blimp in time

•My asks are open• • 22 • she/her • time travel

[blimpintime]

jar of wind part five

Wynnie Lara is a fairy that was saved from a jar from Amarantha's reign of terror, but is soon figuring out that her time of peace is coming to a end.

warnings: angst and fluff

word count: 730 ish

Eris x OC

The days it took for Wynnie to wake were excruciatingly long but for Eris time had stopped moving altogether. The once damp note now brown and tightly crusted sat on his desk, mocking him. When he initially read it, he almost started a war with another court, however common sense and a breath of fresh air told him otherwise. What could have Wynn done to possibly upset them to the extent of torturing her? Nothing. He thought harshly, there was nothing she would have known that would have threatened them to the point of making her some sort of nasty political statement to the Autumn Court. 

He waited for her to be awake and coherent before he started the troubling conversation with her. His heart pulsed with agony thinking about the pain she went through, it made his throat dry and go scratchy with hot dark rage. 

The healer watching over Wynn swiftly came through the door of his office. “She is awake my Lord.” He cleared his throat with a loud grateful noise and shot up. 

When they reached her room where she was resting Eris ripped the door open to find her sitting up drinking a glass of water with bleary eyes. 

His stomach fell out from under him as he closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of them in the room.

He swallowed what little spit his dry mouth had and walked swiftly to her bedside. Tears started to form whether he liked it or not. Blinking his eyes quickly to try and shoo them away when a bandaged hand gently wipes them for him. His eyes waterly met hers and she had a stream of tears leaking out of both eyes by the time they made eye contact. 

“Eris.” She whimpered softly. He reached for her and softly joined her on the bed holding her gently and being so delicate around her wings that were in the process of healing. 

“I was so afraid Eris.” She hiccuped into his shoulder. “I couldn’t fight back or anything.” She sobbed. 

“You will never go through something like this again, my dear.” He would swear on his own life and court. 

“You can’t promise that Eris.” She finally had stopped crying, nose stuffed and eyes puffy. “They want to start a war between the courts.” 

“Who? Who did this to you, and I swear to the mother herself that I will find them and burn them from the inside out.” Eris said his grip tightened slightly around her. She winced subtly but Eris noticed and relaxed while still holding her.

“If it was the Night Court-” 

“The Night Court?” Wynn interrupted her face full of confusion. “No it was a witch and an ogre who shot me out of the sky.” 

“A witch?” Eris’s face turned blank with rage. “Wynnie, would you happen to know her name?” He asked her softly rubbing her arm in comfort. 

“She said her name was Blythe.” She said with a bite of anger in her voice. 

Eris dipped his head onto her shoulder and took in a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. She curled in closer trying not to cringe in pain when she adjusted her shattered leg. 

“We need to set up a meeting with the Night Court.” He whispered. “You will be living with me for now. Until it is safe for you to go home.” He started to ramble and Wynn looked up with a soft smile forming on her chapped lips. 

“Okay.” He looked at her bruises and bandages and yet she was still the most beautiful being he had ever seen. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly but for a long quiet moment. 

He ran his hand through her hair soothingly, he made sure her hair was brushed and braided everyday by a personal maid. She made a humming noise in content. 

“Eris?” She whispered. “Yes, dear?” He said, nudging his nose in her hair, inhaling her comforting scent. 

“I love you.” She said with grace like it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t say it back. She just needed him to know. 

Eris for a moment stopped playing with her hair and looked at her with his mouth open and eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe that she had just said that so loosely. He closed his mouth and licked his lips nervously. 

“I think I love you too Wynnie.” His eyes looked at her green ones nervously, and when she leaned in and placed her lips softly over his, suddenly everything seemed like it could be okay. Maybe.

a/n: hey yall.... sorry it's been a while :/

please let me know what yall think !!

taglist:

@buckyloki888 @litnerdwrites @the-fandom-ness @booksbypisces @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor @fatimam6 @lees-chaotic-brain @love-bookprincess @paleidiot @slytherintaco @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @esposadomd @dxjaaaa @tele86 @saltedcoffeescotch @starryhiraeth @littlefairybrooke

[brucewayneswifey22]

Foolish

jack abbot x wife!reader

synopsis: jack abbot has had a shit day. luckily, his beautiful OBGYN wife is there to save his day.

contains: night crew!!, trinity santos being a menace, depictions of birth, jack being a simp, bad bitch reader, no use of y/n

note: first 'the Pitt' fanfic.

Being the lead OBGYN in PTMC emergency department was no easy feat. 

You constantly handled STIs, infected IUDs and the occasional birth, but it was otherwise pretty calm. 

They called you Bear, due to your calm yet assertive approach to distressed women. Not to mention it referred to ‘Mama Bear’, what almost all the interns and new residents called you at the insistence of Robby.

Overall, you truly loved your job. You got to spend time with women, babies, and your best friends.

Also, your husband worked in the Emergency Department, and you two always made it a show to flaunt your marriage in front of the residents. 

.

.

.

Jack was tired.

He got shot. No, wait. Shot at. There’s a difference. A clear difference that he would highlight in your eventual fight over it. 

Whatever, he was irritated as fuck. 

And now he had all the new gen residents bitching to him about going analogue.

He entered a trauma room, followed by Dr. Santos, Dr. Langdon, student doctors Ogilvie and Joy and senior resident Ellis. 

“Okay, Ms. Richards, can you tell us what happened?” He asked, frowning as he gazed over her chart. 

Right, a woman was currently crowning the ER. Not the best situation, but it is what it is.

The woman cleared her throat, sweaty and crying as she held her bump. “My…my water broke while I was taking a hike. I had to go all the way back down before calling 911. I passed out and here I am.” She wheezed out. 

Jack nodded, looking around. “Joy, what are we looking for?” He called out, gloving and gowning up.

“Uhm-”

“Chorioamnionitis. Her uterus may be infected.” Ogilvie cut her, looking over at Jack for approval.

The older man paused, dumbfounded at the cause. Great, Robby assigned him a Gunner.

Santos snorted from where she was getting the epidural ready. 

“We’re looking for horses, not zebras.”

The familiar voice made Jack’s muscles relax. 

The familiar pink scrubs appeared in the room. 

Everybody paused, before Ellis chuckled. 

“Thank God Dr. Abbot’s here, no offence Jack.” She snorted, already walking over to you instinctively. 

You breathed out a smile, pulling your hair off your face. “Thanks, Doctor Ellis.” 

You walked over to Jack’s side, giving him a teasing smile. “Dr. Abbot, what’s up with the patient?”

He cleared his throat. God, he’s whipped when you use that authoritative tone. 

“Well, she’s two weeks premature, and was having strenuous activity before the birth so that is the most likely cause.” You nodded, turning over to Ogilvie.

“She would be over 100 degrees if it were chorioamnionitis.” You explained dryly, checking the patient’s vitals.

“Dr. Abbot’s the expert here, dear future doctors. She's the head of OBGYN down here. She could probably birth triplets with her eyes closed.” Jack stated, trying to maintain an air of professionalism in front of them.

“I have. Remember Snowmageddon?” You said, nudging his side with your hip.

Langdon and Ellis, already used to all of this, were moving in tandem, while Santos, Ogilvie and Joy were nothing but flabbergasted. 

“Okay, Ms. Richards. I’m afraid we’ll have to give birth to your baby girl right here. You are much too fragile to go up to L&D.” With a sigh, you sat on the chair and rolled over between her legs, pushing your glasses up.

Santos, ever the chaotic good that she was, cleared her throat. “Doctor Abbot?” She called out.

Both you and Jack looked over to her, eyebrows raised. She paused, looking between the two.

“Mama Bear, epidural’s ready.” Langdon called out. You nodded, going over to ask the patient if she wanted an epidural.

She nodded, gripping the railing of the gurney.

“Okay, Dr. Santos, epidural.” You ordered, adjusting the lady’s legs on the stirrups.

“Are you two married?” Joy finally blurted out, looking between you two. 

You paused, turning over to Jack for his answer.

He paused before nodding, crossing his arms. “Yeah, yeah we are. She’s senior here though. She has about two years on me experience wise. But, yeah, we’re both doctor Abbot-”

“Honey?” You cut off his nervous rambling, looking up at him with those deep eyes of yours. 

He mumbled out a sorry, turning back to the patient as she pushed. “You guys can just call me Bear. That’s the nickname around here.” You mumbled, busy checking the dilation.

10 centimeters. Time to go.

“Uh, no. You guys call her Dr. Abbot. Just call me Jack.” Your husband protested, gulping at your cautious glance. 

Santos raised her eyebrows, surprised at the attending’s insistence on keeping your doctor title. 

“That’s some feminist shit.” She said under her breath, earning a “I know that’s right” from Ellis.

“One last push, Ms. Richards.” You assured, hands ready to catch the babe while everybody else gossiped.

Jack watched you, eyes observing reverently as you entered flow state.

That’s what he loved the most about you, how focused you were when you were working. 

The contrast of his beautiful and serious colleague from his caring and passionate wife always made his heart do a little twirl. 

At one point, Langdon and Santos started bickering before a sharp cry cut them off.

You cooed gently, wiping the baby’s eyes. “Langdon, 9:30.” You called out the time of birth, carefully cutting the umbilical birth while Ellis grabbed the baby, bringing her to her mama.

You turned to Jack, grinning. “Think we don’t need you here, Dr. Abbot.” You teased, waiting for the placenta.

He smiled, walking over to your side. “You sure, Dr. Abbot?”

“Yes, go help Robby. Poor man’s last day is already as bad as it can get.” You ordered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

He blushed, nodding. “Yes ma’am.” He said with a small salute, leaving.

Trinity snorted, looking down at your expert hands. “That was so weird.”

“What? You’ve never seen Abbot act like a puppy?” Ellis snorted, holding the metal tray under the woman as her placenta spilled out. 

You always loved seeing the residents’ reaction to you and your husband. Nothing could replace the dumbfoundedness on their faces. 

Trinity nodded.

You sighed, sitting up with a backstretch. “He knows how to abandon authority when I’m around.”

Joy held back a grin. “That’s some Alpha/Beta shit, Doc.” She hummed, bursting out into laughter at Ogilvie’s reaction.

“I don’t even know what that is.” He grimaced. 

You shrugged, throwing your gloves out. “What can I say? A man who yearns is a man who earns, girls.” You said, walking out to go page L&D.

Trinity and Joy followed your figure, sighing. 

“I don’t know if I want to be with her or be her.” Joy frowned.

“Both. Definitely both.” Trinity agreed.

[is9vhl]

silly designs of my silly boys

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE ONE (TO MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND) ✦ AZRIEL

✦ SUMMARY: Azriel prided himself on restraint—on silence, shadows, and secrets. But you, with your unshaken confidence and maddening obliviousness, were testing every last thread of his sanity. As chaos ensues, the Shadowsinger realizes one thing: he might be doomed.

✦ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

✦ WARNINGS: crack fic, archeron!sister (briefly mentioned), miscommunication, angsty fluff and humor (maybe??), obliviousness, azriel is stressed and about to have an aneurysm—azriel fanart by harleetattoos

✦ MAY'S RADIO: this was a fun little experiment 😅 azzie boy is a certified swiftie™ 😆 i hope this is somewhere close to what you had in mind, lili bestie! -> based on this post by @lili-of-the-wildfire 🖤

< back to general masterlist

Azriel was losing his damn mind.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of self-control—of mastering his shadows, his emotions, his very existence. But this? This was unraveling him at the seams.

And he was at his limits.

Not the normal limit, like when Cassian got a little too rowdy or Rhysand smirked a little too much. No. This was a whole new brand of suffering.

Since the moment you were thrown into the Cauldron, he had kept his distance—watching, waiting, giving you space to adjust to your new life, to the Night Court, to him. Knowing how difficult it was for your sisters, knowing that maybe you needed time to grieve what you lost.

But you—you seemed fine.

You smiled, you laughed, you trained with Cassian and traded insults with Rhys, you asked Mor endless questions about the best places to visit in Velaris. You were fine.

Except Azriel knew that wasn’t true.

Because he felt it—the crackling in the air whenever he was near you, the way your emotions bled into his own, even when you weren’t looking at him. The bond—the one you were blissfully ignorant of—was there, thrumming between you.

And it was killing him.

Because you didn’t know.

You were testing him in ways he never thought possible.

Which was why you were currently sitting across from him at the dining table, casually eating a pastry, completely unbothered by the fact that every time you so much as breathed, the bond between you screamed at him.

“I was thinking,” you said, licking a crumb from your finger, completely unaware of the way Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, “maybe I should go to the Winter Court for a while. Just to clear my head, see more of Prythian, you know?”

Azriel’s fork snapped in half.

You blinked at him. “You okay?”

No. No, he was not okay.

“You can’t,” he said, voice tight.

Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

“You can’t just—” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave. You belong here.”

You scoffed. “I belong nowhere, Azriel. That’s kind of the problem.”

He exhaled sharply. “You belong with me.”

“Excuse me?,” your expression twisted in confusion. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose. He had planned to do this delicately, to ease you into it, to find the right words—

That plan was dead.

“You’re my mate.” he rasped, voice strained.

“…Okay?”

Silence.

Azriel just stared at you. His mind short-circuited so violently that his shadows actually stopped moving.

“…Okay?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You shifted on your seat. “Yeah? You seem really stressed about it, though.”

His eye twitched. His shadows twitched. Everything twitched.

Cauldron boil him, you had no idea what it meant.

He inhaled sharply, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you understand what that means?”

You folded your arms. “Is it, like, a fae kink? I mean, I don’t judg–” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm?”

A FAE K—?

He had seen battle. He had been tortured. He had infiltrated enemy territory and survived things that would make even Cassian cry. But this? This was what was going to kill him.

“I—No,” he choked, rubbing his temples like he could physically press the stress out of his skull. “It’s not a kink. It’s a bond. The mating bond.”.

You hummed, swishing the tea in your cup thoughtfully. “Right. So, like… what does that mean, exactly?”

“You don’t know,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t know. No one told you.” He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. “I’m going to kill Rhys.”

His shadows curled and twisted like they were also on the verge of a complete breakdown. “It means we’re soulmates. Destined. Bound by the Cauldron itself. You’re mine.”

You blinked. “I what?”

“You. Are. My. Mate,” he repeated, slower this time, as if you were a particularly dense trainee.

You tilted your head. “So… like an arranged marriage?”

Azriel made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His hands were shaking.

“No,” he gritted out. “It’s deeper than that.”

You frowned. “Like a super intense best friendship?”

“I—NO.”

You hear someone wheezing, barely holding their laughter in—then, moments later, a crash followed by a yelp.

You turned just in time to see a figure darting away, a blur of wings and siphons.

Cassian.

Azriel’s shadows had found him eavesdropping—and, judging by the way he stumbled, they had made sure he regretted it.

Azriel’s eye twitched. He’d deal with him later.

“Was that…? Is he okay?” you asked, glancing toward the door.

Azriel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’ll live,” he muttered, clearly deciding that his brother’s suffering was not his current priority.

Instead, he turned back to you, inhaling deeply, speaking very slowly. “The bond ties our souls together. It means you’re meant to be with me. It’s why you feel drawn to me.”

Your face scrunched in thought. “Oh.” A pause. “I do feel really attracted to you.”

Azriel’s heart stopped. His wings tensed.

Finally. Finally, you were understanding—

“I thought it was just, you know… female hysteria.”

Azriel.exe stopped working.

You gestured vaguely. “Like, I figured I just had a stupidly big crush on you. Thought maybe it was the trauma or the near-death experience. But the mating bond? That makes so much sense.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow, I really thought I was just—”

Azriel inhaled sharply. Fine. If words weren’t getting through to you, maybe this would.

He reached deep into himself and gave the bond a firm tug.

You gasped. A shiver shot down your spine, warmth curling in your chest like liquid sunlight. Your breath hitched, and—Cauldron damn him—you gasped, eyes going huge and then giggled.

Azriel felt his soul crack in half.

You blinked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, what was that?!” Then, catching the look on his face—his pinched expression and the slight tension in his shoulders—, you gasped again, pointing at him accusingly. “Was that you?!”

Before he could respond, you beamed, wiggling excitedly in your seat. “Oh my gods—do that again. That tickled.”

Azriel was going to pass out. Or throw himself off a balcony. Maybe both.

“I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it nearly bruised. “You—You don’t just have a crush on me. That feeling? That’s the bond. The Cauldron literally forged us for each other.”

Your smile faltered and you squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

Azriel’s grip on reality was slipping.

“Yes.”

“…Huh.” You sipped your tea. “Neat.”

Azriel’s vision blurred. He was on the verge of blacking out.

Cassian’s laughter echoed from the hallway.

Azriel snarled. “Go away, Cassian.”

More laughter. Then a whispered, “I cannot wait to tell Rhys.”

Azriel inhaled so sharply his chest ached. He turned back to you, shadows writhing. “You do understand what this means, right?”

You smiled. “Of course I do.”

Azriel exhaled in relief.

Then—

“Anyway, as I was saying—I think I’d still like to visit the Winter Court and maybe then the beaches in Summer.” You smiled dreamily. “I could get a nice tan. A little vitamin D never hurt anyone, right?”

Azriel dropped his head onto the table so hard he thought he might develop a second brain injury to match the first one you’d unknowingly given him.

< back to general masterlist

[batboysanonymous]

A Flicker of You

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: Eris Vanserra is a male who wields fire like a weapon, yet it’s in your touch—absentminded, grounding, and entirely his—that he finds himself burning the most.

Continue reading below

───────────────────────────────

The war room felt colder than it should have, despite the roaring hearth at its center, despite the presence of Eris Vanserra—living, breathing fire seated beside you. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, a battle of egos playing out across the polished obsidian table where the High Lords sat, bartering alliances like merchants haggling over goods.

But Eris wasn’t paying attention.

You knew it before you even looked at him. You could feel it in the slow, measured way his fingers traced yours in your lap, featherlight touches over the ridges of your knuckles, the occasional brush of his thumb against the soft skin of your palm.

It was absentminded, this touch of his. Thoughtless, effortless—yet intimate in a way that made warmth curl low in your stomach.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to steal a glance at him. Eris was propped against the arm of his chair, his sharp, foxlike features bathed in flickering firelight, his free hand resting against his jaw in a way that might have made him look bored if not for the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You narrowed your eyes. “Eris,” you murmured.

He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t lift his gaze from your hands, his fingers still playing with yours like a puzzle he was determined to solve.

“You’re supposed to be listening.”

“I am listening,” he said smoothly, finally turning his head to look at you, his golden eyes molten in the dim light. “I’m listening to the way your pulse flutters when I do this.” He pressed a slow kiss to the inside of your wrist, his lips burning-hot against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and Eris’s smirk deepened. Bastard.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

It was true, wasn’t it? You were still here—despite every warning, every whispered caution about Eris Vanserra, the heir to Autumn, the son of a monster. Despite the stories of cruelty that trailed him like embers in the wind, whispering of a male who burned too hot, who would scorch anyone foolish enough to touch him.

But Eris had never burned you.

His fire had never been something to fear—not when it was offered to you in slow, reverent touches, in the way he warmed the cold spaces within you, in the way he looked at you now, his smirk slipping into something softer, something only you ever got to see.

Under the table, Eris curled his pinky around yours—a silent plea, a quiet reassurance.

And gods help you, you let him.

The moment the meeting ended, Eris wasted no time in pulling you away. His grip on your hand was firm but not urgent, his long strides purposeful as he led you down the winding corridors of the manor. You didn’t ask where he was taking you; you already knew.

The door to his chambers barely shut before he had you pressed against it.

The heat of him was immediate, searing through your clothes as his body caged yours against the wood. But there was no rush, no desperation—just the slow, lingering slide of his hands up your arms, over your shoulders, to cradle your face between warm palms.

His lips brushed over your jaw, not quite a kiss, more a breath, a whisper of touch. “You let me suffer through that,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

Your fingers curled into the front of his tunic, tugging him closer. “Oh?”

Eris hummed, his nose tracing the curve of your throat. “You know I hate being without your touch.”

You knew. You’d known it from the beginning, from the way he had always found a reason—any reason—to touch you, whether it was guiding you through a crowded room with a hand on your lower back, brushing stray hairs from your face, or now, when he kissed the corner of your mouth like it was the only thing that mattered.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered.

“And you’re cruel,” he shot back, nipping at your bottom lip. “Denying me my favorite distraction.”

His hands slid down your sides, slow, deliberate, his thumbs grazing the exposed skin at your waist where your tunic had ridden up. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver rippling through you nonetheless.

“You need distractions during meetings?” you teased.

Eris pulled back just enough to look at you, one brow arching in amusement. “If you were forced to listen to Beron drone on, you’d be desperate for an escape, too.”

His words should have been careless, teasing—but you saw the flicker of something darker beneath them.

Eris never spoke much about Beron, not really. You knew the barest edges of the cruelty that had shaped him, the way fire had been used to punish instead of protect. He had grown up in a house where touch was a weapon, not a comfort. Where affection was something to be wielded, not given freely.

And yet, here he was—offering it to you, craving it in return.

Your chest ached, and you lifted a hand to cradle his face, letting your fingers trail over the sharp line of his jaw, the high sweep of his cheekbone. “I’m here,” you murmured. “I’m always here.”

Something flickered in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. Then, before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow and deep, a claiming and a surrender all at once. Eris kissed like he had all the time in the world, like he could unravel you with nothing more than the lazy drag of his mouth over yours, the slow curl of his fingers at the nape of your neck.

You melted into him, threading your fingers through the auburn strands of his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low sound from the back of his throat. His hands wandered, palms skimming the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, mapping out every inch of you like he needed to memorize the feel of you beneath his hands.

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with something vulnerable, something reverent.

It wasn’t a question.

But you smiled anyway, letting your fingers lace with his.

“And you’re mine,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening like a vow. “Always.”

And when Eris kissed you again, slow and lingering, like he could pour every unspoken promise into the press of his lips against yours, you knew—without a doubt—that he would never let go.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Taglist: @fanficscuziranout, @willowpains, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[dead123454-deactivated20250717]

"stop bouncing your leg" well its either this or i start screaming

[myladysapphire]

A doe a Deer - A name i call myself

being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw you, until he did.

Azriel x Archeron!OC

Word count: 2,180

CW: mdi 18+, selective mutism, ableims?, death? self-hate, self-doubt, sad boy Azriel, angst, Daphne goes on a jounrey of self discovery in this one. not beta read!

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

Shock resounded across the field as they took in the state of the once war-torn field. The hight lords had all left the tent where the cauldron had been broken and then re-made, where a high lord had died and been reborn. They had thought that would be the most shocking thing that would have happened. That nothing could beat the very destruction of the very object that created the universe.

And yet as they left the tent, expecting the battle to be in full swing still, they ere left with the sight of Daphne Archeron. On her knees her hands outstretched and holding what seemed to be that of a thousand suns in the palm of her hand.

They heard the screams, the begs and the cries of Hyberns men. How the army that outmatched the combined power of seven courts, was eviscerated into nothing but dust.

And then the light changed from a golden blinding ray to a soft sliver glow. The power expanding to where their soldiers stood or flew, having stooped in shocked as their weapons pointed at nothing but piles of dust. As they all turned their eyes to her.

Fear claimed there faces, only to be meet with nothing but a soothing feeling. As their wounds were healed, and their dead reborn.

Their fear morphed into more shock, then into cries of joy, of celebration and victory.

Her name became a cheer, and the name “the saviour of Prythian” quickly found purchase in Daphne Archeron.

The sky had kept a golden hue to it, as if the sun refused to leave and the moon had simply made space in the sky for it. with the sheer strength of her power lingering even hours after, with no focus or thought, as made apparent by Daphne’s blank face.

The question of how she did it still lingered in the air, though she was cauldron made it seemed she had embodied the very might of the cauldron. Even when it had been broken, her power so strong inside her that even as the universe began to shatter, she could still harness the remnants of it.

And because of it, some had even called her a god.

Though if Daphne hadn’t dissociated completely, she would have scoffed at the word. She wasn’t a god, she was just a girl given powers beyond imaginable thought and magic she didn’t need and never wanted.

Hours later, after being coaxed from the battlefield and taken to her tent, she was still sat staring at her hands shocked and confused.

She only remembered parts of what happened, but not why. She had felt the hopelessness of her new family, the defeat she felt from falling soldiers and rage had built with in her, the grief from loosing her father. And as a result, she had become a unbreakable force, wiping out a large army by herself.

She remembered the looks on everyone’s faces. The shock. The horror.

Nesta and Elain had looked at her in disbelief, almost as if they had started fearing her, despite Nesta holding the decapitated head of the king of Hybern in her hand.

It scared her. Scared her that she was capable of doing something like that and what she even could do that and what else she could possibly do.

What if she hurt someone she loved?

But what scared he the most was the fact that’s she could still feel it bubbling inside her. Surely its should all be gone. Surely, she had used every last drop of her magic and she needed to rebuild it.

But as sun danced on her fingers I her pitch-black tent she feared she would be seen as a weapon, as something to fear. And she hated it.

Feyre had told her how proud she was of her, a smile on her lips as her the inner circle all gathered, following the meetings to discuss the war and a possible new treaty.

She had said nothing. And though that was nothing new.

She made no effort to communicate, not with her eyes or facial expression. Not with her hands. Nothing.

Azriel shadows hugged themselves around her skin, oddly drawn to her light.

They traced over her skin as if to offer comfort. But she didn’t even react to them, causing a frown to tug at Azriel’s lips.

She usually lit up when his shadows surrounded her. A smile always tugging at her lips, a happy glint in her eye.

But now there was nothing.

Nothing as the inner circle cheered and celebrated.

But Daphne simply sat and watched.

Nesta had vanished. Though no one seemed to be notice, expect Cassian of course. whose eyes darted around the tent searching for her.

Later that night, she still sat in the same spot as before, her eyes focused on her hands.

Everyone had left for bed, and only daphne and azriel remained.

“daphne” he spoke, moving to sit beside her.

She didn’t look up, her gaze fixated on her hands, drops of sunlight dancing around her fingers.

“daphne” he spoke again, his voice soft but concerned. “What is it?” he asked, the bond between them thrumming in his chest.

She had cut him off, the little connection they had from their bond, a bond neither of them had yet to acknowledge to the other but both knew they over knew of it.

His hand reached for hers, his eyes drawn to the drops of sunlight that his shadows seemed to play with.

A hot seeing pain pierced his skin as his already scarred and brunt flesh was met with the heat of the sun.

She startled back as he hissed in pain.

Her eyes widening in horror.

Standing up quickly, she ran from the rent. Her eyes swelling with sorrow and the bond filling with pleas of forgiveness.

Days passed and no one had seen Daphne. Not even Azriel’s shadows had found her.

And though she wasn’t the only Archeron sister to leave after the war, at least the inner circle knew where she was, where she lived and could find her when needed.

But Daphne? She was simply gone.

Her room in the townhouse was locked, a barrier in place that know one could breach. And yet Azriel knew she wasn’t in there.

He had tugged and tugged on the bond, but found no purchase, but at least it was there, and she was alive, that was enough, right?

It wasn’t for Daphne, not as she had returned to the sight of the war. The place she became a monster.

At least that was the name she had given herself.

She had ignored the praise, the songs that were sung in her honour. And named herself a monster. It was how she saw herself, because she was. She had heart Azriel without even thinking, had reduced thousands to nothing.

She ignored the good she had done, the healing and allowing solders to return home to their families.

Ignored the long feeling she felt every second of every day, the urge to respond to Azriel’s incessant tugs.

And had simple sat and started to think.

In the dust filled field, the remnants of swords, and arrows. Shields and helmets all left and abandoned; she had reflected on herself.

The burden she had been her how life, the illness that had nearly taken her. And how she was gifted with immortality and an ability to irradicate armies.

She had become everything she ever wanted, in truth.

Her whole life she had wished to be okay, to not be plagued with a constant illness. To not hear the tolls of death every winter season. To be able to speak with out fear or her body rebelling. To not be a burden, to be useful. And she had been. She had ended a war and saved the lives of the entire world. And yet, though she no longer felt as if she was a disappointment, she felt as if she was a monster.

She had abandoned her family, the people who had been nothing but proud, to wallow in self-pity, when she had gotten everything, she had ever wanted, or almost.

She had wanted to be loved and seen, and the whole of Prythian had seen her that day. Had started to worship her even.

Love though? She had received bounds of it from her sisters, even if it was veiled behind their poverty, and their struggles. They had showered her in it as she had them, even if not openly she had always felt it.

And now she felt it more so than ever, it was thrumming in her chest, pulling her to where the mountains meet the stars.

But she feared what she would do, she couldn’t control it, she had hurt him. She had hurt him.

The words played on repeat in her mind.

After everything he had told her, of his story, his youth. She had done the very thing; his half-brothers had done to him.

Though she had done it without malice, without thought. It was an accident, and Azriel didn’t hate her for it.

But she hated herself.

And hated that she couldn’t rely on his, on her family’s love, in order to love herself.

If there was one thing Daphen remembered about herself before her family was poor, was the desire to travel the world.

Her mother had long told her of her tales of traveling the continent, of even visiting fae courts. How she had danced with a fae prince who had won her hurt but had forced her to leave shortly after.

It was all she thought of when she was younger. Of what the world looked like, what it would show her, and the love she might find within it.

Of course, for a small child of four or five, this was very little. The world to her was an unimaginable thing. She had never seen the see or what the world outside their family’s estate looked like. And even when she grew up, she rarely saw outside of their small village.

She had still never seen the see, felt the brush of waves against her ankles, or the annoying caw of seagulls circling her as she feasted on her food.

She had never seen the courts her mother spoke of the cities of the mortal realm.

But now she decided she would. Even if she would spend a day doing each, she wanted to travel, to something for herself.

She felt as if her whole life, she had only ever acted to please. To do things that made her sister happy, whether it was find seeds for elain, sewing her sisters clothes, helping Feyre make her traps, or skin her kills. She had always helped, doing whatever they asked when she could, just to hear them say thank you. Just to feel less of a burden.

She had done it so much that she had started to burden them even more. Working herself to the core, getting sicker every year until it killed you, literally.

And though a part of her still whished to return, a part of her nagged at her that her family must be worried, and she so desperately didn’t wish for them to be, that she had to force herself to think of only herself.

And so, she found herself traveling to Gallia. The mortal kingdom her mother hailed from.

It was strange to her that she knew so much about her mother, when her sisters did not. That she only had happy memories of her and they only negative.

And yet she found herself not caring as she walked to the beaches along the shores of the continent.

She had travelled across the entirety of the mortal realms, seen cities and libraries and experienced human life for the first time, even though she was now fae.

But she had savoured the beach till last. Until she felt ready to go back to Velaris and to make it her home.

Peace settled upon her, as the see kissed at her ankles, and sand covered her feet.

She felt peace here, with the sun on her back. Her magic flared within her, and though she still feared it, the calm of the beach and soft sounds of waves crashing into rocks soothed the magic that bubbled with in her.

The sun had never stopped dancing around her fingers or lingering in the dark. The sun always seemed brighter wherever she went, and a warm always filled her chest.

It was comforting, though she dared not admit it. as the fear of what she could still do lingered with in her.

But for once she allowed herself not to think about the future, simply focused on the want to leave and find home.

So for the first time in a year, she found herself responding to the bond.

she just hoped to much hadn’t changed since she left.

to be added to taglist

taglist @fuckingsimp4azriel @bravo-delta-eccho @kingshitonly @galaxystern08 @willowpains   @amortentiadrops @complete-randomness-2 @azysmate @6v6babycheese @anon1227 @sweetorangeblossom @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @quinnhugheslvr @mich731 @thatbritishbookworm @liahaslosthermind @romantasyreader28 @lportes-22  @pinksmellslikelove @mrsjna @anainkandpaper @breemitch15 @kissesfromnovalie @fly-me-away @acotarbuffy @ryebread-3 @swiftiethatlovesf1 @just-some-teenagerr-blog1 @vaylint  @motheroffae  @lifetobeareader @siriuslystyle1989 @mangoreads @selpote @Strangleycami  @azysmate @tele86 @sofietargaryen @celestialgilb @fr0stf4ll @breemitch15 @kissesfromnovalie @fly-me-away @saphity @thoughtfulwizardphantom @just-some-teenagerr-blog1 @mrsjna @mariahoedt @lavenderhotcoco @motheroffae @mangoreads @selpote @nebarious @artemisfallsii @swiftiethatlovesf1 @annaaaaa88

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales IIII

Summary: Princess!Reader tries to convince her mates to leave the Empire, but they have other ideas.

Content Warnings: Mentions of Slavery/Abuse

Part 1, 2, 3

-----------------

Anise is right; I do look like shit. No attempt at washing my face or fixing my hair or changing my clothes changes the sickly color that remains on my skin from the time spent with my head in the toilet. Secluding myself in the house these last couple months have already sapped the color from my cheeks, but today’s events have not helped bring any life back into my features. The dull, lifeless gray of my eyes, the limpness of my hair, the way my dress hangs limp off me… I do not recognize the face in the mirror.

“Anise?” She’s still pacing in my chambers, biting on her weathered thumbnail. Her anxiety makes the vines sprouting from her head grow, leaves and tiny, yellow flowers blossoming as the thick strands slither down her waist. 

“You shouldn’t see them alone,” she persists.

I brush a strand of hair over my yellowing cheek, then push it back behind my ear. I can explain away a bruise. Besides, it is not as if I can expect them to care enough about me to ask how it got there.

I sigh as I push the hair back in front of my face. I do not want to appear weak and frail, not in front of my mates. Not in front of anybody. I need to remain strong.

“Anise,” I try again, turning away from the mirror. There is nothing I can do to change it now, the damage is done and it’s too late in the evening to call for one of my lady’s-in-waiting to come help me fix it. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Get the guard? Yes, a splendid idea!”

I snag her arm as she goes for the door. “No, Anise.”

She huffs her irritation. “You’re being foolish, Little One.”

Probably; she won’t hear that from me though. “I need you to look into something for me and I need you not to tell a soul about it.”

She goes still at that, her emerald eyes widening in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to see if there is passage out of the Empire and into the Wastes through the sea.”

Her bark-like features twist in surprise as I continue. “I need a passage my Father doesn’t know about, and I need it quickly.”

“What have you done?” She whispers. 

“Nothing. Not yet anyway.”

Anise fights her way out of my grip so she can take my face in her hands. “Now you listen to me, child! I have already lost your Mother, do not ask me to sit here and lose you too.”

“It’s not for me.”

Her eyes flick to the door and back. “Them?”

I nod.

“Why?”

“They’re dead men if I don’t,” I say, hoping the heaviness in my voice is enough to keep her from pressing further. I do not have it in me to admit what they are after what I’ve done, not even to her. Her loyalty was always to my Mother first, and I trust her more than anyone, but there are some secrets best kept close to the vest. Maybe she’d never tell anyone, but her mouth wanders sometimes, and if it were to slip… any number of the staff would sell me out to my Father in a heartbeat. I have to be careful. This is all I can tell her for now.

“I don’t like this,” she whispers. “You are entering a dangerous game. If your Father finds out…”

“Don’t let him find out,” I counter, pulling free of her grip. If I linger any longer, I will lose my nerve. I need to see them now.

My hands shake as I open the door. Moonlight spills into the hallway from the high, open windows on either side of me. I’d kept the heavy, silk curtains pushed against the far walls closed for months and months, refusing to accept that time was moving on without me. Anise had opened them this morning, when I’d announced I was finally ready to go out again. She’d hoped the fresh air would be good for me, truth be told, so had I. I didn’t expect so much to change in such a short time frame. 

There are guards on patrol outside the windows. A couple torches had been lit along the path through the gardens, bathing their armored heads and ridiculously large horse hair plumes in an orange glow. As a kid, I’d thought they were monsters when I’d see them in this light, stalking through the palace grounds; maybe I hadn’t been so far off.

Anise trails after me. “I will do it, but you will let me accompany you for this first.”

“No.” I should head out the side door and follow the footpath to the guest house, but I make a show of walking towards the kitchen instead. There is a servant’s passage through the cellar that will keep me out of sight. As far as the guards are concerned, I’m getting a snack in the kitchen with my maid. No one needs to know that I’m meeting the Illyrians. 

“Why are you…” she stops when we come to the kitchen. All the lights are off. The staff asleep earlier than usual so they can, undoubtedly, rise earlier in the morning in order to prepare bigger meals than they’re used to. They have to be in an uproar over the sheer amount of guards they’ll have to feed every day now. The House has not seen much attention in the last couple of months; I certainly wasn’t hosting any parties. 

“Is this a sex thing?”

I am grateful the dark hides the blush working its way up my neck and cheeks. “What!?”

“It’s not like you to sneak around, I’m just wondering if there’s something happening here between you and them?” She is the only other person that knows about the secret passages in the house. Mother had them built as a safety measure against intruders, and promptly found an excuse to execute the architect before he could show Father the plans. There are a number of false doors and hidden hallways throughout the house, a couple of secret exits and a panic room only accessible with a key I keep around my neck at all times. She was as paranoid as my Father, but at least hers had practical applications. And could now serve as a means to move around my house without arousing suspicion. 

“This most definitely is not a sex thing!” I hiss. 

I mean, yes, some sponsors do sleep with their champions. Hels, some sponsors sell their champions for a night of pleasure to the highest bidder. Amarantha and my cousins included. It was an abhorrent practice that I tried not to think about in the past, but the mere suggestion of it has me clenching my fists. Did she truly think I’d stoop to that?

“You’re being strange is all I’m saying,” she returns. 

“I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to insist on hovering, just make it look like we’re in here making a snack, will you?”

“Will you tell me why this is necessary?”

I pry the door that leads down to the cellar open slowly, conscious of how loudly it squeaks and trying to minimize the noise as best I can. “No.”

“Then I’m coming with!”

I slip behind the door and hold it nearly closed as she approaches. “Fine, we’ll talk when I get back. Happy?”

Even in the dark I can see her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Don’t get pregnant.”

“I’m not fucking them!” I hiss as I close the door. She’s impossible! Once she sets her mind on something, she just can’t let it go. At least she doesn’t try to follow me. 

There’s a slim set of stairs that leads down into the cellar lined with fae lights that flicker to life as I descend. Rows of dried meats and herbs hang from the rafters, casting eerie shadows over the shelf lined walls. The cellar is lined with rows of more shelves and barrels of wine, everything cataloged and arranged in alphabetical order. Our steward has always been exceptionally neat, and the concealed door in the backs sits connected to the wall where he keeps all his flour. I will have to remember to sweep the floor upon my return, just in case anything falls from the shelf and gives the door away. 

The door opens by turning one of the panels in the wood in a full circle, disturbing a sack of flour as it swings inward with a groan. The hallway is dark and dusty, a heavy layer of cobwebs disturbed by the door. I haven’t used this tunnel in years. 

I take one of the bobbing fae lights out of its perch on the stairs and carry it with me into the dark, making sure the door closes behind me, just in case any of the guards decide to come do a sweep of the place now that they’ve seen Anise in the kitchen. I can’t be sure of their orders, I have to assume that they will check on everyone in the house if there is the slightest deviation from the routine. Which also means I need to make this quick.

The silence of the tunnel is not good for my nerves, I find myself once again digging my knuckle into the knot in my chest. Without Anise to distract me, I’m once again consumed with the guilt of having to look at them after what I’d done. Not knowing why they’re asking to see me doesn’t help either. 

The tunnel slopes downward, filled with cobwebs and the occasional rat I startle back into holes in the walls. There’s some rain damage along the supports I should really have looked at, but updating these means having to tell someone about them, and that’s not an option. Not unless I wish for Father to find out about it, or worse, be forced into a situation where I have to consider killing an architect after rebuilding it as my Mother had done. There haven’t been any reasons for the tunnels since I was a child, I’ll avoid having to make any decisions on it until I absolutely have to. As long as the roof holds, I can make do.

Mother wanted to ensure that this place had multiple advantages, one of them being strategically placed and concealed vents for both air flow, and espionage. The vent hidden in the garden lets me hear the stomping of boots as the guards pass overhead. Some of them complain about the quiet as they pass each other, but it doesn’t sound like they’re yet suspicious of me moving around the house this late. 

I keep moving, comforted just a little by the fact that I don’t have to worry about dealing with them yet. 

The tunnel curves in a crescent shape to come around the back of the guest house, where there’s a door carefully hidden behind the lararium built for the Mother. The carefully carved statue of our beloved Goddess hides the door, and the altar serves as a deterrent to keep people from looking too close at the seams in the wall. It also hides the vent that lets me hear three, arguing voices, even in hushed tones:

“This is a bad idea, Rhys!” Cassian. 

“It is our only shot,” Rhysand shoots back. 

Their voices are so different: Cassian’s gruff and husky, Rhysand’s smooth and rich. Having them near soothes an anxiousness I didn’t know was inside me, I find myself drawn closer and closer to the door, just for a chance to listen to them speak. I’ve never had something as simple as a voice cause such an intense reaction before. All of this is so new and foreign; it will take some getting used to.

“I don’t care!” Cassian returns, the words sharp as a knife. “I don’t want anything to do with her.”

And just like that, my revelry is broken and that pesky knot in my chest returns. It is an effort to get a deep enough breath in, as if someone had sucker punched me right in the stomach. He really does hate me. It was one thing to think it, but it’s another to hear it so openly. I really have ruined this before it even had a chance to begin.

“She is our only chance,” Azriel chimes in, voice a hissed whisper. He sounds agitated, I can picture him pacing in front of the altar. 

“She’s his daughter! Am I the only one bothered by that?” Cassian protests. 

“That’s exactly why we need her,” Rhysand counters. 

Time slows to a crawl. Need me? Hope is a pesky, irritating, thing that I shove down inside me, even as my body moves to press itself against the door, waiting for them to continue. 

“We can’t trust her.”

“Yes we can,” Azriel retorts. 

I wonder if they can hear my heartbeat stuttering through the door--no matter that it’s waded so I can hear them and they can’t hear me, it’s so loud it still feels like a possibility. 

“What, because your shadows can smell that on her?” Cassian sneers. 

“Because I looked in her head,” Rhysand hisses, his voice rising. 

I know that I have a limited amount of time to do this, but I can’t bring myself to open the door, not with a confession like that. What does he mean he looked in my head?

“She’s terrified of him.”

“She could have fooled me. She didn’t look a bit terrified of branding us.”

“Because she didn’t brand us at all!” Rhysand snarls. “I did.”

“You hit your fucking head harder than I thought.”

“Asking for us to be spared threw Hybern off his game. Whatever plans he has for us got derailed because of her. And we need whatever edge we can get right now. When I slipped into her mind, she was panicking, she couldn’t do it and we would have all been fucked. I moved her hands around that iron, I touched it to your skin. Not her. She was so distraught over it I had to hold her upright the whole way back. Trust me, she liked it as much as you did.”

“But the collar…?” Cassian stammers.

“It dims a lot of my powers, but not all of them. I threw what I had out there. It only works when I’m close. Whatever she felt after we separated, whatever she’s doing now, I can’t get a feel.”

Rhysand was that invisible hand on me? I hadn’t just imagined it? How is that even possible? The twins are Daemati, but even they can’t reach into someone’s head and control them like that, especially with the gorsian chains in the way. At least, they’d never shown me they could. I suppose I’d never thought to ask.

“We have to act fast,” Azriel chimes in. “The quicker we get ahead of this, the more time we have to work around Hybern. Until now, he’s always been one step ahead of us. We’ve been playing his games on his terms. She… changes things.”

Does he know that we’re mates? Could that really mean something to him?

“Why are you so quick to trust her?” Cassian challenges. “Let's say what Rhys saw in her head is even real, because let's face it, she very well could be like the twins and been throwing those things up to see if you’d take the bait, but for the sake of the argument, sure they’re real. So what? What do you think she’s going to do here? Throw in her lot with us and help us overthrow her father?”

“Yes,” Rhysand says, as if it’s just that simple.

They can’t really be serious with this, can they?

“What could she possibly get out of it? She’s a spoiled princess who has not had to feel the effects of this Empire a day in her life! The best of this place has been handed to her and you think she’s just going to give that up to a couple of bastards like us?”

I dig my knuckle into my chest again, trying to ease the tension that feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my skin. 

“You don’t get it,” Azriel hisses. 

“Explain it to me, Az!” Cassian shoots back. “Explain to me how the limited interaction we had convinced you that she’s a good person who would help us for the hell of it?”

“You don’t have to trust her, Cass,” Rhysand interjects. “That doesn’t change the fact that we need her.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth. I’m supposed to be saving them; I’m supposed to be getting them as far away from this place as possible and they want me to what? Overthrow my Father? It’s delusional. No one can outmaneuver him. Mother tried and failed. How many rebels has Amarantha executed? How many slaves have been carted from the far reaches, having been defeated for daring to oppose the Empire? Everyone that has ever gone up against him has lost and paid for it with their lives. I can’t let them do this. It’s suicide!

I get my hand on the hidden lock and turn. It’s my responsibility as a mate to save them from themselves. I have to put this foolish notion to bed. By tomorrow, Anise will have an answer about a way out of here. I just need them to stay put for the night and this mess will be over. 

I get the impression they are not males used to being taken by surprise, if the way they stand their gaping at me is any indication. Dark shadows wreath Azriel’s, still bare, shoulders, curling around his ears like they’re living things whispering in his ear. His scarred hands twitch over his hip, as if he’s reaching for a weapon instinctively, despite there being nothing there. 

Rhysand grins wolfishly as he leans a bruised shoulder against the doorframe, violet eyes once again roving over every inch of me. “Aren’t you full of surprises, Princess?”

“What if we had been indecent?” Cassian retorts.

“You’re barely dressed now,” I blurt before I can stop myself, though it is true. He’s stripped down to his boxers, using what was once a white towel, but it’s now brown, to clean up a gash across his thigh. Judging by the color of the bruising and the still forming scab, the wound is from before the arena. He needs to have it cleaned and looked at by a healer. I should be focusing on that. I should not be focusing on how large his thighs are, or imagining what it might feel like to sit in his lap.

Rhysand’s grin broadens like he can hear my thoughts, and then I remember that he can. 

Shit! I need to focus. I need to put my shields up, just like I do when I’m around the twins. Just because they’re my mates, doesn’t mean they’re incapable of using their abilities on me. Who’s to say, if Rhysand really is powerful enough to move me around like a puppet, even with the collar, that he won’t simply reach in and use me as he sees fit if I don’t cooperate. I don’t know anything about them. I have to be careful.

“We can strip down if you’d like?” He purrs.

“Did you make me come all this way just to harass me, or…?” I let the question hang there so I can give myself an extra second to reinforce my mental shields. 

“Sorry to pull you from your ivory tower,” Cassian snarls.

I instinctively take a step away from him, the venom behind each word enough to make me flinch despite myself. Azriel moves away from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the altar, effectively putting himself between us. “No, we didn’t.”

“Then what do you want?” My shields are in place, but I feel my confidence waning. I thought that this would be easy, that the bond would make everything click into place for us. They could trust me and I could trust them and this thing that tethered us together would put us at an even playing field. But it doesn’t. Our goals are off and I don’t know how to get them even, I don’t know how to get them to listen to me. 

“We want your help,” Rhysand says. 

“We need your help,” Azriel corrects.

I should just tell them that I heard them and skip all the repetitiveness, but there is a piece of me that worries I was naive before, and that they will tell me something different to my face. Maybe I’m the only one who feels the bond and they merely see me as something to be manipulated and used. I have to be sure.

“With what?” I ask.

“We want Hybern off the throne,” Rhysand explains. He hasn’t left his perch against the wall; though his gaze lingers on me, he gives me space that feels intentional. As if I’m a rabid dog he thinks might bite if it feels cornered. “We think you do too.”

“And why would you think that?” It is only from years of training that my voice doesn’t shake. How can they be so flippant about this? Saying those words out loud is enough to have their heads removed from their shoulders. The thought that any guard walking past might hear has me shaking, yet they don’t even flinch.

“He scares you,” Azriel says. His voice is already a low whisper, but it softens when he looks at me. A tendril of shadows slithers down his leg and across the floor, tentatively drifting across the pale tiles to come poke around at my ankles.

“He scares everybody and for good reason.” I need to keep my original goal in mind here. I’m here to get them out. They need to see the necessity of it. “Do you know how many people are dead because they underestimated him? No one is safe.”

“That’s why he needs to be stopped,” Rhysand presses.

Cassian folds his broad arms over his tattooed chest, frowning, but he doesn’t jump into the conversation. While Rhysand’s gaze is assessing, Cassian’s is cold, unyielding. He’s made up his mind about me. 

The fact that the others haven’t gives me more hope than I know I should have. They will have to leave anyway. I should hope they haven’t felt the bond, hope that it doesn’t convince them to stay. They need to be far, far away. But there is a small, desperate piece of me that clings to it anyway. 

“He can’t be stopped.” I bite back all the bitterness and rage that threatens to escape out of me and try to keep my tone even, unbothered. 

“You stopped him this afternoon,” Azriel counters as his shadow brushes up my calf like a phantom cat. They feel like a slight brush of breath against my skin, gentle and strange and I might giggle against the sensation if I wasn’t so focused on keeping my composure. 

I don’t kick it off either. A broken, desperate piece of me claws after the attention and blatant need for affection like a lifeline. 

“He listened to you,” Rhysand presses, doubling down when he sees me hesitate. Azriel isn’t wrong, though he’s not, technically right either. Still, he sees an opening and he swoops down like a vulture to take it. “No one else has that kind of influence.”

“It was a fluke,” I retort. “He was surprised. That won’t happen again.”

“It will if you keep surprising him,” Rhysand counters. “He has you, and everyone else, in a quaint little box, but if you deviate from the script he’s written for you, you can maneuver him where you want him.”

My hand goes instinctively to my bruised cheek, right as Azriel’s shadow comes slithering up my shoulder. It lets out a soft huffing sound as it follows my wrist to see what my fingers are doing. The shadow still curled around Azriel’s ear hisses softly, like the two are communicating. Maybe they are, given the way his eyes darken. 

“You cannot fight him.” I pull my hand away from my face a little faster than I mean to, and the shadow curls into my palm, inspecting the indents my fingernails had left earlier.  “You might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

“I wouldn’t call this being ahead,” Cassian huffs, turning his wrist to flash the brand I put there.

“I can find passage out of the Empire for you.” We’re going to run out of time if we keep standing here talking in circles. The guard will get curious eventually. They are bound to wonder why the lights are still on and no one is preparing for bed soon. “I should know by morning when it will be here.”

“If that’s true, why haven’t you taken it?” Cassian challenges.

Azriel takes a tentative step towards me. For someone so large, he’s surprisingly quiet on his feet. “I was terrified of my father too,” he says gently.

I can’t help but look at his hands. Had his father done that to him?

“I thought it was normal, how he treated me. I thought everyone was afraid of their father. I didn’t know any better until I got out. Until I met these two jackasses.”

Rhysand snorts a laugh behind him.

Cassian grumbles out a retort that sounds like it’s in another language. 

Azriel stops when he’s only a few inches away from me. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. “Sometimes you just need a little help. We can help each other, like you helped us earlier, right?”

I’ve lived around the ass kissing and political games of the palace long enough to know when someone’s trying to work an angle on me, and this isn’t one of those times. He means it. As hard to imagine that someone his size, someone who just took down a Giant and a bunch of Wargs, even with his wings broken, could be scared of anything, I believe him.

The bond warms, just a little. It’s nice, after years of feeling like no one could hear me when I whispered my complaints, to have a kinship with someone. I cling to that little shred of warmth like it’s a roaring fire amidst a blizzard. How long have I begged the Mother for even a shred of solace like this?

Perhaps that makes me weak. Perhaps I am a fool, but I want this. I want them. 

“A lot of good my help did,” it comes out in a whisper, like it’s dragging itself out of my throat. 

“But it does help,” Rhysand interjects. “Being your champions gives us an excuse to be close, and it gets us into places we couldn’t get before. You give us direct access to your father. That’s all we need.”

Azriel reaches out and brushes that loose strand of hair I’d pushed over my cheek behind my ear, scarred fingers brushing over my jaw with a feather light touch that is not unlike the one his shadow gives me. My whole body trembles all the same. 

“We won’t let anyone hurt you,” he promises.

I am entirely unprepared for that kind of promise. I’m supposed to be protecting them, not the other way around, but I’ve been on my own for awhile now, and I can’t help the way my body leans into that faint brush of his hand over my skin. Am I so starved for affection that even this feels like some grand gesture?

“We’re not asking you to do any fighting. You’re not challenging him.” Rhysand assures. “We merely need you to use these brands to your advantage. Drag us around with you. Show off the prize you’ve claimed like anyone else in the Empire would.”

My stomach twists. 

“Play the games the rest of the court plays, and we will do all the rest,” he assures. 

“I don’t understand how that helps you?” 

“For now, we need to observe his habits. There’s a parade tomorrow, right?”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that! 

“Yes.”

“Take us with you,” Rhysand explains. “Lots of people bring their champions out like bodyguards or trophies, right?”

“Or dogs,” Cassian hisses.

I wince. “Yes.”

“We don’t know much about the city. Just act like you’re showing us off so we can get a look around.”

He makes it sound so simple.

“And then what?”

He shrugs as he finally pushes off the wall. Though the touch had been brief, Azriel hasn’t moved out of my space, and seeing that it hasn’t sent me running, Rhysand takes this as a sign that he can move closer too. He’s just barely shorter than Azriel, and despite the fact that I inherited my Mother’s height, I cannot help but feel small next to them. I don’t think I entirely mind though.

 “Leave the strategies to us. The less you know what we’re doing and when, the safer you are. This is a long game, we have to take it one step at a time.”

“I don’t think you realize how dangerous playing this game with my Father is,” I warn. If anything were to happen to them because I didn’t insist on getting them on that ship in the morning, I’d never forgive myself!

He grins, flecks of starlight glinting in his eyes. He really is the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen, even with all the grime and blood on him. Which reminds me, they still haven’t seen the healer. Ember will never let me hear the end of it; I’m surprised she didn’t come with Anise to bust down my door. 

 “Let us do the worrying, Princess.” He’s very confident for someone who had just been thrown into a pit and been forced to fight a bunch of monsters. I hate to admit it, but that confidence worms its way through the bond like a rat chewing through a wall. No matter how hard I try to fight it back, a bit of it hits me anyway. Even without his presence inside my head, I feel safer when he’s near. 

My gaze flicks from him to Azriel for confirmation that this is something they have both agreed on, and he nods reassuringly. 

“You really think you can win?” I ask.

“Darling, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my people,” Rhysand vows. “Whatever it takes to see them free, I will do it.”

So much for me finding a way to get them out of here, they’re pretty determined to stay, influence from the mating bond or not. On one hand, if I do this, I can keep an eye on them; maybe I can find ways to rig another Game, can make sure they have everything they need to survive. On the other hand, this is crazy! We’re talking about taking on Hybern. Take him being my Father out of the question, no one has ever won anything against him, he’s always two steps ahead, always sees the outcome before it happens. 

I take my lower lip between my teeth again. I’m going to need a dark shade of lipstick in the morning to hide all the teeth marks I’ve undoubtedly left in it today. 

“Let’s say I agree, but only on a trial basis,” I begin, trying and failing to organize all my thoughts. The bond pulls me one way and rationale pulls me the other. I cannot find a happy middle ground. “If tomorrow goes poorly, will you get on the boat and leave the Empire behind?”

“Happily,” Cassian huffs.

Rhysand shrugs, “Ask me again tomorrow.”

I have a sinking feeling it’ll be the same answer tomorrow, but I’ll take whatever I can get, as long as it means there’s a shot at keeping them alive.

----------------

Tag List: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe , @raisam

//

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

//

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd, @urfunnyvalentin3, @mack234-blog1, @kissesfromnovalie

//

@marrass , @lia-h-r

Thank you all for the comments and messages! As always, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag List =)

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales II

Summary: Princess!Reader makes a deal with the Emperor to try and save her mates.

Content Warnings: Violence, Blood and Gore, Gladiator Tournament, Physical Abuse.

Part One

---------------------------------

I can’t breathe. The world spins in dizzying swirls around me. Mates.

Not one.

Not two.

Three!

All of them enemies of the Empire. Rebels scheduled for execution. Fate has always been a cruel bastard in all matters concerning me, but this feels like a personal attack on my existence. Someone in the Celestial Plain is laughing at this twisted attempt of a joke. How could I be so close to happiness and be forced to sit here and watch it be ripped from me one blood splatter at a time?

The Game Maker starts speaking again, his voice booming across the arena. I can’t make out any of the words; they’re all muddled together in my ears. This cannot be happening to me! It’s not fair! I’ve been the perfect daughter, even when it shattered me; I was a model student; I’ve upheld the law to the very letter; I make weekly sacrifices to the Mother; I built my own lararium to offer nightly prayers to the gods. I have been devought and loyal to both the gods and the Empire and this is the thanks I get?

I can’t tear my eyes away from where the three of them stand in the center of the Pit, waiting for the gates to open again. The violet eyed one, Rhysand-- gods even his name is pretty--won’t stop staring at my Father, challenging him to speak, to fight, to do something other than sit there like a coward while someone else kills for him. 

My Father must understand the challenge in that gaze, because he finally stands and goes to the edge of the booth, weathered hands splayed out against the worn stones bearing a flag with his crest embroidered upon it. “Citizens of the Empire!”

The crowd gives a raucous shout.

I simply scoot a little closer to Brannagh to be able to see around Father.

My movements do not break the silent battle happening with Rhysand, but it does draw the eye of Azriel, who’s bloodied head tilts to the side quizzically as he takes me in. I feel a blush creep its way up my cheeks, the booth suddenly too hot as I try to meet his gaze. That hazel gaze bears an intensity that keeps me in place, but I cannot help but feel like I’ve been stripped bare, as if he can see straight into my chest, where my heart still pounds an uneven beat. 

“Before you stands that which threatens our peace, our security, and most importantly the prosperity that our people hold so dear.”

The tall one, Cassian frowns at that, but Rhysand grins, as if he has won whatever silent battle he’s been having with my Father. He tips his head back and bellows, so that not a single soul here misses it, “There is no prosperity or peace in the Empire! There is only enslavement and death!”

The boos that had started coming from the crowd die, as if someone had collectively cut off their air supply. 

The muscles in my Father’s back tighten as he realizes what is happening.

“Outside these walls we all starve! Supplies to every corner of the Empire have dwindled to single bags of grain, meant only to feed the soldiers that terrorize us in every corner of the world. You do not hear from your families in the far reaches because your mail is censored. Your loved ones have been dragged from their beds and crucified without trial. The only prosperity in this Empire is for Hybern himself.”

I finally tear my gaze away from Azriel’s silent study to look at Amarantha for confirmation that it is true. 

“You should have slit his throat on the battlefield,” Dagdan snarls in her direction. 

The power seeping from my fingers tears a hole through my skirts, singing across my thighs. The errant strand only hidden by the way I keep the fabric bunched in my hands. I do not allow myself to wince against the sting and give myself away.

“Those were not my orders!” Amarantha snarls, her teeth flashing as she stands. Her slaves jump out of her way, cowering against each other for safety. “Your Highness, silence him before he incites a riot!”

No! No! No! This can’t be happening to me! Not again. It is like watching my Mother be taken away all over again. I had just stood there. Unable to cry or scream or fight. I could only watch. That was what she trained me to do. She had even nodded her approval to my stillness as they’d dragged her away, as if it had been right. None of it was right. None of this was right!

“Your Master will tell you pretty stories but we are all his slaves in the end. Illyria has had enough! We will not sit by and let our women and children starve! If that makes us rebels and traitors to the crown, so be it! But what would you do if it was your children in the streets? Your wives being carted off to service foreign elites? Your sons forced to kill and die for an Empire that can’t even feed you?” Rhysand screams.

My Father, silently, motions to one of his Praetorians, a crossbow already swinging from the clip at his back. 

The pounding of my heart in my ears will swallow me. Everything in the world slows and narrows into the motion of an arrow being fit into the crossbow.

Move! Move! Move! A dark ether of my power slithers up my wrists, catching Brannagh’s attention. She must make some snide remark about it, because I, distantly, see her lips move but no sound ever reaches my ears. I have to stop this. I have to do something!

I’m on my feet without conscious thought of what I’m doing. “Father, wait!” My hands reach for him, the sizzle of pain as my power skitters across his skin enough to make him turn and face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m saying, the words spew as if they have a mind of their own.

“If you kill him now like this you will incite a riot!”

His face twists, a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. I have royally pissed him off, disgraced him here in front of his Inner Circle, where they watch from nearby booths. The thought would usually send me cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs, but the fear I feel for him is nothing against the fear I feel for them. The thing that links our souls together burns and rattles beneath my rib cage, needing to defend, to fight.

“Call off your guard!” I hiss, reaching out a hand and letting that dark power that lives inside me show. I’ll strike him dead if he so much as moves a finger towards the trigger. “Let us be diplomatic about this.”

“Who are you,” Father snarls, taking an advancing step towards me. The booth shakes as his own dark power rises to meet mine. “To challenge me, child?!”

I hold my ground, even though my body trembles. It is only the dutiful teachings of my Mother that keep my chin up instead of bowing it to my chest as every muscle screams for me to do. “I am not challenging you, I am trying to think about our people.”

I clench my fists again, dimming my power in feigned submission. “Go about this a different way. Show the people that ruthlessness is not always the answer to our nation’s problems.”

“Are you suggesting I spare an enemy?” Father snarls.

I honestly don’t know what my plan is here. I’m just throwing things against the wall and hoping something, anything, sticks, otherwise my only option is to fling myself down into the Pit and hope the power thrumming in my veins is enough to save my mates.

“No,” if I am to keep all of our heads, I must be crafty. I must play the games my Father plays. My gaze flicks to where Amarantha’s slaves remain huddled together, a desperate thought forming in my head. My stomach turns at the mere idea, but if it can save them…?

“You mean to entertain the people and quell all possible chances of further rebellion, but we have seen time and time again that no execution or crucifixion has done that. We merely make martyr after martyr. We encourage others to take up the cause.”

“Let them fight,” I’m going to be sick! It feels like there’s a knot forming in my chest. “And if they survive, let them live, let them be gladiators.” It’s unthinkable, it puts them in danger time and time again. “The betting will be astronomical. The people will return time and time again in hopes of seeing them fall. That money can provide support to the edges of the Empire. Prove him wrong by sending extra aid to those outside our walls.”

To his credit, my Father does listen to me ramble. The Mother has smiled on me for once, if he had been in one of his fits today he would have had Amarantha kill me where I stood. It is a miracle the Praetorian didn’t take me out for wielding so close to him in the first place.

 “And you would have them what? Live in the slave quarters where they can incite a riot with all the dregs?” Amarantha hisses.

I’ll lose him if I let her forked tongue keep whispering in his ear. I am not blind, I know that she has more favor with him than I ever have. “No. Leaving them free to whisper with the other gladiators would be a mistake. Let someone claim responsibility for them.” 

The plan forms in my mind as I speak. I don’t like it. I’m not sure that it’ll even work, but I have to try and save them. I cannot let them die while I stand here uselessly watching as I did with my Mother. I will never be useless or silent again. “Give them to me.”

Brannagh chokes on her wine behind me.

Amarantha’s jaw actually drops in shock.

“I will take responsibility for them. They will be monitored by my guard. To our people it will look  like you mean to humiliate three great warriors, by shackling them to me. It is no secret what our people think of me.”

Dagdan’s snort is proof enough how weak I look in the eyes of our people. I am nothing but a sheltered, pampered princess to them. Up until today they didn’t even know that I’d inherited my Father’s powers. Good, let them all think me weak and useless and meek, they will never know the claws and fangs that hide beneath my skin until it is too late. Father included.

“She is not strong enough to keep them in check,” Amarantha hisses. “If you are to do it, give them to me.”

I barely reign in my powers, barely keep my teeth behind my lips. They are mine and I will be damned before I let her put her grubby little paws on them! 

“You may monitor them as often or as random as you wish, Father,” I speak over her instead, fighting to keep his attention. “I will move back into the Palace. I will sit in every meeting. I…” There is one sure thing that will guarantee his approval of this awful plan of mine. “I will marry whoever you choose for me.”

His dark brows raise in surprise. “And what would prompt this sudden loyalty to me, child?”

I raise my chin. “I have sat too long in the dark, and I could not see it until…” I have already bartered my soul, what will some more empty words mean in the end? “I could not see it until you removed that traitor and her poisoned tongue from the house. I see it now. I have failed our people and I mean to make it right.”

He flicks his gaze over his shoulder, down into the Pit. “The gorsian stone should keep Rhysand in line. And with enough guards, you might be able to keep them locked up. If they should survive the fight.”

“Sometimes death is a mercy,” I say, the words tasting like bile. 

He takes a step closer, so we’re nearly nose to nose. “And if you fail to keep them in line, it will be you that dies in this arena, do you understand?”

Better me than them. 

“You cannot be serious, Your Highness!” Amarantha squeaks, her voice shrill.

I nod, trying not to gloat in my victory over her. “I understand.”

Father grins, pleased with himself as he snags my hand and brings me back into view of the arena. “Please forgive the delay, the Princess and I were just discussing what our guests had to say about the state of our Empire.”

I feel three sets of eyes settle on me like a brand. The bond, still so new and raw in my chest, feels like chains rattling against my ribcage. I cannot tell if it is their anxiety or my own. 

“Let it be known that this Empire is a democracy, and that I, as your Emperor, care about the state of affairs that all of our people live in.”

 I try to meet the gaze of the senators and highly decorated soldiers sitting in the booths that line the upper ring of the arena. These will be the most upset by the news. The next ring of wealthy merchants and shopkeepers, tradesmen and fleet keeps will be the ones that take what they hear here back to the streets. Word will spread. The people will know what happened here, how the Emperor suddenly decided to care about them. It will be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I try to not look down at the Pit; try not to think about the life I’m condemning them to. 

“Our beloved Princess is very concerned about your well-being,” Father continues and there’s a collective cheer from the lower levels. “And so, we have decided not to execute these rebels today.”

The tone immediately shifts to one of confusion.

“They will compete as gladiators. Should they prove resourceful enough to survive, they will be branded as gladiators, and sponsored by our Princess.” Great, not only do they have to survive the damned arena, they have to survive any threats from other gladiators who will seek to take out well-sponsored competition. 

Even from our vantage point I hear Cassian curse in disbelief. 

“She has so graciously decided that all their winnings will be sent to any hurting corners of the Empire, should there be any to be found.”

The crowd takes a moment to process what he says. It even takes me a minute to comprehend the last part. He’d really send all the money that I’d earn as their sponsor to the poor? That’s a hefty bit of charity, even for him. There has to be some sort of catch?

“So, let these males fight! Let’s see how far they are willing to go for their people.”

There it is. They could choose to sit down and die in the arena, making themselves martyrs as Amarantha thinks they intended, and then, instead, they would look like they were not willing to make sacrifices for their people. If they fought, competed for whatever earnings were bet on them, then they would be heroes. A symbol of strength only the great Emperor Hybern could make. Father really is the best at these political games.

The crowd roars as trumpets blow three times.

Father motions me back to our seats.

“You don’t really think they can win, do you, cousin?” Dagdan questions.

The ground shakes as a giant strolls out of the tunnels. The creature is so large he has to bend over nearly double to fit. When he stands to his full height, his bald head is practically even with the edge of our booth. Terrible scars crisscross over his body like spiderwebs. Hybern went to war first with the land of Giants, the war had lasted decades. My Grandfather had taken many giants as slaves and forced them to kill each other in this arena. Some gladiators were able to earn their freedom, but the devastation that the Giants had wrought on our people made my Grandfather declare that no Giant could ever be made free. The poor creature had probably been chained here, fighting in the Pit long before I was even born.

“They survived Amarantha,” I retort.

The General bristles. “I thought you didn’t place bets on the first day?”

I reach for another glass of wine, trying to settle my nerves. “There’s a first time for everything.” Perhaps making an enemy out of her is unwise, but the bond chafes against my ribcage at the thought of her being anywhere near any of them. Better to keep her attention on me than on them. 

Another horn blows, prompting the giant to move and I hold my breath as he reaches a meaty hand down to grab one of the Illyrians. The males scatter, Cassian going into a roll between the Giant’s legs, using the blind spot to his advantage while Rhysand drags Azriel out of the way with an arm around his waist. He’s practically carrying Azriel now, who’s broken wings seem to be getting heavier by the minute. 

Cassian roars as he stretches out a hand, a wave of red tinted energy blasting from his palm. The arch or power slams into the Giant’s calf, blasting away a chunk of skin and muscle, splattering blood across the nearest wall. 

The Giant roars as he falls to one knee.

Cassian sprints behind him, out of reach of the hand that comes sweeping down at him. This time, he’s the distraction as Rhysand uses the hand not holding Azriel upright to unleash a blast of dark, obsidian power. 

My own magic flares in response. It is a darkness so like my own, the sight of it a siren call that has me leaning forward in my seat. If he can unleash a blast powerful enough to leave a gash across the Giant’s bare chest with those gorsian chains around his neck, how much damage can he do without it?

The Giant’s cries of pain echo throughout the amphitheater; using the distraction, Cassian continues to blast away at it’s leg while Rhys throws blow after blow at it’s chest. They fair far better than I anticipated they would, but I know better than to let hope get the better of me. It is far too easily ripped away in this arena. 

As if on cue, the gates open again and a pack of wargs come sprinting into the arena.

The crowd erupts in cheers, and my heart once again thunders in my chest. What have I done? It takes all my training to not start chewing on my thumbnail. How am I supposed to save them from this?

Amarantha claps gleefully as one of the wargs breaks away from the pack to lunge straight for Azriel’s throat. 

No! No! No- Azriel raises a scarred hand to blast the beast backward with a wave of blue tinted magic. There isn’t enough time to sigh in relief, not as the rest of the pack splits in two, one circling Rhysand and Azriel, the other taking a shot at the Giant. Those rows of razor sharp and needle thin teeth sink into the Giant’s already bleeding leg, momentarily distracting it as it swings wildly around the arena, arms pinwheeling as it fights to balance on one leg while the other flails in an attempt to shake the beasts off. 

“They’re not supposed to attack the Giant!” Brannagh whines. 

I gulp down my wine, hoping it will push the wave of nausea that rolls through me down. I’ve signed their death warrants. I’ve gotten my mates killed. 

Cassian, in the chaos, has managed to find half of a spear, the blade rusted from the recent rain, but he hurls it with acute precision nonetheless, piercing through the oddly shaped skull of a warg snapping at Azriel’s wings. 

Rhysand and Azriel have moved to stand back to back, their varying shades of magic weaving between their fingers as they prepare to strike the snapping beasts that circle them. 

The Giant topples over as the three wargs held tight to it’s wounded calf find a nerve. There’s not enough room in the arena to let him fall without incident. The poor creature topples right into the wall opposite us, knocking away a section of stone and nearly dragging a Senator and his mistress into the Pit.

The Praetorians launch from our booth to aid the screaming couple.

It might have been funny under different circumstances, but I cannot peel my eyes away from my mates as the blast beast after beast away with their magic. Even wounded, even stunted by the chains, they are the most powerful wielders I’ve ever seen. Even if Cassian’s and Azriel’s magic sprays with less precision than usual without the siphons Illyrians are known for, every blow is calculated. They do not miss. Warg after warg falls, their leathery skin blistered or blasted away from multiple blows. Even wounded, the males remain in perfect sync, filling in any gaps the other might lack. They manage to kill five of the eight beasts, the other three still mercilessly tearing through the Giant’s leg, even as the guards try to push him off the wall.

Brannagh laughs at the tears that fall from the Giant’s eyes as he swats uselessly at the beasts. No matter how many times his massive fists slams against them, they will not let go. His blood runs like a river through the center of the Pit.

Many of the crowd laugh too.

These are my people? This is what I am to inherit? This misery and suffering and apathy towards the suffering of others? We are monsters!

As soon as I can get my mates out of this godsforsaken Pit, I will find a way to get them far, far away from this place, where it can never hurt them again. And then, when I know they are safe, I will make sure that this place burns.

Rhysand seems to take pity on his opponent, as he steps away from Azriel’s back to blast one of the remaining wargs off the Giant’s calf. From the distance across the arena, the blow is not a killing one, and aggravated, the warg turns its attack to Rhysand.

My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers himself into a crouch, hands splaying in the damp earth. There is a sword a couple feet from him, if he runs, he might make it there first. But he doesn’t run, he waits until the beast gets close before hurling dust in it’s eyes. While it’s distracted, a rope of star studded magic unfurls from his palm and wraps around the beast’s throat. Instead of killing it, he hurls it back at the others, knocking all of them free from the Giant’s leg.

The crowd boos.

My heart clenches in my chest. He could have let them end this fight now, could have let those beasts tear clean through the Giant’s leg and won by default, but he didn’t. He chose to fight fair, to do the dirty work himself.

The three beasts turn on him as he sprints for the sword. There’s just enough time for him to get a firm grip on the hilt before the first lunges, its claws tearing through his forearm as he fights to get the angle he needs to win. Blood splatters, those handsome features twisting in pain as he adjusts his stance. Cassian runs towards him, but he won’t make it in time. 

There’s no more wine to distract me, I’ve fully bitten through my lip now. Please if there are any gods left to hear me, don’t let him die here!

Rhysand moves with the grace of a well-practiced swordsman, each step flowing into the next like a dance as he cleaves through one beast's head, and severs the paw of a second. In mere seconds, he manages to dispatch the rest, leaving the mangled bodies at his feet. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and under different circumstances I might have been too distracted by his beauty to notice the Giant move. 

Rhysand might have been the better male, but that didn’t save him from the Giant’s hand as it swatted him across the battlefield like he was a pesky fly. I bite deeper through my lip to keep back a scream as his body bounces across the muddy floor until he meets a wall. 

Cassian and Azriel roar in outrage and the tether that sits in my chest rattles so hard against my rib cage I think it might rip right out of me. This can’t be happening!

The Giant rises on shaking legs, then falls back onto its knees, using its meaty fists to bash against the arena floor, in what looks like the world’s deadliest game of Whack-A-Mole. Red and blue magic flashes across the arena as the Illyrian’s throw blow after blow, leaving bleeding gashes in the Giant’s fist. Across the arena, Rhysand rolls onto his back, forehead covered in blood as he struggles to get upright. He’s alive at least. Barely. But alive.

I vow to the Mother and any other god that can hear me that if they survive the fight I will find somewhere safe for them. I will do whatever it takes to keep them out of this arena for good. 

“They are persistent, I’ll give them that,” Dagdan muses. 

I feel rather than see my Father’s frown as he takes in all the chaos with the experience of a seasoned strategist. I know that he is calculating their odds, mapping out every possible outcome. I wonder if Cassian launching into the air, wings beating so hard to get him airborne that I feel a gust of hot air on my face, was part of his calculations? If he could have foreseen the blast of energy Cassian’s hurls into the Giant’s eyes, blinding him?

The Giant abandons his attempts at smashing them to grab at his eyes, large hands clawing at his sizzling flesh. The whole arena can smell burnt skin, but Cassian doesn’t let up, he aims blow after blow at the Giant’s head, until he finally falls over backwards, neck slamming hard against the already broken stone.

I look away, stomach in my throat as the resounding crack fills the amphitheater. 

The crowd roars in disbelief as Cassian tucks in his wings and descends back into the Pit. He hits the ground running, footfalls heavy in the mud as he rushes to Rhysand’s side. Azriel is not far behind him. With their combined strength, they manage to get Rhysand back on his feet. 

I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. They’re alive!

Father stands and makes his way to the edge of the booth again. “For whatever reason, the Goddess has smiled upon you three today! Today, you will live. Let us hope you remain in Her favor.” He doesn’t sound super thrilled by the prospect as he turns his back to the crowd, slate gray eyes pinched as they fall to me.

“Walk with me.”

I stand, trying to keep my singed skirts in my hands so he cannot see the damage I’d done. Or the blood from my palms. If he suspects I was at all nervous for the outcome, I could ruin everything. I must keep my composure.

And not run down the stairs to the gates and throw myself at my mates like every fiber of my being screams at me to do. 

The guards follow as we exit the booth. In moments there will be chaos as beings scatter to find the Games Keepers and collect their winnings, or pay their debts, but for a moment, the crowd lingers in their seats, watching as the Illyrians are led out of the Pit.

“You embarrassed us today,” he hisses once we’re out of Amarantha’s earshot. The anger in his tone is enough to make me try and take a step away from him, but he throws an arm around my shoulders to keep me against his side. To any onlookers, we are just father and daughter having a chat. His voice is low enough that no one will hear the threats he hisses in my ear.

“You hide away in the River House for months, mourning a traitor who was plotting to overthrow me and now you make a spectacle of yourself! I should have you cast out into the streets!”

My only way out is to placate him. “I am sorry, Father.”

“Sorry,” he snarls, fingers digging tight enough into my shoulder to bruise. “Your apologies mean nothing! I swear, if you do not do everything you promised to do today, I will throw you into this arena! And I will use your own advice to keep you alive long enough to ensure you have a couple matches to prolong your suffering.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I meant what I said, Father.” Mostly. Perhaps I can secure passage for all of us out of here and we never have to think about the Empire again. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am with the idea. Yes, I just need to make it look like I am taking them as slaves, and once we’re out from the watchful eye of my Father, we can all run far, far away. Maybe I am more clever than I thought.

He leads us down the steps to a door that will eventually lead us to the gladiator cages and a guard swings open the heavy iron for us. Once we’re out from under the eye of the people, the rough stone walls closing in tight--a means to ensure none of the larger gladiators can make a run for the door and escape--he releases his grip on me. 

Torches line the walls casting his face in near shadow as he pauses at the bottom of a second, smaller, set of stairs. I shiver despite myself as the door slams shut, sealing me in. I suppose at this point I should be prepared, but I’m not, and when his open hand slams across my cheek I lose my balance and slip down the last two steps of the staircase. 

“Don’t ever question me again!” He hisses.

The guards pretend to not notice, as they always have.

I grit my teeth against the ringing in my ears, against the hot tears that threaten to escape me, focusing instead on carefully getting back on my feet. Stay down too long he’ll kick in my ribs like he used to when I was a child. Get up too fast and he’ll assume he hadn’t hit me hard enough. I put over emphasis into finding a handhold in the wall, making sure I keep my stinging cheek against my shoulder. The tremor in my hands is not feigned fear, I’ve been terrified of him my entire life, but I do exaggerate it just as my Mother taught me. 

“Spoiled brat!” He grumbles as he stalks forward into the tunnel. “I coddled you too much.”

I glare at his back once I’m sure he’s no longer looking at me. I hate him! I’ve hated him my entire fucking life. He’s ruined everything. Taken everything from me. Everything I’d ever loved he’d wiped off the face of the earth, all because I had the misfortune of being a female. All because he couldn’t have a precious son.

I grit my teeth so hard they hurt as I brush my skirts off and follow after him. I will be glad when I am finally out of his sight. Far, far away from this stupid Empire. At least I have mates; someone out in this Mother forsaken world who will care about me; who won’t hate me just for existing. At least there is one thing he can’t ruin for me.

I am too distracted with my thoughts to note the paths we take. I distantly hear the sound of injured men groaning, catch a whiff of filth and animal waste, but it’s all a blur. This will all be a bad dream soon. Soon I will have my mates and I will never have to deal with him again. I can be happy. I will be happy.

By the time he finally stops walking, I’ve schooled my features into a perfect mask; have brushed a few loose strands of hair in front of my face to hide the red mark across my cheek. He will suspect nothing until it is too late. Then he can have his precious Empire. It will be the only thing left he can control.

A guard opens what looks like a cage door, the iron old and rusted, and the guards that have been trailing behind us step in first.

“Against the wall!” They bark. 

There’s no light in the cell, just the flickering of the torch on the wall behind us. I don’t know what to expect.

“Fuck you, Imperial Pig!” Cassian.

I bite my tongue to keep back the grin that threatens to escape me, my mask slipping. He’s not so hurt that he can’t put up a fight. The thought warms something in my chest. Headstrong, stubborn, if the sound of scuffling coming from inside the dark cell is anything to go by, and sarcastic--everything I need to counter my reserved nature. I need that energy. I need him. The surety of that makes me square my shoulders. 

“Easy, Cass.” Rhysand. His voice is smooth as silk, even if the words are a little slurred. “We don’t want trouble.”

“The fuck we don’t!” Cassian shouts. “I’m no one’s fucking pet!”

The guard at the door, once sure the others inside are secure, steps away to grab the torch off its perch in the hallway, and sets it into an old rung on the inside of the cell, bathing the room in its soft glow. 

Father steps in first.

For a moment, I hesitate, heart in my throat. I need them. I need that strength I saw in the arena. Need that fire Cassian spews. The surety that Rhysand carries himself with. I need them. And if I show any sign of that, they're dead.

The guard, now back at the door, eyes me quizzically.

I draw a shaky breath and school my features back into a perfectly bored mask. 

I can do this.

I will do this.

I won’t let Hybern take anything else from me, no matter the games I have to play. 

I tell it to myself over and over as I step into the cell.

----------------

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd,

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! =)

[sodapopwrites]

the first sign of fall chapter six: so start over

college au, the batboys and reader are bartenders, also the guys play hockey

pairings - eris vanserra x reader, azriel x reader

summary - things slowly start to mend after eris talks to his brother, and azriel talks to you.

word count - 3k

a/n - sorry this took me so long to write!!! i was super busy, i just moved and had to get all my voter registration stuff in order before tonight! i hope this brings a little distraction from the dreadful anxiety of election day. it certainly worked a little for me. also guys theyre starting to work towards happiness. i think when the series is done i might write blurbs for it. because her and eris make my heart hurt a little. anyways i hope you enjoy!

read the rest of the series here!

 Eris couldn’t get you out of his head. He had tried, by taking that girl to the halloween party instead of you. But now. The idea of forgetting you was almost laughable. Your words echoing through his ears constantly. 

I miss you. 

You missed him. You had Azriel in the palm of your hand and you missed him. He thought of your flushed cheeks and your tousled hair. The bite mark that had been fading from your skin, the way you had brought your hand up to cover it the second he noticed it. The way Azriel had leaned against the porch rail and nodded at him. A silent bow out. Eris wondered what exactly you had said to him to make him give up the chase. What exactly the two of you had discussed. Whether it was a fight or a teary eyed goodbye. He couldn’t make himself not care. About any of it. About how he wished he could have wiped the tear tracks from your face. About how he wished that he could have smoothed every crease of worry from your skin with a kiss. But he couldn’t. Not then. But now? He didn’t know. 

He was walking to campus now. The leaves almost fully fallen from every branch. The harsh sterility of winter starting it’s approach. It felt like he was retracing steps. Steps he had once taken with you. Like his feet were leading him somewhere that he wasn’t fully aware of until he stopped outside the coffee shop you so often frequented. He looked through the slightly fogged windows. Towards the window booth you and Lucien so often liked to share while you studied. You weren’t there. It’s not like he was surprised, he knew you worked thursday evenings anyway. But his brother was. Lucien sat alone at the table. Flipping absent mindedly through the pages of an all too large book, that he was probably reading for brownie points more than anything else. Eris looked at his feet, as if trying to will them to take him somewhere else, before he sighed and pushed open the door of the coffee shop. 

He made his way to where his brother was sitting and wrapped his knuckles on the table. Lucien sighed and looked up. Shooting his elder brother a nonplussed look before letting his book fall closed before him. He leaned back in his chair, looking Eris up and down, and crossing his arms. 

“You look like shit.” 

“You know for someone that used to copy the way that I dress that’s a wild thing to say to me.” 

Lucien scoffed, “I didn’t copy the way you dressed, I was forced to wear hand me downs for a ridiculously long time….which is funny considering that our family could have afforded to buy me new clothes.” 

Eris smiled and shrugged, “Maybe it’s because you were dad’s least favorite.” 

Lucien frowned a little and shrugged, “I’m gonna let you be rude to me only because you’ve clearly let yourself go.” 

Eris let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, almost perfectly mirroring Lucien’s stance. The brothers studied eachother. Neither of them saying anything. Eris chewing his bottom lip, trying to find a good way to phrase what he wanted to say. A good way to bring you up without making it seem like it was the only reason he was talking to Lucien. As if on cue Lucein let out a small laugh, leaned forward, the legs of his chair clicking loudly against the floor, 

“She’s not doing great either.” 

Eris let out another sigh. He didn’t want you to be doing poorly. He wanted you happy and content. Really he did. But there was some comfort in Lucien’s admittance. Some small relief that maybe you were just as unhappy being apart as he was. But the grimace that rippled across his features was evident nonetheless. Lucien continued at the pained look on his brother’s face, 

“Really. I don’t think she’s brushed her hair in a couple days. I’ve never seen her look this disheveled on purpose. She stopped coming to class.” 

Eris looked up at this, “I don’t want that.” 

“I know you don’t.” Lucien paused and rubbed his hand over his eyes, “Maybe you should talk to her.” 

“And say what Lucien?” 

“Well I heard that she uhm…somewhat bared her soul to you.” 

“She was drunk.” 

“I don’t think she was. I think most of the alcohol was vomitted up before she managed to actually talk to you.” 

He was right. Eris thought about the horrifying clarity behind your eyes when you had spoken to him. Your words soft and quiet, like you were almost ashamed to say them at all. Like you were embarrassed to admit that you had any doubts, any fear, at all. 

“I don’t know if we can go back to the way it was.” 

Lucien shrugged, a real, heavy shouldered shrug, and ran a hand through his hair. He opened his book again and said, without looking up from the pages, “So start over.” 

★ ★ ★

You and Azriel worked in silence. Diligently keeping up with the flow of customers, parrying snarky comments from Cassian, and handling the mountain of dirty glasses Mor would dump on the bar’s doorstep every couple minutes. It was good to be busy. You didn’t have to think about anything when it was busy. You could work steadily and make other people happy, without having to think about any of your own shit. You didn’t have to think about how you were falling behind in your classes, or the pained look in Azriel’s eyes everytime they fell on you, or the general hushed tones your friends were speaking to you in. Like you were a dog that had just come back from living on the street. Like you were something to mend slowly and carefully. Something they were scared to kick while it was down. 

“You wanna take your fifteen?” 

It was the first thing Azriel had said to you all shift. The silence and synchonization you two fell into finally benefiting you. You shook your head and tilted your chin in a motion that said why don’t you take yours. There was a lull in the rush. Finally. So he did. Tucking his apron under the counter and nudging Cassian as he walked towards the door. Cassian followed after shooting you an apprehnsive glace, as if worried that you wouldn’t be able to hold down the fort. A completely unfounded concern. But now? You looked like you hadn’t slept since Halloween and it made him nervous. But he followed Azriel out anyways. Not wanting to ask you if you needed help for fear that you’d bite his head off at the insinutaiton. 

Cassian watched Azriel pace up and down the street. His palms pressing into his eyes as he did so. 

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” 

“Why do you only like me when I’m sad?” Azriel looked to his friend while parroting your words. He had been saying them repeatedly to Cassian for the last week. Cassian refusing to really talk about it, this was something he thought Azriel needed to come to terms with on his own. But now. After eight days of this being the only thing Az was able to talk about…he finally cracked, 

“Well…Why do you only like her when she’s sad?” 

Azriel started at him. His arms dropping to hang limp at his sides. He looked dumbfounded at Cassian’s question. Like he never expected that. He should have. But he didn’t. He hung his head and resumed his pacing. 

“I don’t know.” 

Cassian huffed a breath of complaint and crossed his arms. 

“I think…It’s because, as much as you don’t want to admit it, sometimes you like playing the hero so much that it makes you a villain.” 

And with that Cassian turned on his heel and went back inside. He had been doing that alot lately. Dropping bombs and then leaving before Azriel could really respond. It was driving Az crazy. Cassian of all people should not be the one putting him in place. Their dynamic suddenly switched. Nothing in his life at this moment felt the way that it should. 

He slumped down. Sitting on the curb, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket and trying to enjoy one small peaceful moment before going back to work. But he heard the door creak open, fully expecting Rhys to come reprimand him now, he didn’t turn to look who was approaching him.

You sat next to him. Curling into yourself slightly. Your arms wrapping around your bent legs to shield you from the cold and from the conversation you had steeled yourself into having. He finally looked towards you, a little surprised that you were there in the first place. You spoke first. Like you always did. 

“I’m sorry. For the other night.” 

He started shaking his head before you could even finish talking. “You don’t have to be sorry. You were right. I have the horrible habit of trying to save you from good things.” 

“Well I know I was right. But I didn’t have to say it like that. Like you were the only one to blame.” 

He sat with the words. Rolling the cigarette between his lips as he thought, 

“I want you to be happy.” 

“I know” you whispered like you didn’t really believe it and he pushed forwards, 

“No. I want you to be happy. I want to see it happen and I want to see it stay.” He paused and heaved in a deep and settling breath, “Because we’re friends.” 

“We’re friends?” 

“I think it’s what we’re best at.” He scrunched his nose a little as he said it. Almost teasing. Like maybe it wasn’t too soon to make jokes. Like they could start to rebuild from here. You didn’t say anything in response. But you smiled, strained and tired, but a smile. So he kept talking. For once he needed to keep talking. 

“The reason I never said anything the first time. After you left. Was because I thought you didn’t want me to. I thought I was saving you from something. Believe it or not…I was also scared. That it didn’t mean anything. And at the time…maybe it did. It probably meant everything. But now? It’s been so long and I..” 

He leaned back, resting his palms on the cold damp concrete of the sidewalk, letting the sting of it set his nerves and solidify his ground, “I wasted my chance and now I think you need to take yours. Don’t stay silent again because you’re scared.” 

“We both wasted our chance. It wasn’t just you.” Again that hushed tone. The hurried flow of your words, like if you didn’t get them out as fast as you could, you wouldn’t get them out again. 

“I think it’s for the better.” 

You stared at eachother now. A silent understanding passing between you. A settling warmth. A forgiveness that’s been long awaited. The silent turmoil of the last two years of your friendship finally starting to ease it’s way back to a steady rhythm. 

“You should talk to him. Again.” 

It was your turn to shake your head in defeat. A motion that seemed to be very popular lately. Something to share with just about everyone you knew. 

“I don’t know if he ever wants to hear from me again. If we can ever go back to the way it was.” 

Azriel let out a huff of laughter and stood up, brushing himself off as he did so. He offered you a hand and hauled you to your feet. He grasped both of your shoulders and said very seriously, 

“So don’t. Start over. Do it better. You can save this one.” 

★ ★ ★

You were walking home from work. Trying not to let Azriel’s words go to your head. You can save this one. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Your eyes trained on the lights that illuminated the worn brick of the road. The golden illumination from storefronts and restaurants casting a warm glow over the red cobblestone. You zoned out a little as you passed your favorite coffee shop. Inside the employees were putting chairs on tables and sweeping up. The smell of coffee and baked goods still wafting out the half open door. It wasn’t until you ran directly into someone, your book and phone clattering to the pavement, and your bag swinging off your shoulder that you really started to pay attention. You leaned down to pick up your things. Muttering your apologies. A large freckled hand came to rest over yours as you scrambled to pick up your book before the thin glaze of rain on the sidewalk started to seep into the pages. A hand you knew all to well. Accompanied by a smell that overwhelmed your senses. Vanilla and roasting almonds. Firewood and burnt sage. It was like an assault on your senses. The softness of his skin, interrupted only by the small calluses left there from his hockey stick. The fiery brush of his hair over his forehead, his amber eyes burning their way through yours. 

You rose together. Standing straight wouldn’t stop him from towering over you. His smile soft and tugging at the corners of his lips. He looked good. Tired, dark circles under his eyes, hair out of order, his sweater crumpled and wrinkled more than he’d ever let it be normally. But the warmth of him. That was there. His eyes no longer cold and guarded. They were searching and alight with a strange sort of mischief.  

“You should really watch where your going.” He was quiet as he spoke. Teasing in tone. 

You nodded a little shakily, “Yeah. I uh. I probably should.” 

“I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you run into a lamp post or something.”

A pretty thing like you. Something he hadn’t said to you since he first started hitting on you. Something he hadn’t said since he didn’t really know you. You didn’t know how to respond. So you, almost unconsciously, nodded. God I must look so fucking dumb. It was the only thing you could think. You were surprised he had stopped to help you at all. Surprised he was even here. He only ever came to this coffee shop when he was looking for you. 

“Eris.” He said it so casually. Like it was the most natural thing to do. Reaching out to shake your hand. Without thinking you introduced yourself in return, grasping his hand as he shook it. No questions. Like it was the only thing to say. The only thing to do.  A grin started to spread across his face as he said, 

“You know. You should let me take you out some time. Protect you from any incoming road blocks.” 

He was looking for you. You realized it just as you were hit with a small wave of confusion. He was asking you on a date like he didn’t know you at all. He was starting over. Like something in the universe had given him the same inclination that you were given. Starting over. 

“I uh…I’d like that.” 

He nodded and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, “Good.” He whispered as that small fox like smile stretched it’s way further across his features. His freckles scrunching slightly with the bridge of his nose. He tucked his hands in his pockets as he started to turn in the direction of his house, the dead opposite direction of yours. He took one step before turning back around, 

“We’ll talk?” 

“We’ll talk.” You answered as fast as you could and with a small affirming nod. He mirrored the movement, pursing his lips as he did so. You looked at eachother briefly before you started to walk away. 

He watched as you did. Watched the way your shoulders relaxed a little and you ran your fingers over the hair he had smoother moments before. 

“I miss you too.” 

He called after you. You shot him a small smile over your shoulder, but didn’t say anything back. 

We’ll talk.

taglist:

@tiredsleepyhead @rosewood-cafe @kristijenner19 @becstersworld

@the-sylver-dragon @scarsandallaz @fairydustblossom 

@lupinswolfsbanes 

@theflowerswillbloom @melsunshine @mad-katsuki @lilylilyyyyyy @blueeeeeshark

@tolietpaperwater @redr0sewrites @acourtofbatboydreams @hextech-bros

[blimpintime]

this is so beautifully human i love it

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate

Original request.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x Tamlin’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.

Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx

A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)

6.4k word count.

"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.

I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.

I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.

It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.

Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.

She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."

I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.

Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.

His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.

I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.

"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."

I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.

"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.

"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.

"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."

The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.

Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.

"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.

"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."

I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.

———

Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.

But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.

I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.

"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."

"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."

I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.

His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."

A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."

He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."

"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"

His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.

"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.

"You don't mean that."

"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.

I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.

I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.

I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.

The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.

"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."

My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."

I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.

He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."

———

My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.

I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.

"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.

He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.

———

The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.

"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.

The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.

"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.

"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"

"Careful," he growls in warning.

A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.

"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.

Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.

"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.

He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"

I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.

"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.

"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.

"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.

"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.

He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.

My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.

Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.

"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.

I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.

I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"

He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."

I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.

"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.

"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.

He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.

"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."

"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.

"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."

He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."

He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."

"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.

The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.

Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.

He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."

He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."

"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.

He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.

I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.

He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"

"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."

I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."

"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.

"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"

"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"

I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.

The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.

"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"

I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."

"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"

"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"

I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."

"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."

"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."

His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."

I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"

He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."

I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."

"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."

"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.

"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.

We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.

"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.

"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."

For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.

When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.

I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.

The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.

I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.

We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.

We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.

We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.

"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"

I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.

I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."

His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."

My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."

"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."

I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.

"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"

It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."

It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.

"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."

His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.

"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.

We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.

He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.

The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."

I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"

"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."

There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.

"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.

"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.

"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."

The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.

"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."

I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.

As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.

I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.

Comment or reblog with a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb @lorosette @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tothestarsandwhateverend @ahaha0246 @mellowmusings @mythicalcookie

[blimpintime]

🫶🏻

[kymawrites]

Smothered Flames - Pt. 1

a/n: part one of a new fic! there will only be two parts, and the second one should be up by tomorrow (I promise I'm also working on a part 2 for you make it better, I've seen all your requests, and thank you for the love)

pairing: Azriel x Vanserra!Reader

content warnings: language, anxiety attack, allusions to past trauma

word count: 6.5k

synopsis: You were the Vanserras' best kept secret. That is, until you followed Eris to the Night Court, and you ended up finding more than you bargained for.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

The faint sound of dripping water echoed around you. You counted the continuous drops until you lost track, then started over, and over, and over again. You sat propped against a stone wall, its roughly hewn surface scratching against your skin any time you shifted. The only source of light was a dim orange glow that emanated from so far down the hall that it only barely let you make out the iron bars of your cell. You held your hand up in front of your face, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated through your shoulder at the movement. Those bastards probably fractured something.

You could barely make out the shape of your hand in the suffocating darkness. You weakly lowered it back down to your side, leaning your head back against the wall. Your face was stiff with dried blood from the scrape you earned along your hairline, and your throat was dry from hours without water. You wondered how long they would keep you here. How long until someone came to interrogate you, to inflict pain worse than a head scrape and fractured shoulder? Maybe they would just leave you here until the darkness and silence drove you mad, or until you died of thirst. You didn’t let your mind wander any further, didn’t let yourself think about all the cruel and wicked stories you had heard about the Night Court.

You never should have followed Eris. You should have minded your own damn business and let him do whatever the hell it was he had wrapped himself up in. He has been disappearing for days out a time for months, though, and you were worried. You were worried your father might have pulled him into some wretched plan of his that would only end up getting Eris killed. It was no secret that Eris would be the next High Lord, and everyone knew he was the least malleable for your father and his courtesans to shape and mold. He got away with it though by acting just as wretched as the male ordering him around, slipping into a facade that hid his true intentions and heart. No, your brother was not cruel, despite what the world thought, and you knew if you didn’t look out for him, no one else would.

You supposed the sentiment behind your fool’s mission was fair, but the execution of it was grossly miscalculated. A fact you quickly realized when you came face to face with Night Court soldiers in the snowy woods outside their main city. They did not hesitate to detain you, shoving you hard to the ground the second you turned to run, and then dragged you underground and into this musty and dark cell. Eris likely didn’t even know you were here, wasn’t even aware that you still had access to the tracking spells he had given you during the war. Your chest tightened. You were going to die down here, and Eris might never know what happened to you.

The sound of muffled voices made you freeze. The voices grew closer and closer, their heavy footsteps echoing loudly against the walls.

“This better be damn important.”

“It is, sir,” a nervous voice replied.

Another voice, much less reverent, sneered “If you didn’t want to be bothered, you should have just let us do away with her. I’m sure Kier could have found some use for the pretty thing.”

A chill wracked your body, and you couldn’t stop the trembles that overtook you.

A beat of silence filled the tunnel again, then the first voice growled, “You’d do well to remember who you’re speaking to.”

“I report to Kier,” the male replied haughtily.

“And I outrank Kier,” the other male sneered. “Keep that in mind.”

Three large silhouettes appeared in the darkness outside your cell, and you swore the one in the middle had wings. Oh gods. You felt his eyes on you, as if he was analyzing every shaky breath you took and every tremor that shook you. You supposed it would make sense for the Night Court fae to have exceptional vision in the dark.

“Why is she here?” the male asked.

The meek one answered, “We found her outside a few hours ago, in the woods. We believe she is from the Autumn Court.”

Your skin prickled with anxiety. They hadn’t seen your ring with the Vanserra family insignia. You balled your hand into a fist, hiding the gold band from sight.

The cell door slid open with a deafening screech, and you winced as the winged male stalked toward you. He crouched in front of you slowly, and when the gems adorning him flared with a cobalt blue glow, you could barely make out the harsh lines of his cheekbones and the cold eyes staring at you. The darkness around him seemed to pulse, and your heart lurched at the realization of who exactly they had sent to deal with you.

The Shadowsinger. All of your brothers loathed the male. Some of them used to whisper taunts and threats in your ear that the Shadowsinger would come to steal you away in the middle of the night if you didn’t do something they demanded of you. Sometimes they did it just to be cruel, to watch the tears well up in your eyes. Decades had passed and you were no longer the sniveling child that they would taunt with scary stories, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still cruel, that they hadn’t found new ways to torment you when Eris wasn’t around. You wondered if their cruelty was about to seem like child’s play once the Shadowsinger had his way with you.

You jolted at the cool touch of his skin on your wrist. His fingers dug slightly into the skin, pulling your hand to him and forcing your fingers to unfurl. He examined the exposed ring, the familial crest you had turned inward to your palm. You hated the damned thing, really, but Eris had given it to you. He made you promise to wear it, and so you did. You never took it off.

The Shadowsinger hummed softly, then growled to the other males. “Leave, and get me Cassian.”

His grip on your wrist never weakened, and you struggled to swallow the fear bubbling up in your throat. You were still trembling, skin littered with goosebumps. You thought you might vomit, until finally, after minutes of silence passed, the male asked with a chilling, quiet voice, “What is a female like you doing wearing the Vanserra family crest?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course he knew your crest. Of course he could make it out clearly in the dark. You didn’t know what to say. No one outside the Forest House knew you existed, and no one outside your family knew your heritage. The accidental daughter of the High Lord of Autumn born centuries after their youngest son. A daughter with little to no magic in her blood, not compared to her brothers. An embarrassment. A mistake. For seventy years you had been hidden away in that court, rarely getting to even take a breath of fresh air unless Eris stole you away for a ride through the forest. You had no training to protect yourself with, no idea how to withstand an interrogation, torture.

“Fine,” the male said smoothly. “Don’t tell me. We’ll find out some other way.”

He stood up from where he was crouched on the ground, dropping your wrist abruptly, the pain in your shoulder contorting your face. He took note of the reaction, the obvious pain you were in, but said nothing. Panic clawed at your throat, squeezing around it tighter and tighter. “It was a mistake,” you rasped out. Your eyes were wide, and you were sure you looked pathetic. Trembling and bloody on the ground. 

“What was?” he asked, voice hard.

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t have been in these woods. I didn’t know that’s where I would end up. I was just following—” you cut yourself off.

He took another step closer, the toe of his boot brushing your own damp one. “Following who?” His voice was so cold and dark it sent another chill through you.

“Me, I presume.”

Your head swiveled toward the familiar voice so fast that you were shocked your neck didn’t snap. Your brother stepped inside, moving toward you on steady feet, but his eyes were aglow with fiery anger. A sob of relief escaped you, and your shoulders curled in on yourself as the adrenaline fueling you finally crashed. He knelt beside you, tilting your head gently to look at the scrape on your head. His eyes snapped to Azriel. “Did you do this?” he growled.

“No,” the Shadowsinger snapped. “Two of Kier’s men found her,” he said pointedly, “and they brought her here.”

Eris’s breathing was heavy with barely restrained anger. 

“Eris,” you started quietly.

“Not now,” he said lowly.

“Do you care to explain yourself, Eris?” another midnight smooth voice drawled from the cell entrance. Your eyes darted over to him, failing to have noticed the two other males that had followed your brother. One of them had wings and glowing gems like the Shadowsinger, only his were red instead of blue.

You knew Eris was seething, and a small part of you feared what he would say to you once you were alone again. There was no denying that you had royally fucked up. Eris said with that fake haughty drawl he donned around everyone, “Once you fetch my sister a healer and some dry clothes, gladly.”

The silence and tension was palpable with his reveal. You weren’t sure if the shudder that went through you was from your anxiety about the revelation to these Night Court males, or from the still ebbing adrenaline that had wreaked havoc on your body for the last few hours.

Eris’s hands skimmed down your shoulders before easing you up by the arm. His hands were so warm, and you once again envied his fire magic. His head turned to the other males. “Now,” he snapped.

~ ~ ~

You were bundled in a sweater, leggings, and wool socks that smelt of jasmine. A thick wool blanket was wrapped around you, and a gentle healer worked diligently on your shoulder as your brother paced behind you. The room they had winnowed you to was lavish and ornate, and open. There were no windows because the room led to a vast outdoor balcony that was only separated by billowing drapes. You couldn’t deny the relief you felt when you realized you were out from that cold and dark mountain. You had expected them to give you some old rags to change into, maybe in a room with light, but certainly not this.

The healer finished her work, the throbbing of your shoulder reduced to a dull ache and the gash on your head sealed shut. Your hair was still in disarray, but at least some of the dirt and blood had been wiped from your skin. You were still trembling slightly, both from anxiety and a lingering chill. Once the healer left you and Eris alone, you turned your head slowly to face him. He ignored your stare, continuing to pace slowly back and forth.

“Eris,” you murmured.

He glanced at you briefly, but he said nothing.

“Eris,” you said again, voice pleading.

“Not now, Y/N,” he snapped.

You sucked in a breath, absorbing the sting inflicted by his harsh tone. Despite it, you still said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes locked on yours, softening slightly. He let out a long sigh and ran a hand over his face, halting his incessant pacing. “I know you are,” he breathed out. “But what were you thinking? How did you even know where I went?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I was thinking that my brother had been acting suspiciously for months, and if I had noticed, it was only a matter of time before someone else did.” Then, a bit more sheepishly, you said, “I used the tracking spell you gave me during the war.” His eyes narrowed, and you hurried to add, “I only wanted to make sure you were okay. That you weren’t in over your head with something or that our father hadn’t roped you into an inescapable scheme.”

He muttered something under his breath, looking to the ceiling. “You are too clever for your own good.”

You scoffed. “Hardly.”

His narrowed eyes fixed on you. “I have a tentative alliance with the Night Court,” he admitted softly.

Your eyes widened. “The Night Court?”

“Yes,” he sighed, moving to sit in the armchair beside yours. “We have a mutual interest in removing Beron from his throne.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, to demand a better explanation, but he cut you a scathing look. “And that is all, I will tell you about the matter. It is not safe for you to know anything about this. It’s not safe for you to be here, period.”

You glanced at the closed double doors, knowing it was only a matter of time before members of that court came storming in. You worried your lip between your teeth. “Eris,” you said softly. “They know about me now.”

He let out another long breath, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the back of the chair. “Indeed.”

You didn’t really appreciate the nonchalance he held. If they treated you like that without knowing who you were, what would they do to you now? Would they try to hold you over Eris? “Eris,” you urged, the fear in your voice making him look at you. “What are they going to do to me?”

He frowned at that, leaning forward. “They aren’t going to do anything to you.”

“But, the Night Court knows about me. I’m not supposed to exist, Eris, and now they know—”

He put a firm hand on your shoulder, cutting off your nervous rambling. “They aren’t going to hurt you, okay? I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. You have to trust me.”

“But, Eris—”

He squeezed your shoulder. “You know that facade of mine you hate so much?” You nodded. “Well, the Night Court has similar…tactics,” he said, albeit a bit reluctantly. You both turned toward the door at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Just let me talk to them,” he said quickly, then stood up as the three males walked through the doors.

The male in the middle had violet eyes that promised violence, and you blanched a little at the sight of the powerful High Lord. “Start talking, Eris,” he demanded.

Eris folded his hands behind his back, slipping into a role of indifference he knew how to play all too well. “This lovely female you had locked in that dark and dingy cell is my younger sister, Y/N.”

The Shadowsinger snarled, “You don’t have a sister.”

Eris raised his brows. “That you knew of.”

“Why keep her a secret for…” the High Lord trailed off, his eyes locked on you. “How old are you?”

You swallowed, answering quietly, “Seventy-three.”

Eris cut you a glare that was clearly a reminder to let him talk. The High Lord’s brows rose at the number, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you had been hidden for decades or because you were not even a century old.

“So you’ve kept her hidden for seven decades…why?”

Eris seemed to mull over his answer, his hesitance his first display of unease with the situation. You were shocked when he said truthfully, “My father thinks she is an embarrassment to the family.” Your cheeks heated at the words. “He is a bastard that only cares about power, and Y/N does not seem to possess the characteristic fire of a Vanserra. He does not wish her absence of power to tarnish his reputation.”

“But she can winnow,” the male with red siphons pointed out.

“Yes. She is not powerless, she’s just different. That doesn’t matter to my father, though,” Eris said with disdain. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, looking down at your lap in shame. No matter how much Eris assured you that he didn’t care how much power you had, that it wasn’t your fault you didn’t have fire in your veins, it still ate away at your insides. 

You slowly looked up at the Shadowsinger across the room, your cheeks flushing further when you realized his eyes were already locked on you. You couldn’t decipher his cool, stoic expression, but his eyes didn’t leave you while his High Lord questioned your brother. You dragged your gaze away again, focusing on your trembling hands in your lap.

“And you? Why did you hide her? Why not tell us?”

A beat of silence passed. “She is good,” Eris said quietly. “She is nothing like my brothers. At first, I followed along with my father’s orders just to keep her safe from turmoil. Then keeping her secret meant keeping her away from Amarantha. Then, I didn’t want her involved with this, but it seems that plan is void now.” He looked at you again.

“You said no one could follow you,” the red-siphoned male snapped. “How much has she heard? Who else has been trailing you?”

“She is the only exception,” Eris snarled. “I gave her spells to track me during the war. In case things went awry and she needed to find me. She used them to follow me today after noticing my frequent disappearances to meet with you.” He added a bit more softly, glancing at you. “She’s the exception because she’s the only one who cares enough to notice.”

The males looked between themselves—well, the High Lord and General did. The Shadowsinger had yet to stop staring at you, his shadows slowly slithering around him, and it was incredibly unnerving. Eris seemed to notice too. “She is not a threat to you,” he snapped, glaring at the male. “So you can stop sizing her up. She’s still fucking trembling from this whole ordeal.”

You tucked your hands beneath your thighs to hide their shaking. The High Lord looked at Eris with bemused eyes, and the General looked like he had just watched him sprout a second head. Eris sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. The display of anxiety made your eyes widened. “I need you all to do me a favor.”

The High Lord scoffed. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not,” Eris growled. “I need you to keep her with you.”

The males looked bewildered, and you shot up from your seat. “Excuse me?” you asked, fear and confusion reeling through you. He wanted to leave you here?

“You have been gone for hours, Y/N,” he said to you, voice pleading. “Nearly half a day. He knows. I guarantee he knows you’re missing, and if you go back now, I do not know—,” his breath caught, “I do not know what he might do to you. What he might use this as an excuse for. You will be safer in the Night Court.”

You laughed incredulously, panic causing tears to well up in your eyes. “Safe? In the Night Court?”

His eyes were wide, begging you to listen to him, but you couldn’t understand. You knew you would be in deep shit at home, but could it really be worse than staying here with the High Lord of Night and his fearsome court? You were shaking your head when he said, “I know what stories you’ve heard. I know the shit our brothers tormented you with as a child and the rumors you heard circulating as an adult. But they are stories. I would not leave you here if I thought they would harm you.”

A tear fell down your cheek, and Eris looked like he could vomit at the sight. He tore his gaze away from you to look at the High Lord again. His eyes were wet as he simply said, “Please.”

The High Lord looked between the two of you, his General doing the same, while his Shadowsinger continued to focus his gaze on you alone. Eventually, he said, voice surprisingly soft compared to the vitriolic tone he had minutes ago, “She can stay.”

The males beside him flicked their eyes to their High Lord in surprise, even the Shadowsinger broke his stare to flash a confused look at him. “No,” the word fell from your lips without thought, and your eyes snapped from the High Lord back to Eris. “No. I am not staying here. I cannot stay here, Eris. At least in the Forest House I,” you took a shaky breath, “I have light, and books, and I know how to cope but I cannot stay here—”

“You will still have those things here,” the High Lord told you, startling you from your rambling pleas to Eris. Eris looked at you with sad eyes, but he nodded his head.

Your mouth opened and closed, your words escaping you as your mind struggled to comprehend the situation you had been thrown into. 

“We will take her to Velaris,” the High Lord told Eris. He glanced at the General who gave him a terse nod. “She can stay in the House of Wind.”

Eris’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” he breathed, the gratitude clearly genuine. Gone was the typically arrogant male that swaggered around with nonchalance. 

“This doesn’t mean you have free access to Velaris, though,” the High Lord said.

Panic clawed at your chest. “I won’t be able to see him?” your voice was so weak, and it made your cheeks heat in shame.

“You will,” the High Lord answered, voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re not a prisoner, but Velaris is heavily warded and protected. He will need an invitation to enter.”

Eris suddenly gripped you by the shoulders. “I am not going to force you to stay here,” he said, voice ragged. “But your only other options are to go to a safe house, alone, or back to the Forest House. Which isn’t really a true option.”

His words settled in your stomach like bricks. “You will have more freedom in Velaris than you have ever had in Autumn,” Eris assured softly.

The High Lord gave you a small, feline smile that wasn’t exactly comforting, but you supposed it wasn’t threatening. He glanced at the still as stone Shadowsinger next to him briefly, then back to you. “I think you will find more than you could ever imagine in Velaris,” he seemed to purr.

Eris stiffened, glaring at the male, but he quickly dropped the tension and looked back at you. “I’m begging you to go with them.”

You bit your lip, anxiety thrumming through you. You glanced between all of the males, desperately trying to find a way out of this, but you came up empty. The desperation in Eris’s eyes was what pushed you to nod your head in acquiescence, murmuring a soft, “Okay.”

Eris pulled you to his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “I’m going to take care of Beron,” he swore to you quietly. You wrapped your shaky arms around his waist. “I promise I will. I’ll get you back home soon, once it’s safe for you to actually live there.”

He squeezed you once before pulling away, your hands slowly dropping to your sides. You both stared at each other, neither really wanting to be separated from the other.

“We should go,” the High Lord said, pulling your attention away from your brother. He held out his hand for you to take, presumably to winnow you to wherever Velaris is.

You hesitantly walked over to him, placing your hand in his reluctantly. You avoided the gazes of the other two males. “Take care of her, Rhysand,” Eris growled.

The High Lord, Rhysand, simply nodded, before wrapping the two of you in darkness.

~ ~ ~

“Why are you not in the library?”

You glanced up from the book you were reading while curled up on the sofa in the main sitting room of the House of Wind. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, was standing a few feet away from you with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Your cheeks instantly heated, and your heart rate skyrocketed under his intense gaze.

“Because she’s meeting me,” Nesta answered as she appeared from the corridor.

Azriel turned toward her. “She’s meant to be working.”

Nesta waved an irreverent hand as she moved toward you, sitting down on the cushion beside yours. You slowly closed your book, nerves making your stomach turn. You had been here for two weeks now, and you had done your best to keep your head down and do as you were told, but befriending Nesta had caused unexpected difficulties in doing so. “Clotho said it was fine,” Nesta told him. “We’re going down to the city today.”

Nervous energy mixed with excitement thrummed through your veins. Admittedly, the freedom you had in the House of Wind was more than you were ever given in the Forest House, but the prospect of visiting a city, of mingling with other faeries, had made your heart race when Nesta offered a tour.

“And Rhys approved?” Azriel asked.

Nesta arched her brow. “I wasn’t aware we needed his approval,” she drawled. “After all, ‘Y/N is not our prisoner.’”

Azriel’s nostrils flared. He glanced at you, eyes icy, before looking back at Nesta. “She is still a Vanserra.”

You winced. Somehow Azriel’s perpetual disdain for you, even after you had done your best to stay out of the way and to avoid causing problems, still stung every time you were reminded of it. It hurt, actually, like someone was piercing your chest with a white hot iron every time he glared at you or ignored you or reminded everyone of your unsavory familial relations. You couldn’t fathom why, either, for nothing he had done ever rivaled the torment of your brothers.

“She is a Vanserra in name,” Nesta seethed, standing up to face him head on. Your eyes widened. “A name that has earned her decades of abuse and neglect.” Shame heated your cheeks as she revealed snippets of what you had shared with her during your shared shifts in the library. “Tell me, Azriel,” she hissed, “Should I see you as your father’s son?”

Azriel’s eyes flared with rage, and Nesta quickly softened, posture deflating a bit. Your eyes danced between the two powerful fae. “Of course not,” she said softly. “Because you are not him, and she—” Her eyes glanced at you. “Is not her wretched family.”

A small part of you wanted to defend Eris, to tell them not to lump him in with the rest of the wicked bunch, but you were not naive to your brother’s past transgressions against the Night Court, so you kept your mouth shut. Azriel’s eyes reluctantly locked with yours. You could practically see the emotions warring within him, the conflict behind his eyes that you didn’t understand. “Apologies,” he muttered reluctantly.

“Wonderful,” Nesta crooned, voice dipped in sarcasm. “Well done, Az.” She reached for the book in your lap, sitting it on the end table, before pulling you to your feet. “Now be a nice bat, and give us a lift,” she told him as she pulled you to the balcony.

Azriel reluctantly followed, his face a mask of indifference again, but you could still see the tension limning his features. “I can only take one of you at a time,” he said, moving toward Nesta. He easily picked her up, the female looking a bit smug. His eyes met yours briefly. “I’ll be right back.” Then he shot up into the sky, the bat of his wings stirring the dust around you, and then they disappeared all together into a blur of darkness.

You stared at the fading shadows in awe. Rhys had winnowed the two of you to the House of Wind, his wings catching your terrifying free fall toward the balcony that night Eris pawned you off on their court. You had not flown again though, had not gone anywhere outside of this mountain since then.

Azriel suddenly appeared above you again, his wings slowing his descent back down to the balcony. They folded in behind him once he landed, and his eyes landed on you. Your mouth went dry as you met his hard, stoic gaze, and a spike of fear shot through you as he took a step toward you.

He froze when you took a step back, his brow crinkling. You licked your lips, folding your arms across your chest. No male had ever touched you. Eris had effectively scared off any leering sentries that knew you existed, and apart from your brother, you were never shown any sort of affection. You had come to anticipate any physical advances made by your other siblings to be acts of torment, and you suddenly didn’t know if you could handle Azriel holding you in the damn sky.

“What is it?” he asked, impatience seeping into his tone.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t like me.”

Azriel frowned. “I don’t like your family.”

“That seems to translate to you disliking me.”

Azriel shook his head, taking another step forward. You stepped back again, aware of the nearing balcony rail. He stopped again, looking you up and down. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said slowly.

Your teeth ached from how hard your jaw was clenched. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

Azriel looked to the sky, and you weren’t sure if it was from exasperation or anger, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of this male who clearly did not like you, literally holding your life in his hands. His gaze fell back toward yours, and you were surprised by the lack of anger in his eyes.

“You can winnow, yes?”

You nodded slowly. He moved toward the edge of the balcony, pointing to a rocky ridge half way down the mountain. “If you jump from here, and wait until you pass that ridge, you’ll be outside of the House’s wards.” You stared at him, and he lifted his brows. “Then you can winnow to the city.”

A new trepidation sluiced through your veins. “What if I don’t winnow in time?”

“I’ll catch you.”

You immediately started to protest, but he cut you off, “Or would you rather I let you fall to your death?”

Your mouth immediately shut. You leaned over the edge of the balcony, assessing the drop from here to that ridge, then from the ridge to the ground. You could do it. Eris had trained you when you first learned you could winnow, throwing you head first into a million different scenarios to test your reaction time. You could winnow after falling from a tree, surely you could do the same off a mountain. 

“Okay,” you breathed. You started to climb over the edge of the railing, but warm, rough hands pulled you back. You immediately tensed at the contact, but Azriel’s hands didn’t leave you until you were stabilized on the ground again.

He stared at you with wide, incredulous eyes. “Wait for me to go down first.”

Your skin flushed. “Right,” you mumbled.

Azriel still looked bewildered when he launched into the sky, before immediately diving toward the base of the mountain. His wings were truly magnificent, as they shimmered in the afternoon sunlight while they helped him glide easily to the ground. Even though he looked significantly smaller down on the ground, you could tell he landed easily on his feet, taking a few steps to stabilize himself. You couldn’t understand how someone that emanated the promise of violence could move with so much grace.

He looked up at you from his position on the ground, and you took that as your cue. You breathed in deep, holding it for a second before letting it out slowly. Before you could psych yourself out, you flung yourself over the balcony that jutted out of the mountain, eyes locked on the rocky ledge as the wind wrapped violently around you. You could feel your body dropping with increasing speed, and you readied yourself to step into the universe’s fabric as the ledge neared. As soon as you passed the rocks and you felt the weight of the wards lift from your shoulders, you squeezed your eyes shut and willed your body to wrap into the unsettling darkness of the world.

One second you were free falling down the side of the mountain, and the next you were crashing into the hard wall of Azriel’s chest. He immediately circled his arms around you, but the force of your impact knocked both of you to the ground, with him taking the brunt of your fall. You groaned from the pain that shot through your wrist that you had used to brace yourself, but you went still as death once your brain processed the position you were in.

You immediately rolled off of Azriel, hissing when you put weight on your wrist. You shifted to lean on your other hand, then quickly pulled that one away when you felt the smooth, leathery membrane of his wing instead of the dirt of the ground. You sucked in a breath as you looked at him frantically. He still laid flat on his back, his wings splayed out in the dirt beneath him, with an arm covering his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out, fear creeping in for not only knocking him down but then touching his wing. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, please—”

“Y/N,” his dry voice cut you off, and your lips trembled, “stop talking.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, then winced. You cradled your injured wrist to your chest while you still stared at him wide-eyed. Panic was slowly squeezing at your lungs.

He slowly sat up, fluttering his wings to shake the dust from them. You froze at how close they were to you, and you waited for him to berate you, threaten you, to yell something at you for your stupidity. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, and then he offered you his hand.

You shakily placed your hand in his, eyes briefly snagging on the brutally scarred skin. He pulled you to your feet, stabilizing you with his other hand when you wobbled forward.

You watched him nervously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered again, hating the fear rushing through you, hating that your instincts made you freeze and plead for mercy instead of fighting back.

Azriel seemed to falter, his expression turning stricken as he looked you over. Something tight wrapped around the center of your chest, pulling at your heart, and it made your breaths turn shallow. You didn’t understand why he was drawing this out, why he was just standing there, watching you tremble in front of him.

He stepped closer, and you flinched. “I need you to take a breath for me,” he said quietly.

Your eyes snapped toward his. You pressed your palm against your chest, wincing again when the movement sent a stab of pain through your hand. He gently pulled your hand away from you, and you didn’t realize how much you were shaking until your hand rested in his. You couldn’t comprehend the gentleness in his touch, the calm in his voice as he spoke to you. You especially couldn’t understand the tightening rope in your chest that was nearly suffocating you in combination with your panic.

“Y/N.” Your vision refocused on Azriel, and you wondered how long he had been speaking to you when you recognized the panic in his eyes. His voice sounded warped, and the sun was too bright. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe.

The rope tightening in your chest was suddenly yanked, and it snapped you from your panicked haze. You sucked in a deep breath, recognizing the chill of the air on your damp cheeks. Azriel still had your injured wrist in his hand, but he didn’t touch you anywhere else, yet it felt like you could feel him in your very pores. You searched for the rope in your chest that somehow anchored you to reality after you had mistaken it for panic. 

You felt the threads of it still tangled in your chest, and you let your instincts pull at them with whatever power resided in you. Your breath faltered again as you followed those threads to the male in front of you, who gasped when you tugged at them.

A new wave of panic washed over you, as you slowly realized what this meant. What your stupid accident had just revealed to the Spymaster of the Night Court. A shiver shook your body as you shook your head. “No.”

Azriel looked like he was in physical pain as he stared at you. You took an unsteady step back, Azriel following after you when you stumbled. “No,” you repeated. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told you, voice so uncharacteristically soft. His eyes were pleading with you to listen, but you couldn’t escape the torrent of thoughts that whipped around you.

You couldn’t be someone’s mate. You couldn’t. You couldn’t live the shell of a life you’ve watched your mother endure for your entire life. You would rather go back to the Forest House than live a life shackled to a male who would expect you there for his beck and call.

You stood there completely frozen, trembling as you stood there helplessly in front of this powerful male. You could winnow away from him, but to where? Where could you go so that he or his shadows wouldn’t find you? The first time you had winnowed over a long distance was when you followed Eris two weeks ago, but you had the help of his spell to push you to your destination. You didn’t know how far you could go on your own.

“Y/N,” Azriel pleaded. “Please, just take a deep breath.” He ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. “I swear to the Mother, I am not going to hurt you. I promise.”

You just stared at him. He closed his eyes, his lips slightly wavering. You didn’t move, but neither did he. You weren’t sure when he had dropped your wrist.

“Azriel?” a soft, female voice asked from behind him.

You locked eyes on the pretty female. The High Lady. You had met her once, when you first arrived in her court. She seemed nice, she seemed strong and lively for a female mated to a High Lord. You thought she might help you. 

“Feyre,” Azriel said, voice cracking. You looked between them wildly. “She needs to see a healer.”

Feyre studied the two of you, concern flooding her gaze. She moved toward Azriel, but he shook his head, and she stilled. She pressed her lips together, eyes widening slightly after a minute, before her gaze focused on you. Her eyes were soft as she slowly walked over to you, a warm, tattooed hand resting on your shoulder. “Let’s get that wrist taken care of, yeah?” she hummed. You had barely nodded before she wrapped the two of you in darkness, and you sagged against her gentle touch.

[blimpintime]

jade green part two

azriel x reader

in which Azriel has a personal healer, and she needs to be saved.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: rhys is annoying ?

unedited!

Cradling two warm cups of tea in scarred hands, Azriel approaches you standing in the cold next to the jewelry booth at the market that cold winter morning. The steam from the cups rising to his chilled face, he looks at you with a sense of content knowing you are well enough to be walking around now. 

He wouldn’t let you leave the healer hut unless you put on the brand-new Illyrian winter gear he had bought for you. You huffed about him being a mother hen but put them on regardless, a warm feeling settling in your chest knowing that he cares about you. 

You turn to him walking towards you with a graceful smile, “That for me?” You ask him softly. 

He hums in return and hands you the toasty cup fingers grazing yours, “Yes and it’s extra sweet.” You flush timidly and grumble under your breath, “Yeah cause who likes to drink dirty leaf water plain.” Azriel huffs out a subtle laugh in response and raises his eyebrows at you above his tea when he takes a sip. 

“Mmmm, yummy dirty leaf water.” He taunts you, and you roll your eyes at him and scrunch your nose.

You make your way back to the jewelers’ tent, snow crunching under your boots. The new gear Azriel had given you was working like a charm keeping the biting cold off your body, but your face was going numb with the frigid wind. 

Getting into the tent was a help staying out of the freezing wind and luckily it was only you, Azriel, and one other customer there.

“You two are a lovely couple.” An older man standing next to you in the tent, says to you and Azriel. 

You both stutter and go warm in the face shaking your head, words overlapping about how you are just friends. 

The old man seems embarrassed for a moment and the bashfully grins, “Sorry, you two just remind me of my wife and I when we were younger.” He reaches towards two jade green bracelets that shine in the light of the sun reflecting off the snow and purchases them. 

“Here, an apology.” He says and hands them to the two of you. You flush. Mouth agape about to refuse, when Azriel nods his head and thanks the man. 

You turn towards Azriel as he nudges you out of the booth. You two are walking in a comfortable silence and when you approach a quiet seating area out of the cold, you ask him about the bracelets. 

“I am not sure, it felt wrong to decline the old man.” He says to you with a flush on his cheeks.

“Well, hand them over.” You say and hold your hand out. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bracelets that were wrapped in a soft fabric and hands them to you. 

“I am not sure that is even going to fit over my hand.” He says now inching closer to you on the bench feet overlapping each other. You look at him and smile, “Doesn’t hurt to try right?” He holds eye contact with you for a moment. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” 

You pick up one of the same-sized bracelets gently and go to put it on his wrist when the jade starts to glow a deep green and widens to fit around his hand. When it reaches his wrist it tightens again to snuggly fit but not uncomfortably. You both look at it in awe, and you let out a giggle. 

“Your turn.” He signals, he picks up the next bracelet and this one glows the same, but once it is flush with your skin it starts to change color, as did his. They both glowed a bright shade of white and pulled your guys’s wrists together in an abrupt clank. You make eye contact with him and his eyes are full of wonder and yours full of concern. 

“Az- what is this?” You ask. 

You nod towards the conjoined bracelets and try to pull your hand back but it has no give. You yank again, and this time so does Azriel. After minutes of you both trying and realizing that you are now cuffed together, you let out a sharp laugh. 

“I am not sure. We can go to the libraries and see if there is anything on this.” He suggests. 

“Well, I guess if I had to be cuffed to anyone I am glad it is you, soldier.” You say endearingly. 

He grunts, “You say that now.” He looks away for a moment and then grimaces when he hears the city’s loud bells go off in a familiar rhythm. 

“We need to leave.” He stands abruptly, pulling you with him. 

“What is happening?” you question and he doesn’t respond. “Azriel. Answer me.” You sharply pull at your attached wrists still following him but wanting answers. 

“Those bells mean a terrible blizzard is on its way. So, if we want to be safe and comfortable we need to leave now. Head towards my apartment.” He takes a breath and makes a serious face. You stare at him confused. 

“Are you okay?”  You ask. He looks down and sighs. “I was trying to winnow but it looks like the bracelets are affecting that.” 

“It’s okay buddy, performance issues are normal under pressure.” You say with a cheeky grin and avoid his hand coming down to swat at you. 

“You’re terrible.” He says with a small smirk. 

I assume you heard the bells brother.  He hears in his head and you wince like you’re hearing it as well. Yeah well, unfortunately, I can’t winnow right now so I’ll be spending this blizzard in my apartment. 

You can’t or you won’t? I know I upset you with what I said, but it’s better you understand to stay away from Elain and move on.  You don’t want to be seen as a lost puppy anymore, do you? 

“What the fuck?” You say out loud. “Who is talking to you like that?” You spit out angrily. Azriel looks shocked that you heard any of that and shuts Rhys down his heart tugging that his own brother views him that way. 

“You heard that?” He asks and then shakes his head like he is erasing the thought. “Nevermind. We will figure that out later, here,” he says to you and holds his arms out awkwardly considering you are still attached. 

“Huh?” You say, “We are going to fly.” He responds. 

“Oh.” You clear your throat. “No thank you.” He stares at you incredulously. 

“I have a fear of heights,” you mumble out. His face goes blank. “I have a fear of freezing to death, those are our options.” He tells you. 

“Right, yes.” You tumble out the words. “Please don’t drop me.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dollface.” and then with a wink you both shoot up into the sky. 

a/n: sorry it took so long for the update!

let me know your thoughts!

taglist:

@janesalvaretelochanarcheron @scatteredstardustt @bunnyredgirl @scarsandallaz  @siriuslystyle1989 

[blimpintime]

sorry everyone i've been slammed with work this week i promise im writing!!

[blimpintime]

jade green part one

azriel x f!reader

in which Azriel has a personal healer, and she needs to be saved.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: light injuries

unedited

Wandering through this shotty little town looking for shelter as the rain poured you notice a figure hunched over in the alley next to you.

Boots squelched with mud as you turned on your heel towards the groaning figure. 

“Hello?” You kind of shout over the pouring rain bouncing off the metal of the roofs around you. “Are you okay?” 

A handsome man with blood leaking out of his nose and a hand holding his side. He grunts at you and waves you off. 

“You are hurt.” You say and approach him tenderly. “I am not here to hurt you, quite the opposite actually.” You tell him with a small hesitant smile. You clear your throat and remove the hood covering your face cool rain drops now sprinkling down it, “I am a traveling healer. Please let me help you.” 

“You don’t even know who I am?” He lets out with a huff of air. 

“That’s kind of how this works, sir.” You smile at him and finally reach him. You touch his side with a glow of your hand and he flinches back, his shadows wrapping around your wrists tightly. You raise your hands in awe looking at them, “It is my magic, it shouldn’t hurt too much it might just feel warm.” He looks uncertain and eventually nods his head. You place your hand back over his bloody side and he winces slightly in response, you whisper sorry but continue. 

After a few moments pass, you pull your hand back and let out a breath, “There. Good as new, solider.” 

He grins at you and clears his throat, “Thank you.” He waits a moment before continuing, eyebrows pinching, “This is dangerous what you do. Walking into alleys? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.” 

You pull your hood back over your head, “Yes well, someone has to do it. Plus, with my magic, I have a pretty good intuition.” You wink and then walk out of the alley, shadows trailing after you. 

Later that year, on a mission in the Day Court, Azriel was wandering through a town during sunset when he overheard music. He paused for a moment looking for the source, he turned his head upward to see you sitting on a roof playing the guitar and humming a song. 

He disappeared into the shadows to only reappear behind you. Your strumming stops and you glance at him coyly over your shoulder. 

If you are surprised you don’t show it, and that for some reason eases Azriel’s nerves. 

“Hello, soldier.”  Is all you say to him and then go back to strumming a soft tune. 

“What makes you think I am a soldier?” He asks you and decides to sit next to you, legs dangling off the roof. 

“Hmm, for starters the outfit and weapons.” You respond with eyebrows raised. Your fingers just lightly pluck at the strings of your instrument while the shadows inspect it.

“Can I ask you for your name or is that too dangerous to know?” You ask him. 

“Azriel.” He tells you with a shake of his head his shadows resting on his shoulders, you give him your name in response. 

“I think soldier has more of a ring to it though,” you say to him, he nudges you with his shoulder and then you go back to playing and humming. 

You wake up with bleary eyes and a gasp. The first thing you see is a wooden ceiling and then the smell of herbs and oils. Your head turns to see an old friend sitting next to your bed, asleep mouth slightly open and face pressed against the wall. 

You let out a snort and that seems to wake him up. You cover your mouth laughing when he realizes you are awake. 

“Are you okay?” He asks you with a voice rough with sleep. You have a wide grin when you nod your head yes. 

“Thank you for saving me, Azriel.” You tell him softly. His eyes soften and he reaches for your hand, “Wi- could you tell me what happened?” He asks quietly. 

You explain what you could remember which was some thieves approached your small campground and wanted everything you had. When you refused to give them your healers bag that is when you ran and they chased you. 

“I had never been to Illyria before, I did not know you were from here.” You tell him.

He shakes his head, shadows twirling around him angrily. “I am sorry your first impression was shit.” You let out a sharp laugh at his crude language. 

“It is okay. Unfortunately, I have had much worse,” you say and lay back down on the pillow. You feel much better but there is still a lingering ache in your head. Azriel gets up, you assume to get the healer. You grab his wrist. 

“Please, stay,” you whisper almost afraid he might say no to you. Which he never has before. 

“Tell me about your life recently.” You ask, more like demand him.

“Hmm, my brothers are mated and happy.” He tells you. You turn your head on your pillow to look at him and notice his eyes look sad. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. 

He glances at you and shakes his head. “Nothing, just thinking about something one of my brothers said to me.”  You take note that he seems upset about whatever he is thinking about. 

“What did he say?” You ask semi-harshly and flush a little when you notice you sound overly invested. 

“Just that I need to back off Elain and find someone at a pleasure house.” You balk and snort out a laugh, having no idea who Elain is, you ask. 

“Ahh, the famous cursebreaker and her sisters. Okay, okay.” You nod seemingly deep in thought. “But she has a mate?” He winces. 

“Yeah, I said something stupid to warrant that reaction. But now they think I am head over heels in love with her.” Azriel says with a grumble, looking down at his hands in exasperation. 

“Well are you?” You ask bluntly.

“I thought I was but I think it is jealousy. My brothers are happy and mated to two of the sisters, in my brain it made sense for me to be mated to the third.” You wince but nod understandingly. 

“Yeah that it pretty stupid.” He glares at you deadpanned and you grin back.

“All I am saying is, if you force it or look for it in everyone you meet it’ll never happen.” You say tiredly dozing off back to sleep. 

Azriel looks at you warmly and brushes your hair off your forehead, when he knows you are deep in sleep he leaves to go to the dreaded family dinner, now feeling lighter than before. 

a/n: please let me know what y'all think! thank you for reading!!

[blimpintime]

jade green prologue

azriel x reader

in which Azriel has a personal healer, and she needs to be saved.

word count: 830 words

warnings: light angst, head injury, rhys is an asshole!

unedited

Being a traveling healer meant a few things; one, knowing how to defend yourself is the most important thing next to healing. Two, paying attention to new science and healing techniques will always benefit you and your patient. Lastly, being kind to everyone you meet, will get you further than having people fear you. 

Well, for the most part. Sometimes defending yourself and staying kind contradict one another hence why you are running, no, rolling down a snowy mountain trying to outrun some bandits. 

The snow is wet and mushy, not quite the firm snow that Illriya gets further into the cold season, so you are having a hard time grasping anything to regain balance and stability. Your winter gear is starting to become soaked with the cold and wet ground you have been sliding in, and eventually, you are wet head to toe when you slide into a river with no way to slow yourself down or stop.

Your head reemerges from the frigid water rushing around you, face freezing and refreshed at the same time. The sky is a bright white reflecting off the snow on the mountain making it hard for you to see. At this point, you have no idea what direction you are even facing or heading towards, and your body is dropping its temperature rapidly. 

“Shit.” You manage to cough out, your bag of healing items now long gone in the river.

 You try swimming toward a branch you see floating near you but get swept by the current and smack your head on the branch instead, causing everything around you to go dark.

There is not much that will get a reaction of Azriel but seeing one of his close friends (who he hasn’t seen in years)  floating lifeless in the Sidra was a scenario that made his stomach drop to his feet. 

He isn’t sure how he recognized you, floating face up in the water and blueish gray, but he is glad he did because he quickly shot down to where you were and ripped your frigid body out of the painfully cold water his hands going numb with pain. Your hair glowing around your face no doubt your healing abilities trying to save your body a little, but it is clearly having a hard time considering you still have a large gash on your forehead dripping sticky blood. 

He lifts your lifeless body into his strong arms and winnows to Madja’s healers’ cabin. He feels your pulse faintly but at least it is still there. A bit of panic flushes through his body when he realizes how long you have been in this state. And then anger washes over him, who could do this to someone so kind? He thinks harshly to himself.

Where are you, brother? A voice appears in his head, Not now Rhys. He responds sharply. 

Oh, at a pleasure house? Finally, taking up my advice? Don’t forget about family dinner. Rhysand quips back in a joking tone, to which Azriel blocks him out completely. 

He could not care less about family dinner more than he did right now. You limp in his arms freezing cold with blue lips and eyes faintly closed with what looked to be ice crystals around your lashes and eyebrows. You who have saved him from the brink of death on more than one occasion. You were all that mattered in this moment. 

When Madja finally helped you in, you were lying there with your chest softly rising on the bed. He couldn’t leave your side nor did he want to. 

“It is good you found her when you did,” Madja spoke to him. “She was getting to dangerous levels of freezing. Without her abilities, I am fairly certain her blood would have frozen.” 

Azriel winced and ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t even know what she was doing here. I have never met with her in Velaris.” He responded softly.

“You know her?” Madja asked in the same tone.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, “Long time friends.” 

She nodded in response. “She should wake when she is warm enough. If there is anything else I can do just yell for me, but I will be in my office.” With that, she walks off and closes the door gently.

Azriel for once does not know what to do, sitting there feels like a waste of time when he could be hunting those down who did this to you. However, he does not want you to wake up alone and confused.

Then he thinks about how he is expected to be at family dinner with his happily mated brothers and the girl he thought he was infatuated with. He felt guilty for a moment thinking about his family being happy when you were lying here lifeless, but then felt anger towards someone he calls a brother. A pleasure house? He scoffs verbally. His soul aches for companionship but right now all that matters is when you wake up. 

a/n: it is a little guy but welcome to the prologue!

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 8

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

You’ll stay with her, he told the shadows fiercely. And if there is anything out of the ordinary, you’ll get me there.

He pulled the wards he shouldered around Rosehall tighter as well, making sure that he would know if there was anything…anything at all…

The shadows flickered around him, the creatures twining over his wings and snaking over his arms, and he felt a shiver of anticipation from them at the prospect of a fight.

They were ready for it. Nearly looking forward to it too. 

Yes, Master, they agreed with him. The High Lady and the General just broke into her cottage, they sneered in distaste. 

Azriel nearly growled when the statement registered with him. Fury rolled down his spine, rage igniting in him like something hungry for a fight.

He had nearly expected something like that. Though he hadn’t counted ont hem outright breaking in, but then it were Cassian and Feyre…maybe he should have expected this. 

Azriel took a deep breath in an attempt to control himself, pushing that anger away.

He needed to focus.

Why? he demanded. Actually, did he want to know? What kind of excuse was there for simply breaking into Zahra's apartment when she wasn't there?

He had to breathe deeply to stop himself from going over there and doing something that he wouldn't be able to take back.

They found your scent, Master, the shadows kept updating them. Now they think you had an affair.

His teeth clenched so hard he was surprised nothing shattered.

An. Affair.

He was going to break some bones.

It was a struggle, to keep himself back and not march right over to the River House.

The mating bond burned in him, as if Zahra felt his anger as well, and he had to force himself to remain in place, to breathe and control the raging emotion that burned in him.

He had a plan, damnit.

He needed to follow the plan.

The last thing he needed was his own stupid actions ruining the chance of his brothers coming around. And he wouldn't do that.

So he flew to Velaris, didn't allow himself to winnow and do anything ill thought out.

The flight was...brutally cold.

The air seemed extra chilled that day, the cold biting and painful.

But Azriel didn't let himself turn away. He pushed ahead, his shadows whipping around him as he pushed his wings to keep himself in the air.

He arrived just in time.

Azriel didn't even give himself a chance to warm up as he landed just outside of the River House.

The house looked tranquil enough, but the air still carried a tense charge to it.

Or maybe that was just his imagination, because fury was kindling deep in his gut.

He approached the front door. He didn't even try to sneak into the house.

No, he didn't give a damn if they heard him approach or not. He didn't bother to keep his wings folded or his presence masked.

He highly doubted that this was the moment for some of the quieter practices he employed as a spymaster after all.

Instead, Azriel took the few short steps up to the front door and pushed through it with perhaps more force than he should have.

Not that he seemed to care or mind in that moment.

 A couple of steps in the direction of the Dining Room... And there they were. His family. Their family. Though he wondered if Zahra was ever truly going to see them as her family after everything that had happened.

"Good Evening." His voice was carefully even. As much as he wanted to scream and hout..he wasn't going to. Not yet.

The room went silent in that instant.

Feyre's eyes widened, and her hand curled around the table, and the others...weren't even trying to disguise their surprise at his presence.

He could feel the mating bond, pulling at him, but ignored it with iron self control.

Feyre's face was set in a hard mask, but her eyes...her eyes were wild.

"You didn't bring your mate?" Mor wondered aloud.

"We need to have a talk." Azriel asked, his voice carefully measured despite the fury that simmered in him. He crossed his arms on his chest as he met Mor's gaze, his face an unreadable mask.

"Yes, we do," Feyre agreed sharply. "You want to tell me why your scent is all over my sister's house?"

"I imagine it's because I spent a lot of time there," Azriel shot back drily.

Fey's eyes widened at that response, but it was Cassian who spoke, his voice an odd mixture between curious and...something else. "You spent a lot of time there?" he echoed. "What exactly were you doing at her house, Az? It's not like the two of you are so close."

"Last time I checked I don't owe you an list of what I do in my free time." Azriel returned frostily. "And I spent time at her house, because we are friends."

"And time in her bed just because?" Rhys said with a sigh. "Azriel, what have you been thinking?" his brother demanded. If this is you trying to get back at me about Elian, don’t let Zahra be caught in the crossfire, he was admonished. 

And he was done.

He would never do something like that. Would never use one female to make another one jealous…and especially wouldn’t use one sister against the other like that. That Rhys even thought he would do something like that…it made him want to throw up. 

"Are you done?" Azriel asked. His voice was low, and the rage that roared in him was clear, as he met his brothers' gazes.

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look before Cassian turned his eyes back to Azriel.

"Did you really have an affair with that girl?" Cassian asked him drily. 

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. Really? Really?!

"No," Azriel said with a snort. "I am not having an affair with that girl." The sarcasm was obvious in his voice. "And not that it's any of your business anyway, because how dare you break into her home and judge what you find there!," he snapped. "But I shared my mate's bed, because she asked me too."

The silence was almost absolute at his words, and Azriel could sense the way the others froze.

They hadn’t been expecting that.

"Your mate," Rhys said flatly, the only one that didn't seem outright shocked.

"My mate," he agreed, his voice fierce. "Zahra is my mate."

Mor looked like she had seen a ghost, and Fey's eyes were like saucers, her mouth opening and closing silently.

Cassian seemed the only one who recovered himself somewhat, his eyes sharp as he studied Azriel as though seeing him for the first time.

Rhys looked between all three of them before he rubbed a hand over his face.

"I would ask if you're sure," he said eventually. "But judging by your reaction, that question is pointless. You are."

"Yes," Azriel said, his voice still a little rough. Oh, he was sure. 

His protective fury was back in full force and blazing away. 

Nesta snorted.

All eyes turned to the older Archeron sister in surprise, and she merely held her hands up in mock surrender.

"What? Am I not allowed to find this remotely funny?" she asked drily, her gaze landing on Azriel and staying there. "My sincere condolences," she drawled.

The reaction was immediate.

If Cassian's reaction, a thin red film of pure killing power...forcing Azriel back a few steps hadn’t been there… he was quite sure that he would have slit Nesta's throat just for that one comment. And if not him...then his shadows. His shadows that were swarming around and muttered about vengeance. 

"Calm down," Rhys said sharply. "Calm Down, Azriel." 

Our mate, Ours the shadows hissed and Azriel clenched his jaw.

Azriel’S hands were clenched in tight fists, his wings trembling behind him as he tried, and failed, to reign in his temper.

The shadows were practically crackling around them, and Azriel took a few deep breaths, struggling to get the fury raging in him under control.

"What exactly is your problem?" he bit out.

"My problem?" Nesta shot back, her eyes narrowing. "You deserve better than her!"

Azriel's head snapped towards her, the movement nearly too quick to follow.

"What did you just say?" he said, his voice like poison.

Nesta's gaze was unwavering as she met his, her face a mask of cool certainty.

"You heard me," she said. "You deserve better than Zahra."

The silence stretched between them, Azriel's words caught in his throat.

Feyre's face had gone a little pale, her gaze flicking between the two of them.

And the rest of the room was just silent. The tension in the air was so thick that a single wrong move might trigger a bloodbath.

 "What exactly is your problem with your sister?" he hissed.

 Nesta's gaze hardened further, the look in her eyes suddenly more likesteel.

"She is a bastard," she said simply, her voice cold as ice. "She uses the people around her for her own gain. She had no problem with sleeping with a married man and god knows what else."

"I am a bastard too," Azriel gave back icily. "So is your mate, Nesta. And you have absolutely no idea what your sister sacrificed for you." 

Nesta's face went a little pale at that, and Azriel noticed Rhys's gaze hardening, his expression one of sharp reproach.

"Did she tell you that?" Nesta said, her voice harsh. "And you actually believe her?"

"I do, yes," Azriel said, his voice harsh. "But even if I didn't take her word for it, I would take Madja’s."

The evidence was right there. 

Nesta flinched at that, her eyes widening in shock. "Madja?" she echoed incredulously. “What does she have to do with anything?"

He regretted his words instantly. He had already said too much. He had already...

His shadows seemed to sense his growing discomfort, and they started to writhe around his form, trying to offer a barrier between himself and the others.

He was already regretting this reveal, but it was too late to stop now.

And he knew that this…this was the only way to mak ehtem understand. Use Zahra’s fucking trauma as a bludgeoning weapong because otherwise they wouldn’t understand. 

"Madja was the one who diagnosed the extensive internal damage your sister sustained during the course of what you call an affair, Nesta. It wasn't an affair. It were 6 years of rape," he spat out. "She was 15 year old when it started and you know why it started? Because, and I quote: Was I supposed to let my little sister die?"

The room went silent at that, everyone seemingly stunned into speechless by that revelation.

No one seemed to be able to form a single word, their minds still processing what they had just heard.

"You were sick with that fever, Feyre" Elain said, her voice shaky. "That first winter in the cottage. Zahra got you...Zahra got the medicine."

That seemed like the last straw for Feyre.

The words seemed to snap her out of her surprise, a look of horror blooming on her face. "Oh Gods," she breathed.

Her shoulders shook, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears, the shock of the revelation hitting her hard.

Nesta looked stricken as well, her face pale, and a small voice in Azriel hoped that his words finally reached through to her.

Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre, pulling her close as she buried her face in his chest.

The others...were stunned speechless, their expressions reflecting their horror, shame and shock at the magnitude of the situation.

For a few moments, the silence stretched as all of them tried to process this, the weight of it hanging over them like some oppressive force.

The shadows writhed and twisted around Azriel, their own distress felt by him as he remained tense, waiting for the others to speak up.

"Where is she?" Feyre choked out.

"Safe," Azriel responded, his voice even.

"Where?" Feyre demanded weakly, pulling back from Rhys' arms.

"As I said, in a safe place," Azriel gave back, voice sharp. "Why do you want to know?"

"Why do you think?" Feyre shot back, her voice wavering. "She's my sister!”

“Is she really?” Azriel asked with a sigh. "You forgot her very existence," Azriel continued, his voice even, emotionless. "None of you ever treated her like you were her sister. For cauldron's sake, you didn't even ask her to come with you to your father's grave when Elain told him about her engagement. She wasn’t your sister then, was she?"

The blunt words hit home, and Azriel could practically feel the way everyone in the room sucked in a breath.

Feyre winced as though slapped, her expression one of shock and then, shame and pain.

 "How does she even know about this?" Elain whispered.

Like that was the thing that mattered. How Zahra had found out. 

"Because, she saw you," Azriel answered nonetheless.. "She saw all three of you." The words seemed to echo through the room. Everyone froze, their eyes widening in shock at the implication of that one sentence, and Azriel felt a wave of vindication at the look of guilt that flashed across all their faces.

Maybe that would make them understand. Somehow he doubted it though. 

They should feel guilty, he thought as he clenched his fists in an attempt to get his rising temper back under control.

"You just..ignored her. Acted like she wasn't even there," Azriel accused, his voice as cold as ice, eyes blazing in fury. "Like she didn't matter, like she wasn't good enough because she was only your half sister, only a bastard."

Elain looked ready to break down in tears, her hands curled into fists as she swallowed, her face pale.

Cassian and Mor were silent, both of them looking sick, their faces twisted in a look of shame.

 Rhys's face was blank, as though he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Nesta was staring straight ahead, but Azriel could see the tightness of her clenched jaw, like she was gritting her teeth together.

 And Feyre...had tears in her eyes, the shame and pain written so clearly on her face that Azriel wasn't sure whether he should feel pity or fury.

"Did you even realize what you did to her?" he asked, his voice still cold. 

"No," Feyre muttered. "No, I didn't."

"You know what, I don't even care," Azriel said with a shake of his head. "Let me just make one thing clear. Zahra is my mate. Which means, she will be treated with a modicum of respect from now on. Clearly you can't manage that for eitherof us, but it stops now."

 "You have no right to keep us away from her," Nesta started to say, her face twisted in fury.

No right? No right?!?

"I have every right," Azriel snapped. "Why should I even let you be in the same room as her? So that you can berate her? So that you can fault her for something that's not any of her fault?" 

"She's still my sister!" Nesta shot back, her eyes blazing.

"You have a weird way of showing that," Azriel snapped right back.

Nesta flinched back at the words as though he slapped her. 

Azriel's shadows writhed violently, twisting in the air as he stepped closer to Nesta. "What gives you the right, huh? What right do you have, to even be in the same room as her, much less demand her presence? You never treated her like your sister, not for a single moment. So why should she consider you family?"

The words were like a slap to the face, and a few tears fell down Nesta's face.

Feyre looked ready to break down in tears as well, a look of agony on her face as she clung to the Rhys.

Azriel clenched his fists as if to stop himself from doing something he would regret later, and even Elain looked shaken by Azriel's words.

Cassian was staring at the floor, Mor was staring at him, wide eyed-brown eyes lined with tears. Emerie next to her met his gaze, her own eyes flaring with anger. 

Rhys had a look of regret in his eyes, his gaze hard as he stared at the rug on the floor.

Azriel's gaze darkened as he studied each of them. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to act like this. You don't get to treat her like garbage for centuries and then demand that she let you step into her life."

"She can't just...keep us out forever," Elain protested weakly. "She's still family."

"Elain." For the first time, Lucien's voice rose and he gave her a sharp shake of his head. The others seemed a little startled at the outburst, Feyre and Nesta both blinking at Lucien in surprise.

"Zahra is, and will be treated with respect," Azriel said firmly, his gaze sweeping over them all. "That is non negotiable. And if that means that I need to keep you, your sisters or the entirety of Prythian away from her, then I will."

The threat seemed to catch them off guard. "You wouldn't," Rhys said, breaking his silence. “She's still their sister Azriel."

"She's my mate," he hissed. "And I am your brother, but we do not want to start that discussion now, do we?"

An uneasy silence fell over the room at the threat, but Rhys didn't back down.

"Azriel. Be reasonable," he said, voice low and pleading.

“I am being reasonable," he insisted, voice rising. His fists were clenched as he glared at Rhys, a wave of emotion rolling off of him. “I am being so bloody reasonable, Rhysand, you wouldn’t believe it. If I wasn't being reasonable, I would let the shadows slaughter you," he snapped. “I had every fucking right to rip you into a dozen pieces of treating my mate like that, but I am not doing that because for some godforsaken reason, Zahra actually loves her sisters and would never want any harm to come to them!”

The words, spoken with icy coldness, echoed through the room and Rhys flinched as he glanced at the shadows twisting in agitation in the air.

The others in the room looked pale and a little shaken at the threat.

"We will not harm her," Feyre tried again, her voice a little shaky.

Azriel let out a snort of derision. "You already have," he said coldly.

"You let her believe that no one would miss her," he seethed. "You let her think she was worthless for years, to the point she didn't consider her own life worth living. She was ready to let herself die. You let her suffer alone for three years because you were more concerned about your own pain than hers. She starved herself because she believed her own life wasn't worth living! You ignored her, you belittled her, and you took her for granted! Nesta treated her like a whore for something she did to put food on the table, for something she did to safe your fucking life, Feyre!" He seethed. "She sacrificed her dignity, her body, her own self and her future for you!"

His words echoed through the room, the pain and rage he felt evident in every word, every syllable.

The others in the room seemed to reel from the harsh words, their eyes wide as they stared at him with a look of shock and shame.

"She was 15," Azriel seethed, his voice trembling with emotion, "She was 15 fucking years old, half a child and she sold herself to put food on the table! She didn't have anyone to turn to as she suffered! And then when Nesta found out, instead of talking to her, she jumps to the conclusion that Zahra did this willingly.”

The room fell silent, everyone staring at him as the weight of the words sunk in.

"So don't you dare," Azriel snapped, voice still trembling. "Don't you dare act like you have any sort of right to see her now. Not after everything you’ve put her through. Until she wants to see you, you’ll leave her alone."

The others remained silent, staring at him with a mixture of shock and shame.

Feyre looked close to tears, and she looked away, her face pale and drawn as she stared at the floor.

For a moment, it seemed like everyone in the room was frozen stiff, unable to do anything but stare at one another in the oppressive silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Elain spoke up, her voice shaking slightly. "How...How is she supposed to forgive us now?"

"She doesn't have to," Azriel replied immediately. His voice was soft and cold, almost careless, "and if she never chooses to forgive you, she would be completely justified."

A silence fell at the words, the others staring at him in shock as he held their gazes one by one, his chest heaving with the emotion coursing through him and his shadows twisting in agitation at his sides.

"Do you understand now?" he asked sharply. "Do you finally understand why I won't let you near her?"

"I understand," Rhys said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel looked him dead in the eye as he said those words, his gaze unwavering.

Rhys looked like he had just been punched in the stomach, his face pale and his eyes wide as he held Azriel's gaze.

The feeling of adamantium tipped claws on his mental walls. I understand. I am sorry. Let me know if you need anything.

[blimpintime]