Body in Abyss, Heart in Paradise

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[dee-writes-angst]

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My name is Dakota, but you can call me Dee if you'd like. I'm 18+ and I use she/her pronouns. I am a Taurus (for those of you who are curious) and I love all things reading, writing, and dragons!

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LATEST WORKS: FORBIDDEN FRUIT SERIES - Vampire!Bat Boys x Reader - COMPLETED

[dee-writes-angst]

can u do a masterlist for rhysand?

Sorry for the wait anon!!

here is the link to Rhys' masterlist for you!

RHYSAND

[dee-writes-angst]

RHYSAND MAIN MASTERLIST

WARNING KEY:

| A - angst | F - fluff | H/C - hurt and/or comfort | S - smut | D - dark content |

The High Lord's Room | a, f, h/c, s, d(slight) | After surviving unimaginable trauma, you’ve built a quiet, careful life in Velaris. But when Rhysand, watchful, patient, and infuriatingly charming, starts to break past your walls, you’re forced to confront feelings you thought you'd buried forever. Healing isn’t linear, but maybe… love can be safe, too.

Forbidden Fruits Series | Main Masterlist | a, f, h/c, s, d | in depth warning list and summary are included on the main masterlist |

MORE COMING SOON!

[dee-writes-angst]

FORFEIT (Chapter Five)

FEATURING Batboys x Reader

SUMMARY Back in Velaris, the reader tests new boundaries with Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys—choosing her own terms, earning trust through training, and navigating court politics with sharp wit. Tension turns to tenderness (and heat) as they all stop running from what’s between them, culminating in a choice that binds them together—for real this time.

CONTENT WARNINGS explicit sexual content, foursome (m/f/m/m), double penetration, oral sex, rough sex, dirty talk, light breath play (hand at throat), possessiveness/jealousy, vampiric biting and blood drinking, marking/claiming, minor blood play, power imbalances, aggressive flirting/sexual pressure from a third party (Helion), strong language, gore-adjacent banquet imagery (blood/meat), alcohol use.

AUTHORS NOTE I know you all waited a while for this, but trust me, it was worth it. ENJOY THIS 12K BEAST BADDIES!

SERIES MASTERLIST

You woke with your heart in your throat.

The ceiling above you was carved stone, veined with faint threads of silver, the curtains at the tall windows stirring with the river’s breeze. Too familiar. Too careful.

For a moment, you didn’t breathe.

Velaris.

Your pulse kicked hard. The last time you’d opened your eyes here, you’d been told to rest, told to stay put, told what you could and could not handle. And if you weren’t careful, history would repeat itself.

You threw the blanket aside, bare feet hitting the rug, and crossed the room in three quick strides. The door swung open under your hand—unlocked. No shadows guarding the threshold. No Cassian with a crooked smile, no Azriel with wings angled just enough to block the hall.

Just quiet.

That was somehow worse.

You padded down the curve of the staircase, each step careful, straining for the sound of boots on stone, of low voices waiting to tell you where you could and couldn’t go. Instead—

Something warm.

Rich, savory, mouthwatering. The kind of smell that had your stomach twisting before your mind caught up. Garlic sizzling in oil, herbs releasing their sharp green perfume, the fat of meat searing until it crackled. It hit you halfway down the stairs, and by the time you reached the landing, you were almost dizzy from it.

The dining room wasn’t empty.

Cassian stood at the stove, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, a wooden spoon gripped in one scarred hand. His hair was a mess, his red shirt already spattered with oil, and he was humming. Actually humming, like this was normal, like he hadn’t spent weeks snarling and snapping and reminding you he could break a man in half with one hand.

“Morning,” he said without turning, voice infuriatingly casual. “Hope you like eggs.”

Across from him, perched at the high counter, Azriel sat with a book propped against the bar. Shadows licked lazily at the legs of the stool, but his posture was loose, one wing half-draped down his back. He didn’t look up when you entered, but you didn’t miss the subtle shift of his head, the way his gaze tracked your reflection in the polished steel of the stove hood. Always watching. Always aware.

Your throat went dry.

It wasn’t a trap. Not exactly. But it wasn’t freedom, either.

Cassian glanced over his shoulder, grinning at whatever expression was on your face. “Don’t look so suspicious. Food’s not poisoned. Az would’ve noticed.”

Azriel turned a page without comment.

And then the front door clicked. A draft of cooler air swept in, carrying parchment and ink and the faint, bitter tang of steel. Rhysand’s voice followed a moment later, low and put-upon: “Two hours, Cass. I was gone for two hours and you’ve already raided half the kitchen.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “Please. You’re welcome. You’d still be choking down dried fruit and tea if it weren’t for me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rhys muttered, stepping into the room. His violet eyes found you immediately, softening just a fraction before he let his shoulders sag against the doorway. A stack of letters dangled from one hand, a broken wax seal still clinging to his fingers.

Azriel finally murmured without looking up, “Another invitation?”

Rhys groaned and dropped the papers onto the counter with unnecessary force. “Helion’s emissary. Again. Insisting on another symposium about trade routes, except he refuses to attend unless the meeting is held in his court.”

Cassian snorted. “Sounds like someone just wants an excuse to show off his libraries and parade around shirtless.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rhys said darkly. He poured himself tea with a bit more violence than necessary. “If I have to sit through another three-hour debate about tariffs while Helion oils his chest hair, I’m going to start a war just to end it.”

“Don’t threaten us with a good time,” Cassian shot back, flicking oil from his spoon in Rhys’ direction.

The High Lord dodged it with a flicker of power, sighing like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. You noticed, though—the faint curl at the corner of his mouth, the way his posture eased when Cassian rolled his eyes and Azriel turned another page as if none of this were unusual. It wasn’t.

You stood there, barefoot on the threshold, stomach betraying you with a growl loud enough to echo against the stone. All three of them looked at you then—Cassian with shameless amusement, Azriel with steady watchfulness, Rhys with that quiet intensity you were still learning to read.

It was too much.

Not because they were dangerous. But because this felt… normal.

Like you’d stumbled into a rhythm that wasn’t yours. A morning ritual older than you could fathom—Cassian filling the space with noise, Azriel anchoring it with silence, Rhys wandering in late and complaining but still pulling them tighter together. They moved around each other without thought, without hesitation. A dance perfected over centuries.

And you—

You were a disruption. An outsider. The bond tugged at your ribs like it wanted to insist otherwise, but standing there, you couldn’t ignore it. You were stepping into something that had never been built with you in mind.

“Sit,” Cassian said, sliding a plate onto the counter with an unnecessary flourish. Steam curled up from a pile of eggs, golden and fluffy, next to thick slices of fried bread. “Before I eat yours too.”

You blinked at it. Human food. You hadn’t expected it here—hadn’t expected them to bother with anything but blood and wine. But Cassian grinned as if he’d read your thoughts. “We don’t need it,” he admitted, “but we can eat it. And trust me—nothing tastes as good as food you can steal from Rhys’ pantry.”

Rhys groaned. “You are impossible.”

“And yet,” Cassian shot back, “you’ll thank me later.”

Azriel finally looked up from his book. His hazel eyes were steady, unblinking, and gods help you, they didn’t feel like a cage this time. More like… an invitation.

Your stomach twisted again, louder this time.

You crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and climbed onto the stool.

Cassian winked, triumphant. Rhys smirked faintly over the rim of his tea. Azriel turned another page, shadows curling in approval at your ankles.

And for the first time since Rennar vanished, you let yourself take a bite of something you hadn’t hunted, cooked, or guarded yourself.

When you tried the eggs, they tasted like a beginning.

The food was good. Too good.

You weren’t sure if it was the eggs themselves — fluffy and golden, flecked with herbs you didn’t recognize — or if it was the simple act of eating them at a table. A real table, with warmth and voices and the sound of someone’s laugh cutting through the clink of silverware.

Cassian leaned on one elbow, tearing bread in half like it might offend him if he ate it gently. Azriel sat across the counter with a book open, his plate barely touched, shadows curling over the rim of his cup as if tasting the tea for him. Rhys, of course, had made a dramatic show of sighing when he read through the letter that had followed him in. He tossed it down beside the fruit bowl, muttering about Helion’s “unnecessary flourishes” in script and in politics.

The smell of roasted garlic and herbs clung to the air, rich and earthy, masking the faint metallic tang of the three males themselves. Vampire or not, Cassian had somehow managed to make the kitchen smell like home instead of hunger.

You caught yourself glancing at them more than at your food. Noticing how easily they moved around one another — Cassian bumping Rhys with his shoulder as he reached for the butter, Azriel pushing the honey pot toward the High Lord without looking up, Rhys rolling his eyes but taking it anyway. Centuries of rhythm, every motion too familiar to be rehearsed.

“So,” Cassian said, gesturing with half a slice of bread, “next week I’ve got to head west again.”

Rhys groaned into his cup. Azriel only hummed, his shadows curling tighter as if they, too, remembered what the western camps meant.

You blinked. “What’s west?”

Cassian popped the bread into his mouth, chewed, and only answered when Rhys muttered something about “blood-soaked dinosaurs in armor.”

“The old camps,” Cassian said finally, after swallowing. “The ones that refuse to stop clinging to the past. Boys bled half to death before they can fly, girls chained to hearths and told they’re lucky to be there at all.” He shrugged, but his jaw was tight. “I go out, I train the kids — both kids — remind them that strength isn’t cruelty. That wings are for flying, not for breaking.”

You stilled, fork poised over your plate. “And they… listen to you?”

His grin was sharp, but there was weariness tucked in its edges. “The kids do. The old bastards don’t. But I don’t need the old ones.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, wings shifting against the counter. “I just need to plant something different in the next generation.”

The garlic on your tongue suddenly tasted bitter. Because it sounded so much like Rennar, the way he used to whisper about change in corners no one else dared to.

The words left you before you could stop them. “Take me with you.”

Cassian blinked, bread halfway to his mouth. Rhys’ head tilted, eyes glinting violet over the rim of his cup. Even Azriel looked up from his book, shadows pausing mid-stretch.

“What?” Cassian asked, voice caught somewhere between laughter and disbelief.

You set your fork down, forcing your shoulders straight. “Take me. Teach me too. If you’re training them, you can train me.”

Cassian’s brow arched, and his grin returned, slow and wolfish. “You want me to teach you?”

“Why not?” you shot back. “Unless you think I can’t keep up.”

“Sweetheart, you’d be sore for a week.”

“I’ve been sore for weeks,” you said flatly.

Rhys chuckled into his cup. “She’s not wrong.”

Cassian ignored him, eyes fixed on you. “First rule of training with me — you do what I say, when I say it. No complaining.”

“I don’t complain.”

“You will,” he said with a smirk.

The banter tugged at something in you — irritation, yes, but beneath it, the faint hum of something sharper. Respect. He wasn’t coddling you. Not shielding, not warning. Just daring you to stand.

“Let her,” Azriel said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. His eyes flicked to you, shadows curling low at his boots. “If she wants it, let her.”

Cassian didn’t argue. Didn’t even hesitate. He only leaned back further, grin settling into something steadier. “All right then. You asked for it.”

Rhys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret this.”

Cassian clapped him on the back so hard the High Lord nearly spilled his tea. “Probably. But she won’t.”

You looked between them, at the shadows curling lazy and the violet eyes narrowed in reluctant amusement, and realized that for the first time since stepping into their world, you weren’t being dragged.

You’d asked. And they’d listened.

By the time you and Cassian were ready to leave, the sky over Velaris was a thin wash of silver, dawn still caught in the teeth of the mountains. The river mist curled low through the streets, softening the edges of the city you were still learning how to walk through without gawking.

Cassian had your satchel slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing, wings tucked tight against the narrow street. You’d pulled on a borrowed coat, heavy and lined with fur at the collar, the fabric smelling faintly of cedar and leather.

And Rhysand had been circling you like a nervous parent since the moment you stepped out the door.

“Is that scarf warm enough?” he asked for the third time, fingers already reaching to tug it higher around your throat.

“It’s fine,” you said, batting him away.

“It doesn’t look fine.” He smoothed the edge anyway, the soft wool brushing your chin. “The camps are colder than the city, especially this early.”

Cassian groaned. “She’s human, Rhys, not porcelain. The coat’s thicker than mine.”

“Exactly,” Rhys snapped, shooting him a glare. “Which is why you should’ve grabbed an extra. You’ve flown through those mountains—you know the wind cuts colder there.”

You tilted your head back, exhaling hard enough to send a curl of breath into the morning air. “Do you hover like this over everyone who leaves the city?”

“Yes,” Rhys said instantly, which only made Cassian snort.

“No,” Cassian corrected, adjusting the satchel strap with exaggerated patience. “Only the ones he can’t stop thinking about.”

Rhys shot him a look sharp enough to flay, but you caught the flicker of guilt behind it.

Azriel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, shadows coiling at his boots. He hadn’t said much all morning—just watched Rhys circle you like a vulture and Cassian roll his eyes—but now he finally pushed off the frame with a sigh.

“Rhys,” he said, voice low, “let them go.”

“I’m just making sure—”

“You’ve checked the coat, the scarf, the boots, the satchel,” Azriel cut in smoothly, shadows brushing his shoulders like impatient wings. “If you hover any harder, she’ll never come back.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself.

Cassian barked a laugh. “Thank you. Gods, someone had to say it.”

Rhys turned on him, violet eyes sparking. “And you—are you sure you have enough supplies? Extra blankets? A flask of blood, in case she—”

“I packed food,” Cassian interrupted. “For her.” He tapped the satchel. “Because, in case you forgot, not all of us can live on a goblet of claret and good intentions.”

Your cheeks heated, but you couldn’t bite back a laugh. “I think I like you better when you’re dramatic instead of neurotic.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Rhys sniffed, adjusting the scarf one more time just to be difficult. “Neurotic keeps you alive.”

“Overbearing keeps you insufferable,” Cassian said cheerfully.

“Enough.” Azriel’s shadows pushed gently between them, curling like a barrier. “She’s not made of glass, Rhys. Let her stand.” His gaze flicked to you then, steady and dark, as if to say he trusted you to do exactly that.

Rhys huffed, but finally—finally—he stepped back. His violet eyes lingered on you, searching, as if committing every line of your face to memory before you vanished into the morning mist.

Cassian clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, wings flaring briefly to block the High Lord’s view. “Relax, brother. I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

“You’d better,” Rhys muttered, but softer now.

You caught Azriel’s eye as Cassian led you down the street. He only inclined his head, a quiet nod of trust, before his shadows swallowed him whole.

The mist thickened as you reached the edge of the city, and you thought you heard Rhys’s sigh carry on the wind behind you—equal parts frustration and relief.

Cassian grinned down at you, eyes bright. “Told you he’d be unbearable.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, tugging the scarf higher anyway.

Cassian laughed, the sound rolling warm through the cold air. “Careful. If you start defending him, he’ll never let me live it down.”

By the time the sun fully crested the peaks, the mist had burned off and the jagged sprawl of the Illyrian training camps stretched before you. Not the neat, ordered rows of Velaris’s market, not the marble finery of Hewn City. Here, the ground was hard-packed dirt, ringed with mountains that cut the sky like teeth.

The air smelled of smoke and sweat, the faint metallic tang of weapons well-used.

Children’s voices carried on the wind—shouts, laughter, the dull thud of fists hitting practice pads.

Cassian’s posture changed the moment his boots hit the camp’s edge. He wasn’t just Cassian here. He was Commander. His shoulders squared, his stride lengthened, his wings flared with quiet authority. The few warriors lingering near the practice field inclined their heads in deference, but it was the children who made straight for him.

“General!” a boy cried, launching himself forward with a wooden practice sword in hand. “I’ve been practicing the strike you showed me!”

Cassian caught the blade mid-swing with two fingers, grinning down at him. “Not bad, soldier. But keep your feet wider—you’ll topple over in a stiff wind.”

The boy laughed and darted back to his group.

Cassian’s grin lingered as he turned to you. “This,” he said simply, “is why I keep coming back.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too busy watching the children circle their makeshift ring, their small faces lit with determination, not fear. This wasn’t the brutal, cutthroat Illyria you’d heard about in hushed whispers—the one where boys were broken and girls were discarded. This was… different. Not soft, but not cruel either.

You looked at Cassian again and something in your chest shifted.

“Feet first,” Cassian boomed, dropping the blade point-first into the dirt. The ground shivered beneath the weight. “Always, always feet first. If you can’t plant your stance, you can’t swing. Can’t block. Can’t move. And if you can’t move—” He slammed his boot into the ground once. The sound was like thunder, reverberating through the clearing. “—you’re already dead.”

Not a single child flinched. Their eyes were wide, their jaws set. A few scrambled to copy his stance, their tiny toes digging into the earth.

Cassian barked a laugh, broad and booming, before leveling a sharp grin at them. “Better. But not good enough. Plant, don’t wobble like newborn bats.”

Their laughter tumbled over itself, high and unguarded.

Then Cassian’s gaze swung to you.

“You too.”

The kids’ heads snapped toward you as one, eyes gleaming with disbelief. Their giggles turned into whispers.

You blinked, incredulous. “What?”

“Get in here,” Cassian said, jerking his chin at the dirt in front of him. “They’ll learn faster if they watch you mess it up first.”

A chorus of shrieks and laughter erupted from the children. Your cheeks heated. Gods, he was enjoying this. You tossed him a glare sharp enough to cut steel, but your boots carried you forward anyway, crunching into the hard earth.

It didn’t take long for him to strip away the little dignity you had left.

He moved around you like a hawk, relentless. The flat of his blade tapped against your wrist until your grip shifted just so. His boot nudged your ankle wider. His palm pressed at your shoulder blade until you nearly toppled forward, only for his hand to steady you at the last second.

“Too stiff,” he said, circling. “You’re moving like someone’s about to hit you.”

“I am about to get hit,” you shot back, breath already short.

“Not by me,” he said with infuriating calm. “By them.” He angled his head toward the kids, all wide-eyed and eager as they mirrored your stance.

Then, without warning, his hand shoved your shoulder. You staggered, boots skidding, but you didn’t fall.

“Better,” he said simply. Then shoved harder.

You caught yourself, jaw clenched, pulse hammering in your throat.

The children cheered, clapping their hands together, bouncing in place like they’d just seen a miracle.

Cassian’s grin was pure wicked delight. “Look at that,” he crowed, pointing at you. “Didn’t even fall on her ass. She’s getting dangerous already.”

The drills dragged on, merciless. Step, shift, strike, reset. Over and over until your muscles screamed and your palms burned against the dagger’s hilt. Cassian’s voice cut through the rhythm like a drumbeat.

“Plant.” “Breathe.” “Again.”

Every mistake, he corrected. Every falter, he noticed. His touches were quick, precise—calloused fingers adjusting your grip, the press of his palm against your spine, the brush of his knuckles as he angled your elbow. Nothing lingered, nothing indulgent. And yet every time his skin touched yours, heat darted sharp under your skin.

“Don’t look at the blade,” he murmured once, low enough only you could hear. “Look at me.”

So you did. And it was worse. His hazel eyes held you steady, no mockery there, just fire and focus, as though you were the only one in the yard.

One boy leaned too far forward and toppled flat onto his stomach. The rest shrieked with laughter so loud it echoed off the surrounding peaks. Cassian laughed with them, rich and unrestrained, before hauling the boy upright by the scruff of his tunic.

“You see that?” Cassian called, pointing at you. “Even she knows better than to fall like that, and she’s been here ten minutes!”

Your mouth fell open. “Unbelievable.”

The children were practically falling over themselves with glee. You glared at him, heat prickling your ears.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath.

Cassian leaned down, close enough you felt the warmth of him, his grin still wide. “And you’re still standing.”

By the time your blade sank into the padded post with a solid, ringing thud, your lungs were burning. Dust clung to your boots, sweat slicked your temple. But the strike had been clean. True.

The kids erupted, voices shrill with triumph.

Cassian clapped you on the shoulder so hard you stumbled. “There she is!” His grin was all teeth. “Told you you weren’t prey.”

Your chest heaved, your throat raw. “You enjoy this way too much.”

“I enjoy being right,” he said easily. Then his grin shifted, softened, edges dulling into something steadier. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got teeth.”

The words cut deeper than they should have. You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away before he saw the crack in your armor.

The sun sank low, bleeding gold across the peaks, when the kids finally scattered, still buzzing with excitement. Their voices carried down the mountain path—talk of “the mortal who didn’t fall once” and “the way the General said she was dangerous.”

You collapsed onto the battered bench, legs trembling, arms too heavy to lift. The dagger dropped from your grip with a dull clatter.

Cassian sat beside you without asking, wings folding close. He handed you a waterskin, fingers brushing yours. His palm was rough, warm.

You drank greedily, water spilling down your chin.

“Not bad?” you rasped, half-daring him.

“Not bad,” he said, watching you with that steady, infuriating gaze. Then, after a pause, his voice dropped lower. “Dangerous.”

You huffed out a laugh, sharp and breathless. “That’s your idea of a compliment?”

“From me?” He leaned back, stretching his wings wide, veins catching the last of the light. “It’s the best you’ll get.”

You rolled your eyes, but the moment hung there. His gaze lingered—longer than it should have, warmer than it had any right to be.

The bond pulsed once, low in your chest, like it was paying attention.

And gods, that was far more dangerous than any blade in your hands.

It had been months since the mountain camp.

Months of dust in your hair, of bruises blossoming purple and green across your skin, of Cassian’s voice ringing through the yard like a war drum. Months of aching muscles, blistered palms, and the grim satisfaction of collapsing into bed with your body humming from the sheer work of it.

And gods, you felt different. Stronger. Sharper. Not just surviving, but capable. Dangerous.

Which was why pacing the gilded confines of Rhysand’s house made you want to claw at the walls.

You’d been trying to sit still—truly, you had. But your legs thrummed with restless energy, your fingers tapping against your thigh in an erratic rhythm. Even the bond hummed uneasily, feeding on your impatience.

“You’re going to wear a hole in my floor,” Rhys drawled from the chaise, where he lounged like a painting brought to life. He was dressed in layers of black and indigo, his cuffs embroidered with silver thread so fine it caught every flicker of light. A scroll lay abandoned at his side, its seal cracked—the Day Court’s crest pressed deep into the wax.

“Maybe I’ll make a door and finally get out of here,” you muttered, pivoting on your heel.

Rhys’s lips curved lazily. “You say that like I’ve chained you.”

“You haven’t,” you shot back, pacing past him, “but if I sit still one more day, I’ll chain myself to the first mission I see.”

“Funny you should mention that.” Rhys twirled the scroll between two fingers, violet eyes glinting. “Helion insists I attend his summit. He even sent an itinerary, the pompous bastard. And as my… companion—”

You stopped so sharply your boots squeaked against the polished floor. “Companion?”

He smirked. “I was going to say guest of honor, but if you prefer arm candy—”

“Not happening,” you cut in.

“Why not?” His tone was maddeningly smooth. “The dress would be divine. I could pick the color myself.”

“Because I didn’t spend months sweating through Cassian’s drills just to stand at your elbow and smile pretty while Helion drones about trade routes.”

Rhys’s grin sharpened, amused. “So what would you rather do, little masquerader?”

“Anything that proves I’m not a decoration.”

Azriel’s voice floated in from the shadowed edge of the room, quiet but edged. “Prove it, then.”

You turned to find him leaning against the wall, wings half-furled, shadows curling lazily at his boots. His hazel eyes fixed on you with cool interest, as if he’d been listening the entire time. (And knowing him, he had.)

Your pulse tripped. “You want me to fight you?”

“Unless you’d rather take Rhys’s offer.”

Something in your chest sparked, hot and reckless. “Fine. If I beat you, I get to go on a mission.”

“And if you lose?” Rhys asked, lounging like a cat who’d just found cream.

You swallowed, but kept your chin high. “Then I’ll go to the Day Court with you.”

“Oh, this I have to see.” Cassian’s laugh rumbled from the doorway as he strode in, wings brushing the frame. “Az versus our little hellcat. My money’s on Az pinning her in ten seconds.”

“Have some faith,” you snapped, though your stomach twisted at the certainty in his tone.

Cassian’s grin was wide, teeth flashing. “I’ve seen him fight. Do yourself a favor and last twenty seconds—that’ll impress me more than winning.”

“Enough,” Azriel said quietly. He pushed off the wall, stepping into the center of the training room, the floorboards scuffed from centuries of sparring. His shadows slid back like smoke as he flexed his hands, scarred knuckles catching the light.

You squared your shoulders and joined him, trying to ignore the weight of three pairs of eyes on you.

The first clash was tentative. Azriel circled you, his movements fluid, deliberate, giving you space to find your footing. You lunged, blade angled low, and he parried without effort, the ring of steel sharp in the air.

Again. Step, strike, reset. Your muscles remembered Cassian’s drills, the weight of repetition settling into rhythm. For a moment, it almost felt even.

Almost.

Azriel’s strikes came faster, sharper, but still measured. He wasn’t showing his teeth yet—you knew it. His eyes tracked you with a focus that made your breath catch, but his blade moved like it was testing you, not killing you.

And you hated it.

“Stop going easy on me,” you hissed, driving your dagger harder toward his ribs.

His blade knocked yours aside with a flick of his wrist. “If I weren’t, you’d already be bleeding.”

Frustration spiked. You ducked under his arm, boots grinding into the floor as you pivoted and brought your blade up toward his back. For one breath, you thought you had him.

Then his shadows surged, curling around your ankle, just enough to trip your step. Azriel spun, catching your wrist mid-swing, and the dagger went clattering across the floor.

In the same motion, he swept your legs out from under you. You hit the ground hard, the breath punched from your lungs, and before you could blink his body was above yours—knee pinning your hip, forearm braced against your collarbone. His dagger kissed the hollow of your throat, cold and precise.

The room went silent.

Azriel’s face was unreadable, shadows licking at the edges of his wings, his hazel eyes dark as earth. He didn’t move, didn’t gloat, didn’t need to.

Your pulse thundered against the press of his blade.

Rhys’s voice broke the silence, velvet and infuriatingly smug. “Looks like you’ll be needing that dress after all.”

Cassian barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Told you. Ten seconds.”

You shoved against Azriel’s chest, heat flushing your skin as he eased off and stood, offering a hand you stubbornly ignored.

Your lungs still heaved, your pride raw, but deep down, buried beneath the sting of defeat, something else simmered. A dangerous thrill, low and undeniable, at how easily he’d undone you.

The very next week you found yourself outside an elegantly decorated shop with the words 'Crimson Stiches' carved proudly into a wood sign. When Rhys pushed the carved wooden door open, the dressmaker's bell chimed. He held it open wide, bending in an exaggerated bow that made you roll your eyes.

“After you, darling.”

You scoffed, but stepped inside anyway. The air smelled of silk and cedar polish, bolts of fabric stacked like rainbows along the walls. Sunlight spilled through high windows, striking sparks off crystal jars filled with beads and thread so fine you could barely see the strands.

Rhys followed, his wings tucked tight, his grin infuriating. “I must say, you clean up beautifully when you’re pouting.”

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, glancing at the rows of gowns already unfurled along the racks. “I lost a bet, I didn’t forfeit my dignity.”

“Semantics.” Rhys’s voice oozed velvet smugness. He tapped a finger against his chin, violet eyes gleaming. “Now, what would Helion despise more—bloodred velvet, or something scandalous enough to distract him from his own reflection?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’re impossible.”

“Compliments already? You’ll make me blush.”

Before you could fire back, the seamstress bustled out from behind a curtain—plump, gray-haired, her spectacles slipping down her nose. Her eyes went wide the moment they landed on Rhysand.

“My lord—” she began, half bowing.

“None of that,” he cut smoothly, his smile softening. “It’s just Rhys, Merilla. You know that.”

Her cheeks pinked, flustered but fond. “And you, as always, make it impossible to say no.”

“That’s the goal,” Rhys said, pressing a hand over his heart in mock solemnity. “Now—my companion here has need of something devastating for the Day Court. What do you think?”

You opened your mouth to object to companion again, but Merilla’s bright eyes landed on you first. “Oh, what a figure! You’ll have half the court drooling, my dear. Don’t look at me like that, I speak only truth.”

Heat licked up your neck as Rhys’s grin sharpened. “See? Expert opinion.”

Merilla clapped her hands, summoning a pair of apprentices who immediately began tugging gowns from the racks—an explosion of silks, velvets, and gauzy things that looked like they’d dissolve in a strong breeze.

The first gown they shoved into your arms was emerald green, its neckline plunging low enough to make you choke.

Rhys leaned lazily against the counter, watching with a feline sort of patience. “Oh yes. That one. Try it.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you grumbled, disappearing behind the curtain.

When you emerged, the gown clung in ways that made your hips and breasts the undeniable stars of the room. Too much. Way too much.

Rhys’s lips curved. “Perfect.”

“Absolutely not.” You crossed your arms, ignoring how the fabric nearly spilled you out onto the floor. “I’d rather face a nest of feral vampires than Helion in this.”

“Helion would agree with you,” Rhys said mildly, which only made your glare sharpen.

The next gown was worse—bright yellow, frills everywhere, the skirt so wide you could barely fit through the doorframe.

Rhys actually had the audacity to snap his fingers. “Oh, I love it. A sunbeam in the flesh. Helion will combust.”

“You’re insufferable.” You tried to turn, only to knock a display of pins clean off the table. Merilla tsked behind you, swooping in to catch them.

“Stop wasting her time,” you hissed at Rhys as you retreated once more behind the curtain. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Guilty,” he called, utterly unrepentant.

But when you tugged the curtain aside again, intent on telling him where he could shove his dress ideas, you froze.

Because he wasn’t smirking now.

Rhys had knelt to help Merilla gather the spilled pins, his long fingers moving deftly, careful not to prick. He murmured something you couldn’t catch, and she laughed, the lines at her eyes softening. He handed her the last of the pins with a warmth that didn’t look faked, didn’t feel like performance.

She patted his cheek before bustling away, and he straightened, catching you watching.

For once, he didn’t smirk. “What? Surprised I’m polite?”

“Surprised you’re… kind,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

His brows rose, but his smile was softer when it came. “I told you—this city is mine. And mine is not afraid. That means more than posturing.”

You swallowed hard, looking away as heat prickled your chest.

The next dress was a deep violet, its bodice structured but the skirt soft, flowing, meant to move like water. When you stepped out, even you had to admit—it wasn’t awful.

Rhys’s grin turned slow and wolfish. “There she is.”

You scowled, though your fingers smoothed the fabric almost unconsciously. “You’re lucky this one doesn’t make me want to set myself on fire.”

“Oh, I’m always lucky around you,” he murmured, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping like a caress.

You rolled your eyes hard enough to hurt, but your heart was pounding as you caught your reflection in the mirror.

And then—old habits. You watched the shop, not just yourself. The way one apprentice kept glancing at the door. The way Merilla’s fingers moved faster when coin purses clinked in the street outside. The way a ledger sat open on the counter, names scrawled in neat script, with symbols in the margins you recognized as old trade codes.

Spy work. Information in plain sight, if you knew how to look.

You smiled faintly—sharp, private—and Rhys caught it instantly. “What?”

“Nothing.” You turned back to the mirror, smoothing the skirt again. “Just remembering I was good at more than looking pretty in silk.”

His grin was slow, deliberate. “Oh, I remember. But I’ll take both.”

You gave him a shove toward the counter, ignoring his laughter as the apprentices rushed to fetch more gowns.

The house was quiet when you descended the stairs—quiet in the way that only meant every set of eyes was waiting.

The violet gown whispered around your legs with each step, the fabric clinging and flowing in turn, cut to flatter curves you’d spent years using to gain an edge. But it wasn’t just the dress. It was the way your body felt beneath it—solid, sure. Months of training in Cassian’s camps had left you stronger than you’d realized until now, the hours of drills and bruises written into the way you moved. The muscle in your thighs flexed and carried you lightly down the steps, your shoulders straighter, your balance steady as if you could face down a room of blades in nothing but silk and heels.

Cassian was the first to see you. He froze halfway through adjusting the strap of his harness, his usual grin dying on his lips. For once, he didn’t have a quip ready. His gaze swept over you once, twice, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing—like the girl who had stumbled into the Hewn City months ago was gone, and someone sharper, stronger had taken her place.

Azriel’s hand stilled on the buckle of his blade belt. Shadows pooled and receded around his boots like they’d forgotten how to move. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. The faint gleam of his siphons caught on the violet silk, and for a breath you thought you saw something soften in his dark eyes—something almost unguarded, as if he could see every hard-earned hour stitched into the way you carried yourself now.

And then there was Rhys.

He didn’t gape, didn’t stumble. He just smiled. That sharp, knowing, smug curve of his mouth that made you want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath. He stepped forward without hesitation, offering his hand like it had always been waiting for yours.

This time, you didn’t slap it away. You slid your hand into his, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you.

The room seemed to exhale all at once. Cassian swore under his breath, low and reverent. Azriel looked away first, but his wings shifted restlessly, betraying him. Rhys only squeezed your fingers lightly, violet eyes gleaming like he’d just won a war.

“Shall we?” he murmured.

Before you could second-guess yourself, shadows closed around you—Azriel’s cold silk, Cassian’s grounding warmth, Rhys’s overwhelming presence wrapping tight. The world folded in on itself. No wind, no sound, just pressure and darkness and the thrum of the bond pulling taut.

And then light.

The Day Court unfolded around you in a blaze of gold and marble. The air was warm and scented faintly of citrus and smoke, a stark contrast to the cool stone of Velaris. High, arched ceilings soared overhead, painted in sweeping frescos of sunbursts and flame. Tall windows spilled sunlight across polished floors, gilding every column and cornice. Even the shadows here seemed touched with firelight.

A figure waited at the base of the grand stairs—a male draped in pale silk, his hair bound with golden thread. He inclined his head with a diplomat’s grace, his voice carrying smooth and practiced when he spoke.

“Welcome to the Day Court. Lord Helion awaits you in the grand dining room.”

His eyes flicked to you, lingering just a moment too long before sliding back to Rhys. Something sharp curled in your gut, but Rhys’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, subtle and deliberate.

Not a cage. Not quite a promise.

The emissary turned, leading the way through a hall of gilded sconces and sunlit mosaics. Cassian and Azriel flanked you silently, every step measured, every glance protective.

But your hand remained in Rhys’s.

The dining room was a cathedral of gold and shadow.

Torches burned high on the walls, their flames dancing in iron sconces shaped like fanged mouths. The table stretched nearly the length of the room, carved of pale stone shot through with veins of something darker—something that gleamed red under the light. Silver platters groaned with meat dripping ruby juices, goblets brimmed with liquids too thick to be wine, and a chandelier of black crystal glittered overhead like a nest of stars.

You stopped dead in the doorway.

The scent hit first—copper, heavy and sweet, clinging to your tongue like velvet. The sight followed: raw cuts, half-severed bones, vessels filled with blood not disguised, but flaunted. It was a feast built to remind anyone mortal that they didn’t belong.

Your fingers slipped from Rhys’s hand before you even realized you’d let go.

The silence was sharp. Too sharp.

And then—

“She’s uncomfortable.”

You whipped your head toward the voice. Azriel. His shadows coiled like snakes across the floor, his face carved from stone, but his voice was clear, cutting through the chamber.

Gasps rippled from the servants. The spymaster had spoken, and not to his brothers. To Helion.

The Day Court High Lord leaned back in his throne at the head of the table, golden silk spilling over his shoulders, the glint of fangs flashing as he grinned. His amber eyes flicked from Azriel to you, and just like that—you knew.

It was over.

Helion snapped his fingers, sharp as a blade. “Clear it.”

The staff scrambled. Platters vanished. Goblets replaced with delicate crystal filled with a darker vintage—blood, but elegant, masked. The chandelier light shifted as if even it bent to his will. Within moments, the gore was gone, replaced with something glittering, civilized. Almost… welcoming.

“Find her food,” Helion commanded, flicking a hand at a human servant kneeling near the dais. “Something worthy of a guest.”

The girl bolted, skirts flashing, and you exhaled through your nose, straightening your spine.

Fine. If this was the game, you knew how to play. You’d survived the Hewn City with nothing but a mask and a sharp tongue. You could do it again.

You let one of the servants guide you into the seat at Rhys’s right hand, smoothing the violet gown across your lap like every motion was deliberate and lifting your chin.

The mask was back in place.

“Ah,” Helion purred, swirling the blood in his goblet before taking a long, leisurely sip. His gaze lingered on the curve of your neck before meeting your eyes, molten and unashamed. “The infamous masquerader. I’d heard whispers, but I never imagined Rhysand would be so greedy as to keep you hidden from the rest of us.”

Across the table, Cassian’s hand flexed on the stem of his glass until the crystal creaked. Rhys’s smile was too sharp, too still. Azriel’s shadows curled tighter, whispering against the floor like restless serpents.

You smiled sweetly. “Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough.”

Helion’s laugh rang through the chamber, rich and shameless. “Oh, gods, she’s delightful. Tell me, do you bite as well as you bark?”

Cassian choked on his glass of blood. Rhys’s violet gaze went near feral. Azriel didn’t blink, but you swore the air thickened.

You leaned an elbow on the table, letting your mask gleam. “You’d have to find out, wouldn’t you?”

Helion’s grin widened, dangerous and dazzling. “A wager, then. By the end of this dinner, I’ll have you begging for my teeth.”

Cassian slammed his goblet down hard enough to splash blood across the white tablecloth. “Not happening.”

Helion’s brows rose. “Protective, General. But I wasn’t talking to you.” His amber gaze slid back to you, slow as honey. “What do you say, little masquerader?”

You sipped delicately at the wine set before you—real wine, not blood, though the staff had clearly hurried to fetch it. You let the silence stretch until every set of eyes in the room was on you. “I say men always underestimate how sharp my teeth are.”

Helion roared with laughter, slamming his goblet down hard enough to splash red across the cloth. “Oh, gods, I love her. Rhysand, you smug bastard—you bring me a treasure, and expect me not to want to taste? That’s cruelty.

“Some treasures,” Rhys said smoothly, “aren’t for sharing.”

“Selfish,” Helion crooned, amber eyes dragging slowly over you before cutting back to Rhys. “I thought better of you.”

“I doubt that,” Rhys murmured, but his hand twitched where it rested on the table.

The first course arrived—steaming meat pies, roasted vegetables, bowls of pomegranate seeds that gleamed like drops of blood. The staff set a plate in front of you, fragrant with herbs and butter, and you inclined your head in thanks before spearing a piece with deliberate calm.

Helion watched you take a bite, amber eyes bright with interest. “So, masquerader… do you know what they whisper of you in the Hewn City?”

You chewed, swallowed, dabbed your lips with the cloth napkin. “Something flattering, I hope.”

“They whisper,” Helion said, leaning forward, “that you walked into their pit in silk and shadow, and walked out with the High Lord’s generals snapping at your heels. They whisper you’re either the bravest mortal alive… or the stupidest.”

Cassian’s chair creaked ominously. Azriel’s shadows lashed once, curling around the leg of the table before retreating.

You tilted your head, smiling like a blade. “Why not both?”

Helion barked another laugh, delighted. “She’s perfect. Rhysand, if you weren’t sitting there glowering like a jealous lover, I’d steal her from under your nose.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Cassian growled, voice low and rough.

Helion’s grin sharpened, pleased by the outburst. “The general too? Gods above, she’s got you all in knots. Look at them.” His eyes slid to you, molten. “Tell me—do you enjoy being fought over? Do you savor the way their eyes follow you, the way they bare their teeth if I so much as glance too long?”

The bond thrummed hot under your ribs, vibrating with Cassian’s fury, Azriel’s restraint, Rhys’s control pulled thin as glass.

You leaned forward, voice smooth. “I enjoy winning.”

Helion’s eyes gleamed. “Then you’ll fit right in.”

The meal pressed on, course after course, every bite spiced with tension. You played your part, slipping the mask tighter with every exchange. For every shameless line Helion tossed your way, you volleyed something clever enough to steer him back toward the trade terms, keeping him amused while Rhys made his plays.

It worked. Slowly, subtly, Helion gave ground. His emissaries scribbled notes in the margins of their ledgers. Terms softened, timelines shortened.

But all the while, Helion never stopped flirting. "Tell me, what kind of leash does it take to keep a woman like you in line?”

Azriel’s shadows surged, black silk spilling across the floor until even Helion’s golden light dimmed. The spymaster’s voice was quiet, deadly. “Stop.”

Rhys didn’t move, but his power rippled like a shimmer in the air, just enough to make Helion’s napkin flutter. “Careful, Helion.”

Helion only grinned wider, delighted. “You never speak, shadow. And yet for her—you do.” Turning to Rhysand, he purred, “Careful? I’m complimenting you, old friend. I had no idea you had such taste.”

“And tell me,” he said as the final course was cleared, “do you laugh for him the way you laugh for me?”

Cassian half-rose, hand braced on the table. The goblet beside him tipped, blood spilling across the white cloth like a wound.

“Sit,” Rhys said sharply, but his gaze was fixed on Helion, violet eyes burning.

Helion only grinned wider, delighted at the crack in their composure. “Oh, this is delicious. Three of the most feared males in Prythian, all undone by one little mortal. Gods, I’ll savor this image until the day I die.”

You forced a smile, every inch of you steady though your pulse thundered. “Maybe focus on savoring the blood in front of you instead. Less likely to get you killed.”

Helion laughed, rich and shameless. “You’re wasted on them.”

The doors at the far end of the hall opened. Two servants entered, leading a male and female draped in little more than silk ribbons. Their bodies gleamed under the chandelier light, mouths curved in knowing smiles as they leaned into each other.

Helion spread his arms wide, golden silk spilling from his sleeves. “And now,” he said, “the final course. What’s dinner without indulgence?” He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp as a whip. “Join me, masquerader. I’ll show you how the Day Court feasts.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Cassian’s chair crashed back, wings flaring wide enough to rattle the torches. Azriel was on his feet in the same heartbeat, siphons burning like starlight, shadows curling like a storm. Rhys didn’t move, but the chandelier overhead shuddered, crystal prisms raining sparks of violet light as his power pressed against the walls.

Helion’s grin turned wicked, triumphant. “Ah. There it is. The snarl beneath the mask.”

The bond thrummed in your chest, hot and relentless, each thread humming with their fury.

“Enough,” Cassian growled, his voice raw, a soldier’s warning.

Helion only tipped back his goblet, laughing as if he hadn’t just goaded three of the most dangerous males in Prythian into baring their teeth. “Rhysand, you’ll never survive her. But gods, I almost envy you the attempt.”

Shadows surged, swallowing the table whole.

The dining hall vanished in a rush of black, and when your vision cleared you were back in Velaris, fire roaring in the hearth, velvet curtains drawn tight.

Cassian’s boots scraped over the stone as he paced, back and forth, wings dragging low enough to stir the rugs. His jaw was clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack. Azriel stood at the window, shadows wound tight as barbed wire around his frame, his hands fisted at his sides. Rhys leaned against the mantle, head bowed, the firelight painting the strained lines of his face in gold and shadow.

They didn’t look at you. Not once.

They thought you’d bolt. You felt it thrumming in the bond—panic barely held in check, shame like ash coating every thread. They were unraveling, convinced the night had torn away everything they’d tried to build with you.

You took a breath. Then another. The same way you’d steadied yourself in every smoky tavern and crowded ballroom before this, when a wrong move could mean a knife in the ribs.

But this wasn’t a ballroom. And they weren’t strangers.

“You think this ruined everything,” you said quietly.

Cassian froze mid-stride. Azriel’s shoulders stiffened. Rhys finally lifted his head, violet eyes burning but raw.

You crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, until you stood in the center of them all. “You think I saw Helion get under your skin and decided you were no better than the monsters I thought you were when this started.”

No one denied it. The silence was answer enough.

You swallowed, pulse steady even as your chest ached. “But you’re wrong.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed, a sharp, disbelieving crease. Azriel’s shadows stilled, listening. Rhys straightened, but the tension coiled in his frame didn’t ease.

“You snapped because you care,” you said. “Because you saw him trying to turn me into a game and you couldn’t stomach it. And for once…” You exhaled, slow, feeling the weight of your own words settle in your bones. “For once, that doesn’t scare me.”

Cassian made a strangled sound, like the breath had been punched from his lungs. Azriel’s gaze finally tore from the window, his shadows curling soft at his boots. Rhys’s power rippled, faint and uncertain, as if he didn’t quite trust what he was hearing.

You looked at each of them in turn, letting the bond thrum steady between you. “I’ve been running since the moment I met you. Running from what you are, from what you make me feel, from the bond itself. But tonight—” Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it. “Tonight I realized I’m tired of running.”

Rhys stepped forward first, like he couldn’t help himself. His hand lifted, then dropped before he touched you. “You’re saying…”

“I’m saying,” you cut in, sharper than you meant, because if you softened too much you’d break, “that it’s okay. That I don’t hate you for what happened tonight. That maybe I understand more than I want to admit.”

Azriel’s shadows loosened completely, sighing through the air as if they’d been holding their breath. Cassian swore under his breath, low and rough, dragging a hand through his hair like he didn’t know what else to do with the flood of relief rolling off him.

You took another step, close enough now that the heat of them pressed against your skin, dizzying and steadying all at once. “Don’t think this means I’m yours,” you added, voice firm despite the tremor in your chest. “Not yet. Not until I decide it for myself. But…” You exhaled. “I’m not leaving.”

The bond pulsed hard enough to steal your breath.

Rhys closed his eyes, like the words had undone him. Cassian let out a laugh—half-strangled, half-disbelieving—as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Azriel didn’t move, but the look he gave you was so raw, so unguarded, it made your knees weak.

You lifted your chin, forcing strength into your voice even as your chest ached with the weight of it all. “So stop looking like you’ve already lost me. You haven’t.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Cassian reached for you, not rough, not demanding—just steady, grounding. Azriel shifted closer, shadows brushing your calves like a vow. Rhys’s hand finally found yours, fingers curling tight, no longer pouting or posturing—just holding.

And gods, the hunger in the bond—yours and theirs—spiked so sharp it stole your breath.

The fire in the sitting room had burned low, its embers painting the walls in restless shadows. You were still standing there, half-pinned between them, your words—it’s okay, I’m not leaving—hanging in the air like the last thread keeping the room from shattering.

Cassian’s shoulders were still trembling under your hands. Azriel’s shadows writhed like they didn’t trust your vow. And Rhysand—gods, Rhysand looked like he’d been gutted, every line of control fraying at the edges.

You touched him first. Just the brush of your fingers against his jaw, the smallest reminder that you hadn’t recoiled, hadn’t run. His breath stuttered, violet eyes flicking to your mouth like it was the first light after centuries underground.

Cassian’s growl was soft, frustrated, but when you shifted enough to glance back, his gaze wasn’t angry. It was starving. He looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to fall to his knees or tear your clothes away with his teeth.

“I told you,” you murmured, voice steady despite the drum of your pulse, “I’m not running.”

Something snapped then. Not the bond this time—you’d felt that already, deep and scorching—but restraint. Weeks of it, months of them circling you like predators too afraid to strike.

Rhys closed the distance first. His mouth claimed yours like he had to prove it, lush and devastating, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that tasted of blood and wine and smoke. His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there like you might dissolve if he let go.

Cassian pressed in at your back, his heat a brand through your gown. His mouth found your shoulder, dragging fabric down just enough to bare skin to his teeth. The scrape of fang sent lightning down your spine.

Azriel hadn’t moved. Not at first. He stood at the edge of the firelight, shadows crawling wild, his jaw clenched so tight you thought he might fracture from the force of it. But when you broke Rhys’s kiss with a gasp, your eyes locking on his—his control shattered.

He was there in an instant, pinning you between him and Rhys, his hand wrapping gently, inexorably, around your throat. Not squeezing. Just claiming. Just anchoring. His mouth brushed your temple, his voice a rasp of silk and steel.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitched. “Say what?”

“That you’re not leaving.” His lips grazed your ear, and the low sound he made when your pulse jumped beneath his fingers was almost obscene. “Say it.”

“I’m not—” The words broke on Cassian’s bite, sharp enough to sting, just enough to make you whimper. “I’m not leaving.”

Cassian’s chuckle rumbled against your back. “Good girl.”

The bond pulsed, hot and insistent, binding you in a cage of heat and shadows and violet eyes. Rhys kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every drag of your lips. Cassian’s hands splayed over your hips, tugging you flush against him until you could feel how hard he was, thick and straining, a growl caught in his chest every time you shifted.

And Azriel watched you like a starving man, his pupils blown wide, shadows curling over your calves as if they were already mapping the places his hands would follow.

You could only gasp as fabric tore under Cassian's hands, the seam of your gown splitting down the back with a sound that made his growl deepen into something feral. “Pretty,” he muttered, lips dragging over the line of your shoulder, teeth scraping. “But in the way.”

Rhys’s chuckle was low, wicked, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before he pulled back to watch. “Always was impatient, wasn’t he?”

Your gown slipped down, pooling at your feet, and suddenly you were standing in nothing but a scrap of silk and lace that did little to hide the heat thrumming through your body. Cassian’s hands splayed over your waist, reverent and possessive all at once. “Fuck,” he breathed, dipping his head to mouth at the curve of your spine. “Look at you.”

You should’ve felt exposed. Vulnerable. Instead, with their eyes burning into you, you’d never felt stronger.

Azriel’s shadows coiled around your bare thighs like a lover’s caress, and then his real hand replaced them—calloused, scarred, lingering just long enough to make you gasp. “More,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Give me more.”

It was Rhys who gave it. With a thought, the last strip of lace vanished, leaving you bare under their gaze. He smirked when your breath hitched, violet eyes glowing. “Better.”

Cassian groaned, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as if he couldn’t stand not being inside you already. “She’s perfect,” he growled, biting the words against your skin. “Fuck, Rhys, Az—she’s perfect.”

You jolted when Rhys’s hand brushed down your stomach, his long fingers dipping low, teasing at the slick heat between your thighs. He didn’t touch you properly—just circled, just grazed, smirking as you squirmed. “Wet already?” he purred, amusement and hunger tangled in his voice. “All for us?”

Your mouth opened, some sharp retort on the tip of your tongue, but Cassian’s fingers dug into your hips, grinding you back against his cock impatiently, hard and thick even through his leathers. The words dissolved into a moan.

Azriel’s shadows wrapped around your wrists, tugging them gently above your head, pinning you without force. His lips brushed your throat, his fangs dragging lightly, testing. “Say the word,” he murmured, dark eyes searching yours. “If you want us to stop, say it now.”

Stop? With all three of them surrounding you like this, the bond thrumming so loud you swore it was audible? You let out a shaky laugh, defiant even with your chest heaving. “Do I look like I want you to stop?”

Cassian’s answering groan was filthy. Rhys’s grin sharpened. And Azriel—Azriel kissed you like you’d just given him permission to sin.

His mouth was bruising, desperate, his tongue sweeping in to claim, to conquer. Cassian bent low, sucking one of your nipples between his teeth until you arched, crying out into Azriel’s kiss. Rhys sank to his knees before you, smirk curling into hunger as his tongue finally slid where his fingers had only teased.

The first lick stole your breath. The second had your knees buckling. By the third, Cassian was snarling against your chest, holding you upright while Azriel devoured your mouth and Rhys devoured everything else.

“Sweet,” Rhys groaned, tongue circling your clit, slow just to torture you. “Gods, you taste—fuck.”

Azriel broke the kiss, his teeth dragging along your jaw. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Rhys purred, before plunging his tongue deep inside you.

You screamed and Cassian’s hand clamped over your mouth, muffling, but his eyes burned with awe. “Louder,” he groaned, ripping his hand away. “Let them hear you.”

And you did.

Your body shook, every nerve alight, every tug of the bond echoing threefold—your pleasure slamming through them as hard as theirs hit you. Cassian rutting against your back, Azriel licking down on your throat, Rhys’s tongue fucking you mercilessly—gods, you were unraveling, falling—

And then Rhys’s fangs nicked, just barely, just enough to let the taste of you fill his mouth. He groaned, vibrating with hunger, drinking you in like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

The bond snapped again. Harder this time. Brighter.

And you came undone.

Your scream echoed, raw and broken, your body convulsing against Cassian’s grip, against Azriel’s shadows, against Rhys’s mouth still working you through every trembling wave.

When you slumped backward, trembling, Cassian caught you, holding you against his chest like you weighed nothing. His lips brushed your ear, his voice low and desperate. “That was just the beginning, sweetheart.”

Azriel’s shadows untwined, but his hand stayed at your throat, steadying you. “We’re not done.”

Rhys rose, his mouth slick with you, fangs glinting in the firelight. He licked his lips slowly, eyes glowing like molten amethyst. “Not even close.”

The boys quickly led you to the bed, practically tearing at their own clothes as they went. Cassian laid back on the bed first, pulling your back against his chest while Azriel found himself between your legs, his scarred hand carefully prodding at your wound.

Your chest heaved, caught between all three of them—the iron band of Azriel’s hand, the furnace of Cassian’s chest at your back, and Rhys’s impossible calm, velvet and steel in equal measure.

Azriel pressed you forward into the mattress, keeping your wrists pinned above your head with one scarred hand while his other slid down to spread you wide. The blunt head of his cock teased at your slick entrance, and your whole body jolted in anticipation.

Cassian growled low, his grip on you tightening. “Fuck this waiting.” His hips ground against your ass, his cock already hard and leaking, smearing heat across your skin.

Azriel’s thrust stole your breath, sharp and sure, sinking deep until you screamed. His growl vibrated through your spine, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade. “Perfect,” he rasped, each word ragged. “Fucking perfect.”

Rhys tilted his head, watching like a king observing his court. His hand stroked himself lazily as his smile curled, wicked. “Look at you, darling. Split open on him and still wanting more.”

Cassian’s mouth dragged down your throat, his teeth catching just enough to sting. “Share her,” he snarled at Azriel, his voice breaking. “Move, Shadowsinger. Let me in.”

Azriel’s pace faltered, shadows curling tight like they didn’t want to obey—but he shifted, turning you to rest on your front against Cassian's chest. The General’s hand slid down your front, squeezing your breast, tugging at your nipple until you gasped.

“Sensitive little thing,” he murmured, his grin dark as he bent to suck it between his lips. You arched, trying to twist away, but Cassian only chased you, his mouth greedy, his teeth scraping lightly until you sobbed.

“Too much,” you gasped, still trembling from Rhys’s tongue.

Cassian groaned against your skin, the sound vibrating into you. “No such thing. You’ll give me every sound you’ve got.”

Azriel’s hand tightened on your hip, his thrusts slowing, deeper, deliberate—as if to claim space even while Cassian ground his cock against your stomach.

“Not break,” Cassian growled, sucking harder until your back bowed against him. “Bloom.”

You sobbed when Azriel’s hips snapped forward again, the double assault making you see stars. Rhys moved to the side of the bed and slid his hand down between your bodies, pressing on your clit with cruel precision, grinning when your whole body jolted.

“Look at her,” he purred, his thumb circling while Azriel pounded into you, while Cassian’s mouth marked your breasts. “Already wrung out and still begging for more. Gods, you’re perfect.”

Cassian finally lifted his head, lips wet, teeth bared in a grin. He dragged his mouth up your throat and kissed you hard, tasting your cries like they were wine. “I need to feel her,” he snarled against your lips, grinding against you. “Need to be inside her.”

Azriel’s shadows whipped, possessive and sharp. His thrusts slowed, deeper, as if to stake his claim.

“Both of you,” Rhys murmured, his voice silk wrapped around steel. His violet gaze locked on you, glowing. “She can take it.”

Your breath caught, your nails clawing at Azriel's hands where they pinned you. “Wait—I—”

Rhys’s hand pressed harder to your clit, making your words collapse into a moan. “You trust us, don’t you, darling?”

Azriel bit down on your shoulder, groaning when your walls clenched tight around him. “Say yes.”

Cassian’s cock pressed insistently against you, slick and hot. He was shaking with restraint. “Say it, sweetheart. Let me in.”

The bond flared, hot and undeniable. Even if your mind screamed hesitation, your body betrayed you—arching back, opening.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Fuck—yes.”

Cassian didn’t wait. His hand braced your hip as he pushed forward, slow enough to stretch, to burn, to make you whimper into his shoulder. He groaned low in his chest when the head of his cock finally breached, when your body squeezed around both of them at once.

“Gods, she’s so tight,” he snarled, sweat dripping down his temple. “Az, fuck, do you feel—”

“Yes,” Azriel ground out, voice strangled, his thrusts halting as Cassian sank in inch by devastating inch. “I feel her.”

You sobbed, nails clawing at the sheets, your body stretched beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Every nerve alight, every breath ragged.

“Breathe,” Rhys coaxed, kneeling before you, his hand sliding up to cup your face. His thumb brushed your spit-slick lips, his grin sharp and proud. “Open for them. That’s it, darling. Gods, you look wrecked.”

When Cassian bottomed out, all three of you groaned together—the sound feral, possessive, bound by the bond thrumming so hard it made your vision white.

Azriel pulled back while Cassian drove forward, their rhythm rough and overwhelming, your body caught between them like you were the only thing tethering them to the world. The stretch was brutal, dragging every nerve raw, and yet your hips pushed back anyway, desperate for more.

“Gods, listen to her,” Cassian groaned as his hips slammed into you. “She’s soaking us.”

Azriel’s growl, his scarred hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair, jerking your head back. His mouth was hot at your ear, his voice ragged. “Don’t hold back. Let them hear you.”

You screamed when they hit the same angle together, a blinding spark tearing through your vision.

Rhys had moved to kneel at the edge of the bed, cock heavy in his hand, violet eyes burning as he watched you writhe. His grin was pure sin. “Greedy little darling. Two cocks splitting you open and you’re still hungry.”

You tried to snarl something at him, but Cassian slammed deeper, Azriel grinding against your walls, and it came out a broken sob.

Rhys chuckled, climbing onto the bed. He stroked his cock lazily, smearing precum across your lips with the head. “Open, sweetheart. Take me while they ruin you.”

Your jaw trembled, but you obeyed, and he slid deep, the stretch of his cock down your throat a brutal mirror of the stretch between your legs. His hand tangled in your hair alongside Azriel, holding you steady as he fucked your mouth slow and deliberate.

Cassian’s hand reached between and cupped your breast again, squeezing hard as you gasped around Rhys’s cock. “Gonna mark you up,” he snarled, nails biting just hard enough to bruise. “Everyone will know who you belong to.”

Azriel’s thrusts grew sharper, his control fraying. Shadows wrapped around your waist, your thighs, binding you open, forcing you to take every inch. His fangs grazed your neck, and the low, feral growl in his chest told you he was seconds from breaking.

Rhys pulled free just long enough to murmur, “Do it.”

Azriel’s fangs sank in.

The pain was sharp, searing—then molten pleasure flooded your veins, hotter than anything you’d ever felt. Your scream tore free, vibrating around Rhys’s cock as he shoved back into your throat.

The bond blazed. Cassian snarled, hips stuttering as he felt it through you, through all of you. “Fuck—she’s—gods, I can feel her clenching—”

Rhys groaned, his head tipping back as you spasmed around them, blood on Azriel’s lips, your body trembling. "She's close."

And before you knew it , the orgasm ripped through you, violent, unstoppable, your body clamping down on both cocks inside you. Your throat convulsed around Rhys as you screamed into him, every nerve lit like fire.

Cassian lost it first, roaring as he slammed deep and spilled inside you, the heat of it making you shudder harder. Azriel followed with a guttural snarl, sinking his fangs deeper as he came with punishing thrusts, his shadows flaring like black fire around the room.

Rhys held your head steady, groaning as he spilled down your throat, violet eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away. “Swallow, darling. Every drop.”

You did, choking, tears streaming down your cheeks, but gods—it only made the fire hotter.

When they finally slowed, when the frenzy ebbed, you collapsed forward, trembling and ruined, your body still twitching with aftershocks. Cassian kissed the back of your neck, soft despite the bite in his grin. Azriel licked your blood from your shoulder, shadows curling like they were purring. Rhys stroked your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss you slow and deep.

“Ours,” he whispered against your lips.

And all of a sudden the word no longer felt like a cage. Rather it had gained a new meaning, one so warm it almost felt like worship.

ONE YEAR LATER

The kitchen was chaos.

Smoke clung to the beams, the pan you’d abandoned still hissed on the stove, and the whole place smelled faintly like scorched onions and despair. You’d wanted this night to be perfect—an anniversary, of sorts. The day everything had changed. The day you’d first stepped into the Night Court and met three males who would turn your life inside out.

And instead, you’d nearly burned the house down.

“Everything alright in there?” Cassian called from the sitting room, voice warm with suspicion.

“Yes!” you lied, coughing as you fanned smoke out the window with a rag. “Totally fine!”

The pan hissed one last mocking hiss. You scowled at it. “I can survive in the woods for weeks,” you muttered to yourself. “But give me a stove and it’s a massacre.”

Gods, this was supposed to be the moment. You’d planned to feed them something you’d made yourself, to tie it to the old stories you’d heard—the human-made food, offered with intent, sealing the choice. Sealing the bond.

And now all you had was a smoking ruin of a kitchen.

Azriel appeared in the doorway, shadows curling at his boots, book tucked in one scarred hand. His brows lifted ever so slightly at the scene. “You’re trying to poison us?”

“Shut up.” You shoved him with your elbow and dove into the pantry, desperate. Your hand closed around a battered box shoved to the very back. You pulled it out, dust puffing into the air.

Crackers. Godsdamned pantry crackers.

You almost laughed at the absurdity, but your throat was tight as you carried them into the sitting room.

Cassian was sprawled across the rug, boots kicked off, wings loose. Rhys was stretched in a chair, long legs crossed, already smirking like he’d been born knowing he was going to win tonight’s banter. Azriel followed you in, book abandoned, shadows twining closer.

“Darling,” Rhys said smoothly, violet eyes glinting, “please tell me you didn’t spend all day slaving in the kitchen just to bring us… crackers.”

Cassian sat up, grin wide. “What vintage are they? Do we pair them with milk or despair?”

You rolled your eyes, heart hammering as you tore the cracker into three uneven pieces and held them out. “Eat.”

They exchanged glances, amusement flickering between them—but one by one, they obeyed. Cassian plucked his piece from your fingers with a grin, Azriel’s scarred knuckles brushed yours as he took his, and Rhys leaned in last, taking his slowly, like he was humoring you.

And the moment their teeth broke through—

The bond sealed.

Heat and fire and eternity crashed through your chest, so strong you nearly stumbled. Cassian’s wings flared wide, a hiss dragging from his throat. Rhys’s smile vanished, violet eyes blazing. Azriel’s shadows whipped tight around him, trembling with the force of it.

“What did you—” Cassian started, but his voice broke as the bond surged again, sealing tighter.

You swallowed hard, throat raw. “Happy anniversary.”

The silence that followed was sharp, electric.

Then Cassian surged forward, hauling you into his lap with a growl, his mouth hot on your shoulder. “Our girl,” he rasped, voice shaking.

Azriel caught your wrist, his shadows trembling as he lifted it to his lips. “Hold still.” His fangs slid in, sharp and reverent, shadows humming as the bond sealed deeper.

Rhys’s hands smoothed over your opposite shoulder, his mouth brushing the curve of your neck. “Darling,” he whispered, voice ragged in a way you’d never heard. His fangs sank in, slow and certain, claiming you in a language older than any vow.

Three bites. Three marks. Three bonds sealed.

It should have felt like possession.

But instead, as their mouths lingered against your skin, blood-warm and trembling, it only felt like home.

“Ours,” Rhys whispered.

“Ours,” Cassian echoed, breaking on it.

“Ours,” Azriel murmured, quiet as a vow.

You laughed, shaky and teary, pressing your face into Cassian’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yours.”

[dee-writes-angst]

The final chapter of Forbidden Fruits is 12k words long ^.^

[dee-writes-angst]

Forbidden Fruit Update

Guys I PROMISE I have not forgotten about the last chapter for Forbidden Fruits, in fact, I'm actually in the final editing stage as we speak! Sorry it's taking me a little longer, I have been RIDICULOUSLY busy getting ready for classes to start (why am I starting so late T-T) and with my family visiting, it's just been CRAZY.

Anywhoozies, keep an eye out today or tomorrow because this last chapter is a BEAST and she is coming in HOT!

[dee-writes-angst]

SURPRISE!!!

Chapter Four of the Forbidden Fruit series is out now!!!

Check it out: BREACH OF CONTRACT

[dee-writes-angst]

BREACH OF CONTRACT (Chapter Four)

FEATURING Batboys x Reader

SUMMARY You’ve survived docks, caves, rain, and ghosts that won’t let you rest—but the bond doesn’t care how far you run. When the bat boys finally catch up, all the fury you’ve been hoarding breaks loose. But for once, they don’t answer with commands or cages. They answer with their own scars, their own fear, their own confessions.

CONTENT WARNINGS vampires, predator/prey undertones, dangerous court politics, grief, angst, discussion of past child abuse, violence mentions, possessiveness

AUTHORS NOTE this chapter was a DOOZY let me tell you! But she is finally here and I love her... though I'm even more excited for the final chapter 😉😏

SERIES MASTERLIST

The plank beneath your boots gave the faintest groan as you slipped from the cargo ship into the fog-draped dock. No one called out. No hands reached for you. Just the faint slap of water against wood and the distant toll of a bell somewhere deep in the sleeping city.

You didn’t know which court you’d stumbled into. Didn’t care.

Every instinct screamed to keep moving, so you did—boots soft against the weather-worn boards, body low, keeping to the shadows between stacked crates and coiled ropes. The tang of salt clung to the air, mixing with the faint bite of wood smoke. A fisherman’s lantern swung in the breeze two piers over, its glow just enough to catch the gleam of your dagger when you drew it.

Two streets over, the dock gave way to wild growth. Thickets clawed at your trousers as you pushed inland, leaving the faint glow of the harbor behind. The ground rose beneath your feet until the smell of brine was replaced by the clean, sharp scent of pine and damp earth.

By the time the sun’s first light brushed the treetops, you’d found what you needed—a shallow cave tucked into the hillside, its mouth half-hidden by brambles. Not much, but enough.

You stripped the damp outer layer from your clothes and set it near the small fire you coaxed from the driest twigs you could find. Your hands worked automatically—gutting the small fish you’d coaxed from the stream with a bit of bread and patience, checking the snares you’d set for rabbits. You hadn’t lived like this in years, but the motions were old muscle memory.

Rennar would have teased you for it. Said you looked too good with dirt on your cheek and a knife in your hand. Said the wild suited you more than silk and glass.

You swallowed hard, skewering the fish over the fire.

It crackled over the fire, its skin curling back to reveal pale flesh beneath. You watched it without really seeing, your mind pulled elsewhere—back to a man with laughing eyes and calloused hands who had once filled nights like this with more than silence.

Rennar had been reckless in a way that should have terrified you. Reckless in the way he charmed information from enemies over a drink, or kissed you in darkened alleys when anyone might see, or slid dangerous documents across your shared desk with a grin that said trust me. He thrived on the gamble. And gods help you, you’d let him drag you right into it.

But it hadn’t been all risk and shadow. Sometimes, it had been mornings in bed when he pressed his face into your stomach, his laugh muffled by your skin. Sometimes, it had been his hand steady on your thigh under the table during tense meetings, grounding you when you felt the whole room staring at your curves instead of your mind. Sometimes, it had been his voice, low and raw, whispering that he’d never seen anyone so stubbornly alive as you.

He’d wanted you in a way no one else ever had. Not carefully, not as though he had to overlook your sharp tongue or your full hips—he wanted all of it. The trouble, the curves, the fire. You remembered the way his eyes had crinkled at the corners when you snapped at him, remembered the bite of his teeth at your throat when you dared him to push harder.

He’d made you feel dangerous. Like you weren’t just the human tagging along for scraps, but the spark that could burn a trail straight through any plan.

And you’d believed him. Gods, you’d believed him.

You turned the fish harder than necessary, throat tight.

It was more than love, if you’d even call it that—it had been partnership. He’d trusted you to read ledgers, crack codes, charm guards, even when everyone else underestimated you. He’d looked at you and seen an equal, not a liability.

That was why you couldn’t let it go. That was why you couldn’t stomach the idea of him being gone, erased, discarded like the scraps of parchment he’d left behind.

Because if Rennar could vanish… then maybe you weren’t as dangerous as he’d made you feel. Maybe you were just the same sharp-tongued mortal no one had wanted before.

You stabbed at the fire with a stick, sparks flaring into the night.

And that was when the bat-winged bastards crept into your thoughts again.

Cassian’s laughter echoing through the Hewn City ballroom, rich and warm and shameless. Azriel’s silence curling around you in that record shop, steady as a shadow you couldn’t shake. Rhysand’s smile—cold, cruel, and yet… devastatingly certain when he’d told you you didn’t even know what you were.

You hated them for it. Hated that they had unsettled the picture you’d drawn so carefully around Rennar’s absence. Hated that for the first time since he vanished, you weren’t sure his ghost was enough to fill the space he’d left behind.

The fish split open with a hiss, fat dripping into the flames. You swallowed hard, though your throat was dry, and told yourself you would eat. You would survive. You would finish what Rennar started.

You had to. Because if you didn’t—what had any of it been for?

The fire popped, and your gaze snagged on the shadows crawling against the cave wall. They flickered with each flare of flame, but for a heartbeat, you could have sworn they weren’t yours.

You dragged in a breath and looked away, forcing your mind elsewhere.

Velaris.

You hadn’t meant to notice it, not really. But the images wouldn’t leave you.

Children chasing ribbons through sunlit alleys. The smell of sugared nuts curling warm from a market stall. A plump woman waving at Azriel like he was her own son, the spymaster inclining his head in that quiet, respectful way that made you think it wasn’t an act.

It hadn’t been what you expected of a vampire court. It hadn’t been blood-slick marble or shrieking prey—it had been beautiful. Peaceful. Alive.

And the people had looked at them—not with fear, but with trust.

You hated that you’d seen it. Hated that Velaris was branded into your memory just as sharply as the Hewn City, that you could close your eyes and picture both with equal clarity: the cruelty of one, the strange safety of the other.

You’d gone in expecting monsters. And instead, you’d found… contradictions.

Cassian’s body angled between you and the crowd in the Hewn City, his smile infuriating but his stance protective. Azriel pressing a glass of water into your hand when your throat had gone dry, saying nothing, not asking for thanks. Rhysand’s voice, sharp as a blade, but his body shielded yours when the wrong eyes turned toward you.

They hadn’t been kindnesses, not exactly. But they hadn’t been lies either.

And then there were the answers. They’d given them to you even when they damned themselves in the telling.

That honesty clung like smoke now, curling in your lungs no matter how hard you tried to exhale it.

The fire popped again, sparks skittering across the stone. You pressed your palms to your knees, grounding yourself in the heat, in the dirt, in anything that wasn’t them.

But the bond wasn’t silent.

At first, it was heat—like a coal warming at the base of your ribs. Then it was sensation. A flicker of emotion that wasn’t yours: frustration, sharp and bitter. Then guilt, heavy and suffocating. And then, gods help you, longing, so fierce and raw it stole your breath.

Not yours. Theirs.

The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering against the stone. You pressed a hand to your chest, gasping as if the fire itself had leapt into your veins.

It was too much. Too hot. Too present.

You were alone in a cave miles from them, and yet—you weren’t. You could feel them. The echo of their rage, the pull of their desperation, the jagged edge of their need.

The bond snapped fully in that moment, like a wire pulled so tight it finally gave, only to snap back and lash deep into your chest.

You doubled over, dragging in air like you’d been drowning.

“No,” you rasped to the firelight. “No, I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

But the truth sang through your bones anyway.

You could run to the edge of the world and still feel them.

You were theirs.

Cassian’s fist slammed into the map table so hard the inkpot jumped, splattering black across the parchment. “We’re wasting time. She’s out there, and every godsdamned day we sit here, someone else could be finding her first.”

“Lower your voice,” Azriel said, though his shadows were wound so tight around him they looked like chains. They whispered along the edges of the room, restless as caged birds. He didn’t look up from the reports scattered before him—dock records, sightings, coded scraps collected from spies who didn’t know the half of what they were chasing.

“She’s human,” Cassian snapped, his voice rough. His wings flared, feathers catching the lamplight, every inch of him bristling with helpless rage. “Do you understand what that means, Rhys? Every second she’s alone, she’s—” His voice cut, strangled, as if he couldn’t force the words out. He turned away, raking a hand through his hair.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Rhys’ voice cracked like lightning through the room. He stood at the window, staring out over the mountains, the faint shimmer of wards clinging to his silhouette. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, his jaw locked, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the truth bleeding through the cracks in his mask.

The bond burned in all of them, relentless.

Cassian felt it like fire under his skin, a constant drumbeat that made it impossible to sit still, impossible to sleep, impossible to do anything but move. He’d always been good at action, at throwing himself between danger and the people he loved, but this—this gnawed at him in the quiet moments, made him feel powerless in a way he hated. He remembered the look on her face when she’d spat Rennar’s name, the fury in her eyes when she’d told them she didn’t trust them. It had been like being punched in the chest, because he knew she was right. They’d failed her before they’d even had her.

Azriel carried the bond differently. Like a knife jammed between his ribs, every breath pressing the blade deeper. He didn’t show it, not outwardly—his shadows still moved as they always had, his expression still carved from stone—but inside, the silence was tearing him apart. He’d spent his life mastering the art of restraint, of quiet suffering. But this bond wasn’t something he could cage. He felt her when she shifted in her sleep, when she burned with anger, when fear spiked like lightning through her chest. And the worst part was knowing she felt him too. His shadows whispered of her every night, curling with her scent, her voice, her heartbeat. He could not escape it. He didn’t want to.

And Rhys—Rhys felt it like a fracture running straight through his mind. His control had always been absolute; it was what kept Velaris safe, what kept his court alive, what had carried them through war and ruin. But the bond had torn through those defenses without hesitation. Every time she pushed against it, every time she whispered no into the fire, it echoed in him, splitting him wider. He was terrified—though he would never say it—that if he reached too far through that tether, she’d shatter completely. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from reaching anyway.

“She ran because of us,” Cassian said finally, his voice lower but no less fierce. “Because we kept her blind. Because we treated her like she couldn’t handle the truth.”

“She couldn’t,” Rhys ground out, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

“No.” Azriel lifted his eyes at last, shadows curling tighter at his boots. “It wasn’t her who wasn’t ready.”

The silence that followed was heavy, raw.

They had fought wars together, had bled and broken and built entire worlds at each other’s side. They had never disagreed on anything that mattered. Until her.

Cassian’s wings sagged, feathers trembling. “We should’ve told her what Rennar was. We should’ve told her what we knew. Instead we gave her half-truths and expected her to stay.” His mouth twisted in bitter self-recrimination. “If I’d been her, I would’ve run too.”

Rhys’ jaw flexed, but the fight had already drained out of him. He pressed his palms against the window frame, violet eyes dark. “I thought I was protecting her.”

Azriel’s shadows stirred, a whisper of sound in the silence. “We were protecting ourselves.”

And there it was, the truth none of them wanted to voice. They hadn’t hidden the truth for her sake. They’d hidden it because admitting it would’ve meant admitting how much she already mattered.

Cassian dragged a hand down his face, his throat working. “We’ll tear this whole continent apart if we have to.”

“We already are,” Rhys said bitterly.

Azriel’s eyes slipped shut, and in that silence, they all felt it. The faintest shift in the bond, the ghost of something pulling taut.

For the first time in weeks, the thread didn’t just ache. It sang.

And every one of them stilled, hearts thundering in unison.

“She felt us,” Azriel whispered, opening his eyes again. “She’s alive.”

The rabbit was still warm in your hands when you found the abandoned trading post.

Its roof sagged, half-collapsed, but a wall of shelving still stood inside, bowing under the weight of ledgers left to rot. You ducked in only for shelter, shaking rain from your coat, but curiosity tugged you closer. The air smelled of damp paper and rust, the floor littered with scraps softened to pulp by years of neglect.

You ran your fingers along cracked spines until one flaked beneath your touch. It opened to a page smudged with water stains, its columns warped—but legible.

And there it was. A name.

Azriel’s name leapt from the page—not in the margins of a shipment, but in a record scrawled so roughly it gouged the parchment.

Discipline order, Hewn City orphan barracks.

You frowned, scanning the cramped script. The words were half-obscured by mold and water damage, but you could still make them out. Punishment by flame. Restrained for three days. Silence enforced.

Your stomach turned.

The next line was worse: Result—permanent scarring.

You stared at the words until they blurred. The scars on his hands, the ones you’d noticed catching the firelight in Velaris. You’d thought them calluses, old battles, remnants of a life full of blades. But here—this told another story entirely. A boy punished into silence. A boy branded by fire before he’d ever grown into the shadows he now commanded.

You slammed the ledger shut, breath sharp in your throat.

Monsters didn’t bleed in ledgers like that. Monsters didn’t have scars written into their history long before they’d earned them.

You pushed the thought away, leaving the trading post behind, your hood pulled low against the drizzle.

The streets beyond were narrow, cobblestones slick with rain. You hugged the shadows, ears tuned for whispers.

And you heard it. Not hushed voices of merchants or soldiers, but laughter—light, high, unguarded. Children.

You paused, pressed against the curve of a stone wall, listening.

“…he showed me how to swing my arm higher, like this!” a boy’s voice piped, muffled with excitement. “Said I’ve got a punch like a hammer now. Said no one could knock me down if I plant my feet right.”

Another voice joined in, shriller. “My brother got a sword lesson! The General said he’s got good balance, like a natural. He let him hold the practice blade, even though he’s not old enough yet.”

Cassian.

You risked a glance around the corner. A knot of children huddled under the shallow arch of a doorway, their cloaks damp but their eyes shining. One boy mimed a clumsy punch, nearly toppling himself, which sent the others into shrieks of laughter.

The smallest of them—the one who’d spoken first—hugged his arms close. “He told me if anyone tries to hurt us again, we don’t have to wait for help. We can fight back.”

Your throat went tight.

You pulled back before they could spot you, heart pounding. Their laughter clung to you as you moved through the alleys. It was too loud, too alive, and it followed you like smoke. You tried to shake it off—tightened your hood, kept your eyes on the uneven cobblestones—but the words echoed anyway. We can fight back.

You slipped into the market square at its edge, where lanterns bobbed in the rain and the smell of wet bread and ash filled the air. A cart creaked past, pulled by a weary mule, its driver bent under a patched cloak. You pressed back into the shadow of a doorway to let them pass.

That was when you caught it.

“…High Lord himself paid my debt,” the man muttered to the mule, voice thick with exhaustion. “Said no merchant in Velaris would close shop for lack of coin, not while he’s alive. Means I can keep ya', Ymir.”

You froze, watching as he trudged on, patting the knots along the old mule's spine, lantern swinging with each step.

The words lodged sharp in your ribs. Rhysand. High Lord. The same male who had caged you in with violet eyes and called you ours as if the word alone was enough. The one whose voice had pressed against your skin like a brand.

But here, he wasn’t a predator whispered about in dark taverns. He was a ruler paying debts from his own purse.

You pulled your hood lower and ducked back into the side street, rain stinging your cheeks.

It didn’t fit. None of it did.

Azriel, with scars written into his skin before he was grown. Cassian, teaching children to plant their feet and fight back. Rhysand, lowering himself to cover debts no High Lord had to.

Every step you took through the narrow streets, the bond tugged tighter, like it wanted you to carry these fragments with you. Like it wanted to stitch them together into something whole.

But you shoved them down, buried them beneath the sound of your own breathing, the drum of rain on stone, the knowledge that no matter how many scraps of humanity you uncovered, they were still the ones who had taken Rennar away.

And maybe… maybe they had been right to.

The thought sliced clean through you, leaving you raw, open, and angrier for it.

“She’s good.”

Azriel’s voice was quiet, but in the silence of the war room it landed like a stone. His shadows flickered along the edges of the map spread between them, pointing at dead ends, places where she’d slipped right past their informants.

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “Not just good. Better than half our operatives. Maybe all of them.”

Rhys’ mouth curved, though there was no humor in it. “She’s been running on scraps. No network. No wings. No magic. And still she’s managed to keep ahead of us this long.”

For the first time since she’d fled, the tension in the room shifted—not frustration, not helplessness, but something close to… respect.

“She’s not weak,” Cassian said, the words firm. “We’ve been treating her like she’ll snap in two if we breathe too hard, but gods—look at this.” He tapped the map where her trail had vanished again. “She’s survived Hewn City, cliffside vampire territory, and gods know how many nights alone in the wild. Any other human would’ve been ash by now.”

Azriel’s eyes lifted, shadows curling like smoke around his boots. “She was never prey.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, violet gaze sweeping the map. “No. She never was.” His voice softened, almost reverent. “We were blind to it. Blind to her.”

Cassian rubbed a hand over his jaw, hazel eyes glinting. “Then maybe we’re the ones who need protecting from her.”

That earned the ghost of a smile from Azriel, the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Rhys chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. The sound was thin but real, easing some of the strain in the air.

Cassian caught Rhys by the back of the neck, tugging him in with rough affection until their brows touched briefly. “We’ll get her back.”

Rhys leaned into it for a heartbeat before stepping back, eyes bright with steel. “And this time, we don’t smother her. We don’t shield her from herself.”

Azriel’s hand shifted, just briefly brushing Cassian’s shoulder as he passed, a rare gesture of unspoken agreement. “We let her stand. Even if it terrifies us.”

The bond pulsed then—sharp, undeniable. All three of them froze, heads lifting at once as though pulled by the same string.

Cassian’s wings flared wide, a grin breaking across his face. “She felt us again.”

Rhys’ chest rose, slow and deliberate, as though steadying himself against the surge of relief threatening to undo him. “Stronger this time.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tight, eager, hungry. His voice was low, certain. “She’s close.”

The rain had stopped by the time you sensed them.

Not saw. Not heard. Felt.

The bond pulsed, heavy as a heartbeat in your throat, and you knew before their shadows broke through the trees. Wings, three sets, cutting against the mist.

You didn’t rise at first. You sat by the dying fire, knife in hand, forcing your pulse to slow. If they wanted you, they’d have to come take you.

Branches cracked. Boots sank into wet earth. And then they were there, dark shapes filling the mouth of the clearing—wings unfurled, eyes fixed on you with the kind of intensity that made the cave feel too small.

“You found me,” you said flatly, not bothering to mask the bitterness.

Rhysand’s gaze flicked to the knife in your hand, then back to your face. “You knew we would.”

You stood then, slowly, squaring yourself against them. “So what now? Do you drag me back to Velaris like a prize you lost track of? Or do I get a chance to speak this time before you decide what’s best for me?”

Cassian’s jaw flexed, but it was Azriel who spoke first, his voice low. “Then speak.”

The words cracked something in you. Weeks of fury, grief, confusion all spilling forward at once.

“You took him from me.” Your voice shook, but you didn’t stop. “Rennar. You didn’t just kill him—you killed any chance I had to make sense of what happened. And you never asked if I wanted to know the truth. You decided I couldn’t handle it. You decided for me.”

Cassian flinched like you’d struck him. Rhys’ eyes darkened, but he didn’t interrupt.

Your chest heaved. “Do you have any idea what that felt like? To be used, lied to, dragged across courts like a pawn—while you stood there and called me yours like that was supposed to make it better?”

For once, none of them moved.

Then Cassian stepped forward, slow, deliberate, as if testing whether you’d bolt. “You’re right,” he said roughly. “We took that choice from you. We thought we were protecting you, but we were protecting ourselves. We were terrified—” His voice caught, and he shook his head, wings trembling. “Terrified of losing you before we’d even had the chance to know you.”

Azriel’s shadows stirred at his back, restless. “We should’ve trusted you to stand on your own. You’ve proven, again and again, you’re stronger than we let ourselves see.” His eyes held yours, steady and unflinching. “That was our failure. Not yours.”

You wanted to laugh, sharp and ugly, but the bond thrummed under your ribs, making your throat ache. “So what? You admit you were wrong and I’m supposed to just… what? Forget?”

“No.” Rhysand finally moved, stepping close enough that the air seemed to thicken around him. His voice was quiet, stripped of velvet and charm. “We don’t want your forgiveness. We want your truth. Whatever it is. Rage. Hate. Grief. Give it to us. We’ll take it.”

Something cracked in you then—not forgiveness, not acceptance, but exhaustion. Weeks of carrying Rennar’s ghost, of fighting the bond, of convincing yourself you could do it alone.

“He wasn’t just my friend,” you whispered, throat raw. “He was… more. And now I don’t even know how much of what we had was real. Or if he was already tangled in your world before I even knew what it meant.”

Cassian’s expression softened, the sharp edges blunted with something like grief. “Whatever he was to you—it mattered. We won’t take that from you. But don’t think for a second he saw you as clearly as we do.”

Azriel’s shadows brushed the ground between you, almost reaching. “He wanted you for what you could do. We want you for what you are.”

The words landed heavy. Too heavy. You shook your head, clutching the knife tighter. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“You’re ours,” Rhys said softly.

The word burned, but this time it wasn’t a cage. It was an anchor, dragging you back from the edge of a cliff you hadn’t realized you were standing on.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I can’t promise anything.”

“We’re not asking you to,” Cassian said, his voice rough. “Just… stop running. Stay long enough to see us. All of us.”

Azriel inclined his head, shadows whispering like a vow. “And if you still want to walk away—we won’t stop you.”

The clearing went quiet but for the drip of rain from the branches overhead.

The bond hummed, steady and insistent, and for the first time you didn’t shove it down. You just… let it be.

“Fine,” you whispered, voice thin but certain. “But this time, I decide when I leave.”

Cassian’s grin was sharp, but there was relief in it too. Rhys exhaled, slow, violet eyes gleaming. Azriel only inclined his head, but you swore you felt the shadows ease, just slightly, like even they had been holding their breath.

The fire behind you sputtered, throwing sparks into the damp air. You didn’t look back. You only stepped forward, closing the smallest fraction of distance between you.

Not forgiveness. Not surrender.

But not running, either.

TAGLIST: @sophieliz @raisam @hyruledemigod20 @rachelnicolee @dakota1435 @thegirlulike @ms-dont-care @fiahtheteaaddict

[dee-writes-angst]

Sorry it’s late babes, I got stuck at work 😭

But the new chapter of Forbidden Fruit is out!!!

Go read The Fine Print now!!

[dee-writes-angst]

The Fine Print (Chapter Three)

FEATURING Batboys x Reader

SUMMARY You wake in a city too beautiful to trust, caught between charm and threat as Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian circle closer. Every answer about Rennar comes laced with more control, until the truth they reveal shatters the fragile distance you’ve been clinging to—and leaves you running through Velaris with the bond snapping at your heels.

CONTENT WARNINGS vampires, predator/prey undertones, dangerous court politics, manipulation, possessiveness, jealousy, mate bond reveal, threats, emotional tension, confinement, implied stalking, power imbalance

AUTHORS NOTE this chapter gave me some grief, let me tell you! I really wanted to incorporate more of Cassian and emphasize a sense of a growing bond within the reader to the boys, but it was just not doing what I wanted. Anyways, this is what I ended up with, I hope it doesn't suck LMAO

SERIES MASTERLIST

You woke to sunlight you didn’t trust.

It spilled in soft gold across the bed, catching in the gauze curtains, dappling the patterned rug with shifting, liquid shapes. The fire in the hearth had burned low, embers winking lazily, and for a moment you could almost believe you’d woken in some warm, harmless inn along the river.

But the room was too quiet.

No morning bustle, no clatter of carts outside, no faint clink of shop shutters being drawn back. Just the gentle rush of the river and the lingering echo of a voice you couldn’t shake. Mate.

You shoved the thought away and sat up. Someone had changed you out of your sweater and trousers, replacing them with a soft, loose shirt that brushed mid-thigh. You didn’t remember falling asleep. You certainly didn’t remember agreeing to let anyone undress you.

The fire popped.

You slid out of bed, bare feet sinking into the thick rug, and padded to the door. The handle turned easily, but the moment you stepped into the hall—

“Well, good morning, little masquerader.”

Cassian was leaning against the wall opposite your door, arms crossed, one boot braced casually behind him. His red shirt was rumpled, as if he’d slept in it, but the sharpness in his gaze told you he hadn’t slept at all.

“Were you… waiting for me?” you asked, trying to make it sound like an accusation.

He grinned. “What, you think I’m lurking outside your door because I like the view?”

You gave him a flat look. “Are you?”

“Maybe,” he said, utterly unbothered. “Or maybe I’m here to make sure our new… guest doesn’t wander off before breakfast.”

“Guest,” you repeated, dry. “That what we’re calling it?”

His smile sharpened. “Would you prefer ‘flight risk’?”

You brushed past him, ignoring the way his shoulder deliberately caught yours in the narrow space. The hallway curved ahead, the pale stone walls carved with vines and constellations. Every turn you took, Cassian was half a step behind, matching your pace without effort.

“I can find my own way,” you said over your shoulder.

“Sure you can. But I’m supposed to escort you,” he said, putting a ridiculous amount of emphasis on the word. “Rhys’s orders.”

“Of course.”

The hall opened into a sunlit terrace that overlooked the river. A small table sat beneath an arched alcove, already laden with bread, fruit, and something steaming in a porcelain pot. The air was warm here, touched with the faint perfume of the flowers that spilled from the nearby balcony boxes.

Cassian gestured to the table. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

“For what? My prison tour?”

His grin didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted—darkened. “You really think we need walls to keep you here?”

That landed like a thrown blade, and you hated that he saw the way your jaw tightened. You dropped into one of the chairs, tearing a piece of bread in half more forcefully than necessary.

Cassian sat across from you, elbows braced on the table, watching you with the kind of casual focus that wasn’t casual at all. “So,” he said, “ready to make good on our deal?”

You eyed him. “Which part?”

“The part where we start giving you answers.” He reached for the pot and poured you something fragrant and dark, sliding the cup toward you. “We said we’d help. And we’re nothing if not men of our word.”

You snorted. “Men of your word? You dragged me here without asking.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning forward, “you’re still here. Which means part of you wants what we’re offering.”

You picked up the cup just to have something to do with your hands. “Information.”

Cassian’s smile curved. “Exactly. If you want to know what Rennar was really mixed up in, you’ll need to talk to someone who can tell you without running their mouth to the wrong ears. I know just the place.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re suddenly being helpful.”

“I told you—we honor our deals.” His tone was light, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made you think of a cat toying with its prey. “Head down to the market square after breakfast. Look for the fountain with the wyvern statue. You’ll find someone there who can give you… perspective.”

The pause before perspective wasn’t subtle.

“And this someone’s just going to spill secrets to me?” you asked.

“If you ask the right questions.” Cassian tore a piece of bread and popped it in his mouth. “And if you remember to keep your guard up. This city’s not as soft as it looks.”

You studied him, unsure whether to believe the warning—or the lead itself. “Why are you telling me instead of taking me there yourself?”

His grin went crooked. “Because I like seeing how far you’ll go without a chaperone.”

You set down the cup a little too hard. “And you’ll be watching.”

Cassian didn’t deny it. “Always.”

He rose, towering over the table, and for a moment his shadow cut off the morning light. “The fountain, little masquerader. Don’t keep them waiting.”

The streets of Velaris were too clean.

Even the alleys, even the steps leading down to the market square — all scrubbed and sunlit, the air warm with spice and river breeze. It didn’t match the stories you’d been told about vampire courts, and it certainly didn’t match the weight of the word ours Rhysand had put on your shoulders the night before.

The wyvern fountain was impossible to miss. Bronze wings stretched skyward, frozen mid-beat, the creature’s tail curling around the basin’s edge. A few vendors lingered nearby, their carts laden with flowers, sugared nuts, leather-bound books.

You were still scanning the faces when a shadow moved beneath the fountain’s wing.

Azriel stepped out of it as if it had let him go. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, wings tucked in close, shadows curling lazily around his boots. The market’s golden light caught the faint gleam of his siphons, glinted off the edge of the dagger at his thigh.

“Cassian’s contact?” you asked dryly.

One corner of his mouth tilted. “Cassian doesn’t have contacts. He has drinking partners.”

“Which are you?”

That almost-smile deepened, but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your guide.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s what we’re calling surveillance now?”

He didn’t deny it — just nodded toward the lane that spilled downhill toward the river. “Come on.”

It was easier to follow than argue. The stones underfoot were warm from the sun, and every turn revealed another view that didn’t fit the word vampire in your head: balconies spilling with red and gold blooms, children darting through alleys with ribbons trailing behind them, a harpist plucking soft music from a shaded archway.

Azriel said nothing for the first few streets, but you felt him at your shoulder, a quiet, watchful presence that made the space around you feel… safer. Not safe. But as if nothing in this city could touch you without going through him first.

“Not what you expected,” he said finally, his voice low, almost blending into the murmur of the river.

You glanced at the cluster of flower stalls you were passing. “No. I thought there’d be… more blood.”

His gaze flicked to you, unreadable. “There is. You’re just not seeing it today.”

“That supposed to be comforting?”

“Truthful.”

You weren’t sure why that sent a shiver down your spine.

The street opened into a small square, where sunlight poured over polished stone and the air was thick with the scent of baking bread. A plump older woman behind one stall waved at Azriel as if she knew him. He inclined his head in return, the movement oddly graceful for someone who could kill you in a heartbeat.

“You know everyone,” you said.

“I know enough to keep them safe.” His eyes slid back to you. “And now that includes you.”

Your step faltered. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“I don’t take requests.”

You looked away, pretending to study the carved lintels above a row of shop doors, but your pulse was thudding harder than it should. You blamed it on the heat. Or the way he walked just close enough that your arm brushed the leather of his when the lane narrowed.

“Rennar used to bring me to places like this,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Not here. But markets. Hidden ones. He said the best deals are where no one bothers to look.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “How long?”

You frowned. “What?”

“How long were you with him?” His voice was even, but there was a coiled tension under it — the kind you’d felt in people trying very hard not to sound jealous.

“He was my friend,” you said, which wasn’t an answer.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Friends don’t risk their lives in the Hewn City for each other. Not without something more.”

You didn’t dignify that with a reply, and for a while you just walked, letting the sound of the river fill the space between you. But the air felt different now — thicker, as if charged with something you couldn’t name. Every time his shadow brushed yours, the fine hairs on your arms lifted.

You told yourself it was nothing.

By the time he finally stopped, you were at the far end of the market, where the crowds thinned and the river widened into a broad, glittering channel. Boats bobbed at the docks, their hulls painted in jewel tones, and across the water you could see pale terraces climbing the hillside like a dream.

Azriel inclined his head toward a narrow, unassuming building tucked beside a wine shop. Its shutters were half-closed against the glare, but you could smell paper and ink even from here.

“Records,” he said simply. “Rennar’s name is in there, along with every transaction he made in the last year. Cargo, contacts… and debts.”

Your breath caught. “And you’re just letting me walk in there?”

His eyes held yours, steady and dark. “I’m showing you my city. You can decide what to do with that.”

You stared at him, searching for a crack in his composure. But there was only that quiet, unreadable patience — and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

And that was the problem. You were starting to want to.

The inside of the records shop smelled like dust, leather, and something faintly metallic — ink, maybe, or the bite of old magic. The air was cool, the light dim, and the shelves towered high above your head, crammed with ledgers thick enough to stop a crossbow bolt.

You stepped inside, your boots whispering against the worn rug, and heard the door click softly shut behind you.

Azriel didn’t move from the threshold. He just stood there, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of the dagger at his thigh, his wings angled enough to block the view from the street.

“Go on,” he said quietly. “The ledgers from the last year are on the back wall.”

You hesitated — not because you thought it was a trap, but because you weren’t sure what you’d do if you actually found something.

The shelves at the back were crammed tight. You ran your fingers over the spines until you found one stamped with the Hewn City’s silver seal, its edges worn smooth from years of use. Pulling it free sent a puff of dust into the air, and you coughed, brushing it away.

Azriel’s voice came from behind you, low and even. “Fourth quarter ledger. Start in the winter months.”

You glanced back. “You’ve been in here before.”

One of his shadows slid lazily along the floorboards toward you. “I’ve been everywhere.”

You turned back to the ledger, flipping through neat, tight script until your eyes caught on a name you knew as well as your own: Rennar Vaylen.

The line beside it was marked with the Hewn City’s seal — and another symbol you didn’t recognize, a sharp, angular glyph inked in red. The notes beside it were in Fae script, precise and almost beautiful in their symmetry.

You skimmed the column again, your heart tripping. “This is his handwriting. Here. This—”

Azriel was suddenly closer, the shadow of his wings cutting across the page. He didn’t touch you, but the space between your arm and his chest felt tight enough to hum.

“What does it say?” you asked.

He looked down at the page, then at you. “It says he made a deal he couldn’t keep.”

Your brows knit. “That’s vague.”

“It’s accurate.”

You closed the ledger with more force than necessary. “You know more than you’re telling me.”

“Maybe.”

You turned to face him fully, refusing to be cowed by the way he seemed to fill the narrow aisle. “Why do I get the feeling this was never about giving me answers?”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did — a flicker of heat, quickly hidden. “Because you’re not as naïve as you want me to think.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but a familiar voice slid into the space between you like silk over steel.

“Careful, Azriel,” Rhysand said from the doorway, his tone amused. “You’ll spoil the surprise.”

Azriel didn’t move, but his shadows pulled back from you, curling tight to his frame.

Rhys stepped inside, his violet gaze sweeping over you before settling on the ledger still in your hands. “Find anything interesting?”

You held his stare. “Enough to know Rennar was in deeper than I thought.”

“Deeper than you could pull him out of,” Rhys corrected, his voice like velvet and ice.

Something in your chest pinched. “You didn’t know him.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile curling his lips. “Didn’t I?”

The air felt thinner. Azriel’s gaze was on you, unblinking, and Rhys’s presence pressed close without him taking a single step.

“You brought me here,” you said slowly. “Showed me your city. Why?”

Rhys’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Because we want you to understand us before you understand him.”

And there it was again — that odd emphasis on us. The same one Cassian had worn this morning. The same one that kept brushing against the edge of your thoughts, leaving you restless.

You didn’t trust it. And you didn’t trust them. But as Rhys’s gaze held yours, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever game they were playing, you were already too deep in it.

Rhys closed the distance between you without hurry, moving like he had all the time in the world to decide what to do with you. The air seemed to shift with him, warm and heavy, brushing against your skin as if it were testing for weaknesses.

“You’ve seen Velaris now,” he said softly. “You’ve walked its streets, heard its music, smelled its bread baking. Tell me, little masquerader—” his gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes “—does it feel like a prison?”

Your grip on the ledger tightened. “It feels like a distraction.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “From what?”

“From the truth,” you said. “From the fact that you dragged me here instead of giving me the answers you promised.”

Rhys tsked under his breath, a sound that was almost fond. “You think we’re the ones hiding the truth from you? Rennar did that long before we ever touched your life.”

“That’s not your judgment to make.”

He studied you for a long moment, the tilt of his head and the faint narrowing of his eyes making you feel as though he could see straight through your skin. “You care for him.”

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “He’s my employer, my friend.”

His brows lifted just slightly, as if amused by your choice of word. “And yet you risked your life, stepped into the Hewn City with nothing but stolen silk and a stolen invitation, just to follow his trail. That’s not friendship, sweetheart. That’s devotion.”

The way he said it made your pulse jump, though you hated giving him the satisfaction. “You don’t know me.”

“Not yet,” he murmured. “But I will.”

Something in your chest stuttered — not quite fear, not quite anger. You told yourself it was the way he stood, close enough that you could see the faint, strange light swirling deep in his violet eyes.

Azriel shifted in the corner of your vision, a silent shadow. You glanced at him, hoping for a reprieve, but his gaze was fixed on you with the same unyielding focus.

Rhys followed your glance and smiled, slow and knowing. “You see, that’s the difference between us and Rennar. He took from you without understanding what you are. We…” His eyes dropped briefly, deliberately, to where your shirt clung at the waist before meeting your gaze again. “…we won’t make that mistake.”

A hot, confused flush rose in your cheeks, and you hated it. “And what am I, exactly?”

He leaned closer, his voice a silken thread. “Ours.”

The word hung there between you, heavy and wrong, making your pulse pound in your ears. You opened your mouth to demand what the hell that meant—

—but he stepped back as smoothly as he’d closed in, his smile still in place. “Go on,” he said lightly, gesturing to the ledger in your hands. “See what you can find. We’ll be here when you’re done.”

The casual certainty in his tone made it sound less like a promise and more like a fact you couldn’t change.

You set the ledger down, the neat Fae script blurring slightly in your vision. For the first time since stepping into this city, you weren’t sure if the dangerous part was the secrets they were keeping… or the way you were starting to feel when they were this close.

The bell above the shop door gave a soft chime.

Cassian stepped through a moment later, blocking out the sunlight. His grin was quick, easy — the kind that would’ve made you roll your eyes if not for the sharp flicker in his gaze as it swept over the three of you. He took in the ledger on the counter, the way Rhys was standing closer than necessary, the set of Azriel’s shoulders in the corner.

“Well,” Cassian drawled, “either I’ve walked into a book club meeting, or someone’s about to get eaten alive.”

“Not a party,” Rhys said without looking away from you. “An education.”

Cassian’s gaze lingered on you for a beat longer before he strolled in, boots quiet on the worn rug. “And what’s our little masquerader learning today?”

“That Rennar Vaylen was in deeper than she thought,” Rhys said smoothly.

You turned on him, heat sparking in your chest. “Deeper than you’ll actually explain.”

Cassian’s brow lifted. “You think we’re keeping secrets from you?”

“I know you are.” You shifted your weight, glancing between them. “You made a deal—answers for my cooperation. So start talking.”

It was Azriel who answered, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “He’s dead.”

The words landed with a dull, heavy finality that made the breath catch in your lungs.

You stared at him, searching his face for a flicker of doubt, but there was none. Just quiet certainty, steady and unblinking.

“How do you know?” The question came out lower, sharper than you meant.

Rhys stepped forward, his tone deceptively calm. “Because we were there when it happened.”

Your stomach dropped. “One of you—” The words jammed in your throat before you forced them out. “One of you killed him.”

Cassian didn’t flinch. “We stopped him before he got you killed.”

“Bullshit!” The word cracked in the air between you. “You didn’t even know me then. You didn’t know anything about me—”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Rhys’s voice was quiet, but it hit like a blow.

You froze. “What?”

“We’ve known about you longer than you’ve known about us,” he said, violet eyes locking onto yours. “We’ve been… aware of you.”

A chill crawled up your spine. “That’s insane. You can’t—no. You don’t get to say you were protecting me when I didn’t even know you existed.”

Cassian stepped in, wings shifting to block the door, his size a wall between you and any exit. “You think we needed to meet you to know you? We knew what you were the moment we—”

Azriel’s shadows whipped sharply, cutting him off.

“The moment you what?” Your voice shook with fury.

Silence.

When Rhys spoke, it was like he was peeling the word straight from his own chest. “The moment we felt the bond snap into place.”

Your stomach dropped. “The what?”

Cassian’s eyes softened for half a second before hardening again. “The mating bond. The Cauldron’s choice. The thing that ties us together whether you want it or not.”

A laugh burst out of you, sharp and ugly. “That sounds like a possessive little bedtime story you tell yourselves to justify being obsessive assholes.”

Rhys didn’t blink. “It’s not a story.”

“I’m human,” you snapped. “Humans don’t have—whatever the hell this is.”

“They do,” Azriel said, and the quiet weight of his voice pressed against your ribs.

The way he said it made something inside you twist. “You’re saying…” you glanced between them, “the three of you—”

“—are your mates,” Rhys finished, his tone infuriatingly calm. “Yes.”

You laughed again, but it cracked this time, too sharp to be humor. “That’s insane. You can’t just claim someone like—”

Cassian’s voice rumbled over yours, low and rough. “You’ve felt it. Don’t lie. You notice where we are before you even look. You track our steps in a room without thinking. Your body knows before your mind will admit it.”

“My body is reacting to being stalked by predators!” you snapped, heat flooding your cheeks. “It’s adrenaline. Fear. Not fate.”

Rhys took another step, crowding your space until you had to tilt your chin to hold his gaze. “Fear doesn’t make your heartbeat sync with ours.”

You stumbled back a pace, only to bump into the solid heat of Cassian’s chest. His wings shifted around you, not fully caging but close enough to make the air feel smaller.

“This is insane,” you said again, but the words felt thinner now, threadbare. “Even if I believed this — which I don’t — it doesn’t explain killing Rennar.”

“It explains everything,” Rhys said, his control fraying at the edges. “Because once we knew you were ours, letting someone like him near you was never an option.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice,” you said, and your voice cracked on it.

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t get to choose the bond.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. “Then maybe I don’t want it.”

That got a reaction.

Cassian’s wings snapped tighter, his voice dropping into a growl. “Too damn bad.”

Rhys’s power stirred, a dark shimmer in the air. “You can fight it all you want, but it will still be there. We will still be here.”

The weight of them — their presence, their heat, their eyes — pressed in from every side. You felt trapped, burned, marked.

And under all of it, something dangerous: the smallest, treacherous part of you that did recognize them, even as the rest of you screamed to run.

You shoved past Cassian’s wing, hard enough to make him shift, and strode for the door. None of them stopped you, but the silence they left in your wake was worse than any grip.

As you stepped into the sun, the city’s warmth felt like it was clinging to your skin — and no matter how far you went, you knew their eyes would follow.

The door slammed shut behind you, the chime of its bell still ringing in your ears.

You didn’t slow.

Your boots struck the cobblestones in sharp, clipped beats, the rhythm syncing with the furious pound of your pulse. The market’s warmth closed around you — scents of bread and spice, the chatter of vendors, the glitter of riverlight off polished stone — and every detail scraped at your skin.

Velaris was beautiful.

And you hated it for that.

You cut through the square, past the wyvern fountain’s gleaming wings, ignoring the curious glances cast your way. Every alley was a painting, every balcony spilling flowers, every street bathed in gold — all of it meant to charm, to soften, to make you forget the dark thing coiled behind their perfect words.

You could still feel them.

Not see them, not hear them, but feel them — the echo of Cassian’s chest against your back, the glide of Rhys’s gaze like a hand between your shoulder blades, the weight of Azriel’s silence pressing just behind your ear. The bond — if that’s what it was — pulling like an invisible hook under your ribs.

Your breath came faster. You turned down a narrower lane, the cool shadow of the buildings a brief relief from the glare. Laundry swayed overhead on bright lines, colors fluttering like flags, but the fabric’s snap in the wind only made you feel hunted.

Too close. Too perfect.

You didn’t know where you were going, only that it had to be away.

Past the bakery with sugared fruit in the window, past the narrow bridge arcing over a ribbon of silver water, past the children laughing as they chased each other through sunlit dust. All the while, the pull thrummed in your chest, an unsteady heartbeat that wasn’t entirely yours.

By the time you reached the edge of the market district, your lungs burned. You stopped in the lee of a whitewashed wall, one hand braced against the stone, eyes darting for the quickest way to the riverfront.

If you could reach the docks, maybe you could find a boat. If you could find a boat, maybe you could—

A shadow moved at the far end of the lane.

Not the shifting shade of laundry or the trick of sun behind a cloud — this shadow had weight. Purpose.

Your pulse spiked.

You pushed off the wall and kept moving, faster now, knowing without looking that no matter how far you went, you were still inside their city.

And that sooner or later, the cage door would swing shut.

TAGLIST: @sophieliz @raisam @hyruledemigod20 @rachelnicolee @dakota1435

[dee-writes-angst]

Chapter three of the Forbidden Fruit series is getting posted tonight! Are you ready to find out what happened to Rennar? 😉🤫

[dee-writes-angst]

TERMS AND CONDITIONS (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Batboys x Reader

SUMMARY When a lead turns into a hunt through the cliffs, you barely survive a vampire’s attack before Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian sweep you into their court with an offer you can’t refuse—answers for your cooperation. But in Velaris, every kindness feels like a calculated move, and every look from them feels far too close to possession.

CONTENT WARNINGS vampires, predator/prey undertones, dangerous court politics, violence, blood, life-threatening situations, kidnapping/abduction, sexual tension, intimidation, forced relocation, mild language

AUTHORS NOTE another chapter for you! I recently got a new computer (shout out student discounts) and decided to test drive it by writing this. Safe to say, it was a fun, but grueling process. Hopefully there aren't any weird typos T-T

SERIES MASTERLIST

You’d told yourself it was just a masquerade. Just a dangerous night in a dangerous city, and you’d walked away with your head still attached to your shoulders. That should’ve been the end of it.

And yet.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them. The sweep of onyx hair over a pale brow, the gleam of a predator’s grin in the dim light, the heat of a hand lingering at your lower back like it had every right to be there. You could still smell them, gods help you — spice and steel, midnight air over some place much warmer than this city.

You should’ve been working. You had files to comb through, merchants to track down, a lead on the smuggled shipment you’d braved Hewn City to confirm. Instead, you’d spent most of the morning glaring at the same line of text while your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

It was infuriating. You weren’t the type to get rattled by a pretty face or three — especially not ones attached to the most infamous High Fae in Prythian. Especially not when they were the wrong species, the wrong court, the wrong everything.

You shoved your chair back hard enough to scrape the floor, the sound cutting through your office like a blade. This was fine. You’d file your report, track down the goods, and forget all about the way Cassian’s gaze had burned down your spine. Or the way Azriel had moved like shadow and steel made flesh. Or how Rhysand had looked at you like he could peel you open with a thought.

Gods. You needed air.

The knock came just as you were deciding between ignoring lunch or making the sad walk to the bakery down the street. Three slow raps. Too deliberate to be a neighbor. Too confident to be a stranger asking for directions.

You didn’t open the door. “Who is it?”

Silence. Then, “you should start locking your windows.”

You spun toward the back of the room, and sure enough, the shadows by your desk stretched unnaturally long. They moved before your eyes, coalescing into broad shoulders, folded wings, and a face carved from shadow and stone.

Azriel. The Spymaster. The silent one. The one whose eyes you’d caught at the ball only once—yet the weight of that single look had followed you all night.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, keeping your voice sharp.

“That’s not true.” His voice was low, almost… warm. “If it were, your pulse wouldn’t have jumped the moment you heard me.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the sting in your cheeks. “You broke into my office to… what? Harass me? Scare me? I’ve had scarier visitors this week.”

“Not here to scare you.” He stepped forward, shadows clinging to his frame like they feared the light. “I’m here because you’re chasing something you shouldn’t.”

You stiffened. “And what exactly am I chasing, shadow-man?”

His gaze flicked to your desk — the spread of maps, shipping ledgers, and coded manifests you’d been poring over for two days. “A shipment that doesn’t belong to you. A shipment that doesn’t belong to your… employer, either. Tell me—how much do you know about him?”

Your jaw tightened. “Enough to finish what he started before he disappeared.”

Azriel’s mouth quirked — not a smile, exactly. “And if I told you that shipment you’re so eager to find contains things that could get you killed before you ever open the crates?”

“I’d tell you you’re wasting your breath,” you said, folding your arms. “Because I’m finding it. And if that means getting under the skin of every smug bastard in Hewn City, so be it.”

He didn’t move closer, but somehow the room felt smaller. “You already have.”

You blinked. “What?”

“They noticed you at the ball,” he said simply. “You should be careful whose attention you court.”

“That almost sounded like concern,” you shot back.

The shadows shifted—then stilled. “Not concern. Awareness.”

And just as you were about to tell him exactly where he could shove his awareness, the air shimmered. The scent of night-blooming flowers curled into the room, silk and shadow twining together.

Rhysand was leaning against your desk before you even registered the movement, violet eyes fixed on you with the easy confidence of a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was. “Awareness,” he mused, glancing at Azriel, “is such a polite word for obsession, don’t you think?”

Azriel said nothing. Rhys’s gaze slid back to you, his smile slow and sharp. “Care to tell me why you’ve been sniffing around cargo docks that belong to me?”

“I didn’t know the docks were yours,” you lied, voice steady even as Rhys’s violet gaze pinned you like a butterfly.

“Oh, you knew,” he purred. “You’re far too clever to stumble into my territory by accident.” He circled your desk like a cat, fingertips grazing the edge of your maps, pausing over a coded column of figures. “This is impressive work for someone without… training.”

Azriel didn’t move from the shadows, but you could feel his eyes on you. Watching. Measuring.

Rhys tapped the manifest. “You cracked half the code already. That’s more than most of my men could do without help.” His grin sharpened. “So tell me, little human—who taught you?”

You lifted your chin. “A man who doesn’t go missing without a fight. And I’m going to find him.”

“Even if it kills you?”

“Especially if it kills me.”

The room went still. Not silent—because you could hear Azriel’s slow, controlled breathing, and the faint rustle of Rhys’s wings—but still in the way prey realizes the predator has stopped playing.

Rhys leaned closer, bracing a hand on the desk beside you. His scent was overwhelming—night air after rain, something electric beneath it. “Your employer,” he said softly, “was mixed up in things you can’t possibly understand. And if you keep digging, you’re going to end up on someone’s dinner plate.”

“Yours?” you shot back before you could stop yourself.

The smile he gave you wasn’t kind. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Azriel’s shadows stirred, but Rhys didn’t break eye contact. “That shipment you’re chasing,” he went on, “left the docks three nights ago. It’s heading inland, to a place you don’t want to find. Walk away, and I might even forget you’ve been sniffing around my business.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs deliberately. “Yeah, see, here’s the thing: I’m not afraid of you.”

Rhys’s laugh was low, almost genuine. “You will be.”

And with that, the air between the three of you tightened—thick with challenge, curiosity, and something far darker—before they both vanished as quickly as they’d arrived.

You stared at the maps on your desk, heart still hammering. Three nights ago. Inland. If they thought a little scare was going to keep you from your goal, they didn’t know you at all.

The train station reeked of rust, coal, and the kind of damp that got into your bones. Not the clean, bustling stop the tourists saw in the middle of the day—this was the freight side, half-forgotten, where the lamplight was too dim and the shadows too long.

Your boots crunched over gravel as you followed the trail Rhys had so graciously—unintentionally—handed you. Three nights ago, inland. The manifest’s route codes pointed here, to the southern freight line, and you weren’t about to waste the only solid lead you’d gotten since your employer vanished.

You’d dressed for speed, not charm: fitted trousers tucked into worn boots, your thick sweater cinched at the waist with a belt to keep your satchel from bouncing. Not your most flattering look, but you’d learned long ago that curves were still curves whether you wrapped them in silk or wool, and the men who underestimated you because of them were always the easiest to surprise.

A freight clerk leaned against the loading dock, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. His eyes flicked over you, and you gave him a tight smile. “You see a shipment come through three nights ago? Big one. Hewn City seal.”

He hesitated, flicked ash into the gravel. “Could be.”

You slipped a silver coin from your belt pouch, letting it glint in the lamplight. “Could be isn’t worth silver.”

The coin vanished into his pocket like a magic trick. “Went north. Special order. Loaded onto a black coach as soon as it came off the train. Didn’t stop for supplies.”

“Where north?”

The clerk glanced toward the dark edge of the platform, where a row of coal cars sat idle. “Follow the old road out past the cliffs. But if you’ve got any sense, you won’t.”

You thanked him, already moving toward the shadows at the far end of the station.

And that was when you felt it—the distinct, prickle-down-your-neck awareness of being watched.

You didn’t need to turn around to know whose presence was stalking the edge of your senses. Rhys’s gaze was heavy, almost amused. Azriel’s was quieter, the kind that knew exactly how many breaths you’d taken since you stepped off the street.

You kept walking. If they were going to follow, let them.

Two can play at this game.

The road north curled like a snake through the cliffs, the drop on your right so sheer the moonlight couldn’t touch the bottom. Salt wind whipped at your hair, stung your cheeks, carrying the low, rhythmic crash of waves far below.

You stayed close to the cliff wall, one palm brushing rough stone for balance, boots crunching over gravel and loose shale. The air had that heavy stillness that warned you the Hewn City’s reach lingered here—like even the sea kept quiet.

The trail ended in a cluster of abandoned shipping crates wedged between two jagged rock outcroppings. Their dark, swollen wood was splintered at the edges, the Hewn City’s silver-embossed seals cracked. You crouched by the largest one, running your gloved fingers along the broken emblem. The split was fresh; the fibers were still sharp enough to snag your skin. Someone had been here recently. Maybe hours ago.

You bent lower, examining faint drag marks leading toward the narrow path on the opposite side—

The sound behind you was wrong. Not the howl of wind through stone. Not the scuttle of a rodent. Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.

You straightened, fingers already slipping under your sweater to the dagger at your hip. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

The shape that slid from the cliff’s shadow wasn’t one of them. This figure was leaner, hunched in a way that suggested both hunger and glee. Its skin was pale to the point of translucence, veins spiderwebbing from a mouth smeared red.

And its eyes glowed—a wet, sickly crimson that locked on you and didn’t blink.

The vampire’s smile was wrong, a stretch of thin lips over jagged teeth. “Human,” it whispered, like it was tasting the word.

You stepped back, weight shifting to your rear foot. The cliff’s edge was closer than you remembered.

It lunged.

You ducked low, blade flashing up in a desperate arc. Steel kissed its forearm, tearing skin, but the wound barely slowed it. Cold hands like iron bands clamped your shoulders, shoving you toward the edge. Your boots skidded in loose gravel.

Its breath was fetid against your face, a graveyard reek as it tilted your head back, baring your throat.

You slammed the dagger hilt into its jaw. It snarled, grip tightening on your chin until spots burst in your vision.

The wind shifted—pressure and motion so sudden your ears popped.

The vampire was gone. In its place, Azriel stood in a whirl of shadow and steel, siphons burning like distant stars. His dagger was buried deep in the thing’s throat, blood dripping dark and slow down the blade. The creature spasmed once before collapsing in a boneless heap at his boots.

Rhys landed a heartbeat later, wings flaring wide enough to block the moonlight. His gaze found you, swept from head to toe, and the cold rage there was far sharper than the night air.

“What,” he said, voice soft in a way that made it worse, “are you doing out here?”

You steadied yourself against the crate, forcing the tremor from your knees. “Following a lead.”

Rhys’s stare didn’t waver. “Following a lead into a hunting ground. At night. Alone.”

“Worked fine until you showed up,” you snapped, the aftertaste of adrenaline making your tongue sharper than it should be.

“You could’ve been killed.” His power stirred around you, curling at the edges of your thoughts, testing for weakness. “Our mate—”

“I am not your anything.” You shoved the words between you like a blade. “And I’m not dropping this. My employer is still missing. I’m not waiting for permission.”

Rhys took a step forward, his shadow falling over you, and the air between you tightened like drawn wire.

Cassian landed hard enough that the crates rattled, his presence breaking the invisible thread before it snapped. One big hand clapped onto Rhys’s shoulder. “Easy, brother.”

His hazel eyes flicked to you, sharp but not without humor. “What if we gave you everything you want? Full access to our information, our records, our resources. No games. You help us, we help you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And the catch?”

A slow, wolfish grin spread across his face. “All you have to do is come to our court.”

Rhys didn’t give you a chance to argue. One moment you were standing on a cliffside road littered with vampire blood, the next his hand clamped around your upper arm and shadows snapped shut around you.

The world ripped sideways. The salt wind vanished. When your boots touched stone again, it wasn’t Hewn City’s jagged black halls or the chill damp of the cliffs—it was… sunlight.

Well, not exactly sunlight. The streets you stood in now glowed with soft lanternlight that spilled from carved stone facades. Balconies dripped with flowers, their petals spilling gold and crimson against pale walls. Laughter—real, unguarded laughter—drifted from a nearby courtyard. A river cut through the heart of the city, its surface catching the starlight in fractured, shimmering pieces.

It was beautiful.

And you hated that you noticed.

You twisted out of Rhys’s grip, your heart still thudding from the fight. “This isn’t the Hewn City.”

“No,” Rhys said, voice flat. “This is our court.”

The way he said it made it sound like a sentence, not an invitation. Azriel and Cassian flanked you, one a wall of quiet shadow, the other radiating a watchful, simmering energy.

“Why?” you demanded. “What game is this?”

Rhys’s gaze was like ice. “No game. You’re going to get your answers. But not tonight. You’re going to rest.”

Your mouth went dry. “I don’t need rest, I need to finish what I started.”

“Mate—” Rhys caught himself like the word had slipped without his permission. His jaw tightened. “You need to not get yourself killed before we’re done.”

You blinked at him, the strange syllable snagging in your mind like a burr. Mate? The word meant nothing to you, but the weight in his tone said it meant something. You tucked it away, a question for later.

Azriel spoke, his voice quieter but no less sharp. “You want the truth about your missing employer? The deals they were making in the Hewn City? We’ll give it to you.”

Your brows rose. “Just like that?”

Cassian’s grin was humorless. “Not just like that. You answer our questions, too. You stay here. In our court. You don’t leave until we’re done.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unmoved despite the rapid-fire thump of your pulse. “And if I say no?”

Rhys’s shadows stirred around his boots, curling toward you like smoke. “Then we can always take you back to where we found you.”

You stared at them, three dangerous, beautiful monsters in fine clothes and sharper smiles, and knew they weren’t bluffing.

“Fine,” you said finally, each syllable bitten off. “But I’m not here to play host to your curiosity. You answer me first.”

Rhys’s answering smile was razor-thin. “We’ll see.”

The suite they’d given you wasn’t a cell. Which somehow made it worse.

The moment Rhys swept you inside, you were hit with warmth—the low crackle of a fire in a blackstone hearth, golden light spilling over rich rugs and high shelves lined with books that looked older than your entire family line. Sheer curtains billowed lazily over tall windows, the breeze carrying the faint scent of riverwater and summer citrus.

It was… perfect. And perfect meant calculated.

“Your clothes will be brought up shortly,” Rhys said, lingering in the doorway like a polite jailer. “There’s food on the table. The bath is through there.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said, crossing your arms.

“I didn’t ask to save you from getting your throat ripped out,” he replied, velvet voice edged with steel.

Cassian lounged against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that sharp amusement that felt one wrong word from turning dangerous. Azriel stood in the corner like a shadow carved into the wall, wings just brushing the edge of the firelight.

“I’m not your guest,” you said. “And I’m not your prisoner.”

Rhys’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re… ours, for now.” That odd weight returned to his tone, a ghost of the word he’d almost said before. Mate.

The syllable flared again in your mind, a puzzle piece with no picture. Yours? For now? You bit back the urge to demand what the hell he meant—you’d get further if you kept your questions quiet, let them slip their guard first.

Instead, you walked past them toward the window, noting the river glittering below and the moonlit mountains beyond. The city was silent but alive—warm lanterns in every shopfront, music drifting faintly from somewhere unseen. Not the cruel, blood-stained sprawl you’d expected from vampires.

“Sleep,” Azriel said at last, his voice low, carrying no room for argument.

You turned, “you’re not standing guard outside my door.”

Cassian’s grin said otherwise.

The door clicked shut behind them. Alone, you sank into one of the plush chairs by the fire, fingers drumming against your knee. Every muscle in your body screamed to move, to dig, to finish what you’d started for Rennar before he vanished. You’d risked everything to follow his trail into the Hewn City. And now, somehow, you’d been dropped into a den of the very monsters he’d been warning you about, monsters who seemed intent on keeping you here.

You stared into the flames, replaying the night’s events until one word burned brighter than all the rest.

Mate.

Whatever it meant, you were going to find that out too. And then you were getting the hell out of here.

TAGLIST: @sophieliz @raisam @hyruledemigod20 @rachelnicolee

[dee-writes-angst]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT SERIES MAIN MASTERLIST

Vampire!Bat Boys x Reader

You’re chasing a dangerous lead when the Vamp Bat Boys intervene, pulling you into their hidden court in Velaris. Confused by their cryptic hints and a mysterious bond you don’t understand, you resist their obsessive attention while trying to finish your mission. But the closer you get, the harder it becomes to fight the feral, forbidden desire building between you.

Content Warnings Include: violence, blood, life-threatening situations, kidnapping/abduction, supernatural creatures, sexual tension, explicit sexual content, forced relocation, intimidation, slow-burn/obsessive romance, language, suspense, predator/prey dynamics, themes of power imbalance, mild gore

COMPLETED

The Game Begins | a (???) | At a dangerous Hewn City masquerade, a sharp-tongued human sneaks in on a personal mission, only to cross paths with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel—three powerful vampire High Fae wearing their most ruthless masks. Mistaking their cold, predatory interest for mere arrogance, you throw barbs instead of bowing, but the moment your pulse spikes, they know you're something far more than you realize… and they aren’t about to let you slip away.

Terms and Conditions | d (violence) | When a lead turns into a hunt through the cliffs, you barely survive a vampire’s attack before Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian sweep you into their court with an offer you can’t refuse—answers for your cooperation. But in Velaris, every kindness feels like a calculated move, and every look from them feels far too close to possession. |

The Fine Print | a, h/c, d (slight) | You wake in a city too beautiful to trust, caught between charm and threat as Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian circle closer. Every answer about Rennar comes laced with more control, until the truth they reveal shatters the fragile distance you’ve been clinging to—and leaves you running through Velaris with the bond snapping at your heels. |

Breach of Contract | a, f (???), h/c | You’ve survived docks, caves, rain, and ghosts that won’t let you rest—but the bond doesn’t care how far you run. When the bat boys finally catch up, all the fury you’ve been hoarding breaks loose. But for once, they don’t answer with commands or cages. They answer with their own scars, their own fear, their own confessions. |

Forfeit | a (slight) f, h/c, s | Back in Velaris, the reader tests new boundaries with Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys—choosing her own terms, earning trust through training, and navigating court politics with sharp wit. Tension turns to tenderness (and heat) as they all stop running from what’s between them, culminating in a choice that binds them together—for real this time. |

[dee-writes-angst]

Hello my fave writing goddess I hope you are absolutely amazing! I read war room too many times to count. You made magic of my request. I had an idea for a fic... If you hate it just scrap the idea but I have a feeling you will EAT THIS UP😏 Hear me out a slow burn Vamp batboys x reader… the reader is a curvy goddess spitfire of a human and yes it's forbidden for vamps to have relations with humans butttt when our boys meet her and discover she's their mate they become obsessed and simply MUST have her so when they try to make the reader fall for them she resists and fights back then runs… but you can’t escape fate. So something happens where the bond snaps for her and she gives in to temptation and they have absolutely FERAL FORBIDDEN FRUIT FREAKY SMUT like got ya mouthwatering type shiiiii. I felt like you would make this a killer series or one shot honestly I will take whatever crumbs you give me cause I will DEVOUR YOUR AMAZING WRITING 🥰🤩

THE GAME BEGINS (Chapter One)

FEATURING Batboys x Reader

SUMMARY At a dangerous Hewn City masquerade, a sharp-tongued human sneaks in on a personal mission, only to cross paths with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel—three powerful vampire High Fae wearing their most ruthless masks. Mistaking their cold, predatory interest for mere arrogance, you throw barbs instead of bowing, but the moment your pulse spikes, they know you're something far more than you realize… and they aren’t about to let you slip away.

CONTENT WARNINGS vampires, predator/prey undertones, dangerous court politics, mild threats, verbal sparring, sexual tension, power imbalance, canon-typical violence references

AUTHORS NOTE your brain genuinely astonishes me, girl. Like, vampire batboys is seriously genius! I'm excited to see where this mini series goes and I hope you enjoy it!

SERIES MASTERLIST

The invitation wasn’t yours.

It belonged to a man named Rennar—a mortal emissary from the Dawn Court who went missing two weeks ago with a satchel full of forbidden documents and a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

But you did know. Because Rennar had been your friend. And when no one came looking, when everyone shrugged and said, “he should’ve known better,” you decided to do something reckless.

You decided to follow the trail.

It led you here.

To the Hewn City. To a masquerade where no human should ever set foot.

But you weren’t just any human.

You were a woman with hips that wouldn’t lie even if you begged them to, thighs that claimed every inch of a slit too high for decency, and a mouth that had been getting you in trouble since you could talk. You weren’t small, quiet, or easy to overlook—and that had always been a curse.

Tonight, it would be your disguise.

No one would expect the pretty, plump little mortal in velvet and heels to be digging for truths that could get her killed.

You stepped through the gates like you belonged there—your stolen invitation crumpled in your fist, your mask pinned high across your cheekbones—and told yourself this was just a party.

Not a trap.

The Hewn City rose like a wound beneath the mountain—chiseled from black rock and lit from within by a thousand blood-red crystals. The air shimmered with magic, old and thick as smoke, curling through the tunnels in gentle pulses like breath.

The ballroom itself was carved into the heart of the city.

Cathedral-high ceilings disappeared into darkness, columns twisted like thorned vines framed the walls, and fountains spilled not water—but wine. Or maybe something thicker. Something darker.

Candles floated midair in wrought iron cages. The music—low and ancient, all string and ache—seemed to come from nowhere, echoing off walls too far to see.

Everything dripped with power. Nothing looked real.

The guests shimmered in the gloom, all glass and silk and bare shoulders, moving like they had forever to kill. Predators. Every one of them. Tall, sharp, cruelly beautiful.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t shrink. You strutted.

The dress was stolen from a forgotten closet in the embassy—stitched with threads of shadow and lined in soft, wicked velvet. It clung to your stomach and hips unapologetically, your breasts nearly spilling from a neckline designed to entice and threaten at once. The slit in the skirt climbed high, brushing your thick thigh with every step. You hadn’t even tried to tailor it.

It wasn’t made for you.

But gods, did you make it your weapon.

Let them stare. Let them sneer. Let them hunger. You were here for a reason—and it wasn’t to be anyone’s meal.

You scanned the room, eyes sweeping past a woman in a jeweled cage-skirt, a tall male with antlers made of bone, and a trio of nobles laughing around a goblet that looked suspiciously too red.

Nothing. No sign of Rennar. No whispers of a human emissary gone missing.

But you hadn’t come this far just to give up.

You grabbed a glass of whatever the server handed you (it smelled like cherries and copper) and leaned your back against one of the obsidian columns.

Act like you belong. Don’t let them see your pulse.

You didn’t notice the music had stopped until it hurt.

Like your body had leaned too far over a ledge and your ears popped from the drop. A silence too sharp to be accidental. A silence that warned.

And then you felt it.

The power. It wasn’t a hum, or a tremor. It was a drag—pulling you down, down into the stone, into the dark. Like the mountain itself took a breath and tasted you.

The crowd rippled. Moved.

Three males entered through the great archway, and the room parted like it knew better.

You didn’t.

You looked.

The one in crimson towered over most of the room, thick and scarred, with wings tucked behind him like a threat barely leashed. The one in midnight moved like silk unraveling—graceful, deadly, unreadable. And the one in black…

Gods.

He wore his mask like a crown—carved black stone veined with onyx, sharp along the cheekbones, dripping with cold elegance. His clothes looked like liquid darkness. His presence struck like a slap.

Every instinct in you screamed: don’t look at him.

And you did anyway.

His head tilted.

Your breath stuttered.

And behind his mask—just barely—his lips curved into a smile.

You didn’t run. Even as the crowd rippled around them, even as those three males moved like gravity itself bent to accommodate them—you didn’t move an inch.

It wasn’t bravery. Not exactly. More like… rage. That you were still looking for your friend. That no one else cared he was gone. That these monsters walked like gods in halls built of blood while mortals like you were expected to grovel, obey, disappear.

So when the one in black turned and walked straight toward you—you stayed exactly where you were.

Not prey.

Not tonight.

He stopped two steps away. Close enough that you had to tilt your head to keep your eyes on his face. Closer still, and you'd smell what he had for dinner.

His mask was gone now, tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Violet eyes, glowing faintly, swept over you—not in the hungry way most males looked at you, but… like he was reading something written on your skin.

“You don’t smell like anyone,” he murmured. Voice rich as wine. He smiled, slow and deliberate. “But gods, you do smell good.”

You arched a brow. “I’d say the same, but I don’t flirt with corpses.”

A pause.

Then—he laughed. A real one. Low and surprised and absolutely delighted.

You could feel it when heads turned.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“You first.”

He stepped forward. Just a fraction. But your back hit the column behind you like you’d been shoved. Not physically—just the force of him.

“Rhysand,” he said. “High Lord of this court.”

High Lord? You barely masked your flinch.

“Bold of you to assume I care.”

His eyes lit like struck amethyst. “Oh, you are delicious.”

A new voice—lower, edged with velvet: “She’s human.”

You snapped your head sideways.

The male in navy stood just beyond the edge of your peripheral vision. His mask was still on, shadows clinging to the edges like smoke. His siphons gleamed like dying stars.

You hadn’t heard him approach.

Rhysand hummed. “Yes. That explains the heartbeat.”

“You’re very calm,” the shadowed male said, head tilting slightly. “Considering where you are.”

“I don’t scare easy.”

He didn’t respond. But you felt it—the shift in the air. The way the tension between them wrapped tighter.

And then the third one stepped in.

Bigger than both. Broader. His wings curled behind him, dragging shadows. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck, and his chest was practically poured into his red silk shirt.

He let out a low whistle.

“Rhys, I didn’t know they made humans like this anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that your idea of a compliment, or are you just incredibly stupid?”

Cassian barked a laugh. “Both.”

Azriel remained still. Rhysand was watching you with rapt attention.

“So,” Rhys said slowly, “why is a curvy little mortal crashing a vampire-only masquerade in the most dangerous court on the continent?”

“I like parties.”

“No,” Azriel said. “You’re looking for something.”

You ignored him. Kept your eyes on Rhys. “And you’re looking at me like I’m on the menu.”

Cassian grinned. “She’s got fangs.”

You didn’t return it. “Touch me and I’ll bury my heel in your groin.”

“Oh, please do,” he purred.

“You’re not afraid of us,” Rhysand said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

You held your ground. “I’ve met worse monsters.”

Rhys took one final step forward. His hand lifted—slow, deliberate—fingers brushing your gloved hand where it rested on the column. His skin was cool.

Everything in your body screamed: Danger.

Your heart tripped.

And his pupils dilated.

“There it is,” he whispered.

You ripped your hand back. “Stay out of my space.”

“You’re in our court,” Azriel said.

“She doesn’t care,” Cassian said brightly. “That’s why she’s fun.”

Rhysand leaned in—so close you could see the faint shimmer of power in his eyes.

“You really don’t know what you are,” he murmured.

That made you blink. “Excuse me?”

But Azriel was already stepping between you—his wings flicking out, subtle and sharp.

“Enough. Someone’s watching.”

Cassian sighed. “Party’s over already?”

Rhysand stepped back, but not before giving you one final, long look. One that made your blood burn.

“We’ll see you again, little masquerader,” he said.

You met his gaze. “Don’t count on it.”

But even as you turned and walked away—heels clicking, breath tight in your chest—you knew.

You’d already been caught.

You made it to the far edge of the ballroom before you realized your hands were shaking.

Not visibly—your mask and expression were still perfectly in place. But under the gloves, your fingers twitched, your pulse a living drumbeat against your throat. You didn’t let it show. Didn’t stop moving.

Too many eyes were still watching.

You slipped into a shadowed corridor near the wine fountains, a little-used hallway with red velvet curtains swaying in a breeze that didn’t exist. Cool air pressed to your skin, and for the first time since arriving, you could breathe.

Almost.

Because your mouth was dry, your legs were still tense, and every part of you felt like it had been stared at, dissected, and marked.

Not physically. No one had touched you.

Not really.

But Rhysand’s voice still rang in your ears like silk on skin, “you don’t know what you are.”

And Azriel’s, “you’re looking for something.”

Gods. You should have walked away as soon as you saw them. You should have played scared. Should have kept your head down like a smart little mortal and waited for your moment.

But they’d looked at you like…

Like they knew something you didn’t.

And worse—like they wanted it.

You stopped at the far end of the corridor, pressing your back to the cool stone.

The sound of the masquerade buzzed behind you—laughter, music, glasses clinking—but it felt distant now. Muffled.

You’d survived the encounter. That’s all it was.

You were leaving soon anyway. Get what you came for, and get the hell out. You’d heard whispers that Rennar’s documents had been taken from his room and smuggled through this ball—possibly as a trade. You didn’t know who had them, but you knew one thing:

They weren’t in that ballroom anymore.

And neither should you be.

You pulled off your gloves to cool your skin, flexing your fingers. Stared down at them like they weren’t yours. Rhysand’s touch had been brief—but lingering. Like static. Like his power had left fingerprints on your soul.

“Leaving already?”

You jumped.

Cassian.

He stepped from the shadows like he’d been waiting there the whole time. Not creeping. Just… waiting. Arms folded, wings tucked tight. His red shirt had been unbuttoned slightly since your last look—enough to show the sweep of muscle and a few ink-black tattoos down the center of his chest.

“Gods,” you muttered, hand flying to your chest. “Do you all have a habit of creeping up on women in dark hallways, or is it just your party trick?”

He grinned. “Only the ones who look like they might bite back.”

You stared at him. “What do you want?”

Cassian leaned a shoulder against the wall, still watching you like you were a puzzle that might snap his fingers off. Not hungry. Not quite. But interested.

“There’s a rule in the Hewn City,” he said.

“Oh joy,” you deadpanned. “A lecture.”

Cassian’s grin only widened. “The rule is: Don’t come here unless you’re ready to be hunted.”

You tilted your head. “That supposed to scare me?”

“No,” he said. “Just reminding you that you broke the rule. You’re not just prey, sweetheart. You’re bait.”

You bristled. “Is that a threat?”

He stepped forward.

Just one step. But it was enough to bring him into your space—towering, broad-shouldered, gaze suddenly less teasing and more… something else.

Cassian looked down at you like you were made of fire and he wasn’t afraid of getting burned.

“I don’t threaten girls who can tear out throats with a smile,” he said quietly. “But I do wonder what the hell a mortal like you is really doing here.”

“I told your friends—I like parties.”

“Right. And I like formal dinners,” he said dryly, “but I don’t crash human banquets for the finger food.”

You rolled your eyes. “Charming.”

He stepped closer. “Why did you come here?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

Cassian didn’t press. He just watched.

You swallowed hard. Gods, he smelled like heat and something spiced—like leather soaked in sun and smoke. Your brain was telling your legs to move, but your body…

Wasn’t ready to leave.

“You don’t trust us,” he said.

“No shit,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t.”

He stepped back then—just a bit—and the spell broke. You exhaled sharply, realizing you’d been holding your breath.

Cassian’s eyes raked over you one last time.

Then he grinned again—wolfish, warm, warning.

“Be careful, little masquerader,” he said, backing toward the shadows. “You keep poking fangs, and you might end up bitten.”

You lifted your chin. “Maybe I bite back.”

Cassian winked. “We’re counting on it.”

And then he was gone.

No footsteps. No sound.

Just a whisper of wind and the dull, steady ache in your chest as your heart finally remembered how to beat again.

[dee-writes-angst]

Fox in the Den

FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY you’re huge, sore, leaking, and one kick away from a meltdown. Lucien’s trying his best, too gentle, too good, too Lucien, and it eventually gets to a point where you can't hold it in anymore.

CONTENT WARNINGS explicit sexual content (18+), lactation kink, pregnancy discomfort, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, overstimulation, crying, changing positions, emotional vulnerability, nipple play, light praise kink, aftercare, my soft king Lucien

AUTHORS NOTE the way I need Lucien Vanserra like no other

Lucien knocked. Which meant he knew better than to just come in.

You were curled sideways in bed like a croissant, one hand tucked under your belly, the other propped uselessly under your head. It was hot. Your back hurt. You were soaked between your thighs but not in a good way. Your nipples ached. And when you shifted even an inch, your whole spine screamed.

Lucien’s voice was gentle through the door. “Can I come in?”

You didn’t answer.

The door opened anyway. Carefully.

He took one look at you and you saw the guilt slam into him like a wall. His face crumpled, just a little. He came to the bed, crouching beside it like you were something sacred. “Hey.”

You blinked at him. Didn’t say anything.

His hand smoothed over your arm, calluses catching slightly against your skin. “You didn’t eat.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’ve barely had water today.”

“I don’t want anything, Lucien.” You winced as you tried to adjust again. “I just want this to be over.”

He hesitated, then gently, gently rested a hand on your belly. You didn’t stop him.

“I’d trade you if I could,” he said quietly. “I’d carry it. I swear I would.” Your throat closed up. That stupid burn behind your eyes was back again.

“I know,” you whispered.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then to your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. He lingered just there, noses brushing, before his lips drifted down again.

You sighed. “Lucien…”

“Mm?”

“If you start kissing me, I’m going to want to fuck, and I’m so uncomfortable I might cry halfway through.”

He smiled a little. “Then we’ll stop if you need to. Or I’ll take care of you another way.”

“You always take care of me,” you muttered. “You’re too good.”

“I’m yours. That’s the job description.”

He kissed you again, properly this time. His mouth was warm and slow, his hand cradling your face like it was fragile. Your body was a mess—too hot, too sore, too swollen—but you still wanted, still needed. Even through the discomfort.

When he pulled back, you were already panting a little.

“Okay?” he asked.

“No. But keep going.”

He helped you out of your shirt—carefully, carefully, like he’d memorized which movements made you wince—and groaned under his breath at the sight of your breasts. Leaking again. So sensitive it made your thighs twitch when the air hit them.

“Gods,” he breathed, cupping one with reverence. “They’re so heavy…”

“Don’t you start,” you warned, half-laughing, half-miserable. “They hurt.”

“I know, love. Let me help.”

He kissed one nipple gently, then ran his tongue around it, easing the pressure before sealing his lips around it and suckling. You jolted, your hands fisting in his hair. The release sent a dizzying kind of pleasure through you, like a tight wire finally unwinding.

“Fuck, Lucien…”

“Just like that,” he mumbled. “Let me taste you.”

His tongue was slow, methodical. One hand braced your belly, the other tugged your thighs apart as he kissed his way down. You were wet—gods, you were soaked. Not just from arousal, but your body’s chaotic, hormone-fueled confusion. Lucien didn’t flinch. He licked into you like it was nothing, like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And then the baby kicked.

You gasped, one hand flying to your side. “Wait, fuck—wait—”

Lucien immediately stopped, concern flooding his features. “Are you okay? What happened—?”

You were already crying. Hot tears running down your cheeks, snot gathering in your throat.

“I’m sorry, I just—I can’t, everything hurts and I was enjoying it and then they kicked me in the ribs and—and—”

He climbed up beside you, wrapping his arms around your shaking body. “Shh. Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. We don’t have to do anything, alright? Just breathe.”

But gods, you didn’t want to stop.

You curled into his chest, face wet, heart pounding. “Can we just—can we try again? I want you. I really want you, Lucien.”

He cupped your face in both hands, kissed you like he meant it, and said, “Then let’s find a way that feels good. Whatever you need.”

He ended up behind you again, spooning you as he eased two fingers between your thighs. You clung to his forearm, gasping at the stretch—full, but not too much. Just what you could take. Your hips rolled against his hand. The pressure was building again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Gonna make you feel good, I promise. Just let me take care of you.”

You were already clenching around nothing, thighs trembling as his fingers curled just right. He pressed hot kisses to your shoulder, still holding your belly steady, always aware of where you were sore or swollen.

When you came, you sobbed. Loud, full-bodied, overwhelmed. Lucien groaned like he felt it too.

“Can I—?” he asked, cock nudging against your thigh. “Just a little. Just let me inside, sweetheart.”

You nodded, still shaking.

He entered you so slowly, so carefully, holding your leg up just enough to ease the angle. His jaw was tight like he was aching to move faster, but didn’t dare. Every inch felt like too much and not enough, the ache of fullness crashing over you in waves.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered into your neck. “So full for me. So fucking perfect.”

It didn’t take long. Your body was too sensitive, too raw. You came again with a cry, sobbing his name as your walls clamped around him.

He spilled inside you with a broken groan, hips pressed flush to yours, holding your belly like it was the most sacred thing in the world. His seed was hot, thick, and you could feel it leaking down your thighs as you came down.

Lucien kissed your temple, brushing away your tears.

“Still too much?”

You sniffled. “Everything hurts. But it helped.”

He smiled, wrapping you tighter in his arms. “Then we’ll do it again tomorrow.”

BONUS

By the time you opened your eyes again, Lucien was gone from the bed, but the indent where he’d been still cradled your hip, and his scent lingered like a warm blanket—earth, spice, smoke, and the faintest breath of citrus.

Your whole body throbbed in that empty, floating way it always did after he made you come hard. But it wasn’t just the sex. You were wrung out emotionally too. Shaky and sore and… content. Tired, in a way that reached deep into your bones.

Lucien padded back into the room barefoot, shirtless, a towel slung over one shoulder. His hair was loose—still damp with sweat, sticking to his chest in coppery strands. He took one look at you and smiled.

“Still alive?”

“Barely.”

He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Good. Come on.”

“I can’t move.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll carry you.”

You snorted—until he actually reached for you, carefully looping one arm under your knees and the other around your back.

“Lucien!”

“Shh, don’t argue. You earned it.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing. The warmth of his chest against your side, the subtle shift of his muscles under your cheek—it was the most comfort you’d felt all day. You let your eyes flutter shut again as he carried you through the doorway into the adjoining bathing room.

The tub was steaming. Rose petals floated on the surface. You blinked. “Did you—?”

Lucien’s grin was sheepish. “You like them. I remembered.”

You were too tired to cry again, but the feeling was there, blooming low in your chest.

He lowered you into the water like a priceless thing, one hand still bracing your belly as you adjusted. The moment your body settled into the heat, you sighed—a long, broken little sound that made his throat bob.

“There she is,” he murmured, kneeling beside the tub. “My poor sore girl.”

You rolled your head lazily toward him, damp strands sticking to your temples. “I’m disgusting. Don’t look at me.”

“I’m never going to stop looking at you.”

“Even when I’m leaking and crying and yelling at you for breathing too loud?”

“Especially then,” he said, and kissed your hand.

He grabbed a small cloth, dipped it in the water, and began trailing it over your skin. Gentle strokes across your thighs, your belly, your swollen breasts. When you flinched, he paused.

“Still sensitive?”

“Yes, obviously.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry.” But he didn’t stop entirely—he just softened the motion even more, eyes locked on your face, reading you with every pass of the cloth.

He washed between your legs last, moving with slow, reverent care. You shivered. Not from arousal, exactly. From the intimacy. The way he touched you like you were still his whole world, even when you felt like nothing but exhaustion and pain and overstimulated nerve endings.

Lucien pressed a kiss to your knee.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to feel good. You don’t have to pretend anything.”

“I know,” you said softly. “That’s why I can fall apart with you.”

His eyes shimmered a little at that. He leaned in again, brushing his lips over your belly.

“I know this hasn’t been easy,” he whispered. “But I’m so proud of you. I love you more every day.”

“You really mean that?”

“With everything I am.”

He helped you rinse, then dried you off with a towel warm from the hearth. When you winced again, he immediately adjusted, switching the angle, kissing your shoulder.

“You want lotion on your back?”

You nodded weakly. “Only if you do it.”

He smirked. “Gladly.”

You ended up back in bed, belly supported by pillows, Lucien behind you rubbing slow circles into your back with the lavender-scented balm you liked best. Occasionally, his hands would drift down to stroke your hips, or trace the faint stretch marks blooming across your thighs. Not once did he shy away. Not once did he look at you like anything less than his mate.

“You’re going to make me horny again,” you muttered. Lucien pressed a kiss to your neck. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. For now.”

You smiled into the pillow, exhaustion finally pulling you under for real this time.

Lucien stayed awake a little longer, just to hold you.

[dee-writes-angst]

THE HIGH LORD’S ROOM

FEATURING Rhysand x Reader

SUMMARY After surviving unimaginable trauma, you’ve built a quiet, careful life in Velaris. But when Rhysand, watchful, patient, and infuriatingly charming, starts to break past your walls, you’re forced to confront feelings you thought you'd buried forever. Healing isn’t linear, but maybe… love can be safe, too.

CONTENT WARNINGS past captivity and slavery, trauma recovery, PTSD symptoms (flashbacks, hypervigilance, panic), dissociation, mentions of food neglect and insomnia, emotionally vulnerable protagonist, explicit sexual content (nipple play, oral sex, penetrative sex, praise kink, mild dominance), explicit consent and aftercare, found family, protective friends (Azriel & Cassian), implied voyeurism risk (brief scene interruption)

AUTHORS NOTE I absolutely could not hold myself back from completing the smutty bat boys set, so here is Rhys'! I'm actually really interested in further exploring the librarian reader lore, so let me know if you're interest in seeing more!

Check out Azriel’s and Cassian’s versions here! The Interrogation Room and The War Room

You were shelving the last stack of books when you felt it—that unmistakable shift in the air, like a ripple of starlight brushing across your skin.

Rhysand.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. His presence always arrived like a hush before thunder—smooth, soft, but laced with power.

“I thought I told you to stop working so late,” he said from behind you, voice all silk and shadows.

Your fingers tightened around the spine of a worn volume. “And I thought I told you that I like the quiet.”

His laugh curled through the high-arched rows of the library, deep and warm. You hated how much it affected you—how your heart tripped and your skin prickled just from the sound.

He stepped closer, unhurried. “Cassian says you’ve barely eaten today. Azriel threatened to drag you out by your ankles.”

You smiled despite yourself, gaze still focused on the shelves. “I’ll be sure to add that to the list of times he’s threatened me this month.”

Rhys didn’t respond right away. You could feel his eyes on you—studying, searching.

“Are you okay?” he asked at last, softer now.

You swallowed. That question always felt heavy, even from him. Maybe especially from him. Because somehow, Rhys saw through everything—the quiet smiles, the polite distance, the armor you'd spent years forging after your rescue.

Azriel had found you barely conscious in a slaver's den outside the Illyrian border, and Cassian had been the one to hold you upright during your first days in Velaris when you couldn’t sleep, eat, or speak without trembling. They never pushed. Never pried. They just stayed—and eventually, so did you.

Rhys, though… Rhys was different.

He didn’t just see you. He noticed things. The way your hands shook when someone got too close. The way you flinched at sudden movement, even now. The way you sometimes looked at the sky like it might fall on you again.

But he never treated you like you were fragile. Never tiptoed.

And that terrified you more than anything.

“I’m fine,” you said eventually. “Just tired.”

Rhys was quiet again. You turned toward him, and gods—he was unfair. All midnight hair, violet eyes, and impossible grace wrapped in that damned smirk.

“You shouldn’t lie to your High Lord,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. It always did.

He stepped close enough that the scent of him wrapped around you, warm spice and crisp night air, calming and intoxicating at once.

“You know,” he said, head tilting just slightly, “you blush every time I get near you. It’s adorable.”

“Rhys-”

“I’m just saying.” That grin deepened. “You make it very difficult to behave.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to scold him, maybe to tell him to leave, maybe to confess that the idea of him not behaving was the only thing you’d thought about for weeks—but the words didn’t come.

Instead, his hand lifted. He didn’t touch you, not yet. Just hovered, waiting. Always waiting for you to close the space.

“I would never hurt you,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “You know that, don’t you?”

You did.

You weren’t sure when you started trusting him—not just liking him, or admiring him from afar, but trusting him with the mess of you. Maybe it was the way he never pushed you. Maybe it was the way he always asked. Maybe it was the way he let you be small, scared, quiet, and still looked at you like you were powerful.

Maybe it was just him.

You leaned forward, just enough to let your forehead rest against his chest. His hand finally touched you—curling around the back of your neck, steady and warm.

He let out a slow breath, as though your touch had undone something in him.

“You make me want to be gentle,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

“And I didn’t know I still had that in me.”

His thumb brushed the side of your neck, slow and reverent, as if he knew exactly how fast your heart was racing beneath his hand.

“You’re sure?” he murmured, his voice low and velvet-rich, his mouth near your temple but not quite touching.

You hesitated—but only for a breath. Then you leaned into him just a little more, allowed his scent wrapped around you, spice and cedarwood and something darker, like storm clouds after the heat.

“I trust you,” you whispered, and meant it.

Those three words were small, but they unraveled something in him.

Rhys let out a long, shaky breath and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest. One large hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sinking into your hair, the other flattening over your spine. He held you like he’d waited centuries for you to offer him this closeness—this chance.

“I’ll go slow,” he said quietly, like a promise. “You lead, okay?”

You nodded, cheek still pressed against him.

Rhys pulled back enough to meet your eyes. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was a slow-burning need—years of loneliness and restraint finally breaking open.

He kissed you.

This time it wasn’t teasing or smug—it was devotional. His mouth was warm and patient, tongue coaxing, exploring—never taking, only asking. You parted for him easily, melting into the kiss as his fingers tilted your chin just right. The feeling of him was overwhelming—his scent, his magic, the soft weight of his body as he guided you backward, deeper into the shadowed stacks of the library where no one would find you.

The world slowed.

Books, stone, distant wind against the windows—it all faded as Rhys pressed you gently against a wall lined with ancient tomes. He kissed you again, slower this time, hands braced beside your head. His magic curled around your ankles like a cat, purring in delight.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard, shivering at the heat pooling between your legs. “I just want… you.”

A growl rumbled in his chest. “Then you’ll have me, darling.”

His hands slid down your sides, fingers skimming your ribs, your waist, the soft dip of your hips. He gripped the hem of your tunic and paused, giving you another silent chance to stop him.

When you didn’t, he pulled it up, slow and careful, and you lifted your arms to help. The cool air kissed your skin as your top slipped away, and Rhys inhaled sharply as his star-filled eyes drank you in.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re unreal.”

Your arms twitched, instinctively trying to cover your chest—but he caught your wrists and pressed them gently to the wall behind you.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “You’re perfect.”

He dipped his head to kiss along your collarbone, each press of his mouth slow and worshipful. He trailed lower, his tongue tracing the swell of your breast before closing around a nipple, sucking lightly, then licking over the sensitive peak until you arched into him.

“Rhys—”

“Shh, darling,” he said, switching to the other. “Let me take care of you.”

You were already trembling when he dropped to his knees.

“You’re so responsive,” he said, voice husky. “So good for me.”

His hands slid beneath your skirts, slowly drawing them up until the fabric pooled around your waist. You felt the heat of his breath against your bare thighs, his palms smoothing up the backs of your legs until he hooked a single finger into the band of your underwear.

He looked up at you again. “Still okay?”

You nodded, already dizzy with need. “Yes. Please.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh first—then again, higher this time, until his mouth pressed just beside the place you needed him most. He breathed you in with a soft growl that made your stomach flip.

“Look at this pretty little pussy,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down and off. “You’re already soaked for me.”

You whimpered and leaned back against the wall, your legs trembling as he spread your thighs apart. The sight of him—on his knees, eyes dark with hunger, shoulders bracketed between your legs—was almost too much to bear.

And then he touched you.

His tongue slid between your folds, slow and luxurious, tasting you like he was savoring the richest dessert in existence. He groaned against you, hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he licked and sucked, circling your clit with maddening patience.

You cried out, fingers flying to tangle in his hair.

He moaned again, like your sounds drove him wild. “That’s it, darling. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and he held you down, tongue flicking faster now, lips sucking until you were gasping, whimpering, falling apart in his hands.

“Rhys—gods—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he growled against your cunt. “Let me taste it. Let go.”

You shattered.

Your climax crashed through you in waves—hot, intense, shivering—and Rhys didn’t stop. He licked you through every flutter, every desperate moan, drawing out every second until your legs nearly gave out.

Only then did he rise, catching you as you sagged into him, your whole body flushed and trembling.

He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You’re divine,” he whispered. “I could worship you for hours.”

You reached between you, fingers fumbling at the laces of his pants. “Then do it. Let me feel you.”

Rhys groaned low in his chest, and with another whispered spell, you felt the echo of magic sink into your belly—gentle and warm, preparing your body for what came next.

He lined himself up and pressed in slowly, his jaw tight with restraint.

“Gods, you’re tight,” he rasped. “So warm. So fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, your head falling back against the wall as he filled you—inch by inch—until he was fully seated, his body flush against yours, every inch of him trembling.

“Look at me,” he said, voice hoarse.

You met his gaze.

And that’s when he started to move.

Each stroke was deep and unhurried, the grind of his hips against yours sending sparks up your spine. He kissed you through it, whispering praises between every thrust—how good you felt, how proud he was, how long he’d wanted this.

How safe you were with him.

And when your second climax built, it wasn’t from teasing or magic or even pleasure—it was from the way he held you, like you were precious. The way he moaned your name like a vow. The way he made you feel cherished.

Your release hit hard and sweet, your walls fluttering around him as he groaned your name and spilled into you with a final, desperate thrust.

You stayed there like that for a long time, wrapped in his arms, hearts pounding in time.

And deep in your chest… something clicked.

A glowing warmth bloomed behind your ribs, spreading through your veins like starlight.

Your eyes met his—and you both knew.

The bond had snapped into place.

The world felt like it had gone quiet.

Not silent—just still. Like the whole library, the entire House of Wind, had taken a deep breath and was holding it.

You were wrapped in Rhys’s arms, chest against his, face tucked beneath his jaw. His scent surrounded you—smoke and midnight and that subtle sweetness he always carried when he let his guard down. His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slow and steady. Anchoring.

Neither of you had spoken yet.

Because there was something else now. Something new.

That tug—that golden-threaded, star-kissed pull in your chest. It hummed just beneath your skin, like music in your bones.

You knew what it was. You knew what it meant.

And the realization hit you like a crash of cold water.

You jerked back—just slightly, but enough that Rhys’s brow furrowed.

“Darling?” he asked softly, still breathless, hands instantly gentle on your waist. “What is it?”

You tried to breathe.

Tried to speak.

But the pressure in your chest swelled too fast—like you were going to burst.

“I—” Your voice cracked. “Rhys, I think something’s wrong. I feel—too much, I feel everything, and it’s—it’s too much—”

He sat up quickly, still holding you, easing you to sit in his lap. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, voice soothing but focused. “Look at me. Just breathe.”

You tried. Gods, you tried. But your vision was already swimming, and your throat was tight, and all you could feel was him—his heartbeat, his breath, his worry. His love. Pouring into you through that tether in your chest like sunlight you weren’t ready to hold.

“I—I didn’t mean for this,” you choked out. “The bond—it's the bond, isn't it? I can feel you and it's—I didn't think—I’m not—how is this happening?”

Rhys’s hands framed your face.

“Because it's real,” he said quietly, reverently. “Because it's us.”

Your lip trembled.

“I’m not ready,” you whispered.

“Then we won’t do anything,” he said instantly. “Not until you are.”

You blinked at him, breath still shaky. “But it’s already there.”

“I know,” he murmured, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “And it’ll wait. I’ll wait.”

You stared at him—at the man who had just wrecked you so gently you barely knew where you ended and he began. The man who could take cities with his power but only looked at you like you were something fragile and miraculous.

“You’re not angry?” you asked, voice small.

He smiled, just a little, and pressed his forehead to yours. “I just made love to the woman I’ve been falling for since the moment she told Cassian to fuck off in the training ring.”

You blinked, startled. “You were there?”

“Of course I was there. He came flying into my office to tell me a terrified little librarian threatened to set his wings on fire with a candle stub.” His smile softened further. “You’ve had my attention ever since.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. And something in your chest—where the bond pulsed, steady and glowing—eased.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” you said quietly. “I’ve fought so hard to become someone again.”

Rhys kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.

“Then I’ll help you stay exactly who you are,” he said. “I don’t want to own you. I want to walk beside you.”

You leaned into him.

Not because you were ready to finish the bond. Not yet.

But because it didn’t feel so scary anymore.

Because you weren’t alone.

And for the first time in a long, long time… you didn’t want to run.

A few days later, you were shelving returned texts when a familiar flutter of shadows curled across the back of your neck—followed almost immediately by a soft kiss to your cheek.

You startled, nearly dropping the heavy tome in your hands.

“Rhys,” you hissed, glaring at him over your shoulder.

He was already grinning, perfectly unrepentant. “Sorry, darling. Couldn’t resist.”

You turned fully, swatting his arm with the corner of your book. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m the High Lord,” he said, far too smug for your liking. “I’m allowed anywhere. Especially if I’m here to check on my favorite librarian.”

You tried not to smile. Really, you did. But the sparkle in his eyes, the softness in the corners of his grin… it made something flutter low in your belly.

“Favorite, hmm?” you asked, trying to keep your voice cool.

“Well, you are the only one who’s ever let me make out with her in the back room.”

Your face flamed instantly. “Rhys!”

He just chuckled, that rich, starry sound echoing off the ancient stone and high, book-lined walls. You turned back to your cart, muttering under your breath, but your cheeks were still on fire and he knew it.

Of course, he knew it.

“You’re glowing,” he said, voice low as he stepped behind you again—closer this time. “Blushing just for me. It’s very distracting.”

You were about to snap back with something vaguely threatening—maybe involving throwing him off the balcony—when the air shifted.

You felt it before you heard them: two male figures approaching from the main archway, steps familiar, the magic they carried unmistakable.

Azriel. Cassian.

Shit.

You stepped back from Rhys instantly, your hands smoothing your tunic, your pulse spiking hard enough that Rhys’s eyes flicked to yours.

“Hey,” he said softly, steadying you with a hand on your arm. “It’s okay. Nothing to hide.”

You gave him a tight look. “Maybe you don’t think so.”

Before he could respond, the footsteps rounded the nearest corner—and there they were.

Cassian and Azriel both halted mid-step.

They looked between you and Rhys, eyes scanning the too-small space between your bodies, the slight flush in your cheeks, the way Rhys’s hand lingered on your wrist.

Azriel’s brows lowered in that quiet, assessing way that always made you feel like he was seeing far more than you wanted him to.

Cassian’s gaze shot to your face, then Rhys’s, then back again.

No one spoke for three full seconds.

Then: “Rhys,” Cassian said slowly, smile polite—but tight.

“Cass,” Rhys drawled, completely relaxed. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’re awfully far from your office.”

“I needed a break,” Rhys replied easily. “And a certain someone,” he added with a glance your way, “is very good at helping me relax.”

You made a strangled sound that might’ve been a cough.

Cassian blinked. “What.”

“Oh my gods,” you whispered under your breath, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m joking,” Rhys said quickly—though the smirk he aimed at his brothers said otherwise. “Mostly.”

Azriel tilted his head. “How long?”

You froze.

Rhys didn’t.

“A few days,” he said, quiet now. “But it’s been coming for a while.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened—not angry, but visibly processing. He glanced at you again, gaze softer now. “Are you okay?”

That was what undid you.

Not the shock on their faces, not Rhys’s amused teasing, not even the underlying panic still fluttering in your chest.

It was that question.

That they still asked it.

You nodded slowly. “I am. I really am.”

Azriel stepped forward first. His eyes, always sharp, lingered on yours. “You don’t owe anyone anything, you know.”

“I know.”

“And if this changes anything—if you feel it changing anything—you can tell us.”

You smiled, just barely. “I think it’s changing everything. But not in a bad way.”

Cassian was still watching Rhys like he was trying to decide if he should shake his hand or punch him. Possibly both.

Finally, he let out a long breath, muttered, “Shit,” and crossed the space to pull you into a hug so fierce it lifted you off your feet.

“You better treat her like she’s sacred,” he told Rhys over your shoulder.

“I already do,” Rhys said simply.

Azriel was quieter, but when you stepped toward him, he met you halfway. His arms came around you with familiar care, one hand on the back of your head like he always did when you were overwhelmed. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his cheek to your temple and held you there.

You felt tears sting the backs of your eyes. Not from sadness. Just… from being seen. Still held. Still safe.

Rhys’s hand found yours as you stepped back, lacing your fingers gently. He didn’t pull, didn’t take. He just stood there, tethered beside you.

Azriel glanced between the two of you once more, then said, with the barest flicker of a smile, “We’re going to talk later.”

“Looking forward to it,” Rhys said, somehow managing not to sound smug.

Cassian groaned. “This is going to be worse than that time you stole my boots and blamed it on Mor, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely worse,” Rhys agreed.

You just groaned into your hands again.

It was late. Late enough that the sun had long dipped below the cliffs, but you were still tucked into your favorite corner of the library, curled up on a chaise with a blanket draped over your legs and a cup of tea cooling in your hands.

You weren’t reading. Not really.

Your mind was too full—spinning with soft kisses, Rhys’s voice in your ear, the weight of his hand on your wrist when Cassian and Azriel had walked in.

And the bond—still quietly glowing beneath your skin, like a candle that never fully went out.

You heard the door before you saw him. The gentle click of it closing behind him, then the shift of shadows as he approached—quiet, but not hiding.

You didn’t look up right away.

“Az.”

He stopped beside the chaise. “You left before dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

A pause.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

You looked at him then.

Azriel’s expression was unreadable to anyone else—but you knew better. You’d studied those careful lines, those layered silences. You’d been wrapped in his shadows when you couldn’t stand sunlight. He’d held your shaking hands after nightmares, said nothing when you cried on the floor, and never once asked you to be stronger than you were.

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

Az’s brows drew together, and he crouched beside you, one knee on the carpet.

“I don’t.”

You searched his face—his dark, steady eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the way he tilted his head slightly when something mattered.

“You looked… surprised.”

“I was,” he admitted. “Not because I don’t trust him. But because you’ve been through so much. And I know how long it took you to even let me sit this close.”

He was right. The first time Azriel touched you—truly touched you—it was weeks after your arrival in Velaris. You’d had a panic attack in the library, shaking and gasping behind a stack of encyclopedias. He hadn’t said a word. Just knelt beside you and offered his hand. Nothing more.

You’d gripped it like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you whispered. “The bond. The… way I feel around him. But he’s been so patient, Az. He never pushes. He just… waits.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes scanning your face, like he was reading each tremble and pause in your voice.

“Does he make you feel safe?”

You nodded.

“Wanted?”

You flushed, but nodded again. “More than I know what to do with.”

A flicker of something moved through his expression—maybe grief, maybe relief, maybe both. Then he reached forward, his gloved fingers brushing lightly against your wrist.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what’s good,” he said softly. “You deserve good. You always did.”

Your breath caught.

And before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Az froze for half a second—then sank into the hug, arms strong around you, chin resting lightly atop your head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Even if he’s in your life now. You don’t lose me.”

You buried your face against his chest, overwhelmed by the simplicity of it.

“You promise?”

Azriel’s voice rumbled low. “On my shadows.”

You pulled back enough to look at him—eyes rimmed with tears, but smiling now.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, and rose, smoothing your blanket over your legs like you hadn’t just shaken his heart open with those few words.

At the door, he paused. “You know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “he’s probably pacing the hallway waiting for me to give him permission to see you.”

You groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it at him. He caught it with one hand, smirking faintly.

“Tell him if he makes you cry, I’ll shove a siphon somewhere very anatomically inconvenient.”

And with that, he vanished into shadow.

A few seconds later, a knock at the door.

“Azriel?” came Rhys’s muffled, hopeful voice. “Is it safe?”

You sighed. Loudly, but your heart was already fluttering again. “Yes.”

The door cracked open a sliver, then fully—revealing Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, ruler of Velaris, and your current biggest problem. He poked his head in with an exaggerated wince, as if he expected a second pillow to come flying at him.

His grin deepened when you didn’t.

“Still in one piece,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “That’s a good sign.”

You raised a brow. “Is it?”

“Considering Azriel most likely looked like he was mentally composing my obituary on his way out? Yes.”

You tried not to smile. You really did.

But something about him—his voice, his ease, that stupid smirk—it tugged at the corners of your mouth until you were shaking your head.

Rhys’s eyes softened when he saw it. He crossed the room in two long strides and sat beside you on the chaise, one arm stretched behind you, not touching—just there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You hesitated. “Better. Azriel’s just… he’s always been there.”

“I know.”

You peeked at him. “What did they say to you?”

Rhys sighed dramatically and tilted his head back against the cushion. “Azriel spent a full minute staring at me without blinking. I think he was debating whether to gut me or drag me into a shadow dimension for questioning.”

You laughed, muffled behind your hands.

“Cassian,” Rhys went on, “paced. A lot. Then he asked me what my intentions were like this was a chaperoned courtship in the Autumn Court. Then he said if I broke your heart he’d snap my wings and feed them to Amren.”

Your eyes widened. “He did not.”

“Oh, he did,” Rhys said, completely deadpan. “Azriel even nodded in agreement. Which is frankly terrifying, because when he agrees with Cassian, it’s always about murder.”

You giggled into your hands, face burning. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Rhys turned toward you now, his hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They love you. Fiercely. And I’d be worried if they weren’t protective.”

You looked at him—really looked.

He wasn’t teasing anymore. Not fully.

And just like that, your pulse stuttered again.

“You’re still okay with this?” you asked softly. “With waiting?”

Rhys cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye. “There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t wait for if it meant you were ready.”

Gods.

You tried to look away, but he leaned in just enough that your noses brushed.

“And besides,” he added, voice low and wicked, “I’m very good at entertaining myself in the meantime.”

Your breath hitched. “Rhys—”

“Really, darling, you should’ve seen Cassian’s face when I told him how gorgeous you sound when you come.”

You choked. “Rhysand!”

“Worth it,” he murmured, clearly delighted, even as you buried your face in your hands and made a noise halfway between a squeak and a groan.

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, which only made him laugh.

And then, quieter, he said, “You really are glowing, you know.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Is that your subtle way of calling me flushed and panicked?”

“No,” he said, softer now. “It’s my not-so-subtle way of saying you look happy.”

You blinked.

And the truth was… you were.

You still didn’t know exactly what this was becoming. Or where it would go. But right now, curled beside him in the quiet hush of the library, after Azriel’s quiet approval and Cassian’s half-threatened one, it didn’t feel scary anymore.

It just felt right.

You leaned your head on Rhys’s shoulder, and he immediately tucked his arm around you, pulling you closer.

After a long moment, you said, “So what did you say to them?”

Rhys smirked, gaze fixed lazily on the far wall. “I told them I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“And?”

“And that I’m completely, irreversibly, stupidly in love with you.”

Your heart skipped.

“…Oh.”

Rhys turned toward you then, his violet eyes bright and open and sure. “Just thought I’d get that out of the way.”

You stared at him, warmth blooming behind your ribs like starlight, “I think I might be stupid about you, too.”

His grin was slow and devastating. “See? I knew I was your favorite.”

You groaned again—but this time, you were laughing.

And when he kissed you, slow and smiling, thumb brushing your cheek, you didn’t feel nervous or unsure or afraid.

You felt home.

[dee-writes-angst]

HOLY. CRAP….interrogation room did something to me you REALLY DID THAT! Like I ate it UP THEN REREAD IT THREE TIMES LMAO🥵🥵 could you pleaseeeeeeeeeeeee write a cassian x fem reader enemies to lovers smutty angsty feral yummy masterpiece. Hear me out our reader is a badass curvy strong stunning GENERAL from another court and they don't get along (but secretly like one another) and end up having to work together on something…cass knows they are mates but ignores reader cause he wont admit it to himself he's mated to someone who hates him or something yada yada one thing leads to another…some forced proximity occurs BAM FERAL FERAL DIRTY SMUT LIKE GIVE ME YOUR WORST QUEEN lol😝🔥🙌🏻 Your AMAZING and imma devour this 🫶🏻❤️ P.S. totally might request some more delicious fics in the near future! Cause you literally SLAYYYYY!

THANKS 🤩❤️

THE WAR ROOM

FEATURING Cassian x Reader

SUMMARY You were supposed to win a war, not fall for the cocky, battle-scarred general beside you. But Cassian fights like he loves—with teeth, fire, and no interest in letting go. Politics be damned—you just might stay.

CONTENT WARNINGS combat scenes, blood mention, mild injury, political tension, inter-court power dynamics, aggressive romantic/sexual tension, explicit sexual content (including rough sex, consensual power exchange, light biting), possessive language and behavior (mutual and romanticized), verbal conflict, angst, abandonment themes, fear of vulnerability/intimacy, depictions of emotional repression, reference to societal and gendered expectations, explicit language, mating bond themes (magical and emotional), references to court hierarchy and trauma-informed decision-making

AUTHORS NOTE WOWIE I LOVED THIS IDEA!!! I actually had a lot of fun writing this, I hope you enjoy it enough to reread it FIVE times 😉

Check out Azriel’s and Rhysand’s versions here! The Interrogation Room and The High Lord’s Room

Cassian hadn’t even finished his drink before the room shifted. Not literally—though it may as well have, judging by the way Rhysand straightened in his seat and Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter at his back.

You walked in like you owned the place—like Velaris was just another soft-bellied city full of flinching men and breakable furniture. Your posture was easy, loose even, but your eyes held the cold glitter of a blade just pulled from the forge. You were in full leathers, polished and layered with a red-stitched Autumn crest over your heart. Your hair was twisted back in a braid that looked like it had been done by a soldier, not a servant. You didn’t nod. Didn’t bow. Just looked straight at Cassian and let your mouth curl.

And flanking you like a smug fox came Eris.

“Well,” Eris drawled, spinning a gold ring on his finger as he sauntered forward. “I see the Night Court’s finest still drinks like a village brute. Hello, Cassian.”

“Hello, Eris,” Cassian muttered, gaze unmoving from you. “Nice to see you didn’t send someone competent in your place.”

“Oh, I did,” Eris said smoothly, gesturing toward you with something between condescension and pride. “General of the Third Legion. Or had you not heard? Autumn’s been doing quite a bit of cleaning up lately.”

Cassian knew. Everyone with a functioning pair of wings knew. You’d gained a reputation for your brutality in the border skirmishes—strategic and swift, but merciless. Your army didn’t just win. They eradicated.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” you said dryly, voice rich like aged whiskey. “Though I’m sure you’ve told yourself all kinds of things about me.”

Cassian smiled tightly. “Only the ones that sound fun.”

Rhys cleared his throat with the tired air of a male already regretting this. “Now that we’re all here…”

He motioned to the large map table in the center of the room, lined with carved pieces representing units, routes, and encampments. A blue-flagged territory near the mountain border glowed faintly—Illyrian territory. South of it, an orange-bronze marker blinked: Autumn.

“We’ve confirmed reports of multiple rogue warbands,” Rhys said, voice clipped. “Former Illyrian soldiers who’ve abandoned their ranks and taken up mercenary work—raiding villages on both sides of the border. They’re targeting supply lines and using the confusion to incite rebellion. It's escalating faster than expected.”

“They’re not only ex-Illyrians,” Azriel added, stepping from the shadows. “Some are being funded. Trained. Their weapons are not cheap.”

Eris made a low sound of distaste. “So your sloppy discipline problem has become our border problem. Shocking.”

Rhys ignored him. “Given that these attacks affect both our courts, we’ve agreed to form a joint response team. Two high-ranking officers—one from each court—will investigate the source of these attacks, identify the leaders, and shut them down before we’re dragged into a larger conflict.”

“And I’m to play babysitter to that?” you asked, arching a brow at Cassian with open disdain.

“You’re not babysitting anyone,” Rhys said. “You’re working with him. Cassian is the Commander of our armies, and I expect mutual professionalism.”

Cassian barked a dry laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t cry if she glares at me.”

“I might,” Azriel muttered.

Rhys didn’t smile. “This is serious. We’ve seen what happens when tensions between courts spiral out of control. You both have the experience and authority to end this quickly. So you’ll go together. You’ll cooperate. And you’ll finish it.”

Silence fell.

You studied the map, then turned your gaze to Eris. “You’re fine with this?”

Eris gave a shrug. “Think of it as a… diplomatic opportunity.”

“I’m not a diplomat,” you said coldly.

“You’re a general,” Eris replied, smile twitching. “You’ll do what needs to be done. And I’m trusting you to represent Autumn well.”

Cassian didn’t miss the subtle exchange of power—Eris wasn’t just handing you off. He was testing you, calculating how far you could go in Night Court territory without burning the bridge they were just barely keeping stable.

You turned back to Rhys. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Rhys said. “You’ll fly south and begin with the villages hit along the mountain edge.”

Cassian watched your jaw tick. “Fine.”

“Any questions?” Rhys asked.

Cassian lifted a hand. “Yeah. Are we staying in the same tent or do I get to pitch mine somewhere far, far away from the sound of her voice?”

You smirked at him. “Don’t worry, Cassian. If you can’t handle sleeping near me, I’m sure there’s a cave somewhere you can crawl into.”

The wind cut sharp along the mountain pass as the two generals trudged side by side—though “side by side” was generous. Cassian walked just ahead, his wings twitching with restrained annoyance, while you kept to his left, boots crunching over snow-dusted stone, gaze cold and hard beneath your crimson hood.

You hadn't spoken much since leaving the war camp near the border. Not beyond clipped logistical updates and barely civil insults. You didn’t need to—each of you understood the mission. Investigate the rising tensions along the Autumn-Winter edge, determine if the scattered unrest among rebel Illyrians and rogue Autumn soldiers posed a unified threat, and eliminate the problem before it caught fire.

What neither of you had expected was the weather to turn so quickly. And Cassian, always the optimist, hadn’t thought to prepare for a damn blizzard.

“Nice planning,” you muttered under your breath, hugging your fur-lined cloak tighter around you. “Didn’t think the general of the Night Court would be undone by a little ice.”

Cassian threw you a look over his shoulder. “I figured a flame-wielding general from the Autumn Court wouldn’t be whining about the cold.”

“Flames don’t fix your lack of foresight.”

He bit back a growl and kept walking.

By the time you stumbled upon the old outpost—half-buried in snow and abandoned for decades—the sun had already dipped behind the peaks. The wood creaked as Cassian forced the door open, stepping aside to let you in first. You didn’t thank him. Of course you didn’t.

The inside was just barely livable. One room. A stone hearth, cracked and dusty. A table, two chairs, a narrow bed that sagged in the middle, and not nearly enough space for two warriors bred for war and mistrust.

You eyed the room, then him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, believe me,” he said, tossing his gear into a corner, “I’m fantasizing about being literally anywhere else.”

“Good,” you snapped, and peeled your gloves off, revealing calloused, ink-lined fingers—the map of battle etched on skin.

Cassian watched you for a beat too long. You were always like this—sharp edges, barbed wit, power coiled under skin like a whip waiting to snap. But under the frost, under the armor… there was fire. And he felt it every time you fought. Every time you stood too close. Every time your scent hit him like a war drum in his chest.

He hated it.

He hated that he knew what it meant. He hated that he knew you didn’t.

You knelt by the hearth and lit a flame with a flick of your fingers, feeding it slowly until warmth began to creep through the stone walls. Cassian dragged a chair toward the fire and dropped into it, wings aching from the wind and cold.

You took the other chair. Silence stretched long between you, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the storm screaming outside.

Cassian leaned back, studying you from the corner of his eye.

“So,” he said, voice low. “You gonna tell me why you hate me, or should I just keep guessing?”

You didn’t look at him. “I don’t hate you.”

He arched a brow. “You’ve been acting like I kicked your favorite pet since day one.”

“That’s just how I am.”

“No,” he said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not like this with Eris. You’re not like this with Rhys. Just me.”

You finally looked at him, and gods, your eyes were wildfire—dangerous and untamable. “That’s because they don’t get under my skin.”

He froze. So did you. The fire popped.

A beat passed. Then another.

You stood abruptly, pacing to the window, arms crossed tight. “You’re reckless. Arrogant. You act like you know what’s best for everyone, and you don’t even see how much damage you do.”

“And you think I don’t carry every ounce of it?”

“Maybe you do,” you said over your shoulder. “But you cover it with jokes and brute force. That doesn’t impress me.”

“I’m not trying to impress you.”

You turned back. “Good. Because it wouldn’t work.”

Another silence fell, hotter this time. He rose, slowly. You were barely three feet apart now.

“You’re lying,” he said.

You swallowed. “Don’t start.”

“You feel it,” he said, voice hoarse. “Don’t you?”

Your jaw clenched.

“I wish I didn’t,” he whispered.

And there it was—that heavy, humming pause between you, like the air knew something you didn’t want to admit.

Your voice dropped. “Then don’t.”

Cassian stepped closer. “I’ve tried.”

So had you. Gods knew you had. But this? This wasn’t trying anymore. This was surrender.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Cassian’s breath was shallow, ragged at the edges. The firelight danced across your armor, glinting off the red stitching like it was soaked in blood.

“You think I don’t fight it?” you said, voice low. “You think I haven’t tried to kill it every time I look at you?”

His throat bobbed with the effort not to reach for you.

“You make me insane,” you breathed. “I hate how loud you are. How cocky. How you throw yourself into danger like it’s a sport.”

Cassian’s wings flared behind him, muscles coiled like a bowstring. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to tear me apart.”

You blinked. Once. Then twice. Your expression twisted—equal parts rage and need—and when you moved, it was fast.

Cassian caught you around the waist as you slammed him against the wall, your mouths crashing together in a kiss that wasn’t soft or slow or anything close to sane. It was war—teeth and tongue, armor scraping, a growl vibrating from deep in his chest as you yanked at the buckle of his chest strap like you’d been waiting years to do it.

His hands fisted in your leathers, pulling you flush against him. Your curves pressed hard into his body, and he felt it—that snap deep in his bones, in his soul, the one he’d been ignoring for far too long.

Mine.

You bit his lip.

“Fuck,” he snarled, shoving his knee between your legs, forcing you back just enough to rip the outer layers of your armor open. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“Good,” you gasped, nails dragging down his chest. “Now you know how it feels.”

He spun you, slamming you into the wall, and kissed you again—harder, deeper, like he could bury the bond with his mouth. But it only snapped tighter, louder with every second you moaned against him.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he growled against your throat.

You didn’t answer.

“Say it,” he demanded, dragging his tongue along the curve of your jaw. “Say it and I’ll stop.”

Still, silence.

“Gods,” you whispered. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, voice wrecked.

And then you grabbed his hand and shoved it between your thighs.

Cassian’s world went white, narrowed to the heat pulsing beneath your leathers, to the slick warmth coating his fingers as he pressed them against you through your soaked underthings. You were dripping for him—soaked through from rage, from tension, from want so sharp it had fangs.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re soaked and we haven’t even started.”

Your only answer was a breathy, defiant sound—half snarl, half moan—as you ground your hips against his hand.

He didn’t give you a warning. Didn’t bother with teasing. He shoved past the soaked fabric and sank two thick fingers inside you, groaning at the way you clenched around him.

Your head hit the wall with a dull thud. “Shit—Cassian—”

“Oh, now you remember my name,” he growled, pumping his fingers hard, deep. “You’re gonna be screaming it soon, so you might as well get used to it.”

You arched into him, panting, nails scraping across his armored shoulders as you tried to stay upright. But he didn’t let you—he pinned you to the wall with his body, rutting his hand into you like he could carve himself into your heat. His thumb found your clit and circled, hard and merciless, until you choked on a gasp.

“You gonna admit it now?” he breathed against your throat. “That you want me? That this bond is real?”

“Go to hell,” you gasped.

He slammed you down on his fingers in reply, curling them until your knees buckled.

“Already there, sweetheart.”

He tore your pants down the moment you started to unravel, your cries high and raw against his shoulder. You came on his hand with a sharp, shaking jolt—hips jerking, muscles locking up—biting down on his neck hard enough to leave teeth marks.

Cassian groaned like a dying man.

Then he spun you around.

Bent you over the table.

And ripped your shirt open from the back like it offended him.

“No armor now,” he muttered, pushing your braid aside, mouth dragging down your spine. “Nothing between us.”

He dropped to his knees behind you, spreading your thighs with calloused hands and burying his face in your soaked, aching cunt like he was starved for it. His tongue was brutal—licking, sucking, fucking into you with a rhythm that had your fists slamming the table, your voice cracking on curses you hadn’t meant to say.

“Cassian—fuck—gods, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he growled, voice wrecked between licks. “Say my name.”

You did. Again and again. Until you came a second time, shaking so hard your legs gave out, collapsing over the table like he’d wrung the fight from your body.

But not your mouth.

“You’re still an arrogant prick,” you muttered hoarsely.

Cassian laughed. Then he stood and dropped his own leathers in one swift motion, cock already hard and leaking, thick and flushed and angry.

“Yeah?” he rasped, dragging the head through your slick folds. “You gonna take this arrogant prick, General?”

You looked over your shoulder—glared at him, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. “Try me.”

He sheathed himself in you in one brutal thrust.

You both groaned—deep and guttural—as your body clenched around him like a vice. He didn’t give you a moment. Just gripped your hips and fucked, hard and fast and furious, his chest pressed to your back, teeth dragging up your neck like he was seconds from claiming you.

You pushed back against him just as desperately, meeting every thrust like a challenge, like this was still a battle you could win. But he felt the bond between you like a chain now—hot and heavy and howling, pulling tighter with every movement, every cry.

“Say it,” he gasped. “Say you feel it.”

“I won’t.”

He fucked you harder.

“You’re mine,” he snarled. “You’ve always been mine.”

“Then take me,” you hissed. “If you want me so bad—take me.”

He did.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you upright, keeping himself buried deep as he pounded into you from behind. One hand splayed over your stomach, the other braced against your throat, forcing your head back as he drove up into you again and again, harder, deeper.

Your moans were filthy. Obscene. The slap of skin echoed between the stone walls. The bond sang like a live wire, just on the edge of snapping—

Until you came again, screaming.

And this time, the bond howled back.

Cassian lost it.

He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to bruise but not break skin, and spilled into you with a raw, shuddering groan, grinding as deep as he could, like he could brand you from the inside out.

You collapsed together—sweaty, panting, ruined.

And still, even after all that, you said:

“You’re still insufferable.”

Cassian let out a wrecked, hoarse laugh against your back.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But you’re mine now.”

They made it back in one piece.

Mostly.

The rogue warbands were dealt with, the supply routes secured. A victory, technically. But it didn’t feel like one—not to Cassian, anyway. Not with you standing by the open balcony, already dressed in your travel leathers, crimson cloak fluttering like a flag of retreat.

“You’re just leaving?”

You didn’t look at him. “My job here’s done.”

“So that’s it?”

Silence.

Cassian stalked across the room, jaw tight, wings half-flared. “You really think you can fuck me like that, fight beside me, feel what we both felt—and then just disappear back to Eris like none of it mattered?”

“I don’t belong here,” you said flatly.

He laughed, but there was no humor in it—just something raw. “You belong with me.”

Your mouth twisted. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” he snarled. “Because it’s true?”

You finally turned, eyes blazing. “Because if I let myself believe it, I won’t leave. And I have to leave, Cassian. You think I can just stay here—like I’m not a general from a rival court? Like my presence wouldn’t be a threat the second politics shift?”

“You think I give a shit about politics?”

“You should. Because I do. Because if I stay, I’m not just your mate—I’m a liability. For you. For Rhys. For everyone.”

“Fuck that,” he said, crossing the distance in a blink. “You’re not a liability. You’re the only one who didn’t flinch when things got ugly. You’re the only one who’s ever stood toe-to-toe with me and made me feel something real.”

You shook your head, jaw trembling. “You don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life building this—earning power, respect. I walk into a room and males move. I command. And with you—” You broke off, eyes glittering. “You make me feel like I’m going to burn from the inside out.”

“Then let it burn,” he said, stepping closer, voice hoarse. “Let it all burn.”

You backed away. “Don’t ask me to choose.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m asking you to stop running.”

“I’m not running.”

“You are,” he snapped. “Because you felt the bond snap into place that night. I know you did. And you’re too fucking scared to admit it.”

“I’m not scared,” you growled.

“Then stay.”

You stared at him, breathing hard.

“I’ve lived my whole life thinking I’d never have this,” he said, softer now. “That I’d fight and bleed and die alone. But then there you were—fucking fire and fury and everything I never let myself want. And I can’t pretend it doesn’t gut me to watch you walk away like none of it mattered.”

You swallowed. “It mattered.”

“Then why leave?”

A long silence.

You looked away, toward the mountains in the distance, toward home. Your voice came quiet.

“Because if I stay, I won’t be a general anymore. I’ll just be yours. And I don’t know who I am without that armor.”

Cassian stepped in close, so close you had to tilt your chin to meet his eyes.

“Then take it off,” he whispered. “Just for a minute. Let me see you.”

Your lip trembled.

You could have shoved him away.

Instead, you whispered, “I hate you.”

And Cassian smiled, soft and wrecked. “I know.”

Then you kissed him like you were about to break.

And maybe you were.

But you pulled away first. Breathless. Shaking. Still you.

“I want you,” you said, voice hoarse. “I want this. But I am not some prize you won on the battlefield, Cassian. I am not going to be your mate and fade into the background of your war room. I bled for my command. I earned it. And I’m not giving it up for a bond—no matter how loud it screams.”

His brow furrowed. “You think I want that? You think I’d ask you to choose between me and your command?”

“You wouldn’t ask,” you said. “But it would happen. Slowly. Quietly. One compromise after another until I look in the mirror and I don’t see the female who fought her way out of Autumn. I’d see someone who bent for love. And I won’t be bent.”

Cassian stepped back—not in anger, but in understanding. Respect. His wings dropped. So did his guard.

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Don’t bend. Don’t follow. Don’t change a single godsdamned thing.”

Your eyes snapped up.

He met them, steady and unflinching. “I want the general. I want the woman who told Rhys to his face that she doesn’t take orders from anyone. I want the female who looked me in the eye and challenged me. You think I want a mate who bows?”

A beat passed.

“I want a partner,” he said. “I want you.”

Something broke open behind your ribs—sharp and terrifying and real.

You crossed the room in three strides and kissed him again, fierce and unapologetic. You pushed him back into the nearest wall and said into his mouth, “Then remember that. Every time you look at me.”

He kissed you like a vow. “Every time.”

And you stayed.

Not because the bond demanded it.

But because you chose to.

BONUS!

Rhys was already smirking when you walked into the war room.

Cassian’s hand brushed against yours—barely a touch, a whisper of heat as subtle as the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You didn’t reach for him. He didn’t reach for you. But the energy between you sang like a string drawn tight.

Rhys, lounging in his chair like he owned the realm and then some, steepled his fingers and said, far too mildly, “So. You’re not dead.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Disappointed?”

“I wouldn’t say disappointed.” Rhys tilted his head. “Surprised, maybe. Last I heard, you two were halfway to throttling each other on a snow-covered cliff.”

“Progress,” you said coolly.

“Mm.” Rhys’s violet eyes slid to you. “And now you’re… here.”

Cassian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. “She’s staying.”

Rhys blinked. Then his gaze darted between you and Cassian with growing amusement. “Staying?”

You met his look without flinching. “Temporarily.”

Cassian coughed. “Indefinitely.”

You elbowed him. Lightly. Not that it made much impact on the walking mountain.

Rhys grinned, all teeth and wicked delight. “Well. This is going to be fun.”

“I didn’t come here for fun,” you said.

“No,” Rhys said, rising from his chair and circling the table. “You came here to tell the High Lord of the Night Court that one of the Autumn Court’s most volatile assets has decided to take up residence in his palace. Just after a cross-court skirmish that nearly turned into a diplomatic nightmare.”

Your arms crossed. “Are you objecting?”

Rhys smiled, too pleased. “Gods, no. I’m thrilled. Eris, on the other hand…”

Right on cue, the door swung open, and Eris sauntered in with the smug displeasure of a male who'd had just enough warning to be irritated, but not enough to prepare a speech.

“You’re joking,” he said, not even looking at Cassian. Just you.

“I’m not.”

“You’re staying?”

You nodded once. “Yes.”

“And this is because…?” His gaze flicked to Cassian.

Cassian smiled brightly. “Because I’m irresistible.”

“Because I chose to,” you said over him.

Eris looked at you for a long moment, then at Cassian, then let out a sharp, unamused breath. “Perfect. Just what I needed—another complication with wings.”

Cassian’s wings twitched. “Want me to write it out for you? Draw a little diagram?”

“I want you to shut up,” Eris snapped.

“I want a drink,” you muttered.

Rhys laughed. “There’s wine in the cellar. Go before Azriel shows up and demands a report with footnotes.”

Cassian straightened, already heading for the door. “Come on, General. Let’s toast to terrifying everyone we work with.”

You didn’t look back. But you felt their eyes on your back as you left—Rhys’s quiet satisfaction, Eris’s reluctant acceptance, the ripple you’d just sent through the world with one choice.

And Cassian at your side, smug and steady and real.

Just before you turned the corner, you heard Eris mutter, “You owe me fifty gold marks.”

Rhys replied, far too gleeful, “Told you she’d pick him.”

Cassian’s grin was pure sin. “You bet on us?”

You rolled your eyes. “Idiots.”

But you didn’t stop smiling.