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Everyone's favourite mistaken identity disaster fice returns and Cassian is getting himself into a LOT of trouble for day 2 of @cassianappreciationweek ...
"This way," he said, quickly veering towards a much less manicured side street.
Nesta stopped.
Actually stopped.
The prince continued walking. For six full steps, apparently unaware that he had abandoned both his guest and every convention of royal hosting.
Azriel, a reluctant chaperone beside her, merely sighed. “He’ll realize it eventually.”
Nesta would have scoffed if she was poorly mannered. As it stood, she settled for a harsh hmm. When Rhysand finally turned around, his hazel eyes glinted in the sun. Lips quirking up at one side, he called back, “Something wrong, Princess?”
“Yes,” she clipped. “I am not particularly interested in being accosted by bandits down a dark alley street this day.”
The prince laughed. Threw his head back and let that honey-whiskey voice of his bounce off the narrow street. “You don’t trust Az and I to protect you?”
AZ? The informality of this court was, in a word, staggering. Actually, come to think of it, Nesta wasn’t sure she had ever been given the strangely silent man’s proper title.
“Perhaps you are the ones who arranged the bandits,” she sniffed.
“I have never claimed to be a political mastermind.” Her eyes narrowed at that. Was he joking? Or just modest? Neither made sense. “But even I know better than to murder a princess in the streets when I am trying to court her.”
Summary: Nesta finds more than she bargains for when she travels for an interview in a new city (aka professor Cassian)
Snippet:
Even though it’s rude, Nesta can’t help but to stare. He wears a forest green sweater atop a white button up, that looks so soft she’s tempted to cross the room and run her fingers over it. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was true cashmere. It covers a build that definitely goes to the gym two or three times a week, with how the sweater moves over his arm muscles as he picks up his order.
As he turns around, she catches sight of his square jaw, of the long, dark hair that is clasped behind his head.
His fingers disappear into the pastry bag, and emerge with what appears to be a piece of a blueberry lemon muffin.
Day 1: Devotion @cassianappreciationweek Inspired by "The Kiss" by Yves Pires's sculpture, I like to imagine Cassian giving a tender kiss to his beloved Nesta ❤️
Brother. Friend. Lover. General. Rival. Comrade. Shield.
Seven people tell their story of Cassian. But only one realizes they're all the same.
A series of ficlets for Cassian Week 2026.
Day One: Devotion for @cassianappreciationweek
Read below the cut or on ao3
Notes:
this takes place in the spring between acofas and acosf
Feyre is in trouble.
Her hands are shaky, anxiety charging through her insides like the Middengard worm. And there's only one person who can help her stab the hell out of it, who she's sure will know what to do.
God, he better be home.
Her gown swishes against the red rock floor and her dread mounts and it's like trying to climb a wall made of mud.
But, blessedly, he's here.
Bent over a large folio of maps, Cassian has one hand fisted in his hair when Feyre skids to a halt in his doorway.
"Help," she pants, unable to get the rest of it out. Damned High Lady duties haven't left much time for training.
Cassian half-rises, looking alarmed. But Feyre shakes her head, her breath mercifully returning.
"No no, it's not—I'm not in danger."
He relaxes back down, and she does too.
For the last few months, Cassian's study has become somewhat of a haven for her. The huge armchairs, the strategy table with it's tiny iron figurines. The well-stocked bar. It's a place where she can be confused or scared or crabby without having to make someone else feel better about it.
So a familiar warmth spreads through Feyre's chest when Cassian smirks, leaning back in his chair and sighing, "What did Rhys do this time?"
She's already in the chair opposite before he closes the folio.
"I don't know what to do," she admits. "I come down to breakfast this morning. And Rhys is sitting there, drinking his tea. Reading the last-minute details for the opera house reopening. You remember that's happening today."
"I definitely did not remember that."
Feyre rolls her eyes.
"Anyway. I'm about to tell him my plans to paint part of the bedroom today, when he looks up from his papers and says Darling, would you make the opening remarks for me this afternoon? Just jot a few things down, you'll do wonderfully."
She feels sick. But Cassian just raises a quizzical brow.
"Alright? And that's… bad?"
"Yes, it's fucking bad! I don't know what to say!
Feyre shivers as goosebumps sweep down her arms. It's chilly in here, which is strange this close to the cusp of summer.
"Just say what Rhys usually does," Cassian advises. He rubs, a hand over his jaw, thinking. "Honor and progress and prosperity. And write it down so you don't forget. I've made that mistake too many times."
But Feyre's already whipping her head back and forth. It's not enough, she isn't enough—
"I don't even know what to write! A year ago, I didn't even know how to fucking write!"
He makes that face that tells her she's hit his soft spot. "Then dictate, I'll write it down for you. Just talk about the future, the 'brilliant dawn approaching' and all that."
"But I don't know what that is. I don't know the… the future. I don't know when it'll feel normal."
It hurts to admit. She wants to be worthy of her title so badly. But in moments like this, it's hard to feel like that's ever possible.
Feyre looks down, ashamed. But the confession loosens something in her, and the words flow freely, pouring out like rainwater from a downspout.
"I keep waiting for someone to point and shout that I don't belong here. And I can't tell Rhys that, because what if he thinks he made a mistake? What if he looks at me and thinks 'Why did I make this stupid girl my High Lady? She can't even write. She can't even keep her own sister from drinking and fucking every—'"
"Stop," Cassian says.
Feyre takes a breath, but she can't look at him still. It's too much to imagine the understanding look on his face, the easy calm she's come to depend on.
"I don't know what I'm doing, Cass. And there's no on I can ask without admitting that I'm so not the person they—"
"Stop," he repeats, more firmly. "Rhys wouldn't give this to you if he didn't think you could do it. Remember the Weaver? The first task Under the Mountain?"
She slumps into her chair, worn wood biting into her forearms, and the silence stretches between them. It's only broken by brief flutters of papers falling onto his desk.
At last she grumbles, "Thrown me in the mud, and I'm fine. Put me in a dress, and I'm useless."
"Me, too."
Her eyes snap upward and Cassian is smiling down at her, bright and wide and undaunted. Feyre can't help but laugh and relief sparkles through her chest when he laughs, too.
"You know that shit they say. Speak from the heart."
He always knows what to say. Even more so than Rhys sometimes, because it doesn't come with the added pressure, of needing her to be alright. There's never been a problem Cassian couldn't fix. Well, except Nesta, though Feyre suspects he'll capture that victory, too. Eventually.
"C'mon, Cursebreaker. Let me escort you." Cassian slaps his thighs before standing. "I'll say something stupid before you go so you'll sound better. And afterward, I'll yell at Rhys to get you an aide for these kinds of things."
More papers fall to the desk.
"Why don't you have an aide?"
"I have the camp lords. When I can get them to stop complaining about each other."
Feyre laughs, imagining him playing priest to a line of cranky confessors. Though she supposes she's one as well.
"I don't know how we'd survive without you, Cass."
"You'd survive. Life would be dull, though."
A ribbon of guilt ripples through her for some reason. She stops, turning to face him.
"You're sure you don't mind giving up your afternoon?
He waves a bored hand.
"Opera beats paperwork."
Yet the rustling is still unceasing from down the hall, near constant now.
"Sounds like someone needs you."
"Yeah. But not as much as you right now, eh?" He claps her on the shoulder. "Let's go. I'm hungry, and at least Rhys doesn't skimp on the food for these things."
In the end, Cassian is right. He makes a bawdy joke before her that loosens the crowd. The very next day, a sweet-faced but surprisingly militant assistant arrives to her office.
Bent over her sketchbook, she hears Cassian's whistle down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Just Double Dare Me, and I Promise Now That I'll Stay: Ch. 2
HAPPY CASSIAN APPRECIATION WEEK! For Day One: Devotion of @cassianappreciationweek I wrote the next chapter of this 5+1 fic where Nesta doesn't know what she wants, but Cassian knows he wants Nesta.
Chapter Summary: Nesta runs into Cassian on the street, and even though her friends try to talk some sense into her, Nesta can't stay away
Ch. 2/6 | New chapter word count: 8083
Read the new chapter here or start at the beginning here
Starting things off nice and easy with an ATM chapter exploring Cassian's devotion to his people, his mate, and doing the right thing even if it sucks.
Emerie sighed. Scraping her hair back from her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Did he?
“What difference will it make?”
“It might calm you down so you stop coming on too strong and scaring that poor girl.”
“She’s not–”
“She is,” Emerie said. Moving behind the counter to pull out some tea leaves. Settling the kettle over her low burning fire, she gestured for him to sit. “I know what a scared girl looks like, Cassian." Shame flared in his chest. "She is terrified and confused and lost. She was thrown into this new world, forced to fight in a war she never expected to survive, and she’s dealing with power she doesn’t properly understand. Not to mention a body that doesn’t feel like her own."
"I know, but I am trying-"
"And," Emerie continued witha sharp glare, "on top of all that some big brute starts stomping his feet and claiming her soul is tied to his.”
“Her soul is tied to mine–”
“That is what you’re taking from everything I just said?”
Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist!
Snippet below the cut
Cassian rolled his freshly-taped shoulder, sitting on the bench with one boot tied and the other abandoned next to his foot, pretending to check the weather forecast but instead checking for any new messages, against his better judgement. His eyes roamed over his last exchange with Nesta, lingering on the unanswered question about who would win in a fight, a vampire or a zombie. He’d taken it too far, perhaps. Probably. He was almost completely convinced he ruined it for good, that she’d never talk to him again. Perhaps Azriel had been right, and this had been a stupid idea.
He’d really tried to stay calm and act normal about the fact that she hadn’t answered. He’d gone about his days. He’d done his usual pre-training ritual. He’d been perfectly normal, if he ignored the fact that he’d poured boiling water into a cup that morning and stared at it for almost five minutes, before remembering to put in the actual tea. He was also ignoring the fact that he’d listened to her voice note more times than he should admit, falling asleep to the sound of her voice ranting about Arthurian legends the night before. Cassian knew he wasn’t acting normal, lying on his back in bed with his phone on his chest and Nesta Archeron’s voice cutting through the dark, furious and precise and devastatingly posh, but he couldn’t help it.
He just couldn’t stop listening, and he couldn’t prevent the way she had him under her spell. He had thought, the first time he listened to it, that no woman had ever sounded more enraged about medieval pseudo-history while simultaneously sounding devastatingly concerned about his welfare. By the time he fell asleep, her voice had gone softer in his ear, not because she had softened—God forbid—but because sleep had sanded down the sharp edges. By the end, he’d listened to the rhythm of her voice more than the words. The clipped irritation, and the breath she took halfway through, as if she had realised how long she had been talking and considered stopping, only to continue because the point was apparently too important to abandon. The little, sharp emphases she put on certain words had made him grin into his pillow like an idiot. Around midnight, Cassian was pretty sure he’d probably listen to her tell him off about fraudulent relics, plague transmission, or the ridiculousness of fantastic creatures until the end of his natural life.
Day One: Devotion ⚔︎ Cassian is devoted to many things, his family, his soldiers, Illyria, his mate — how do you see him sharing and showing his devotion? @cassianappreciationweek
Oneshot *Cassian POV* This day will never end, but it's one of the happiest of my life, because anywhere I go...I'm home.
words 2.6k
an Welcome to Day One Of Cassian Appreciation Week! So, let's start with the basics... Not proof read, all mistakes are mine! Happy reading <3
I groaned as I stretched out my hand to kill the alarm. My head snapped around to YN, finding her still asleep. Good, the noise didn’t wake her. I didn’t want to get up yet, so I pressed myself against her sleeping form – breathing evenly and cozily warm beneath the blankets…even if it was the middle of summer. It was still dark outside, the birds hadn't even begun to sing yet. I pressed a kiss to the top of her crown and peeled myself out of bed.
After a quick stop in the bathroom I was in my leathers and let the door fall shut with a soft click behind me. The air was still cool and my wings shuddered against the fresh morning air. I took a deep breath before I was airborne.
I took some large swings to warm up before heading north. Crossing the veil that surrounded Velaris is like a lament and the first rays of sun, a goodbye to something good and a greeting to something that’s going to be even better. The wind was strong and pressing me down, taunting me, but I fought against it until I was flying above the gusts with the sun warming me from behind.
I began to descend towards Windhaven. The roaring fires of the night had shriveled down to glowing embers that speckled the ground like tiny orange bugs. Hues of light blue and pale pink began to paint the sky as I drew nearer and I saw my soldiers assemble in the center of the camp.
There were more than I anticipated. Banners bearing the sigils of each camp fluttered in the wind, marking the clusters of all the different parties that have joined.
Good.
Today was the day of the Endless Sun, the Illyiran celebration of summer solstice. We Illyrians believe that the sun’s strength sharpens our endurance, clears our judgement and drives our courage. The books tell us that every battle that was won beneath the longest sun, was one that honored the Mother herself. She had gifted the Illyrians with wings to reach the sky and as much daylight to conquer the earth below.
But it was not a day of war. Instead, the rival camps set aside grudges and met in contests of skill rather than bloodshed. We had competitions of all kinds: archery, endurance races and flights, wrestling matches with bound limbs and sword duels on cliffs. But not until death, but for glory and victory until every match ended with crossed forearms instead of spilled blood.
It was a day to remember that we were one people before we split into camps.
Thousands of them formed a perfect thick circle of leather clad fighters and left the center clear. I tucked in my wings neatly to drop down. The wind was howling in my ears as the ground drew closer. All heads tilted upward. At the last second, I unfolded my wings to soften my fall just a bit and landed with a ground shaking thud.
As I straightened myself from the crouched position I landed in and rippled my wings, showing off my commanding power in spreading them wide for all of them to see, before snapping them in again. The murmurs died out . Everyone around me got in formation and saluted the Illyrian way.
I stilled for a moment, taking them all in.
And like they all rehearsed, they called in unison. “General.” Their one voice echoing off the mountains.
I saluted them the same way before I spoke.
“It does an warrior’s heart good to see every camp standing together beneath the same sky.” I shouted loud enough for all of them to hear me, slowly turning around to address all of them. “Today, the sun grants us more light than every other day of the year. Our ancestors believed that every extra hour of light was a gift. Not for idleness, but to test ourselves. To fly farther!” They all shanted back every last word.
“To fight harder!”
“To become stronger!”
I let the stillness sweep in again before I got on. “Our ancestors understood something we should never forget. Strength is earned in training. Not in war. And honor is forged in discipline and not measured in opponents we slaughtered." The last word felt bitter on my tongue. Flashes of my rages tried to crawl up but I chugged them down.
"So today, we do not spill Illyrian blood." I yelled with a firm voice. "We sharpen one another instead."
They yelled their approval, while drumming on their breast plate and a smile spread on my face as I began to end my speech.
"Beat your opponent fairly. Push your brothers until they curse your name. Win with pride. Lose with dignity. And if you lose to someone younger…" I shrugged dramatically and grinned. "Train harder before next summer."
A deep roll of laughter rolled across the field.
"But when the last contest ends and darkness claims the mountains…" I took a moment and paused. "We eat together!"
Cheers erupted around me.
"We drink together!"
The cheers grew louder.
"And by the Mother, we remind every mountain from Windhaven to the northern peaks that no one celebrates like an Illyrian!" I raised my fist at the last words and drums began to echo as roars erupted.
Then I shouted over the crowd.” May today’s sun strengthen all of you. May today’s trials sharpen your spirit and may today’s fire remind us all that before we are warriors of different camps–”
I hit my fist against my chest. “ We are Illyrians!”
Like thunder the chants and roars struck the valley.
The games began and I was hassling around to spend some time at each game. Some invited me to a fight as a guest of honor. I didn't even have to try to win.
The only exception I made was with the children… The time I spent there is precious to me as it reminds me of my beginnings in this camp. A bastard born, fighting every day for scraps, beating others for clothes and a better bedsheet to use as a tent, stealing embers to ignite my own little fire for some warmth to thaw my frozen limbs… They invited me for a fight and I stretched it, only using a fraction of my power and in the end…letting them win over me of course.
I knew that the Illyrians were proud and never desired a win out of pity. But I’ve learned that they blossom from such small achievements. So, I let them overpower me and have their moment.
As the sun began its slow descent, the fires were lit again across Windhaven. The day of the fights was over. The night belonged to music, roast meat and overflowing casks of wine and ale. There’s storytelling and enough drinking games to leave even the seasoned warriors and captains stumbling. The camp would remain awake until dawn greets them once again. Then they’d have a good-days sleep.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone before lying and saying I’m going for a loo. I headed for the nearest cluster of trees and soared through the sky soundlessly. The tension of the day subsided and I felt tired. This day wasn’t going to end.
My wings felt heavy and I thought I pulled a muscle while fighting the small ones. Usually, the way back felt as if time was passing faster. But that was not today. The length stretched on and on until I crossed the veil to Velaris again.
The howling wind that froze my limbs was gone and the smell of jasmine, salt and the water of the glittering Sidra filled my nostrils. Only a speck of blue painted the horizon as I landed on the balcony of the House of Wind. I’d only got minutes left.
I quickly swapped my armor for a dress shirt and a pair of trousers. A quick splash of the well water to freshen up my face. Then I was jumping out of the window, letting my wings take the fall and swung through the warm air, heading towards the rainbow.
This day belonged to Illyria, this night belonged to Velaris.
The floorboards of the stage shuddered as I landed on it unelegantly.
“The last pint with your warriors was too much.” Rhysand mused as he was fixated on the small watch on his wrist. “Just in time. I have to give you that.”
“You know what day it is, Cassian.” Feyre sneered at me. Oh, we’re using legal names. She must be feral.
“Sorry, I got held up.” I huffed with slumped shoulders.
“Sorry doesn't cut it.” Az snapped from beside me, picking a feather from my shoulder.
“We’ve all been waiting for you!” Mor scolded me.
Mother save me!
The curtain in front of us was still closed, so no one saw me arriving late. The crowd in front of it must have been massive. Everyone in Velaris was here today. It was their day, too. Well...their night.
Every year on summer solstice the Inner circle renewed their vows to the people of Velaris. The city had fallen silent as the curtains drew to the sides. Thousands were standing on the central place in the heart of the rainbow, along the banks of the Sidra and some were even perched on the ceilings of the houses. The wind ebbed down, letting the swinging lanterns still. The music had ceased and even the wind had stopped calling between the narrow cobblestone streets.
Amren stepped onto the balcony first and held her speech. She vowed remembrance to the city. Fitting, I think, because of her age. How old was she again?
When she finished, Mor stepped forward and took Amren’s hand, like our self made ceremony demanded it. She promised Welcome to the people. She was the embodiment of freedom, joy and refuge and stood for a life without fear. After her, Azriel vowed to keep them secret, Rysand vowed to lead and Feyre vowed to nurture.
She stretched out her hand, waiting for me to step into the stage light.
I lined myself up with them and for a heartbeat, I simply looked at the people below. My people.
“My family beside me has each promised to guard Velaris in their own way.” I said with a small smile pulling the corners of my lips upwards.
“I’ve never been the one with beautiful words.” The people of Velaris laughed gently at my honest words. “So, I’ll give you the truth instead.”
Suddenly, the crowd grew silent. I hadn’t even prepared a speech like the others did. I was bad at this. Shit. They were all watching me…
“I was born in an Illyrian war camp where males were taught that strength was measured only by brutality and battles. But this city taught me different. It taught me that true strength is measured by compassion and the will to retaliate and love, even if the whole world’s screaming at you, telling you otherwise.”
I let my eyes roam to the kids on their parents shoulders, the teenagers on the roofs, to the woman that held her grandmother in her arms.
“The laughter in the streets. The music drifting from open windows and strangers singing alongside. The artists painting until dawn. The children who have never known war.” My pause let the eerie stillness settle into all our bones. “That is what I fight for. So tonight, before the Mother, before my High Lady and High Lord, before My Mate and my family… before my city and my people…”
I took another deep breath. “I renew the same vow I made decades ago. The vow that no enemy will reach these streets, no child nor elderly will stand alone! And should darkness ever come for this city again, it will have to fight me first. I vow to be your shield!” At that, I took Feyre’s hand to connect the Inner Circle at last. Joined as one again.
As my last words echoed off the streets, the crowd answered with roars of celebration. Firecrackers flew through the air and the music came to life again. The people cheered and clinked their glasses of champagne as they began to dance and sing. Strangers became best friends over a shared pipe, old enemies forgave one another and cousins who haven't seen each other in years clung together like they’ve never been separated. No one celebrated alone.
After that, we ran down the stairs to throw ourselves into the crowd. I could tell from the faint expression on Azriel's face, that his wings hurt too from tucking them in neatly and protecting them from others falling and stumbling in our backs. But we sang along and celebrated with the people, listening to their drunken offerings of thanks and praises. I’ve lost the others more times than I’d like to admit but that was okay. I was amongst my people. Just a special one was missing.
Suddenly, I felt that distinct tug against my ribs. So gentle, so calm. I turned my head towards the street that would lead me away from the cheering crowds.
It was time to go home. Truly home.
I clawed my way through the sea of bodies to find a spot to swing my wings wide and soar through the sky.
The songs grew quieter, the lights dimmed behind me. And finally, I landed on the cobblestone street in front of the picket fence that I just painted last week. Fireflies bumbled through the bushes of blooming lavender that greeted me as I turned the knob of the front door to let myself in. I peeled out of my overheated shoes and abandoned my beer spilled shirt and trousers in the powder room downstairs. I washed my hands and turned the light on the porch off before I headed upstairs. Following the fragrance of gorse, I crossed the doorway into the bedroom, finding my beautiful mate inside our bed. Just as I left her.
My heart filled with joy, imagining her sleeping in, enjoying a cup of tea on the porch and reading until it was time for lunch and feeding the strays before getting cozy on the sofa. Maybe she went for a walk in the garden and the market to get some produce to cook a meal – I’m sure she left something on the stove – and then taking a bath and getting ready for bed.
A single lit candle flickered on the nightstand as she was sitting against the headboard, smiling dearly at me.
“Hey sweetheart.” I greeted my mate, the mattress dipping as I sat down on my side.
“Hey, handsome.” Her voice was like honey to a sore throat. “How was your day?” She reached out and cupped my cheek. I leaned into her touch.
“Fine. But never ending. I’m happy that I’m home.” I said exhaustedly and got under the covers.
“How are you?” I asked, smiling at her. Then my eyes drifted lower. “You two?”
The duvet fell as she exposed her middle section, her hands falling on her belly. “We’re good. But it’s getting a little uncomfortable right now.” She smiled through the rambling inside of her.
I took her in my arm, my other hand sprawling across her swollen belly, the babe kicking against my hand as if scolding me for coming home too late.
“I’m sorry little one.” I crouched down to whisper to my unborn child. “Not long and I’ll have you in my arms. We can fight and dance together. Sounds good?”
A kick answered me.
“I’m due a week now. You promise you’ll be home next week?” She asked me with her cute scrunched nose as our babe turned and kicked inside of her.
⚔️ As we know, Cassian is loyal to Rhysand above all else along side being devoted to the Night Court. He is the General of the Night Court armies. It may not seem like it because he can be a goofball and screws things up sometimes, but he is very devoted to his role in his brother’s life. Being apart of Rhysand’s Inner Circle is the closest thing he’s had to a real home so he holds on to that a little too tightly.
🦇 Out of all the batboys, Cassian is the most in touch with his Illyrian heritage and genuinely wants positive change for his people. Cassian is the one who tries his best to make sure the Illyrians have supplies and he will sometimes take on a mentor/big brother role with young Illyrians who are either bastards like him or orphaned. His reputation isn’t the best among the Illyrians but he keeps trying to help nonetheless. Cassian absolutely loves Velaris but he secretly hopes he can help Illyria become even a fraction of well off as the City of Starlight. In fact, he still feels like Illyria is his home despite living in Velaris in many of Rhysand’s homes.
🛡️Cassian is clearly a devoted warrior. He trains constantly to the point that some have wondered if it’s become his hobby. He loves the adrenaline of battle. People have compared him to the legendary Enalius after all. He loves being about to bring home battle stories to laugh about with his friends over drinks. He won’t admit it but given Tamlin is known for his strength, Cassian does kind of want to go at it with hand-to-hand with him someday to test his own strength again the High Lord.
🌃 When it comes to Selena, Cassian is a devoted golden retriever. When they first met, he immediately adopted her as a little sister figure given how tiny she is next to his towering frame but the more he got to know her, over time things changed. Cassian is the one making her slightly burnt pancakes, eggs and sausage in bed, telling her she needs the protein to get through the day. He’s constantly trying to drag her to training with him, even if it’s just to show off shirtless in front of her. He is her partner-in-crime when things get a little chaotic. Honestly, his loyalty to her rivals his loyalty to Rhysand and that often puts him in an awkward spot trying to scramble to keep the peace when Selena and Rhysand argue.
