for a long moment before the pen moved again. Your brows furrowed as you read her next message.

Someday soon, you may start asking questions that will lead you to some interesting discoveries.

“What does that mean?” you questioned.

But she didn’t answer, though you could’ve sworn something glimmered in her eyes—as if she had some sort of secret. You sighed, shaking your head, knowing Clotho was sometimes prone to being a bit mysterious.

You pulled the cart behind you as you headed off to level two, your mind full of distracting thoughts.

He wasn’t Finneas—most definitely not since his attitude was horrid—but you still grappled with separating him from your past lover. Even still, irritated and shaken, you couldn’t help but wonder something.

Why did he feel like a thought you couldn’t shake?

The sound of your name being called pulled you out of your memories. Gwyn had her hands on her hips, head titled in amusement, the coppery strands of her ponytail shifting over her shoulder as she looked at you.

“If we’re boring you that much, you could always give us fifteen push ups—and sit ups.”

“Gods, you sound just like Cassian when he pulled that shit on us for cutting up,” Emerie muttered.

“I think she’s better at it than Cassian,” Nesta called from the sidelines where she was observing a smaller group of priestesses doing a different set of exercises.

You’d been so caught up in your thoughts, you had no recollection of when they’d divided the group. You hoped at least your body had looked like it had known what it was doing, even if your mind had been elsewhere.

“Sorry,” you apologized, “Just zoned out.”

She offered you a smile with a small dip of her chin. She likely thought it was from being tired—since she had knowledge of your reoccurring nightmares. She’d been the one who’d first found you in front of one of the library’s crackling fires in the middle of the night—years ago—in the early days of your arrival to the library.

Even if you hadn’t spoken anything to her that time—or even for months afterwards—she’d sat with you, sometimes talking in soft tones, telling you that she had nightmares too. Other times she’d just sat in silence with you, never letting you feel alone. Months later she’d held you while you emptied your soul of long held grief, spilling an ocean worth of tears after the first nighttime service you’d attended.

The female had helped you in so many ways over the years, even becoming a friend to you. So it had been no surprise that she’d been the catalyst for you eventually joining training. That still didn’t mean she went easy on you when it came to training.

You gave her a reassuring smile, letting her know you were okay before your eyes drifted to the sidelines on the opposite side of the ring. There, he stood, the same place he’d been when you checked probably only ten minutes earlier.

You’d learned in full, sometime after the library run in, that the reoccurring visitor—Eris, as you’d come to know—was Eris Vanserra, the heir of the Autumn Court. More than just the General of the Autumn Court’s forces like you’d first thought. More than just a lord like Clotho had led you to believe. A future High Lord.

Ironically, the fact didn’t make you nervous or uncomfortable, even if his presence initially had. It had turned out to be quite the opposite as you found yourself even more intrigued by him. Even if he had seemed to start taking an odd interest in you. Perhaps it was out of pity as you were still clearly the less talented and experienced of all the females.

Still, despite your intrigue, every time he caught your eyes on him, you’d drop his gaze instantly. It left you baffled as to why it felt like you didn’t want him to notice you too much, while simultaneously hoping he would.

Earlier that morning when you were going through the warmup exercises, that awareness of him had heightened again. You and the others had been instructed to do sets of abdominal curls, push ups and squats so intense they had you already sweating despite the cool air of the early spring morning. In the midst of an abdominal curl, your eyes had met his. While his face had given away nothing, the look had been so charged you’d found yourself breathless from more than just the exercise.

It was now more common that along with Cassian and Azriel, Eris, too, now walked around, observing forms. Whether he yet felt comfortable enough to actually make comments or he hadn’t been given permission to yet, you hadn’t been sure. But considering part of his duties was to train Autumn Court soldiers—ones that were skilled in battle, nonetheless—you figured he was rather acquainted with proper form.

With time, you’d also learned that he’d developed an interest in the Valkyrie training pretty early on. Though it wasn’t until the priestesses had joined that he finally showed up in person.

It was something Gwyn had whispered to you one night in front of the fireplace. It was the same one the both of you usually sat in front of, late at night, long after the others had fallen asleep. Nowadays, Gwyn split her time between the library and other things, given that she no longer lived here. Despite the fact that life had grown busy for both of you, she still made an effort to come visit you.

She’d done that from the very beginning when it was finally her time to move on from the library. She’d found herself, purpose, a mate and so much more, signaling to her that she was more than ready to move on from the place she used to call home. Even still, she’d come to visit you. In fact, it was Gwyn, herself, that had gently nudged you and encouraged you to join training for weeks prior to you showing up.

She’d never pushed, never pressured you. In fact, she never offered a direct invitation—she was sneakier than that. No, Gwyn would happen to mention what was happening at the training occurring early in the mornings. It varied from silly stories to personal achievements to even what they were currently working on. You remembered the pride that had swelled when you’d heard she’d been the first to cut the ribbon and become the first Valkyrie in centuries.

It had been an effective tactic though because even if you hadn’t been ready to take that step then, you were ready now.

“He’s taken an interest in the Valkyries because he believes females are meant for more than what Autumn—what his father—has decided they’re worth.”

Something in you had shifted when she’d said that —some sort of realization that it was possible he wasn’t truly like Finneas. He couldn’t be if he had a much better opinion on females than the former male had. The knowledge that Eris posessed the desire to save his court from the likes of males akin to Finneas settled somewhere deep, even if you couldn’t have said what it meant.

Admittedly, that had eased some of your anxiety towards the male.

You’d been deeply unsettled following your run in with Eris in the library and remained wary of him for a few weeks afterwards. It had taken a lot of effort on your part to separate him from the other cruel face you’d once known.

Even if you still hadn’t been able to puzzle out why you, of all people, seemed to draw Eris’s attention so much. Or why you couldn’t shake the thought of him.

While a part of you had been fearful during that encounter in the library, what he’d said and done hadn’t fully been the cause. He hadn’t been responsible for you jumping to the worst possible conclusion—immediately assuming he was no better than your former lover.

While he was intimidating, it had been a mixture of the situation bringing up bad memories and his irritating behavior. Eris needled you in more ways than you cared to admit—and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why.

Even still you’d found yourself reacting to Eris in ways you’d repressed, shoved down—resisted—with Finneas. You hadn’t been entirely sure if that was necessarily a good or a bad thing.

It’d taken you a while to realize that the hesitancy and wariness you’d had with him seemed to be out of habit and not any actual danger. It wasn’t until well after you’d left Eris that you’d realized you actually hadn’t flinched around him. Not in the way you’d tended to with Cassian or Azriel.

You hadn’t flinched in the library that day. Nor had you that first day you’d locked gazes with him—during that strange occurrence.

And you hadn’t in any of the instances he’d appeared for training—which was quite often these days.

In fact, you’d realized, without even being aware of it, you’d become adjusted to his presence—perhaps even relaxed. Though maybe relaxed wasn’t entirely accurate. You still felt like you were on edge around him, but now, it was for an entirely different reason than it once had been.

No matter what you were doing, your eyes would betray you, sliding to his form to look at him again. You found yourself doing it even on days he wasn’t present for training, missing his presence.

“Tighter formation! You’re not a scattered flock!” Cassian called out.

He was never brash, but his tone held firm and carried, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You and the priestesses—still practicing with the wooden blades—were now being taught not as individuals but as an unit. Cassian and Azriel had wanted everyone to get a feel for working as a team before starting on the preliminary work with the steel blades.

You moved fluidly with your sisters through the drills, your own skills having improved greatly the harder you’d pushed yourself. Sweat lined your brow, sliding down your temple and dampening your robes.

“Arms higher!” Azriel commanded, “Hold the swords with pride! Real steel will weigh more than this!”

Your arms were trembling—as were your sisters’—but you’d quickly adapted to their level of determination. Numerous times had the entire group trained in relentless heat and rain so heavy you could hardly hear instructions being shouted over the downpour.

You’d come to the conclusion long ago that if they let little stand in their ways—if they wouldn’t give up—neither would you.

“Block one!” Cassian hollered.

The entire group moved as one, arms moving through the air into the correct position. Swords moved outward, perpendicular to oneself, held upward.

“Slice three!”

Swishes of the wooden blades sounded as everyone slashed downward at an angle. You remembered to lead with the hilt—a move you’d stumbled over in the past.

“Thrust one!”

You pivoted with the group and lunged forward, slamming the sword forward through the chest of an imaginary opponent.

“Block three!”

Hands were dropped as everyone switched to a one handed grip on their practice swords, left hands raising to chests, tucking in close just like the Illyrian males had taught.

“Slice two!”

In perfect harmony, practice swords sliced in a straight line upwards, following Cassian’s order.

“Block two!”

As a unit, everyone spun, pivoting on one foot. You grinned broadly to yourself as you nailed an additional move that had been giving you trouble. With the group, you lifted your sword, as if to block from another invisible blow.

“Block one, slice three, thrust two!”

Shuffling filled the training ring as parted feet—from the previous movement—came together again as the moves were performed flawlessly. At least, you thought so, from a quick glance at the females around you.

It was such an empowering moment—you and the entire group, stronger than ever before, having come so far. It made you realize how far you’d come. The air changed as even it knew the severity of this moment. As if even fate itself knew that perhaps someday, the legion being trained would be a force to be reckoned with.

“Excellent. Take a few minutes and get some water. We’ll resume in ten minutes,” Azriel said with a dip of his head.

Your chest was heaving with exertion when you came to a stand still, these rounds of drills over. You lowered the practice blade, your arms aching, despite the weeks of strength you’d built in them.

It turned out the tedious exercises—like push ups you still dreaded, for instance—actually came in handy, building much needed strength for things such as this.

You’d gotten caught up in the rush of executing each and every brutal movement—the power of doing so soaking your senses in pride and accomplishment. You’d been so preoccupied, you realized your attention had completely shifted from Eris—your eyes not having searched for him in quite some time.

When your eyes slid to where you’d last seen him, you were surprised to see he was no longer there. You couldn’t have said why that disappointed you, why you felt a strange sensation of your heart sinking.

In the controlled chaos of females moving around—some to get water, others walking off to rest on the sidelines until training resumed—you hadn’t seen the male move. The hood of your robes blocked most of your periphery anyways.

Then a silken voice brushed past your senses, coming from behind you.

“Good job.”

It was merely a murmur, still far enough away to respect your boundaries, but close enough that you knew the comment was meant just for you. By the time you’d whirled to face the male, he was already a few steps away, back to you as he walked on, clearly aiming for the two Illyrians.

You stared after the male, brows furrowed, unable to piece together how two simple words could leave you so shaken.

•••

It had been a spur of the moment decision.

After a night of twisted sheets, haunting memories and an inability to sleep, you found yourself on the roof again, back in the training ring.

You couldn’t help feeling like you were doing something wrong—breaking some sort of rule—as you crept up the stairs from the library, up to the area you’d become so accustomed to in your daily life. Perhaps most of it came from the fact it was still and absolutely silent—a stark contrast from the burst of activity you were used to seeing take place in it.

The ring was darkened, though bright white moonlight illuminated the space just enough for you to see what you were doing. In the moonlight, you were able to locate the now familiar items—even if they were cast in shadow.

You made sure to wrap your hands well before approaching the wooden punching block. You’d seen Nesta take advantage of it in the past, between training sessions, and you thought it might help you tonight.

You’d never fully drifted to sleep earlier, but in the moments you had, that familiar face—cold, hate filled eyes—filled your memories. You heard the vitriol in his tone even if you’d long forgotten most of the words that had come with it.

You’d never forgotten the intent.

Sometimes you swore the sound of his hand across your cheek still rang in your ears. It was an event that had happened so frequently that the sting of it became a part of your everyday life.

Your fist flew forward, knuckles making impact against the padded wood in an attempt to drown out the things that haunted you. Frustration and anger mounted in you with the knowledge that he still had a hold on you—even in death.

With every image that flashed through your mind—every slap, strike, shove and yank—you struck the wood harder. Every punch released some of the demons you’d been holding on to for far too long, the bad memories being expelled into energy that went into every hit.

The thud of your fist against the block was loud in the quiet space—a direct and perfect hit. You’d come a long way since Azriel had first explained the proper form for hand to hand combat.

Punch.

Finneas was dead.

Punch.

He could no longer hurt you.

Punch.

You wouldn’t let him win.

Punch.

You were no longer the same female he’d known.

You had no idea when tears had started streaming down your face—didn’t know if they were from your deep pain or were some sort of cleansing of your spirit. You were pulling your fist back for one final blow when you heard something from behind you.

“Your form has improved greatly.”

Your gasp was broken, thick from your tears. You’d assumed you were alone, had heard absolutely no one approach.

It was instinct that flared—one that was still buried deep—as panic filled your veins, your heart galloping in fear as you whirled around, tension lining your entire body.

And found yourself facing Eris Vanserra.

•••

ERIS

It had been an oversight on his part.

Both sneaking up on her and leaving the item behind that he’d come to fetch.

It was long after sunset, the sky thick with darkness, when he’d realized his mistake. The hour was late when he’d winnowed to Velaris needing to ask Rhysand for assistance in transporting him to the training ring.

In hindsight he could’ve left the item since it would’ve likely not been long before his next visit to the Night Court, but for some reason he felt the pull, the urgency to retrieve it tonight.

After all, one never knew when they’d need their sword.

It was the object that he was currently clutching in his hand. He’d brought it with him today to show Cassian and Azriel after many lengthy conversations about Autumn’s battle strategies—continuing the discussion about the possibility of teaching the females some of those things one day soon.

It was an older, traditional sword. Even if there were many things he despised about his home court currently, his sword was one thing he cherished.

While Illyrian blades—and even the swords in the training ring—were sleek and finely crafted, they weren’t the same to Eris, not as familiar to him as his beloved blade. He’d easily consider it one of his finest possessions. He had many, but the one he used most often was this one.

It was an intricately made sword, the craftsmanship impeccable. The hilt, pommel included, was a rich bronze, adorned with an ornate crossguard that flared outwards into autumnal leaves, one on each side. In the center sat a fiery glowing jewel. The rest of the blade was silver, so bright it gleamed even in the moonlight.

But the moonlight catching the blade wasn’t what held his attention—what did was the frightened female in front of him.

She had the look of a trapped animal, fear bright in the eyes under her priestess hood—something he could see from the distance he was from her.

Even halfway across the ring, he could see, could scent her fear. That wasn’t the only thing he could scent, the salty tang of tears was also very much present. He stood a few steps away from the weapons rack—where he’d set down the blade earlier in the day and had forgotten it—but he could sense her fright, hear the sound of her rapid pulse too.

Eris chided himself mentally. He’d had no idea when she’d arrived as he’d been on the other side of the training ring, too preoccupied with trying to remember where he’d set his sword to even hear her arrival. Or her at the wooden block.

It was the strangest thing too—he always prided himself on having sharp senses. One needed to be in a place as dangerous as the Autumn Court. Yet he hadn’t heard a thing.

She was frozen in fear, eyes wide, every inch of her body taut with tension. In the moonlight, he could see the wet tracks of tears shining down the length of her cheeks.

He wondered if she was half trapped between the past and reality—if whatever haunted her was far more present in this moment than he even realized.

The moment his sword hit the ground—gently, so gently, as if not to startle a wild animal—he raised his hands. He stood slowly, palms exposed, as if to prove he wasn’t a threat. He took note of how her eyes carefully followed every one of his movements.

“My apologies,” he spoke into the crisp, night air, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her chest was still rising and falling much too fast, something he couldn’t help but notice. He could still hear her pulse racing—scent her fear—as she stared him down.

“Are you okay?”

His voice didn’t sound normal to his own ears. It hadn’t since he’d spoken just a moment ago. It didn’t carry the normal cold indifference or the snarky arrogance it usually did. It was softer—more than he thought he even knew how to be.

His eyes fell to her wrapped hands then to the wooden block behind her.

“Why were you practicing in the middle of the night?”

She was still on edge and didn’t look like she would recover anytime soon.

Guilt slammed into him. This was his fault. He had clearly triggered something so awful in her that she couldn’t even speak—or worse was too frightened to.

He wasn’t about to leave right now. He couldn’t leave—not with her in this condition. Especially since he’d been the one to startle her. The least he could do was make sure she was calm before he left her here.

This hadn’t been part of his plan for the night. He’d meant to come retrieve his sword and return to the Autumn Court. Though, he quickly realized, he had no idea how he was getting home since Rhysand had said nothing about returning for him. So, he supposed, he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere.

“Would it be alright if I stayed? I promise not to come any closer.”

Just to make sure you’re okay, a faint part of him whispered, internally.

She eyed him warily as he lowered himself to the ground, in the same place he’d stood, slowly sitting next to the sword he’d set down earlier. Eris wasn’t sure why he did it, if truth be told. Perhaps only because it would truly be a cruel thing to do—to leave her here, frightened and alone.

All he knew was he wasn’t going anywhere until she was better.

Even if he sat here all night.

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[erin-bo-berin]

To Catch A Priestess

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 2: The Pull | Part 3: The Connection | Part 4: The Thread | Part 5: The Equals

After years spent living in the library, you embark on a journey of strength and healing when you make a decision that shifts your fate. When you cross paths with an elusive, cold-faced heir with a strange interest in you, an uneasy curiosity turns into a connection that feels far more dangerous than any of the ghosts that has haunted you.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse (no violent scenes, only brief actions mentioned), extreme depression, self loathing, trauma, angst, secret mate bond, priestess reader, some hostility

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: Inspired by this anon. I couldn’t stop thinking of the concept and inevitably had to bring it to life. Initially, I only intended for this to be one fic on the longer side but it turned into multiple parts, so stay tuned as this is only part one of five. These two have a lot to go through. 😉

Huge thanks to @harvest-bunny for brainstorming help and beta reading!

ERIS

The first time Eris laid eyes on his mate he had no inkling who she was.

Or who she was to him.

Visiting Velaris wasn’t unusual in Eris’s daily life nowadays. It had actually started to become a regular thing lately—dropping in on the training that Cassian, Azriel and now, Nesta Archeron, lead, for a female fighting force.

The concept had intrigued him from the very beginning.

While he’d never had the privilege of encountering them himself, he’d read about the Valkyries some time ago. Unlike the Illyrians who were a race of faeries in themselves, Valkyrie was just a title. The group of female warriors were made up of every type of Fae, from any and all territories. These females were usually recruited at birth or in early childhood. To become a warrior in the unit was seen as the highest honor in their land. Though they’d existed for millennia, they’d gone extinct centuries ago—after the war five centuries ago wiped out most of them.

He’d pulled out his dusty books that briefly covered the topic not long after learning of the Valkyrie unit being formed in the Night Court. Everything he’d learned about them only led him to believe more and more how fearsome of creatures they’d been—never ones to be overshadowed by males or diminished simply because they were females.

It came as no surprise considering the group of females he was currently observing.

How different it was from the outdated views of females in the Autumn Court—ones he desperately hoped to turn around when it came time for him to take the throne. There were many changes he wanted to enact, things he wanted to right that his father had gotten so horribly wrong. That was to be one of his first.

Nesta Archeron and her two companions—a red-haired High Fae and an Illyrian female—seemed to actually be leading some of the lessons. They were clearly further along in their training than the other, larger group of females. Gwyneth Berdara, the redheaded priestess and Emerie, the Illyrian female—along with the eldest Archeron—had become the first Valkyries in centuries, so he’d been informed. That had been one of the catalysts to pique Eris’s interest in this training.

Nesta had sung her friends’ praises enough times it inevitably pushed Eris to finally appear at training that first time—out of pure curiosity. Needless to say, he’d been thoroughl impressed with what he’d seen.

The larger group of females that practiced before him were donned in blue robes. The pale blue robes of the priestesses. They swished and swayed with their movements, wooden practice swords in their hands, moving in one fluid motion.

Something he’d learned on that first visit was that Nesta and her companions had been trained by Cassian for several weeks longer before the priestesses had begun to join—causing the shadowsinger to inevitably start teaching as well. They’d trickled in slowly, a few here and there to begin with, until it’d reached the size of the group he now saw before him.

Eris’s all knowing eyes noticed one particular female immediately—simply because she was the anomaly of the group. Perhaps not enough for just anyone’s eye to catch, but enough for him to. She was the only female of the group who seemed to lag behind, stumble, and lack confidence in her motions. Perhaps she wasn’t as far in her training as the others.

She also was the only one with the priestess hood still up.

All the other priestesses had removed theirs. Some still wore their invoking stones of crystal clear blue. Others had removed them and tucked them away for safe keeping in the pockets of their robes until after the session—an action Eris had observed a few doing for some time now.

That was the initial few differences Eris noticed.

The early morning sun beat down on the females, but none complained as they kept following the lesson. The bright light occasionally bounced off some of the silver circlets, hitting the blue gemstone of the few invoking stones still resting against the brows of the individuals.

She, too, still wore hers.

Eris couldn’t see her face for the longest time, but that didn’t concern him, as his assessing gaze bounced around the practicing group, impressed with what he saw.

He wasn’t simply impressed with the fact that they were females learning, or that were capable of training, no, but because for the very first time in his immortal life, he was seeing Valkyrie techniques up close and personal. It was much more powerful to see in person instead of simply reading about them on dusty pages, browned with age.

He stood off to the side, careful not to bother the females or break their concentration. He wanted to avoid distracting them. Leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed, he kept a steady gaze on them. He listened to the instructions given by both Illyrians. A few times Nesta Archeron or her companions jumped in to help with appropriate corrections.

Eris was especially impressed with the initial trio of females. He recognized strength when he saw it and he knew those three had it. He’d even bet they’d be stiff competition for some of his own soldiers—especially if they’d been trained by Cassian and Azriel.

The males knew how to work the group hard but none of them complained, even as they swayed on their feet, clearly tired, under the relentlessly warm morning sun. Still, they pressed on.

They were currently going over different sword techniques—still practicing with the wooden swords. Eris was sure when they’d mastered this, they’d be moving on to the steel blades. He briefly wondered if the eldest Archeron sister and her friends had moved on to that yet. It was likely they had, considering their confidence and ease in aiding the priestesses still learning the newfound skills.

Eris heard a clatter and his eyes cut to the source of the noise. A wooden sword had fallen out of the hands of one of the priestesses, skittering across the practice ring. It was the same female he’d noticed a few times already that morning. He had caught her eyes on him occasionally as she warily glanced his way.

“It’s okay. Try again.”

He didn’t think he could ever recall Cassian’s voice sounding so gentle. As if not to startle or unsettle. Eris supposed the male was used to being more soft spoken around these females, minimizing his intimidating presence for their benefit. Which he had to admit was rather impressive considering he was known to the rest of the world as the fearsome General of the Night Court.

The female had approached the wooden sword, ready to retrieve it herself, but Cassian had beaten her to it, picking it up from the ground.

For some reason Eris found his eyes diverted to the scenario, following the exchange closely, while the others continued on in their lesson, unbothered. She’d stopped a few steps away and watched the Illyrian approach her with the practice sword that had gone astray.

Even across the ring from where he stood, Eris could see the tension in the female’s posture, shoulders stiff—almost bracing. Cassian finally approached her, holding out the sword to her, in mid-sentence.

“Do you want me to show you how—”

Eris caught the reaction seconds before the general did. It was small, almost unnoticeable to others, but she flinched. Whether at his close proximity or what, Eris couldn’t tell.

Eris’s eyes narrowed, curious about the exchange. He knew the priestesses in the library under this residence were home to females who’d experienced some of the worst traumas, but little else. Even with such little information, he knew just the sort of males that would dare to lay a hand on a female in such a way.

His father was one of them.

Though he had no way of knowing what any of the priestesses had lived through—what this certain priestess had endured—he knew it couldn’t be anything good if she had such a visceral reaction as he’d just witnessed.

Cassian quickly stepped back, an apology on his lips that Eris heard. Eris’s eyes caught movement in his periphery and he saw the redheaded female approach Cassian, taking the practice sword from his hand with a nod, dismissing him.

Then she turned towards the priestess, handing the wooden blade to her, murmuring something too low that even his fae hearing couldn’t pick up. The female nodded, taking the practice sword from Gwyn before the latter returned to the others.

Eris kept watching as she turned to rejoin the others as well, the female fully facing him now. Her eyes cut upwards, landing squarely on him for the first time that day.

Something slammed into him—into his chest the moment he saw her face fully. Their eyes met and he could see the beauty underneath the hood, delicate but beautiful features accompanied by smooth skin and striking eyes. Wary, haunted eyes.

He’d seen eyes like that many times. Had seen them on himself when he looked in the mirror most days—a look he typically hid with cruelty, arrogance or calculated indifference.

That wasn’t what his attention was fully on though. At least not at that moment. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn actual magic zapped in the air between them.

But, it wasn’t the fae magic he was thinking of. Something far more ancient woke, simultaneously whispering and screaming within him. He didn’t think he could even describe the sensation that was occurring.

It felt like the air was stolen from his lungs, an invisible rope squeezing around his ribs as it tightened—as if it was attaching itself to him permanently before one end buried itself into his heart.

It was almost like the thought popped in his mind, though he hadn’t actively been thinking it. In fact, it wasn’t truly a thought at all. It was an absolute. A knowledge that he was so certain of he could feel it deep in his bones—in the depths of his soul and every iota of his being.

Mate.

There—across the training ring, atop this house in Velaris, in the Night Court—was his mate. And she was one of the priestesses from the library.

Eris felt like he couldn’t breathe.

It was a testament to his skill that he managed to keep his outwardly expression calm and neutral —at least, he hoped he had. Because inside? Inside he was a mess, his senses going haywire, thoughts racing as he tried to recalculate everything he thought he knew.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds that he held her gaze before she dropped her eyes, wariness and hesitancy flooding her demeanor as she scurried back to the priestesses. His eyes tracked her every movement as he struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

The Mother only knew what he actually looked like on the outside, but he swore he felt faint. He was thankful for the solid wall behind him he leaned against or he would’ve likely collapsed to his knees right in front of her. Not only would that have been mortifying, but that would’ve surely frightened her even more.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart, his racing thoughts. He’d dealt with battles, court politics, his own father, with more collectiveness than what he currently felt.

It was the oddest sensation, like an integral part of him he’d never known existed had finally shifted and settled into place. All he could think of was her as he watched her resume practicing, the noise and movements of everyone else fading to the background.

He had no idea if it was because he was so keenly attuned to her or if he could chalk it up to his immaculate observation skills, but he saw the slight tremor in her hands—noticed how the wooden sword just barely trembled in her grasp. It was likely no one else noticed, but it didn’t escape him.

She was as frightened as a rabbit. Of him.

Irrational protectiveness filled him—the overwhelming desire to find out who’d diminished her into the female she currently was and make the male pay. He’d been disgusted and troubled to know of the dozens of priestesses who’d encountered such terrible males, but this was something incredibly different. It was primal, an instinct that had come to life the moment the mating bond slammed into him mere moments ago.

His mind was a fog—filled with commands, demands, awareness of her.

The desire to be near her was so overwhelming, her scent beckoning to him. The need to claim her, mark, even just simply touch her. It was disorienting. His eyes slid closed as his chest expanded, taking another grounding breath. He needed to stay calm. He needed to bury this deep down. She wasn’t going to be ready anytime soon to face him, let alone a mating bond.

And he’d just discovered his mate in a female that did not trust easily. Especially males. Too many thoughts ricocheted through his mind at once, despite his effort to try and stay calm.

He’d heard the legends about mates—two souls that were bonded together. The way two individuals who were made for one another were so intricately connected that even fae minds couldn’t fully comprehend it. He’d heard the tales of the grand love stories and how special and rare mating bonds were—which Eris had found peculiar since he seemed to be surrounded by nothing but mated pairs here lately.

Perhaps what was actually rare about a mating bond was in the way it was discovered—usually in a person one would least expect. It might have even been rare because most males seemed to live centuries before even coming across his mate.

Both seemed to be increasingly proven true in this situation.

His youngest brother, Lucien, was a testament to those theories. Eris had to resist the bitter laugh that rose in his chest. He’d seen what a mess that had been. Even if it had worked out in the end for his brother and his mate, Eris—as an outside observer—often still wondered if the trouble was even worth it.

As his eyes opened again, they instantly found her, at the sidelines, in the spot she was in earlier. He only had a side view of her now, the hood covering most of the face he’d barely gotten a glimpse of.

As he watched her, something made his shoulders stiffen, his defenses high. Azriel had unintentionally stepped too close when speaking to her and there—there was that flinch again. Barely perceptible, but present. Enough that he knew the shadowsinger noticed too, giving her more space.

Eris’s eyes narrowed as he took it in.

Someone had taught her that. That wasn’t a normal reaction one had—that was one learned. It was a response one had driven into them when they anticipated—braced—for something coming.

He was at a loss for what to do now. Even more so amidst the maelstrom of his conflicting emotions.

Bewilderingly enough, the instinct to make sure she’d never fear another male again rose within him, against his will. Along with the desire to never give her a reason to cower from him. He shouldn’t care—shouldn’t concern himself with such matters—yet that silent voice arose from deep within his soul anyways.

Gentle. He’d need to be so gentle with this female. Keep his distance from her—fight all the instincts that were already blaring within him.

It was what she needed—what she deserved.

But even with those natural, instinctive thoughts flooding his mind faster than he could catalogue, something deeper started to stir and take root. It was more stubborn—darker.

Anger. Resentment.

They coiled tighter in his chest, warring with the awareness of what he needed to be. This wasn’t what he wanted.

This was what he was stuck with.

•••

The first time you’d stepped into the training ring, your heart nearly galloped out of your chest.

It was the first time you’d left the library in nearly half a decade—unlike many of your fellow priestesses who had been for weeks now.

The panic had threatened to overpower your senses, your fear likely tingeing your scent as you’d taken in the first breath of fresh outdoor air. It was so much brighter than you remembered, the sun warm on your skin. The sensation had been so overwhelming that you’d actually had to pause at the top of the stairwell, just to gather your bearings, simultaneously soak in the feeling.

You’d been the last of the females from the library to actually join training. Fear had held you back for so long that you knew it would either slowly choke the life out of you or would be a catalyst for you to finally heal.

All of your fellow priestesses had shown such bravery in their own journeys. You'd watched them one by one decide to no longer be a victim to their fear—to take back the lives they were owed and had been snuffed out so undeservingly. You knew they were all plagued by their difficult pasts, yet they were no longer letting their grief fully master them.

Gwyneth Berdara had been the first to join training, inspiring many others to eventually follow in her footsteps.

You’d watched that fateful day, hidden behind a bookshelf, as she’d written her name on the sign up sheet for training. From the shadows, you’d witnessed as she’d displayed bravery you had only wished you could possess. You’d never realized what one small action from a determined female could’ve led to—not just for herself, but for the entire library.

While not being privy to the knowledge of what the other priestesses had endured, you knew each and every one of them had encountered such horrors that they wrestled with daily. Yours were no different. You, too, had been plagued with your own demons for a very long time.

Yours bore the name of Finneas.

With pale blond hair and green eyes—ancestry from the Spring Court, you’d always assumed—he had been quite a devastating male. His was a beauty that came with something sharp and dangerous underneath, invisible to the naked eye.

He was a lesser lord’s son, estranged from the family that had once resided in the Spring Court. He’d briefly mentioned once he didn’t belong in the stuffy environment of nobility—had claimed he’d chafed against the rigid life he was expected to live.

You’d never encountered his parents nor did you ever find out what he’d once claimed was the truth or simply more pretty lies that he’d fed you. At the time it hadn’t seemed important. You’d fallen in love with him anyway, rather quickly too, when his travels had resulted in him crossing paths with you.

You hadn’t always been a priestess—or more accurately an acolyte and priestess. That had only come after the life shattering event that’d thrown your life off its normal course.

Once, you had been a shop owner in Velaris.

It’d been a small bookstore that you’d just recently opened, one you’d been so proud to call yours. A childhood love for books had fostered the dream of owning your own bookstore one day—so when it had become a reality, you’d thought you were the luckiest female alive.

How quickly life swept all that happiness from you.

You had no knowledge if the store even existed anymore—if it even remained a bookstore. You were sure Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, had made sure it had gone into loving hands though. After all, that had been five years ago.

Finneas had seemed like everything a female could want. Handsome, attentive, even appeared loving. He’d always appeared like a polite and proper male. He had come with a kind of natural charm that had ensnared you from the beginning. He’d seemed like a dream come true.

Until he wasn’t.

That pretty face had masked cruelty you’d have never suspected if you hadn’t experienced it for yourself. The shift had happened so abruptly you hadn’t even realized it while you were actively living it.

At first, he’d made you feel special, as if you were the sun that he orbited. He had showered you with compliments, praises, even little gifts. You’d felt spoiled, appreciated, even loved. He’d show up unexpectedly just to visit you, bring you a favorite sweet treat of yours or something else just as thoughtful. Life had seemed wonderful and you’d awoken daily, looking forward to whatever the day brought.

Then his behavior had turned strange. Clearly not enough to alert you to something that was incredibly wrong, but enough that it had concerned you. Sometimes he’d turn patronizing, condescending, making you question your judgement on matters. Unusual jealousy had followed not long after that.

Unusual in the way that Finneas had extreme reactions to the most mundane and nonsensical situations. If a male customer was polite to you, Finneas would get angry at you, accuse you of being too flirtatious. When you had other engagements to attend to, other friends you had plans with, he’d make you feel guilty for it.

The odd behavior hadn’t stopped there. Not only did it morph into more controlling behavior—making you doubt yourself and question if perhaps you were in the wrong—it also came with harsh criticism.

You’d become more on edge after that.

What had started as an overabundance of love, support and attention slowly twisted into something darker. By the time fear had completely replaced safety, you’d barely recognized that you’d found yourself in such dangerous circumstances.

Without you even comprehending it occurring, Finneas had managed to isolate you from the rest of your friends until he was your entire world, until you depended on no one but him. He’d alternate between cruelty and affection so seamlessly it left you in a permanent state of anxiety and confusion, fearful of what could come next.

The first time he put his hands on you, they gripped your wrists enough to bruise as he slammed you against a wall so hard it rattled your teeth. What followed was more horrible stuff you didn’t care to think too much about in hindsight. But that night had changed the course of your life permanently.

When Finneas wasn’t using his words to hurt you, he’d use his hands. Bruises had become a normality. Hesitancy, your new language. Fear clouded your senses like a thick fog at all times. You never knew what would result in his hand coming flying at you, his anger flaring just enough to take it out on your body.

But you’d stayed. You’d—much too easily—fallen into a cycle of thinking that it was just a bad day, something he’d never do again. Every time he had promised he’d never do it again, you’d believed him. Had thought he actually loved you. Then he’d do it again. And again.

At the heart of the matter, you’d actually believed you didn’t deserve any better.

It all reached a breaking point one day when he’d gone too far. Anger had flared and fists had flown as he hurt you worse than he ever had before. He’d dumped you in the dark alley behind Rita’s. Left you to die.

That was where Rhysand had found you.

He’d instantly healed you as best as he could, bringing you back to the priestesses’ library where you’d started to heal. Where you’d befriended Clotho—at one time your only friend in the library.

Calling your fellow priestesses friends almost wasn’t a good enough term. They’d become family—your sisters. Even if no one but Clotho and Rhysand knew of each and every one of their stories—it was a feeling of camaraderie. One that came with the knowledge that you’d all survived your worst nightmares.

Perhaps, Finneas almost killing you had saved your life. Even if you hadn’t had much of a life beyond the priestesses and the library.

For months after you’d first arrived at the library, you’d hardly spoken. You had saved your tears for your dormitory—never to let anyone else see. You’d already been weak, never wanted to be weak again—despite the fact that weak was all you had been.

You had utilized the resources available for all the priestesses, went to sessions with the priestess who offered counseling. For months you sat in almost catatonic silence, not talking, not even crying. You still had no idea how the female managed to have such patience with you.

Other than that, most of your days had been spent behind Clotho’s desk. She’d taken you under her wing, made you her own personal assistant of sorts. Apparently she’d seen something in you that she hadn’t in any of the others—and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

While all your fellow priestesses—even Clotho—had faced such tragedies, you often thought Clotho recognized something in you that you’d refused to face for a long time.

You had been broken so badly—not only just physically, but spiritually. Finneas may have broken bones—and left unseen wounds as great as the physical ones—he’d also broken your spirit. Perhaps Clotho worried you’d do something drastic, you’d never known for sure—not that you could blame the High Priestess. You wouldn’t have trusted you either if you’d been in her place.

Sometimes, such dark thoughts had crept in. Ones along the lines of thinking maybe Finneas should have killed you. Maybe you were meant to be dead and that was why you were cursed with the life you now lived. It wasn't like you’d wanted to die, but you’d had no desire to live either—had given up on that too. You hadn’t wanted to make the effort.

You hadn’t been able to bear the thought of having to do menial things day after day for the rest of your immortal life. Even getting out of bed for your daily work in the library seemed too much on some days.

So, instead, you’d let yourself waste away.

Finneas had left you with scars that ran so deep, ghosts you had no control over—long after he was a ghost to the world himself. Even if Finneas was dead, he’d still haunted you as if he was still a living threat.

Rhysand had told you the truth, a few weeks after he’d initially brought you to the library. In those first weeks the High Lord had visited often, just to check on your wellbeing. Even though you’d been thoroughly healed, even Rhysand had known Madja couldn’t heal the invisible wounds that’d been left in you.

After finding you in that alley—after healing you and bringing you to Clotho in the library—he’d tracked down Finneas. You’d never known where the High Lord found him or even how he’d managed to. You’d never asked, hadn’t even said a word when he’d told you.

But Rhysand had made it his personal mission to track down the male who’d left you for dead.

Knowing the powerful High Lord, it was more likely than not that he’d paid Finneas back accordingly. A bruise for a bruise, a broken bone for a broken bone. You’d never decided if you’d ever ask Rhysand to tell you just what extent he’d gone to that day.

What he had told you was he’d looked into the male’s mind—saw the entire incident and discovered the truth—then proceeded to shatter his mind. You’d been so lost in grief that even the news of that hadn’t brought any relief. He’d then proceeded to tell you that you’d never have to worry about Finneas ever again. How wrong the High Lord had been.

You had memories of those difficult initial months there in the library—when you did nothing but stay behind Clotho’s desk for the majority of a day, writing notes back and forth with her. She’d been your only true friend. You hadn’t bothered to spend more time than necessary with the others.

You’d even skipped services for the first few months—though you’d eventually relented after Clotho had gently encouraged you time and time again. She’d never given up on you. It had turned out it had been something you’d desperately needed.

You ended up finding peace there in a way you hadn’t since the incident.

The music had been breathtaking and beautiful, echoing through the cave the services were always held in. The instruments and voices blended in perfect harmony, providing such a heavenly sound—led by some of the most beautiful voices of the priestesses.

Gwyneth Berdara was one of them, her voice so melodic and soothing, soaring above the others, though never in a way that overshadowed anyone else. The mezzo soprano was rich and clear like a light cutting through darkness—through your darkness. It was almost ethereal, adding another level of lovely beauty to the music portion of the services.

That first service you’d sat and sobbed, all the deep rot you’d buried so far down inside of you—in hopes it would simply disappear—finally rose to the surface. All the grief you’d carried and tried to will away, had finally escaped. While you’d been humiliated during—and after—the outburst, you’d been met with nothing but comforting and soft murmured words as some of the priestesses had come by with a gentle touch on the arm or shoulder. Some had sat with you, whispering prayers of encouragement to the Mother—ones for healing too.

No one had held you tighter than Gwyn did.

You’d learned she’d been in the library a mere year longer than you, so you were sure she’d already experienced the gut wrenching emotions you had been in that moment.

All the priestesses understood in their quiet way, after all. They’d all been there at some point, faced the same kinds of grief.

While you weren’t one to sing or play an instrument, you’d soon come to realize that you rather enjoyed participating in the services. It had been a distraction to get you out of your head for long enough—helped you forget the dark thoughts that tended to permanently plague you.

Though you’d started to come alive again—finding friendships in your fellow priestesses—you still weren’t living to the fullest you could be, you were still living only half a life.

But then news had spread that Nesta Archeron—the High Lady’s sister, who had once been human, turned Fae—had the idea to form a group of female fighters. The eldest Archeron sister desired to help females who’d been through hardships such as she had, while also hoping potential training would benefit the priestesses of the library.

Then Gwyn had signed up. Even going as far as encouraging others to join—she’d even invited you, but you’d been much too fearful.

Little by little though, you saw more of the females join training. You watched as they inevitably made the decision to stop letting fear rule their lives—saw them become brave enough to try to learn and grow, if only for themselves. At some point, they’d collectively decided to no longer be weak and defenseless.

It took you so much longer than your sisters, but one day you’d decided that if they could be strong, you could too. Even if it was terrifying.

That first day, you’d ascended the steps quietly—long after training had begun. You could hear voices—some sharper and determined, others in lower, gentler murmurs.

Your robes swished softly against the ground and your hood had remained pulled up over your head—enough to cover the invoking stone that rested against your forehead. When you’d finally cleared the archway, into the sunshine, it’d been overwhelming.

Not only because it had been the first time in so long that you’d felt sunshine on your face, but because of the way the entire group had stopped—almost as one—and turned toward you. A sea of curious gazes had pinned you in place, and you’d resisted the urge to cower and shrink.

There was Cassian—the High Lord’s general.

Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster to the Night Court.

Then there was Nesta Archeron—the general’s mate and the female who had once possessed such a desire to form a female fighting force. The very one who’d had a simple vision that led to the large group of females that now gathered every morning for training.

Of course there had been your fellow priestesses, all training in a group as one with Azriel. You’d seen Ananke, Deirdre, Ilana, Roslin and Lorelei. Even Riven had finally had the courage to join.

There was also an Illyrian female who’d peered at you curiously—but not unkindly. But it was Gwyn who spoke to you first, her voice so kind and tender it had made you want to cry.

“I always hoped you’d join us one day.”

And that had been that.

Several weeks had passed as you’d tried to catch up to everything the others had already learned.

You were so far behind that you’d needed one on one instruction—something you weren’t sure you were ready for. It hadn’t been because Cassian and Azriel weren’t honorable males though. They had remained more than respectful to not only you, but to all of the females. After all, they’d been working with the other priestesses for months now and they were more than comfortable with their presence by now.

It had helped that Cassian was a mated male—Nesta Archeron being the perfect match for him. There had even been whispers that Gwyn and Azriel were mates too, though you hadn’t been sure if you’d heard right. Not that it was any of your business.

Even still, with the possibility of two mated males, one would think that would’ve further put you at ease. But with the combination of leaving the library, facing something new and scary and the towering, intense Illyrians—none of it was an easy venture.

Until you caught up, the arrangement of training changed a bit. Gwyn had had the idea that both her and Azriel would work with you separately. Meanwhile, Cassian would continue to lead the lessons as normal for the priestesses, Nesta and Emerie—the Illyrian female, you’d quickly learned.

You’d been mortified to be the cause of the change in the structure of the training sessions—one they’d likely adapted to. But Gwyn had reassured you that there was no need to fret—everyone was just glad you’d been brave enough to join.

That first day had left you soaked in sweat, your robes damp. Your muscles had ached for days afterward as a result. Walking had become an obstacle that you’d never experienced in a way such as this. You had briefly wondered if you’d ever feel anything but a sore body.

You’d even briefly fallen into the habit of waiting until very last to bathe—letting your fellow priestesses take their turns before you. There were a handful of shared bathing chambers located in the spelled dorms though sharing had never been an issue. You’d benefitted from the short term routine though, always looking forward to the extra time to soak your aching muscles in the warm bath.

At least it had been a kind of pain you’d chose and not one inflicted on you in anger or from control.

That first week, you’d apparently failed to drink enough water and had passed out during your exercises. You’d awoken to a concerned Gwyn hovering over you, a stern-faced Azriel—keeping his distance at her back—also looking down at you. They’d made sure to remind you to take an appropriate amount of water breaks after that.

What had followed was weeks of frustration and determination mixed in one.

Azriel was quiet and aloof, all business while he’d instructed you, catching you up as quickly as possible. The first forays into training had seemed silly at first. A great amount of balancing and stretching had taken place.

You’d had to learn how to balance your weight properly, to ensure proper weight distribution when you moved on to actual fighting stances. A lot of exercises had followed. You were instructed on how to balance yourself on your feet, learned to stretch muscles that had never been used in such a way, taught to focus on your breathing—things that were needed to get one through the strenuous movements.

You had been clumsy and not at all refined. One day in frustration, you’d looked over at the other group—the priestesses just having begun with wooden practice swords and felt the envy and shame wash over you. You’d felt the doubt in your own abilities wash over you, even going as far to wonder if you’d made a mistake in joining training.

“Hey. You’re going to get there. Don’t let them discourage you, let them encourage you—to work harder toward that.”

It had been Gwyn’s words that had pulled your frustrated gaze back to the pair before you. Understanding had shone on their faces, but they’d refused to let you give up—something you soon became grateful for.

You soon graduated to more difficult exercises—squats with a heavy wooden stick that you held high above your head, abdominal curls, push ups, and your personal nemesis, holding a plank.

Each day tested your willpower—your inner strength. But you pushed forward, let the other females become your inspiration, your motivation. Through it all, you pushed through your grief, emerging each day like a dimmed spark that had suddenly fanned into a strong flame. You’d triumphed over your new accomplishments, proud simply for showing up every day for yourself. Before you’d known it, you’d moved on to defense training—hand to hand combat.

The entirety of your tutelage, Gwyn had been there as a necessary buffer to further put you at ease. While they both tended to instruct you, Azriel led most of the lessons. The first time he’d needed to correct you, he’d taken the precaution and even asked you permission before touching you, yet you’d still flinched at the thought of his touch.

Humiliation had reddened your cheeks, ashamed of your reaction. His face had only softened further, as if understanding. He hadn’t commented on it nor had he judged you and Gwyn had instantly stepped in, asking it was okay for her to show you.

After you’d nodded, giving her your permission, your lessons quickly proceeded in that manner. Anytime your stance needed correction or your arms or body required repositioning, Gwyn had been the one to help.

The pair seemed to work as a perfect unit, moving together so seamlessly as if connected. They were able to effortlessly anticipate the other’s movements—sometimes even their line of thought. It was rather impressive and you quickly understood the whispers you’d heard.

Surprisingly, after only a few weeks of hard work and determination, you found yourself completely caught up to the others—making not only yourself proud, but Azriel and Gwyn, too. Somehow in those initial weeks, you’d discovered a new version of yourself—one you’d never even known existed. Stronger. Something born of flame.

Even still, you had much to work on internally. Despite growing in physical strength and willpower, there were still things you struggled with.

A month and a half had passed and though you’d grown used to Cassian and Azriel’s presence—as had all the priestesses long ago—you still flinched anytime they got too close to you.

Rationally, you knew they’d never harm you or let any harm come to you, but that deep instinct—the lingering fear and hyperviligence—still remained. Even though you’d finally joined the others for the main lessons, you still felt like your own struggles hindered any progress.

It was a month and half from the day you first set foot in this training ring that everything changed.

You’d known something was different from the moment you arrived earlier that morning. Your senses went on high alert, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up—almost like a sort of primal instinct warning you of danger, even if there truly was no danger.

Then your eyes took in the anomaly.

He came with flaming red hair, long, falling perfectly past his shoulders. When the sunlight hit it just right it resembled a sheet of blazing fire. He was standing with Azriel and Cassian, arms crossed as he talked to them, paying no attention to the stream of individuals arriving.

Your eyes darted around, gauging the reactions of the others, but everyone else seemed to be unaffected by the unusual presence. The rest of the females were going about their normal business—gathering their practice swords and meeting in the middle of the circle, awaiting the training session to start. Apparently this wasn’t the stranger’s first time here if none of the other priestesses even batted an eye.

You tugged anxiously at the braid that lay under your hood—one you’d yet to lower in all your time training—feeling your heart begin to race. You grabbed your own sword, joining the others and refusing to look the males’ way again.

When you’d dared to peer at them again, the mysterious stranger had disappeared, leaving only Cassian and Azriel. You fought the urge to scan the space frantically, to assess your surroundings. As if sensing your rising panic, the Illyrians turned as one towards you.

Whatever showed on your face instantly had Cassian and Azriel in motion. You barely heard Cassian’s curse over the chatter of the others, but soon both were standing in front of you—with enough room so as to not crowd or frighten you.

“I should’ve warned you that we would have a male observing today,” Cassian said, wincing, genuine regret and anguish on his face at his oversight.

Your eyes drifted once again to the male, now leaning against the wall at the edge of the practice ring, curious even amidst your wariness. Cassian was still speaking, his tone familiar and steady—enough to tame a bit of that irrational panic that had begun to claw at your chest earlier.

“I apologize for not thinking to warn you. Me and Az would understand if you aren’t comfortable joining training today.”

Your eyes still took in the male. He looked regal, dressed in the finest clothing—definitely not an appropriate dress for training. His face was cold, not an ember of any emotion displayed on that pale face of his.

Perhaps it wasn’t cold, but mere stoicism that lined his features. He clearly was an individual that took his duties seriously. You couldn’t read him well, which led you to believe that was the male’s intention. You pulled your attention from him—you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on him any longer if you were going to make it through today’s session. You wouldn’t let irrational fear scare you away from making any further progress.

He was just a male. More than halfway across the training ring with plenty of distance between you and him. He wasn’t doing anything nefarious, wasn’t even paying attention to you. His focus, instead, was on Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie.

He wasn’t a threat.

Something in Cassian’s voice as he gave you the excuse to opt out of today’s lessons made your shoulders straighten. Even if you were uneasy, you’d joined training to no longer be afraid, to not let anyone hold that sort of fear over you—to take back control for yourself. You wouldn’t let this deter you, wouldn’t let this minor obstacle scare you off.

You looked Cassian square in the eyes as you answered, fingers gripping the hilt of the wooden sword tighter in determination.

“No. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

It was Azriel’s soft, serious tone that had you nodding emphatically.

“Eris is only here a few times a month. Since he’s the General of the Autumn Court’s forces, he’s taken an interest in Nesta’s idea of a female fighting unit. He’s been intrigued by the concept—and the Valkyries—for some time, so we’ve allowed him to sit it on training occasionally,” Azriel explained.

But your mind was paused at the name. Eris. You weren’t sure why. You still nodded as if you’d digested what the shadowsinger had said, even if you’d only caught half of it.

“I’m okay. We can continue training as usual,” you reassured.

When they’d assessed that you were truly fine, the lesson began as normal.

As it progressed though—through many of your fumbles—you noticed something. After the first hour of training had ticked away, you began sensing eyes on you. That telltale prickly feeling on the back of your neck returned, as if you knew someone was watching.

The majority of the time you glanced the male’s way during that first hour, he hadn’t even been looking at you. Still, some unease lingered, deep in the pit of your stomach, pulling your gaze his way, as if you needed to prepare for danger. Only once did you catch him looking at you—gaze piercing—as if he could see right through you.

You felt thrown off balance the moment you noticed the searing look.

Finneas had given you the same sense of unease—and not in a good way. He’d had a similarly intense stare when he’d looked at you, always like he was sizing up his prey. Somehow, you felt like this male was the exact same way and that made you apprehensive.

But, he wasn’t Finneas.

It was your storm of thoughts that caused you to not fully focus on what you were supposed to be doing. Your sword went clattering and skittered across the ground. You fought a wince as a result of the few priestesses nearby giving you curious looks.

Cassian’s voice was soft and encouraging.

“It’s okay. Try again.”

You huffed a quiet breath, irritated at yourself and your lack of focus as you headed to retrieve the sword. But Cassian—clearly assuming he was helping—reached it first. Without thinking, he’d stepped forward, extending it to you. Your body tensed without your permission, shoulders tight.

“Do you want me to show you how—”

But Cassian didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, your subtle flinch at his approach halting him in his tracks and cutting off his words alike. You felt like a wild animal frozen beneath an arrow, your body completely locked up. It was irrational of you to respond in such a way, but your body had reacted instantly, without your permission.

You didn’t even see Gwyn approach, nor did you hear what she murmured to Cassian. You barely heard his apology as he backed away, leaving you alone with the redheaded female.

“It’s okay. Baby steps, remember? I’m so proud of you.”

She handed you the wooden sword she’d gently taken from Cassian. Her hand was gentle on your arm before she left you with a parting sentiment.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself—you’re still showing up for yourself every day. Don’t forget that.”

You took a moment to take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you intended to return to the lesson. But as you turned, something unexpected stopped you.

For the first time the entire morning, you locked eyes with the redheaded stranger. Even across the ring it felt like the air pulled taut and your breath vanished from your lungs.

That penetrating stare left you shaky, off balance, feeling completely naked beneath it. His arms still remained crossed as his eyes stayed on yours. You swore you saw him stiffen just slightly, but you couldn’t be entirely sure. Not with the way your pulse had just started to pick up.

You were frozen in place, caught in his gaze, as if it held you there with some sort of binding magic. You couldn’t make your feet move, no matter how much you intended to. Your breath became shallow as your heart pounded. As much as you wanted to look away, for a few beats you found you couldn’t break your eyes from his.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before you tore your eyes away—though it felt like an eternity. Your eyes dropped from his to the ground, shaken and apprehensive before you quickly scurryied back to the group lesson.

You were left confused and conflicted, unable to piece together what had just happened—why the stranger seemed to stare at you like he’d known you. Especially when you’d never met him before.

You hoped no one else noticed the tremor in your hands, the way you couldn’t ease the feeling of being shaken to the core. Neither could you shake the unease that seemed to cloud your senses. You weren’t sure if it was due to him or the strange moment that had just occurred.

As you fell into the proper position—feet planted just far enough apart—you took a breath as you raised your practice sword once again. Even if it trembled slightly in your hands from your nerves, you gripped it harder in your grasp, knuckles white. You lifted your chin in determination—resolving to master this move you’d been struggling with, today.

You had no way of knowing that fate had just made its presence known—and it was about to change the course of your entire life.

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[ddejavvu]

Falling Leaves - Eris Vanserra x Reader (Chapter 2) | Chapter 1

Summary: You’re no Lady Death, nor are you a seer, nor are you the High Lady of the Night Court. While the Cauldron had blessed your sisters with powers beyond your comprehension, it had left you a fat load of nothing. Your ears are pointed now, and your periods are killer, but that’s about it. Frustrated at your lack of talents and struggling to fit in amongst the Night Court’s specialized Inner Circle, you start to wonder if Velaris will ever feel like home. After an unfortunate incident during which Rhysand lets slip that he thinks you’re just as useless as you believe yourself to be, he tries making amends by inviting you on official Night Court business. It means a trip to the Autumn Court, but you’re refused from the meeting room by the cruel Lord Beron. He tasks his eldest son Eris with babysitting you, and an unfortunately timed mating bond snap leaves you drifting between worlds like a falling leaf caught in an autumn breeze.

Contents/Warnings: autumn court typical angst, mating bonds, insecurities, self-deprecation, beron vanserra (tw), misogyny

WC: 4.5K / navigation / inbox

A/N: I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS RAAAAAAH i'm that skeleton banging on the shield screaming I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS <33333

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Waking up feels like a hangover. You’re glad you’ve risen before Azriel’s 8AM wakeup call, though you’re not sure he’ll really follow through with it. You have time to smush your face into your pillow, your eyes tight and achy from the exhaustion sleep can’t fix, and try to keep your breathing calm and steady where it had raged last night.

You’re not sure if there’s a word for the grief you’re feeling. It’s a loss, even if you hadn’t had powers to begin with, because they’d integrated you into their family like you had. They’d turned promising smiles and expectant eyes on you, waiting for you to shoot fire from your fingertips or command light to heal the sick. One by one your sisters had revealed themselves as something special, and each time another one became great you’d felt a chisel chipping away at the structure of your soul. 

You’re happy for them, but so, so envious. The kind of envy that you’re ashamed of, the kind that makes you stay buried beneath your covers instead of dining with Feyre, or asking Elain if she’d like your help in the gardens. You’d rather be alone than in the company of people simply better than you, and you hate yourself for it.

At 7:55 a series of knocks lands against your door, and you grumble as you turn over in your tangled sheets. They’re such a mess that they constrict your body movement, and you call to Azriel to come in instead of trying to get the door yourself.

“You’re still dozing by eight.” He stands dressed in a suit, something like Rhysand would wear but with an undershirt beneath it instead of showing off the tanned planes of his abdomen. His siphons are still there, though, mounted on his chest as a warning. Despite the jewels, the ensemble is still classier than fighting leathers, and you wonder if it has something to do with Autumn’s infamously cruel High Lord.

“It’s not eight.” You argue, but your limbs are suddenly itchy with the need to get up, to do something, to make yourself presentable so that you at least look like you have something to offer the world.

“In the camps anyone who gets to training within fifteen minutes of it starting has to double their workouts.” Azriel’s shadows swarm towards your bed to rouse you from the covers with pinpricks of cold that you can’t bury yourself away from, “Get showered, and we’ll have breakfast before we go.”

After being thoroughly scolded you dash to the bathroom, making sure that none of Azriel’s shadows poke beneath the doorframe in their infinite attempts to ruffle your feathers. When you’re in the clear you hop into the steaming water, glad that Azriel had attributed your puffy face to sleep and not to the way you’d cried into the wee hours of the morning. You take the quickest shower of your life, smearing floral body wash into every inch of your skin in hopes that the scent will carry on the Autumn breeze and make you smell pretty, make you seem graceful, give everyone something to think about you besides what you lack.

Azriel’s shut your door behind him, but once you wrestle on a dress with a zipper you almost can’t fasten and slip into your flats to head towards the table you find him still waiting outside, his eyes shut as his head leans against the wall.

You stop in your doorway, bewildered eyes blinking at him, “Have you been standing there this whole time?”

“You took a quick shower,” He shrugs, eyes weary as they open and fall over the dress draped down your body, “And Cassian would have gotten syrup on my suit if I’d gone down there with him.”

“It looks nice,” You clutch the small bag you’d groggily packed last night after crying yourself silly, a book inside, water and some snacks that the House had decided you’d need in case you’re not permitted any refreshments at the Autumn Court. Beron’s disposition is infamous, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d attempt to starve you to death for the duration of the meeting he’s meant to engage in with Rhysand.

You’re not even sure what the meeting is about, really. Just that it’s important, court stuff, and you’ll be reading in another room.

Oh well.

Azriel’s scarred hand comes up to brace against your back, guiding you down the staircase towards the dining room. “So do you,” He eyes your dress sideways, a deep red with leaves stitched in gold thread around the skirt, “You’ll certainly blend in with Autumn.”

Breakfast is a calm affair now that Cassian’s had his fill, and Azriel scoops a handful of berries onto your plate that you hadn’t even realized you’d wanted until they were already there, a shadow licking against the rim of your plate.

“Thank you,” You hum quietly, trying to tamp down your nerves at the thought of visiting Autumn. You’re excited to see the sights, perhaps take a wander through the woods or tour a nearby village. But your anxieties lie with the Vanserra family- Lucien has proven himself kind but the rest of his family seems complicated at best. Hopefully your unimportance will work to your advantage this time, and you won’t even come face to face with Beron or the pack of wild dogs that make up the heirs to the throne.

Once your stomach is sated and your shoes are on, Azriel leads you to the foyer where the rest of the Autumn Court visitors stand ready. You straighten your shoulders, like you’re important- like you’re not scared, like you’re not pathetic, like you’re not dying inside a little bit each day that you don’t wake up as someone special.

“Everybody ready?” Rhysand asks, “We’ll be winnowing directly into the manor. I don’t know who will be asked to meet- who will be allowed to meet,” He casts quick glances at everyone in the room, “You know he likes to pick and choose who to bully.”

“Well he’s got all his favorites today,” Cassian drawls, glancing at Morrigan, Azriel, Feyre, “Maybe he’ll be so overwhelmed with bloodlust he’ll just drop dead.”

“Don’t make those jokes when we get there,” Rhys warns, though his face forms a dry grin, “Eris might sic his hounds on you.”

You’ve heard stories of the Autumn Court hounds. They sound terrifying- they’re born and bred hunters that would have ripped Morrigan into literal shreds if they’d caught her. Even Cassian grimaces, envisioning them outnumbering him, and shuts his mouth.

Once everyone gives Rhysand a reluctant nod, he sighs and takes Feyre’s arm. Morrigan claims Cassian, and you’re left to shadowwalk with Azriel, only slightly more comfortable than the tilting, squeezing feeling of winnowing.

You land in the Autumn Court, three pairs popping into existence one after the next, and you lean heavily into Azriel as you gain your bearings. The shadows that had guided you from place to place dissipate, but some of them linger around you and their singer, wisps of darkness that assess the room for threats before curling protectively around your shoulders and Azriel’s arms. He wears them like tattoos, like part of his skin. But you wear them like a shawl, drapery meant to protect and conceal.

As soon as you settle in your places, before anyone can murmur anything about the large mahogany manor you’re standing in- beautiful despite its imposing size, thundering footsteps, dozens of them, begin from your left side somewhere unseen. Sudden wisps of smoke- similar to Azriel’s shadows but far more corporeal phase through the wall, landing heavy on the carpeted floor as soon as they’re in the room you and your family had winnowed into. They’re dogs- hounds, smokehounds made of muscle and darkness that kick your heart rate into overdrive as they bound towards you with their massive paws.

They’re waist-height to Cassian. They’re enormous, and you duck behind Azriel in terror before you realize it means they’ll get him first. You wonder if that makes you a backstabber- a weak, useless coward - but his hands are already grabbing for you, arms behind his back as he stations himself before you as a shield. Rhysand throws his hands out, ready to use his power to do whatever he needs to in order to maintain your safety, but your heart still pounds in your chest.

The hounds stop five paces away from you, assessing, at attention in formation like an army. Clearly impeccably trained, their eyes blaze with energy, raw power coiling off of them in wisps of smoke that seem to rise and dissipate endlessly off of them. You don’t have time to consider the mechanics of their bodies- physical, spiritual, solid, gas, before shoes scrape against the ground behind you, and you spin behind Azriel’s back to find Eris Vanserra straightening himself where he’d been leaning against a pillar of the foyer in wait for you, hand outstretched in a silent command to his hounds: wait.

His face is sharp, cheekbones and jawline slanted and angled like weapons. His skin stretches taut over them, smooth but taut like he eats for necessity and not enjoyment. His pointed ears jut upwards into a head of impeccably-styled flaming red hair, gel slicking the strands sideways and back around the part against the left side of his scalp. It’s closely shaved to the nape of his neck, gradually lengthening until the strands at the front of his hairline that look long enough to dip into his vision if it weren’t so thickly coated with product. It looks rock-solid, like it might break off if it’s moved from its careful placement.

He’s dressed sharply, and you admire the Autumn Court fashion- a white tunic, sleeves elegantly cuffed that contrasts deeply with the emerald green vest he’s buttoned over it. There’s gold stitching at the breast pocket, and his slacks are tight against his thighs as he slips his hands behind his back primly. You notice another presence- another redheaded presence behind Eris, and your tension eases only slightly as you recognize Lucien’s long hair woven into an intricate braid, sections of it twisted this way and that in a style you couldn’t even imagine attempting. He’s leaning against the same wall Eris had, and you wonder if they were having some sort of brotherly conversation before your arrival, or if they’d simply stared at the floor in silent wait. Either way, his eyes are kinder than Eris’s when they rake over you, but it’s the eldest Vanserra who speaks.

“You’ve brought a party,” He observes, his eyes raking over Cassian, Morrigan, Rhys and your sister, Azriel, and catching on the embroidery on your dress before his eyes flit to your face. His gaze burns like his fire and your stomach curls- you feel bare in front of his powerful stare, vulnerable despite Azriel’s hand wrapping around your stomach to pull you tighter into him, protecting you from the threats surrounding you from all sides. Eris’s eyes don’t miss the gesture, and his lips quirk in a sneer where they had been set in an uninterested curve.

“You are aware,” Eris begins, his voice a grating drawl that splays Azriel’s fingers out wider against your stomach, “That not all of you will be permitted into the meeting room?” He casts a scathing glance over Cassian’s broad frame, one that makes your face flood with a rush of indignance, “The dogs typically stay outside.”

“Cassian has information from the front lines of his army.” Rhysand states simply, calm and composed next to Eris’s flickering flame, “And he will deliver it as is his right due to his station.”

“Yes, his station, the-” Eris’s lips tug up at the corners, though he stifles it for dramatic effect, “Lord of Bloodshed.”

You wonder if perhaps Eris is the Lord of Condescension.

As if on cue, his eyes flicker to you, lashes fluttering as he blinks once, twice, thrice, almost bewildered if not for his regal composure, “And you? Who are you?”

You hadn’t expected to be addressed directly. You falter- you know your name quite well, but you find yourself incapable of speaking it for a few brief seconds as you regain your composure. Eris’s eyes burn, their flames licking at your skin and heating your face with embarrassment. Before you can introduce yourself Azriel speaks from over your shoulder, “She is the sister of my High Lady. She is here to be shown around by Lucien. She will not be placed within sneering range of Beron.”

There’s a very conflicting set of emotions warring inside of you. You appreciate Azriel’s protectiveness- he’s a good male, he’s always willing to throw himself into harm’s way to keep his family safe. But Rhysand had offered you a spot at the table; as much of one as he was able to promise, not knowing whether Beron was in a particularly aggressive mood or not. But still, it had been a last-ditch attempt to make you feel like you were good for something, and Azriel had simply decided you weren’t going. Is it protectiveness, or is it his true feelings- the ones he swore he didn’t possess - shining through?

Did you even want to go? Did you want to sign yourself up for gruelling debate, hours and hours of sitting tensely and watching politics play out before you, waiting for someone to go for another man’s jugular?

You did not. Your book and the richly-colored forests of autumn are calling your name, but it feels like an especially useless thing to do. Opting out of the big-kid job to go play in the woods- that seems precisely like something someone would do if they had no dog in the fight. And you don’t, but you wish to so desperately that you’d be willing to sit at their table, stiff-backed and straight-faced until someone thought you belonged there.

Despite not wanting any part in the meeting, you find yourself unreasonably irritated that Azriel is going to shut the door on you.

Perhaps he senses it- that thoughtful, caring bastard - because the hand on your stomach twitches, thumb stroking briefly back and forth over your skin, only once so no one catches the movement. But it’s meant to soothe, and you sink back into helpless despair as the room decides your fate for you. As it always does.

“Lucien will be meeting with us.” Eris grimaces, and for once he looks sincere as his brother shifts restlessly beside him, his face twisted in a scowl, “My father- the High Lord is particularly fixated on speaking to him at the moment.”

You wonder if they’ve spoken at all since Lucien began working for Rhysand. If they’ve written, if they’ve fought, if they’d burned down whatever meeting place they’d chosen for a conversation. Lucien casts you an apologetic glance, but you can’t manage a smile back at him.

“Then I will keep her company,” Azriel defers, but Rhysand shakes his head once, seeming just as pained as Eris.

“Azriel.” He calls warily, resignedly, knowingly, “You’re needed in the meeting room.”

“I can join you,” You try, your voice feeble as you address both your family and your adversary, Azriel’s fingers curling tightly around you in protest, “I can sit and-”

“And what?” Comes a raspy voice as the double doors behind Eris and Lucien creak open, wood scraping against wood to create a sound just as chilling as the voice of the man behind them, “Gather dust?”

Beron Vanserra is a man as withered and callous on the outside as he is on the inside. His hair is thinning and greying, his face gnarled and twisted with age and hatred alike. It writhes into a scowl, an audible scoff leaving his thin lips as he takes note of Lucien’s presence before him, and the fire in his eyes jumps to your companions, hungry for more fuel. They scald your skin as they rake over you and Azriel, then the rest of your party, his lips curling up in a withering sneer that reveals too-thin, yellowed, crooked teeth protruding from his pale gums, “Is this a joke, Rhysand? You come here for a formal discussion, three Illyrian bastards and your whores. You really believe that is appropriate for official court business? This is not a vacation spot.”

He speaks the word court like it’s the thing that matters most to him, sharp and intentional. And as he shoulders roughly past Eris in the doorway to stride towards you, nearly knocking his son off-balance, his gaze flicking over the smokehounds behind you with the same disdain he’d aimed at you, you wonder if Beron Vanserra cares about anything at all besides his throne.

One of the smokehounds snarls- no, the growl comes from Azriel, deep and guttural within his throat, so animalistic that you’d assumed it was a dog’s. Cassian bristles and Morrigan straightens her posture, shoulders back, chin held high. Rhysand and Feyre though- they look used to it. They keep their faces in sync, cool, unbothered smirks that don’t falter under the heat of Beron’s gaze.

“Lord Beron,” Feyre greets smoothly, her lead surely boiling Beron’s blood further, “Do you mean to tell me your manor is not large enough for six guests?”

“Besides,” Rhysand speaks after her, and Feyre tilts her head, her hair spilling down her shoulders and back in elegant waves, “I seem to remember your entire brood of heirs joining us the last time we spoke. Is this any different?”

“Of course it’s different,” Beron scoffs, “My sons are members of my court. They contribute, they will rule someday, and you’ve brought along your gaggle of misfits and as many humans as the King of Hybern was able to scoop up and toss into the Cauldron.”

“Actually, there’s two more at home,” Cassian smirks, teeth sharp and bared, “But they didn’t feel like wasting their time listening to you.”

You’re sure if Beron were younger or less soulless his cheeks would have flushed in anger. But it’s his permanent state, and he doesn’t tear his gaze away from Rhysand as he speaks.

“No guests in the meeting room.”

“Feyre and I reign.” Rhysand stands tall, his wings spread behind him in an intimidating display, “Cassian leads my armies and Azriel knows my court inside and out. Morrigan is my second-in-command and-” 

Rhys’s voice barely begins to falter over your name before Beron’s own cuts him off, “Don’t bother giving the girl a make-believe title. You may have managed to sequester all of the human girls that invaded our lands, Rhysand, but they are legend across Prythian. This one is the one without powers.”

Azriel’s harsh, gruff voice barks from behind you, “Don’t-”, but Beron pays him no mind, 

“This one is not of any use to you, or to me. This one will not be permitted to join.”

Your stomach aches.

Azriel’s shadows writhe. His grip on your waist is starting to pain you now, and you shift beneath his fingers that are clenched in the soft skin of your stomach like an anchor in waterlogged silt. He loosens his grip apologetically, but doesn’t let you go, and Eris steps in before Azriel’s shadows block his father’s airways.

“Father,” He dips his head respectfully towards Beron, “I’ll take the girl to the servant’s quarters. She can stay there while we meet, and-”

“And run off to spread the spymaster’s shadows throughout our court? Use your brain, Eris,” Beron grits, and you wonder if he’s ever let anyone finish a sentence around him without trampling all over it, “She cannot be left unattended. You will watch her.”

Eris’s eyes don’t widen, but they do twitch slightly. He bristles, his shoulders shifting as he moves his weight from one foot to the other. He stares at you, gaze wary like you’re trying to hold him back from his princely duties. Like you’re begging to have him breathe down your neck for the day, like you’d enjoy his company instead of fear it. He glances back at Beron- you can tell he’s surprised by the order, as are you, as is Azriel whose hand presses your back impossibly closer to his chest. The cobalt siphon on his chest digs painfully into your spine, and you shift your shoulders to push yourself away from it. You straighten them like you matter, like you’re a diplomat instead of a daydreamer, and try ignoring the way your stomach has deflated so tragically that it seems to have fallen to your feet.

“But… My Lord,” He bows his head respectfully, layering his adoration on thicker than grease, “The meeting- I am needed.”

“And I don’t need a babysitter.” Your voice is strong but not loud, though your tone nearly falters when Beron’s gaze singes your nerve, “I’ll be happy to walk through the forest while you’re talking.”

“Yes,” Beron grins, his teeth covered in spit that shines in the faelight of the foyer, “Peruse the forests. Walk alone, unarmed, weak and new to the territory. My sons and I will draw up a bet for how soon your remains are scattered throughout the woods. I’d say twenty minutes.”

“The serving quarters,” Eris attempts again, but Beron snarls this time, jerking his arms about in such hot anger you’re surprised his fire magic doesn’t lick up the mahogany crown molding bracketing every ceiling and floor.

“Enough! I did not permit you a seat at the table to argue with me.” Beron growls, “Seeing the disrespect you show me now makes me glad Rhysand brought his human bore for you to entertain- it would have been disastrous to allow this sort of behavior in my court. Go, take her and go,” Beron waves a hand at both of you like he might not care whether you lived or died, “And while you are out, be sure you locate your manners because it seems as though you lost them- probably on your last hunt with those mongrels. Get these bitches out of my manor,” Beron’s hand sweeps over you and the dogs as one, his voice vicious and biting as he storms back into his meeting room, “And do not return until we are finished.”

Azriel is breathing so heavily with restraint that it’s audible in your ear. He’s seething, burning like autumn court fire with the urge to fill Beron’s lungs up with his shadows and watch the man die a slow, painful death. But Rhysand turns towards you, levelling him with a warning stare before his eyes slide down to your own, calm and collected to keep you the same.

“I believe he’s done throwing his temper tantrum now, and I’ll make sure it’s the last you see of him. Eris,” He calls the eldest son of autumn, and you watch as Eris fights very hard not to step forwards like he would for his father, the habit nearly degrading him in front of your family, “Do not let any harm come to her.”

“She will be safe.” He mutters begrudgingly, “You think I can’t handle babysitting a human girl? Or- do you think I’ll hurt her,” He scoffs, wary of his father’s listening ear as he murmurs lowly, “Has my brother’s alliance and my cooperation not been enough to convince you that I am not the enemy under this roof?”

“She is fae.” Azriel snarls, “And you left the last woman you were trusted with half-dead on the border of Spring. So yes, Eris, I think you will hurt her.”

Eris’s hands flicker with flame. A visible fire that coats his fists, licking up his arms until it’s touching but not burning his sharply-cuffed sleeves. You’re still aware of the tension between Eris and Azriel, but you briefly stare in awe at his power- magic is still so new to you that even something as rudimentary for Eris as simple flames puts stars in your eyes. 

“I will not hurt her.” Eris spits, “We’re wasting time. If my father has to call for you he will simply refuse to meet at all. Come.” He turns his gaze towards you, sharp and irritated from the Illyrians’ needling, “We’re leaving.”

You have to peel Azriel’s hand off of your stomach. You feel his resistance, you see the two shadows that separate from his arsenal to circle around your ankles, one for each. One to stay with you at all times, and one to race back to Azriel and report any danger.

The shadows catch one of the smokehound’s eyes, and you let out an unsteady, garbled sound of fear as it darts for your stumbling feet, but all it does is sniff curiously at your ankle and the wispy smoke curling around it.

“Those cannot come with us,” Eris points at the shadows, “Don’t be stupid, Azriel.”

Azriel’s fist clenches at his side as he calls the shadows back, their gray, formless bodies seeming to resist the order as well. They delight in making the curious smokehound at your feet sneeze on their way back to Azriel, but even at its now-relaxed, puppyish behavior you shy a few steps to your left to get away from it. Eris tracks the motion, one hand beckoning for the other dogs to follow behind him as he takes your arm in his grip and heads for the door.

“Come outside,” He mutters, his voice now too low for even your family to hear as they reluctantly file into the meeting room, “And fight me.”

“What-” You whimper as he squeezes your arm, “Ow, I-” Then you register his words, twisting in his hold, before the large windows that look into the room where your friends are taking their seats, and Beron is watching sharply as you struggle, “You pig, get your hands off of me! Stop,” You beg, thrashing about as Eris beelines you both towards a smaller building against the side of the manor, at the very edge of the forest, “You’re hurting me! I can walk on my own, where are you taking me?”

“For the record,” He yanks you through a doorway into a concrete hallway, doors lining the walls to make up what you realize is a kennel for his enormous hunting hounds that swarm inside after you, twining around your legs and brushing against your sides in the confined space, “I never said you had to speak. But it was a nice touch, if not a bit underplayed. If someone ever grabs you like that again, I’d suggest calling them worse things than a pig.”

You stagger backwards as soon as he lets you go, grappling with all of the different attitudes and personas he’d worn in such a short time. You can't keep them straight- you don't know which to trust. Is he Mor’s vicious abuser? Is he a genius, carefully planting her where she could be saved and escorting his father the opposite way? Is he Beron’s mini-me, his father’s obedient little pet? Is he the Night Court’s begrudging ally, resistant to betray his court but eager to betray its ruler? Is he the smart-mouthed man now standing before you, shoulders loosened from where they’d been held proudly squared until the door shut behind him?

“I’m Eris,” He offers you his hand and you freeze, glancing warily down at his skin, unmarred by the flame it had just held moments prior, “Please don’t back away any further, darling, you’ll step on a smokehound.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[potatoheartsyou]

the way i look at my phone while reading the filthiest smut in public

[avastarrwalker]

literally

[prythianpages]

I've Been Waiting For You | Azriel

summary: Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate.

warnings: mentions of death (since the suriel & reader are friends); some angst but also fluff because Az deserves to be happy ♡

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: The lyrics kind of reminded me of Alice & Jasper from twilight and how she had a vision of meeting him. This does go back and forth a lot in the beginning between past and present and came out longer than I thought it would. It's around 9.5K words (which for me is long lol.) I apologize if there are any spelling errors. I've read this multiple times but somehow, always miss a couple.

As the moonlight dances upon the water's surface, the river transforms into a liquid of silver, shining through the city of Starlight. Anticipation fills the air as Azriel walks across the bridge that spans the Sidra, his massive Illyrian wings tucked in tight.

Shadows play hide-and-seek as they travel through the night, drawn to the silhouette of a female figure. An intruder. Yet, Azriel's shadows dare to whisper something different into his ears.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your voice, carried by the wind, reaches him like a sweet caress, daring to awaken something deep within him. Beautiful. His shadows respond with a frenzy, urging him forward. Meanwhile, his brain screams at the potential threat.

More tendrils of darkness dart toward you, ignoring their master’s orders to return. You don’t seem bothered by them. In fact, you seem to welcome them as if they’re old friends of yours. 

Azriel swallows, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, unsure what to make of this. 

“Who are you?”

Finally, you turn around and Azriel feels like the wind has been knocked out of him when his gaze meets yours. In the midst of the surrounding darkness, your eyes gleam with an inexplicable brightness. Specs of silver glimmer in your eyes, mirroring the stars above, as they shine back at him.  

“That’s for you to decide,” you reply with a smile that carries hope and a sense of knowing as you follow after him and take a step forward.

“But for now, I’d like to speak with your High Lady.”

Months before…

The brilliance of a thousand stars shine down on you and the night seems to hold its breath, as if it too, awaits the whispered prophecies from the celestial expanse above. Like always, you are itching to unveil them with your finely attuned senses. A gust of cool wind brushes through your hair, sending shivers down your exposed skin. Pulling your gaze away from the night sky, you turn in time to see a cloaked figure approaching like a shadow in the night.

Your lips curve into a smile. “Hello, friend.”

“y/n.” The Suriel greets you, hovering beside you. Then, not missing another beat, he says, “I told her Rhysand was her mate.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping your lips. “You did not.”

“I did.” He grins back at you, flashing you his stained teeth.

You can’t help but laugh a little at your dear old friend. The Suriel lets out a rattled sound you discern as a laugh as he joins you. Always the one for dramatics. You still remember hearing about his first encounter with Feyre Archeron.

“I told her she must stay with the High Lord…”

“Did you specify which one?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m sure she handled it well,” you respond but your smile fades, giving way to a wistful expression. “She’s lucky. Not only is she made but the Cauldron has blessed her with a mate. The High Lord of the Night Court at that.”

The weight of his gaze settles upon you. You’re aware that your words carry a tinge of envy, a sentiment that feels unjust when considering everything Feyre has endured. The Suriel, ever perceptive, acknowledges this as well. He chooses not to remind you and indulges you instead.

“The Cauldron has blessed you as well, my child.”

“Have you seen it?”

Hope sparks in your eyes as you turn to face him. His eyes, pools of ancient wisdom, seem to pierce through the veils of time and secrets. You sense one of them unfolding. But he only gives you a teasing glimpse.

“Perhaps.” 

With a furrow in your brows, you lift your head back up to glare at the night sky. The stars seem to blink at you in a teasing manner, as if finding amusement in keeping this secret from you. 

“How come I haven’t seen it?”

“You will soon.” He reassures, following your gaze upwards. A dance of amusement swirls within the depths of his eyes.  “He’s waited centuries for you. Count your stars lucky that your waiting won’t be as long.”

Back to the present…

Velaris lived up to its name. A dream compared to the horrors of the city you grew up in. But as the city sparkles and comes to life at the darkening hour, all your attention is drawn to the male before you. He’s even more breathtaking in person. Everything about him is classically beautiful and the moon seems to agree, shining down on him and casting an ethereal glow on the golden-brown of his skin.

As Azriel continues to approach you, his wings fold gracefully behind him. His gaze is locked onto yours and though his eyes are cautious and analytical, there’s a warm shiver running down your spine. The desire to lose yourself in the hazel depths of his eyes becomes an irresistible pull.

Before you know it, the shadows brushing against your arms rise and come to rest against your eyes in a blindfold. Darkness engulfs you, and the sensation of weightlessness takes hold as Azriel winnows both of you. You land on a soft cushion–a chair. The dark tendrils leave your eyes and wrap around your wrists and legs, binding them together.

“Stay here.” Azriel says, the shadows wrapped around your limbs tightening in a silent warning.

A chuckle escapes from you and when your eyes meet his again, you flash him a small smile. It widens when he’s the first to fold, quickly averting his gaze. He has no clue. You’re exactly where you want to be.

He leaves the room and your eyes finally take in your surroundings. Curtains made of midnight blue silk drape the expansive windows, pulled back to allow moonlight to filter through. Shelves line the walls, housing collections of ancient artifacts and magical trinkets. A large desk, crafted from dark, polished wood rests before you. Your gaze fixates on the wall behind it, where a captivating portrait of the female you seek rests.

The door behind you swings open, and you turn to witness the graceful entrance of the female from the portrait. Feyre, the Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court. She's a vision of night and beauty, her golden-brown hair cascading down her exposed back, revealing glimpses of moon phases etched along her spine.

“High Lady,” you say in greeting, bowing your head in respect.

Surprisingly, the High Lord doesn't accompany her. Instead, it's Azriel who trails behind her. Her calm blue eyes assess you as she takes a seat across from you. Azriel stands guard behind her and you feel his shadows watching your every breath. 

"And who might you be?"

“I’m y/n,” you respond, choosing your next words carefully. “An old friend of the Suriel’s. I’ve come to pledge my allegiance to you and offer my help.”

Something flickers in her blue eyes at the mention of the Suriel and her stoic expression falters, if only for a moment. You send her a sympathetic smile, your own heart aching at the mention of the fearsome creature you both held dear.

“Your help?” She echoes.

"She’s a seer," Azriel interjects, his voice setting your heart alight as there's no hint of disgust or apprehension in his tone.

Your kind is often regarded with hostility. He might not know your connection...yet. But he’s paid you enough attention to recognize your abilities and appears to be indifferent about them. If the Suriel were still alive, you know he’d laugh at your slight delusion.

"I am," you confirm. "And I know your sister is one too." You don’t miss the tension in Azriel’s body at the mention of the cauldron-made fae but you don't dwell on it as you can also sense Feyre's protectiveness. "She has great potential. I can help her hone her skills. Together, we can—"

"No," Azriel growls protectively. His sharp interruption has you startling in your seat and hope deflates as you feel the intensity of his glare.

Feyre raises a hand, signaling him to stand back. “Why should I trust you?”

“Let me show you.”

Months before…

“By the Cauldron, what did you get yourself into?”

The Suriel grins mischievously, his tattered cloak barely clinging to his bony form. He graciously accepts the cloak you offer, a luxurious piece made of the softest velvet in the darkest shade of black you could find. A purr escapes him as he revels in its warmth. "Nothing," he responds coyly, the satisfaction evident in the bounce of his form as he hovers in the air.

You shoot him a pointed look, yearning to know what he was up to. You’re certain it was no good. “Sure,” you retort and then gesture toward the crackling fire you started. “I also made dinner.”

“You spoil me.”

“It’s what friends do.”

"Friend," he muses, the white pools of his eyes burning into your soul, as he turns to you. "As a friend, I should tell you that your dress is absolutely atrocious on you. Cobalt blue is more your color."

With a glare, you playfully throw the roasted chicken over the fire at his face. He effortlessly catches it with his mouth, cackling as he chews on the tender piece of meat.

"What do you know about fashion? All you do is thirst for robes."

“You forget that I am older than the bones of this world. I know everything about everything. I also cannot lie.”

"Doesn't stop you from hiding the truth," you respond cheekily, and he hums in agreement,

Silence falls as he seats himself beside you on the ground. He breaks it a couple of moments later. “Remember what I told you last time?”

You release a deep sigh because you do remember. The mere thought haunts you nearly every night, and you’re often burdened by the heavy weight of it. Your shoulders slump in response. “Why can't you do it yourself?”

“It is your fate, not mine,” he states simply, a reminder of the immutable laws of destiny.

“I’m not ready.” 

You don’t think you ever will be and suddenly, you’re that fragile sixteen year old again, who had to run away from the only place you called home to escape a cruel fate. The one who was left to navigate through her new onset of divine abilities alone.

That is, until, the fateful night you had thrown your cloak over a tree branch to dry. It had been stained by blood after a rough and almost deadly encounter with a stray naga so you had spent all morning cleaning it in the river nearby. Completely unaware of the Suriel you were summoning.

“You do not fear me?”

“That is mine,” you had said through clenched teeth with a deep rooted glare.

In the midst of your tug of war with the Suriel, your cloak tore in half. In that moment, you braced yourself for the dark creature's wrath. However, something in you captured his attention that day, and he chose not to unleash his fury upon you. He decided to take you under his wing instead.

He recognized your lineage without a single word spoken about it. He could sense your power coursing through your veins, waiting to be unraveled. After decades of patience and practicing, he was there to witness the formation of stars weaving themselves into the depths of your eyes. The mark of your seer abilities.

As always, the Suriel reads you like an open book. He can sense your insecurity, your hesitancy. But, in equal measure, he can sense your power, your potential.

“You will be,” he insists, his words carrying the unwavering certainty of the all-knowing creature he is. “You must guide and open the eyes of Elain Archeron the same way I did for you.”

Your throat tightens. “When?”

“Soon.”

And when you look up to gaze at the night sky, the stars align for you. A cascade of visions unfurls, pouring over you like a celestial waterfall. Your eyes become a myriad of galaxies and ears are teased with glimpses of conversations and whispers from the stars above. One moment, you’re in a forest, standing before a female figure crouched over a cloaked one. 

“The tracking…I knew of it.” 

Then, a rattling breath. “Leave this world a better place than how you found it.”

Abruptly, the scene shifts, and you stand in an enchanting city of starlight, gazing at the expansive river before you as anticipation fills the air. He comes for you. Azriel, the shadowsinger. The name resonates in the echoes of your mind.

Then, the final vision envelopes you, drawing you into the depths of mesmerizing hazel eyes. The voice that accompanies it is carried by the enchantment of night, gently caressing against your ears. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mate. That is your mate. Azriel, the–

“Do you see it now?”

With a sharp intake of breath, you’re pulled from the downpour of your visions, only to find your senses clouded with tears that pool at the corners of your eyes. How cruel, you think, your heart twisting in agony. And though meeting your mate–your fated companion–was among your greatest dreams, you no longer want it. Not if it means you’ll lose your greatest companion.

You can live without knowing your mate. After all, you’re doing so at this very moment. The Suriel has been your friend for decades. Two souls brought together by their mutual loneliness. An all knowing creature and a seer. Together, you’re a powerful duo, navigating through the fated intricacies of Prythian. You’d be lost without him.

“Please don’t go,” you’re begging.

The Suriel smiles but it’s not his usual mischievous grin. This time, a tinge of sorrow lingers in the curve of his lips, casting his expression in a veil of sadness.

“I have to. It’s my time to go,” he says. “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“That when it’s your time to shine, you’ll find Feyre. Help her make this world a better place.”

Back to Present

Feyre blinks back tears as she withdraws from your mind. She turns her head toward the Shadowsinger behind her, and for a moment, fear grips you. You allowed her to see the revelation of Azriel being your mate but only because it was deeply entwined with the other pertinent visions.

“Release her.”

The shadows release their grip on you and you let out a deep exhale in relief. But the inky tendrils don’t leave your side. They linger and hover over you and at this, Azriel’s eyebrows furrow.

Feyre extends her hand out toward you. Her blue eyes are warm, a gentle reassurance that she’d harbor your secret for you. A smile graces her lips, one that you're happy to reciprocate.

“I’ll gladly accept your help but let me speak with Elain first. You may stay here. There’s a spare room upstairs. Azriel will show you around.”

Following his High Lady’s orders, Azriel shows you around the grand estate. He’s a bit reserved around you and you don’t blame him. Both a blessing and a curse, your visions offer insight into his world. Yet you're a mere stranger imposing on the family he protects fiercely.

And as he finally shows you to your room, the one right next to his, you can only hope that someday, he’ll welcome you too. After all, he is your mate.

Elain Archeron is infinitely beautiful. Inside and out. She is gentle and sweet and you see why some mistake her kindness for weakness. But it took only days for you to become well aware of the strength and power she harbors deep within.

While your abilities were limited to what the stars wanted to show you, you sensed that hers were limitless. With the right training, she could summon visions at her call, anticipate anyone's move. You wanted to help her achieve that and prove those people that saw her as something fragile wrong. Though reluctant toward your help at first, Elain was kind enough to listen to you and consider the advice you gave. It took some further convincing but you knew she was itching to unravel the depths of her powers too.

But it's proving to be a challenge. A hard and exhausting one. You're not surprised. It took you many years to become attuned to your powers. What is surprising, however, are Azriel's feelings for her. They're obvious and plain to see and could you blame him? Elain is wonderful...and you can't help but compare yourself to her. It feels as though she is everything you're not.

Upon your arrival, you had been set on making Azriel fall for you. That was, until, you realized he was already entangled in the threads of another's heart. Could it be that the Suriel, in his all knowing wisdom, purposefully shielded you from such revelations about your mate? To delay the shattering of your dreams?

Now, you were just content to focus on your task at hand. To help Elain the way the Suriel did with you, even if Azriel was there as a safety net for her every session. Even if the way he was well attuned to every shift of her expression sent a sharp pain stabbing through your heart. He was blissfully unaware of your connection, clouded by his affection for Elain.

And you were tired of chasing after males. It's why you shot down Feyre's suggestion of confessing to Azriel. You dreamed of having a mate, pleaded to the Cauldron even. Now, you realize, that you want Azriel to like you for you. To chose you too the way Feyre did with Rhysand. If Elain was the person he chose at the moment, then so be it.

"I don't chase. I attract," you told Feyre. The same words you had uttered to the Suriel years ago after he poked fun at you over a failed romance. One of many, unfortunately.

"The only thing you'll attract with that attitude of of yours is a dark cloud of shadows," The Suriel had laughed at you, earning an icy glare from you.

But Feyre is much nicer about it than your dear old friend. She gives you an encouraging smile instead and wishes you luck on your upcoming session with Elain.

Your session with Elain ends terribly–with her screaming in pain and Azriel glaring at you and telling you to go, despite your attempts at apologizing. You spend the following days, weeks even, trying to make up for it. You slowed down in pace in your exercises with Elain, despite her protests. She held no animosity toward you at the dark turn that session had made.

You also buried yourself into any book you could find about seers in the magnificent Night Court library, grieving and longing for the Suriel. He would know what to do and know exactly how to help. It’s the mere thought of him that fuels your determination to keep trying, despite how much you want to leave. It’s laughable almost, how in the midst of so many people, the sense of loneliness weighs heavier on you than it ever did in the solitude of Prythian's forests.

But perhaps, a break wouldn't be such a bad idea? You think as your gaze lands on an intriguing cover. It's a work of pure fiction. The ideal escape from reality. Retrieving it from its shelf, you settle into one of the plush chairs and immerse yourself into the words etched onto the pages.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

A nudge against your leg startles you awake, and as you blink away the remnants of sleep, your eyes widen at the sight of Azriel standing before you. Sleeping beauty, the words sink in, painting a soft blush over your cheeks.

“You missed dinner.”

“Oh.”

You turn your head, wincing at the dull ache in your neck from sleeping in an awkward position. The soft glow of the moon greets you through one of the library's windows. You don’t know when you had fallen asleep but you must’ve been out for hours. When you face Azriel again, your gaze drops to his hands, where he holds a carefully arranged plate of food. Your stomach growls as the scent hits you and your eyes linger on the generous serving of potatoes–your favorite–in comparison to the other vegetables and meat.

“Is that for me?” you ask and immediately curse yourself for the seemingly silly question. You blame it on the lingering grasp of sleep, still reluctant to release its full grip on you.

"No, it's for the rats that come out at night," he replies, lips twitching upwards at the reaction it stirs from you. How the Suriel never scared you but a couple of hairy, smaller creatures do is beyond you. He places the plate on the small table beside you.

 "Yes, it's for you. A peace offering. For snapping at you."

"That was two weeks ago.”

"Bet you didn't see it coming," he teases, and you find yourself blinking in surprise. The Shadowsinger cracking a joke? It's a sight to behold. At least for you. 

Your eyes narrow. "Did Feyre send you?"

"No," Azriel replies simply, his tone carrying a sincerity that sets a flicker of hope alight in you. He then sighs. "I just realized I haven't been the most welcoming, that's all."

You smile in response and shift in your seat as you turn your body towards the food. The movement has the book in your lap falling. His hand reaches the book before yours could and the brush of your skin against his sends a delightful shudder through your body.

His eyes curiously look over the title and when he hands it back to you, you take note of the way he avoids looking at his scarred fingers. So you reach forward and brush your fingers against his again, letting them linger for a beat longer than before. Surprise flickers in his hazel eyes as he meets your gaze, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

“That book is one of my favorites," he says, his shadows dancing across his shoulders and peeking curiously at you. "I didn’t think you’d be into the mystery genre."

"Why not?”

“Well, you’re a mystery in itself. It’s hard to read you sometimes.“

An arched brow is your response but the gleam in your eyes gives away more than you'd like. “Maybe I don’t want to be read.”

Azriel's lips twitch upwards once more. “Maybe it just takes the right person.”

Bathed in the glow of sunlight, you and Elain sit across from one another on the soft bed of green grass. Meanwhile, Azriel leans against a tree, a couple of feet away. His gaze is intense as he watches you two. Too focused on not letting it faze you, you fail to catch the way it softens when he turns to you.

Azriel can’t help but frown when he catches you avoiding his gaze. He wonders if you still harbor some resentment toward the way he had snapped at you awhile back, even though he already apologized for it.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," he hears you instruct softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?”

Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration. “I can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.”

“Good,” you say and though her eyes remain closed, you smile gently at her. A gesture that sends a rush of warmth through him.

“Now feel the whispers of the unseen.”

“I can’t.” Elain’s eyebrows furrow.

“Here, take my hands,” you say as you reach for hers. “Imagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. I’ll guide you to where your visions will manifest.”

Elain does as told. The world stills around you two. You close your eyes. As Elain’s eyebrows relax, your own face contorts in concentration. Azriel feels himself tense when he realizes it’s not concentration etching onto your face. It’s pain. In a heartbeat, he’s kneeling before you and prying your hands apart.

“Stop!”

Your eyes snap open at the sudden disconnection, and Azriel is unsettled by the way you shrink back from him, panic widening your eyes.

“I’m not hurting her!”

But it’s not Elain he’s worried about. He hasn’t even spared her a glance. It’s you–you’re the one that’s hurt. Blood trickles down your nose and he’s urging you to lean forward, gently guiding you with his hands as Elain rushes for a towel.

“Are you okay?”

There’s a dull ache in your head but also one in your heart and you’re too disoriented to stop yourself from saying, “If you stop staring at me like that, I will be.”

Azriel releases a soft chuckle, his muscles relaxing in relief at the playful edge in your tone. Yet, his shadows, wanting to confirm you're okay themselves, move toward you in a cautious cloud of darkness.

"Like what?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

And you’ve never felt more relief at the sight of Elain coming in between you with a towel in hand.

A sudden sound has you stirring from your sleep. Your hand instinctively slides under your pillow, fingers grasping for the dagger you always keep with you when sleeping. The sound comes again and your initially alarmed body relaxes as you recognize it as the sound of someone knocking. Wrapping a robe around your night shift, you head toward the door, expecting Elain on the other side. 

Upon opening your door, you’re surprised to find Azriel standing on the other side.

“You’re not going to Starfall?”

“Good morning to you too.”

Azriel’s eyes rake over your form, taking in your disheveled state. His lips curl into a faint smile. "It's after noon," he observes in an amused manner.

Your eyes widen in disbelief and you pivot your head toward the clock that hangs on the wall of your room. There, confirming his statement, the hands point a half hour past twelve. You overslept. You didn’t have any plans today and it seems your exhausted body took advantage of it.

“Is everything okay?”

His voice, laced with genuine concern, draws your attention back to him. The soft furrow of his brow and the warmth in his eyes catch you off guard. You hesitate. You don’t want to lie but you also don’t want to burden him with the truth.

So you settle for a, “Why?”

"I've noticed you haven't been sleeping much," he remarks, and before you can interrupt, he gestures toward his room, the one adjacent to yours. A silent acknowledgment that he's been more attentive than you realized. It pulls at the strings of your heart. "Or attending family dinners and now Feyre tells me you're not going to Starfall?"

The weight of his observations presses on you. You didn’t think anyone had noticed.  "Why do you care?" you retort, your words sharper than intended, and a wince follows.

"Isolation is not a good coping method," he responds, his tone steady and unfazed by your sharpness. "Trust me, I know."

"I don't have a dress."  The words escape your lips, but even as you say them, you recognize the feebleness of the excuse.

“I’ll buy you one.”

Heat rises to your cheeks and you feel a telltale blush spreading as the thought of Azriel buying you a dress takes root. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself. His gaze remains fixed on you, hazel eyes bright and gleaming with curiosity, as if daring you to come up with another excuse.

“Starfall is tomorrow.”

Azriel grins at you. It sends a flutter through your heart and you wonder if he can hear the erratic beat of it. 

“Better make haste and get dressed then. We’ve got a couple of hours before the shops close.”

You deliberately take extra time getting ready, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within you as you prepare to spend time with Azriel. Half-expecting a hint of annoyance, you finally open the door to your room, only to find Azriel with a welcoming smile that has the bond in your chest humming.

Still, you're met with silence at the other side.

You take a deep breath as he gestures for you to follow him. As you step outside, he offers his arm and winnows you, not wanting to waste anymore time. You both find yourselves in the bustling shopping plaza of Velaris, where the fragrance of blooming flowers and the animated chatter of people embrace you.

Elaborate Starfall-themed displays adorn the shops, enticing you inside. Suddenly, the sheer array overwhelms you and an urge to step back washes over you. Azriel places a hand on your back, stopping you and guiding you towards one of the shops.

“Welcome!” A voice happily chirps. “How can I help you?”

A stunning female enters your line of sight, her gaze immediately fixating on the male standing behind you. Her lips curve into a captivating smile, causing a twinge of jealousy to flicker within you. It’s short lived as Azriel clears his throat, gently nudging you forward.

“We’re looking for a dress for her.” Azriel speaks for you.

“Splendid! What’s the special occasion?”

“Starfall.” Azriel answers.

The female’s eyes widen, her smile morphing into a strained one. “I’m afraid I’ve sold all my best work already.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Sorry for the trouble,” you quickly reply, attempting to conceal the relief in your voice. Turning to leave, Azriel's hands land on your shoulders, directing you back to face the female.

“I’m sure we can find something in here,” Azriel reassures with a polite smile, scanning the aisles of dresses. “Y/n isn't picky. Right?”

“I can be,” you mumble under your breath.

Azriel lets out a sound, what you discern as a muffled chuckle. He gives your shoulder a squeeze and then leans down toward your ear. “If I were you, I’d take advantage of the situation.”

You turn your head slightly and regret it immediately. It takes all your strength to hold back the shudder your body wants to give at his proximity. He’s so close you can feel his breath fanning against your neck and you wonder what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against that sensitive skin.

It surprises you how quickly you find your voice.

“And if I pick the most expensive one?”

“Go ahead,” Azriel says and you can hear the smirk in his voice without having to look at him. He doesn’t allow you to get another word in, urging you forward again to where the female patiently awaits for you.

She lightly grasps your arm, leading you toward a rack of dresses in various styles and colors while Azriel makes himself comfortable on the couch by the fitting room. “You are a lucky lady,” she muses, her hands gracefully exploring the textures of her creations. “I’ve had this shop for centuries and you’re the first lady the Shadowsinger has brought to me.”

A blush warms your cheeks as you divert your attention to the array of beautiful dresses. Each one is a work of art, making you question her earlier claim about not having her best work available. If these weren't her finest creations, the thought of what her best work looked like leaves you intrigued.

The female, who’s name you learn is Willow, has you try on a couple of dresses that differ in styles. You’re reluctant to show Azriel each one but given he’s paying for it and the only other one in this shop, you feel like he should have some say.

“Do you like it?” Willow beams at you, admiring her work.

On the fifth dress, your hands run over the tulle of the vibrant yellow skirt. The fabric feels itchy against your skin and the color is too bold for your taste. You swear you are not trying to be picky, despite what you told Azriel earlier. 

“I li–”

“Let’s try another?” Azriel cuts in as if sensing the lie that was about to unfold. He rises from his seat toward one of the racks and pulls out a dress that caught his eye earlier. “How about this one?”

He holds the dress out to you, smiling softly when you take it from him. It’s much simpler compared to the other dresses you’ve tried on but still just as elegant. It’s also soft against your skin. Willow guides you back into the fitting room, deftly assisting you out of the vivid yellow dress and into the cobalt blue silk one.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Cobalt blue is more your color!" Willow says as she gushes over you.

Her choice of words leaves you momentarily stunned. Cobalt blue is more your color. The exact words the Suriel had spoken to you. Also, the exact same shade as Azriel's siphons. The Suriel must’ve enjoyed himself a lot when he said those words to you. That sneaky little creature... You can hear his laugh echoing through your mind.

As you finally emerge from the dressing room, Azriel can’t help but stare. The fabric drapes gracefully around you, accentuating curves he hadn't noticed before. Sensing his prolonged gaze, your eyes meet his. It was him quickly averting his gaze, a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

"This is the one. It looks…good on you," he manages to say, his voice slightly strained.

“It’s 500 gold marks.”

He picks up on the teasing in your tone and the way Willow shakes her head in reassurance at him. Still, he humors you and says, “I don’t care.”

He’d pay more than 500 gold marks just to make you happy.

Azriel battled with restless thoughts that night, unable to find solace in sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, the vivid image of you in that dress invaded his mind. He couldn’t wait to see you in that dress again. Maybe then, he’d have the courage to compliment you better.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the first guests arrived for the Starfall celebration, Azriel's eyes eagerly scanned the gathering crowd, seeking a glimpse of you. Just as a twinge of disappointment crept in, his shadows stirred, signaling your proximity. His wings twitched with anticipation and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You are absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. 

In an instant heartbeat, he’s pushing Cassian, who was ready to fly you up to the House of Wind, aside. With a warning look, Cassian steps away with a chuckle.

"You're here," he whispers, a blend of disbelief and relief saturating his breath.

“Well a very nice male spent a lot of money for me to be here.”

“Well I’m glad.” Azriel chuckles, eyes drinking you in again. Savoring you. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

Azriel flushes at the unexpected compliment and his shadows to come to life around him. He smiles at you. “Shall we?”

He waits for your nod before carefully hooking an arm beneath your knees, eyes never leaving yours. A thrill courses through him as he revels in the sensation of your arms around his neck, taking delight in the way you feel in his arms. His wings unfurl behind him, preparing for the short flight up. The sound has your eyes fluttering shut, arms tightening around him and face burying into his neck. He finds it absolutely endearing. He never wants to let you go.

Against his wishes, the flight up to the balcony was short. He sets you down, helping you regain your footing, a lingering touch before reluctantly releasing you. There’s still more guests he, unfortunately, has to fly up. It’s as if you sense his internal conflict because you’re turning around to face him, eyes bright and alight.

“Yes, Azriel. I’ll save you a dance.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue sends a thrill up his spine. He opens his mouth to say something but once again, you beat him to it.

"Thought I'd save you the question," you stated, an all-knowing grin gracing your features as you tapped the corner of one of your eyes. Ah, so you had a vision of him. He wonders about the other glimpses you might have seen.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it as Elain is rushing toward you, showering you with compliments. He takes that as his cue to depart. He is determined to finish his tasks in bringing the remaining guests up as fast as he can so that he can return to you and that dance you promised.

Azriel finds himself stealing glances whenever he thinks you won’t notice. The sparkle in your eyes, the way the dress accentuates your features–he can't look away. Caught up in the melody of your laughter, provoked by something Elain said, Azriel and his shadows are too mesmerized in the beauty of you to notice Feyre approaching until she speaks.

"She’s beautiful," Feyre remarks, her eyes following the same path as Azriel's gaze.

A soft affirmation escapes Azriel's lips. "Yes."

Feyre, well aware of the answer, delves further. "You bought her that dress?"

“Yes.”

A mischievous gleam flickers in Feyre's eyes as she delivers her next statement. "You like her." 

Azriel's response slips out before he can even grasp the depth of his own admission. "Yes."

He turns to Feyre, his wide eyes betraying the shock of his own revelation. A slight pallor washes over his skin and Feyre chuckles at his reaction. Sensing the tension in the air, she rests a reassuring arm on his shoulder. “I like her too,” she confesses.

Though, both of them recognize that Azriel's feelings for you run deeper and in more intricate ways than Feyre's own fondness.

“I offered her a place in this court. She said she’d think about it. Maybe you can convince her? The same way you convinced her to come to Starfall,” Feyre says and then with one last pat on his shoulder, she makes her way back toward Rhysand.

Still recovering from the revelation of his own feelings, it takes a while longer for the weight of Feyre’s words to sink in. A mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and a flicker of hope plays out across his features. You weren’t planning on staying? The thought of you leaving–leaving him stirs an odd feeling in his chest. His eyes seek you out again but you’re no longer standing beside Elain.  

In your place, stands Lucien and normally the sight would trigger dark emotions from him. But now? He feels nothing. There’s no sense of envy. His affections have shifted elsewhere.

Azriel’s shadows fall to the floor, slithering against the cool tile like serpents of the night. They lead the way directly to where you stand, by the champagne table. He makes his way toward you and you're downing the rest of the liquid in your glass.

“Azriel.” You smile at him.

“It’s time for you to fulfill the promise you made me.”

“Of course,” you reply, offering him your hand.

Azriel gracefully pulls you into his embrace. One hand wraps around yours while the other rests on your waist. The enchanting melody guides your movements as the two of you glide across the floor.

“Feyre told me she offered you a role in this court.”

Your eyes, wise and mysterious, meet his, and he feels your body tense under his hold. “What else did she tell you?”

“That you said you’d think about it,” he says, the rhythm of the dance allowing for a moment of ease to settle between you. “You should stay.”

“Why?”

A wistful expression colors your features and the soft glow of stars are reflected in your eyes. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of his hold before the next song begins.

“There’s no one here for me.” You admit and then give a small laugh as you look down. There's a deep, haunting sadness to your laughter, striking a chord within him.

“I’m right here.” 

Lifting your head back up, your eyes search his for something with a glimmer of hope. An eternity seems to pass in your gaze. A frown settles over your lips and he feels a tinge of sadness. Whatever you sought, it seems you did not find it.

Suppressing the surge of emotions within him, his hand reaches for yours again. He guides you to somewhere more private, toward one of the balconies that is off limits to the guests. “Talk to me,” he says, his words carrying an invitation for you to unburden your heart.

Your hands grip onto the railing before you and your attention is directed up towards the night sky. He mirrors your actions, resting his hands close to yours. So close he can feel your warmth but not close enough to touch.

"It feels weird being here," you sigh deeply. "My mother and I used to sneak out of Hewn City on Starfall just to catch a glimpse of these migrating spirits every year...until she realized what I was. She said I was a curse, said she would turn me into Keir and let him have his way with me if I didn't leave."

Azriel's fingers clench into a white knuckled grip at your words.

"Not that leaving a horrible city such as Hewn was exactly a punishment. It was probably for the best. Still didn't stop me from being scared. It was the first time in my life that I was actually alone. I had no choice but to learn how to survive."

"I met the Suriel a year later. He must've taken pity on me and would visit me without being summoned. Sometimes, it'd be to tease me with some gossip. Other times, to annoy and chide me for my mistakes. Most importantly, he taught me how to not only survive on my own but live alone. I don't know, it's probably silly but I just felt a lot less lonely when I was actually alone than I do here."

“It’s not silly. I used to feel that way too.” Azriel admits and after a moment of silence, he’s turning toward you.  “Am I not your friend?”

“I don’t know,” you find yourself saying again, uncertainty clouding your expression. The sight has his heart twisting. Pausing, you tear your gaze from the night sky to look at him. “Do you want to be?”

“Yes,” Azriel smiles at you. And so much more. 

You smile back at him but it doesn’t last long. Turning your head to face directly ahead, you bite the inside of your cheek in hesitation, revealing to Azriel that there’s more troubling you than your sense of loneliness.

“What else?” 

“There’s nothing else.”

“y/n.”

“I feel like a failure.”

Azriel's eyes widen, his heart sinking to his stomach. “You’re not,” he reassures quickly.

“I–I just,” you stammer, the weight of self-doubt evident in your voice. “It’s nearing four months since I’ve arrived and I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface with Elain.”

“How long did it take you to harness your abilities?”

“Decades,” you respond, the admission carrying a hint of sheepishness. “But Elain is different. This is different. I don’t want to disappoint her. Disappoint Feyre. The world we know is crumbling apart and we don’t have time. If–if we cannot fix it before it’s too late, I will have failed him.”

“Hey, look at me.”

When you don’t, Azriel lightly grips your chin, coaxing your gaze to him. “You’re here, aren’t you? You’re honoring his wish by just being here. Keep trying,” he encourages, wiping away your tears. “I’ll be here with you every step of the way. You’re not alone. We’ll face this together.”

“Together?”

He releases his hold on you, resting his hand once more on the rail. This time, it’s even closer to yours.

“Together,” he confirms, heart swarming with warmth when your pinky bridges the gap between you and brushes against his. 

And finally, it seems your lonely days are through.

Azriel’s been in love before. Twice. Or at least, he thought it was love. One was unrequited, a silent ache he carried within. The other was forbidden, a love he had clung to with misguided hope. He was beginning to come to the begrudging conclusion that love was simply not meant for him.

Then, you came along. Strange as it seems, you've seemed to have brought back that old feeling to him, awakening something deep inside of him. And though he doesn't know what you did, he thinks--he hopes that you could be the one. The one to possibly release him from the chains of solitude and longing.

You've rarely left his mind since the night he met you. The echoes of your first words to him lingered in his mind long after your encounter, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your voice was cloaked in both mystery and certainty, as though you held the threads of destiny within your grasp. It prompted him to ask who you were but your answer, “that’s for you to decide” only gave rise to more questions. 

Then, there was that smile. So beautiful, so hopeful. It etched itself into the recesses of his memory. It was a smile no one had ever bestowed upon him before and one he longed to see it again.

And he almost ruined it all–that day he snapped at you after a session gone wrong with Elain. Your intentions were always pure. He knew this. No one was at fault as everything that transpired between you and Elain was completely consensual. But the scream that tore through Elain sent him in a heightened frenzy. He had sworn to Rhysand and Feyre, his High Lord and High Lady, that he would protect Elain. Before he could properly assess the situation, he had roughly pushed you aside with a growl. The hurt that flashed in your eyes in response haunted him nearly every night.

You began to actively avoid his gaze and presence whenever possible and guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. Even his shadows, missing your attention, seemed angry with him. Truth be told, he was angry with himself too. You had made friends with everyone. Everyone but him.

The following two weeks became a series of futile attempts at groveling, your obliviousness to it all cutting deeper than he cared to admit. The breaking point came when you missed dinner and he knew it was time to set things right then. So he sent his shadows to look for you and when they reported back to him that you were sleeping in the library, he brought your dinner to you.

After that moment, the atmosphere between you two shifted. He became the chaser, gradually closing the distance between you.

You looked his way more, approached him with a newfound openness and your conversations became more frequent. You teased him at times, even, with your cryptic words. But rather than frustrating him, it only made him seek you out more. He wanted to be the one to unravel the mystery that was you.

Somewhere down the line, his eyes stopped searching for Elain's. The private moments he sought with her became mere echoes of the past—no more lingering touches, exchanged glances or pointless conversations. Instead, it was you who occupied the center of his attention, infiltrating his dreams and igniting desires he never knew he harbored.

You eased him like no other, effortlessly coaxing smiles and laughter from him. It was in these moments that the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—he had never truly been in love during the first two instances. What he felt for you was different. He was unwilling to let his feelings linger in the shadows as they had done before. He yearned for them to step into the light. To be acknowledged and acted upon openly.

He decided to wait until after Solstice to confess to you and hoped that your visions wouldn't give him away.

Laughter and clinks of wine glasses ring through the air. Azriel knows it’s time to open presents, his shadows singing loudly and overwhelming him with information. Cassian is sneaking a peak. Rhysand is rolling his eyes. Elain got Lucien a present. y/n is holding back tears.

Azriel tenses at the last bit of information, eyes immediately finding you. You’re seated beside Feyre–the two of you exchanging smiles. There’s an unwrapped present on your lap and his shadows dart toward it. It’s a small portrait of the Suriel. He hears you thank Feyre and he swears he can feel your ache of grief. He moves to stand from his seat but Elain stops him.

“Happy Solstice,” she says, holding out a small present. He takes the box albeit reluctantly but politely and opens it to find two tickets to an upcoming play. 

Elain smiles at the frown he’s trying to hide.

"Elain, I can't--"

“Y/n mentioned always wanting to go see a play. I thought maybe you could be the one to take her. After you confess."

His eyes search hers for any traces of hurt. He’s relieved when he finds none but the frown in his brow remains. “How–”

“She trained me well," Elain replies, eyes shining with an all knowing gleam he's seen in yours. "She deserves to be happy. You both do and something tells me that she’s the one you’ve been waiting for.”

Gods, you and Elain have been hanging out so much with one another that now she’s beginning to talk like you…

There's a sudden tightening in his chest, like a band about to snap at her words.

Azriel looks back at Elain in question but she only smiles at him once more before retreating back to where she was sitting previously. Next to Lucien, who also sends a smile his way.

Looking down at the tickets, he thinks of you again. His shadows stir, mirroring the strange sensation in his chest. It’s almost like a pull and his shadows guide him toward it, turning his head for him. Just in time to catch a glimpse of you quietly slipping away from the festivities. His steps quicken as he follows you, pulling his coat along with him.

The soft flakes of snow flutter down, a delicate dance in the winter night. Despite weeks of continuous snowfall, the enchanting beauty of it never fails to captivate you. It differs markedly from the unforgiving snowstorms you endured while wandering the Night Court's forests. But you’re still cold, body giving a shiver to the biting chill in the air.

As the door behind you creaks open, a rush of warmth accompanies its movement. The scent of cedar invades your senses, growing more intense as you feel a fabric drape over your shoulders, bringing forth that intimate warmth.

"Hey," Azriel breathes, a visible puff of white escaping his lips.

"Hi," you smile back at him, your fingers instinctively reaching for the coat that draped over your shoulders. You can't help but notice the thin sweater he wears. "Won't you be cold, though?"

Azriel stops you, securing his coat back onto your smaller frame with a reassuring smile. “I grew up in a camp where it snowed a lot more than this. I’ll be fine.”

You look back up at the night sky. The stars are shining so bright. It makes you wonder if they ever tire. They seem to answer you as their radiant beams cast a celestial glow upon you. Your vision blurs in surrender.

“What are you seeing?” Azriel inquires, curious. He hopes it's not the confession he's aching to spill.

Your eyebrows knit together, and you close your eyes, immersing yourself in deciphering the messages woven between the stars. Upon opening your eyes, you turn to Azriel, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“You're going to get frostbite."

Azriel lets out an amused huff. "I don't care. As long as you're warm, I’m warm.”

"We should head back inside," you suggest, doing your best to not melt at his words.

"No," Azriel insists, enfolding a wing around your form, anchoring you in place. His shadows can sense you don't want to go back inside yet either. “I like being alone with you."

The wind nips at your cheeks, a sensation you welcome as it gives the perfect excuse for the blush creeping across your face. Tearing your gaze away from Azriel before he can discern his effect on you, you quietly share, "Nyx is going to say his first word in three days."

Azriel leans forward and you can feel his anticipation. A familial bet circulates among his uncles and aunts (save for Elain) regarding what the young heir’s first word will be. “What is it?”

“Cas.”

Azriel can't resist glancing back toward the house, his eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. There, he catches a fleeting glimpse of Cassian playfully hoisting Nyx in the air, the two engaged in a lively game of chase with Rhysand around the living room. When he turns his attention back to you, mischief twinkles in your eyes.

“You’re lying.”

And that smile he’s been longing for since he met you graces your lips as you laugh. A sweet and beautiful sound that warms the winter air.

“You fell for it,” you say.

Azriel's gaze dips toward your lips before lifting back to meet your eyes. He leans in even closer.

“I fell for you.”

You also lean in, eyes never leaving his. He can hear your heart quicken and his does the same.

"The answer is yes."

"What?"

Azriel nearly stumbles back, caught off guard, but you remain close, lifting a hand and cradling his cheek. It's surprisingly warm and he instinctively leans into your touch. His eyes widen.

Did you—

“To you taking me on a date,” you reveal, your smile deepening and he swears his shadows snicker in response. “The vision I just saw. It was of me and you at a theater. Next Friday at seven.”

“Next Friday at seven,” Azriel confirms, a tender affection lighting up his expression.

The air seems to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting future. You reach out, tugging at the bond in your chest. Once again, there is only silence. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. Not when Azriel is gazing at you as though you are the very stars illuminating the night sky.

And then you're kissing him.

The snow crunches underfoot as Azriel moves, his usually keen senses dulled. His mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you. Even as the icy missiles fly past him, Azriel remains lost in the memories of shared glances and smiles and the way your lips felt so perfect against his last night.

For the first time in years, Azriel finds himself on the losing side of the annual snowball fight. Oddly, no disappointment lingers, even after meticulous planning for this anticipated victory.

All he wants is to return home—to you.

Amidst the snowy chaos, revelation strikes him simultaneously with a snowball from Rhysand. The snap, the bond—everything falls into place. It all makes sense now. Your words when you first met. Elain’s words last night at Solstice. Why your presence thrilled and delighted him. Why he couldn't shake the feeling of love and adoration for you.

You are his mate. 

The one he had been longing and pleading for and the realization left him breathless. He shakes the snow from his face and Rhysand blinks back at him in surprise. The High Lord had been expecting a glare but he only finds pure shock on Azriel’s face.

“Oh come on, I didn’t hit you that hard,” he teases.

“I have to go.”

“If you leave, you’re forfeiting,” warns Cassian, but the glint in his eye betrays a desire for Azriel to leave, eager for a victory.

“I yield,” Azriel says mindlessly, surprising even Rhysand. Feeling his friend's talons probing his mind, Azriel throws up his shields and disappears into his shadows, abandoning the snow-covered battlefield. He'll explain later.

For now, he has to find you.

His shadows winnow him back to the River house and he doesn’t have to look for long because there you are, making your way down the last step and standing in his path. There’s not much that surprises you but that has changed since meeting Azriel and this moment is no different. Your eyes are widening, mouth parting.

“Azriel," you say. "What are you doing here? I thought you were–”

“It’s you,” Azriel interrupts breathlessly as if he was running, chest rising and falling quickly in step with the erratic beating of his heart. He’s bridging the distance between you. “All this time. It’s been you.”

You swallow thickly. “You know?”

The glimmer of hope that had ignited during Starfall returns to your eyes, revealing a world he hadn’t realized existed. How could he have been so blind?

Azriel smiles at you and it’s as if that’s the last piece to the puzzle as the bond between you both comes to life, singing loudly against your chests. He pulls you flush against him and spins you around, eliciting a delightful squeal from you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses your forehead, then the corners of your eyes. He saves your lips for last, lingering in the sweet taste of them for a moment longer.

“You’re my mate,” he says quietly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yes,” you manage to whisper back, surrendering yourself to the depths of his mesmerizing hazel eyes, just like in the vision from months ago. And it’s not you who speaks again but Azriel.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

a/n: hope you all enjoyed this (: It took me longer to write than I thought because i'm used to writing more angst for Az than fluff but I wanted this to be different. It's canon that Elain found out that reader and Az were mates through a vision around the same time she decided to give Lucien a chance. I just want them all to be happy ♡ in terms of my ABBA x ACOTAR series, I think I'll work on another one for Cas next inspired by Honey, Honey. If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know!

tagging: @hellodarling1357

if you want to read more about Az x Seer reader, I wrote a couple of bonus scenes that didn't quite make the final cut. You can read them here.

[adventure-awaits13]

My absolute favorite Azriel story of all time 💙✨

I can always count on it cheering me up when I need it 💙

[prythianpages]

Could you ever choose between Eris or Azriel cause I know I never could

Nope lol. May depend on the time of season you ask. It goes back to my previous ask & one of the reasons I enjoy Eris x Azriel x Reader…

por qué no los dos? (why don’t we have both?)

[pellucid-constellations]

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 720

Warnings: Injury, blood, symptoms of a panic attack

a/n: Hi! I haven't been able to write for some time, so I'm having a drabble spree over the next week or so, writing based on prompts from this list. If you send me a category, I'll pick a prompt!!

This fic was based on this prompt in the Hurt/Comfort category: Physically injured character comforting emotionally distressed character

____________________________________________

Your hands were shaking so hard that they were becoming a hazard. You wrung out the cloth meant to soothe the Shadowsinger's wound for the third time and dunked it back into the herbal concoction. The water lapped with your trembling fingers. Your jaw shook as you attempted to breathe.

He wasn't dying. He wasn't. He had been through worse. You'd seen him worse off with your own eyes, treated him on the very table he lay on now, with blood dripping into puddles where the floor was currently unmarred. But he hadn't been your mate then. You hadn't loved him as you did now.

Azriel let out a pained sound, and you flinched as you lathered the damp cloth in healing ointment.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," you rushed, your voice as shaky as your hands. "I should have been faster. I'm so sorry, Azriel."

He was pale and sweating when you returned to his side. You felt the blood leave your own face as you dabbed at his faebane-wrought wound, attempting to soothe the ache as Madja had taught you. Magic could not do anything against faebane, so it was a waiting game.

He gritted his teeth and attempted a shake of his head. "Don't—don't apologize. Thank you. It's helping."

"Right, okay," you mumbled to yourself. You hovered your palms over the now-covered wound. "You're okay. It's okay."

Your skin felt like it was vibrating, your breathing becoming harsh and out of time. There wasn't much of a wound left on Azriel's side after all of your attempts at healing, but the lingering scent of blood and his stained leathers remained. You stared at the mishapened crimson until the image became distorted in your mind. The ringing began then, sounding at a distance until it was practically thrumming at your ear.

This was panic. You were familiar with it. But there was no time to panic, no place when Azriel needed you.

You spun on your heel and pressed a hand to your chest, trying and failing to gulp in any air you could. Tears sprang to your eyes when the attempts began to hurt, when you started to feel lightheaded, and the world was crumbling down on you.

He was hurt. Azriel was hurt, and all you could do was wait. He was going to die one day, and you would never see him again and—

A face in front of yours, beaded in sweat, pallid in the low faelight you'd cast, but a face so familiar you would know it blind. Azriel's hazel eyes bore into yours, and his lips were moving to form slow, measured words that you could not hear. You felt him first, the careful rhythm of his thumbs drawing circles on your shoulders, both grounding and shocking your senses. When you began to blink harder, he ran a hand over your hair and pulled you closer until your forehead rested against his.

"You're okay," he murmured into the sliver of space between you. "I'm okay, and you're okay. You'll always be okay with me. Deep breaths, angel. One at a time."

You tracked his exaggerated inhales and matched the steady exhales. He offered you an encouraging nod when you finally caught your breath, and then pulled back enough to press his lips to your forehead. He held you there for a long moment. Your fingers found purchase in the material at his chest.

"Back with me?" Azriel lowly asked.

"Yes," you stuttered out, feeling strange and airy, but more present than you had before.

"Good," Azriel breathed. "Good—can you... Don't panic, angel, but I need your help lying down again. Can you do that for me?"

You jolted, tore back from him, and slammed back to the moment in totality. You opened your mouth to apologize, to yell at him, to panic, when Azriel gently shook his head. He faltered where he stood, and you gripped his arms to steady him.

"None of that. I needed to help you. Now you help me. That's what we do." A brush of his thumb along your cheek. A grimace as he moved wrong. "Although I will admit—this hurt a lot less when I was worried. It's—I may need an extended amount of help now that I know you're all right."

[sketchesat]

Snatched and sl*tty Azriel here we go ! And I have rhysand for the next installment of batboys in revealing outfits haha I’m thinking to make this a series !

Coms open !!!

My art insta is : sketches_at

And this is my Patreon for … more interesting stuff 😏🫣

[coquettefrancaise]

jealous guy

by John Lennon

pairing: Azriel x fem!reader ~ 2.9k

summary: Azriel grows jealous when it appears that you're growing closer to the local apothecary but doesn't realize you're only trying to help him

warnings: protective Az 🙌🏻, ummm brief mention of Cassian and Nesta's sex life lol, nothing horrible

You weren't even his. You weren't even his. You weren't even his.

Azriel had to remind himself this each time his fingers clenched into fists and a swell of rage warmed his chest. There would be no justifiable reason for him to knock that bastard's face in because you had no ties to Azriel. Not even the fact that he was the court's Spymaster was enough to let him off the hook if he murdered the 'innocent' male.

Nothing about that male was innocent; from that leering look in his eyes whenever you walked up to the counter to the way he leaned in close whenever you offered a nicety. And that was all it was: a nicety. Right? Azriel was now unsure if he had misread your body language and you were actually interested in the guy as well. He hoped not.

You were one of the priestesses who had joined the group of Valkyrie, where Azriel had first met you. From what his shadows gathered, Cassian had taken you from an abusive household in one of the Illyrian camps and deposited you to the safety of the House of Wind library where many young, troubled females sought refuge. How Azriel had been unaware of your close presence for nearly four decades was baffling. Your scent alone had his instincts reverting to outdated primal urges.

It had been a handful of months of your training and something of a friendship had blossomed between you and the otherwise impassive Shadowsinger. From the first time you nicked his jaw with the heel of your foot, he had been...fascinated by you.

Many shared water breaks and lunches later, it became routine for him to accompany you in Valeris to drop you off at Feyre's art studio to help teach the youth classes and then take you home. And, despite your continued insistence that he didn't need to trouble himself, he found escorting you to be the best part of his day.

Much to his confusion, he couldn't push you from the recesses of his brain. Every time he closed his eyes, your face appeared, a smile curving your lips and eyes sparkling with mirth. Every female he came across sparked no feelings in his chest like you did. Hel, his body responded to you like a teenager.

He thought you felt the same until the fateful day where you asked to stop at the local apothecary on the way to the House of Wind. He had obliged of course, needing no pleading from you when just the tilt of your head was enough incentive to assent to any idea you could come up with.

It had become a new development for you to hold his hand during this shared time together, something Azriel had been startled yet content to do. You often commented on the state of his hands, never rudely or disgusted, as he was accustomed to, but concerned over his well-being.

You examined one of the thickest scars as he led you through the city, thumb brushing over the raised skin. "Everything must be a sensory nightmare," you murmur affectionately.

He pulled you closer to avoid other pedestrians. "After five hundred years you learn to live with it."

You obviously weren't satisfied with his answer. "Have you ever asked Madja for some type of balm or anything? Surely there's something that would help."

With any other person, he would have pulled his hand from their grasp and switched the topic, but he rather enjoyed your fussiness. So he let you explore the leathery ridges of his scars with your own small, soft fingers, and reveled in the attention. "Sure, I've asked her, but there's very little that can be done when I have very little time to keep up on taking care of them. My job is very demanding."

You huffed, annoyed. "You take so little care of yourself, Azriel. I feeling inclined to believe you put more effort into managing Truthteller than you are of your own body."

He bit the inside of his cheek to hide the tilt of his lips. He was really enjoying your fussiness.

As soon as you entered the apothecary building, he left you to conduct your business at the front while he perused the store. An annoyingly handsome male greeted you with an annoying smile and Azriel resisted the urge to let his shadows spy on your conversation. You were a grown female and the least he could do was provide you with privacy.

He took a breath to release the tension coiling in his shoulders. He also might have rolled them dramatically so that the siphon on his bicep glinted in the apothecary's eye.

Fortunately, you wrapped up your conversation and paid for your items quickly before returning to Azriel. His heart flipped when your fingers found his immediately.

He didn't have anything to worry about. Right?

The assorted smells of spices and essential oils assaulted Azriel's sense for the third time in the past fortnight. He thought that after that first visit it would be some time before he stepped inside the stupid apothecary yet here he was.

Like every other time, you were at the counter and speaking with him while Azriel attempted to distract himself by looking at soaps and sugar scrubs. Who could blame him that he had the occasional urge to send his shadows to eavesdrop? It's not like he actually authorized the direction.

His teeth clenched tightly at the sound of your melodic laugh reaching his ears. Why the Hel was he making you laugh? And about what? Some dumb herbal joke, no doubt.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the male rubbing something into your hand. The intimate gesture caused Azriel's feet to storm out of the shop before the movement could register in his brain.

As soon as the fresh air hit his face, he gulped it in, attempting to calm the overwhelming surge of emotions filtering through him. What was happening to him? He had never felt so strongly about anyone. Ever. Not even Mor or Elain or Gwyn.

Less than a minute later, the bell on the door chimed and a tentative hand perched on his arm. "Azriel?"

He slowly turned around and met your worried eyes. "Are you finished?" his voice came out gruffer than he'd intended.

You nodded, searching his gaze. "Are you alright? You ran out like the hounds of Hel were on your heel."

Not even those hounds could stop him from tearing into that male if Azriel had spent one moment longer in that small, stuffy parlor. It was only by consideration of you that he'd managed to make it outside and cool off instead of reacting.

He flexed his fingers to release any lingering frustration. "I'm all right."

Your attention flicked to his hand and you grasped it without ceremony and brought it up close for examination. "Are they hurting? It's growing colder and I assume that irritates the skin?"

A portion of Azriel's bad mood melted. Here you were caring for him while he was in a bad mood over some inconsequential fae.

"It tends to feel tight and itchy in cold weather, especially when it's dry," he murmured softly, "but it's manageable."

True enough, his skin had been starting to crack and bleed which was more uncomfortable than painful. He would opt to wear gloves but they only felt more constricting, making him feel suffocated.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You said that last time. Are you just to averse to anyone wanting to help you that you pretend everything's fine all the time?"

"Us males are the ones who are supposed to take care of females; not the other way around."

"Well Azriel," you twine your fingers with his and press a gentle kiss to his irritated knuckles. "I'm going to take care of you regardless of your old fashioned gender beliefs."

He used his free hand to chuck under your chin in a playful scolding. "Didn't anyone teach you how to speak to your elders?"

"Considering the amount of times I've mopped the training mat with you, I deserve the right to speak to you anyway I wish." You retaliated confidently, stepping close enough that he could smell that scent that was uniquely you.

Azriel had a comeback on the tip of his tongue when a shadow drew his attention to the outside of your hand that held his. Right where the apothecary had touched you was turning red as if aggravated. "What did he do to you?"

"Hm?" you looked to where he was studying and a blush tinged your cheeks. "Oh, he was just-I asked if I could try out a new product he had lying about."

It didn't take a professional detective—which is what Azriel essentially was—to know that you were lying. He only wondered why?

He considered heading back into the shop and demanding to know what was in this product that had marred your skin but decided against it when you pulled him away, rambling on about something or other and effectively hauling Azriel's thoughts to you. Which worked Every. Single. Time.

"-he put this product on her hand that made it rash. And, I swear to the gods Cassian, I am going to kill him if he touches her again."

Cassian ducked to avoid a fist to the face, and chuckled, completely oblivious to the amount of sleep—which was less than usual—Azriel had lost over this situation. "You can't exactly do anything about it. She's allowed to date whoever she wants because she's only your friend...right?"

Azriel swept a foot and knocked Cassian on his ass. The bastard knew she was more than a friend and just wanted to get a rise out of Azriel.

Cassian tapped out and they both went to get some water.

"I just don't know what to do." Azriel scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling at a loss. "I'd leave her alone if she asked but I don't know if I could live knowing she was with another male."

A large hand clapped over his shoulder. "You're in love, you idiot."

Love? Azriel anticipated the alarm that normally accompanied that word. Instead, he felt welcome to the idea. Perhaps he did love you. And if that was the case, then he had to do something about it.

"I don't think either of us ever expected this but what-"

"Just tell her," Cassian replied bluntly, sipping at his water as if they were discussing something as innate as the weather. "There's no need for dramatics. At least that's what Nesta told me when I finally confessed my feelings.

"Should I really trust yours and Nesta's love advice?"

"Considering I get laid multiple times a day, yes." A smug smile grew on his brother's face, unsettling Azriel.

He swallowed what was left in his cup and walked away without another word. If he was going to confess anything to you, he needed to be away from Cassian so as to not do anything stupid.

"You're welcome!" Cassian called.

Azriel flew into Valeris and spent the better part of an hour pacing outside of the art studio, contemplating what he would say.

He was completely certain that whatever he managed to come up with would disappear from his mind as soon as he saw you walk out the doors and he was right.

The sight of you laughing at something Feyre said had Azriel's heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Would he feel this way every time he saw you? Most likely. Was he ready for it? Absolutely.

You hadn't noticed him immediately, speaking to Feyre in a hushed tone when the high lady prodded you and you finally looked up. Azriel had never seen so beautiful a smile as the one that tilted your lips.

"Well, I'm just going to close up," Feyre said and returned back inside.

"Hi," Azriel offered.

"Hi," you blushed.

No matter that you had done this more than a dozen times, it would feel brand new each time.

Soon enough, you and Azriel were walking along the Sidra hand in hand, talking about anything and everything. Azriel considered telling you about his feelings every now and then but was too afraid to break the relaxed moment.

"Can we stop by the shop?"

Azriel nearly groaned aloud at your request. "Must we really?"

"Yes!" you replied, nearly giddy. Giddy to see the apothecary? "I have something ve-ery important to pick up."

He hesitated. The past few times he had been able to hold himself back from saying or doing something stupid but he wasn't so sure as to this time.

Before he could answer, you were tugging him in that damned shop.

He was there, like always, and greeted you eagerly. Azriel was about to move to a wall and leave you to your shopping when you pulled him with you to the counter. The closer in proximity to this male had his blood boiling but your hand in his was an anchor. He wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable.

"Good afternoon Westley," you tilted your head, "this is Azriel, my boyfriend. Azriel, Westley owns this shop."

Boyfriend. You said boyfriend. And without any stumbling or delay. Azriel's chest puffed in male satisfaction and he gave Westley a smug grin.

"You're the Shadowsinger, right? I was tempted to ask each time you came in but was too nervous." Westley chuckled uneasily, eyes sliding from Azriel to you as if searching for some comfort from the tension rising.

"I am."

A pregnant pause and then you clear your throat. "Do you have my balm?"

"Yes!" Westley took the out and scurried into the back room to retrieve whatever you had ordered.

"I"m your boyfriend?" Azriel wasted no time in asking, leaning against the counter and pulling you close, his hand snaking to rest on your hip.

Pink splashed across your cheeks, something he'd never get tired of seeing. "I-I assumed? We have been going out for the better part of four months...right?"

He smiled softly at your sudden timidness and he moved his hand to the small of your back to better hold you near. "We have," he assured, much to your relief, "although I hope you'll forgive me for not taking you out on actual dates. An issue I'll remedy tonight."

"So you're not mad that I told Westley that we're together?"

"Mad? If anything I'm pleased. The guy's been bugging me every time we've come in."

Your brows pulled. "Why?"

Azriel rubbed his thumb along your spine. "He watches you like you're the last dessert on the table and always makes you laugh." He grumbled.

You laughed, "You make me laugh all the time."

"That's different,"

Westley stepped back out with a metal tin and opened it, revealing the scent of lavender, chamomile, and a few other scents Azriel didn't recognize. Without asking, he reached for your hand and, before he could do anything, Azriel grasped his wrist, twisting it at an uncomfortable angle. Westley yelped.

"Don't touch her," Azriel warned deeply, glaring at the male.

You soothed your hands along Azriel's chest, attempting to calm him down. "Azriel. Let go. You're going to hurt him."

Without letting go, he looked at you. "Every time this bastard has put his hands on you, you grow a rash or your skin gets red. I can't stand to see anyone put you in any discomfort."

Your features softened and you curled your fingers around his forearm. "I promise he wasn't doing anything intentionally harmful,"

Azriel slowly let go of the apothecary's wrist and instead glared at him. "What have you been putting on her?"

Westley rubbed at his tender skin and kept his eyes glued to the counter. "A healing salve-"

"-for you." You finished, picking up the tin he'd dropped and dipping your fingers into it to collect the ointment inside. "I wanted to make something that would help your scars so Westley and I concocted a salve. It took a few tries to get it right—hence why I had a few rashes—but we got one that proved hopeful."

So that's why you had rashes? Because you had been testing out a salve for him?

Nobody had ever done anything so thoughtful for him. Ever.

He gave in to his urge and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. The rest of the shop, and Westley, disappeared, leaving only you and Azriel in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy. His fingers dug into your hips, pressing you so close you could have crawled into his skin. Your own fingers found and grasped tightly at his shoulders, leveraging you upwards.

Ahem.

Azriel pulled away and looked, heavy-lidded, to the apothecary who was watching the scene with a wince. "It'll be two six gold coins."

Azriel tossed whatever he had in his pocket and moved you out of the shop. "We're never going there again," he mumbled.

"What about if you need more ointment?" you laughed, amused by his apparent disliking of the fae.

"Madja can gather the ingredients and make it herself. I don't want to see you around that male ever again."

You only leaned into his side, massaging more ointment into his hands as he led you to a sidewalk, gentler than he'd ever imagined anyone could be with him. "I love you Azriel. Even if you're acting like an overprotective male."

"And I love you," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and took you home.

author's note: not proofread but i believe in this fic 😃 don't hate me if there are important things missing, i'm posting it to have it done with!!

[bullletproof-love]

Don’t tell your daughter that when a boy is mean or rude to her it’s because he has a crush on her. Don’t teach her that abuse is a sign of love.

[comic-canary]

My mom always taught me yell or fight back. Boys would be mean and I would yell back. I would get my ass pinched and I would smack them as hard as I could.

Who alway got in trouble? Me.

They would call my mother and she always came in and lectures my teachers and threatened to sue for making her miss work and treating me poorly.

She always taught my brothers to respect women. The only fights my brothers ever got in was defending women from someone else.

The school tried to call my father once instead of my mother on us. He came in in his full preacher outfit (being a preacher and all) and gave them an entire sermon on what would Jesus day of he was called in. They decided dealing with my mom was better.

[edmundo-noches-buckley]

I think my favorite story of this is when some kid snapped my bra and I turned around, didn’t even think about it, and punched that little motherfucker right in the nose.

So naturally, I end up in the principal’s office, refusing to apologize. 

“He shouldn’t have put his hands on me and I wouldn’t have hit him!” That’s the only thing I was saying.

These people had the unfortunate luck of catching my dad at home, instead of my mom. So he comes fucking sauntering in there, like he’s Clint fucking Eastwood in some western movie and looks at me. 

“Melissa, did you punch him?” 

“Yes.” I said. 

“Why?” 

“Because he snapped my bra strap.” 

And he turns his squinty eyed glare to the principal and says, “You’re telling me my daughter is in trouble because that squirrely looking kid put his hands on her and she chose to defend herself? That’s what you are saying to me.” 

“Well, sir-” The man kind of stuttered because my dad is kind of intimidating in the quiet sort of way that kind of whispers in the back of your mind that this person could be dangerous. “Melissa did make it physical.” 

“No. That kid put his hands on my daughter. Are you saying my daughter cannot defend herself when some boy decides to put hands on her? Is that what you are teaching my girl?” 

I didn’t get suspended that day.  

[lotrlocked]

*slow clap for excellent parenting*

[ive-got-a-dark-side]

This is the parent I want to be omg

[marybeatriceofmodena]

I went to a nun school. 

The nuns there were like, so rad. 

It was a party organized for the end of the school year, and I was helping in the kitchen to prepare stuff with a nun and a bunch of little girls. There was one of the girls’ little brother who was there. 

There was a little girl who was carrying a bowl of tomato sauce and was going outside, but the boy was just in front of her and he slammed the door in her face. She dropped the bowl on the floor and got all messy. 

So what happened? 

The nun went outside, took the boy by the arm, and gave him an epic speech going around the lines of: “Would you treat the Virgin Mary like that, young man?” “Nnnnno…” “Then treat every girl like she’s the Virgin Mary.” Not only the boy had to apologize to the little girl, but he also had to clean up and he was put on kitchen duty for the rest of the day. 

Then another day, in catechism class (I was a in a girls’ school, mind you), the nun was there telling us: “If a guy touches you in a way you don’t like, punch him in the face. It’s not a sin against charity. On the contrary, you’re being charitable by showing him he’s sinning by impurity and you’ll save him from going to hell.” 

So I was at my desk during class looking like this: 

[musicalhell]

Reblogging for awesome dads and kickass nuns.

[autijacen]

“you’re being charitable by showing him he’s sinning by impurity and you’ll save him from going to hell.”

What a mood.

[bairnsidhe]

Jesus said if guys hands were causing them sin-problems, they should cut them off.  Face-punching seems like a good pre-amputation steps, to prevent it getting that far.

[cheetochild989]

mom always said we could basically go feral if anyone ever touched us or tried to kidnap us. Kick, scream, punch, be as loud and wild as physically possible. Biting is extremely on the table and not only allowed but ENCOURAGED. No holds barred. Go rabid. Do whatever it takes to get away.

No such thing as “fair fight” because they made it unfair by violating your space and trying to do bad things to you 👍

[agentmilayawithshield]

in Westeros, you're not allowed to be the eldest son with a facecard they immediately end you