midnights like this.

you drew up some good faith treaties I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone you said I have to trust more freely but diesel is desire, you were playing with fire private mumu penned by abby

[faeteds]

kasim başaran​:

      Over the years of trying to withstand the inevitable pull Dyanna had on him, Kasim had grown quite good at not being fazed by anything she did or said. Or rather: how to pretend like it didn’t. The emotions still bubbled underneath the surface, but his expression stayed blank, stoic, stern. As much as he did not want to see her hurt, or worse, dead, sometimes his mouth had a mind of its own, saying words he should not have turned to. It was bad taste, to speak of her in her husband’s grave, and he knew it. But it was hard to ever stay completely level-headed with her. She pushed and pulled at him in an attempt to get him to give in to her, and his defenses were often worn incredibly thin. A sigh escaped his lips, and he turned his head to look towards the people scrambling past them, not noticing how little Dyanna cared for their panic. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that.” He could admit as much, even if it gave her more leverage than he wanted. “I know better than most what it feels like to bury the person you love.” And yet there was a voice in his head, whispering how he had not loved his wife the way he felt for Dyanna. It was different, when fate came into play. And that was the reason why guilt had eaten him up, had ripped his heart into tiny pieces. For how dare he, to find someone he loved so much more? He owed it to his wife and children not to give in to it. “Still, I think some sense of self-preservation would do you good when there is a king torn apart outside.”

To hear him admit wrong does not give her the rightful satisfaction that it should. At another time, Dyanna would grab hold of the concession and tug with a fierceness, sinking her claws into the vulnerability to leave an impression in her wake; anything to lay claim, to say I have been here, you will remember me. It was so often how their encounters went, her forcefully wrenching from Kasim the mark on his soul that he would not willingly give, or her worst attempts at trying to. But today the temptation falls flat, there is no gratification in his begrudging attempt at care; not when the wound is still fresh, burrowed into her chest. “You do not know anything about my love to speak of it.” She dismisses his apology without forgiveness, Dyanna has never been one to let go of anything easily in her life and he has done too much to collect her ire. It’s simply a mark tallied on a scroll for later, as instead the brunette abruptly stands from her seat, smoothing out the silky material of her dress. “If we must leave, I intend to take a walk first along the grounds.” It had been her plan before news of the king’s murder had spread, and she sees no reason why to alter course now regardless of events. “If you are so insistent that I am in prevalent danger, then perhaps you’ll accompany me.” The smirk she offers is taunting, a challenge to pair with her words. She winnows out quickly, before he can move to stop her — because for all their back and forth she knows him, too — taking her out to the cold snow and harshness of winter air, just at the edge of the castle grounds. It’s there, in the quiet of winter, that she allows the façade to drop for one singular moment, drawing in a deep breath as her eyes squeeze shut.

[miraydanerarchived]

MELISA ASLI PAMUK  ERKEĞE GÜVEN OLMAZ (EGO) | 1. BÖLÜM

[faeteds]

astraea cavalcante​:

The Winter Solstice seemed to be in full swing, with faerie wine flowing, and human and fae alike dancing beneath the starlight that flitted through the crystalline ceiling. There was no wonder tonight was one of her favourite nights of the year, for as brutal as the Winter Court was it was utterly breathtaking in all of its cold beauty. Something Astraea couldn’t help but to stop to marvel at, lost in the way the snow glittered just beyond the wall of ice that had been built for the occasion. It wasn’t until that voice, authoritative in its greeting, that she realized someone had approached. Iskra would have had her head had this been some kind of test, had she been anywhere else, but it was a celebration, and as such Astraea let the occasion and the joy it brought materialize with the smile that graced her lips when she made to face… the man. Utterly mortal, yet the breath was stolen from her lungs as if he wielded the magic of wind and air. The healer was unable to conceal the awe that slipped onto her features, not because of the royal blood she quickly pieced together that he possessed, no, there was something deeper than that at play as she blinked the shock and wonder from her face. The fae swept into a graceful curtsy, an attempted recovery as she bowed her head to the Prince of the Mortal Realm. “ Your Highness. Forgive me. “ She breathed, lifting her chin as she straightened to meet his gaze. “ I do hope you’re finding the celebration to your liking. “ 

There are seldom few moments in Luceryn’s life that he has found himself so suddenly struck, the prince had always been keen to ensure he remained prepared for whatever was thrown in his path. Beautiful women were not something unfamiliar, certainly not to the point of rendering him momentarily speechless, and yet here he stands in pause. For a moment, it’s as if the world has stopped moving. His gaze takes in every feature of her face, from the curve of her brow to the point of her cheeks and the tuck of her chin, committing it all to memory, even as the thought strikes that he doesn’t believe forgetting it would be possible. But instinct takes hold even as his mind fumbles, proper etiquette drilled into his head from such a young age that he’d act upon them even in his sleep, returning her curtsy with a bow of his own. “No forgiveness is needed.” Luc offers her a smile, perhaps the first genuine one of the night. “It is all wonderfully charming.” Beautiful yet cold, even the hearths seemed to carry a bite of frost, something sharp yet bewitching. A part of him had wondered if that were allegory for the fae themselves. What of you? Are you also made of frost? “I would prefer Luceryn, if it would suit you.” He can practically hear his father’s anger in the back of his head, Celia’s quiet yet venomous snarls, both of them chastising him for waving off the title of royalty that is his due. But it had never fit the prince quite right, and there is little more he wants than for a moment of simplicity to simply be Luceryn. Just with her, just right now. 

[faeteds]

haleh kurtaran​:

for: aras / @faeteds​

She had heard the news from the other girls in the kitchen and details had clattered down the rungs of the ladder within the great keep of Arenthia. Haleh had hardly the ability to keep herself occupied, haunting one room to the next, fussing over small details and smoothing down even smaller ones. She had not been invited to such an event, the grandeur of Solstice was not for a creature such as she: one who belonged to no court, whose blood was muddied like rainwater. When Aras returned, she would ride out to the borders, to see Luceryn, to see the family that she had once served. It was no longer her duty to pluck up the pieces of their sorrow, but she had love enough to see that they knew how to do so themselves. It was a thought paired with the safety of the lord she served that distracted her enough to burn the meal she was cooking, to singe her ironing and to pierce her fingertip while darning. She was foolish, and discontented, pacing like the black feline that she knew the Hand could become. A clatter near the door made her start, spinning around to see Aras fill the frame of it. “You’re alright.” The words were an exhalation, and with them fled the weight of most of her panic. “You’re one of the last ones to return, I was—“ she began fussing with getting a bowl set up on the table. “I was worried.”

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The shadows have always served Aras well. When news came of the abrupt and rather gruesome death of the mortal king, unlike some, the fae held no fear for his own safe keeping. Instead, he went to work doing what he does best — gathering information. While this burden hadn’t fallen at Spring’s feet, for that which he is grateful, that hardly meant Aras could simply sit back and watch the pieces fall on the board. Whoever had committed the act had an agenda at hand, and it was his job to ensure that none of that would stand to harm Spring. As such, by the time he finally winnowed his way back home, it’s long after most of the rest of the other courts have departed Winter. There is little more the spymaster would enjoy than to sink into bed for a long sleep, and yet he pauses in his doorway all the same as dark eyes fall upon Haleh’s form. It’s damn near imperceptible, the involuntary, slight hitch to his breath. Any time away always made it worse. Funny, how the closer in company they remained, the more he could just ignore this damnable bond. “I was in no danger,” he says, a small attempt to ease any of her concern. He is not so easy to kill as a mortal king. “It was not a move made against Spring.” Aras suspected that had anyone else been a chosen target for the culprits, they would’ve struck before the first body had even been discovered. Or at least, that’s how he would have moved. 

[faeteds]

eli monet​:

OPEN to anyone who wants to assume connections

       The world was a ridiculous place. People tore each other apart like animals, killed their closest family, and expected it to be okay. That they could do whatever they wanted, to get what they desired. And Eli was incredibly relieved that he no longer actively worked as a spy, for he did not want to know whatever was bubbling underneath the surface. Because this was bad enough already. Of course he knew he hadn’t left all evil behind when fleeing Spring Court – hell, he knew there was much more evil festering everywhere else than in his original home. But for his own taste, it hadn’t been long enough since the last catastrophe he had to witness. To keep his mind occupied and his hands busy, he’d returned to the task he found so much peace in. Away from his blacksmith’s shop, he returned to the most simple task there was; a piece of wood in one hand, a knife in the other, carving a stake bit by bit. A pair of shoes appeared in his peripheral vision, and a sigh escaped his lips. “I’m not interested in talking about the dead king. So if you’ve come to do that, you can leave. If there’s something else, feel free,” he added, gesturing to the free space next to him.

She was always more suited to the life of spying than people gave her credit for. What was once considered a mere dalliance has now become her way of life, and none could say Cela did not prove her usefulness. A dead king on their doorstep certainly made for interesting times, putting her to work more than usual in the walls of their home, looking for conspiracy and blame. But there has never been a time in Cela’s life that she could not make room for Eli. Even when the world was falling down around them. “And to think, here I come with all the details,” she broaches playfully, removing the hood from atop her head and setting it against her shoulders, revealing the raven’s hair beneath and the smirk that sits against her lips. Two things so signature for the spy. “What would suit you, then?” She makes herself comfortable by taking a seat on top of his workbench, only out of the way of his workspace by inches. “Have you grown new interest in impalement?” She asks, eyeing the stake in his hand. 

[faeteds]

beyla laelithar​:

“The harpist plays for all who can hear their work,” Beyla voiced, noting the way that Nazan’s gaze tightened. “It is we who decide if what we hear is music, or just noise.” They enjoyed music, the light beauty of it all, how it could slip down staircases and into empty halls. Even here, with sound deadening and growing tinny against the walls of ice, they could hear the soft lap of notes from the ballroom— had it been a different time, they’d of danced. This was not crafted with the thought of me finding my way beneath it. Between them, a string tugged. Beyla’s magic made the ice flowers bloom wider, dropping their petals to shatter against the floor theatrically. “The entire world has shifted on its axis to bring you to this very place,” they smiled, content in the span of their creation. “And you still think that it was not made just for you?”

It was too much, perhaps. A tiny nudge could feel the same as a shove when one was standing on a precipice: the fall was long, the crash brutal. They shifted pale coloured eyes to look back out at the snow and at the white foxes that bounded through the heaviness of it, snickering only when they heard the harsh edge of the words. Jealousy. How long had it been since it had been extended for their favour? Had it ever? They tilted their head, their expression lined with mirth. “She does not dance with me, not anymore. Once she was a little girl, but now she is a wolf and has no need for tired things like me.” Beyla did not offer explanation, they would let Naz simmer foolishly in their anger. Perhaps it was their own fault, they were too delighted by it to put it to an end. “If I leave, will I find you here when I return?” It was a curious thought, tucked into the quiet spot that Beyla had carved into the keep. They dismissed any bubbling suggestion that the words might arouse, sheering out the ice-windows with a wave of their hand. “If your lady has no need of you tonight, it can be your place to stay for as long as you wish.” They took a step backwards, towards the main hall. “You’ll be free of bother, as it is a rare invitation— not many find their way down to my hiding spots.”

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Beyla’s words echo inside her mind, uncomfortably too close to being real. The entire world has shifted. That is a bit what it felt like, didn’t it? It’s the first time either of them have truly even ventured to broach what’s happened here — this tie that’s formed between them, dancing around the obvious subject that glares like light reflected off all the ice that surrounds them. Fated. Given an hour to return back in time, Naz would’ve scoffed at the very idea that such a thing would exist for her. And yet here she stands, and though she may not fully understand it, the pull she feels to Beyla is nearly as compelling as it is alarming. “I do not believe in the idea of fate.” It feels foolish to say, while standing in the face of someone that is the very proof it exists; like a child stamping their foot in denial, stubbornly refusing to listen to the guidance of others. And yet that is what Nazan remains, because the other idea is entirely too frightening. She crosses her arms against her chest, both as a barrier and personal comfort, closing herself off from Beyla’s prodding. “Nothing in this world has been made for me, except for what I make myself.” 

There’s no clarity in the other fae’s words, only more vague statements towards whatever bond exists there, and it pulls a frown at the spy’s lips. Yet she would not dare ask, let it insinuate that she cares about the answer. She has been far too indulgent already, against her better nature. She should have left the moment she realized what this was. “Perhaps.” Yet even as the word leaves her lips, Nazan well knows it is a lie. Once the Hand leaves, she will take the granted freedom and disappear into the night, as far away as she can possibly manage without abandoning her duties entirely. Far enough away that such another encounter would prove unlikely, even if her heart tugs at the thought. At the end of the day, Naz’s brain has always been the superior organ to win out, and it screams at her that engaging any further in this will only lead to an inevitable horror in the end. Though she would be morose to leave such a quaint, unbothered place, Naz had always known that such sanctuary could not last forever. Instead, she watches as Beyla moves to leave, ignoring the urge to reach out and grasp for them, something so wholly out of character for herself that it only confirms the idea of this bond will only be for the worse of Naz. To want is dangerous. 

[faeteds]

ezrak atalar​:

There was a small part of the Illyrian that was worried about what the High Lady of the Summer Court would think of him barging in on the Princess with no word of a warning, but the terror that ran through his blood outweighed that tenfold. If she wasn’t safe, if they had managed to get to her too… He would take any punishment given, all that mattered was that Eyalisai was unharmed. The strides he took had him at her side in seconds, a callused hand gripping each of her arms as his gaze raked over her tiny form. His worry, his fear, was etched deeply on his features but he loosed a breath at the few words she spoke. “ The King, from the mortal realm. “ He started, only pausing to try and find the most pleasant way to phrase his words. “ He was killed. Laid out in the gardens for everyone to see. “ The vile details ones that the dark eyed female need not know. “ I thought… “ A gruesome image of Lis in a similar state flashing in his mind, a visual that almost brought him to his knees before her. “ I had to make sure you were alright. “ Ezrak managed, cupping her face within his palms as his eyes searched her own. “ You’re unharmed? I’m not dreaming? “ 

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Her thoughts are still half muddied with wine and sleep, but even so it would take a blind man to be incapable of noting the distress that rolls off Ezrak’s body in waves. She steps to him gently, the feeling of his palms warm against her skin in stark contrast to the cold of the room. “The King?” she echoes his words back to him, doe brown eyes trained on his face as she looks to him for answers. Yet when it finally comes, Eyalisai finds herself near speechless. It almost seems impossible, that such a thing could happen. Not here, not now, after such a beautiful night. “Oh god...” A hand rises to her lips, shock taking over her features. “Ilenia... her father...” Lis had boldly declared once that she hated the man, for the crime of taking away one of her friends, but she had never meant... She never would have wished this upon him. “Lenny, is she— she’s okay, isn’t she?” Her free hand reaches out to clutch at Ezrak, tugging on his arm. She wants him to tell her that everything is okay, that Ilenia and everyone else are safe, and whoever did this atrocity has been found and captured. But even so, she would settle for the comfort of being held onto. “I’m fine, I swear it.” Her head leans in to his touch, gentle and protective against her cheek, and the Summer princess knows with a certainty that despite whatever else may happen, with him she is safe. “I want to go home.” It’s a quiet whisper, almost a plea to be taken from the nightmare. 

[faeteds]

rhys theroux​:

       Rhys’ mind was racing in an attempt to figure out their next moves. He did not trust Selin’s chambers to be safe, not before he had them checked. Neither did he consider his own to be safe. If he could, he’d just get them as far away from the scene of the crime as possible, but he knew that wasn’t wise. She was still the leader of this court, and he was the spymaster. She had a son, and a court to appear strong for. Even if for the moment, she had to be saved. Rhys led her down hallways, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, without once fully letting go of her. “It’s the king of the Mortal Realms,” he informed her, his voice low and hushed in case any ears were listening as they passed them. “They found him outside, torn apart like an animal. I think someone explicitly targeted him.” At least that was what the words drawn into the snow with the king’s own blood suggested. “Until we know more, I do not trust you to be safe out in the open.” Rhys pushed a door open to a deserted room, gently pushing her inside first before he followed. His gaze traveled along the walls, searching for eyes and ears. And when he was certain they were alone, he was quick to brush the back of his hand against her cheek. “I won’t let you get hurt out there.”

Whatever horror Selin’s mind could conjure, the outcome is only slightly less horrible. A dignitary dead, a king dead, happened on their watch, in their land. The news nearly knocks the breath from her lips, shock coating the High Lady’s features. Were it not for Rhys guiding their steps, it’s likely she would have come to a half right there in the hallway as the information sinks in. “What. Happened.” The words come out a hiss, low but demanding all the same — not a woman speaking to her lover, but a ruler and her subject. Her eyes flit around the halls, searching for shadows out of place, the idea that there could be someone around with ill intent. To either spy or strike against them, it would all bring them harm now. She’s shepherded into a quiet room, nowhere near her own quarters but out of the line of sight for anyone else who still roams the castle at this early hour. At another time, Selin would love nothing more than to sink into the gentleness of Rhys’s hands, rest her head against his chest and listen to the thrumming of his heartbeat. But instead her thoughts move too fast, stuck on the fact that while he would seek to protect her, there are those who for Selin she would risk her life. “Osman.” Fear bubbles up, a mother’s instinct, clawing it’s way through any composure she had previously wrangled. “I need to get to him, I need—” her words cut off, choked in their urgency. Her baby, she has to keep him safe. “Move, Rhys.”

[faeteds]

kasim başaran:

       Kasim was aware that rationally speaking, there was no reason for anyone to try and take Dyanna’s life. At least not as a political statement, not here. But the fear was still there. He couldn’t deny that he was worrying about it, what he’d do if anyone were to harm her. He’d lost his wife and children – and as much as he denied himself to feel anything for her, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive losing her. “Maybe,” he agreed, voice quiet as he let his eyes shift over their surroundings. No matter how many years had passed since he’d been war general, he’d never be able to fully shake being aware of the world around him at all times. “But maybe you should not speak of such a thing here right now.” Or ever, really, but he knew Dyanna didn’t care much for such things. At least he’d never known her to worry about what others might think. “You make it sound like me caring for you to stay alive is an offense of the highest rank,” he pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “One could almost think you’re planning to follow your husband into his grave.”

“Or what?” Her voice carries across the room with a laugh, so far out of place with the otherwise solemn tension in the air. She does not care to censor herself, to speak in hushed whispers like all the little mice that scamper about, would not make herself more pleasant for their consumption. “Will shadows move to punish me for them?” Dyanna’s words are almost a taunt, a button she cannot help but press, angling to rile a reaction out of the stoic man. It’s petty, but after years of for his love, she had come to learn to settle for his anger. To provoke some feelings similar within him that he does her. But speak of Siddar cuts the challenging smirk from her lips, falling into a deep scowl as all her callous humor leaves. “I think were I to make to join him, I would choose out by the lake, rather than this dreary room.” For the first time in the evening, her voice is deadly low, but cold anger seethes through each word as she stares Kasim in his eyes. The image of his body amongst the reeds still lingers behind Dyanna’s eyelids, pale and bloated and lifeless just beyond her reach. Her grip tightens knuckle-white on the wooden arm of her chair. “It would be rather poetic in symmetry.” How dare he. 

[faeteds]

şeyda suvari​:

       Şeyda only laughed bitterly at the mention of a companion for the night – Selin had promised her that her betrothed would be here tonight, but Şeyda had yet to actually hear the confirmation of that,. “It seems he likes to make himself rare.” It was a point to tell the other that she was promised, or at least supposed to be here with someone – but at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from the gentle jab at how inappropriate this certain someone was behaving in her eyes. “Maybe you can go and tell him that if you meet him, I’ve been trying for far too long now.” The brunette’s patience had been stretched thin over the years. Even if they were just a blink of an eye in the lifespan of a fae, they had still been too many for her liking. Red flickers caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and Şeyda slowly turned her head to take in the rose he conjured. A cheesy gesture, but she was not above admiring someone else’s talents. Still, her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the conjuring of flames, curious fingers extending towards the rose. “You’re from Autumn Court?” It’s an easy enough guess, and just like that, her interest in him heightened. Her chin tilted in his direction, as she did not yet give him enough attention to turn her body fully towards him, but it was a small nod she offered in gratitude. “I do not care much for wearable or easy things.” No, Şeyda had grown up struggling, and no matter how many years she’d lived in her elevated station thanks to Selin, she still remembered what it was like for life to not be easy. “All roses have thorns, they’re not meant to be worn in the first place. We just force them into the role by removing what is inconvenient for us.”

So she has been abandoned. That would explain her prickly disposition, the reason such a night has been soured. Their loss would be his gain, then, because the Autumn lord for one cannot imagine leaving such a beauty to simmer in her offense. “Were I to find him, I would mark him a fool to his face.” Sylas says easily, a smirk climbing against his lips. To have her stand on the arm of a prince would certainly bring jealousy to whoever had jilted her so, a prize that they had overlooked only for him to claim. “If I may,” he begins, but Sylas has always reached for more than what may be allowed to him, a boldness to the man that came from the status afforded to him by birth. “Perhaps to see you out spinning on the floor with another, shining in attention instead of hidden away in this corner, would be certain to fill his heart with envy.” Humility has never been a trait he could lay claim to, well aware of his own handsomeness in the eyes of others, before his title ever even comes into consideration. Even those that did not know, would look upon the pair of them and simmer. “That I am.” And all too happy of it as well, the words are spoken with pride in his chest, though he does not reveal himself for his princely nature just yet. That’s a card he holds close to his chest for later. “Wise words. A pity most do not abide by them.” It’s a mental note he tucks away, a small reminder that ice can burn as much as fire — that there is a willfulness to her, a preference for things wild.

[faeteds]

for: emiel laverren / @sunstrvck​

Too distracted. That was her problem. It was her encounter with Beyla that threw Nazan off course, frazzled her brain and took her attention away from where it needed to be. What kind of spy isn’t aware of an assassination happening under the same roof as them? She’s better than that, or she thought she was. Being a step ahead has always kept her alive, and more importantly, of value to the Autumn court. Though the fact that this did not fall upon their doorstep is a small grace, it still does not make up for her lack of diligence. She knows she cannot return to Emiel with nothing to show for it, it’s all Nazan can do to make up for her missteps. Fortunately, if there is one thing the fae has always been good at, it’s finding her way into places that she’s not allowed. Winter security is tight now that the corpse has been discovered, but the sun is still low enough in the sky to provide with enough darkness for the cover that she hides in, winnowing her way across spaces in order to make her way as close as she dares and avoiding the watchful eye of guards looking for anywhere to point blame. A lesser spy would’ve been caught. That’s one thing she allows herself pride in. But now at least, she has something to offer.

WEAK FLESH MAKES WEAK KINGS. The imagery replays in her head even after making clear distance of the gardens. There is a small, selfish relief in the fact that the threat seems wholly human — a message meant for the mortals to find, those who dared to tread upon fae lands for festivity. But it does not put Autumn in immediate danger. Nazan could continue to scope out longer, with luck there would be more information to find than the gruesome display left in the snow, but an anxious unrest leads her to Emiel’s door. Proper decorum would see Naz know her place, patiently wait on the other side of the door for her master to answer, but she has no such patience for useless propriety. Instead, the spy winnows inside, finding him standing near the window. “You’ve heard the news.” It’s not a question, but something she has already taken as a fact of the situation. Brown eyes trail on him with rapt attention, impressing upon the urgency of the situation. “We cannot stay here.” It’s not secure, there is too much to discuss and Nazan has never felt comfortable in the quiet of walls not her own. “Come home with me.” 

[luthienne]

Lisel Mueller, from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems; "Happy and Unhappy Families II"

[Text ID: In the play, we know what must happen / long before it happens, / and we call it tragedy. / Here at home, this winter, / we have no name for it.]

[geryone]

Prelude, Brynne Rebele-Henry

[faeteds]

beyla laelithar​:

They were wise enough to not give away the echoes of their court, even taken aback and off guard in this way. Beyla’s pale eyes were not deep pools that conveyed their thoughts— the years had turned them into mirrors, reflecting back the viewer with ease. Their interest stayed in the subtle lift of their brow and the curve of their mouth, a smirk was more than they’d smiled in years. “My lord has said that he is fortunate to have my loyalty.” It was an easy answer, to lead away from what everyone whispered and knew well: the Winter Court was governed by a man who was nothing more than a puppet, someone whose senses were not his own, whose wise decisions and decrees had been put into his hands. The court was safer ruled by someone else, and he was all too agreeable to bend to suggestion.

It was a strange thing, to talk of war in a place carved of ice. They had lived once, through a siege of Winterhold— where the very construction of their fortress had been threatened by the spill of red that had come from the battle above. Magic had since cemented the foundation of their home, made the keep unreachable— and it had been their skills that had been utilized to assure it. Those curious, light eyes drifted over, peering over the span of Nazan’s features, watching the delicate swoop of her mouth twist into what was not a smile, nor a grimace. They had an effect upon her, like an itch beneath the skin.

Beyla’s head canted, just enough that white hair fell to one side of their pale throat. I know what this means, they wanted to say, to soothe. I have been waiting for you a long time, you are safe here, child of ash and flame. Instead, they watched as Nazan shrank into herself, shrouding her features. “Are you not enjoying yourself then?” Their voice felt too gravelled, too slow— ice was not conducive to speed, a wildfire would rage in a matter of minutes but a lake took a fortnight to be safe enough to walk upon after a melt. “There was quite a bit of effort put in, to ensure that the party was for everyone.” It was a joke, reflected in how Beyla had very obviously run from the heart of it to seek out quiet. “I was just telling Iskra about it,” their rose bush bloomed and they failed to clarify who their sister was. “How it has been lifetimes since I have found myself desiring to dance.” They would now, should Nazan wish for their hand they would spin upon the polished floors with their skirts whipping around their ankles. Like the foolish humans that the Night Court took for their games, they would dance until their feet bled. “Perhaps with the right person.” The thought concluded, and Beyla tapped twice at their construction of living ice, watching as it sunk back into the ground that it had been made from. “They’ll come looking for me soon.”

˖ .   ֺ ⋆    ་   ˖ .   ֺ ⋆    ་   ˖ .   ֺ ⋆    ་    

Are you not enjoying yourself then? The honest truth is a resounding no, but Naz has seldom been honest. While the Winter Court offers it’s own beauty, the sea of crowds and festivities do little to entice the spy’s antisocial nature, and to tell it frank there is little she would rather do than winnow back to her home in Autumn. Small and meager though it is, it’s hers, some place safe and warm and so far from all this glimmering ice and frost. “It is a fine party,” she says, shaking her head, though the fact that she has chosen to hide out near the gardens perhaps speaks otherwise. The party is for everyone. Perhaps they even truly believe that, but Nazan knows better. Time has taught her better. “But the harpist’s strings do not play for the sake of reaching my ears.” She saw the way they clamored, the way they fawned over the favor of the courtiers, dedicated songs for the sake of high lords and ladies. Sure, they reached her just the same, but it was never meant for her. Nazan’s eyes cast out at the beautiful icy arbor that currently stands as their shelter, a small reprieve from the world inside. “This...” a hand reaches out, the fire within her skin coming into contact with the ice, a different kind of burning in her palm than she’s used to. “was not crafted with the thought of me finding my way beneath it.” The world was not made for Nazan, would never be, it’s a fact she’s long since accepted. It made things easier. 

The mention of another person, another woman, someone of value or at least standing in Beyla’s life twists uncomfortably in her chest, a hidden blade stuck somewhere between the ribs — not deep enough to kill, but sharp all the same. It’s an ugly feeling, the jealousy that jabs at her, something Naz is almost wholly unaccustomed to. She doesn’t want to take note of the flush in the other fae’s cheeks, the thought that perhaps this Iskra holds something of Beyla’s heart for her own keeping, but it happens nonetheless. “Perhaps it is she you should find to dance, then.” The words fall just short of a bite, Nazan reeling herself back in, but a small frown burgeons against her lips. The idea of dancing is one the spy would find horrific, it was never a skill she had learned, something saved for those of higher status who had time to devote to something so trivial. But even so, even as the words pass her lips, the thought of Beyla standing in another’s arms against the glittering lights of the ballroom is acidic in her brain. Fool. Foolish girl. You know better. Her thoughts are chastising, and perhaps if she were alone it would be of use to slap sense into herself for letting her mind wander to such absurd things. “Yes, I’m certain that they will.” Another glaring difference, making clear the wide chasm that divides them; if she had simply vanished into the night sky, there would scarce be anything to find to even prove she existed once at all. No one would come looking for Nazan.

[faeteds]

rhys theroux​:

for: selin / @faeteds​

       As the spymaster of his court, Rhys was one of the first to hear the news. And for once he was grateful that everyone’s first priority should be to keep their high lady and lord safe. It was quite convenient for him that Ilar could not be found in his line of sight when he rushed through the hall, but he spotted Selin right away. He wouldn’t have cared much to go to Ilar first, for quite selfish reasons. Instead, everything in him was screaming to get Selin out of here. It was not a safe place, and it wouldn’t be until they had more details. He reached for her upper arm. The touch was firm, professional on the outside, but the grip of his fingers was much more gentle than it needed to be. Still, his voice was urgent when he bent down to speak into her ear. “You need to come with me. You’re not safe here.” His other hand rested against his hip and the hidden weapon he’d carried. If anyone tried to get too close, he would not hesitate to defend Selin. Both because of his station, and because of his feelings for her. In this moment, they played hand in hand. “Stay close to me.”

It’s been a long, but for the most part successful evening, and Selin wants nothing more than to throw herself down into bed. Most everyone else has already retired to rest, the High Lady one of the few stragglers left amongst the court to make sure everything is in hand. She’s just about to make the climb towards her chambers when suddenly stopped by the familiar presence of her spymaster. Her gaze glances down in surprise to the contact he makes against her arm, he usually is not so bold in public, they’ve been so careful in their little dance to keep everything quiet. “Rhys.” Selin’s voice notes her shock, but the fae’s expression smooths over into something carefully blank as his words reach her ear. You’re not safe here. Bells ring inside her head in warning, as she allows Rhys to lead her away, moving swiftly but careful to maintain her stone expression. She trusts him at his word implicitly, the fact that if he claims danger, then it must be so, even as the thought twists inside her gut. “What’s happened?” Her question is low, barely loud enough for Rhys to hear, much less anyone else. 

[faeteds]

ezrak atalar​:

‣ eyalisai chandran / @faeteds​​

The word about the Mortal Kings death, his murder, spread through the Winter Court like wildfire, and while Ezrak typically thought more of himself than just some brute, the fear for his Lady, the female he had sworn an oath to protect, was more than that of resembling the court that he had left behind, and it blotted out any rational train of thought. He had to get to her. What if she was next? He had to make sure she was okay. Safe. The innate need, this instinct, had the Illyrian outright ignoring his usual method of knocking and he barged through the door of the guest chambers that had been designated for the Princess of Summer for the duration of their stay, membranous wings flaring out behind him. Bits and pieces of the wood splintered with the sheer force that was used, though any damage done to the door or frame was the last thing on his mind as he scoured the room for Eyalisai, his chest rising and falling heavily with every bated breath he took. It wasn’t until he spotted the small fae beneath the furs that the crazed look in his eye relented, his voice cracking at the relief he felt at just the sight of her. “ Lis. “ 

The Solstice had been everything Eyalisai had ever wanted. It was a beautiful night, with dancing and feast and she had even strummed her lute for a tune. She’d gone to bed with a belly full of mead and a giddy-lightness in her head, curled up under a pile of furs in order to compensate for this extreme cold the Summer princess is unaccustomed to. Lis had been like to stay that way, too, until well into the hours of the next morning, had it not been for the loud booming sound to pull her from her slumber so abruptly. Bleary eyes blink in confusion at the unfamiliar environment until sense returns, reminding her of the events of the night before. Winterhold. But it’s Ezrak’s voice that brings her back to the moment, instinctively pulling her up from her resting place to find him, chocolate eyes landing on him standing in her doorway — damaged doorway, she would later note, the way it doesn’t hang quite right and she’s fairly certain it hadn’t been that way last night. “Ezrak?” Her voice is still coated in sleep, but Eyalisai pushes herself out from under the furs regardless, exposing her small form to the cold of winter. The nightgown she wears does little to brace against the cold, more suited for the warm nights of Summer. Bare feet pad across the smooth floor, carrying herself over to her sworn protector. “What are you doing?”

[geryone]

Lessons on Expulsion, Erika Sánchez